#ask me about any character and I’ll classify em!

[katsidhe]

what is the difference between ... coded and ... girl?(for example dean coded sam girl vs. sam coded dean girl?)i'm kinda confused

So a couple of people have asked me something along these lines, which gives me an excuse to go off on a rant about I interpret the “x-coded y girl” lens. My One True Lens. My OTL, as it were.

The notion of coding, linguistically, is all about communication. Literature, being a medium of both art and communication, relies on a shared culture of meaning. At its most basic sense, coding is just sets of symbols laid down by an author that are governed by certain rules, which permit a reader to infer meaning based on their mutual prior understanding on how these rules work. There are many, many types of code in literature. There’s linguistic coding, as in which denotations and connotations are ascribed to which words. There’s grammatical coding, as in what sentence structures imply about the subjects they describe. There’s the literary code of tropes, used to quickly convey eg which character is the ingenue, the hero, etc. There are structural and genre codes—for example, the generic forms of tragedy, or comedy, or parody, all of which are signaled to a reader with tropes and words and packaging meant to interact with their expectations. And of course, there are character codes. A character introduced wearing a leather jacket, in most forms of Western fiction, is being coded with “toughness”. It’s a trope, it’s a meme, it’s a code. This coding is a supralingual form of communication that relies on shared cultural semantics.

To say someone or something is “x-coded”, then, is to say that they, either through deliberate self-presentation or intrinsic characterization, communicate “x”. Maybe they associate themself with tropes that x is associated. Maybe they don’t think much like x, but they act in a way that x acts, or vice versa. Maybe they have some undefinable energy that somehow screams x, in a way that would be apparent to most audiences. Basically, how would this person or concept be written about in a book in shorthand in order to convey to the audience what character tropes we should assign them? This can be a combination of internal and external traits, as long as those traits are actively communicated in some fashion.

“-Girl”, gender neutral, is all about fandom. “Fangirl” is often a diminutive meant to characterize especially female fans as obsessive, childish, or altogether too excited about a niche interest. “Y girl”, then, is a term meant to reclaim and celebrate the act of whole-heartedly embracing fannish enthusiasm without compunction or embarrassment. But in the necessary abstraction of x-coded y girl framing, that doesn’t mean that you have to be a huge fan of “y” in particular. Rather, someone or something who is a y girl is a fan of the traits encoded by y. “Y” is often but not always aspirational: maybe y isn’t how you think or act, but it’s how you’d like to think or act. Maybe y isn’t how you’d like to be, but you deeply admire y. Maybe you don’t even necessarily WANT to value y, but you do, and your life or actions are shaped by those values. “Y girl” is about guiding lights, things we are drawn to, things we assign value to, things we secretly relish, things we can’t put down.

A Dean-coded Sam girl communicates themself with Dean tropes, but is drawn to Sam tropes, whereas the opposite is true for a Sam-coded Dean girl. I’ll give some straightforward character examples.

Ruby is Dean-coded: the toughness, the leather, the stubborn absolutism of believing she’s in the right, the charisma, the devil-may-care persona studded with moments of emotional vulnerability. Some of those tropes are internal, some external, some physical, some not, but they’re all about communication. Ruby is a Sam girl: she is ruthlessly, brutally focused on the big picture; she is more than willing to personally sacrifice pieces of herself to get to her endgame; the costs and the morality of what she’ll do to get there are completely irrelevant to the greater good. She is self-contained and internal; she doesn’t value loyalty or personal love or external reward or even some far off aspirational moral good: she wants the world shaped a certain way, and if she succeeds then nothing else matters. These are Sam-associated values. (Not to be confused with Sam-the-character’s values.)

Harry Potter is Sam-coded. He’s the hashtag chosen one; his life is studded with abuse and trauma; he was scarred with a personal connection with an evil wizard as a baby; he grapples with expectations, stigma, and fear from people around him based on that connection to evil; he’s pretty bad at controlling the narrative of his life. But he’s definitely not a Sam girl. He’s a Dean girl through and through: he thinks first asks questions never, signifying how he values courage and loyalty above effectiveness. He would never compromise himself morally for the sake of his goals, he’d never sacrifice a friend. He values personal love and emotional connections above anything else, including the world and the greater good.

The wonderful thing about my OTL is that it can classify anything, as anything. Simply come up with three to four thematically linked nouns, and start putting people and ideas and concepts into the appropriate boxes. For instance, from {beer wine liquor}, I am a wine-coded liquor girl.

[wiypt-writes]

Guilty As Charged

Guilty As Charged: Bucky Barnes One Shot

Summary: Defence Attorney James ‘Bucky’ Barnes is the absolute bane of your life…

Pairing: Lawyer AU Bucky Barnes x Reader (Frenemies!)

Warnings: Bad language words.

Word Count- Under 2k

A/N:  This was originally posted on my old blog ages ago, but I’ve just given it a little polish and thought, seeing as I’m on the Bucky Train at the moment, I’d bring it back. Also, my knowledge on US Criminal Law is sketchy at best, so humour me…

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this bar reader and any other OCs that may or may not be mentioned. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Bucky Barnes Masterlist // Main Masterlist

*******

In God We Trust, the words set about the Judge’s podium were fixed in your vision, motes of dust moving freely in the rays of sunlight which were streaming through the large, ornate windows of the court room and you took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, concentrating on expelling the nerves you were feeling with the air that left your mouth and lungs.

No matter how many times you were in this position, the reading of the verdict still got to you. Your gaze turned to the jury, as the judge did the same, that all important question ringing across the room, the air stiflingly tense.

“On the charge of murder in the first degree, do you find the defendant or not guilty"

“Not guilty.”

Fuck.

Cheers from the defendants family drowned out your loud groan as you rubbed at your temple. Looking over at your colleague, Sam, you shook your head in utter disbelief.

The judge continued through the remaining charges, second-degree murder and voluntary manslaughter, and your despair grew as the same verdict was returned for each.

You’d lost. And it stung, not merely because of your near perfect conviction rate, but for the family of the victim you were one-hundred percent convinced the accused.

"Y/N this wasn't your fault.” Sam stated in a low voice but you simply sighed again and shrugged.

"I was sure they'd see through his lies,” you glanced over to your right where the defence team, headed up by James Buchanan Barnes of Barnes and Rogers Law firm were shaking hand with each other and their defendant. Barnes' face was arranged in the usual smug look that you always had the urge to slap right off it. His partner, Steve, glanced over at you and gave you a genuine, sympathetic smile.

He’s always the most courteous out of the two, the one you actually didn’t mind dealing with when it came to cases.

"He fucking did it Y/N," Sam's voice was almost a growl, "I know he did."

"Well in the eyes of the law he didn’t." You stated, standing up.

The commotion continued behind you, as the defendant was told he was free to go. Making sure to keep your head down, you hastily shuffled your papers back into their respective files and packed your briefcase up. Picking up your jacket, you shrugged it on, smoothing down pencil skirt before you head to leave the courtroom before Barnes can pipe up with his usual smart ass quips. But you're not quite fast enough. "Commiserations Miss Y/LN, can't win em all." The familiar Brooklyn drawl hit your ears.

"Buck," Steve sighed "c'mon pal..."

You grit your teeth. You know you shouldn't rise to it, but you just can’t help it. The man is an utter jack ass in the courtroom. Spinning to face him, you shot him your best contemptuous glare, the one you always reserve for those people you really cannot stand, and looked at him like he was something you'd just trodden in.

"You know Barnes, there is such a thing as being gracious in victory as well as defeat." "Defeat?” He asked, looking at Steve with a puzzled expression on his face, “no, not sure what that is." "Eat shit.” You mumbled before turning to Sam who was stood behind you, watching the exchange. You nod to him and the two of you continued up the aisle towards the exit. The victim's family were congregated outside and all at once the start barraging you with questions.

"How did that happen?"

"You said it was a cert he would go down!”

"What about a private prosecution?”

You sighed and turn to look at them, you were exhausted. "I'm sorry.” You shook your head. “That new evidence that his attorney submitted, it was just threw too much of a doubt into the juries mind..." you held your hand up to gently silence them. “If you're serious about a private prosecution then I can meet you next week to discuss and put you in touch with a few people but I’m sorry, as far as the State’s involvement goes…I can’t do anymore."

Escaping as quickly as you could, you and Sam headed back to your office. After a short meeting with your boss, the District Attorney, who was as pissed as you were that the prosecution had failed, you emerged feeling twice as tired and battered as you had when you’d left the courtroom.

As Sam stated, there was only one thing left you could do. Drink alcohol. A lot of alcohol.

It was a short walk to your preferred bar, having decided to abandon your car and collect it in the morning. You were going to get drunk. Really drunk. "Hey Y/N, hey Sam." Clint, the bar tender greeted you. “I hear it wasn't a great day.” You looked up and saw he was pointing to the TV behind the bar. It was on a news channel, focussing on a report from earlier that afternoon which wasn’t surprising. The case had thrown up huge public interest ever since the body of the teenage girl has been found in the alleyway in Queens. The defendant confessed but somehow, the new evidence submitted was an alleged recording that the defence had gotten their hands on as proof the confession was taken under duress. If you were being totally honest, you had to admit that it didn't sound great, the officer did seem to be leaning heavily on the defendant, but the other evidence was, no, IS overwhelming.

But all it needed was that little seed of doubt, which the defence sowed expertly, and the jury couldn't convict. And now, thanks to Barnes and Rogers, specifically Barnes, in your mind a dangerous killer was walking free. As you stared at the television, you saw Barnes on the screen with the defendant, all smiles and Steve at his side. Barnes greeted the press with a raised hand. "Clint turn it over man." Sam almost pleaded and Clint shot you both a sympathetic look, before he pointed the remote at and flicked the report over to a mundane, late afternoon game show. You ordered 2 beers, and then settled at the bar on one of the tall chairs, crossing your bare, heeled legs as you and Sam began to dissect the case. You couldn’t help it, you always did this, analyse where you went wrong or right.

The pair of you got that enthralled in your discussions, that before you know it, it was an hour lager and you're now four beers deep... and Sam was fielding an angry phone call from his wife, Natasha. "I gotta go, boss." He sighed, apologetically, “it’s my little girl’s dance recital at six and if I miss this one, Nat’s gonna hang me out to dry!” You waved his explanation off. “Its fine, Sam. Oh, and take the morning tomorrow. That case has had us working all hours and I don’t intend on being there till lunch. Clint, gimme a bourbon please?" "Don't let Barnes get to you.” Sam sighed. “You know what he is like" "Smug, arrogant and annoyingly self-righteous.” You nodded. “Yup, I got it.” Sam smiled and dropped a friendly kiss to your cheek. "See you later." Clint slid the glass of bourbon over to you and you smiled before pulling out your phone to check a few emails and your social media. You were just reading through an article about a Billionaire in Manhattan who had designed some kind of metal suit that allowed him to fly (because that's gonna end well), when a familiar voice broke your concentration. "Can I buy you a drink?" You rolled your eyes and looked up at Bucky Barnes as he leaned on the bar, still in his suit, although he had dispensed of his black and white tie, and opened his top button. This was another thing you hated about him. He is utterly gorgeous. Like GQ cover gorgeous, especially in his sharp suits and silk ties.

And he fucking knows it, too. "Depends." You shrugged, throwing back the remainder of your bourbon. "Does it come with a side helping of irritating smugness?" He chuckled. "I'm off duty, Doll so no."

"In that case I'll have another Monkey Shoulder." You slid the empty glass back to Clint. "Take it you're not driving home?" Barnes asked, his azure eyes running over your bare legs. "Well if I do and I get caught, I'm sure you can get me off any charges.” You replied sharply, shooting him a look that made it clear you caught him eyeing you up. And it isn't the first time either. That's another reason you clash so much in the courtroom. Sexual tension. Fucking jerk. He barked out a laugh "You're really not happy with me are you?" "Not particularly." You shook your head, thanking Clint as he pushed the now full glass back to you, with a small wink. It's a double, you noticed. That should set Barnes back a bit. Bucky reached for his beer and after a pull he looked directly at you. "Come work for me." He said and you groaned.

Not this again. "I'm a prosecutor." You rolled your eyes. "Not a defence attorney. I told you that last time you asked. And the time before, and the time before that." "I'm nothing if not persistent." He winked, turning in his stool so he was facing you. "Besides, I can teach you the ways of the dark side." "You’d love that wouldn't you?" You snort. "Oh, Sweetheart you have no idea." He leaned forward slightly, his elbow on the bar and this time he is blatantly staring at the flash of skin that was showing above the buttons on your blouse. "My face is up here, ass hole." With a smirk he raised his deep, blue eyes and they locked onto yours. Despite yourself, you feel your breath hitch slightly. Dammed him and his sex appeal. "Why are you always this insufferable?" You eventually tore your gaze away from his and picked up your drink, glancing up at the TV as an excuse not to look at him. "Ah come on Y/N, don’t be like that." He reached out to squeeze your hand which was resting on the back of the tall chair you were sat in. "We could make a great team..." You raised an eyebrow and looked at him. "Professionally.” He added, his eyes not leaving yours as he took another large drink of his beer, and you pulled your hand away from under his. "I'd kill you within five minutes of us being in the same office." You glared at him as you took another sip from your drink. He chuckled and eyed you again, “to be fair I'm not sure Stevie would be able to function with a beautiful dame such as yourself in close proximity. He still flusters around any woman that isn’t his Peggy.” "That's because Steve is a happily married man." "So am I." He shot back. Ah yes, Mrs Barnes… "Your wife deserves a medal. She must have the patience of a fucking saint to put up with you." You said into your glass. "I have other hidden qualities which mean she's prepared to overlook my slightly less favourable personality traits." He quipped, and you looked back to see that lopsided grin on his face that flips your stomach. Behave Y/N. "They must be very hidden." You mused, and he let out another loud laugh.   "You're killing me, Doll.” "Good." You drained your glass. The liquid burnt your throat and you could feel the effects of the alcohol from the last few hours as your brain started to hum. You looked at Barnes who was watching you, his eyes shining with all the cheekiness of a teenage boy and you know you need to leave before you do something stupid.

Like snogging his dumb, handsome face off. "I think it's time I got going." You said simply, standing up. Barnes gave a nod, draining his bottle. “Yeah I should be making tracks too. Wife to see to, you know how it is.” You stood and he did the same, and you realised he was holding up your jacket, ready for you to slide your arms into. Narrowing your eyes slightly at his sudden chivalry, you couldn’t help the small smile that flickered across your face as you turned and allowed him to help you into it. His hands dropped to your shoulders and he span you round gently and smiled with those perfect teeth, a smile that lit up his beautiful face, his eyes crinkling in the corners. "Lead the way Mrs Barnes.” He instructed softly, dropping a tender kiss to your lips. "You know it's a good job I love you,” you smiled, sliding your arms up round his neck. "Yeah, I know." "Although right now I'm struggling to remember why." "Well, when we get home I'll just have to show you some of those hidden qualities I was talking about, see if they help jog your memory.” You bit your lip slightly at the dark flash of desire that flit across his eyes, and you leant up to brush your lips across his stubbled jawline. "Unanimous verdict,” your voice drops slightly as you pull back and he smirked again, “guilty as charged.” You tossed Clint a good bye, linked your hand into your husband’s and he walked you outside into the brisk wind, his arm pulling you close, his lips pressed a soft kiss to your temple. Yeah, James Buchanan Barnes might be an insufferable, arrogant ass hole in the courtroom, but outside it he's simply your Bucky.

[theonetheycallhannah]

The Treatment of Capt. Syverson- Chapter Three: Therapeutic Activity

Pairing: Captain “Sy” Syverson x OFC (Shane Benton)

Summary: Tensions reach a boiling point during treatment one evening, Shane goes to her own veteran for advice, and takes the first step toward happiness…hoping beyond hope that everything doesn’t blow up in her face.

Masterlist with links to all parts HERE!

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: None, yet… ;) But maybe I should be putting language warnings in here…there are some bad words. And not to spoil but…there might be a bit of kissing in this one…

Author’s Note: Guys, I cannot stress to you enough how much I am enjoying telling this story. My goodness. To sort of combine my passions of writing and Henry with something I know so well like therapy (I’m a secretary like Heather, not a therapist), it really just makes me happy. The next chapter is already done, also, it was initially part of this chapter, but it felt too long, so I’ll be posting it separately later. I know, I’m a tease. Have Henry spank me. Lol.

Disclaimer: Unfortunately for me, Henry is not mine, le sigh, and all mention of him, his characters, any characters from his films, or his precious doggy, Kal, are strictly for transformative and recreational use. I neither ask for, nor accept payment for the work I post on Tumblr or AO3. Unbeta’d because this is for fun and escapism.

Tags:

@onlyhenrys

@cavillryarchive

@summersong69

@titty-teetee

@bloodyinspiredfuck

"This sounds…kinda dumb…" Sy expressed his thoughts on today's warm up with Shane.

"Oh, trust me, it looks even dumber than it sounds. But it works. And it's easier on your knees than doing it the right way. You ready?" he looked at the treadmill, inclined at 3% grade as if it was Everest itself, and looked back at her. "I'll start slow." she raised her eyebrows at him.

"You know just what to say to a girl." he teased as he stepped up, still gingerly, even after eight weeks of therapy. Crutches mercifully jettisoned two weeks ago. He was on his way to being his fighting fit self. With a foot on either track beside the belt, but facing away from the control panel, he waited for her to press start. He took a breath and nodded.

