#and i've suspected such for a few years now but i was never quite sure what flavor of neurodivergent i am because comorbidities

[mikurulucky]

Random thing I thought of based on an episode of The New Adventures of Winnie the Pooh:

A lot of people headcanon Rabbit as having OCD because of his obsession with cleanliness and otherwise having things in order, and that does make a bit of sense and that's just ONE way it can manifest.

But, I have another idea.

I'm not throwing out that old bit of fanon because it can still fit. But I remember in the episode where he, Pooh, and Tigger were preparing for a party for small rabbits, Rabbit had a list of things to do that included very small things like brushing teeth and combing ears alongside sublists for Pooh and the rest with more specific things that need to be done to prepare for the party, since prepping for it was on the first list we see in the episode.

That got me thinking, does he have issues with organizing and starting tasks? Does he have issues with procrastination? Because that's something I can kinda relate to and I have thought about making similar lists of small tasks that I need to do because I've fallen out of various good habits I formed in childhood for the past few years. (Do I ever get around to making such lists tho? FUCK no!) Plus he's pretty much always on the move and may even think better while pacing or just moving about in general.

So, here's my thought. In addition to OCD, he's also ADHD, possibly the hyperactive variety. I'll have to look back at the series and the movies though so I can get a more detailed look at his habits and such though, but that's the basic headcanon I've been thinking about lately.

[loveundrwrld]

omg hiiiii i love ur writing smm <33 could i ask for a scenario of tanner x male reader where reader was super shy when he was bullied but years later tanner finds out he's somehow become a badass gang leader who wouldn't hesitate to beat his ex-bully up... i wonder what tanner's reaction would be to that hehe

also can i be 💖 anon? once again thank u <33

how sweet of you to say, thank you!! and to both your questions- yes, you may :) 💖 anon you shall be!

i will say, in his intro, seeing his darling act so reclusive and anxious after high school was what triggered him to rethink his actions- he wouldn't be quite as submissive towards him at first with his darling if he didn't go through that revelation. so tanner is a bit bitchy here since the "why is y/n acting like that"-> "oh no i've hurt him bad haven't i"-> "i'm in LOVE with him" process hasn't happened here.

thus, tanner is still in denial here :p and not as patient with his darling as he typically is

---

yandere ex-bully x gang leader male reader

(cws: violence (not against reader), organized crime, bullying, yandere is victim blaming, stalking)

tanner thought about you more often than he would ever care to admit. the shy, nervous boy he met in school who would cower from him like a scared puppy. something about you just made his hackles rise- he felt strange every time he'd seen you mumble and blush around him.

the strange feeling was annoyance, surely. you had been asking for attention, looking and acting the way that you did. you were always so shy and deferential around other people, always going along with being the butt of the joke. it was only natural that you were picked on a little.

but he'd matured since high school. he knew that bothering people and playing pranks on them was immature, no matter if you were basically asking for it. and if he'd seen you now he's sure you two would be polite and civil. you'd simply laugh and agree with him that he was a dick, and then you two could be best friends.

... or something. it wasn't like he thought about what meeting you again would be like.

and it was normal for people that went to the same high school to want to be curious about what their fellow past classmates had been up to, so he'd done some simple digging on you out of curiousity. nothing out of the ordinary. but you'd seem to have gone completely off the map, he'd not been able to find anything about you.

he was agitated that he couldn't learn more. he was worried for your safety, was all. i mean, you never posted anything online. for all he knew you could be dying or something. it was natural that he'd feel anxious right now.

but, he simply had to give up. he'd been trying to approach it from different angles, but he'd accepted that he'd reached a dead end.

except... until now. he was idly slouched over on the couch in front of his television, the news on as background noise. then, he perked up when he saw a familiar face come up on the screen.

it was your face that was glaring into the camera with a look of pure hatred, one that you certainly didn't have when he knew you.

good lord, what the hell happened to you?

"suspected gang activity in eastcliff- residents beware," the graphic read at the bottom of the screen.

he rushed to his laptop, wanting to check the arrest records for your shared state. he hadn't even considered this when he was looking up where you had been, it would have never have occurred to him that you would have gotten yourself in that much trouble.

and once the full report had loaded up? yes, it seemed that you actually were a criminal. you were arrested on a few charges but they got mysteriously dropped due to "unforeseen circumstances."

you hadn't been convicted of any felony charges yet, but he could tell that you were indeed involved in organized crime... somehow. and quite awfully high up in it, if you had corrupt police officers helping you escape any justice at all. it would have seemed like a laughable idea to him before, but he couldn't argue with what was right in front of him.

tanner scrunched his face up, his mind feeling blank from shock. how could this have happened? how could someone like you end up with such an... exciting life? how could you have turned out even more dangerous than him? his mouth felt dry, as a sense of bitterness seeped into him.

he didn't even know how to see what you were up to, to see why you turned out the way you did. surely you must have been forced into it. you couldn't have changed so much so fast otherwise. you were just a puppet with a nice face for the real people on top, obviously.

he felt a bit of bitter agitation, and tapped his leg as he thought. he couldn't live his whole life in mystery. he needed to know more about you.

there was one thing he could try...

---

it seems that his gambit to getting information about you had got your attention.

though, nothing could have prepared him from seeing you in front of him. you glared at him fiercely, your face so close to his that he felt your hot breath on his skin.

the eyes that used to be wide and quivering when you were younger were now narrowed and sharp. all he could see was the ice cold rage on your face. it was disorienting, to you someone shift into such a completely different person that you were nearly unrecognizable.

from a little puppy of a boy... to a fearsome wolf.

"of all the things you could do, tanner, you called my mother? don't you dare fuck with her," you growled at him, tugging hard at his shirt.

since when did you get balls? he felt that bubbling uneasy feeling he used to get whenever you were around him... only this time, it was stronger. he didn't like how this new you was effecting him.

you seemed much more dangerous than he was... and he didn't like it. wasn't it him who used to intimidate you? whatever happened to that?

he tried to laugh back at you, trying to stuff away any strange urges his brain was throwing at him.

"oh, come on- y/n, fuck with her? you're acting like i was trying to hurt her or something. i just called her. listen i know i was kind of a dick but really, you're making me out as the bad guy here and-"

you clocked him, hard on his temple. tanner stopped rambling and let out a small groan, the sharp throbbing pain causing him to fall down to one knee.

he opened his mouth to talk, but before he could say anything, you were already leaning down in his face.

"i don't want to hear from you ever again, you piece of shit. don't call or talk to me or my mother if you want all of your limbs intact. you may not know this, but i'm a big deal around here now. do not fuck with me," you say, your voice thick with anger.

for some reason... it felt like sparks and butterflies were running through him. something snapped inside his brain, connecting things. it occurred to him sudden why he had always felt so strange about you, why he was so obsessed with you.

you were hot. and this new you? strangely, he didn't dislike it at all.

"... got it," he said, breathily.

though, he didn't intend on keeping his promise.

[kinardsevan]

as we all know, i haven't really been doing @bucktommypositivityweek because I've been busy working on other stuff. but I still wanted to contribute, and I was feeling inspired reading people's additions for 'outsider perspective'. this was also a character study for one of my OCs.

so have this: -

colors

Wilder Gray was born to be an artist. Color was quite literally in his name. He was also gay fresh out of the womb, and god bless the fact that his parents had accepted that from day one, because otherwise he never would’ve stood a chance. 

Life had been easy for him, mostly. He came from enough money that his parents sent him to semi-private school for he better part of his upbringing. When they’d discovered his ability to draw and paint towards the end of elementary school, he’d been promptly enrolled in the Los Angeles Academy of Arts and Enterprise for intermediate school. Growing up in that kind of environment had fed his need to create as well as be surrounded by other creatives. It also fostered a very accepting community where he never felt out of place or like he couldn’t be exactly who he was. By the time he was in his twenties, enrolled in UCLA, he’d had several serious relationships. 

He met one Thomas Kinard at the age of twenty-five, fresh out of his graduate program with an MFA in interdisciplinary arts. Tommy was just about to turn thirty-three and had looked extremely uncomfortable in his skin as he sat down at a gay bar in WeHo. It would be weeks before Tommy would admit to him that he was freshly out of the closet, and that up until a few months before, the most he’d ever engaged with the community was through one night stands and the boy he had shared a secret relationship with during his five and a half years in the military. 

To be clear, Tommy had rocked Wilder’s universe on its axis. When they first met, Wilder wanted nothing to do with a relationship with him. he knew Tommy was still figuring out his footing with his sexuality now that he was out, and as much as Wilder was willing to be a friend through that process, he didn’t want to play the part of the boyfriend who helped Tommy experiment and get educated. 

Which isn’t to say it panned out the greatest for him. He watched Tommy engage in multiple relationships over the next three years, and he was jealous as fuck every single time. He hated Mike, the forty-five-year-old man that Tommy met a few weeks after Wilder had met him. That relationship lasted four months. Mike was a domineering dick who did a damn good job at pretending to be sunshine. Wilder wondered if Tommy realized he didn’t have to date twice-divorced men in order to figure out what he liked, but it also wasn’t his place to speak. At least, until he and Tommy met up on a random Tuesday, three and a half months into the relationship, and Tommy tried to lie to him about bruises on his wrists. Wilder was a lot of things, but stupid was not one of them. He’d told Tommy that night that he was capable of doing so much better, that he deserved better. When Tommy had questioned him—over half a dozen beers—Wilder had kissed him about it. 

Granted, that didn’t lead anywhere, other than far enough for Tommy to be confident enough to end the relationship with Mike. They were both single for a few months after that, but whatever Tommy was waiting on, Wilder wasn’t sure. He was still firm on his position about not wanting to be the person to help Tommy gain experience. 

After Mike came Leo. Leo came with a million and a half red flags. Leo came with love bombs and grand gestures, with one thing on his mind. As soon as he got Tommy into bed, he was gone. Tommy never really talked about how everything with Leo panned out, but Wilder suspected that it wouldn’t have gone much further anyway. Another night over too many beers, all Tommy would say about Leo was that he was ‘rough. Way too rough.’ 

Either way, he bounced back. Ezra came along only a few weeks after Leo, and Ezra was so, so sweet. And so naïve. He was younger than Wilder, and clearly still trying to figure things out about himself. However, Ezra also seemed to have stars in his eyes about how things were going to work out, while Tommy had lost most of his rosy view on his sexuality. It wasn’t to say that they didn’t have fun together. But Wilder could tell that Ezra thought Tommy would settle down with him, while Tommy just wanted to work out the kinks he’d gone through in recent months and figure himself out more. 

Ezra lasted two months. 

Charlie showed up in the middle of October, almost as though he’d been swept through along with the Santa Ana winds. He put a smile on Tommy’s face that Wilder was positive he’d never seen on his friend. Charlie was the boy from Iraq. He was also Tommy’s first real love. Wilder liked Charlie. 

Wilder didn’t love Charlie. 

It wasn’t that Charlie was a bad guy. Charlie clearly cared about Tommy a fair amount, although it was questionable whether he actually liked Tommy as much as Tommy loved him. The deeper problem was that Tommy looked at Charlie the way Ezra had looked at Tommy. Except, Charlie had done the  ‘make my parents happy’ way. He had been married, was now divorced, and still half-living in the closet. Wilder had warned Tommy against doing that with him, warned him that it would only lead to him getting hurt, but Tommy swore to him that Charlie had promised. Promised one day soon they would be out together. Promised they’d get to tell people the truth. Promised the kids would know him as more than just Charlie’s army buddy. 

Those promises went on for a year before Tommy smashed what was left of his rose-colored glasses. Wilder was there with the alcohol and the metaphorical stitches to piece Tommy back together. 

The thing was, by that time, he’d promised himself that he and Tommy were better as friends. That they’d built something strong enough to withstand the passing glances and the hugs that lasted a minute too long, the pauses when they pullled away where he could feel Tommy’s breath on his lips and it stirred something inside him that he hadn’t felt since he was sixteen and dating Danny Coston, sneaking kisses behind the fieldhouse while they were skipping out on PE. 

He’d loved Tommy too much by then. As his friend. 

As more than his friend. 

And then one night, over beers and a pizza, Tommy was telling him this story about a rescue that Wilder still thinks was absolutely fucking stupid, rocking a helicopter between cliffsides to rescue a group of teenagers who thought rock climbing without gear in Griffith Park sounded like a fun idea. By some miracle, everyone had been saved, Tommy hadn’t crashed the helicopter, and it had made the news. What’s more, Wilder had been the first person Tommy had wanted to tell him about his suicidal save. 

Wilder had to kiss him about it, of course. That shattered whatever falsehoods Wilder was letting himself live in at that point in relation to their relationship. Tommy wasn’t experimenting anymore, and he didn’t need an education. He was out, he wasn’t interested in keeping secrets, and he wanted something real.

. . . 

The first year was amazing. Granted, WIlder never fell in love with the danger of Tommy’s job, but that was fine. He was in love with everything else about Tommy. He loved his personality, his face, his body, his hopes, his dreams, his willingness to be Wilder’s model on any occasion…he just loved Tommy. 

Year two wasn’t as easy. They were settled, talking about living together but not quite pulling the trigger. Wilder’s career was doing really well. He’d taken part in four exhibitions in less than a calendar year and there was a lot of attention coming his way. There were offers coming out of Chicago and New York for residencies and some teaching opportunities. 

There was a bad fire at a compound. Tommy got second-degree burns and had pretty bad smoke inhalation. Wilder hoped that after that, maybe he’d rethink his career. 

Things got worse. 

Still, somehow they found their way through. As they came upon their second anniversary, it felt like they were reaching the other side. There were still offers on the table for Wilder, and he had floated a few of them to Tommy. In return, Tommy had fully supported the suggestion for a three-month residency in Chicago. He would remain in L.A. during Wilder’s time away, but it was good for Wilder, and as Tommy had said to him at the time, ‘what’s good for you is good for us’. 

Except, the offers didn’t stop at Chicago. He was weeks away from finishing his residency when he was offered the opportunity to take part in an exhibition in Texas. What was supposed to be a two week trip there turned into four months, and their anniversary came and went with little more than phone calls and the occasional flight out for a twenty-four or forty-eight hours together. 

After Texas was Savannah, Georgia. Then Charlotte, North Carolina. Then a month-long trip to Florida with a few guest lectures at FSU. Eight months into what should’ve been the third year of their relationship, Wilder hadn’t seen Tommy more than fifteen days total. And the thing was, the love was still there.

But they weren’t in love anymore, and he knew they both felt it. Tommy loved his job just as much as Wilder loved his. Neither of them were going to give up their careers, and they weren’t going to ask the other to, either. 

It ended on a facetime call, just a few weeks before their anniversary. There were tears shed, although it was more a sadness at the loss of what they’d hoped they could be than it was at the actual relationship. There were ‘I love you’s. And then there was silence. 

. . .

The first time Wilder meets Evan Buckley, he’s barely been back in Los Angeles for a week. He’s set to start a residency for the summer and then take on a teaching position at UCLA in the fall. He’s supposed to be meeting some friends for dinner when the blonde man bumps into him at the bar, stammering out an apology with full hands as they turn to face each other. 

Evan looks at him with a weird expression that Wilder doesn’t fully understand at the time. He dismisses the bump as equally his own fault and then turns his attention back toward the bar. 

“Hi, baby. Sorry, I’m late.” 

That voice feels like someone just poured a shot of Jack Tennessee Honey down Wilder’s throat. All the heat with none of the burn. As he turns back around, he spots a familiar head of brown curls just as the blonde tilts up toward him, and then Tommy is kissing the other man. Wilder inhales a sharp breath. 

The thing is, it’s been more than a year. It’s been even longer since he and Tommy were something real. But something about seeing him kiss another man still stirs something in Wilder’s chest. 

Still, he decides it’s not his place. Not here, and not tonight. He steps away from the bar and moves down some ten feet, around the corner of it and in between a few people. 

. . . 

“So were you going to call me?” 

It’s been three days. WIlder is standing in the middle of an aisle at Blick, trying to decide between Golden and WIndsor Newton acrylics when he looks up. Tommy has a basket in his hand, half-full with small canvases and a fair amount of Liquitex. 

“Hey, T,” he greets cordially. Tommy smiles at him and then steps forward, offering him a side hug. Wilder accepts it, tucking his chin over Tommy’s shoulder. “Good to see you.” 

“I had to call your mom,” Tommy states when they part. 

“I was gonna call at some point,” WIlder states a bit sheepishly. 

“You always go with Windsor,” Tommy comments, as though he can hear the argument in Wilder’s head. “Forget Golden.” 