"Test the belt with your bad foot first, and then when you're ready, step down with it. Remember what I've told you about which foot should lead when ascending and descending stairs or hills?"

"Good go to Heaven, Bad go to Hell. So I go up with the good leg and go down with the bad leg."

"A+ student. Okay, when you're ready…any time…Sy, this is an hour session…I have to kick you out in 55 minutes…chop chop." she cajoled him, but he wasn't budging.

"It feels…weird going this way, Shane." If she had been a less kind person, she would have called it whining…she called it nothing, instead.

"I know. Do you need to walk backwards around the clinic a little more to get you used to that sensation?"

"Hell yeah. If that means you're gonna spot me like you did before…felt kinda like dancin'." it was a perfectly legitimate and above-board treatment strategy. They stood back to back, Shane guiding Sy as he practiced walking backward and pushing off with the extensor muscle group, which had been weak. Sy had suggested holding hands, but Shane had compromised with the idea to link arms. Not that she wasn't dying to hold his hand…she was. But that had not been the time. The time was still weeks away. At least.

"I was thinking I'd have you try it with Jordan. He's got a free hour right now. And I can assess your technique. How does that sound, Twinkle Toed Romeo?" Immediately he placed a tentative foot down onto the slow moving belt trying to adjust to the odd sensation of walking up a hill backward.

"Ah, so I now know that all I have to do to get you to do something silly is threaten you with Jordan. Filing that away for a rainy day."

"Come on, you're breakin' my heart, sunshine."

"Aww, don't be ridiculous. I've seen therapists do way more embarrassing things to their patients in the name of treatment."

"Tell me!"

"Sorry, but it's classified information. Protected under the Health Insurance Privacy and Portability Act. I could literally get fired for telling you, and there are way cooler things to get fired for!" She'd always said it. And she meant it. She didn't fool around when it came to HIPPA, and there was no way she was gonna lose her job over a stupid slip like that.

"Any examples of things you'd rather get fired for?"

She thought for a few minutes. She used to have a list.

"Hmm, telling off my bitch of a boss," he looked shocked at her use of a bad language word, which he'd never heard from her. She nodded. "Telling off an asshole patient," sleeping with a patient…

"What about sleeping with a patient?" It was late in the day, the only person still there was Heather in the office, and a few therapists still documenting. Nobody in the gym to hear him echo the thoughts in her head. As if he could read them as clearly as a page in a book. Large print. She looked at him in shock.

"Sorry. That was over the line."

"It was…but…"

"But?"

"But…it would not be the least cool reason to get fired."

"It wouldn't?" she shook her head, reluctantly.

"Especially if the patient was…amazing, and kind, and…fucking gorgeous…"

"Young lady, that language today, I have never!" he exclaimed clutching at his broad and beautiful chest.

"I know, but, Sy…this is all hypothetical, and theoretical, and IF I was GOING to get fired how would I CHOOSE for it to happen and WHAT policy I would go against. People don't just CHOOSE to be fired, you know?" she was nervous and rambling.

"You know what people also don't choose? Who they care about, and have feelin's for. Who they--"

"Don't finish that sentence, Sy." She couldn't hear him say the word he was going to say. She couldn't let him start that. Not when there was too much complicating their situation.

She walked off to her treatment room, needing some space.  Some time.

She didn't get that space or time. Sy hobbled in behind her, looking like a man on a mission. And she knew from his war stories that his missions tended to be successful…even the one that got him his walking papers wasn't a total loss.

"Sy, you still had like, five minutes on the tr--"

His big hands found the sweet spot where her neck met her skull. He took a big breath and closed the distance between them, his lips landing light as feathers on hers, her soft skin welcoming the roughness of his beard, though everything else about the kiss was terribly gentle. Almost chaste. Even his beard wasn't so rough that she worried about beard burn…she'd be filing that away for later, as well. Against her willpower and better judgement but in full cooperation with her desires and instincts she began kissing him back, daring to deepen it by opening their mouths a bit, and sliding her hands up the back of his red tee that sported a black skull. All of his shirts were entirely too tight, but you'd never catch her complaining. Even after several months away from active duty and really, most activity at all, his body was still so solid and powerful.

"Ain't that a daisy…Fuck, I've wanted to do that since my first appointment." he chuckled, lightly.

"Sy…"

"Don't. Don't try to argue or tell me you don't feel it. This energy between us. I've seen it in your eyes, Shane. I've felt it when you touch me. It ain't nothin, sunshine. It's a whole lotta somethin'."

"I know, but I need this job. And I WANT this job. Being a therapist is the only thing I've ever wanted to do. Helping people. People like you. Getting them better. It's what I was meant to do. And there's no place like this in the area for me to treat such a diverse clientele and build my skill set. It's not without it's problems, but it's where I'm meant to be."

"I get that. And you should do what you were called to do. You're too good at this not to do it. But Shane, isn't it worth pushing back on some policy if it could mean you get to have some personal happiness, too?"

"I'm worried they'll make me choose." Actually, it was more than that. She was worried about which choice she'd make. Giving up a ten-year career with excellent benefits despite its pitfalls, or giving up someone she could hardly stop thinking about, who made her heart pound when he smiled, and who was rapidly shaping up to be someone she could see herself sharing a life with…making either choice terrified her for very different reasons.

"You shouldn't have to choose. Any boss who'd make you deny yourself what we could have just because of some ridiculous policy…well, they ain't worth the gas that brought 'em to work today. Y'understand me?"

She nodded, smirking at his idiom, "You don't know my boss."

"Well, maybe I oughta GET to know her, if it's like that. I have a way of throwin' my weight around, case ya hadn't noticed." he shot her a smug grin.

"Ya don't say?" she retorted, brimming with sarcasm, literally still wrapped in the evidence of said weight in the form of his muscular arms, warm and thick, encircling her. Even though she felt like her life was up in the air, she had never felt more safe. "I'll try to have a chat with her about it this week. Our schedules rarely align, and usually that's how I like it, but I'll try to move some things around if nothing naturally falls into place."

"I'll be happy to lend my voice or even come talk to her, if need be." he offered, ever the gentleman.

"I appreciate that, Sy, truly. But I think it would be best not to involve you unless it becomes absolutely necessary. We have several more treatments to get through today, though. You didn't finish on the tread mill, do you think you're warmed up enough?"

"Oh, darlin', I'm plenty warm." he grinned down at her sliding a hand down her side.

"Shit, am I gonna have to start being extra careful with what I say to you until this gets sorted?"

"I really doubt it'll matter, Shane. Ain't much you can say I can't make dirty." she could tell by the satisfaction on his face that this was a point of pride for him.

"Lay down and shut up."

"Yes, MA'AM!" he complied with a little too much enthusiasm. She didn't know whether to roll her eyes with amusement or grow increasingly feral…apparently there was room for both as long as she didn't act on the latter. Yet.

~~~~~~~~

She dismissed Sy for the day, instructing him to behave himself until she gave him the all clear, and even then, if she got the green light to see him outside of therapy, sessions would still be about getting him stronger, and not flirting. Or at least mostly. They settled on a 90/10 ratio by the end. She was a weak woman.

She went into the office where one of the senior therapists, Anita, was still charting and snacking on some pretzels.

"How was your day, Nita?" she asked affectionately. Anita had been her mentor since she started with the clinic over ten years ago, and was now part time, flexing toward retirement. She'd miss her.

"Oh, long, Miss Shane. As they tend to be more and more these days. What about yours?"

"Ah…just…nothin'." she shouldn't go into it all until she talked to Susan, their boss.

"Mmm, that's no nothing nothin', that's a something nothin'. Come on, kiddo. Spill." she offered Shane one of her pretzels and kicked out the chair next to her. Again, she was a weak woman. She took a pretzel, sat, and chewed it for a moment, collecting her words.

"What do you think about…starting relationships with patients?" she searched her reaction for any snap judgement or emotion, but only a narrowing of her eyes occurred.

"Is this about that Captain Sexypants who just left?"

"I'm going to kill Heather. I'm not the one who came up with that nickname and I'm not the one who started the whole having feelings conversation. I was going to be miserable until he was discharged, at least."

"Why would you need to make yourself miserable, Shane?"

"Because the policy. About dating patients."

"Technically the policy only says you shouldn't treat family/close friends if you feel you wouldn't be able to maintain objectivity or would be uncomfortable yourself. But that you should disclose any relationship to your supervisor for review."

"See, what's Susan gonna say?"

"Who cares? The policy is the law. And the board of directors governs the policy. Not her. Tell her in an email if you can't work out a time to talk to her before you see him next. Hell, I sent my boss a memo back when I started dating Ron. And look at us now! 20 years strong."

"No way!?" Shane was flabbergasted. She had never known that Anita's husband Ron had once been her patient.

"Oh yes. I wasn't long out of PT school, my first husband had passed away and I needed an income, so I got my PT license and about a year into working here, Ron got put on my schedule. I knew from the eval, he was meant for me. So I typed up a memo, sent it to Morton, our boss at the time, and told Ron I was free on Friday after work."

"Sy just…I don't know, we have this…connection…a spark. I've never felt it with anyone else."

"Are you concerned that seeing him socially would affect how you treat him here?"

"I'm more worried keeping my feelings for him bottled up while I treat him will get so distracting I'll become less effective."

"Well, then, if you get any push back, tell Susan that." Anita said. "Just be forthright. Honest. And speak with integrity. She'll have no cause to refute it, then. And send it tonight."

"Okay. Thanks Anita. You're the best."

~~~~~~~~~

Shane spent too long, probably an hour, at least, drafting her email to Susan. It read:

To: Susan DeForrest

From: Shane Benton

Subject: Re: Treatment Policy

Susan,

I wanted to bring to your attention a situation that has presented itself with one of my patients. I have been treating him almost exclusively for several weeks now, apart from my week on PTO, and he has progressed to both of our satisfaction as well as the ordering physician. However, we have come to be quite friendly and he has expressed great interest in seeing me outside of therapy. This is something that I too would like to engage in, and I plan to accept the next time I speak with him.

From my understanding of the policy, the only thing that would prevent me from treating him as a social acquaintance would be my own comfort level and ability to remain objective. I have every confidence that my objectivity regarding his case will remain intact. I am also completely comfortable with it, and if that changes, I will transfer him to another therapist. Furthermore, I have no doubts that I will be able to maintain the highest level of professionalism throughout our treatments.

Thank you, and if you feel we need to discuss any of this further, please let me know.

~Shane Benton, DPT

And send…whew. She needed a big glass of wine tonight.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Up Next: Chapter Four- E-Stim

[tf2-hoe]

Yo, I need some mercs either reacting to a 5'2 reader that is just filled with rage, or a reader that thinks they look like a boy (they really hate their appearance.)

Team Headcanons - Self-Loathing S/O

One word. Mood.

Spy

Walking in to see his S/O crying was already concerning, but the way they gripped their stomach made his heart sink

“Dear?”

They stared at the ground, biting their lip

“What is it?”

He listened to their explanation, holding them through their anger

“Ugly? Why would you say that? My dear, you are gorgeous; I’ve known women who would kill for looks like yours!”

Scout

“Look at me… I look like a guy! I feel so gross.”

“A guy? You want to look like a girl?”

“NO! I want to be me, not someone that people can look at and easily classify me as one or the other. I don’t want to be a guy, girl, whatever! I want to be me, not this stupid body.”

“Hey, hey, easy babe. Gross? Stupid? Babe, you’re the sexiest person alive!”

He kisses their cheek

“You are you, and you’re beautiful.”

Pyro

Why do they seem so sad?

Pyro hugged them when they saw their S/O didn’t look happy

“Oh, Pyro… I’m so gross.”

They would shake their head, running their hands down their S/O’s back

They held their S/O’s face with their hands, shaking their head once again

Beautiful.

They would do anything for their S/O to believe them

Sniper

Hearing his S/O’s anger was concerning as he walked into the training room

“Love? What is it?”

“It’s me.”

“You? What do you mean?”

They hit the punching bag in front of them again

“I’m worthless and disgusting!”

“What? Why would you say that?”

“I am 5′2″ and I look like a boy! Somebody mistook me for a middle-schooler!”

“That doesn’t mean anything, love! They were stupid, it’s not you. You’re gorgeous… come here.”

He’d hold them close and whisper compliments into their ear

Engie

“Darlin’? Why do you look so upset?”

He could hear them crying into their pillow down the hall, and it made him nervous

They tried to claim they were fine, but he could see the fingernail marks in their arms.

He held them close, gently kissing their forehead and promising them that there is nothing wrong with how beautiful they are

“Promise me.”

“What, honeybee?”

“Promise me I’m beautiful.”

“I swear on my life.”

Heavy

He would not understand what the problem is, as his S/O is absolutely in his eyes

“I’m so ugly.”

“Ugly how? Your beauty blinds me whenever I see you.”

His innocence to their feelings was both frustrating and sweet at the time, as Heavy is more focused on arguing the point rather than addressing their feelings

“Misha please! Sometimes I just want you to comfort me, you know? I just need somebody to help me.”

Upon hearing that, he wouldn’t talk when they’re venting about how they look

Instead, Heavy carefully picks his S/O up and holds them close

He never was a man for words

Demo

Demo does not appreciate his S/O being unhappy with their appearance

“Who said it? I’ll beat ‘em into the dirt!”

“I said it, Tavish.”

“Oh…”

“I’ll still take you up on that offer, though.”

“No! What’s the matter with you?!”

“Oh, I don’t know, everything? I’m short and a boy.”

“A boy? What are you talking about? You’re you.”

“No, I’m not! I’m so short, boyish, and just downright forgettable! Nobody cares about me, they care about how I look!”

“I care about you.”

He doesn’t know how to help, but he knows how to listen

Soldier

Soldier feels so confused as he stares at his angry S/O, who has been ranting about how they are nothing but an object of sexual desire among people

“Cupcake, I don’t understand.”

“What is there to not understand?! All anybody cares about when it comes to me is if they can sleep with me! WHY CAN’T I BE NORMAL?!”

“You’re not normal.”

Hearing confirmation of their abnormality makes them want to scream

“You are a cold killer who would have been a hitman across the world had you not settled down as a mercenary in the middle of nowhere.”

He steps towards his S/O, who has gone quiet

“Nobody cares what you look like, or how attractive you are. Well, besides me.”

His S/O giggles softly at his interruption

“You know what they think of you? They’re petrified. You show no mercy, you are ruthless, your strategies rival any spy, and that is why I love you.”

Medic

He knew from the start that they did not like their looks

The long looks in the mirror, the quiet, disdainful remarks, and the way they grabbed their skin were all clear signs they were miserable inside their own skin

Being a technical person, he immediately started offering solutions that came off far more offensive than he intended

Turns out asking if they want plastic surgery is the last thing he should say

He still feels bad about that one

He is not the best person to go to for venting, but he is trying his hardest to understand why they are upset

It is honestly best for his S/O to ask him to shut up and just hold them

WOO IT FEELS GOOD TO BE BACK! I’m still getting back into the groove of this, so I’mma stick to 2 headcanons a day for now! Sorry if everyone seems a little out of character, but that should be temporary!

[astrologista]

jason stop dying

ooooook i just watched ditf. it was PRETTY GOOD.... i only wish there was MOOORE! watching this REALLY brought me back to 2011 times to see it and i think they did a good job with most of the character design and animations insofar as matching it to the original. (maybe i’m totally wrong but i thought it looked good for the most part... also i just really love these character designs in particular). obviously the budget is not what it would be on a feature, so there are a LOT of places where animation gets recycled and many still frames. some parts are basically a slideshow lol. but i only sort of came to that realization awhile after watching, so i think they did a fairly good job of masking this... ymmv

so let’s get into it!!! 

SPOILERS a-head! do not read until you’ve watched it because i’ll spoil everything

now obviously the thing to be aware of if you are not is the fact that this adaptation is not a panel-by-panel adaptation of the original death in the family comic. all references to jason’s mother (save one mention of her dying of illness) are completely removed, they go to bosnia instead of africa, and the circumstances around jason leaving are also heavily altered to fit the new narrative. this adaptation does slot perfectly into the universe established by the under the red hood animated movie from 2011 though, without which one would be pretty confused when watching this. it’s kind of a mystery as to why they didn’t just package this with utrh and release the entire thing as a collectors edition. instead they package it with like 4 or 5 unrelated dc showcase shorts which makes absolutely 0 sense but go off i guess. anyway

i liked that they took the time to adapt the scene from the original ditf where bruce is talking to alfred about jason! (i do not like that alfred didn’t get any lines. bad choice). tbh i can’t understand why they bothered showing us alfred, barbara and dick if they weren’t gonna give them any lines..... like come on........??

HOW INTENSE BRUCE LOOKS WHEN HE FINDS JASON IN SARAJEVO and just. grabs him lol. hes smad :)

ok so one two skip a few and we get to the first branch. instead of calling 1-900 we now get to choose whether jason lives or dies. there are 7 possible endings i think i got em all so let’s see what we got here.

“Hush” Route - Robin cheats death

hgrgdggr. i definitely think this is one of the more interesting endings, if not the most interesting one. this is also the only ending in which both bruce and jason survive the bombing. bruce is still too late, but this time jason barely clings to life and survives. as a hurt/comfort fan i was 100% on this shit from the word go but then jason? runs away from home lmao lmao i thought that was SO funny because 1) hes super messed up, how is he able to just literally run out the house that is SO funny to me and 2) implying that bruce would ever not be keeping an eye on him after that is just, lmao. it’s so zany. i call this the “hush” route because of the bandages but there are no other references to hush so ok. that’s fair. so anyway jason is now angsty for loosely explained reasons but the most fun part is yet to come.

when talia showed up, i really thought / was terrified for a second that they were gonna bring up certain “events” regarding damian’s parentage / who damian’s father is but then she mentioned bruce and i was like OH THANK GOD WE CAN STILL GO TO HEAVEN. i am so so grateful to the writers for NOT going there. cuz it was damn close ok. im not sure what the implication of this route is in terms of talia, jason and damian being a family unit but i want to believe talia sees jason as a son and damian’s brother (which is how she refers to him, damian’s brother) and not... yknow. i mean. jason raising a baby is kind of like a baby raising a baby...

no actually the reality of this scene is really dfuckin interesting like. they actually go with the “birth of the demon” (forget if it was birth of the demon or bride of the demon. one of those.) explanation for damian and that is something i’ve NEVER seen adapted so whoever wrote this can have a cookie and i kNOW this is something a certain someone will appreciate :)

not only that but the implications? are interesting? so talia’s claim is she miscarried so bruce won’t have to “choose” between damian and jason and idk if she’s supposed to be all on the-up-and-up in this universe but. i’m sitting here like GIRL YOU DON’T GOTTA DO THIS HE HAS A PRIVATE JET HAVEN’T YOU HEARD OF SHARED CUSTODY and BETTER YET HE HAS A MANSION JUST GO ON MAURY AND GET THIS SORTED OUT RIGHT NOWwwww

i’m also LAUGHING at the implications of jason thinking theres anywhere on earth that he’s going to go and hide damian’s existence from bruce. because you already know he’s just going to be tearing the planet apart looking for jason so this is actually hilarious. imagine he finds jason in one piece and also a baby. his baby. he’d be like (@ talia) “OMG WHY WOULD YOU THINK I WOULDN’T WANT THEM BOTH u are tearing me apart talia......” BUT THEN HE WOULD BE SO FREAKING HAPPY BECAUSE HE HAS TWO ALIVE SONS AND HE THOUGHT THEY WERE BOTH DEAD / (lost to crime)!!!

please lord imagine all of jason’s angst probably just originating from the fact that he has a brain injury that hasn’t fully healed and the trauma of going through all those surgeries probably gave him a lot of fear / paranoia about bruce and associating him with the joker because his neural pathways are all messed up but after he leaves he starts slowly healing back and regaining some of his lost sanity and thats when he realizes he misses bruce so much... but hes also raising his child... and every day it gets more difficult for him not to just take damian and bring him home and i ;v;

anyway i thought this route, while it had a few inconsistencies in it, was really freaking interesting and it gave me feels and plot bunnies and is probably the one i want to write about the MOST despite the fact that baby damian looks like a character from one of those web flash games in this lol

“True” End - Jason Dies

now if you select that jason dies the route basically defaults to the canon of under the red hood and the fact that utrh does not come packaged with this movie is a rather mystifying choice to me as i don’t think this adaptation would stand on its own very well. like you need quite a bit of background to really get anything out of watching this on its own, which is probably why it’s classified as a “short” and not as its own movie.

instead of showing all of utrh, it seems they took the opportunity to give a ~30 minute recap of utrh with basically entirely reused animation but they allow bruce to sort of. give his dvd commentary over it.

the biggest feeling i have on this is that it’s sad that they had to waste 30 minutes like this that could’ve been used to do something new and much more interesting, but honestly i’m not mad. it seems kind of obvious that this choice was probably made for budget and/or runtime reasons because a short does not get the same budget set aside as a full length feature film does. so they basically took the option of recycling 30 minutes of animation from the movie and dubbing new audio over it.

in evangelion they ran out of budget and that’s why the last two episodes consist of nothing more than still pencil drawings and frames while the characters engage in philosophical debates concerning the nature of reality and human connection. and i really enjoyed that. and for the same reasons, i also really enjoyed this.

i enjoyed seeing the clark kent of this universe. i enjoyed that he was basically out on a date with bruce. i enjoyed that bruce was willing to open up for once and tell clark all of what happened with jason. but what really makes this segment shine bright are bruce greenwood’s line reads. there are SO MANY good line reads in here. and i LOVED how many times he said the word “son”. very wholesome. the way he describes how he felt during the final fight with jason? probs my favorite FUCKING part.

and then him and clark joking together about contingency plans and then they’re going to work together to find jason and i ;_; this is probably the closest thing to a “good” ending but as a continuation of utrh i thought it worked really well. i really want to believe that bruce and clark did find jason in this route and that there was some closure in the end even though we didn’t get to see it.

including clark in this was DEFINITELY the right move as well, considering that he played a rather large role in the original ditf so it’s a welcome nod.

The rest of the branches exist under a separate option where Bruce makes it in time to save Jason from the warehouse... but Bruce dies......... :O

let me tell you bout it... bruce’s fucking DEATH SCENE i don’t know WHAT my man bruce greenwood is on, but the freaking LINE READS in this dialogue had me making INHUMAN NOISES. LIKE NOT ONLY WAS THE DIALOGUE GOOD, NOT ONLY DID HE SAY “I LOVE YOU, SON”, but this man is just an amazing actor. not just voice actor, but actor. he really really really really gave it the most i don’t know how else to say it....... it was very very well done and punched me sideways in the heart and i haven’t recovered and i’m not going to recover. and

ok so once we get past that.... scene.... u have to choose whether you’re going to catch the joker or kill the joker. bruce asks jason to promise not to kill the joker but technically jason doesn’t promise so........

Let’s start by choosing to kill the Joker. Jason attends Bruce’s funeral and various members of the Justice League show up to talk with him and just generally hang out. He has Alfred, Dick and Barbara as his support system, but Jason has some other plans.

This leads to a scene in a cafe where Jason meets with a man who... something something Killing Joke, flashlight, more Barbara being used as a plot device when she deserves better, Jason kills the Joker with a butter knife.

Once you do this you can choose to surrender to the police, or retaliate and escape.

Jailbird Ending

basically if you surrender to the police jason ends up in prison where he can actually attack even more criminals so.... ya

If you retaliate and escape instead you go to the Red Robin route where Jason becomes a vigilante who kills people much like the Red Hood and you get a further choice in a fight with Two Face where you can control how Harvey’s coin lands. 

Tim Ending!

If you choose the coin to land clean face up, the thing rewards you by having Tim show up and I forgot what happened (wasn’t really paying attention lol) because i was so focused on TIM!

Prolly they felt sorry for him what with Jason stealing what is essentially his outfit (ok I know it was Jason’s first, but Tim made it cool) so they let a little baby tim have an appearance :) he’s very smol

I guess in this ending Jason gets reintegrated with the family somehow and Tim becomes “Bat-kid” which is hilarious to me but you know what it’s cute. CUTE.

The one ending where the coin lands scarred side up

i honestly forget what happens if you choose to have the coin land scarred side up but let me just say this is a FUCKED route to take, not only have you had jason survive and bruce die, you’ve now chosen to kill the joker against bruce’s dying wish, you’ve chosen to attack the police, and at the end of that you really are gonna choose harvey’s coin to be scarred face up???? choosing this made me feel like a DICK because here i am supporting jason’s whole fall to madness and villainy thing the way it wants me to and now he’s gonna die HERE? i hate it here.

interestingly enough he doesn’t actually die in this route. he ends up at home with barbara and dick while dealing with the fact that he killed the joker but the route ends with jason saying “i promise” so i guess this is supposed to be kinda sad. im so confused lol ok

So that is all the options if you choose to kill the joker, I believe. You can also make the choice to just catch him instead of killing him but amazingly enough, those routes are even more FUCKED up. 

If you do this option Jason goes home, mourns Bruce with Dick, Barbara and Alfred, and becomes Red Hood BUT with a twist, he’s entirely on a bloodless operation in line with Bruce’s wishes. OR.... IS HE?

Things then follow the events of UTRH until the scene on the bridge with the van and the guys. Jason finally confronts Joker, who reveals the truth. 

Apparently in this route Jason has actually been killing and decapitating his victims just like in the original movie, but he’s repressed it so as to not even realize to himself that he’s doing it.

that is FUCKED. also. i wanna cry because jason doing all of that stuff but not even realizing it ;------; jason blocking it out, because he wanted to honor bruce’s wishes for him not to kill anyone ;______; but he’s doing it anyway ;_____; he’s actually hearing voices telling him to kill ;____; like it’s a very cheap twist in a sense and also really quite cruel but.... damn, son.

There is a branch here where you can choose to spare or kill the Joker at this point (UNDERTALE???) but from what I can tell it seems to be totally meaningless what choice you pick because you end up at the exact same point either way, I think there’s a small variation in what happens after you make the choice but after that they just coalesce back together into the following two endings. Which seems incredibly cheap to me, I mean making a choice like that should alter Jason’s path completely but, it doesn’t! So... ooook....

Either way Jason ends up on the Wayne building and Talia shows up with a re-animated Bruce from the pit. Here’s another fun blast from the 2011 past with more gratuitous Grant Morrison dreck, remember that shit? Well, they’re gonna jam it down your throat here, too.

The reanimated Bruce is the Zur En Arrh Bruce and he’s already dead so this is all meaningless but basically Jason fights him and you get to choose whether everybody lives or dies.

Zur En Arrh - Everyone Lives!

if you pick this, jason actually gets the re-animated bruce back to the batcave and they lock him up down there because he’s still pit-mad and the prognosis is not great. but i’m not sure what they expected, he is the zur-en-arrh guy so I don’t think he’s getting better. 

Zur En Arrh - Everyone Dies!

pretty much there’s an explosion and all three of them die and that’s it

I think that should be all the possible endings there are.

By the way the different ways in which black mask dies in this was actually a fairly clever running gag lollll. let that mf burn we don’t need no water.

overall there are a couple of things i would have done to SIGNIFICANTLY improve this adaptation beyond some of the obvious ones.

- the fact that all of the branching options are branched exclusively under the “jason lives and bruce dies” branch is a huge wasted opportunity. imo this is the most egregious problem with this, i was really looking for a more balanced tree / explanation of different things. i am probably super biased though being a fic writer and used to fic, we’re the ones making huge ass trees every day lol.

- the fact that there is no “good” ending here is something i kind of expected but given the context of this is lackluster. i sort of get it though because granted, the original ditf ends in an unresolved manner but it’s distinctly unsatisfying here. i secretly wanted an ending where bruce, like, figures out about the different endings and hacks reality to try to find a good ending where jason lives and everything is fine lmao. like a bat mite ending.

- i was disappointed in a sense that the narrative given in here is so basically simplistic? maybe i’ve been spoiled by games like 999 and undertale where shit gets messy and that’s not what this is supposed to be but when i play something with multiple endings in this day and age, at least play with the concept a little bit and connect some of the branches together narratively. use different devices. i was also hoping some of the choices would be a little bit meatier like you could choose to “forgive bruce” or something cool like that lol. but it looks like the majority of choices have to do with who lives or dies. and i felt like they couldve been a bit more creative with that ya know? being able to control harvey’s coin was a GREAT example of having some more fun with this.

- it is a huge missed opportunity not to have a “secret ending” on something like this. like where. the fuck. is my secret ending for completing everything. come on. and in a similar vein there should’ve been at least something in terms of bruce and jason interacting in a “true ending”. even if very brief. the closest thing to an ending this has is the “jason died” route and then the ending where he’s talking to clark which i feel like was a REALLY nice good optimistic ending as far as this goes, but it comes off as kind of disappointing i guess

there were SO many interesting nuggets locked into this thing though. i can’t deny it bugs me how many wasted opportunities there were with how they chose to structure things but i guess it’s the best you can do with limited runtime. i thought it was really well done though, makes an interesting companion piece to the original utrh, and is definitely something that i will be re-watching again soon!! overall i give it a 7/10 and some parts an 8/10+!

[jam-is-my-food]

writing asks. all of them. ( for 50 uhh just write a paragraph about how hot emmy raver-lampman is in a suit please and thank you </3 )

fUCK YOU NESSIE

THAT’S IT IM DOING IT JUST TO SPITE YOU

this is gonna be long asf click keep reading at risk of death or boredom

1.     Do you listen to music when you write?

not usually, it's distracting

 2.     Are you a pantser or plotter?

naturally pantser but if i wanna actually finish smth i gotta plot it hh

 3.     Computer or pen and paper?

computer i'm not a boOmer /j i so am

 4.     Have you ever been published, or do you want to be published?

bitch i wiSh

actually technically i was published in this anthology thing once? and i think i have a piece in a magazine somewhere on the internet i forget those are cool

but yeah bye getting a novel published is my d r e a m (gotta write a novel first tho lawl)

 5.     How much writing do you get done on an average day?

n o t  m u c h

unless i get one of my bUrsts aka finishing a 2.3K almoons chapter before 8am the other week after procrastinating it for like two months 

but yeah jdsghliuedskj it um depends often none

 6.     Single or multiple POV?

i answered that for kiri so i'll just copy paste it over loll

mmm it depends. usually i do single? but i do do multiple occasionally. i almost never do alternating chapters, though, it’s usually more like part one is narrated by person a, part two person b etc.

 7.     Standalone or series?

baha like i could ever write a series (please, please be jinxing yourself rn refster) aside from that one trilogy when i was 7 but uh yeah atm just standalones but a series would be so cool in future 

 8.     Oldest WIP

the aforementioned trilogy. chronicles of clara. it is incREDIBLE. 10/10. so good. so, so good.

 9.     Current WIP

i haven't actually mentioned it on tumblr yet but hehehe it's called the wordweaver's apprentice it's fantasy and i'm v excited about it :DD that was ooc but :DD

 10.  Do you set yourself deadlines?

(also answered for kiri, copy-pasting over)

hahahahhahahuhdkjashdglauhsdaugediuskjlkehdsgihkdskhgdkjx

i? try?

it does not go well?

but then i never finish my projects?

send help pls im dying

11.  Books and/or authors who influenced you the most

lmao the list is too long

 12.  Describe your perfect writing space

somewhere w/o distractions

 13.  Describe your writing process from idea to polished

hm. idea. that's cool. that's cool. write it down. hype myself up. forget about it within a week.

el em mayo

but like

f r LMAO

okay but fr fr idk i don't usually finish stuff but it'd be idea, brainstorm, plot (sort of), write, agonize, write, finish, throw in the other direction and never touch again bc revision whos she

 14.  How do you deal with self-doubts?

cry and spam my friends

 15.  How do you deal with writer’s block?

i don’t - mm. i don’t tend to get writer’s block? or like - idk what to classify as writer’s block? bc sometimes i get blocked for a certain story, but then i get really into like poetry or sum for a week so it’s fine idk

 16.  How many drafts do you need until you’re satisfied with a project?

o n e as i said i don't - revision is a no

 17.  What writing habits or rituals do you have?

uHhHhhhhh idk???

 18.  If you could collaborate with anyone, who would it be, and what would you write about?

*laughs in gfc*

 19.  How do you keep yourself motivated?

i don't. if you have any ideas please hmu i need it.

 20.  How many WIPs and story ideas do you have?

m a n y.

21.  Who is/are your favourite character(s) to write?

mmmmmmmmm i love cass i haven't written her in too long but i think she's probably my most well-done character to date and i'm so proud of her badkghewiludkjs

 22.  Who is/are your favourite pairing(s) to write?

c y i l l

though possible imeini (ship name needs revision) in future we shall see (from twa) (the aforementioned newish wip)

 23.  Favourite author

there are Many

 24.  Favourite genre to write and read

fantasy maybe? ooh dystopia is fun

 25.  Favourite part of writing

everything about it when i'm motivated hh, my problem is getting more motivation

 26.  Favourite writing program

oh idk huh?

27.  Favourite line/scene

idk?

 28.  Favourite side character

j o o s t

 29.  Favourite villain

i def have one but i forget

 30.  Favourite idea you haven’t started on yet

too many

31.  Least favourite part of writing

motivating myself :/

 32.  Most difficult character to write

mmmm i'm not really in the throes of a wip atm so idk

 33.  Have you ever killed a main character?

yessir

 34.  What was the hardest scene you ever had to write?

drunk will was surprisingly difficult in a fun way. def not the hardest but yeah

 35.  What scene/story are you least looking forward to writing?

god idk

36.  Last sentence you wrote

And then Mei was gone, and in the space that she'd filled, Imani whispered, "I wish I was like you."

 37.  First sentence or your current WIP

It is said that when we came to this stretch of Tatys land, it was empty.

38.  Weirdest story idea you’ve ever had

mm there was one about anthropomorphic chickens battling sentient fruits, the fruits in question also being six-year olds

 39.  Weirdest character concept you’ve ever had

s e e  a b o v e

 40.  Share some backstory for one of your characters

cass's mom used to have a drug problem & she would leave her alone for long stretches of time, she went to rehab and is now sober but it's where cass gets her abandonment issues from

41.  Any advice for new/beginning/young writers?

just write! no one taught me how to do anything, and there's no rules per se, aside from basic grammatical stuff. do what you wanna do, don't worry about others' reactions. this is cliche asf but true.

 42.  How do you feel about love triangles?

mostly gross, but they can be good.