Wilder chuckles. “Sure.” He’s quiet for a moment, reaches out for a tube of Windsor Newton. As he stares at the unbleached titanium shade in his hand, he contemplates. He tilts his head after a moment, glances over at Tommy. “So. The new guy.” 

There’s a glint of something in Tommy’s eye that Wilder hasn’t seen in at least five years. Something he saw once, after their first drunken kiss. 

“His name is Evan,” Tommy replies. He lets out a soft sgh. “He thought I was introducing you two. Had a hell of a time explaining to him that I didn’t even know you were back.” 

Wilder nods. That familiar twinge of jealousy throbs in his chest, under his heart. 

“You sticking around,” Tommy asks him after another minute of silence. Wilder glances back up at him. 

“Got a residency downtown,” he replies. “And then UCLA in the fall. So I’ll be here, yeah.” 

Tommy nods. “We should get dinner. Evan wants to meet you properly.” 

“Sure,” Wilder says again. What else is he supposed to say? They’re not together anymore. 

“Give me call when you’re more settled. We’ll plan something,” Tommy says with a pat to Wilder’s shoulder. He’s walking backwards then, heading back down the aisle. He shakes a finger in Wilder’s direction. “Good to see you, Wy.” 

. . . 

The second time Wilder meets Evan Buckley, they’re in another bar. He’s been in the studio almost exclusively for the better part of a week and had been dragged out by a friend with the promise of carbs—his fridge might’ve been mostly empty, other than juice boxes and pepperoni slices—but carbs is apparently at a bar that doubles as a pizzeria. 

He’s not following them, he swears. But he’s been waiting for ten minutes on his pizza while his friend is on the phone with his girlfriend when Tommy strolls up to the bar with his boyfriend—Evan? Tommy has his arm wrapped around the younger man’s hip, head tilted in and listening as Evan prattles on with very animated expressions. Wilder isn’t even sure what he’s on about, but regardless, Tommy is nodding along, clearly invested. 

When they make it up to the bar, some five feet away, Tommy’s arm wraps around Evan, boxing him in. There’s a grin on his face and Wilder notices as Evan leans back into Tommy’s body, turns his head and says something into his ear. Tommy laughs, loud enough that the tinkling sound of it carries in Wilder’s direction. 

“Four for Buckley,” one of the barbacks calls out. Evan raises his hand and the man steps over with boxes of pizza. At the same time, someone from the kitchen yells out, “Veggie with mushrooms, light alfredo up.” 

Tommy lifts his head at that, leans back from Evan just enough to look around the bar before his eyes eventually fall on Wilder. He smiles at him. A few seconds later, he’s up next to Evan’s ear, and then Evan glances over in Wilder’s direction. There’s a half-second pause where Evan seems to be taking him in before he smiles affiliatively at Wilder. Evan picks up the pizzas and Tommy switches the arm he has around Evan’s waist as they stride over. As they reach him, another person is settling Wilder’s pizza in front of him. 

“So do you just hang out at all the best bars in LA,” Evan asks when they reach him. 

“Honestly, I’m usually locked up in the studio,” Wilder replies. He glances in Tommy’s direction, but Tommy is still looking at Evan. Still that look in his eyes. Evan moves a hand from under the pizzas and extends it. 

“Evan Buckley. Most people call me Buck though,” he states. Wilder extends a hand to him, shaking it. 

“Wilder Gray.” 

Evan nods. “I know.” There’s an expression on his face that’s caught somewhere between a multitude of emotions. A look that falls somewhere between curiosity, understanding, and skepticism. Wilder looks him over, spots the emblem on his t-shirt. 

“You’re a firefighter,” he muses. 

“And you’re a multidisciplinary artist,” Evan replies. 

Wilder nods. It’s interesting. It’s like they’re meeting for the most cordial duel of all time, but neither of them have brought guns; just clipboards and pens. 

A phone rings, and Tommy glances away from them. A moment later, he looks back up. 

“Hey baby that’s Eddie and Chris wondering why we haven’t brought dinner back,” he states, giving Evan’s hip a light squeeze. Evan nods, although his gaze lingers on Wilder for a few seconds longer. He turns then, leans into Tommy. Wilder watches as whatever tension is left in Tommy’s body seeps away. 

God damn. He really wanted to not be able to like Evan Buckley. 

“See you around,” Evan states after a moment, glancing in Wilder’s direction again. Wilder nods at him. As Evan and Tommy walk away, Tommy’s hand still on Evan’s hip, his friend strides back across the room 

“Hey, what’d I miss?” 

. . .

A few weeks go by without any run-ins. Maybe it’s because Evan and Tommy find other places to hang out. Maybe it’s because Wilder basically lives in his studio (it’s definitely not that). Maybe it’s because of wildfire season (it might be that). Either way,  Wilder doesn’t see much social interaction beyond his friends occasionally dropping by the studio and his parents stopping in to drag him into the sunlight. Once or twice he opens grindr, but nothing promising pans out. 

It’s mid August when Wilder spots them out together again. Another bar, another set of drinks. He’s been flirting with a guy who introduced himself three minutes after Wilder walked through the door when he spots Evan on the other side of the room. He almost thinks about going over to say something, but there’s a look in his expression. 

Something that looks curiously like defeat. Tommy is standing next to him—Wilder could place that mop of hair anywhere—talking into his ear much like he was that first night all those weeks back. He tries to look away enough to not make Evan look in his direction, realize he’s being stared at. But he sees the way Tommy’s talking calms Evan, the way he leans into him. The way their communication wipes out the defeat in Evan’s expression and replaces it with a small smile. And then a laugh. And then before long, Tommy has Evan half tipped on the barstool, their noses and foreheads pressed together as Evan straight-up giggles. Tommy is laughing with him, and fuck. 

Wilder really wanted to not like Evan Buckley. 

But Evan Buckley isn’t Mike, holding Tommy hard enough to hurt him (although the way he fists Tommy’s t-shirt before he kisses him makes a different kind of jealousy stir in Wilder, like these two probably throw each other around a bedroom with ease, and he wants to see that). Evan Buckley clearly isn’t Leo, just looking to fuck Tommy hard into a mattress and leave him behind. 

Evan Buckley might be a little like Ezra, and Wilder isn’t sure how he clocks that. Except, there’s an ease about him that Ezra never had. Evan Buckley clearly wasn’t looking for an education. The love in his eyes was obvious to the entire damn bar, whether they wanted to know or not. 

Evan Buckley definitely was not Charlie. He was openly making out with Tommy in public, hands all over the man’s body in a way that Wilder could tell was at least partially to tell the world ‘this is mine, and only mine’. 

. . .

It’s an early morning in September when they run into each other. Wilder is definitely not prepared for an eight AM class, and he’s questioning why he agreed to take this particular one on, but there’s no option to back out now. 

He stands inside the café wearily, waiting on his order, when the door chimes with ringing bells and he glances up. Evan Buckley. 

The blonde is in a hoodie Wilder recognizes as Tommy’s. The Harbor Station seal is on the back of it with his last name printed across the bottom. Evan yawns as he walks up to the counter and grabs two coffees. Knowing the kind of schedules they work, it seems Evan is heading home while Wilder is just starting his day. 

Except, Evan stops in his tracks when their eyes meet. 

“Evan,” he comments softly, acknowledging the other man. “Or, Buck. If you prefer.” 

Evan shrugs. “Evan is fine.” A pause. “Wilder. Its…convenient? To see you.” 

Wilder lets out a small chuckle. He nods. 

Evan walks forward a few steps, as though he’s not going to say anything further, and he makes it about a half-step past Wilder before he stops, leans back slightly, contemplating. He looks up at him. 

“He still talks about you,” he states. There’s no jealousy in his tone, no anger. Almost like he’s just putting the information out into the universe. Wilder nods again. He stares at Evan for a moment and then tilts his head slightly, almost like he’s letting him in on a secret. 

“And he’s in love with you.” 

Evan stares at him for a moment, and Wilder isn’t sure if Evan has realized that or not. His expression doesn’t let on one way or the other. 

Wilder takes a deep breath and the corner of his mouth pulls up a little into a small smirk. 

“Tommy never once looked at me the way he does you,” he states. “Not even during the best of it all. And me? I couldn’t ever fully accept the job.” He pauses for a moment, contemplating whether he needs to say more. Even if he doesn’t, he continues anyway. “I found him when he needed a friend. You founded him when he needed a partner.” 

A smile pulls at Evan’s face. If he has anything else to say, he doesn’t get the chance. His phone starts to buzz in the pocket of the hoodie, and he stacks the coffees together before pulling it out, answering the call, shooting only half a glance in Wilder’s direction before he speaks. 

“Hi, babe. No, I already got it. I’ll be there in like five.” 

. . . 

It’s the first week of December. Wilder is exhausted, maybe even a little burnt out, but riding high. His residency has panned out into an exhibition, and it’s the opening night. He’s been bouncing all over the gallery, trying to greet everyone and talk to them, see what they do and don’t like about the work presented. 

A hand comes down on his shoulder as he finally finds a few seconds to get a bottle of water, and he spins. Tommy. 

“Hey, T,” he greets cheerfully, if not a little weary. “Thanks for coming.” 

Tommy nods, and they share a quick hug. 

“How’d you hear,” he asks. Tommy gestures off towards one of the walls and Wilder glances over. 

“Evan saw the listing,” he states. “Told all of our friends we needed to come support. He’s really obsessed with that picture of your nephews.” 

WIlder glances over at the picture. It’s a large portrait, of two children facing away from the camera. One, old enough and tall enough that he isn’t even in the image aside from his torso and legs, with his hand resting on the younger one’s head. The younger child is a toddler, leaning into his sibling’s leg with his arm wrapped around it. 

“I’ve been tasked with getting your price list,” Tommy adds. 

Wilder lets out a soft huff as a smile tugs across his lips. 

He wanted to hate Evan Buckley. He wanted Evan Buckley to be like Mike. Or Leo. Or Ezra. Or Charlie. 

He wanted Evan Buckley to not be like him, not love and respect Tommy the way he did. But then…

Evan Buckley isn’t like Wilder. Evan Buckley supports the people his boyfriend cares about. Evan Buckley doesn’t care that Tommy is a firefighter or a pilot. Evan Buckley clearly likes art. Wilder barely knows him, and yet he already knows Evan Buckley is caring and selfless. 

He takes a breath and sighs, glancing back at Tommy, watching the way he watches Evan. 

“You’re gonna marry him.” It’s not a question. 

Tommy shifts his gaze back to Wilder. It’s the slightest movement, entirely imperceptible to someone who wouldn’t know otherwise. The twitch of the corner of his mouth, of his eyebrow. 

“Forever doesn’t seem nearly long enough,” Tommy says softly. 

Wilder can only shake his head at him as he smiles at his ex-boyfriend. 

“Well, when you start interviewing wedding photographers, I’d like to at least be consulted,” he states, extending a hand to Tommy. Tommy laughs at him but shakes his hand anyway. 

“Sure, Wy. But you should know, Evan’s seen your paintings and he wants one commissioned.” 

“I’ll take that payday,” Wilder says with a laugh. When Tommy lets go of his hand, he pats Wilder’s shoulder, and then he’s off again, heading back over to Evan and the friends they brought with them. Wilder stands in his spot a moment longer, both hands on the waterbottle he still hasn’t had a drink from. He watches as Tommy’s arm loops around Evan’s waist, and as Evan leans into him. The way Evan points at a portrait and talks to Tommy earnestly about whatever it is he sees. The way Tommy is completely enraptured by Evan’s words, nodding and smiling at him with interest. 

The way Evan puts his hand on the back of Tommy’s head as he leans into him, whispers into his ear. How, when Tommy turns into him to answer, Evan looks at him like he’s the only person in the room. 

The way jealousy still lives inside Wilder, but not the way it was that first night. No, this jealousy is from the way they look at each other, the way Wilder only hopes someone will hopefully look at him one day. He finally looks away when the two men kiss, cracking open his water bottle. He manages to get a sip off of it before someone else is walking up to him.

“You’re the artist, right?” 

[willieverseetheland]

flipside ch. 1

Dexter Morgan x PI!reader

based on this ask!

Summary: You're a private investigator hired to look into Dexter Morgan on suspicion of infidelity, but you uncover something much darker. Warnings: None for this chapter, but typical Dexter warnings in the future (death, violence, blood, etc)

"Are you gonna hurt me now Or are you gonna hurt me later?"

You took this job for a bit of quick cash; infidelity investigations are always fast and easy, but not this one. This one would lead you down a path you would never return from. You got in far too deep this time.

///

Sunlight beams through the sunroof of your car, it's a cool spring day in Miami. You moved here five years ago from Baltimore, Maryland. Although, you grew up around the ocean, everything about Florida is drastically different. You don't complain though, the weather is a dream compared to back home. You were a cop, a good cop, even reaching detective. After everything happened, it just didn't make sense to continue, as if everything was the same. So, you moved to Miami for a fresh start. You weren't really sure about being a cop again, it just didn't feel correct. But you missed the detective work, the investigating. Being a private investigator just made sense. Life has been good to you. You have a steady job, one that you're actually quite good at. You were scared you would never be good at anything again. You scan your surroundings, it's a nice, peaceful neighborhood. Parked in front of a small, yet cute little house, you're here to interview your new client. You're not hesitating because you're scared, you're hesitating because clients in her particular predicament tend to be very emotional, something you've never been too good with. You understand, of course. Cheating is a horrible thing, but comforting people has just never been in your skillset.

You exit your vehicle and make your way to the door, knocking firmly. A bright-eyed blonde-haired woman opens the door. She's gorgeous you can't help but think, who could possibly be unfaithful to her? She motions for you to step inside.

"I just want to thank you for coming, it's been really hard" she gives you a small smile, but you detect a hint of sadness behind it

"Of course, happy to help" you say, forcing a smile in return

"Well, I guess I should introduce myself. Rita Bennett" she outstretches her hand for a handshake

"Y/N L/N, private investigator" you reach out, enveloping her hand in a firm shake

She walks over to the kitchen table and has a seat, beckoning for you to follow. You sit across from her, resting your elbows on the table and interlocking your fingers.

"So, Rita, I understand that you hired me to investigate your boyfriend for infidelity. Could you tell me some details about that?"

"He's in recovery, for drugs, and his sponsor is a woman. I know that men and woman can have relationships that aren't sexual, but he's been acting suspicious. He's out all hours of the night, he hardly calls me, he spends most of his free time with her. I know they could just be doing step work, but can you blame me for being suspicious?" she sounds exhausted, like she's been struggling with this for a while with no one to talk to.

"Well, those are definitely typical signs of cheating. Could you provide some details about him, so I know who to look for, and possibly a photo as well?"

"Of course, his name is Dexter Morgan. He's a blood spatter analyst at Miami Metro Police Department. He drives a blueish gray Ford Escape. Here's a photo" She slides a picture across the table, it's the two of them together, they look happy. You analyze the photo, studying his features, trying to burn them in your mind.

"What about his suspected mistress, could you tell me some things about her?"

"I don't know much; I've only seen her a few times. She has black hair, dark eyes, probably about 5'6 or 5'7, slender, pale. Beautiful. Pretty much the opposite of me." She looks down, you can see the hurt in her eyes.

"But I don't know where she lives or what she does for work, sorry" She looks up to face you, a single tear falling down her cheek.

"Um, that's okay, you've told me enough to identify her. Thank you." you give her a somewhat pained smile; you'll admit you're feeling a bit uncomfortable now that the waterworks have started.

You stand up, reaching out to give her another handshake.

"I'll get on it immediately. I'll figure this out, I promise." you give her an assuring look

...

You decide your first move should be to go to his place of work. You set up in the parking lot, further from the rest of the cars but close enough to get a good view. You scan the lot, looking for his car. You spot it, now all you have to do is wait. It's only noon so you're gonna be here awhile. You pass the time by reading, snacking, and pondering your existence. You hear a car alarm chirp causing you to look up. It's Dexter in the flesh, getting into his car. It's go time.

You follow him, as discreetly as possible. He leads you to an apartment complex. You park a few rows away, again trying to be discreet. You watch him walk to apartment #10B. He unlocks the door and walks right in. You sigh. Must be his apartment. You debate whether you should wait and watch or if you should turn in for the day.

You remember what you're being paid for and decide to stay.

...

You wake up hours later, it's dark out now. You must've fallen asleep. You look for Dexter's vehicle but can't find it, he must've left.

"Fuck!" you exclaim, how could you have let this happen?