 43.  What do you do if/when characters don’t follow the outline?

adapt. i  g o  w i t h  t h e  f l o w.

 44.  How much research do you do?

not much usually, depends on the genre of story. i do as much as i feel i need to. and ofc i have the random writer search history.

 45.  How much world building do you do?

in the past, not much. twa (once again my new wip) is fantasy, though, so i' m attempting to remedy that.

 46.  Do you reread your own stories?

i do! it's fun to look back at them after a few years and see how much i've improved.

 47.  Best way to procrastinate

random character headcanons/doodle writey spurt thingies

 48.  What’s the most self-insert character/scene you’ve ever written?

bAHA this one scene in the cHrOniCLeS of cLaRa book two when this girl lisa who was 100% self-insert got annoyed at her little sister daisy (sister-insert) for chewing too loudly and then proceeded to use her wAtEr pOwErs to like flood the house. that part was less self-insert.

 49.  Which character would you most want to be friends with, if they were real?

bye that's so hard. c a d m u s & l a u r e n t tho cinnamon rolls are liFE.

 50.  Write a paragraph about how hot emmy raver-lampman is in a suit please and thank you

i don't gotta write my own bitch i have everything i need to plagiarize from right here

"Raver-Lampman’s enthusiasm is contagious. So is her laugh. It comes from deep inside, just like her voice, and it rings out — ricocheting off furniture and walls. Her head is shaved, all except for a distinctive swath of tight curls on the top and left side of her head. She has the tiniest septum ring in her nose, and a tattoo of what looks like a musical note behind her right ear."

- the clearly gay jessica belt

thank you for the ASKS darLING and thank you if you read this idk why or whether you're okay but yup

[writingithink]

Keeping In Mind Pairing: Ten x Rose Rated: T Wordcount: 2,359 Summary: The Doctor finally looks into Rose's telepathy (a bit). Notes: Life got busy, but finally Day 6 of @timepetalsweek ! I used the picture prompt and the word prompt 'wolves'.

For the first time, I'm going to say that if you haven't ready any of the other ones you might not enjoy this one as much. I don't think you'd necessarily be lost or anything, but yeah.

So many innumerable thank yous to @hey-there-juliet for betaing <3

All mistakes are mine.

I own nothing.

READ IT ON AO3 -> copy/paste link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25539580

“I think it’s that way,” Rose pointed, laughing as the Doctor tried to stand on his tiptoes to see over the crowds of people and ended up knocking his forehead on her chin.

“You know, the parade’s over. Don’t you want to stand on your own now?”

“No. I had to use my favor for this, so I’m gonna make the most of it, ta.”

He rolled his eyes, even as he smiled up at her. It really wasn’t that bad, she didn’t weigh much at all as far as he was concerned. If they ever had to do this the other way around, his wife would likely be shocked at how dense he was despite his skinny body. So he began to slowly weave through the groups of families that still hadn’t dispersed despite the late hour and the park closing. Just because giving her a piggyback ride was physically easy didn’t mean it wasn’t awkward to navigate.

I can get down if you really want.

“No, no, you’re right. It’s your favor. Blimey, I don’t know what I’d use mine for. Suppose I’ll just save it, I’m sure it will come to me.”

“Mmm shoulda put an expiration date on ‘em. That way I wouldn’t be blindsided whenever you do figure out what you want.”

“Were you planning to forget?” he asked, pausing to look around again. He could sense the TARDIS nearby, he just couldn’t see.

“No,” she chuckled, “but knowing you, it’ll be, like, ten years from now and you’ll be like ‘ Rose, remember how you owe me a favor’ and then ask me to do something completely barmy.”

The Doctor grimaced. “Don’t. Don’t do impressions. It’s not- no.”

But he did love the idea of her being with him ten years from now. She kissed the top of his head, their bond buzzing with pleasant emotions (and a hint of irritation, but he’d known that was coming the moment he questioned her character work - but really, she could settle for being good at most things, no one’s good at everything).

“Aha!” He finally locked eyes on their time ship and sped up, Rose gripping him tighter.

When they reached the door he paused and bent over so that his bondmate could unlock and open it, as his arms were still busy holding her up. Once inside, he kicked the door closed and paused once they got to the console.

“Down now?”

“Nope.”

“But how’m I supposed to fly the TARDIS?”

“Where are you trying to go now? I’m knackered. We landed at Epcot before it even opened and have been riding rides all day.”

“Nowhere, really. Just not here. Maybe orbit around a nice nebula.” The Doctor tried to shrug, but it was hard to accomplish with Rose on his back.

“Then it can wait. Let’s go to the galley, have a cuppa,” she suggested, and he wondered if he’d have to hold her the whole time she made tea.

Yup, came her mental response.

This can’t possibly be that fun for you, he insisted, despite the contradictory information the bond was giving him.

“C’mon, it’s a new experience,” his wife insisted, and she wasn’t wrong but it definitely wasn’t a new experience he would have ever put on a list of things to try.

With a sigh, the Doctor walked them around the console and to the main corridor, but he wasn’t paying nearly as much attention as he should have been as he turned down the hall and ended up bashing her head on one of the coral struts.

“Ow!!”

“I’m so sorry! So, so sorry!!”

He could feel how much that hurt over their connection. Still didn’t know how to turn off that part. It was so unconscious that telepathic barriers didn’t really do anything.

“Ohhh I think it’s bleeding,” she groaned.

“Sorry, sorry! We’ll have it fixed up in a jiffy, don’t you worry,” he promised, making a left instead of a right to get to the infirmary.

After kicking open the doors, the Doctor sat Rose onto the cot. “We’ll just press pause on the piggyback ride, yeah?”

“Mmm, I don’t really feel like it anymore,” she grumbled as he pulled the sonic out of his jacket pocket. Honestly, they probably didn’t need to be in here for this, but it was where the good antiseptic wipes were for after he healed her head wound.

“Sorry,” he whispered, parting her hair around the teeny tiny cut and sonicking it closed before doing a quick scan to make sure he hadn’t given her a concussion - he hadn’t.

“Stop sayin’ sorry, it was just an accident,” Rose huffed, and he was beginning to feel her headache through the bond.

And he almost apologized for apologizing, but thankfully caught himself.

It wasn’t until he turned around to find the antiseptic and some paracetamol that the Doctor noticed all of the various scanners and other equipment lined up on the counter. He’d done that weeks ago in a fit of productivity while Rose had been sleeping, and since then had completely forgotten about it. Well, not completely . But he had been putting it off. They’d been putting it off.

“We don’t have to wait until we’re done with our honeymoon if you don’t wanna,” Rose said, picking up on his frustrated guilt.

He sighed, getting back on track and opening the cupboard, hoping that the TARDIS hadn’t rearranged things again - thankfully she hadn’t. In fact she was being quite helpful today, wipes and pain reliever right at the front.

“It’s not exactly romantic,” he countered. “We’ve only just finished trip number four, and we already took a break to do wedding planning with your mum.”

“Well, at the rate we’re goin’, this honeymoon could last months yet. Don’t think I didn’t catch ya pondering about cabins this morning. Which I do approve of, by the way. I’ve always wanted to try skiing.” She gave him his favorite tongue-in-teeth grin.

“Awwwww that was going to be a surprise,” the Doctor pouted as he handed her the capsule before setting about cleaning her scalp and hair.

“You weren’t tryin’ very hard to keep it a secret,” his wife pointed out.

“I thought you weren’t really awake yet. Your thoughts were all … cotton candy-like.”

“What?”

“I don’t know, that’s the closest thing I could think of,” he defended. “Telepathy isn’t easy to describe! Especially not in English.”

Like the way her mental laughter gave his whole body a pleasant tingly bubbly-ness.

“Anyway, we’re here now so we might as well do your scans,” Rose said, changing the subject. “And I think you owe me two more favors now.”

“What? Why?”

“‘Cause, even though it was an accident you did mess up my piggyback ride.”

“But how does that equal two favors?” he asked, confused.

She looked up, momentarily dislodging his hand. “Because you love me?”

His bondmate was quite devious, and no amount of big, innocent eyes were going to change his mind. Unfortunately, she was right.

“ Fine,” he sighed, wondering when exactly she had wrapped him around her finger. The Doctor had a sneaking suspicion that it was earlier than he’d ever want to admit. He tipped her head back so that he could finish up. “Two favors for you, but you can’t use them to get out of my future-favor. Aaaaand, all done.” He gave her head a kiss and then moved back to the counter to get started on the scans.

“So, how’s this gonna work?” Rose asked.

“Should be easy. You can just stay where you are. This is a six-dimensional comprehensive deep scanner. Used to have an eight-dimensional one, but I seem to have misplaced it. Actually, I may have traded it. Hard to remember.”

He set up it’s tripod, calibrating the sight before dragging the cords over to the infirmary monitor.

“And this,” he continued, holding up a teal tablet about the size of a small laptop, “is a telepathic assessment device. Used to classify telepathy grades, basic ability test. It hooks up to you with these.” The Doctor picked up a handful of wireless electrodes.

“Wait, I’m gonna have to take a test?”

Distress echoed across the bond.

“Kind of. Sort of. It’s not like it’s something you need to study for.” This didn’t seem to reassure her. “We could skip this one?”

“No, no, it’s fine. I just don’t like takin’ tests,” Rose mumbled, crossing her arms and looking down.

The Doctor walked over, abandoning the equipment on a nearby cart before taking a seat next to her on the cot and wrapping an arm around her. “It’s really not that kind of test. It’s still medical, like a reflex test or a concussion test, you know, where they ask you the date and who’s prime minister. Just a basic check. And I’m certain you’ll do brilliantly. You’re such a strong presence in my mind, and since you have such a limited experience with telepathy I don’t think you can appreciate how exceptional that is. But really, I’m sure that I can still get a good picture of what’s going on if we didn’t do this one.”

“No, no, we can do it,” she sighed, resting her head on his shoulder. “‘M sure you’re right. Just me being silly.”

“It’s not. Silly, that is.” He kissed her temple, both savoring the way their bond buzzed at the contact. “You’re sure?”

“Yup. I’m sure. What else do we need to do?”

“If we’re being thorough? A full medical. But I don’t feel like being that thorough right now. The TARDIS base scans should be fine.”

“TARDIS base scans?”

“Ah, right, have I never mentioned?” The Doctor rubbed the back of his neck, mussing his hair. “Everyday, however many times we enter the TARDIS or whenever there’s a significant, unexpected change in our vitals, she scans us. To make sure we’re healthy. So, me too, not just you. If she thinks you might be getting sick, she adjusts the environment, adds different medicines into the air.”

“Into the air?” Her jaw dropped.

“I’ve very advanced technology on this ship, haven’t you noticed?” He raised an eyebrow, smirking just a little (and got a swat for his trouble).

“Alright, let’s get this over with,” Rose decided, straightening up.

And so they got on with it. Really, it didn’t take very long - she finished up the telepathic assessment in under 20 minutes. During which the Doctor tried and failed to compile her TARDIS scans. He put on his specs and glared at the screens, thinking unflattering things to his time ship.

“Ugh, I don’t think that helped my headache,” his bondmate complained, setting down the tablet.

“Oh. I didn’t really think of that. Could you come over here? I need your hand.”

“What for?” she asked, coming up behind where he was sitting next to the monitors and draping her body over her back.

“She won’t let me look at your scans without your permission.”

“Oh.” She blinked. “Well, that’s polite. Where’s my hand go?”

“Right in here,” he said, pointing at a white iridescent box. “And no, it’s not polite. I’m your doctor!”

“Mmm, yeah, you are,” Rose agreed, licking the shell of his ear before obediently sticking her hand into the reader.

All of the doctor-ly things he had previously been thinking about fled his mind, followed by telepathic laughter and a few very suggestive images.

Minx, he mentally chastised.

Mmm, but all yours.

“So!” he shouted (on accident), “I’ll just set your 6d scans and assessment to configure. And the TARDIS has finished graphing your daily scans with a focus on your telepathic centers. Want to know the results, or …?”

“Yeah, tell ‘em to me,” she whispered into his ear, and how did she do this?

I thought you had a headache?

She didn’t bother responding to that, instead taking a seat in his lap. The Doctor had to crane his neck in order to look at the computer screens. It was very hard to focus with his wife massaging his shoulders. But he eventually managed, eyes widening and mouth falling open as he read the readout.

It was pretty much what he’d suspected, but still. It’s one thing to theorize and another to see the evidence right in front of him.

“What? What is it?”

Rose stopped teasing him, looking back and forth between him and the monitors of Circular Gallifreyan.

“Bad Wolf.”

“Wait, what?”

He finally pulled his eyes away from the screens and focused on his bondmate, who was beginning to panic.

“It’s nothing bad,” the Doctor was quick to reassure her. “You’re fine. Perfectly healthy. It’s just, when you and the TARDIS merged, you had to connect telepathically. Humans, you’ve got loads of possibilities in your DNA that you never evolved to use. Telepathy is one of those things, the markers are already there. So what the TARDIS did was activate them, which allowed you two to properly communicate. Remove the Vortex, though, and the knowledge of how to use the telepathy disappears. But if you look at the progression from then to now, there’s been steady improvement. You’re stretching the muscles, so to speak.”

“And that’s … it’s fine?”

“Perfectly fine,” he repeated, hugging her tightly. “None of it’s normal, but I can’t say I’ve ever liked normal. And you know what?”

“What?”

“I can’t be certain, but assuming your trends hold, you’ll quickly become a stronger telepath than I am. Provided you have lessons.”

“Like more telepathy lessons than usual?” She frowned. “We have those all the time.”

“Not necessarily more often. More varied, though. Ohhh, I’m going to have to do even more reading. And I’ve not even started. I should really get on that.”

“Yeah, but not right now.” Rose stood and then began playing with his tie.

“Oh, definitely not right now. I was, you know, speaking in general, relative terms.”

The Doctor slid to the edge of his chair and went to take his glasses off.

Leave ‘em, his wife projected.

And he was quite delighted to wait to do all of this research until after she inevitably fell asleep.

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Side Effects ch.1 (baon)

Summary: In the aftermath of from the events in 'Internal Disputes' and 'Bedside Stories', the fallout has an effect on everyone and they all have their own issues to deal with.

Tags:  Spicyhoney, Kustard, Established Relationships, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Fluff

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

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Read it on AO3

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Read it here!

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Waking up alone was not unusual in the scheme of things. That was most days and even on weekends the bed next to Stretch would usually be empty by the time he was ready to roll out for the day. Which wasn’t to say he’d never been awakened early by an amorous and handsy Edge, ready for a different kind of wakeup call, but Stretch tended to fall back asleep afterward. In his humble opinion, it wasn’t worth getting out of bed until there was some form of light outside and that was a fact that Stretch was willing to stand by, with plenty of Twitter polls on his side.

So when he reached out sleepily to sweep a hand over the sheets, he wasn’t exactly surprised when the only thing that greeted his touch was 1000-thread count sheets. A little disappointed, yeah, a smidge grouchy, absolutely, but definitely not surprised.

Stretch sighed and rolled over to give the ceiling fan a good stare. It only stayed in place innocently, the fan blades not pausing one whit at his mood. Which, to be fair, Stretch wasn’t exactly sure he could even classify his current mood; right now it was more a jambalaya than any single ingredient. What a week.

After the kitchen crisis, once Edge got his fill of groping Stretch’s soul, they’d gone upstairs, Stretch helping Edge to hop along for once rather than gathering up his crutches. That’d been a comedy of errors right there, they’d probably looked like some kind of tortured three-legged race, hobbling along. They’d gone right to bed, do not pass go, skip the two-hundred, and lain there wrapped around each other, Edge still petting his sternum even though his soul was no longer visible. Stretch really had no idea when he’d fallen asleep or when Edge crept out of bed, but it must’ve been a fun trip downstairs without his crutches. Hopefully not a literal one.

Stretch gave up on his contemplation of the ceiling fan to glance at his phone. The time made him blink. After using so much magic to heal Red, he’d been expecting to sleep in ‘til noon before guiltily creeping out to feed the ladies. But unless he’d accidentally changed the time zone, it was only nine o’clock. Huh. Magic drain was exhausting and he hadn’t eaten so much as a piece of burnt toast afterward and yet, he didn’t feel tired. Honestly, he almost felt energized, ready to get up and face the day.

Was this how Edge always felt in the morning? That was kind of terrifying. No wonder only half of the brotherly teams got to be energetic, hell, just thinking about Red waking up with his battery fully charged was giving him the creeps, he’d probably try to take over the world.

Thinking of that little pain-in-the-ass goblin made him wince. He really hoped Red was doing okay. There were no text messages waiting for him, but maybe Edge knew.

Welp, may as well get up and go find out. Maybe they’d be going on with the shitty continuation of opposite week, where he got to be the protective one, Edge got to lay around all day, and both of them would be a lot happier when things got back to normal.

The bedroom was a little chilly outside the toasty warm blankets, enough that he scrambled over to where his bathrobe was hung on the back of the bedroom door. Stretch slipped it on over his bare bones. Real clothes could come after coffee. He opened the door and that was when he heard muffled voices that were definitely not from the television. Kinda early for reasonable visitors and Stretch tightened the belt on his bathrobe, no point in giving a free show, and peered downstairs to see what sort of nefarious characters decided to drop by this time.

Honestly, they needed one of those prohibited door signs, except they could cross off ‘solicitors’ and write in ‘drama’. Stretch had pretty much had his fill of that sort of excitement, thanks.

But nefarious probably wasn’t the best way to describe the bright-eyed and bushy-tailed Monsters who were standing at their kitchen door with Edge. Familiar Monsters, actually, Stretch thought they worked at the Embassy. In their hands were mops and carriers loaded with cleaning supplies. Their pointed ears swiveled in his direction and they looked up in unison, both giving him a wave as they went into the kitchen, although what the hell that wary look was for, he wasn’t sure. Usually he wasn’t considered the scary skeleton in the closet in this relationship.

Usually.

Edge was leaning on his crutches and as soon as Stretch got a good look, relief flooded his soul. He was looking pretty bright-eyed himself even minus the tail, and his smile was warm.

“Good morning, love.” Edge called up. There was no sign left of his near-breakdown the night before, so maybe a snuggly night’s sleep did him some good. Firmly competent looked like the phrase of the day and Stretch was down with that, he really was.

30 seconds on the stairs seemed like a criminal waste of time this morning and Stretch shortcutted down instead, very nearly right on top of Edge. He happily ignored his husband’s exasperated sigh, stealing a kiss before he murmured, “mornin’. what’s going on?”

Not that he couldn’t guess, they probably weren’t using the mops to whip up a five-course meal.

Once Edge was finished shaking his head in fond resignation over unnecessary teleportation, he pulled him close, trying to work out a way to hold him around the crutches. It took him a minute to whomp up a strategy that let him lean a little weight on Stretch, the rest on a carefully balanced crutch, and none at all on his casted foot, and only then did Edge offer up a lingering return kiss of his own.

By the time, he drew back, Stretch almost forgot his own question and Edge’s satisfied smirk meant he knew it, even as he said, “Sans sent a team over to check on our kitchen. What’s left of it. He explained to them about how the experiment you were doing went wrong and they’re going to handle the mess. I’m sure he would have brought them himself, but Red is still sleeping off that hangover.”

Coded message received, Red was doing okay. But it was the previous little tidbit that cut through his relief and brought his thoughts to a screeching halt. His mouth dropped open, excuse me, his experiment? And he couldn’t say a damn thing, not with those guys working in the kitchen with the satellite dishes they had for ears all prepped to listen in on some sweet gossip. All he could do was glare at Edge, whose eye lights glittered with obvious amusement.

Dude, not cool. That was going to be all over the Embassy and probably topple the whole ‘showing up naked in a sheet’ as his highest rated fiasco. What a dick move, he liked to come up with his own disasters, thanks, he didn’t need help. Except, of the two of them, people would buy him blowing up the kitchen over Edge at about a thousand to one ratio. Which was probably why Sans came up with that scenario to begin with.

Stretch sighed. Welp, the cover story was out there and now they had to roll with it. Yeah, okay, he could take one for the team, but if he was taking the heat for this, it better have a reward, sexual favors preferred, and not from Sans, either.

He and Edge could discuss a payment plan later.

“that was very nice of sans,” Stretch gritted out. He jerked his head towards the kitchen. “are they even going to be able to clean it all up?”

“Possibly, but I’m not going to try.” Edge gave him another light kiss around his scowl, then let go and headed for the sofa. His small groan of relief as he put his foot up was a pretty damn big clue that he’d probably been standing too long. “I’ve decided with the amount of damage, I’d like to do a full remodel, instead.”

“yeah?” He knelt down to help Edge get his casted foot settled on the pillows. Most of the red paint on it was cleared away, leaving the drawings and signatures underneath tinted pink but it didn’t look too bad. Which meant Edge was probably up way too early if he’d gotten that cleaned up, the brat.

But back on subject before his brain train rattled off the wrong way. Huh, kitchen remodel. Edge had been living here for a few years before Stretch, and the kitchen was definitely his personal territory so if he wanted a makeover, totally his choice. To be honest, he’d sort of expected Edge to be distraught over his kitchen, but right now, he seemed pretty damn serene.

“i mean, yeah, you should. treat yourself.” He gave Edge a sour look, adding dryly, “not like i can complain, since i did ruin your kitchen and all. with my ‘experiments’.” Since their cleaning crew could hear but not see, he went ahead and gave it the whole finger quotes treatment. Probably needed to get Sans to give him the details about ‘the wreckening’, unless his plan was to go all ‘we don’t talk about science club’ with it.

A gloved hand smoothed over his skull, ripe with silent apology. Stretch leaned into it and let it mollify him, for now. “Today they’re only handling basic cleaning up. I’ll contact the building team and see when they’ll be available, and we can work out a plan. Did you want to help me pick out new tile?”

Uh. About as much as he wanted to install a few chalkboards around the house and give ‘em a good scratch whenever he walked by.

Edge must’ve read that off his face like a headline, because his mouth curved in faint amusement. “Then I’d like to ask a favor.”

“anything.” Seriously, picking out tile with Edge sounded as entertaining as weekend plans to watch paint dry. No pun intended.

“Someday, I will teach you all to ask for terms before agreeing so readily,” Edge murmured, almost to himself, then louder, “I have a couple pairs of trousers that I’d like you to take into the tailor for alterations. I’ve already spoken to them and given them measurements, but I need for the pant leg to fit around my cast for when I go back to work next week. I’m afraid my current attire doesn’t exactly fit with dress code.”

Edge looked down at himself in distaste and Stretch had to agree; it’d been pretty weird to see Edge lounging around in shorts all week long. Not that Stretch was complaining, he was fine with bare bones, even put up a good argument for it, which Edge successfully disputed with a firm ‘no’. Of course, he’d paired those shorts with plain t-shirts, no sweaters or button-ups even if he was chilly, because Angel forbid he doesn’t match, seriously, Edge might lose his membership to ‘Sharp Dressed Monthly’. But yeah, if he went into the Embassy dressed like that, they might arrest him as like, a spy or a clone or something.

“yeah, you gotta follow dress code. you don’t want janice to have to punish you for being a bad boy,” Stretch said, slyly, just to see if he could get Edge’s socket to twitch. “that’s my job.”

Edge ignored that because he was boring that way. “A sense of normalcy would be much appreciated as well.”

That had a certain weariness layered beneath it and Stretch tossed his playfulness on a mental shelf for later use. He settled a hand over Edge’s gloved one, squeezing gently as he asked softly, “babe? you okay?”

“Yes. I’m fine.” His firm tone of voice was pretty convincing, but, maybe he wasn’t quite as okay as he seemed? Hard to tell and there was no way Edge wasn’t going to put up a good front with anyone else in the house. “I did want to ask, have you considered allowing me to speak with your therapist for my assessment? I’m not trying to rush you, there’s plenty of time, I’m only working on planning out my week.”

“i--” Stretch sank back on his heels, swallowing hard. He hadn’t considered it, honestly, he’d mostly forgotten about it with everything else going on.

He wasn’t quite sure how he felt about it, but it made his soul feel weirdly tight and itchy. If Edge spoke to his therapist, she’d be talking to him knowing all the things Stretch had told her in confidence, all the things he hadn’t even been able to speak of to Edge. Those were the sessions he was speaking more to the carpet than his therapist, but it was still a relief to get it out, lancing mental wounds he’d had for so long he barely noticed the pain anymore. But, so what, did he really think she’d be blabbing it to Edge? Her experiences with him and Sans probably made her the most qualified Human on the planet to help Edge through any problems or trauma. She’d take good care of him, and suddenly the choice was an easy one.

He reached out and cupped Edge’s face in his hand, fingertips grazing the crack through his socket. “you know what, yeah. call her. i trust you both.”

“Thank you,” Edge told him with quiet sincerity. He took Stretch’s hand in both his own, drawing it over to press a light kiss against his knuckles. “For trusting me.” Then he promptly betrayed it by shifted his grip to Stretch’s wrist and pulled, toppling him into his lap. He yelped, trying to keep most of his weight off Edge before he hurt his fool self, but it was useless with Mister Grabby Hands holding on tight. “And I’m sorry, what was that about me being a bad boy? I think you’re the one who gets into the most trouble in this relationship, hmmm?”

“you’d think, but i ain’t the one with a broken foot...edge!” He squealed a laugh as Edge gave him a poke in the ribs, right where he was most ticklish. He let up for a second, letting Stretch catch his breath, only to double down, tickling madly while Stretch squirmed and shrieked. One leg kicked out without his permission, narrowly missing a lamp on the side table, and Stretch gasped out through laughter, “stop! haven’t we broken enough lately?”

Before Edge could offer his opinion on that, heck, maybe he was hoping to remodel the living room, too, the kitchen door swung open and two burly Monsters bustled on out, mops in hand and just in time to catch a front row seat.

“Okay, so we’ve got the worst of--whoops, sorry!”

The tall guy took an instinctive step back, right into the shorter one, who hastily turned to try getting out of the way. Only he forgot about the mop in his hands, and it turned with him, smacking his companion in the face with a wet slap. That sent his buddy reeling, swinging around to give the mop treatment right back.

While they were working on their Stooges impression, Stretch hastily scrambled out of Edge’s lap to his feet, barely avoiding the fingertips that tried to snag onto him again, not this time, brat. That didn’t stop the heat of a blush scalding across his cheek bones as he yanked his robe down modestly, yeah, there was more gossip for the Embassy, if Tall Boy and The Short One ever stopped sputtering through their facefuls of dirty mop.

A glance at Edge didn’t help, either, his face was schooled to calmness already, not even cracking a smile at the comedy gold in front of him. How was it he managed to look cool and professional with one foot in a cast and gym shorts? He probably didn’t even need to modify his trousers, one sharp look would shut any complainers right up. Even his damn t-shirt looked freshly ironed. Meanwhile, Stretch was feeling kinda sweaty and unwashed in his bathrobe, and he hadn’t even had coffee yet. A mop in the face might even feel refreshing right about now, but that seemed like a thought best kept to himself.

“Thank you for your help,” Edge said evenly, sitting as regal as a King on his…uh…sofa. The two Stooges paused, and the power of Edge’s gaze seemed like enough to straighten them out, both of them turning back to Edge, nodding and smiling.

“Hey, no problem!” Tall Boy said heartily. “Anything to help out you and Sans.”

“Yeah, no problem, anything to help out,” The Short One agreed. “If you have any other...erm...” He slanted a knowing look at Stretch, like he hadn’t been re-enacting an entire slapstick routine two minutes ago right in their living room, “…experiment issues, give us a call.”

”oh, i sure will,” Stretch muttered darkly. “for all my ‘experiment issue’ needs.” He stalked over to the front door and held it open, forcing a smile, “but thanks guys, really appreciate it.”

Took a few more head bobs, but eventual Stretch managed to herd them out the door, mops and all. When he turned back to Edge, his head was dropped back against the sofa, his sockets closed. That stoic mask faded back a bit, leaving behind weariness.

Yeeeah, that disguise was slipping more by the minute. Stretch sat back down next to him. “babe, are you sure you’re okay? lotta shit went down yesterday.”

Edge opened his sockets and offered him a faint smile. “Yes.” He reached out and ran his thumb gently across Stretch’s cheek bone. “I’m only a little tired.” His smile turned wry. “I can guess some of what you’re thinking, you know. Yesterday was difficult, and yes, my kitchen is important to me. But I’ve been very recently reminded that nothing is as important as the people in my life. You’re safe, my brother is safe. Your brother, Sans, Papyrus, Jeff and Antwan. Everyone I care about is safe. It’s something to be grateful for, isn’t it?”

“yeah, it is,” Stretch agreed slowly. It was, but it didn’t mean Edge could turn off his emotions about it like a water spigot or even that he should. Maybe it was a good thing Edge was gonna be talking to his therapist; if nothing else, she was damn talented at finding the X marks the spot to dig at. Stretch knew that from personal, and painful, experience. “we’ll get the kitchen taken care of, so long as no one gives those two hammers.”

“Cleaning duty is probably better for everyone involved,” Edge agreed.

Understatement. “it’ll take me a little while in town, why don’t you take a nap while i’m gone?”

It was mostly a rhetorical question, so he was surprised when Edge nodded. “I will, love. And I won’t touch any work until you get back.”

Good enough.

By the time he fed the chickens, got dressed, and headed back downstairs, Edge was already asleep, his foot propped on the sofa arm and the rest of him hidden beneath the fluffy blanket from the back of the couch. That was good, let him rest, let him find his balance again. Tempting as it was to straightened the blanket or give that much-loved skull a pat, Stretch kept his hands to himself. Better not to take the chance of startling him, Toriel wouldn’t be happy if he voided her warranty, but damn if he didn’t want to.

For all his doubts, the Stooges actually did a pretty good job of cleaning up the kitchen. The remains of the table were cleared away and so was the worst of the paint. Stretch poured himself a travel mug of coffee before heading out to the bus stop, garment bag in hand.

A stop at the tailors to get his baby some real pants would help him get back in the direction of the normal Edge was craving. He hoped. Looked like Opposite Week wasn’t quite finished yet but that was okay. Stretch didn’t mind getting to be the protector, for once.

-fin

[quakerjoe]

Dear Biden Bro Rape Apologists

This includes you politician motherfuckers backing Biden right now.

A CUPPA JOE for CINCO de MAYO, 2020

During all this time you spent bashing me because I supported Tara Reade, I’d like to point something out at this time that clearly y’all missed in your ever-glorified shit-slinging fest defending your GOP insider, Joe Biden.

No ONCE did any of you motherfuckers ever ask one simple question of me and it was this:

“Do you actually BELIEVE Tara Reade?”

Rather an important question, isn’t it? Here’s what separates me from you shit guzzlers who are so fucking terrified and scared of trump that you’re willing to back any piece of shit just to be rid of him. 

You see, dumbasses, my answer would have been “I don’t know; I wasn’t there.” But like most feckless twats, you all missed the point and now it’s too late for you all. The train left the station. That ship has sailed. The point was that we needed to take the accusation seriously, for the sake of all women and all Survivors and investigate the matter because it would have been the right thing to do, not ignore and scorn her and try to cover it up. I’d expect that of the GOP, but come on, Democrats! You were supposed to be better than that! EPIC FAIL ON YOUR END HERE. 

Since clearly you left-wing trump-tards-for-biden types need it spelled out for you:

Whether of not Reade’s story is true or not is, at present, immaterial. What matters is your conduct and the conduct of the fucking assholes in the DNC and the party, and you all failed at being decent human beings.

You failed to take the accusation seriously when it was YOUR guy while not that long ago you were all screaming for justice to the victims of people like Bret Kavenaugh, trump, Cosby, and Weinstein to name but a few rich and powerful types who adhere to trump’s “philosophy” of how you can grab ‘em by the pussy and get away with it when your famous.

YOU FAILED. Not me. You.

What’s worse is that good people like Al Franken had their careers burned for far less. You failed him, and not you’ve shown that you’re willfully ignorant, selfish cunts, just like trump supporters. JUST LIKE THEM.

You see, there’s supposed to be this process when it comes to vetting people for things. Employers tend to do a general background check before hiring employees. When I joined the Navy over half a lifetime ago, my life was thoroughly put under scrutiny because I’d volunteered to serve on submarines. They looked into every detail of my life from my family to my schooling to my jobs to interviewing my friends to get a feel for whether or not I was trustworthy enough to work on classified equipment, also checking my finances to ensure I wasn’t vulnerable to things like being tempted to be a traitor by selling secrets to foreign adversaries because I was in a tight spot. They wanted to make sure there was no dirt anyone could have on me that might compromise me in some way.

Trump got ZERO of that. I was only an enlisted fuck serving on a sub. Why is it we do not hold the Commander-in-Chief to an even higher standard when he’s going to have the “football” within reach at all times with nuclear codes?

As I’d mentioned, the investigation involved looking into character. Biden is a CREEPY CHARACTER, but clearly like trump supporters, you Biden Bros are fine with Biden being creepy and possibly even RAPEY. But the point is we’re talking about an outright RAPE here. RAPE. Biden is accused of cornering and then digitally penetrating a woman’s vagina against her consent. Does that mean ANYTHING to you? Especially you women who are betraying your own supporting this fucknugget! Where’s the concern? Where’s the desire to delve into the vetting process and enact this “DUE PROCESS” you once screamed for?

I don’t know if Reade’s story is true or not. However, where we part ways is that I, for one, took it seriously. I firmly believe, in good conscience, that Biden’s got enough going against him as it is that that Due Process will either vindicate him enough that people like me might be able to choke down the vomit long enough to force myself to vote for him OR he’ll be proven to be a rapist and should, by rights, step out of the way for someone that’s NOT a rapist.

You assholes backing him FAILED. You failed not only women everywhere who are Survivors, you betrayed MeToo, TimesUp, the already weak and tarnished reputation of the Dem. party, and overall and most importantly- your country.

You FAILED to be a decent human being. So, to end this, you clearly need me more than I need you or Biden. If you can’t represent what I hold dear and adhere to a code of conduct becoming a representative of the US Presidency, then I won’t be bullied by you or tolerate you forcing me to betray my code of decency. You won’t tarnish my moral compass. But, in the end, you’ll still need me.

Like trump supporters, you need what I represent- “The other”. I’m the one you’ll blame in November when Biden tanks and we get 4 more of trump because somehow in your addled brains you equate MY lack of support as support for the other side. I support neither because to me, they’re one in the same all working to promote the GOP agenda of utter shittiness. None of my values are being represented by Biden except by way of paltry lip service in order to get elected to his likely one term where he promised to literally change nothing. Yay. A real go-getter to save the working class and save the world from disease, poor education and climate change. Woo-hoo!