You get the idea to snoop around his apartment. You know it's probably locked but maybe you could look through the windows. It likely won't lead to anything but you figure you have to try something. Taking your camera, you head to his unit. Looking through the windows you don't see much, the lights are off so it's hard to see much of anything. It's clean at least, and well decorated. A bit rare for a man you think. As you're looking through the windows you see headlights shining from behind you, turning around to see Dexter's car pulling into the parking lot.

"Oh shit!" you shout while ducking down. You run to the other side of the balcony and hide around a corner. As Dexter is walking up the stairs you notice he looks a little disheveled. His hair is a mess and he's sweaty. That could be something you think. You pull out your camera and snap a few photos. The lighting is horrible right now, but you have to work with what you have. You sneak back to your car, praying he doesn't see you. You know these pictures don't prove anything but they're a step in the right direction. You decide to turn in for the night, hoping you'll find more tomorrow.

...

You wake up bright and early the next morning to get a head start. From what Rita has described, Dexter seems pretty dedicated to his job so it's not likely that much will happen before or during the workday. However, maybe you could catch him on his lunch break. Would be a perfect time to pay his side piece a visit. You grab a coffee and head over to Miami Metro PD. At around 11:40 you see Dexter exit the building. He gets in his car and you're tailing him yet again. He stops at a diner; you make sure to park a few spaces behind him as not to draw attention to yourself. He sits outside, perfect. You watch him closely with your camera ready. He sits in solitude for a few minutes, but wouldn't you know it, soon a slender dark-haired woman comes to join him. You grab your camera, watching very intently. Waiting for him to slip up, get too comfortable. They seem to be having a pretty serious conversation, looking into each other's faces with emotion. The dark-haired woman reaches out and grabs Dexter's hand and Dexter places his on top of hers in return. You take quite a few photos of this, but it's not incriminating enough. You need something more. You continue watching them for a while, but much to your annoyance, nothing else happens. The two depart and Dexter returns to work.

Instead of sitting at his work waiting for him, you decide to watch his apartment. Maybe the woman will swing by, if she has a key then that will obviously be suspicious. You watch his apartment for hours but again come up with nothing. It'll be dark soon and Dexter hasn't pulled in yet. He could just be busy with something completely innocent, but it could be more. You drive by the police department to see if his vehicle is still there, it's not. You call Rita to ask if he's there and she says no. It's probably a lost cause but you really need a lead. You need to find something.

It's not that you want him to be cheating, that would be horrible for Rita, but you hate coming up empty handed. It makes you feel like an inadequate detective. You swing back by his apartment and he's still not there. Nothing else for you to do but wait. At around 2:00 am he finally shows up. Pretty late for a blood spatter analyst. He's wearing a different outfit than earlier, which could be a coincidence sure, but he's also carrying a large black duffle bag. You pull out your camera and take as many pictures as you can. Again, it could be nothing, but the circumstances are definitely weird.

Introductory chapter for this miniseries im doing based on a recent ask! I'm not sure where this is going to go but i'm excited! Also yes, the title is inspired by miss lana herself, the song was stuck in my head and i couldn't resist. I'll tie it in i swear!

[badaziraphaletakes]

We've got a wriggly one

Love a good "Ooh I'm probably going to make myself unpopular here" at the opening of an offensive post. We're off to a very good start.

If you have to preface your take with four paragraphs of disclaimers explaining how not-ableist you are, then I Have Got Some News For You

"Before you accuse me of being ableist"... I have literally never heard this phrase not followed immediately by a giant ableism, and this is no exception

"I'm not." That's not how this works. It's something we all have to fight against every day. No one is just "not ableist". We all have ableist biases that we need to work hard to be aware of and keep in check. If you think you're just "not ableist", period, end of story, that's concerning in itself.

Disabled people can literally still be ableist (and saying otherwise is in itself ableist). We’re all products of an ableist society, so we all have structural internalized ableism inside us. Just because you are not aware that you’re doing it doesn’t mean it’s not happening. It can be unconscious. It very often is.

"I've been a disability advocate for years, so I'm entitled to tell other Disabled people how to feel about their own representation" quit weaponizing your Disabled identity to oppress other Disabled people, also, I can already tell I literally never want this person as my advocate, ever

7. The Autistics never, ever need or want alltistics to speak on our behalf, so if you're not Autistic then you are most welcome to shut absolutely and completely up at your earliest convenience

8. “This is as close as I can come to being gentle"... I have an alternative theory, which is that OP could, in fact, manage to be gentle if they really tried. For example, I do not have to be scathing right now in this reply. I am doing it because that is a choice I have actively made.

9. "I say things that people misunderstand" is never a defense. Most of the time, it's victim-blaming. And by the way, if this isn't a defense for Autistic people (spoiler alert: it's definitely not), then it sure as hell isn't a defense for alltistics.

10. "This isn't meant to invalidate people's opinions" *Spends the whole post invalidating people's opinions*

11. "Unless the book specifically says x, y, or z, you're not allowed to... say that something is ableist" umm wow

12. If Autistic people say a character (a character written by an Autistic author, no less) is Autistic-coded, then yelling "no they're not" at us is a very concerning thing for someone to be doing. To anyone doing this, just think about a. Why you feel the need to talk over Autistic people about that and b. why it bothers you to have people say that character is Autistic. Seriously, take some time and think about it. And also - if you can't see how Aziraphale is Autistic-coded - how did you miss that lol? Also also - how is thinking a character isn't Autistic your "personal experience" of that character that you feel the need to cling to? ...That gives me the ick.

13. Calling someone out for doing something ableist is not "name-calling".

14. "If someone read one of my [books?]..." I'm assuming this sentence ends "I wouldn't want people deciding one of my characters was x, y, or z". Well, guess what? - If it's a book you're finished with, then it's out of your hands what people do with it now. And if everyone from the autism community is saying your character is Autistic-coded, then guess what? Congratulations, you inadvertently (or, I suspect, advertently in NG's case ^^) wrote an Autistic-coded character! Seriously, take some time to read about what "coded" means and how characters are coded as Autistic. We're not saying Azi and the Starmaker are literally, conically Autistic. We're saying they're Autistic coded. And we’re saying he has autistic traits that autistic people identify with, and calling him selfish or cruel or lacking empathy or emotionally unintelligent (just a few of the common autism stereotypes that people have flung at Aziraphale) or things like that BECAUSE OF THOSE TRAITS is ableist.

When Aziraphale struggles socially and people call him selfish or stupid because of it, how am I (someonewho struggles socially every damn day) supposed to take that?

IN CONCLUSION: In trying to tell marginalized communities why we're wrong to think certain takes are offensive, people invariably end up just saying a bunch more offensive things - and in doing so, prove exactly the point we were trying to make in the first place.

[yanxidarlings]

YANDERE HP GOLDEN ERA: SLYTHERIN BOYS X DORMMATE READER PT2

so more of the slytherin boys was in the lead last night and inspiration struck, but i still will be doing whichever option has the most votes by the end of the week, and eventually i'll probably have all of the concepts up, if you haven't already you can vote here.

so i did more reading up on mattheo and lorenzo, and i honestly don't know where to pick up from, i'm thinking of making this my main concept for yandere hp and building on it.

the last post specified the darling as the dormmate of our dear slytherin boys here, but many of the headcanons can be applied to a fem darling, or darling from another house. it's quite intriguing to imagine someone who had grown up close to draco, theo, ect. getting sorted into a different house; i can honestly see this being a trigger for the boys' yandere tendencies to develop.

sure theo was attached before, but he had never even entertained the possibility of not getting sorted into slytherin together. and what do you mean the darling won't be there to knock draco down a peg when he won't stop talking down to goyle?. how is blaise supposed to get through seven years of not watching his darling everynight whilst they sleep?

i might expand on this in my future ravenclaw (possibly hufflepuff) posts. for now i want to delve into the individual yandere characteristics of each slytherin (i'm considering adding pansy, adrian, other slytherins) to the concept if anyone else is interested.

DRACO MALFOY (cast tom felton):

i think i've made it painfully obvious draco is alot to deal with as a yandere. he's got a bit of everything and even more; but overall, he is overwhelmingly obsessive. his obsession is driven by irrepressible thoughts of his darling. ever since he was a child, separating from them has simply felt wrong, i think he's likely to have known the darling the longest, perhaps having grown up close to them.

maybe his darling is a member of the black family, or a lestrange, or hails from another prominent family, thus he has been brought up closely next to them.

there's no one he feels more comfortable around, his darling is his home, which would be sweet if he weren't willing to kill and maim others to keep his darling with him.

his darling was probably hoping, praying to get sorted into any house but slytherin, it didn't take a ravenclaw to know draco would only get worse if they shared a dorm/common room. immediately, he claims the bed next to his darling, and already has pestered his father into arranging them a private dorm together, but that old oaf dumbledore refused because "all students must be treated equally." what bullshit. if you ask draco.

he won't let his darling interact with anyone "don't lower yourself and associate with the likes of them" and socially isolates them. don't you dare wander off, it'll end in the biggest tantrum, and don't even think about dating, the entire slytherin dorm will implode on itself.

draco needs constant attention, his darling is all he thinks about so he expects them to only think about him as well. you'll quickly learn that it's best to give draco the attention he wants. it's not that he plans to give his darling a hard time, but he becomes moody, both mean and clingy at the same time. he'll have his arm around his darlings waist whilst accusing them of being a blood traitor, and attacking their insecurities, then a few hours later he crawls into bed whispering sweet nothings.

it leaves his darling on the edge, because sometimes these mood swings happen even when paying him the attention he so desperately craves.

this could lead to his darling keeping a facade up in front of him, so he has less ammunition during his mood swings, but if he suspects his darling of not being as open and comfortable around him as he is them, all hell breaks loose.

THEODORE NOTT (fancast lorenzo zurzolo):

but he's not as sensitive about his darlings perception of him as theo is. perhaps sensitive isn't the correct word as much as demanding. theodore demands his darling be open and honest with him, he wants to know about every ache and thought they have. however he is best characterised as a possessive yandere. above all he cannot live with the thought of sharing his darling with anyone.

sharing, in theo's mind, is anyone even casting a glance upon his darling. why isn't his company enough? why does his darling have to interact with undeserving rodents like malfoy, potter and the weasleys? he would completely abandon his life outside of his darling if they just asked would anyone else do that for them? no!.

they're the person that matters most to him, and he wants to be the only person his darling cares about as well.

theodore has likely known his darling since childhood, perhaps they shared similarly harsh parents/guardians, and bonded over that. it would make it all the more easier to theo to manipulate them into staying close to him.

his company is not as dreadful as draco's, and he doesn't demand physical affection and praise as much as the latter does, not if his darling is not willing. but there is still a part of him that yearns to press up against them and never let go.

he simply cannot handle his darling distancing themselves from him, and is quick to resort to threats, blackmail, emotional manipulation, anything that he thinks will keep him and his darling close.

he is another one who will shamelessly confess his love and attraction to his darling, and has already 'claimed' them in a strange way; everyone at hogwarts seems to identify theo out of the slytherin boys as the one the reader is 'dating', to theo's delight. his darling doesn't have to agree with the rumours or even think of them as a couple, as far as he's concerned, they've been together since they met.

MATTHEO RIDDLE (fancast benjamin wadsworth):

the only one who i imagine the darling meets when they start at hogwarts is mattheo. whichever year he starts at hogwarts, he's immediately intrigued by them (for whatever reason). maybe the rest of his dormmates take poorly to his blood status, and the darling is the first to welcome him, or maybe ol' moldy voldy has tasked him with extracting something from the reader.

no matter what jumpstarts his obsession, it develops at an alarmingly fast rate, one week he's glancing over at them in class, the next he's invading their thoughts whilst they sleep and following them in the halls.

his darling likely won't take too easily to his sudden interest in them, they've already been dealing with several unsettling slytherins for years, and are probably always on guard.

not like mattheo cares. if he wants to be close to them, he will. he knows draco and his gang have to treat him with courtsey if they want their families to stay in the dark lords good graces, as does his darling. so he inserts himself (quite violently) into his darlings life.

it should be harder than it is considering his short temperament and his darlings cautious nature, but he's able to understand his darling on an intense level due to his inherited legilimency.

no matter how uncomfortable his darling is around him, he can just invade their mind and lock them in a room with him if he wants to spend time with them. and he always gets what he wants.

he seldom reveals that he is reading their mind, lest they feel the need to develop occlumency. it also gives him a kick knowing their raw thoughts, he could never even say a word to his darling and still know them better than anyone else does. including the other slytherins.

deep down mattheo's incredibly insecure about his connection with his darling; out of theo, blaise, goyle, enzo, draco, he's known them for the least amount of time. he's the only half-blood. he's evil incarnate son of the dark lord himself. he'd only bring them pain and suffering but he can't bring himself to let go of them either.

whilst theo, draco, enzo and even goyle will confess their affection for their darling, and perhaps admit to what they've done, mattheo will only do the latter, and does not provide any context as to why he hexed weaslette after the darling complimented her quidditch skills, nor will he elaborate on why he must take showers at the exact same time as his darling everyday.

BLAISE ZABINI (cast louis cordice):

blaise shares his concealed affection for the darling. you could be none the wiser to his deep seeded affetion for you for years only to suddenly be told that he's your betrothed and now he refers to himself as your fiance and invites you to sleep in his bed as if it's the most normal thing ever.

among them all, blaise is the most calm and calculated. he knows that following his darling around and monopolising their interactions makes him look bad but sometimes he just can't help it. he has to sneer at granger who the darling got paired with in potions, and make remarks about how disgusting muggle and mudbloods are.

but he doesn't think he's better than muggleborns; he thinks he's better than everyone. i think blaise is the most likely to develop an obsession for a shallow reason, maybe the readers is aphrodite personified, hails from a prominent pureblood family that his mother is encouraging him to marry into or is incredibly intelligent, their actual character couldn't matter less to him. from the moment he decides they're his, they're his.

blaise is uniquely one of the only ones who actually wants his darling to love and show him affection of their own accord (meaning he would be nice enough to give them amortentia).

he wants them to be happy, but he also wants them to be entirely dependent on him. he takes on a sort of big brotherly role, he encourages them to eat and sleep well. he wants to be the one they ask opinions on outfits, schoolwork, ect. he thinks if they rely on him for everything, it'll be impossible for them to leave.

LORENZO BERKSHIRE (fancast louis patridge):

out of all of them, enzo is by far the 'softest', as mentioned in the previous post, he's the 'sane, normal' one out of all of them. he doesn't act strangely creepy (sorry blaise it's true), disturbingly controlling (don't deny it mattheo), possessive, obsessive or devoted to them. he comes across as the 'best friend', the sidekick in every romance novel that offers advice and stays out of the drama.

this is because he initially see's his fixation on his darling as nothing but a desire to protect them from those lunatics he and his darling call 'friends'. but why does his heart drop when he see's them getting pulled into a room by mattheo, or when blaise stares at them as if they are a veela. it's not jealousy it's concern for his poor mate. yeah, that's it.

and why can't he stand to be left out of their attempts to evade the others, or when they don't confide in him, whether their troubles are slytherin related or not.

he's probably the only one who realises how messed up what they all do is, the rest justify it, but when enzo eventually gives in to his obsession he doesn't pretend to be in the right. he's apologetic but he just can't let them go.

the only thing that would set him off would be them distancing themselves from him. he can handle sharing, but the idea of his darling avoiding him, not viewing him as the safe haven from the rest really drives him to insanity.

i also think lorenzo would be the one who convinces everyone to share their darling once shit hits the fan and everyone wants to take the reader for themself.

GREGORY GOYLE (cast josh herdman):

goyle is honestly just happy he gets to be around his darling. yeah, it would be nice if he could have them to himselves, and not just be a lackey for draco to sabotage the others. maybe his darling treats him with a bit more benevolence and he's grown attached to them over the years.

always willing to lend a helping hand, i think he's the least possessive out of all of them, and is best characterised as a devoted yandere. whilst the rest of them want to maintain some level of control over the reader, he's content just being near them. he doesn't even have to talk to them but it's a plus.

i wonder if he's actually as bad at school as he acts or if he just doesn't bother listening so that the darling has to dedicate time to tutoring him. no one knows.

goyle will really have to fight tooth and nail to be apart of the sharing arrangement enzo, draco, theo, mattheo and blaise somehow eventually come to. (that i will expand upon in a future post because this is getting long).

[muddyorbsblr]

reckless girl pt2

See my full list of works here!

Part of the 500 Follower Celebration Requested by: @holdmytesseract

Summary: Magnus, along with the rest of the station, launches into an all-hands investigation to find you, desperately hoping that he's not too late

Pairing: Magnus Martinsson x Reader

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: mentions of blood; sad bb Magnus hours; kidnapping; restrains (not the fun kind); non-consensual touching (not our bb Magnus he would never); more physical injuries; gun mentions and use; mention of painkillers (morphine) [let me know if I missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: established relationship

There were only ever a handful of times in Magnus' career so far where he felt he couldn't stomach a crime scene. Those few occasions involving the most gruesome of acts that a human being could have ever been subjected to.

However, despite how comparatively routine the scene looked when he arrived at your apartment, he found himself clutching his stomach, feet unable to move, upon laying eyes at the blood on the floor. Your furniture was all askew, signs of a struggle littered all over the now crime scene.

It was all he could do not to burst into tears when officers were placing crime scene tape over your front door.

Kurt clapped a hand down on his shoulder, trying to steady him. "Magnus, you sure you don't want to sit this one out? You're in no shape to work this case, this is your--"

"I have to find her, Kurt," he cut the senior detective off, doing his best to steel himself. "I have to know she's alright. Make sure she's safe again. She--" He choked on his own words, the lump in his throat making it near impossible to speak. "She's my whole world, I need her back."

Wallander sighed, knowing too well the feeling of helplessness that your boyfriend felt in every bone in his body at the moment. That he couldn't just do nothing and wait on a bunch of people that didn't care for you the way that he did to find you. "Very well, then. But you're not stepping foot in that scene. For your own sanity."

"Understood." He didn't want to be inside your apartment in the state it was in, either. That place was more a home to him than his own place; it felt so wrong having to process it like it was just another day at work. "I'll question her sister, see what she knows."

"The man that Y/N put in the hospital. The pick-up artist. Start there. If we know more about the people in the group he's in, it might give us a lead to where she coulda been taken."

Magnus blinked back his tears and made his way to your sister Stella, her eyes wide as saucers with worry and shock as she saw the detective. "I was really hoping we'd be meeting under happier circumstances. My sister speaks quite highly of you, I've never seen her so in love."

"We're going to find her," he said, trying to reassure himself as much as her. "What can you tell me about the man she fought two nights ago?"

She scrunched her face in an eerily similar way that you did whenever you were confused or trying to recall something. "Really not much to say about him, just a regular looking fella, but one of the guys he was with…he kept on talking about his father having connections and how he's gonna 'avenge his mate for what Y/N did to him'."

"Can you describe this friend of his?"

"I'll do you one better." She tapped away at her phone before handing it over to him, showing him a photo. "This is him. Marcus Ferguson. Menace to society touting around Daddy's money and power."

Magnus' blood ran cold. They'd been after Ferguson for the better part of a year, a prime suspect in the kidnapping and trafficking of women and girls from as young as 13. The heart-wrenching part was that they could never get their hands on the smoking gun that would put him away for good, and the victims that they'd managed to rescue were too afraid of retaliation from him and his family that they'd never bring themselves to testify.

And now he had you.

The details that Stella gave him led him to the restaurant you two were at the evening before last, and the owner more than happily volunteered the security footage from the time you two were in there and Ferguson's friend got into the altercation with you. He watched with a mix of fury and pride seeing how you held your own and ultimately brought the sleazy excuse for a human being down on the ground coughing and bleeding, curled into a ball.

Then Ferguson hung around close enough to the patrol car as you were getting arrested that he got your full name, and then he made a call, saying something to his friend before he was brought to the hospital to be treated. The words he mouthed on screen had the detective's pulse thundering in his ears, panic flooding his system.

"I'll have her by tomorrow night. She'll pay for what she did to you."

He was restless as he showed the station the footage from the restaurant, Kurt giving him the floor to address his fellow detectives and officers. "This is enough cause to believe that Y/N Y/L/N is in grave danger. We know what Ferguson is capable of. We know the damage he deals to his victims, and that's only the ones that we've found. It is imperative that we find her as soon as possible. Alive." His voice broke at the last word, the possibility of finding you anything other than that crushing him into pieces.

"Alright everyone, put all your cases on hold, this takes top priority," Wallander addressed the station. "I want eyes on Marcus Ferguson, someone find him and bring him in for questioning. We also know that his father Jeffrey owns over a dozen warehouses all throughout Ystad, more than enough for his so-called philanthropic efforts. Someone look into them, starting with the ones near the coast. Call them up, and tell me which ones don't answer the call. Get an officer to pay those warehouses a visit. Find Miss Y/L/N. Bring her back here alive. You have your orders."

It didn't take long before a more junior detective spoke up. "I have something. One of the warehouses didn't pick up the phone, and their registration documents show that they should be active and have a receptionist during office hours. And it's a five minute drive from there to Sandskog."

That was enough to get Magnus out of his seat and gearing up. He double checked to see that the magazine of his pistol was fully loaded.

"I'm coming to get you, sweetheart. Hold on for me," he whispered, hoping more than anything that when he wouldn't be bringing you out of the warehouse in a gurney and not a body bag.

The last thing you remembered was reaching to pick up a knife from your kitchen counter, hearing the distinct sound of another person breathing, along with another heartbeat, from within your apartment. You lived alone, and Stella was still at her hotel when you got off the phone with her just a few minutes ago. Right as you stepped into your apartment.

Then a rag went over your mouth, and a smell akin to ultra-concentrated alcohol flooded your nose. And everything went black.

When you opened your eyes again, the first thing you noticed was that you couldn't move. Your hands were bound behind your back with something twining and abrasive. Rope. You weren't gagged or blindfolded. Your legs were immobile as well, each ankle roped to a chair leg. "What the--"

"Oh goody you're awake," a male voice filled the vast space you were held in. It looked like a warehouse, fairly maintained but empty. The faint sound of waves outside told you that wherever you were, there was a beach nearby. "You're a strong one, aren't ya, little bitch? First you put one of my best mates out of commission for who the fuck knows how long, and then you put one helluva shiner on me."

Your kidnapper approached you and grabbed the bottom of your face, nails digging into your cheeks deep enough you could feel the skin breaking. It also gave you a good enough view of who had taken you hostage.

"You're Ferguson's boy, the brat," you spat at him. "Never had to work a day in his life. Spends his time being a nuisance to womankind."

"I prefer the term gift, poppet." Your stomach lurched at the name. "You're lucky that pretty lil face o' yers is enough to make me consider delaying killing you. Craig went for the wrong 'un--"

"Craig, huh?" you cut him off. "So that's the name of the wanker with the weak ass swing. Tell me, Little Ferguson, do you surround yourself with weak little boys to make yourself seem stronger? Make you seem more like a man?"

That seemed to have struck a nerve. Typical. "I'll show you a man, you little cocktease," he snarled at you, panic flooding your system when you felt his hand on your inner thigh, thick and inelegant fingers creeping higher. "Maybe I'll ruin you before killin' you…"

You squirmed in your seat, trying to throw him off as best you could, your efforts falling short from the rope binding you to the chair. He only snickered in response, his hand traveling up higher which made you throw your head back and butt him on the face as hard as you could.

He stumbled back and landed on his bum with a faint smack, groaning as he held his nose. A fleeting relief washed over you knowing at least you got him to stop from touching you.

That relief, however, was short lived, the entitled bratty excuse for a man stomping over to a golf bag by the exit and picking up a golf club, a heavy one from how he groaned and whined as he tried to lift it above his head, like he was practicing. "You fucking bitch, I just had that fixed!" he bawled, now stomping over to you.

"Please, from where I'm sitting it's an improvement," you sneered. "Gives you some much needed character."

He pointed his club at you. "You're on borrowed time."

"Well hey, do me a favor and run the timer down already because if I have to spend one more agonizing second lookin' at your ugly mug--Agh!"

Your words finally sent his fragile ego off the edge, swinging the golf club back to strike you across your forehead and making everything go black.

The last thing you remembered was the sound of the heavy door to the warehouse being slid open. A commotion.

Gunshots.

And then a voice. Probably the most angelic voice you'd ever hear in your life.

Magnus.

When Magnus and the rest of his team arrived outside the warehouse, Kurt had to physically hold the younger detective back from storming into the place without cause.

"She's in there, Kurt!" he shouted, his desperation ramping up with each passing second.

"And if you barge in there with your badge and your gun without any probable cause the next time she'll see you will be on the other side of a glass divider during visiting hours," Wallander tried to reason with him. "We don't have Jeffrey Ferguson's permission to search the area, we need a reason before we can--"

The loud smack of metal against something followed by a woman's howl of pain sounded out from the warehouse, launching Magnus into action once more. "There's my reason."

When they threw the door open he could feel his heart drop to the ground at sight before him. You on the ground, a new massive gash on your forehead with a bump the size of a golf ball on the same spot. Marcus Ferguson with golf club in his hand, raised above his head ready to strike again. Before he could lay another hand on you, Magnus raised his weapon and shot three times, the booming sound from his gun almost felt loud enough to shake the empty warehouse.

He didn't bother watching Ferguson go down to the ground, rushing over to you instead to work on freeing you from your restraints, his stomach lurching at the sight of the rope digging in and reddening your skin. "Sweetheart," he choked, taking out a pocket knife and cutting through the thick ropes.

"Mags…?" you mumbled as he cut you out of your restraints, trying to be as gentle as he could manage with you as he eased the rope away from your skin.

"I'm here, sweetheart, it's okay. You're safe now." You instantly relaxed into his hold when he cradled you against his him, refusing to let you go until the paramedics got to you and loaded you onto the gurney. "I've got you."

You struggled to open your eyes when you felt yourself being laid down on a rather thin cushion, the sound of squeaking wheels and words that echoed your own arrest the other day filling your ears. You were wheeled into an ambulance, and you sighed in relief when your blurry vision caught sight of a head of blond curls.

"Mags," you breathed out, fingers twitching toward him. "Sorry I didn't show--" you said through slurred speech before he took your hand in both of his, pressing a kiss to your fingers.

"Shh don't you worry about that even for a second, darling," he spoke into your skin. "All I care about is that you're alive." You felt your skin get wet with hot tears as he kept kissing your hand. "I nearly lost you today."

"Still here," you mumbled, doing your best to squeeze back at his massive hand. "Not getting rid of me that easy, Martinsson."

Before you slipped back into unconsciousness, you heard him tell you, "I never want to be rid of you, my precious reckless girl. I love you so much."

The next time you opened your eyes, there was as rhythmic beeping coming from your side, your wounds had been cleaned, and Magnus was by your side. Hand wrapped around yours, slouched over on an uncomfortable chair, with his cheek resting on the mattress.

You tried to reach over, and run your hands through his curls to gently rouse him awake, but your other arm had a rather thick line in it administering what you could only guess was a pretty effective painkiller considering you weren't feeling the effects of the younger Ferguson's blows that much. You opted instead to squeeze his hand, your boyfriend letting out a tiny groan before looking up, his ocean blue eyes meeting yours and his free hand reaching up to stroke your hair.

"I'm going to need you to promise me something, sweetheart," he mumbled, trying to give you a reassuring smile despite the puffiness in his eyes.

"I'll promise you just about anything as long as you don't let them take away the painkillers."

"Promise me you'll try not to get into any fights until you have a license to carry a gun. I don't think danger will ever stop finding you, but at least I can make sure you're better equipped -- legally equipped -- to handle the next fucker that tries to harm you." He leaned over and looked at your face carefully before pressing the lightest kiss to a part of your face that wasn't cut or bruised. "Promise me, Y/N."

"I promise, Mags," you mumbled, your speech quite slurred. "What happened to Ferguson?"

"Intensive care," he answered, his jaw clenching before releasing his next sentiment. "Wish I'd gone for the head."

"No you don't," you shot back. "Too much paperwork."

He let out a hoarse laugh, his voice scratchy with the telltale sign of yelling and sobbing. "I'll make sure he spends the rest of his life behind bars for what he did to you."

"Hmph…self-proclaimed pretty boy like him surrounded by lonely men who haven't known the touch of a lover," you thought out loud, letting out a mirthless laugh before you echoed your assailant's words to you at the warehouse. "Maybe they'll ruin him before they kill him."

"Careful there," a voice spoke from the door way. Kurt. "Sounds like something he and his troop of deviants would say."

"Something he did say," you confirmed, wincing at the memory. "Right before he reached for the club."

"I'll kill him," Magnus seethed, his fury radiating off of him. "Kurt, please tell me we finally have enough to nail him. And his pathetic posse."

"We might," the older detective nodded. "But we need someone willing to testify against him--"

"I will," you volunteered, not taking another second to mull it over. "I'll testify. From how he talked I'm sure there'll be more just waiting to come outta the wood works. If what I have to say can give them the strength to want to speak up, perhaps we'll have the upper hand. No matter how much he tries to get out with Daddy's money."

Wallander gave you a singular nod. "You're a brave one, Y/N Y/L/N. Got the blood of a fighter, you do." He pointed a finger at Magnus. "You got yourself one of the good ones. Don't screw it up."

"Wouldn't dream of it," he answered back, thumb stroking gently across the back of your hand. "It better not come as a surprise to you that I'll want to take some time off. See to Y/N's recovery and all."

"I'd have twisted your arm myself if you didn't." He left the room, giving the nurse a curt nod as they passed each other.

"The doctor should be by in a little bit to check on you, Mrs. Martinsson," she informed you, giving you a warm smile.

Before you could protest from the name she'd called you, Magnus spoke up with a simple sentiment. "Thank you, Nurse." When she walked away, he looked at you with a sheepish expression in his eyes. "I might have fibbed a tiny bit so they'd let me stay in the room with you."

Your thoughts began to swirl more as the lightheadedness you felt from the painkillers mixed with how your heart swelled at his confession. "My gorgeous angel-faced golden retriever baby," you mumbled, making him give you a much wider smile. "Never took you for such a bad boy," you teased him. "What a pair we make…" You adjusted yourself in your bed, shuffling as far off to the side without disturbing the line in your arm and motioning your head to the empty space.

"What're you…?"

"Hop up, Mags," you tried to order him with a sleepy chuckle. "That's no way to sleep, and also I want my husband to hold me."

He climbed on to the bed, holding you gently as he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. "Sleep, sweet reckless girl," he whispered, finally feeling like he could breathe easier now that he had you safe in his arms.

"Y/N Martinsson," you mumbled with a yawn, snuggling against his chest, so sleepy you didn't hear how his heart began to sprint in his chest. "I quite like the sound of that."

Magnus found it near impossible to breathe, his mind immediately bombarded with a vision of you in a myriad  of white dresses, walking down the aisle to him. Exchanging vows. Becoming his wife. "Careful, sweetheart. Any more talk like that and I'll go to the jeweler's the second you're discharged." He struggled to keep his tone light, doing his best not to wake you up.

"Hmph, don't," you grumbled. "Too expensive."

"What?" he breathed out, in complete disbelief at what he was hearing. "You would marry--No. Not right now. We'll talk about this when they take you off the morphine, darling."

"No need," you murmured as you snuggled closer to him. "I'd marry you tomorrow with a ring pop and a jukebox at the hospital chapel, Magnus Martinsson."

Your breathing evened out after that, leaving your boyfriend to process what you'd said all alone. He looked at your sleeping face, shakily pressing another kiss to the top of your head. "When you've fully recovered from this nightmare that monster subjected you to today, I'll make it real," he whispered into your hair, hoping that you'd hear him through your sleep. "I quite like the sound of Y/N Martinsson, too."

A/N: *insert fanfare sound effect here* That's another request done! And these two blorbos are safe and sound in their little bubble where no one's gonna fuck with them anymore 🥹💖 Now on to the next and lemme just tell y'all now…it's angsty and it's 3 parts and we're headed back to our stabby mischievous babey 👀

But before we get there…I might have something for y'all in the next few days involving Centrum Ad Hiddles…

In the words of Scooby Doo…ruh roh…😳👀

everything taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @peaches1958 @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th  @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @smolvenger @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokidokieokie @lunarnights95 @superficialdomina @anukulee @kmc1989 @november-rayne @goddessofwonderland @buttercupcookies-blog

Magnus taglist: @vbecker10

[valdiis]

FFxiv Site Write #1: Steer

((Ah yes, Site Write. That time of year when I fool my followers into thinking this shitpost blog contains FFXIV content.))

The Shirogane manor house was a common gathering place for the monster hunters of Nightingale Company. Sure, everyone had their own places now and they didn't need this home for wayward souls - but somehow folks kept gravitating back to it anyway. Even Aeluan had his own little house on the beach in La Noscea. Although the manor held some bad memories for him now, it held plenty of good too. And it had the easiest access to Arli's cooking.