So don’t you worry. I’ll be here for you to blame. I know you will because taking personal responsibility for your loss is just what trump supporters do- deny mistakes and blame someone else; trump style, but you know what? I don’t give a flying fuck in a rolling donut. I for one as will others like me will know that the fault is yours for not standing up to the fuckery of the DNC and always taking a knee to bow down to corporate/establishment Democrats who truly don’t give a fuck about you. I’m here for them too; the Great American Scapegoat, that’s me. You people will never learn and you’re no better than the GOP, trump, or his dumbass supporters. Blame me and my kind all you want because we’re not only not afraid to stand up to trumplefuckstick, we’re also not afraid to stand up to Democrats and call them out on their bullshit, either. You Biden Bros had a simple job- sell us on Biden. Earn our votes. Convince us in a meaningful way. Instead, you’ve demonstrated that you’re pieces of shit like trump’s cultists.

It’s not MY JOB to vote for someone, especially if I don’t believe him or if he represents NOTHING I want from my representative in the White House as POTUS. It’s THEIR job to convince me to HIRE THEM because this is a big fucking job interview, not a round of fucking Candy Land. So far, I am about as impressed with the Democrats as I am with the GOP and you’re not helping. To me, you’ve gotten to be more of the same than you were back in 2016. It’s as if trump has actually set a new standard so low that Dems are racing them to the bottom.

If Democrats want my vote, they’ll front me at least SOME of what I want in a POTUS. Biden offers ZERO for me, and if you weren’t so terrified to trump like scared little children, you’d get your heads out of your stupid, well laid asses and see that Biden’s just not into you either.

~Quaker Joe

[whumpster-fire]

Whumpmas In July - Day 12 (Belated): “Do it.���

CONTENT WARNING: Female whumpee, minor whumpee - and I don’t mean “can get a driver’s license but not vote.” Character is 18 days old at the time of this incident, and mentally a child. Read at your own risk.

The Animator’s voice was low and calm – irritatingly calm. His brown eyes stared down through his glasses with barely a spark of anger. “If you ever – and I mean ever – pull a stunt like that again, you’ll be disposed of. The Resistance needs weapons, not liabilities.”

Wendy Weasel, Human Resistance Toon Weaponization Program Number 15, scowled up at him, flattening her ears partway and baring her pointed teeth. “What, you givin’ me this goddamn lecture now? Couldn’t you have done it...” she glanced around, looking for a clock. When she didn’t find one, she made a watch appear on her wrist, then remembered she didn’t know exactly when the event she was referring to was anyway. “...Yesterday morning? Or were you scared Herschel was gonna turn that hammer on you too if you interrupted him?” She wasn’t scared of Lowell. He was one of the two Animators, and de facto leaders, of the Human Resistance, but he wasn’t the one who’d drawn her. He didn’t have the guts to create something like her.

Lowell’s brow furrowed, stretching the skin on his shaved-bald head. “I know you’re trying to turn Herschel and me against each other, Number Fifteen, and it’s not going to work. I’m not going to be baited into badmouthing my colleague and closest friend to a toon. Herschel has a short temper, but his actions were warranted given yours. The only thing I have to question is whether he went far enough.”

The man was so composed and non-threatening it was boring. He was almost three times Wendy’s height, of course, but she doubted he’d ever been in a fight in his life, unless you counted getting shoved into a locker. And size was nearly meaningless against a Toon. Mental and emotional strength was what counted. Any human was helpless against her physically, but she couldn’t exactly take a mallet to her superiors or she was as good as dead. What she could do was mess with their heads, and Lowell seemed to think if he showed the emotional range of a bowl of wet sawdust she’d have nothing to use against him. “Besides,” he went on, “I don’t think you were in any state to hear me then.”

“Exactly,” Wendy said with a smirk. “Would’a been better for everyone that way. I wouldn’t have to listen to you, and you could pretend you were the one making an impression.” But her gloved hands clenched. Yeah, like she needed to be reminded that Herschel’d beaten her into a bloody pulp, which it wasn’t supposed to even be possible to do to a toon. But the Resistance had invented a special plastic that completely suppressed her reality warping abilities, and a fluid that didn’t dissolve toons’ flesh like Dip did, but it made it break and yield and not bounce back… like a human’s. She rubbed her wrist where the cuffs had dug in, and her chin where he’d broken her jaw. The damage was gone now, of course, now that her powers were back, but it was still sore. Her throat hurt too, from Herschel forcing the damn stuff down it and then her puking it back up along with half the ink in her body and maybe a couple internal organs. It was almost impossible to permanently injure a toon, but the problem was, the line between thoughts and reality was so blurred for them that the memory of pain could be almost as bad as the real thing – sometimes could even make an injury reappear, or take way longer to heal, if you couldn’t get it out of your head. Lowell bringing it up again was a dick move. He was really pissing her off now. She wanted to kill someone – or something. Not like she was allowed to kill humans anyway. Even enemies of the Resistance she’d need a direct order to harm. And other toons, the creatures she was made to kill, were in the ‘something’ category. Like her.

But there was tension in Lowell’s face too. Good. Prick. Like she needed a repeat of the same fucking lecture, except not even entertaining.

“Fifteen...”

“Ooops! Was that last bit out loud?” Wendy’s voice was still hoarse and scratchy. It had barely been an hour since she’d finally been let out of the cuffs and the straitjacket and muzzle.

Lowell sighed and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Apparently you do,” he said through gritted teeth. “Although you’re right, I doubt it will sink in anyway, which is why I’m in agreement with Gene and Lawrence that you should have just been Dipped. And you should know, I’ve discussed it with Herschel, and he’s only resistant to the idea because -”

“Because I’m the daughter he never had?” Wendy interrupted.

“No. If you’re trying to shock me, forget it. I’ve known about Herschel trying to create a Toon as a surrogate child for years – his story was part of what opened my eyes about Toons. I’ll admit when he created you and Number Six with such… childlike forms, I was worried he still had some sentimental tendencies, but even if he did I doubt they survived contact with you.”

Wendy’s smirk got bigger. It had taken all of five sentences to get him ‘badmouthing’ Herschel. Although he hadn’t exactly said anything juicy.

“Listen. The reason you’re still alive is because Herschel’s afraid. He’s afraid of you, he’s afraid of another feedback event like the one when you were created, and he’s always been a bit overly cautious. But remember this: you represent about a week’s work for either of us – maybe two. You aren’t irreplaceable, and you aren’t invincible. I’m not afraid of you, and I’m not afraid of getting rid of you. Six, Eleven, and Eighteen can all fulfill your role for a few days, and once Herschel’s and my next creations are animated, there’s nothing stopping us from -”

“Blah, blah, yadda, yadda.” Wendy feigned a yawn. “Come up with some new material, and then get somebody else to threaten me with it, ‘cuz your delivery’s a lost cause. And so’s your animation talent. You think Eleven can replace me? The moron I got to deep fry himself when I was just drawn? Ya know, calling me replaceable’s really the pot calling the kettle black when all your toons are good for is making Dip soup.” Her smirk grew to a vicious grin as Lowell’s face finally contorted in anger. He made a grab for her. She nimbly stepped back, waited for him to blink, and reappeared behind him. “And so’s calling Herschel too cautious. At least he’s not some spineless dickweed who can’t draw up any toon with the balls to reach down and scratch ‘em without asking permission first, because he was terrified of Elmer Fudd as a child and now he relives his boyhood nightmare every time he looks in the mirror. Face it Lowell, you’re the replaceable one around here, not me! If Herschel died tomorrow the Resistance’d be fucked. If you died tomorrow, they’d just have to put up a classified ad for some animation college dropout – ack!”

Oh, she was dead. That had felt good to say, but he was soooo dead. She’d been letting him get a little closer with each lunge, reveling in how angry she’d gotten him, reveling in how she’d completely ruined his calm demeanor, reveling at the fact that whoever checked the security cameras was going to get a good ab workout laughing at Lowell’s expense. But she’d dropped her guard a little too much, and he’d moved faster than she’d expected. He seized her by the throat and slammed her against the concrete wall. It wouldn’t have even been enough to get her adrenaline pumping if it wasn’t still sore. And even so… why was having her ability to breathe cut off like this making her pulse jump like crazy, and not in a fun way?

“Fifteen, I swear… I swear to God… I’ve spent ten years of my life dreaming of wiping your species off the fucking Earth, but I’ve never wanted to kill a Toon as much as I do right now...” His glasses were askew. His eyes were mad, the pupils unevenly sized. An occupational hazard. Bringing a toon to life was kind of like sticking your head in a microwave. Everyone in the profession had some kind of brain damage, Herschel had said. Some just hid it better than others. “I want to melt that smile right off your fucking face...”

“Go ahead then. Do it.” Wendy pried his hand away just enough to get the words out. “If you want me dead that bad, then kill me.” Yeah, right. She knew he was bluffing. Oh, the Resistance’s leadership weren’t happy that she hadn’t technically 100% done exactly what she was supposed to, and the mission hadn’t technically been successful, but they also knew she’d mopped the floor with Acme Looniversity’s star pupils, and Riley – Number Six – had barely made it out of a one-on-one fight alive. That kind of power was too valuable to throw away, not when they didn’t know if the Animators could replicate it.

But suddenly, that power vanished. Wendy felt the horrible cold feeling of one of the plastic cuffs snapping shut around her neck. Tight. Too tight. Suddenly everything was weak. She couldn’t pull her head free, or even squash and stretch her neck so she could breathe freely, or create a crowbar out of Hammerspace to break the lock. She’d felt this awful, helpless feeling once, and she’d sworn she never would again. But she hadn’t even made it a couple hours.

“Uhh… just… just kidding, Lowell...” Wendy gulped. The calm was back, icy and satisfied, as he dragged her down the hall towards the elevator. “Hey, I got legs! Put me down, you fucking -” She kicked and clawed at the cuff. It felt like a truck was parked on her windpipe.

The elevator rose one level. Level Four. It didn’t necessarily mean anything. Dip wasn’t the only thing the Resistance made there: there were also weapons, spare parts for the ACME Machine, and other equipment they couldn’t exactly buy at a hardware store. But when Lowell had two other guys blindfold her, and tie her hands behind her back, she knew.

He was going to kill her. He was actually going to kill her. The harsh chemical smell of Dip, the one substance that was lethal to her kind, burned her nose and sent icy veins of instinctive panic coursing through her body.

“Morning, Lowell,” an older man with a rural midwestern accident said. “What’ve you got there?”

“A discipline problem,” said Lowell. Wendy could hear his scowl. Then, he hastily added: “Oh – good morning to you too, Bill!”

“Fuckin’ dweeb,” Wendy muttered under her breath. Not like they could hear her over the ventilation fans anyway.

“What’re you bringing it up here for, then?” Bill – one of the Resistance’s chemists – asked in an irritated voice. “I’ve told you guys I don’t agree with you letting your little Frankenstein’s Monsters run around this place, but – well, living quarters are one thing, this is another. I gotta remind you, even if your plan’s a total success you still need Dip to finish a toon off, and there’s a lotta fragile equipment on this line.”

“Actually, I was wondering if I could borrow a bucket.”

“Aaahhh...” Bill whistled. “Ah, that kind of discipline problem. About time if you ask me. I’ve been sayin’ you oughta melt that thing down before it kills someone.”

Wendy’s fists clenched. She glared daggers through the blindfold in the direction of his voice. A hundred comebacks and insults ran through her head, and it took all her willpower to bite her tongue. But right now, the anger was being blotted out by an emotion she’d hardly ever felt in her life. True fear. Her whole body felt weak, like her bones might dissolve and she’d melt into a puddle even before they finished her off. She heard Lowell saying something to Bill that she couldn’t make out over the hum of the fans and the pounding of her own heart. She felt sick to her stomach – although that could’ve been just the smell of Dip. She wanted to be anywhere but here – to vanish and reappear somewhere else in the underground complex. She wanted to pull a hacksaw out of Hammerspace to get rid of the cuff choking her, or failing that just blast it to pieces even if it meant setting off enough explosives to level a city block in her own face. Hell, she wanted to make Bill try it on for size on his fat fucking neck. The result would probably be like putting a bunch of rubber bands around a watermelon, but if they were going to kill her anyway, did it really matter if she got a parting shot?

But she was completely helpless in this goddamn thing. No teleportation, no hammerspace, no playing tricks on the humans’ minds. She should have had the strength to whip the two men’s legs out from under them and take them apart like Tinker Toys, but instead she was almost as weak as a creature her size should have been if it obeyed normal laws of physics.

A boot caught her under her ribs, hard enough to lift her off her feet and throw her across the room. It knocked the breath out of her, but it didn’t really hurt much. Even with the cuff cartoon physics still applied if something else hit her. But it did hurt that the blow had come out of nowhere. She’d been completely unable to see it, avoid it, or even brace herself.

She tried to run when she heard the bucket being filled – the sloshing of liquid, the squeaking and clanking of the handle. The smell was almost overpowering. But something tripped her, and she was dragged back by her tail and thrown against a concrete wall. That gave her an idea. She thrashed against it, dragging her temples along the rough cement to try to pull the blindfold free, but it didn’t budge.

“Come on, guys, you know I was joking, right? Right?” she fidgeted nervously, waiting for the fatal blow. “You’re almost as good an animator as Herschel, and I’m really sorry I said you were scared of Elmer Fudd. And Bill, I’m sorry I stole all your socket wrenches and replaced them with left-handed ones.” Metal scraped against cement. The bucket was being lifted. Wendy’s blood froze. She froze, pressing herself back against the wall. “Fuck! Don’t kill me, don’t kill me, don’t kill -”

She was cut off by the shock of cold liquid hitting her. She instinctively closed her mouth and ducked her head as best she could trying to protect her nose and eyes, but she knew it didn’t matter. She knew what Dip did to toons. A direct hit like this would dissolve her alive within seconds. Every muscle tensed, and she didn’t dare breathe as she tried to brace herself for what would surely be indescribable agony. A flood of panicked emotions  melted her brain from the inside out. She was dead she was dead she was dead!

Only… she wasn’t. The pain never came. There was a little numbness, but it was just from the cold. Her fur was soaked to the skin, but it wasn’t melting her, just freezing her.

There was a howl of laughter. The blindfold was ripped away, and she stood there blinking and shivering in the fluorescent lights. A clear puddle was running down to a drain in the floor. Bill stood there holding an empty bucket, but there was a second one sitting nearby, full of caustic green liquid. That son of a bitch. It was water. Ordinary fucking water, but they’d even been smart enough to fill one with real Dip so the smell would fool her. He’d tricked her. He’d tricked her!

“Hoo! Man, did ya see the look on her fuckin’ face? I still think you should’ve dipped her for real, but damn, bet those couple weeks of life flashed before her eyes, huh? That oughta straighten ‘er out!”

Lowell smiled and gave a soft chuckle. “Don’t be fooled. They imitate human facial expressions and body language, but they’re no different from -”

“HAL 9000, like that scene in the movie where he’s telling Dave not to unplug him?”

“Exactly. Toons have a basic self-preservation instinct, but it’s not the same as human fear. We were unsure about whether to eliminate it from our creations, but they wouldn’t be nearly as effective in combat without it. And there are only two ways to motivate and discipline a creature with no capacity for empathy or morality: blind, programmed obedience, and fear. The first on its own would, again, make them too susceptible to mental manipulation.”

Wendy couldn’t make herself say a word as the animator knelt and reached out for her throat with a magnetic key. She was afraid her voice would break. Her breath was already catching in her throat in a way the pressure on her windpipe couldn’t cause, and silent tears mixed with the cold water dripping down her face. She couldn’t stop shivering. She hated cold. She hated it. She was so goddamn sick of how the compound was always at fifty-five degrees or something – maybe warmer in here with the heat given off by machinery and chemicals, but still always uncomfortably chilly.

Click. The cuff opened. The instant the cuff was released from her neck, Wendy snapped the zipties binding her wrists. She winced and rubbed her throat, and wrung out her soaked gloves. She fought the urge to shake herself dry; she’d probably get punished for that, too.

“Get the message, Number Fifteen?” Lowell said icily. “The next time, it won’t be water.”

Wendy nodded, and swallowed hard. Painfully. “Yeah. Whatever. There’s not gonna be a next time.” There was a concerned look. “Because I won’t screw up again.”

“This isn’t about your actions. This is about the attitude that lead to them.”

“I know.” Bullshit. What did he want her to do, bow before him and polish his shoes? He’d said it himself, the whole reason she was made was to have a toon in the Resistance’s arsenal that wasn’t a sniveling toady, that was completely devoted to her purpose and sure of herself enough to carry out her mission even if the humans that were supposed to be commanding her got killed, or worse – that was smart enough to disobey if her superiors fell under the enemy’s power. And that was exactly what she’d done – minus getting carried away a little bit. If Lowell had a problem with her attitude he could take it up with Herschel, not her.

But she couldn’t say any of it. That confidence had just evaporated. All that was left was ice-cold fear and burning anger and hatred that met in a deadly explosion. “Sir.” Goddamnit, why couldn’t she stop shaking? She spat the word out and glowered up at him. She clenched her fists, and a little smoke rose from her gloves. “I...” Fuck it. “I’ll be good.”

She snatched the empty bucket out of his hands and darted off around the corner. The moment she was out of sight, she folded space around her and her next step took her into the small concrete cell that passed for her quarters.