Aeluan was in the middle of availing himself of some of that cooking - leftovers in the coldbox - when Shev Mhalikh walked into the kitchen.

"If you're looking for the curry," Aeluan said as he closed the oven, "it's going in my belly in ten minutes. You're too late."

"Aww!" Shev groaned. "But Arli's curry!"

"Too. Late."

"I'll wrestle ya for it."

Aeluan gave Shev a squinty eyed look. At one time, he'd have taken that offer in a heartbeat, because even though Shev had been beefy, he was much smaller than Aeluan. That was less so the case now. Add in the tall ears and he actually topped Aelu by a few ilms.

"No deal. I got to it first, it's mine."

Shev crossed his - still beefy - arms across his - just as beefy - chest and pouted. Nevertheless, he watched as Aeluan dug out a bowl and a spoon and a fresh few handfuls of rice to cook on the stove.

Aeluan filled a pot with water and set about cooking rice to put his warmed-up curry on. For a few moments, the two friends stood in the kitchen in companionable silence. Aelu, for his part, was working up his nerve. He had a question. One that had been burning in his breast for days now and he could think of no one else to ask it.

"Hey Shev?" he blurted out as he stirred the rice gently.

"Yeah, Blue?" By this time, Shev was leaning a hip on the counter, arms still folded, as he watched his friend cook.

"You're into polyamory." It was a bald yet true statement. Aeluan didn't see Shev roll his eyes at it. "So. Hypothetically. What would you do if you came across two people already in love who showed interest in you?"

A brow shot up nearly as high as Shev's erect ears. "Tha's not a question I expected from ya. Why d'ya ask?"

Aelu quite studiously did not look up from his rice. "Just curious. What would you do?"

"I don't know," Shev answered honestly. "I've never come across a situation like tha'. Each one's unique."

"I know. Besides, I'm just asking what you'd do. Being a polyamorous person and all."

Shev studied Aeluan for a long moment. "Hypothetically," he deadpanned. He didn't believe it for a second. For his part, Aeluan didn't notice that fact. He was oblivious to Shev's disbelief. He was glad, though, that he didn't have ears like an Elezen to blush and give away his thoughts. Truth be told, the answer was extremely important to him. As his friend suspected, it was not a hypothetical question.

"Mmhm."

"I'd really have to get to know 'em an' see if it was a real interest, y'know?"

Aeluan stopped stirring for a second too long.

"Who'd ya meet?"

And that tell-tale blush that would've shown on ears (if he had them) found purchase on his tanned cheeks instead. "Nobody. It's just hypothetical," Aeluan said as he tried to steer the conversation away from reality.

"Mmhm." A moment of silence passed. "Is this abou' tha' courtesan Kismet mentioned? He said somethin' abou' you takin' a fruit basket somewhere?"

The big Raen made an undignified squeaking noise, like a mouse being trod upon. It sounded a bit like "No!"

Shev chuckled and shook his head. "Talk it out with 'em. Communicate. Tha's the biggest part. Make sure everybody's on th' same page, y'know?"

"But what if they belong together?"

"An' ya think ya wouldn't?"

"Hypothetically."

Shev snorted softly. "It's yer road t' walk, Blue. Ya won't know 'til ya talk it out with 'em."

The little timer next to the oven dinged and Aelu set aside the rice in favor of pulling out the reheated curry pot.

"Are ya sure there's not enough t' share?"

"I've seen how much you eat, Shev!"

(Shev belongs to @chocoblep!)

[the-sky-queen]

Here we are. One year to the day since I created my account here on tumblr. It feels . . . almost surreal. I don't exactly remember where I thought I'd be by this point, but I don't think I pictured this! I've made so many good friends here, seen so much AMAZING art, and overall just had so much fun. For every one of you who follow me, and even those of you who don't, thank you. You all make me so happy. I treasure each and every like, reblog, comment, and ask.

I'm sitting here in awe as I rapidly approach another big milestone here and I couldn't be more thankful. Back when I made this blog, sure I had dreams of finding an audience and connecting with some of my favorite people here, but I didn't get my hopes up. So many instances in my life of never getting picked for one thing or another taught me that the odds are low and not in my favor, but the community here is just so different. People are good. They're nice and supportive and they love it when new people show up. The beginning was hard. There are quite a few of my early posts that still have zero notes. But I've got people hanging around now that like what I make and that honestly means the world to me. I feel seen. I feel like I matter.

Thank you all so much.

I wanted to shout out a few of my mutuals real quick for a super special thank you:

@cattyanon was my first ever follower and it nearly made me cry when I got the notification. It gave me so much hope and joy. It took me way too long to follow you back, Catty, but I'm so happy that I did! your AUs are all so creative and fascinating. Thank you for being my first supporter.

@boom-fanfic-a-latta is without a doubt my closest friend here on tumblr. It all started when I stumbled across Lily's original concept post for Tachophobia. I was instantly obsessed and before I knew it, Lily was DMing me. The rest is history. :) Lily, I can't thank you enough for being my friend. Words don't do this justice. I'll always be grateful to you for caring so much about me. I love all our AUs together and I love writing them with you. Thank you so much.

I followed @totaleclipse573 for Eclipse and stayed for everything else. I love how we feed each other's angsty thoughts. XD Total, I absolutely adore your OCs and I'm so happy that you've taken interest in mine. We may not have a DM together (I suspect that's because we're both too shy to be the one to start it XD) but our interactions are still beyond fun! Thank you for being a crazy fangirl with me.

I followed @estellardreams immediately when I found her here after reading one of her Sonic Prime fics on Ao3. I was caught so off guard when I got the notification that you followed me back, Estelle! XD I instantly rushed to plan a Christmas present drawing for you. (Yeah, I drew presents for each of my mutuals. I only had FIVE then.) Since then, I've gotten to know you better and I've had an absolute blast with you. You single handedly fueled the Tachophobia obsession over winter break and it was so insanely fun. (Seriously, you were posting like three or more chapters some of those days!!! You had me screaming XD) Thank you from the bottom of my heart for being Tachophobia's biggest fan and such a supportive friend.

@skywriter97 reached out to me to talk about TMOM and I followed her soon after that after reading some of her AMAZING writing. The two of us are writing buddies, exchanging advice and feeding each other ideas whenever we need it. Girl, I can't thank you enough for letting me ramble about Immortals to you and fueling my obsession enough that I finally started writing it for real. Whenever the prologue goes up, I'll be shouting you out in the notes because it's because of YOU that I finally got moving. Thank you so much.

This isn't all my mutuals. I have more that I don't talk to as much, but even if I didn't mention you by name here, I want you all to know that you mean the world to me. Four of you are personal heroes of mine that I never in a MILLION years dreamed that I'd actually get to be mutuals with. The rest of you are all around EXTREMELY cool people that I am super blessed to have you in my life.

As I end out this post, I once again want to give a massive thank you to ALL of you for sticking around. And thank you so much for making this year absolutely incredible in more ways than one. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

[minty-fanfic-corner]

Not Enough (Tighnari)

..... I wrote something??? I WROTE SOMETHING?? It's a bit different from my other Not Enough fics, but I thought it'd fit too!

Anyway.

I've never talked about it here. I've been living with chronic pain for nine years now, mostly in my knees, but it affect a lot of my joints. I can't get a diagnosis, doctors don't know what is wrong with me and I am tired of being in pain. So what do you do in these cases? You write something to vent (yes, it is kind of a little vent)! Anyway, I might make one with Kaeya later just because .3.

I'm off to take painkillers and try to sleep now!

The Sun was already high in the sky, entering your bedroom through the window’s opened curtains.  Yet, there you were, still lying in bed. You were in bed, but you were far from asleep. In fact. you had woken up during the middle of the night, because of the pain, and you couldn’t fall back asleep. But you couldn’t bring yourself to get out of bed, or even sit up on the soft mattress; everything hurt so much. So there you were, eyes closed, trying to focus on something else.   Soon enough, you heard a knock at the door of your room. Tighnari’s voice was heard, calling out for you: 

“Y/N, we’re leaving soon for today’s patrol! Don’t be late!”

“I’m almost ready Tighnari, don’t worry!” you answered, finally opening your eyes. 

 You slowly sat up, every single muscle and joint in your body protesting. By this point, you were almost late, there was no time for you to eat. It wasn’t as if you were hungry anyway, the pain made it so your appetite was greatly reduced. You threw on your uniform and went outside. Tighnari had already started giving out the instructions for the day, so you joined the group, who was listening to him. By now, he was almost done assigning the route and partners. Hopefully, you didn’t miss your name… 

“And Y/N, you’ll be with me today. We’ll simply check the emergency food supplies around the trails.” 

 Working with Tighnari gave you mixed feelings. On one hand, you knew him well and knew how to act around him so he wouldn’t suspect a thing. On the other hand… He is extremely observant. If you did so much as moving your pinkie finger the wrong way, he’d notice immediately. Thus, hiding your pain from him would require you to play your role perfectly. Well, you weren’t too stressed about it. After all, this is what you had been doing for quite a while now, and no one noticed. You weren’t about to let others know today. And so, the other rangers left to their tasks, and you started following Tighnari to the first emergency food hideout. 

“Are you feeling okay? I didn’t see you come out for breakfast today.” Tighnari asked. 

 You were looking at your feet, but quickly looked up to look at him in the eyes, forcing a small smile on your face. 

“Yes, I’m fine! There’s no need to worry about me, master Tighnari. I just went to bed rather late last night, I slept in.” 

 Tighnari simply nodded at your words. He focused his attention on the trail, careful to avoid roots coming out of the ground. You followed his steps. 

“You know you can always come to me if you’re feeling unwell, right? After all, it is my duty to make sure you are safe.” 

“I know…” 

 You had overestimated your energy, and used it really quickly. Usually, you could go through your tasks without any problems. But today was different. The pain was too much, you had no energy and you felt horribly sick. The world was spinning and you felt lightheaded. As Tighnari was adding food in the hideout, you focused your attention on a bright, blue flower. Breathing in, breathing out. In, out. In, out. In, out… 

“Y/N!” 

 You jumped back as you felt a hand squeezing your shoulder lightly. You turned around quickly. Your eyes met Tighnari’s, he seemed to look at you with a worried expression. 

“Are you okay? I’ve called your name a few times, but you didn’t answer.”

“O-Oh yeah, I’m fine! Don’t worry about me!” you answered with a forced smile.

 You always forced smiles, but this one was painful. The world was spinning faster and faster around you, making you feel sick. The pain was becoming unbearable, you swallowed back tears. Tighnari’s lips moved to say something, yet you heard nothing. None of the words reached your ears, as the ringing became too much. You tried to tell him, once again, that you were fine. But before you could say anything, you felt your legs giving up and everything became black.

You didn’t dream about anything. You were just there floating in a dark sea. But even unconscious, you could feel the pain radiating in your entire body. You wished passing out would have at least stopped the pain for a while… Soon enough, you started to hear faint voices. Someone asking someone else to get them as soon as you’d wake up. The door closing softly as someone left. And a cold cloth being put down gently on your forehead. You didn’t even notice you had a fever. A few more minutes passed, and you were finally able to open your eyes. 

“Collei…?” 

“Ah, Y/N! You’re awake! I’ll go get master Tighnari, he’s super worried about you…!” 

 Before you could protest or anything, the young girl got up and left quickly. A few minutes later, the door opened again, but only Tighnari entered the room. You tried to sit up in bed, but he stopped you quickly, with a hand on your shoulder. 

 “It’d be better if you stayed laying down. You hit your head pretty hard when you went down.” 

“Ah… I’m sorry about that, it won’t happen again…” 

You didn’t dare to look at him. 

“Why didn’t you tell me, Y/N?”

 But his question surprised you. So much so, you snapped your head up to look at him. 

“Tell you what?” you denied. 

“About your pain.” 

“Pain? What pain?” 

“Y/N.” his tone was serious. “You’ve been acting weird for a few weeks now. You don’t have to deny it” 

Some tears started to fall from your eyes as you managed to answer something. 

“Because I’m not weak…” 

Tighnari took a few seconds, simply looking at you. Finally, he sighed and sat down, on the chair next to your bed. 

 “I know you’re not weak Y/N. But you can’t possibly win this battle alone. You know I care about you, right? And I want you to be okay. You can’t keep on going on like that. You’ll only hurt yourself more. Now, let me help you.”

[lossie92]

When Winter Comes - Emperor Madara AU

Ever since I posted this comic last year for @wisiaden's MadaTobi June Bonanza, I've been toying with the idea of making this AU into a fic, not just a short comic.

Thanks to Wisia and @kooriicolada who have graciously lent me their ears over the last few weeks, this fic is now officially a work in progress!

Hope you enjoy a small look into the story ahead. Please let me know your thoughts - I'm very curious! 👀

-

Warnings: a/b/o dynamics, descriptions of injury, implied/referenced abuse

-

Without saying anything, Madara approached the kneeling man, curious despite himself. Since the omega had his head bowed, it was impossible to see the expression on his face, but the trembling of his curled shoulders was more than enough to give Madara an idea about what the man was feeling.

In the background he could hear the crowd become lively again as it regained its ability to speak.

Madara listened to the cacophony of various complaints about the apparently cursed young man by the name Tobirama who, according to the whispers, was nothing but trouble and couldn't be trusted with anything. 

A blight on the lives of the other servants.

A demon child with mud for blood.

A disgrace.

Somehow Madara highly doubted any of these claims were true. 

Although he could see the evidence of Tobirama's apparent clumsiness in the form of broken dishes, spilled food, and a beaten up wooden tray lying nearby, he suspected Tobirama hadn't done it on purpose. The tray looked heavy and, considering the vitriol thrown at his head, it wasn't too hard to imagine someone actually tripping the man either. 

Madara couldn't say why he was so sure of this, but there was something about this obviously scared, beaten man, which made him believe he wasn't looking at a troublemaker, but a victim instead.

"Silence!" 

His voice cracked through the air like a whip and in an instant all was blissfully silent.

Perfectly aware that everyone was paying attention and probably wondering what he would do, Madara hooked his fingers under Tobirama's chin and gently lifted the man's face as he said, "Don't be afraid, Tobirama. You may look at me."

Tobirama resisted for a moment or two, clearly hesitant, before he looked up. 

Madara's breath left him in a rush. In all of his life he had never seen a pair of eyes more beautiful. Their almond shape and the long lashes surrounding them were more than enough to inspire awe, but it was their colour that truly made them mesmerising.

Red.

Red like the fresh blood dripping over Madara's fingers from the cut on Tobirama's chin.

The red of the Uchiha clan mon.

These were the eyes of the sun goddess herself, Amaterasu-okami. She, who had been the patron and guardian of the Uchiha family for generations; the one Madara prayed to each morning at sunrise. 

Like every Uchiha, Madara has heard the stories of how their clan came to rule over the Land of Fire. It was Amaterasu's Mandate that granted them this divine right and power. 

What was lesser known was the fact that every once in a while the goddess of shining heavens would send a blessing to the earth. The red eyes were believed to signify its arrival. The Uchiha considered people born with them a sign of good luck and of prosperity, and an encounter with a blessed individual was said to herald the arrival of a particularly opulent era.

Although Madara had always been a sceptic at heart when it came to legends, believing most of not all to be nothing other than hearsay, but he couldn't quite shake off the feeling that his meeting with Tobirama wasn't a mere coincidence.

Such beautiful eyes in a face this fair…

Even the still bleeding cuts and the distraught expression couldn't distract from their appeal. Part of it was for sure Tobirama's overall beauty. The few tendrils of hair, which pulled silver when light hit them a certain way, framed his face, only further adding to the enchanting picture he made. His features, Madara noted, were well-balanced and delicate, though sharpened by his unnatural thinness, and his skin was impossibly soft under Madara's fingers, feeling almost like the richest velvet.

To put it simply, he was a vision and Madara would be a liar if he said he wasn't thoroughly charmed.

Extending a hand to help Tobirama stand up, he asked, "Are you alright?"

The omega stumbled as he stood, hissing in pain, but Madara caught him before he could fall again. He was surprisingly tall, a bit taller than Madara himself. A curiosity for sure. Not many people grew to such a height and it was certainly an impressive feat. However, there was also no denying that Tobirama's height made it even more obvious how worryingly thin he was. 

His condition was a cause for concern to say the least and the way he was now leaning on Madara made it abundantly clear. There was really no point in denying that Tobirama was injured on top of being severely weakened and cold, his fingers like ice against Madara's own. It begged the question how on earth the man had been able to work up until now.

Without doubt he needed a healer and rest. Possibly food and sweet lemon water as well.