“Son of a bitch,” she snarled. A lit stick of dynamite under the upturned bucket shredded it like tinfoil in a blender, but that didn’t satisfy her. She wanted to kill something. She wanted to wring the neck of the next toon she saw and shove its face into a barrel of Dip herself. She wanted to die, but not enough to actually do it. The next words were just a whisper. “I didn’t even do anything that time.”

Just like she predicted, Wendy’s voice broke. It was freezing in the cell, and the water made it worse, but she didn’t have the mental energy to create something that would dry her off properly. She just pulled a threadbare towel from behind her back and wrapped it around herself, and shrank back into the corner, shuddering. Almost died. She’d almost died. For nothing. Just because she wouldn’t stop running her mouth. Just for behaving exactly how she’d been drawn to.

She knew she’d have a chance to release this anger, sooner or later. Being blown into a thousand pieces wouldn’t let her next target escape. It didn’t matter if they were toon or human, they were gonna die screaming. But the pain, the humiliation, the unfairness, ran too deep for the anger to burn them away. And she didn’t know what to do with them.

Faked emotions. Imitated expressions, basic instincts. The least Herschel could’ve done was made her not fool herself into believing her own lies. This was why she was glad she wasn’t human, even if it meant she was inferior, just a monster made to kill other monsters. She didn’t want to know what the real thing was like.

____

My first ever Tumblr prompt response fiction, yay! Meet Wendy Weasel, from my Who Framed Roger Rabbit (setting, characters are mostly from Animaniacs, Tiny Toon Adventures, and Looney Tunes) fanfic La Resistance. Basically she’s a Toon who was created by a genocidal terrorist group that wants to wipe Toons out, and for all intents and purposes a child soldier. When she’s not making life hell for the protagonists, she’s pissing off her own side as much as possible because she’s bored / wants attention. She’s way too cocky and aggressive for her own good.

This is the epitome of what I said in another post about liking whumpees who are dangerous to the whumpers. Power-suppressing cuffs and Dip not withstanding, there’s nothing but psychological conditioning between Lowell or anyone else in the Resistance and a shoebox funeral if Wendy turns on them, and they both know it. The problem is neither of them actually understands the true nature of that conditioning.

[chromatic-lamina]

fanfic questions! 1 4 9 15 17 22 27 36 39 40 49 51 sorry if thats too many lmao i went ham

Not too many questions. Like I said to @alegnasix, I usually only get 2 asks, and my ask-ees have asked! So, may as well tackle ‘em.

1. What was the first fandom you got involved in? 

One Piece. Though I guess I used to read a discussion board for Mad Men and the Sopranos, but I never sought out or made any “transformative works”.

4. Do you regret getting involved in any fandoms?

Nope. Not so far. Considering it’s only one. And yeah, but only in terms of how much it eats into my time and motivation to do other things.

9. What are the best things about your current fandom?

It’s a pretty mellow place. Pretty mature live and let live attitude. Good fanfics and artworks.

15. Is there an obscure ship which you love?

My OTP is Marco/Law. Though they’re both pretty popular in their own right,  it’s my experience that there is some Marco/Law (or maybe Marco & Law) fanart, and fanfiction (me, haha) but not much.

17. Who was your first OTP and are they still your favourite? 

Oof, I’m gonna get flak. LawLu and no.

22. Is there anything you regret writing?

All of it and none of it.

27. What do you hate more: Coming up with titles or writing summaries?

Neither. No-one reads or remembers titles much, so I don’t stress over them. Sometimes they’re ready and waiting, sometimes I have to wrack my brains a bit. I don’t find summaries too difficult, but that’s not to say I’ve got a magic touch with them, cos I think far from it.

36. What’s your favourite genre to write?

Dunno if it’s classified as a genre, but established relationship, slice of life, character study, character interaction, which is basically an anathema to fandom as I understand it.

When I’m in the mood, whump and angst and hurt and comfort and humour. Gotta have some gallows humour in amongst all the misery.

39. What is you greatest strength as a writer?

Ha ha. Who knows? Not caring about titles.

40. What do you struggle the most with in your writing?

I don’t worry too much with fan fiction, and it probably shows, but what I do do is write through blocks, make sure I have an ‘and then’ draft (I mean, it’s your shaky foundation, but it’s a foundation...something to build on), and if you’re bored with your own writing the reader probably will be too, depending upon whether you obsessively rewrite, in which case you can grow very tired of your own writing. I do rewrite a lot, but I don’t burn myself out.

I find that if you actually sit down with those scenes giving you the biggest trouble, and you kind of unravel, thread by thread, and find the kernel of both what the issue is, and what you want to say, you’ll end up with a piece that you enjoy reading, at the least, and that you didn’t give up on when the going got tough. They can end up being the most rewarding pieces of a story.

It’s like sitting down and taking the time out to figure out why your problem child is acting up, rather than closing the door on them and walking away.

49. Do you care if people comment/reblog your writing? Why/why not?

It’s a gift from the heavens, isn’t it? Not gonna dislike something that makes me happy.

51. Rant or Gush about one thing you love or hate in the world of fanfiction! Go!

I answered 51 on Alegna’s, so I’ll link to that.

Thanks for the asks. Here’s a link to the original if anyone’s interested.

I’ve answered the ones above, and 19, 20, 21, 23, 46, 50

Thank you @bakuraryxu!

[wiypt-writes]

Stark Spangled Forever

One Shot: More Cushin’ For the Pushin’

Summary: Steve is starting to see the effects of the serum depleting. Can Katie convince him that, well, she doesn’t give a shit?!

Warnings: Bad language and a heap of smut! (NSFW, no under 18s.)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Rogers (Stark)

A/N- So you all got @sweater-daddiesdumbdork​ to thank for this…. and yes, this is utter head cannon about the serum but, indulge me!! 

If you are currently reading Stark Spangled Banner for the first time as it reposts, then this contains MAJOR spoilers and you might want to wait until you’ve finished before you start Stark Spangled Forever.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Stark Spangled Forever Masterlist // Main Masterlist

“Sweetheart…” Steve sighed, gently catching Katie’s hand as it snaked over his belly under his Henley. She stilled and looked at him, her eyes narrowing slightly as he shook his head “I’m not feeling it tonight, I’m really tired.”

Katie sat up from where she’d been tucked under his arm as they sat on the sofa and flicked her pony tail back over her shoulder. “Alright. I’m gonna go up.”

“Honey…” he began to protest but she stopped him.

“Stevie, its fine. You said you’re tired so...” she gave him a smile that didn’t reach her eyes “I’ll see you upstairs.”

She curled her legs out from underneath her and stood up, padding from the room making sure to keep her face straight as she left. As she climbed the stairs, that horrible cold feeling washed over her from head to toe as she blinked back tears. Tears she felt pathetic for. This wasn’t a big issue…she got tired sometimes and pushed Steve away. Granted, that had happened like 4 times in the entire time she had been with him, but still…

Despite her self-reassurances, deep down she couldn’t help that little stab of insecurity in her brain. Steve had been acting off for the past 5 days. They’d had no fun of that nature whatsoever. Whilst his affection in general hadn’t particularly waned she’d noticed he wasn’t as handsy as he normally was and he hadn’t tried anything with her of that nature at all. He’d even taken to wearing a t-shirt in bed, which was basically unheard of, and it was almost as if he didn’t even want accidental skin contact with her.

Katie had brushed it off as him merely being tired. She knew he’d been reading through a lot of papers from his students, the first semester of the year was ramping up meaning Emmy was asking for his help too.  Jamie was also excelling at his baseball which was taking up Steve’s entire Saturdays as he took him to practice, assuming the proud dad role from the side-lines, Rori was attention demanding as ever and Harry was teething....

So yeah, this was totally down to Steve being tired. Nothing else.

At all.

Nothing to do with him going off her.

Nope.

Katie took a quick glance in the mirror, her hands smoothing over her hips and stomach which had taken a battering from 3 children, before she shook her head and headed into the bathroom.

Whatever…

Downstairs Steve was cursing himself. There was no mistaking the flicker of hurt that he’d seen in Katie’s eyes when he had pushed her away. He hadn’t meant to be so abrupt but he had been grappling with something internally for a few days now that he didn’t particularly know how to deal with. He ran his hands over his face before he stood up and turned off the TV. He let Lucky out for a pee before he made sure the doors were locked and headed up the stairs. He looked in on all his kid in turn, knocking lightly on Emmy’s door as she was home for the weekend,  and when she told him to come in he poked his head round finding her led in the dark, her face illuminated by her phone.

“Going to bed Em.” he said gently “Don’t be on that all night.”

“Yes dad.” she rolled her eyes and he arched an eyebrow at her. 

“You might be 20 but less of the cheek.” he teased as she flashed him a smile.

“Love you pops.” she grinned cheekily.

He snorted “You too, sleep well.”

With that he shut the door and headed into the bedroom. Katie was in the en-suite, he could hear the tap running. Taking a deep breath he moved to stand in front of the mirror, gently casting his eyes over his reflection. At first glance he didn’t look that different but hitching his top up slightly he glanced at his torso, and there was no mistaking it. The definition in his abs had definitely decreased and the hard plane of muscle seemed to be giving way to something less toned.

The door to the bathroom opened and he let go of the hem of his top, just a little bit too late and Katie paused, looking at him.

“Everything ok?” she frowned.

“Yeah.” he nodded, brushing her concern off. “I’m going for a shower.”

He headed to door of their bathroom, and then she spoke softly, her voice cracking and her words made him stop in his tracks.

“Stevie, you’re scaring me.” she said gently and he turned to face her. The utter hurt on her face made him want to die, as she blinked and looked down at the floor .“Why are you pushing me away all of a sudden? We haven’t had sex in 5 days now. Don’t you…” she trailed off, not looking up, her words catching in her throat as she struggled to voice the question she was petrified of hearing the answer do “Do you not want to or something? I know I’m not what I used to be Steve, but…”

Steve felt his chest contract as he looked at his wife, his heart breaking that she could even think that he didn’t find her attractive. He hadn’t up until then given a second thought as to how his actions could be making her feel as insecure as he was and right now he hated himself for that.

“No, honey…it’s not that. God, it’s nothing, like that, at all.“

“Then is it someone else?” she cut him off quietly, raising her head to look at him, her eyes swimming with tears.

“What?” he looked at her, utterly stunned.

She swallowed, “I asked if there was someone else.” she held his gaze

“Jesus, fuck, no!” he shook his head, appalled at the mere mention of such a thing “Of course not.”

“So it is me.”

“Katie…stop…” He stepped forward and took both her hands in his “You’re beautiful. I swear this isn’t you-“

“Oh, don’t you dare give me the this isn’t you, it’s me line or I swear to God…” Katie glared up at him and he gave an exasperated groan.

“Honey, I swear…this has nothing to do with you.” he tried to assure her, pulling her in closer and wrapping his arms around him but it didn’t work.

“Then what is it?” Katie whispered into his chest and he pulled back to look at her, his hands cradling her face “Baby, talk to me.”

With a loud sigh he moved away, sinking onto the foot of the bed, He reached out, his hands on her hips and he pulled her in between his legs so she was stood looking down at him, her hand resting on his shoulders.

“I noticed a few things recently.” he said, his head looking down at the carpet. “About me…” he glanced up “You know how Bruce ran all those tests on me after I came back after those 15 years?”

“Yeah.”

“Well he said then that the serum wasn’t infallible. And that over time it would most likely work itself out of my system. But the older I got the faster that would happen.”

“I know Steve.” Katie frowned, “We went through all this.”

“Well I guess I just wasn’t prepared for how fast that was gonna happen, that’s all.”

“What do you mean?” she pressed “Are you sick?”

“No.” he shook his head “Nothing like that. Just…” he shook his head and snorted “God this sounds so vain but I guess I’ve gotten that used to looking in the mirror and seeing myself in such good shape, spotting that I’m changing…well, it was a bit of a shock and I was worried…”

“About what?” “That you might not…” “Oh, Stevie…” Katie blinked “That’s what this is about? Your stomach?”

“You noticed?”

“Well, yeah.” she shrugged, her hands rubbing his shoulders “I’m your wife…it hasn’t happened all of a sudden, it’s…” He groaned “I knew you’d seen…”

“Yeah, and I don’t care!” she sighed, shaking her head “Soldier,I know as much as anyone how hard it is coping with changes to your body.  And so do you, it must have been a shock when you actually had the serum in the first place…”

“It’s not just the muscles.” he sighed, waving a hand to his beard. “This is going grey, my hair is too. My knees were ever so slightly aching after my run the other day…”

“Ok, first off…this…” she reached down, her nails scraping through his beard “This is hot. There’s a reason Brooke calls you the silver fox… and why half your students write that they want to do very rude things to you on twitter, which by the way really grosses Emmy out…”  Steve chuckled a little, his hands sliding up the back of Katie’s thighs as she cocked her head and looked down at him. “And as for the rest of it, so what if you’re going a little...soft...around the edges.” “Soft?” he looked up at her, a small smile curling at the edge of his mouth.

“Well, it’s not like you’ve gone fat Steve.” Katie shrugged, “But whatever, the point is you’re hot and you still turn me the fuck on, maybe even more so now than when you were that pristine, fresh faced Brooklyn boy I first met in that Boxing Gym all those years ago.”

He looked at her, studying her expression as she cupped his face in her hands, keeping his gaze on her.

“And don’t tell me you don’t believe me because if you do that means you’ve been a big, fat liar about the fact you tell me that you find me even more sexy now than before we had kids.” she arched an eyebrow and he snorted a she moved to straddle him where he was perched on the end of the bed, her knees falling either side of his thighs.

“You’re the man I wake up to every morning, the man that kisses me fucking senseless, the man that’s helping me raise our children, the man who can still bring me straight to me knees with a single look my way.” she smiled.

“A single look?” he quipped.

“Yes, and you know it.”

He shook his head before he sighed, his hands resting on her hips. “I guess I’m just worried that one day…it’s all gonna be gone and…” “Remember what you said to me when I had Jamie?” Katie cut him off “When I was struggling with how I looked and to try and make me understand you asked me how I’d feel about you if we woke up one morning and the serum effects had all gone?”

She held his gaze before she continued “I told you then that it wouldn’t change a thing about how I felt about you. Did you believe me?”

Steve was silent for a second before he nodded “Of course I believed you, Doll..”

“So why on Earth would you suddenly think any of that has changed?” she looked at him “Serum effects or no serum effects… I don’t give a fuck Steve, you’re mine.”

Steve believed her, of course he did. He knew all this was in his head, but fuck if it wasn’t hard to let it take over, thinking back to being that little kid from Brooklyn that no one gave a second glance to.

“I got one word for you baby.” Katie said softly, her hands gripping at the hem of his Henley “Dumbasses.”

And jesus, suddenly he was catapulted back to that moment some 15 years or so ago on their first date,

“Well, personally, I think all those girls that picked Bucky over you were dubmasses. I’ve seen the photos of you before all this happened…” she raised her free hand and held out her index finger, and gestured up and down his torso “You were sweet”

He chuckled and took a drink of his beer “You know I heard that a lot…you’re really sweet and all but…“

“Like I said…”she leaned back in her chair slightly, “Dumbasses”

He shook his head as he peeked up at her, “Fucking hell I swear to God you can read my mind at times.”

“Nope…”she said, pulling his top up “I just know you. Now take this off.”

He arched an eyebrow but didn’t protest, instead he held his arms up so she could pull his henley over his head before she pushed him back, making him lay flat. He easily shifted them both, so they were a little further up the bed as her fingertips gently traced down his biceps.

“I love how you can wrap me in these, keep anything and everything from hurting me.” she looked at him, her eyes locked onto his as she started shifting slightly, her hands continued down his forearms before her fingers found his, lacing them together. “How your hands can be so gentle and soft yet also hard when I need them to be, how they’d kill for me, for any of us.”  she raised his left hand to her mouth and brushed her lips over his platinum wedding band “A soldier, a man made for fighting yet who’s  been nothing but gentle and loving with me and the kids…” she moved his hands to both her hips before she leaned down and pressed her lips to his, before she pulled back and smiled at him as she started sliding down his chest, peppering kisses down his sternum, the kisses punctuated by her words “my husband, my best friend, my lover, my baby daddy….”

Steve’s breath hitched a little as she moved downwards, lips gliding over his treasure trail and she peeked back up at him with those lust blown pupils and bit her bottom lip “You know how good this makes me feel, when you press against me over and over when you’re making me yours.”

She moved back so her hips were once more straddling his and Steve flexed underneath her. All that rubbing and brushing against him with every move she made had gotten him hard as fuck.  He was aching for her.

Feeling him she looked at him, grinning. “And there’s certainly nothing soft about that.”

Steve let out a little chuckle and he couldn’t help but relax and enjoy right where they were at that moment. “You might have had a hand in that.”

Katie grinned. She loved having that kind of power over him, it was a fucking turn on.

“I’ll have a hand in your pants in a minute Soldier.”

“A minute seems an awfully long time to wait…” he said, pushing up against her again as she let out a soft sigh at the feel of him.

“Another reason I love you.” she smirked “Because I know you’re gonna leave me seeing stars within the next half hour. 10 minutes if we’re skipping foreplay.”

“Is this not the foreplay Doll?” he asked, his hands gripping her hips, fingers brushing the strip of skin just above her sleep shorts where her top had ridden up slightly, and he groaned inwardly as he saw her nipples were hard, peeking at him though the soft material of her cami.