"Tobirama?"

Blinking owlishly, the man finally whispered, "I… I'm f-fine."

There was little doubt in Madara's mind that this wasn't the case, but it didn't feel right to question him further so publicly.

By all accounts he had been through enough already.

"Good," Madara said as he brought Tobirama's hands to his lips before blowing warm air on them to warm them up bit. When they felt less freezing to touch, he pressed a lingering kiss to each before placing them against his chest, right over his heart. "Now let us find you a healer, beautiful."

[justarandombrit]

@femslashfortnight 23rd June - Fake Dating AU - Lautity

I really have a weird love for Fake Dating AUs so instead of doing art for this prompt, I decided to write something. It's actually the first time I've ever written Lautity so just bare that in mind while reading. (Also I don't have Ao3 so it's just below the cut)

Steph had never hated her father more.

For a man who once asked the hospital to unplug his father's life support so the sympathy over his death wasn't overshadowed by a local football match, forcing his daughter to find a date for a school dance seemed like a comparatively reasonable request. To Steph, however, her father could've stabbed her and she'd have more easily forgiven him.

Just last summer he'd carted her off to Camp Idontwannabang to protect his precious reputation because sex was evil and scandalous, and now it was all “Stephanie, as the mayor's daughter you are expected to find a fitting partner for occasions such as these. The town will begin thinking I'm forbidding you from dating, and we can't have that, can we?”

When she, admittedly quite bluntly, told him about her plan to spend the dance hanging around with Brenda and Stacy, he gave her an ultimatum.

Get a date by the dance, or he'd pick one himself.

She severely doubted her father's taste in men, especially since he'd been near constantly talking about how well-respected Brad Callaghan’s parents were in town.

She'd joked to Brenda and Stace that he'd have her going with one of the Monroe boys, but between a bleach blond twelve year old, and the biggest prick of a Linebacker she'd ever met, Trent Monroe didn't seem so bad.

In all seriousness, though, those hypotheticals would never come to fruition. She was Stephanie fucking Lauter, for Christ’s sake. She had her pick of the school, even if it was just because her dad was the mayor.

Max Jägerman would've been a safe bet, if not for the fact that they'd dated in Middle School for the worst month of her life. Plus, the breakup was messy beyond belief and even if it was just to a last minute post-game party, she suspected this would be even worse.

Both Kyle and Jason were off-limits, and she knew it. For a start, Brenda would kill her if she even touched Kyle’s arm, and she knew Max would make Jason's life a living hell, since one of his rules for his entourage was “No dating my exes on pain of wedgy”. Also, Jason had always weirdly reminded her of her father. Gross.

Brenda and Stacy were both just bad ideas. They had the somewhat rebellious factor of getting a girl instead of a guy, like she knew her dad would prefer, but Brenda was still madly in love with Kyle, and Stacy was still madly in love with Brenda. Best not to make that love triangle worse.

Maybe she should look away from the popular kids. Her dad never said anything about who the person had to be, and she kind of felt like being petty.

Her dating that bowtie kid, the Spankoffski, was definitely not flattering to her father's town-wide reputation. He was also pretty cute, but everyone knew his brother went missing a few months back, and she didn't want to lead him on when he was definitely not in the right headspace for a romantic relationship. And that fact might garner sympathy around them and turn it into one massive publicity stunt that would actually boost the Lauters’ reputation. All in all a bad idea.

Flemwad and Shitlips (she was relatively sure those weren't their actual last names, but that was the only thing anyone ever called them) were both definitely rock bottom in terms of desirability, but she had the feeling that dating either of them would drag her reputation down into the gutter too. This was about embarrassing her father, not her.

All of the other background nerds were essentially unapproachable, since she knew next to nothing about any of the other lower status students of Hatchetfield High. Although, wasn't one of them an arsonist? Definitely not.

This left, in Steph’s eyes, one candidate. One choice so crazy it just might work. Hatchetfield’s resident prude, none other than Grace Chasity.

Steph knew she looked like a creep staring down the hallway at Grace as she handed out flyers. She hadn't seen what any of the flyers had on them, but chances were it was a petition to cancel the very dance Steph was plotting about.

It might've been easier to march on down there, pick up an information pamphlet and join in on Grace's protest, but none of the Chasity family's holy crusades ever seemed to work, whether it be shutting down weed farms, boycotting diners, storming arcades, or stopping school dances. People tended to ignore them. Which was why what Steph was about to do would be so easy.

She slammed her locker shut and jammed her hands in the pockets of her trousers, Max Jägerman style. Unfortunately, women's jeans have considerably smaller pockets than letterman jackets, so she probably looked slightly awkward.

It definitely seemed to have the intended effect though, since people in the corridor shrunk away from her as she passed.

She knew getting Grace to agree to go through with her plan was a long shot, and Max might kick up a bit of a fuss, but Steph thought that out of everyone at the school, she might be the only one Grace would even consider dating. The girl was practically obsessed with her, after all.

“Hey, Chastity!” Steph shouted, getting her name wrong on purpose.

Grace’s face lit up, and she clutched her leaflets to her chest with one arm, throwing the other up to wave excitedly.

“Hi Steph! Do you want to help me hand out flyers before Biology?”

Steph desperately tried to make her smile look forced.

“As fun as that sounds, I'm actually here to ask a favour.”

Grace cocked her head to the side slightly, shifting her pamphlets to the other arm.

“It's not about the History homework is it? Steph, you know I won't help you cheat. We could do a study session in the library though! My parents might even let me stay out until 6pm!”

Ignoring both how enticing that offer sounded, and how sad the last comment was, Steph replied, “No, it's not about homework, I'll just cheat off of Spankoffski, it was actually about the dance–”

Grace looked scandalised, which Steph thought probably wasn't a good sign, but carried on anyway.

“– I don't have anyone to go with, and my dad is totally on my ass about it, so I wanted to know if you'd be chill with going with me, or, like, pretending to be my date, or something,”

Grace took a deep breath, and Steph braced herself for the verbal smackdown. Why did she think asking out the most puritanical seventeen year old on earth was a good idea?

“First of all, butt, Steph, not hmmm” –Grace hummed to avoid saying the profanity– “and secondly, I don't plan on going to this devil-worshipping sperm bank of a school party. It's a football party, Steph, a football party. We didn't even win! The Timberwolves wiped the floor with us!! And lastly, I will not ‘pretend to be your date’. We're seventeen, we shouldn't even be thinking about that stuff yet! Why would I even consider that?”

Steph really didn't want to resort to this, but her brain spit out a response before she'd had any say in the matter.

“If Max thinks you're a lesbian he'll stop trying to carry your books.”

If Steph knew what the five stages of grief actually were, she'd have assumed Grace was cycling through them now. Instead, she thought Grace looked like she'd gone from seeing a ghost, to being flustered beyond belief, to having eaten a wasp, to completely unreadable. Somehow that was the scariest one.

Grace bowed her head and avoided Steph's eyes while putting her papers in her backpack. After she'd checked they were all in there at least four times, Grace hoisted her backpack back on to her shoulder and took a deep breath.

“I- okay. Okay. Okay. I'll do it.”

It took everything in Steph not to hug Grace right there in the middle of the hallway. Instead, she shot Grace a singular finger gun and, in her best dirtbag boyfriend impression, turned around and yelled back “See you at the dance, hot stuff!”

Judging by the giggling around her, she knew Grace was probably bright red, and definitely going to kill her. Worth it.

[mysecretlittlelibrary]

Just Let Me Adore You Pt. 6

Pairing: Stucky x Reader

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: okay so... it all goes to shit here kind of lol

Genre: angst fr

Summary: You’ve been dating your boyfriend, Bruce, for 3 absolutely blissful years. He’s a scientist and professor who is as smart as he is kind and if anyone asked, you were sure you’d spend the rest of your life with him. That is until two mysteriously charming men that Bruce swears are dangerous take an interest in you that threatens to turn your entire life upside down. I mean… what exactly are you supposed to do with two gorgeous men telling you something that suggests that basically everything you think you know is a lie? And why does part of you have enough doubt to wonder if they might be telling the truth?

Series Masterlist

***

"Mom- how could you not tell me?" You ask her forcing yourself to remain calm.

"Well, your father and I-"

"Daddy knows too?" You ask quietly because the idea that your parents agreed to keep you in the dark makes this whole thing that much harder to process.

"Of course he does."

"Why would you keep this a secret from me?"

"Because we weren't sure you'd ever turn."

"What?"

"In both your father and I we have a rare genetic thing, our wolf genes are dormant. Neither of us can turn- we thought, maybe you wouldn't be able to either and we didn't want the pressure of knowing that to affect you growing up. It can be very hard, being a wolf who can't be a wolf. We worried that if we told you that you would go through middle and high school thinking you were broken because you never turned. It's- wonderful that you have! I can tell you anything you want to know now that-"

"I haven't." You mutter.

"You haven't?"

"I haven't turned."

"Then- where did the question come from? How did you suspect you were a werewolf if you haven't turned?"

"I got clocked." You mutter.

"You got clocked?!"

"Yep. Some guys, near strangers, actually told me I was a werewolf. I've been mulling it over for like the past month wondering if it was even possible. I finally decided to just give you a call and put the whole thing to rest."

"Okay, wait strangers told you? How would they know?"

"They're werewolves. There are actually quite a few of them out here apparently mom."

"And one of them realized you were one?"

"Two of them but, it would appear so. And now I have a second problem."

"What is it baby?"

"These same men that told me I was a werewolf, told me Bruce has known this whole time." You say.

"Bruce your scientist boyfriend?"

"Yes mom my scientist boyfriend, who specializes in studying supernatural creatures. Would've been nice to know I WAS ONE before committing three years to him!" You huff.

"Wait you never told us he studied supernaturals. Why would you leave that out?"

"Because why would my human parents care about what he's sciencing mom?!" You scoff.

"You're okay with him experimenting on supernaturals as long as you aren't one?!"

"He doesn't experiment on them he does pretty much exclusively observational research as far as I know. Mom, what do I do if he's known this whole time and kept it from me? How do I even ask him something like that?"

"Be direct. And look out for the tells."

"Tells?"

"I know as a kid you had such sensitive hearing you could tell if someone was coming to the house before they even reached the front porch and I'm sure by now you've learned to manage that sensory response but if you can focus, you'll be able to hear his heart, hear his breathing change. If you can't focus watch for if he makes eye contact, or if he starts fidgeting, sweating, or pacing. Those are the tells of a liar. Plus regardless of if he's known all this time or not, I don't like the idea of you dating someone that treats our kind like lab rats."

"Okay well, I guess my life is imploding. I'll call you later. I have questions about this werewolf thing but I must first sort out the boyfriend drama." You tell her.

"Alright dear, take care of yourself hm? And tell Wanda I said hello." 

"HI MOM! BYE MOM!" Wanda shouts before you hang up.

"Bye Wanda dear!" She says and the call ends there.

"So- you're a werewolf. I was right!" Wanda practically squeals in excitement.

"Okay you need to calm down." You tell her.

"I need to calm down?! How are you not less calm?"

"I think I'm still in shock. Kind of. But also I've been considering this for a while now. Plus Steve and Bucky being right about this means they might also be right about Bruce."

"You really think Bruce knew you were a werewolf this whole time and kept it from you?" Wanda frowns.

"Believe me I don't want to but I have to consider it. He swore Steve and Bucky were delusional liars and- if they were telling the truth about the wolf thing why would they lie about Bruce?"

"So are you going to ask him?"

"I have to. Don't I?"

"Unless you have access to his research yeah."

"How would access to his research help me avoid asking?"

"Well, for him to find out even though you didn't know, he'd have to have run a blood test or something on you at some point and I'm sure he kept them on file somewhere."

"I'll just ask him. I wouldn't feel comfortable going through his files anyway."

"I dunno considering it's likely that he's been running tests on you fuck his privacy in my opinion. Do you have access to his research?"

"Technically, yes, but he takes his laptop to the lab with him usually. I wouldn't be able to go through it without him here. It'll just be quicker to ask him. Mom says I should be able to tell if he's lying about it." You shrug.

"Well there ya go." She says.

"Would it be awful if I waited?" You grimace. The thought of this makes your stomach turn.

"No, it's gonna be a tough confrontation you should do it when you feel ready. Although it's probably not good to let it fester. Can I ask what's holding you back?"

"If he's lying I need to be prepared to leave and I wanna have that in order first-"

"I can't believe you're saying that as if I'm not right here! Pack a bag or two right now and I'll take your stuff to my place. As soon as you find out he's lying head right out the door and come to mine."

"Wait- do you think he's lying Wanda?"

"How should I know?"

"You said as soon as I find out he's lying, as if he for sure is and it's just a matter of confirming. You think Steve and Bucky are right about this?"

"They were right about you being a werewolf. You said it yourself, if they weren't lying about that why this?" She shrugs. "I know you love Bruce but it's not farfetched that in 3 years with all he knows about supernaturals, he suspected you were one, like I did, but unlike me he did what he could to confirm that suspicion."

"Oh." You frown.

"I'm sorry y/n. I don't want to believe that he would do that to you, but you know I've always had my reservations about him."

"No I- I know. It's a valid thought. I mean Steve and Bucky were right about one thing and if I was so sure they were wrong about Bruce I wouldn't feel the need to ask him in the first place but- the ethics of his research have always been a point of contention for me so, I'm not surprised we're here anyway."

"Honestly if he's been telling the truth that's great, but what you should pay more attention to is how he reacts to the question regardless. I mean- everything you thought you knew just got flipped on its head he should understand why that would raise more questions especially since the source of one truth is the source of this information."

"I dunno he's been pretty agitated about this whole wolf mafia thing. Every time we talk about Steve and Bucky he's like in hyper defense. Sometimes it feels like he doesn't believe I can think for myself. If I'm not agreeing with him he says it's because I'm too naive or too trusting or whatever."

"That's- kind of ugly." Wanda mutters and you laugh.

"He's paranoid and he feels guilty."

"Guilty?"

"Because if I'm in danger it's because of his research all those years ago. Not that anyone has made any indication that I'm in danger it's just- knowing all of these supposed mobsters are in my social vicinity he assumes they're just waiting to strike. Circling me like sharks." You chuckle.

"If anything it seems like they're circling to protect though?"

"Bruce would have an aneurysm even trying to consider that possibility." You scoff.

"Okay well, pack some things. You don't have to take him on today but since I'm here we'll pack your evacuation stuff now and just keep it at mine til you do."

"Maybe I should be giving him the benefit of the doubt." You sigh as you pull your small suitcase out of your closet.

"I think you're giving plenty of benefit by bothering to ask him and not just assuming he's lying."

"Yeah but- packing like this? As if I'm expecting to hear a lie and need to escape?" You frown, folding up clothes and packing them into the suitcase without much thought.

"Hope for the best but prepare for the worst that's what you always say. I know it's hard when the worst is that your boyfriend betrayed your trust but it'll be easier to face if you're ready for that possibility."

"Right. Hope for the best. Prepare for the worst." You nod.

"So- if the werewolves end up being right about him, what's your plan with them?"

"My plan with them?"

"Yeah, like- will you go talk to them?"

"I dunno. I have no way of contacting them Wanda they just kind of appear every couple of weeks. It's not like I can go looking."

"I think you could." She shrugs.

"How does one go looking for werewolf possibly crime lords?"

"Well you said Peter knows two of their men?"

"Maybe. I mean Peter knows two of the werewolf mobsters yes but. That only helps if Steve and Bucky really are on top like Bruce thinks they are. If not the last thing I wanna do is have more werewolves looking for me."

"Hm, I guess dealing with Steve and Bucky can wait. First we deal with Bruce." She tells you.

"Yeah sure- I guess so." You agree and finish packing your things for her to take to her place. Despite Wanda's conviction on the matter, you don't have the courage to confront Bruce when he comes home that night. You have dinner and discuss his day and wind down together like you do every other night. You pretend that nothing is wrong and can I just say you are one hell of an actress because Bruce does not suspect a thing. In fact you sit on this information for days before you deal with anything and it's not exactly by choice. The bell at the front of the store rings and you greet the way you always do.

"Hello! Welcome in!" You call, looking up to see Wanda walking towards you with serious conviction. "Uh oh." You mutter.

"Hi Peter!" Wanda says without even looking for him knowing he works pretty much every shift with you at this point.

"Miss Wanda! Hi!" Peter pokes his head into view from behind some shelves. Wanda waves at him and then turns her attention to you with a point.

"You." She says.

"Me."

"You need to talk to him." Wanda says.

"I will! I just-"

"No no you just nothing. You've been sitting on this for over four days. What are you gonna do just pretend it's all okay for the rest of your life?" She crosses her arms. You knew this was coming, and to her credit, she has left you to your devices until now.

"No of course not, but- I'm not ready." You sigh.

"Y/n right now you don't know if you can trust him and that's something you need to sort out because a relationship without trust is like, jumping out of an airplane without a parachute. Death waiting to happen."

"Sorry I'm not eager to risk blowing up my entire relationship." You shrug.

"Newsflash the fact that you're in this situation at all means your relationship is probably already fucking doomed. Especially if the truth is what we're worried that it is, then your relationship has been over for a looooong time."

"Ouch." You frown.

"Honey if he's been lying to you this whole time then he thinks you're a fool. Do not let him make a fool of you.  When you get off work, talk to him or I will come to your apartment and accuse him myself."

"That is a terrible idea." You shake your head.

"I know, the point is to light a fire under your butt so you take care of it yourself. Because you know I'll do it."

"Why can't you just let me do this on my own time?" You pout.

"I wish I could but as your best friend it would be irresponsible for me to pretend that I'm okay with this ignorance is bliss act you have going on to protect your relationship with a man who we suspect is lying to you. All you're doing is wasting your time and I can't in good conscience allow that to go on especially because in a few months you'll probably bitch at me if I do and if I were in your shoes you would have my head."

"I know you're right but I hate you for it."

"You will thank me later, and I will maybe see you tonight. At the very least I expect a text or I'll be banging on your door by this time tomorrow." She leans over the counter and kisses your cheek before sauntering out of the store.

"What a terror." You sigh to yourself.

"Wanda left?" Peter asks coming up to the counter.

"Yeah. She only came in to yell at me in person so I couldn't ignore her."

"Yell at you for what?" Peter laughs.

"Avoiding my problems. Honestly Peter the best and worst thing you can do is have a best friend that will ride your ass because they will have your back but man is it annoying to hear when you're not acting in your own best interest." You roll your eyes and he laughs some more.

"I'll- keep that in mind. I don't have much in the way of friends honestly so, I'd say you're pretty lucky to have her."

"Aw come on Sam and Clint don't ride you about being responsible and shit?" You ask.

"They're barely responsible themselves." He snorts.

"Fine then I'll be accountability friend."

"You'll be my accountability friend?"

"Yeah! I'm already Wanda's. Usually. Right now my life is minorly in shambles so she's mine but we swap as necessary. I can do the same for you." You say ruffling his hair. Peter makes a face but he doesn't complain about your affection. He never does.

"I mean you don't have to-" Peter trails off.

"I know but, you're a sweet kid. I'm sure I've got tons of advice I can offer you." You shrug.

"Oh- I appreciate it. You've been real nice to me since I started here so, thanks."

"Of course Peter." You smile at him. The rest of your shift passes quicker than you'd like it to because now as you're closing up with Peter you're thinking about the conversation you now have to have with Bruce. When you unlock your apartment the smell of food hits you first. You kick off your shoes and walk into the kitchen where Bruce is pulling a tray out of the oven.

"Hey Brucey." You say.

"Hi babe, welcome home." He says.

"Thank you. What'd you make?" You ask him, setting the table for you to eat.

"Stuffed peppers and roasted potatoes."

"Sounds good!"

"You're just in time to try them." Bruce puts the peppers on a serving plate and walks them over to the table with the potatoes. The two of you sit down and eat together, mostly in silence, but eventually, when your plates are almost empty, you initiate conversation.

"So how was your day? Did you go to the lab today?" You ask him.

"I did yeah. Nothing terribly interesting happened really just analyzing data and whatnot." He shrugs. "How was your day? Any shitty customers today?"

"Not particularly, we don't tend to get a lot of those anyway. Wanda came to visit for a little bit but that's about all." You tell him.

"That's nice." He nods and you feel your heartbeat start thundering as you convince yourself to get to the point.

"Yeah. I need to talk to you about something actually." You say standing to clear your dinner plate. You feel like if you walk you can dispel the nervous tension you're feeling.

"Oh? What's up babe?"

"You know how Steve and Bucky said I was a werewolf?"

"Yes and we agreed they were delusional. Why? Did you run into them again?" Bruce shifts in his chair to look at you as you lean against the counter by the sink.

"No, I haven't seen them since the last time we spoke about them a couple weeks ago it's just- well I finally called my mom about the whole thing-"

"Why would you call your mom if their claims are baseless?"

"Becuase it was the easiest way to put an end to any doubt it's not that big of a deal, I call my mom for all sorts of things Bruce."

"I mean sure but it's a weird question to ask her since you aren't-"

"Except I am." You say, crossing your arms. You barely catch Bruce's eyes widen before he turns back around in his chair so his back is facing you. He takes his time pushing the seat back to stand up while you keep talking. "Yeah according to my mom I actually am a werewolf. She never told me because of a dormant gene in our family, but I definitely am one. Steve and Bucky were telling the truth." You say. Bruce clears his throat and walks over to the sink placing his dinner plate into it.

"Well how are you feeling about it? I mean this is sort of big-"

"What I want to know, is if you already knew." You cut him off backing up a bit to put more space between you.

"What?" He asks with a little chuckle that you think is nervousness.

"Steve and Bucky were right about me being a werewolf, so it begs the question were they also right about you knowing and keeping it from me?"

"Oh come on that's ridiculous, for me to somehow find that out and hide part of your identity from you? I can't believe you'd even entertain the notion." He shakes his head. You look him over carefully, considering your mother's advice. He's not sweating, but he also hasn't looked at you since you said you were a werewolf, he's not exactly pacing but you look down and realize he's rolling his fingers together. "Y/n, come on you can't seriously think that I'd deceive you that way can you? I mean these strangers get one lucky guess and suddenly you trust them more than me?" Bruce adds when the silence drags on longer than he'd like. His heart, focus on his heartbeat. You take another few seconds to try and pick it up. When you really focus like this you can pick up on so many things it can be overwhelming but you force yourself to pick up his heart rate and it's not as steady as it should be. Not full blown panicked pounding but definitely nervously fast.

"I don't know who I can trust Bruce." You say.

"Me! I've never given you a reason to think otherwise. You can trust me. Why would I lie to you?"

"It makes sense."

"No it doesn't."

"Yes it does. Your supernaturals research is your life. I mean you've studied enough werewolves, it's not impossible to think that you'd know you're sharing a home with one or suspect it and convince yourself it's necessary to investigate those suspicions."

"I can't believe you think I would do that to you."

"I don't want to. God knows I don't want to but it's hard not to when you won't even look at me. You haven't looked at me since I told you I was a werewolf and you always look at me when we talk. It's hard when I know how much supernatural studies takes up your life, I know you've tracked and trapped werewolves before so you obviously know how to identify one, but I'm supposed to believe you wouldn't be able to clock one sharing a bed with you?! It's hard when at every turn you tried to convince me Bucky and Steve were crazy. You swore it was impossible for them to be right about this and now look at where we are. The impossible is not only possible it's true. So if they were telling the truth about one thing, why not the other? And when I think about it, like really think about it, since the second 'lie' is dependant on believing the first 'lie'- if you really thought they were insane and lying to manipulate me, why were you so against me calling my parents to find out? I mean if you truly believed it was false a quick call to confirm that would've immediately dismissed the second lie and we wouldn't be here. Your continued objection doesn't make sense unless you knew they weren't lying."

"This is ridiculous y/n I love you, I would never hurt you-"

"If you're lying to me Bruce you've already hurt me. And the fact that you have yet to actually deny it is enough of an answer."

"ALL I'VE DONE IS DENY IT!"

"NO YOU HAVEN'T! You've said it's ridiculous, you've said you can't believe I think that, you've said you'd never hurt me, you've it doesn't make sense, you've said I trust them more than you, but you have not at any point said 'no y/n I didn't already know you were a werewolf and kept it a secret from you.' So yeah, I'll take that as a confession."

"You- you started this conversation assuming I was guilty."

"Do not turn this on me Bruce. If you can't look me in the eye right now and say you didn't know I was a werewolf and keep it a secret from me... I'm leaving."

"And going where? To those crime lords, y/n they do not have your best interests in mind. You'll get hurt."

"Say it Bruce. Say you didn't know." You say quietly. There's a stretch of silence that you take as your answer and without another word, you put on your shoes and grab your bag still by the door.

"Y/n wait!" Bruce says before you can leave.

"You still can't say the one thing I asked of you." You say pulling open the apartment door and leaving without even looking at him.

***

Part 6/???

Tagged Users: @cjand10 @vicmc624 @mandijo17

[majesticwren]

following this post this concept is now a fic, sorry not sorry. I'm struggling trust me. (help me)

a/n: guess who's back, back again? did you miss me? I surely missed this project :') so much. I do not expect much after I've disappeared for like 6 months but I am quite glad I've put my hands back on it. now let's all prey it sticks @dizzypenguinxd @michaelasfearless @kikigrl2951 tagging you guys only because I thought you might be interested in an update - no pressure

Trigger Warning/s: slow burn (?) but is it, childhood friends to lovers, depiction of toxic relationships, intimacy and commitment problems, childhood traumas, jealousy, possessiveness, physical and verbal abuse, bullying, hints of anti-semitism, everyone is a walking red flag, angst, fluff, smut.

Masterlist Playlist

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part V

Chapter 4.

Stella stood silent and unmoving in front of a building she had never felt so unwelcoming before. 

She felt so cold. Shivers ran up and down her spine spreading through her muscles, shaking her. Her hair stood up on the back of her neck. Her skin was crumpled by goosebumps. However, she suspected it wasn’t because of the low temperature that had dropped through the night. It was a different kind of cold she felt through her flesh. It didn’t matter how much she tried to warm up, Stella felt it deep inside her bones.

Her feet were throbbing caged in those uncomfortable heels. But there was a layer of numbness coating over her emotions leaving her feeling detached and muffled, even from pain.

It was the shock. She knew it. 

She felt more like a ghost than a real person. 

The longer she looked at herself through the reflecting surface of the sleek glass covering the entire building, the more she couldn’t recognise herself. That other woman wasn’t her. She looked out of place. Scared to her bones. Lost. Only a shadow of the woman she knew to be.

Stella truly wanted to be mad. She had every reason to be absolutely enraged towards the man who dared to make her feel so small, insignificant and fragile. But her anger was muted, like every other emotion.

She was hugging her bag high to her chest, both like a shield and because it was her most valuable possession at the moment. That and her damn shoes.

She had run barefoot on the cold concrete of the sidewalk for a few blocks. She ran for an indefinite amount of time, getting as much distance and turns between herself and the violence she had left behind. She had run until she had finally felt safe enough to stop and catch her breath. That was the moment Stella had crumbled on herself as her adrenaline started to wear off and panic set through. 

She could still feel how the cold night air had burned through her chest. 

Her body still felt so sore and shaken. It hurt even in places that weren’t hit. It was hurting all over. Her head still felt heavy, but at least her pounding pain had started to wear off. And she wasn’t bleeding, that was a good thing too.

The skin on her face was on fire as hot tears cut through her cheeks leaving red marks behind. She couldn’t stop crying. As soon as she managed to get on a taxi, barely feeling safe closed up in the space of a backseat, despair hit her. 

She had just never felt so lost and alone, surrounded by a detached city like only Manhattan could be. It was one of the most beautiful places on Earth, and yet, that night, as cold crept through its streets, lit by all its pretty lights, it felt far from home.

“Miss?” The sudden stranger’s voice breaking the flow of her thoughts surprised her. Or better, startled her. “Can I help you?” Even though his tone was gentle, Stella still flinched and took a step back, looking for some distance between her and the doorman that approached her. 

She knew him. His name was Vanya. His voice was bent under a strong and familiar Eastern European accent. Somehow that helped her feel more at ease. 

He had been working there for years now. Always on the night shift. Higher pay, as he had said. She had known him ever since Max had moved into that building and consequentially, her visits became a usual occurrence. Although it didn’t sound like Vanya recognised her. Not yet at least. Funny that, she must have looked like a homeless person or a crackhead. Yeah. That was the one. A wonderer lost in the night off their heads on too much drugs. 

God, she must have been standing there for a long time if Vanya decided to finally go and check on her.

“Hi, Vanya,” she started, her voice was shaking and yet Stella still pushed out a smile, trying her best to pretend that everything was alright.

“Miss Stella?” His surprise was almost hurtful, “what has happened to you?” 

She raised her chin, swallowing the bile that had just come up her throat only thinking about it. She bottled it all up, doing what she did best, putting on a brave face. Stella tried to dry her tears, “Please,” she started, hiding her need to scream behind a soft tone. “I’d just like to go upstairs if that is ok with you.”

Vanya nodded and was ready to get to the door and open it up for her, letting her through. As they walked through the entrance to the lifts, an awkward silence fell between them. She could feel his looks. She knew he had questions. But she kept not giving it any attention. 

She let him do his job, calling her a lift. 

“Shall I accompany you upstairs, Miss?” Vanya wondered, trying to be helpful.

“No, thank you Vanya. I am fine.” 

Vanya still stood by her side, waiting patiently for the lift with her.

She should have called the police. She should have told him. Hell, she should have shouted to the world what had just happened, just so Greg could be torched. But she didn’t. Not yet. Tomorrow. She would have gone through with her battles tomorrow. Now, she needed to hide and recover.

Funny that the first place she thought to go and look for shelter was Max’s.

Even with everything that had happened with him that day and knowing she probably wasn’t welcome anymore, Stella still chose to go and hide at his place. 

She could have got a room in any hotel in town but she knew she would have lost her mind if she went anywhere else. Max’s place was the only one that felt safe.

“When will Mr MJF return home, Miss?” He wondered casually. She knew Vanya was trying to look after her, possibly out of pity or concern because her face had started to bruise up and it was undeniable she was in bad shape. But she didn’t ask him to.

“Tomorrow night.” Not that she had the right to be expecting him.

“You will get me if you need anything, Miss?”

“Thank you, Vanya, I will.” She still offered a polite, bland smile, hopping on the lift as soon as the doors opened.

“Goodnight, Miss Stella,”

“Goodnight,”

She waited patiently for the lift to get upstairs avoiding looking into any reflective surface. The last thing she needed was to catch a clear glimpse of her condition.

Stella slowly made her way into Max’s apartment, acting controlled. She fiddled with her keys as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Unlocked the door. She got through. Locked it. And disabled the alarm. Just like that was yet another night she decided to spend at Max’s.

Knowing perfectly well how his house worked, she knew he would have got a notification that exact instant since the door alarm went off. So, she turned towards the security camera placed in the corner. He would have seen the feed as soon as he would have checked his phone.

“I am sorry, I don’t have my phone on me. I didn’t have a way to warn you. I will be gone by tomorrow, I promise.” She started explaining, “I won’t be an inconvenience. I didn’t have anywhere else to go.” She didn’t even know why she had said that. It’s not like it was true. But it was, in a way. 

There was nowhere safer for her. Even when Max wasn’t there. Not that she had the right to claim his space as anything at all to her. But she had decided to be selfish. It was what she needed and she would have taken it. 

Stella could have easily lied to herself. On the contrary to any hotel room, she could have found a fresh change of clothing at Max’s without having to go through the inconvenience of shopping for it. That was enough of a useful, proactive reason to be there, right?

But she had no intention of lying anymore. She was there because thinking about Max was the only thing that kept her from drowning.

Looking right into the black eye of the camera, Stella slowly started to feel overwhelmed. The air was tight around her. Her skin too. It made her feel itchy and uncomfortable.  

She dropped her bag and kicked off her shoes. The soles were stained by blood. 

Stella choked. She felt her chest sealing shut, pressed down by the pressure of panic. She stripped off the cardigan, throwing it on the ground. It wasn’t her clothes. It wasn’t her skin either, yet she wanted to rip it all off. She felt the need to scream and rip her hair out. 

But then, just like breathing fresh air, she was distracted by the soft chime of a tiny bell approaching. Looking down, Stella almost gasped as soon as she noticed Piper reaching for her and curling around her ankles, welcoming her with purrs.

She had never been so grateful to a cat before in her life. 

“Hello lovely,” Even when her throat was sealed, she still pushed out some words, trying her best to greet the real lady of the house. She picked Piper up and held her close to her chest, happy not to find resistance from the animal and appreciating the cat bumping her little head under her chin. The vibration of her purrs spread into her chest, calming her down. 

She needed a hot shower. She needed to wash off the phantom feeling of Greg’s hands on her body. She could still smell the booze in the air, it burned her nose and made her stomach twist. 

A hot shower would have fixed it all. That and maybe a drink. Or two.

More than anything, Stella needed a minute to assess the situation. She needed to know what to do with herself. She was a lawyer. She knew better than anyone how it was vital that she had a plan.

But she felt too tired. Thinking was exhausting.

Was it so bad of her to leave all her responsibilities and consequences, for tomorrow?

Stella released a soft sigh, for now, she only held Piper, going to curl up on the sofa. “Thank you,” she softly brushed her lips on the cat's head, truly grateful. 

She had decided everything else could have waited a bit longer.

Stella was woken up suddenly by a thud coming from the other room. It sounded like something heavy hit the floor. A ray of warm light cut through the bedroom from the door she had left ajar.

Stella was still disoriented by her sleep wearing off, and yet her first response was fear. She immediately jumped through the covers, alert, ignoring the pain cutting her breath short to the minimum movement she made. Panic slid under her skin, finding its way up to her neck, sealing her throat. What if Greg found her?

However, she seemed to be the only concerned one. Piper, who up to that moment was guarding her, curled up on the pillow by her head, was only bothered by Stella's jump. The cat lazily stretched on the covers, soft purrs spreading through her little body. Then, she hopped off the bed and trotted towards the door meowing happily.

“Daddy’s home?” Stella wondered as if the cat could reply to her.

Confused, she watched Piper slip into the living room and listened to the bell of her collar chime to the rhythm of her silent steps. 

“There’s my love. Did you miss me?” As soon as she heard Max’s soft voice reduced to a whisper coming from the other room, her only desire was to leap into his arms. “Of course, you did.” He continued, talking to his cat. Stella felt her heart jump out of her chest and ran to him. A hot shiver crossed her. It was the first time in hours she had felt warmth building back up inside of her.

She didn’t know what time it was and it didn’t matter. For a moment she wondered if she had passed out cold for an entire day.

She rubbed her face, cursing herself a second after she remembered she had taken a punch right to the eye socket and it was hurting like a bitch. She could barely keep her left eye open. God, she didn’t even want to know what she looked like. Hell, probably.

Stella did to throw the covers off herself intending to slid out of bed to go meet Max but, no matter how strong her will may have been, her body didn’t allow her to move one inch. The pain was too great and her aching muscles and bones seemed to be frozen, keeping her enslaved there. The more she tried to fight against her own depleted strength, the more raging became the bite of her soreness.

Stella gave up with an exhausted huff. The more helpless she felt, the more her anger grew inside of her. And with that, guilt and fear followed. 

How was she supposed to fix the mess she had just caused? 

How could she face Max? What was she supposed to say now to justify herself?

Where was she supposed to find the courage and strength to pull a brave face and keep going on with her life after what had happened?

And what about Greg? What was she supposed to do about him? About what he had committed? 

Thinking that she had to flee, leaving him free to roam in her private space like he more pleased was enough to make her head spin and her stomach turn.

As panic started to set its icy roots through her gripping and sliding through her insides, making her mind spin out of control, Stella didn’t even notice how she wasn’t alone anymore. A set of inquisitive, hard dark eyes studied her from the door as her figure was now exposed under the hall’s light.

“Stella?” His voice, no matter the level of concern bending his tone, was like a warm caress melting into her nerves.  

Stella gasped for air, looking over into the shape of the most familiar person in the whole world to her. Part of her was still startled, terrified he’d be someone else, but, deep down, her heart had already started singing for him. She couldn’t see his face well but it was enough for her to know he looked tremendously serious and imposing. Nothing about him was relaxed, his shoulders were tensed and his fists clenched. 

“Max?” She called softly, gripping on the covers. Her voice was no more than a whisper as she desperately tried to read him. He was angry. Possibly furious. Was it at her? Was it for what she had said, ruining their friendship forever? Was it because after all of that, she still dared to seek him?

"I'm-" she tried desperately to keep a straight face, but the trembling in her voice gave her away, "I'm so sorry," as words came out, so did tears.

Something inside of him changed drastically, it was like she could hear his chest creak under pressure.

Max was by her side in a second. “Don’t you ever apologise to me, kitten,” he kicked his shoes off, “I am the one who needs to apologise.” As he moved, she was drawn to him like a magnet. “But I am here now,” he took off his button-down, “You are not alone anymore,” he continued getting into bed with her.

His words had touched her deeper than she could ever express. She had been drowning ever since she had thought they were done with. Funny that she was still convinced that the idea of losing him was the worst part of her day. And now, she felt like breathing again.

Stella didn’t even wait for him to be settled to nest into his wide chest, not finding any resistance from Max. If anything, Max did nothing but cage her in between his arms, cradling her softly. The warmth of his body spread through her like fire, driving the shadows of fear off her heart. Her chest didn’t feel so tight anymore. 

Stella inhaled his scent deeply, letting herself get used to the idea of him being there. She traced attentively her hands on his chest, making sure he wasn’t a dream.

“I got you, baby,” he whispered kissing her forehead, “I won’t leave you again.”

“It’s a mess,” Stella whispered in between sobs, hiding away in the safety of his arms. “I’m a mess.”

“We’ll fix it. I promise you everything is going to be ok.” He kept her close, lulling sweet things into her ear, trying to reassure her, “You are safe now.”

“I am sorry for what I’ve said. I am so-”

“I told you already,” his lips brushed on the top of her head as he slid a hand through her hair, holding solidly onto her, “don’t apologise to me. I don’t want to hear it.”

A wave of relief washed over her. Her guilt and uncertainty disappeared slowly, leaving her feeling empty still, but relaxed in that cocoon that represented about the only place she’d feel safe in the world. 

“I thought I had lost you for a moment,” Stella let her thoughts escape her mouth.

“You can never lose me, kitten.” 

They both smiled and then laid there, silent, enjoying each other’s embrace.

They were far from being done talking about it, she knew well. It wasn’t like a kiss on the forehead would solve the problem they carried and hid from forever. But, for now, at least, she was willing to forget about it. It was ok to pretend everything was the same as always. And it was ok to know it wasn’t anymore. It was still Max and her against the world, and she needed to cling to that thought – to that promise, not to spiral violently and disappear into the shadows haunting her.

“Thank you for being here,” Stella nuzzled into the crook of his neck, feeling her body truly relaxing for the first time in hours. The hard clutch of her nerves was melting off, allowing her to feel nothing but relief. Even the pain roaring through her body was easily downgraded to barely discomfort. “Thank you for coming back.”

“What kind of friend would I be if I’d let you go through this alone?” he said it pressing a sad smile on her forehead.

That word “friend”, stung her ego more than she was willing to admit. But Stella bit her tongue. She could have easily pointed out all the things normal friends wouldn’t do in that situation. They wouldn’t hug so tightly, needing to feel skin on skin, with tangled legs and cradling hands. But she forced herself to let it go. It was a fight for another day, she had no strength left in her to face him.

“Are you going to ask me about what happened?” 

“Not tonight,” his tone was suddenly harder, like his hold on her. But it was gone in a moment. “I just want you to sleep now. I’ll keep you safe.”

“Ok,” she accepted his decision happily. The last thing she wanted to do was to recall what had happened, especially now that she found somewhere to hide away from her memories. “Are you going to stay with me all night?”

“I am not going anywhere, baby.” He kissed her forehead again and then pressed his cheek on her head. “Now, will you try to sleep? You need the rest.”

“I’ll try,” by that point, she was already dozing off. Now that her guard was down and she finally found some relaxation, exhaustion hit her dragging her down heavily. But, this time, she wasn’t scared about being unconscious and alone any longer.

[beatricebidelaire]

fighting fire with fire

Kit and Bertrand talk about how to handle Gregor Anwhistle.

~1.3k

[squidgeworld] [ao3]

__

It's fairly foggy in The City that night, and even a driver like Kit Snicket is forced to slow down her speed as she maneuvers the taxi through the city streets. On the passenger seat is Bertrand, a frown on his face, deep in thought.

There was a time when Bertrand thought Gregor Anwhistle's research held potential, possibly a useful weapon for their side to use, if it could be controlled. But after hearing the latest reports - sent back by Fernald, Widdershins's stepson who, because of his marine biology interests, had been assigned to the research center - he's changed his mind. Kit's been rather disapproving of Gregor's research since the early stage, but she very graciously does not say "I told you so" at the moment.

As faint jazz music rolls out from the radio, she merely says, "So, what are we going to do about G?"

They've tried to talk to him about it, hoping to appeal to reason. It hasn't worked so far. Gregor's in far too deep. But Gregor has also brought up a valid point that VFD is forced to consider - abandoning the research now, when there has already been rumors spreading, could cause the other side try to gain access to the mycelium samples. If they heard VFD is pausing the research, they might think this is a great chance to take over, and surely no one in VFD wants that.

"I've heard that The Man With Beard But No Hair is quite interested in it," G has added.

"Why does he know about that?" Jacques has pointed out immediately when he first heard the news from Kit. Both Snicket twins quite suspect that the Sinister Duo may have already reached out to Gregor Anwhistle, and it's G's way of implicitly threatening them that if VFD won't continue to support his research, there are other people interested in doing so, perhaps even fully funding it. Even though initially Gregor argued for the mycelium research for its usefulness in having a weapon over their enemy, more and more volunteers are beginning to suspect that he doesn't in fact care about sides that much at all, but his own scientific research. Having an advantage over the other side is just a clever way of arguing for funding, and with the way the schism is going, it certainly worked.

Now, in the taxi in the foggy night, the word murder has flashed across both of their minds. A few years ago they wouldn't have considered such an option so immediately and readily, and even now neither of them is going to directly say the word out loud yet. Because murder is not something you simply - unlock the first achievement and the rest is easy. Every additional kill is another life lost, an irreversible process. Every step in that direction is a step you can't take back, walking down a path that you can't look back. Every kill doesn't make the next kill easier - well, perhaps in the skills aspect it does, but - morally, it really shouldn't. (It kind of does, actually. That's the scary thing. You justify it for the one time, calling it necessary evil. It becomes slightly easier to justify the next.)

They're already too competent, too efficient, too methodical. Like a pair of sharp knives. They're already exceedingly practical people, especially compared to their friends who lean on the dramatic side. Their problem, once they crossed a certain point in their lives, has never been not practical enough. A night at the opera changed things, for better or for worse.

Perhaps better for the organization's overall future, but worse for them, individually, with blood on their hands.

But what is the weight of individuality, in the grander scheme of things?

Kit and Bertrand are practical people and they both know it, they have that level of self-awareness. So, as they have onetime, late at night, discussed in the living room of Bertrand's apartment, that perhaps they don't need to so much worry about not being able to see the bigger picture, not being able to make the hard call. Perhaps what they should be more careful about is losing bits of themselves in the process, normalizing this in the process, attributing every action to "necessary evil" in the process.

("Who are we, to be making these decisions?" Kit once asked.

"It wasn't our decision, in the beginning," Bertrand said.

"Right, at first those were orders." Kit agreed. "But -"

"We're grown up now, we've climbed high enough now, that sometimes, it is our decision, not anyone else's," Bertrand finished for her.

"Exactly.")

At some point they had to stop worrying that they're not being practical enough, and worry if they're in fact being too cold-bloodedly practical, that if they're losing something they could never get back. If at some point, the bigger picture might not be worth all of this.

They know that.

So they do not speak of murder. Not yet. Even if the thought has definitely crossed both of their minds, and they know each other enough to know that as well.

"Well," Kit says, finally. "Killing him doesn't solve the problem, if his samples remain, and if the Sinister Duo do want his research. Even if they don't have competent enough scientists to take over - no, precisely because they don't have anyone to take over, they might just use it, which is even worse."

Bertrand exhales. "K," he sighs.

"Of course murder is also wrong in itself," she says. "But do not lecture me about it when I know you're also considering the option. And I too wish that I'm still innocent enough that taking the option off the table is because I know it's wrong - I still know, by the way, just in case you're wondering - and not because it doesn't solve the problem. But -" she cuts herself off. "Whatever."

He doesn't say anything for a moment.

"They can both be factors that we take into consideration," he says, finally. "It's a complicated enough decision, as it is."

She scoffs, but doesn't argue. It is how they operate - how they have operated, for quite some time, now.

Poison dart changing hands. Red shawl with long feathers along the edges. Beatrice. Olaf. 

So what? Kit thinks. So they carry the burden they have to carry, and continue going forward. What else?

Murder doesn't solve the problem, not exactly. The mycelium samples are still there.

Unless -

Unless they burn the whole research center to the ground.

Yes, she's written to Gregor and told him that playing with fire is something that their enemies do, something that the volunteers should be careful with.

"Or," Bertrand says, his voice careful, neutral, deliberately unemotional. "We try to change his mind."

Kit says, impatiently, "He's not listening to reason - we've tried."

"I don't mean that we should try to reason with him," Bertrand says.

Kit's eyes turn sharp. Dangerous. "Oh." And then, after a few moments, "Well, it is better than murder." She hesitates. She knows Bertrand's rather complicated history with Georgina, and his view on such things. So for him to actually suggest this -

"Still," she cautions. "Letting her in on the plan is dangerous. Do we even trust her enough? She's not on the opposite side, not exactly, but she'll betray anyone if it suits her. If she decides it's profitable for herself. Involving her - has its own risks."

Bertrand doesn't say anything, not at first.

That's when it dawns on Kit.

"You knew a few tricks, too."

Bertrand smiles, tight. Bitter. "I did learn a few tricks. I'd hate to employ such techniques, but ...."

But does he hate it, more than the idea of killing Gregor Anwhistle? They both wonder. Is his skills even enough? He is, after all, not Georgina Orwell.

There is only one Georgina Orwell. Which is enough, really, in most times. More than enough, in Kit's opinion.

"Let me talk with J first," Kit says, finally.

[linashirou]

WIP Wednesday!

(A little late but still!) This time @fangbangerghoul tagged me and I have to tell you that I'm working on a second ending for the Dragon's Dogma fic. The problem is that I lost a big part, because at some point Microsoftword.exe didn't save it. So I got a little depressed about it (I realized this yesterday), so I will share the beginning of it.

Don't believe people who say: "There's nothing new under the sun".

That's not true.

The most unexpected things can happen.

And that's quite a lot when you consider that I'm just a pawn.

As you probably already know (or suspect), the age of a pawn is difficult to determine. I don't know exactly how many human years, how many Springs I've seen go by, but I can say that I've worked with more Arisen than I can really remember or count.

Still, my memory can only recall two of them: the one who gave me life, and the one who made me feel emotions. Their will, and determination were astonishing. The one that gave me life, my own Arisen appeared to be a decent, reasonable person with an unbreakable will, but he gifted me the most bitter feeling: Disappointment.

Some might say: He was the one who made me a being with feelings, and maybe that's the truth, but, in my opinion, she had something special.

Something strange and inexplicable.

"I like to think that we are like moths drawn to the light; this warm, powerful aura that the Arisen have…"

Today, Hal's words carry a different weight, they're like an echo in my mind, haunting me.

Many Awakenings have come and gone… Different Arisen… Different motivations and wills.

But somehow… I feel guilty

Regardless how much experience I once bragged about…

I never expected anything like this.

We had been together for a long time, I'd say months.

Lina was the one chosen by the Dragon in this dimension as the Arisen, the one who would finish him and free the world from the disaster dressed in Crimson. Hal was always by her side. A skinny, eye-glassed, book-loving pawn, brilliant and creative. At first I despised his lack of courage and his shyness.

Now, in retrospect… I can't ignore his true qualities.

His mental agility and his almost unnatural effort to understand life and people; Sensitive, always looking out for her happiness and that of those with whom he lived, including me and Meryl.

How stupid I was.

Surely, as he mentioned on more than few occasions, my "muscular brain" made me indifferent to what some people call the "intelligence of the heart".

If only I had noticed this earlier… I might have noticed that there was something strange going on from the very beginning…

It's no news that Arisens could bring joy to people.

And envy too.

For some strange reason, the negativity becomes endearingly attractive to minds in despair and uncertainty of the approaching end (perhaps this is something triggered by the Dragon's presence).

That day, a stranger approached the Arisen and begged for help. He pulled out a weird piece of paper that claimed to be a letter from a well-known person.

They were barely readable, asking for help to get home, from Bloodwater Beach to Grand Soren.

A long and complicated journey.

To be honest, I have to make yourself clear that it's not uncommon to receive requests for escort, especially on the road, but…

What the hell was that person doing out there in the first place?

Bloodwater Beach is one of Gransys' most remote and inhospitable places…

Why should we help that person?

These questions weren't asked back then.

And maybe that's why I'm here now...