“We can call it that if you want…” she said, rolling her hips, grinding against him again.

“You’re killing me sweetheart.” he groaned.

She rolled her hips against his again, splaying her hands on his chest “Nope, I can’t feel a shred of weakness underneath me…” “Ok…” Steve said, and with a swift movement he flipped her over so he was underneath him drawing a startled gasp from her which merged into that adorable, dirty little giggle he knew and loved “I’m done talking now.”

“Good.” She said, fisting her hand in the chain round his neck she dragged him down for a fierce, demanding kiss before she pulled back and looked at him “Fuck me like you own me, Cap.”

Her words fired something in his belly and he let out the growl that had been bubbling in his throat. His lips pressed to hers as if his life depended on it, his hands reached down and grabbed the straps of her top, pulling down harshly, the sound of ripping fabric filling the room.

Katie pulled back and looked at him “Did you seriously just do that? Again?”

“Look, sweetheart.” he glanced at her “You told me to fuck you like I owned you. I’m trying. So shut up.”

Whatever quick response Katie had been thinking up died in her throat as with a quick movement Steve grabbed her hips and flipped her over, once more drawing that dirty little giggle that he loved so much from her throat. His fingers gently traced a line down from her neck to the base of her spine before he gripped at the flesh over her hipbones and pulled her upwards so she was presented in front of him. Taking more care this time, he slid her shorts down, before he shimmied out of his sweats, his fingers tracing the inside of her thigh, bending over, his lips following their path. As he got to the top of her inside thigh, his kisses became gentle bites and then without warning he inserted 2 fingers inside her.

“Fuck…” Katie stuttered, her hips bucking backwards. Steve’s fingers started to move, gently, then harder, his mouth kissing all around the top of her thighs as she moved back and forth, fucking herself on his hand. He watched her for a minute or so, his fingers curling and pushing…and then they stopped. Katie whimpered, and Steve smirked as he bent over, nipping at her neck.

“You know I love you, right?” he said softly, his mouth caressing her pulse point as she rolled her head back, his hand slid up to her throat holding her face still as he kissed her, hard.

“Yeah, I love you too Solider” Katie panted into his kiss.

His fingers danced over the soft skin of her outside thighs and both his hands pulled her backwards as he pushed straight into her, making her cry out softly at the depth.

His rhythm was slow at first, hands on her hips before he quickened, the depth of this angle driving Katie wild. She writhed and moaned as he filled her, brushing against that spot inside her and she couldn’t get enough of him, her face buried into the pillow, pelvis pushed back against him as he thrust in deeply, again and again.

“You’re all mine…” he said hoarsely as he leaned forward, his chest pressing into her back as his teeth grazed her ear, biting down softly, “There’ll never be anyone else, never baby girl.”

His voice was punctuated by his grunts as he thrust into his wife again and again, his fingers tightening on her skin, knowing full well he’d probably leave bruises but not giving a shred of care. And neither did she, the more people that saw those marks, the better, the signs she was his for the world to see…it drove her wild with passion and lust and she couldn’t help but rock back against him, begging him to push deeper, drive her to the edge and back again, which he was more than happy to do.

“Say you believe me…” Steve all but growled as he thrust into her fiercely, his hand tightening slightly around her throat causing her to grab at the sheets in her hand “Say you believe me that there’s no one who comes close…”

“I believe you…” Katie cried out loudly, her voice punctuated by desperate moans as she tilted her head back as he continued nipping at her neck, pounding into her. “No one else.”

She was lost, lost in the sensation of her soldier fucking her senseless, just like she had asked him to. Those hands that she loved, that were normally so soft and gentle with her were now gripping at her hips, curling into her soft skin, pulling her back with each thrust. His lips, the ones she was so used to whispering soft nothing into her ear, or placing gentle kisses to her neck were biting and sucking at her throat as if his life depended on it, praising her, telling her what a pretty girl, amazing momma and beautiful wife she was. Coupled with the consistent pounding between her legs she was lost in an utter whirl of love and lust and she could feel the coil in her belly beginning to tighten as Steve maintained his pace, not once relenting.

Steve could read the signs well enough by now to know she was close. Moving one hand he slid it down between her legs, stroking at her clit drawing a loud gasp from her lips as she bucked back onto him, her legs trembling.

“Stevie… I’m gonna…”

“Come on doll…” he said gently into her ear “Come for me…”

“Oh, God…”  her voice was low, soft, as her words became nothing but a babble of noises as she lost control, her body shaking as she cried out, the world tipping on its axis completely as she became completely unaware of anything other than the sensation between her legs as she came, hard, pulsing and tightening down around him.

Steve felt it, he always did, and he continued to drive into her, fucking her through it before he realised he wanted to see her, wanted those green eyes he knew and loved locked onto his, so with a quick pull back he moved out of her and flipped her over again onto her back before she could even think about what he was doing. With a grunt he buried himself into her again, propping himself up on his elbows, his hands cupping her face as his lips crashed onto hers for a dirty, sloppy kiss that was all mouth and tongue.

He reached down, grabbing at her knee, slinging it over her shoulder as he rutted into her, driving hard, over and over, the dirty noise of wetness filled the room, skin hitting skin as he picked up the pace driving and seeking his own release. Katie’s hands gripped at his back, her nails digging into his shoulders as he thrust again and again, her eyes locked onto his. His pupils were blown with desire, those baby blues she knew and loved had darkened to a steel grey and knowing that after 15 years and a lifetime of ups and downs that she could still elicit this effect on him was enough to blow her mind. She loved this man, with every single inch of her body, and always would.

Steve dropped his head, his hips not once faltering as his mouth nipped at her chest, sucking, biting, the bruises forming almost instantly but he couldn’t give a fuck. This woman was his, no one else’s, and in turn he wanted her to realise that. He needed her to understand that there wasn’t a single person on this fucking planet, hell, the universe that would ever make him feel like this. As his lips moved to that spot on her neck he dropped her leg down and felt her breath hitch again and she let out a soft wail, her hips bucking upwards as she wrapped her legs around him, heels digging into his ass.

“I got you baby…” he whispered, his voice punctuated by his own pants “Come on, give it to me…” With a gasp, her head titled back, eyes fluttered shut as her hands gripped at his strong arms and she came again which was enough to send him catapulting off the edge right behind her. Her legs grew tighter around his slim hips, gripping at him, pulling him closer as he stuttered, groaned and then pitched forward, his torso slick with sweat as he lay still, face pressed into her neck, surrendering to the utter bliss that consumed him.

Steve gently kissed Katie’s neck, breathing deeply. That had been intense and felt like it had risen from his very toes. His mind was still caught in that post-coital fog of bliss, and his body felt like it was light, floating even, but as Katie shifted underneath him, her lips gently pressing to his temple, he realised he wasn’t floating, nor was he light. He went to move, to roll off her but she caught him immediately, her hands flying to his arms as she looked at her.

“Don’t” she whispered.

“Honey I’ll crush…” “No, you won’t” she shook her head, “Relax, please soldier just…”

Steve licked his lips, and gently dropped back onto his elbow, pressing a little more of his weight on top of her. Katie sighed, her forehead resting on his collar bone, face nuzzling into his chest, her hands softly gliding up his back. Despite his worry, Steve felt himself relax into his wife as he held her in his arms. Katie sighed contently.

“Feels so nice, just lay here…” she said softly, pressing a kiss to his chest. “You always pull away far too fast.”

Steve took a deep breath “I don’t mean to Doll, I just know I’m way bigger and…” “Steve…” Katie moved her hand so she raised a single finger to his lips, shushing him “Stop.” After a moment or so of tensing up he allowed himself to relax completely, her hands dancing up his spine and he gave a soft hum of contentment as she pressed a kiss to his jawline and he felt her lips curl into a smile against his beard.

“What?” he asked softly, moving so he looked down at her.

“Nothing, just I love you.” she said honestly, her eyes locking onto his. “Forever.” Steve chuckled as he pressed his lips to hers “Good, because I’m not going anywhere.”

“Glad to hear it.” Katie smiled, brushing a hand through his hair “And for the record…I’m all about more cushin’ for the pushin’”

At that Steve let out a loud laugh as she giggled along with him, his mouth once more claiming hers

“Looks like I am too, baby girl.”

After another minute or so, Steve finally relented and moved, his softening cock pulling out as he rolled over onto his back, giving a sigh.

“You ok?” he asked.

“Yeah, course…I could use a drink though.” Katie smiled.

Steve leaned over, pressed a kiss to her mouth before he moved, located his boxers and after a promise of being back soon he headed out onto the landing.

Emmy emerged from her room at the same time, leaning on her doorframe as she shot him a look “You two are disgusting.”

“What?” he blinked, standing still as he looked at her.

“Seriously…you need to soundproof your room! I mean how would you feel if you heard me and Pete?” “I better not hear you and Pete.” he shot back, hands falling to his hips as he fixed his eldest with a glare.

She shrugged before she looked him up and down, and rolled her eyes “Fuck, I’m glad Brooke isn’t here…I’m sick of her telling me you’re a snack…”

With that she turned back into her room, shutting the door behind her. Steve stood still, looking at the now closed doorframe before he grinned to himself.

“Rogers, you still got it.” he laughed softly, before he bounded down the stairs to grab a bottle of water.

[rocket-roach]

Bruce Wayne has to go undercover working at Bat Burger. He hates his life. He tells no one, but somehow, everyone finds out anyway.

allow me to share some of my experiences working in retail pharmacy through bruce suffering in fast food

word count: 2164

“I’llbe dark for the next few weeks. Do not try to contact or find me. I can’tstress this enough,” Bruce said as he spun in his chain to face his assembledkids. “Gotham is resting on all of your shoulders. I know you can handle it. So,take care of her, okay? I’ll be back whenever the mission is done.”

Dicknibbled on his lip as his eyes flashed to the batsuit encased in glass.

“Do youwant me to go out as Batman?” He asked as his brothers and sisters eyestraveled to the offending case.

“No,”Bruce stood. “That won’t be necessary. We’ve gotten them quiet, and they shouldstay that way for a while. But don’t start any big cases until I get back. Thisis just patrol.”

Jasonpulled a pack of blue Camels out which was quickly followed by his Zippolighter. He lit up, blowing a smoke ring towards the roof of the cave. “What’sthe mission?”

“Stopsmoking in the cave. It upsets the bats. Also, that’s classified.”

“Classifiedfrom family?” Tim asked as he headed towards the fire extinguisher.

“I gethow the Justice League feels now,” Steph added.

“We’llkeep Gotham safe,” Dick said as Tim sprayed Jason with the fire extinguisher.

Withthe arrival of Bruce’s third decade of his vigilante career, he was getting damngood at putting on wigs and applying fake beards. He pulled the carefullyrumpled and wrinkled big box store button up from his suitcase and lookedaround at the crappy bedroom he’d rented in the larger, shittier two bedroomdeep within Gotham. He’d found this place after scouring Craigslist. It was 750square feet, with a gunk covered stove, blackened oven, and dish filled sink.Additionally, the bathroom appeared to have been designed in the 1920’s andthen had never been cleaned. His roommate was one Isaiah Addams.

Arecent grad from Gotham University, Isaiah was a country boy trying to make itbig in the big city. He was working at Big Belly Burger as well as a dive bardown the street. Isaiah was simple, ineffective, and for the sake of this case,an ideal roommate. But Isaiah only knew Bruce as Paul Scott, a down on his luckrecent divorcee who was out a wife, a job, and a house.

“HeyPaul?” Isaiah asked as Bruce finished checking over the resume he printed.

“Yeah?”

“Areyou uh, hungry? My friend Deb recommended this ramen place down the road. Shesaid I needed to try real ramen. I guess Maruchan isn’t the gold standard.”

“Thankyou, but I think I’ll pass. I need to save money until I can find a job.”

“Yourloss, man. By the way, Bat Burger is hiring. They’ll take anyone with a pulse.Have a good night.”

Brucewaved as Isaiah grabbed his keys, and slammed the rickety front door shut.Bruce ran a hand through his hair, letting out a heavy sigh. The apartmentreeked like the backed-up sewer that ran beneath it, and the stench of sewerwater was helping Bruce get further into character.

Thenext day found Bruce sitting in the chaotic closet that was the manager’soffice. Zach was a burly man, nearly too large to fit in the room. With eachmovement, the black swivel chair groaned.

“Yourresume’s impressive,” Zach started. “But you don’t have any food serviceexperience.”

“I’m aquick learner. I have some retail, customer service experience. To be honest,working in food is something I’ve always wanted to try. I’m always on time.”

“Youlive close?”

“Justdown the block.”

Zachsighed as he placed the resume on the television tray that was apparentlyserving as a desk. “Well, jobs yours. You can start today. Janey can starttraining you. You just missed the lunch rush, but by dinner we’ll have youflipping burgers.”

Janeywas a single mom of three, with only a GED and a 1990 silver Toyota Camry toher name. Her teeth were yellow from the cigarettes she’d been smoking sincesixteen and her hair had been permed into oblivion. But she was patient, whichmade his training go exceptionally.

“Alright,so Paul. You’re gonna get complainers. Old people, mainly. They’ll throw a fitif you so much as look at the burger wrong. The easiest thing to do is justredo it. But sometimes, they’ll throw a fit for a voucher. Cashiers can’t give‘em vouchers, and they know that. They’re gonna scream for the manager andZach’s always here. Just get Zach, sweetie. It’s less of a headache.”

Paulnodded, filing all this information away. He looked around at the fewcustomers, each sitting in their own booth, chowing down on the grease filledburgers with relish. Janey carried on through the training, showing him how tooperate the registers, which codes to call when he needed change, or when therewas too much cash in register. Then she moved him back into the kitchen. Oldfridges and even older ovens lined the walls, covered with black grease. He wasafraid to look into the grease traps.

Janeypassed him off to Daniel, the cook for the midshift.

“Youever flip burgers before?”

“No,”he answered honestly.

“Youabout to learn.”

Eventually,Daniel banished Paul from the kitchen. He had burned just one too many burgers,and that was how he found himself standing back at the register next to Jackie.It was five o’clock.

Brucewatched as the parking lot began to fill up with the cars of the people justgetting off work from Gotham’s downtown. Janey took a steadying breath, and thesmell of her most recent cigarette filled Paul’s nostrils.

DickGrayson walked in, his eyes rimmed by dark circles.

“Lemmeget Bat-beef deluxe with cheese and no tomatoes, please, Janey.”

“Surething, hon. You want to Jokerize that?” Janey asked as she typed in the order.

“Pleaseand thank you,” Dick narrowed his eyes as he took in Paul. “Haven’t seen you inhere before.”    

“He’s anew hire. Name’s Paul. Little shy but got a good head on his shoulders. Paul, Iwant you to meet Dick. He’s a cop.”

Dick’seyes were still narrowed.

“Paul,huh?”

“Uh,yes sir. Today’s my first day.”

“Anyoneever tell you, you kind of look like Bruce Wayne?”

 Afterthat, and a few more days of training, Paul offered to take theovernight shift. As he wiped down the tables, counting the customers in therestaurant, the amount of food they’d ordered, he decided that there was no waythis franchise was making enough money to stay open twenty-four hours a day andpay workers and other bills. When he was back in his mold-ridden apartment, headded notes to the ever-growing file he kept stashed underneath his mattress.He dressed in the ill-fitting batsuit and began his trek towards his job.

Theyellow streetlamps were bright enough to see the sidewalk, but not brightenough to illuminate the cracks and uneven slabs. He had a few skinned knees toprove it. But tonight, had been fall free. He stretched his arms above hishead, his neck cracking loudly as Sal, a regular, stomped back up to theregister.

Heslammed a half-eaten Mister Freeze dog onto the counter.

“I onlygot half a dog!”

Brucewatched as the ketchup oozed. “I gave you the full dog you ordered, Sal.”

“Don’t‘Sal’ me, Paul. You only gave me halfa dog. I want my money back. And a voucher. You know what? Get me your manager.I want to talk to Zach.”

“Hewent home for the day.”

“Thencall him! I can wait.”

“It’stwo in the morning. Zach won’t be in till about eight. I can get you Jazz,she’s working now.”

“No. Iwant to speak with the store manager. I want you fired.”

Brucealso wanted to be fired.

“I’llbuy his dog,” a deep voice that Bruce knew very well, cut in. “Sal, do you wantanother Freeze dog?”

“No!”

Redhood turned to face Sal, his hands drifting towards his hip holsters.

“I’mgonna ask one more time.”

 Brucequickly picked up on Janey’s tactic of going outside for a smoke. He didn’t smoke;maintaining his peak physical form and all that, but getting the fresh, sewagescented air of Gotham did help clear his head. Usually. When Jason wasn’tsmoking a cigarette three feet from him.

“Howlong?” Jay asked.

“Howlong what?”

“Don’tplay dumb, old man. I know who you are. Who you really are.”

“I’mPaul,” Bruce wanted to yell at him.

“Okay, Paul,” he said after blowing a smokeright. “Why are you here?”

“I needmoney,” Paul was starting to get a little pissed.

Jasonlaughed as he crushed the butt under his boot. “I need money, too. Yet, Ididn’t realize we were so destitute that you had to pick up a side gig at BigBelly.”

“I haveto go back to work,” Bruce’s face was pinched. If his damn kids didn’t stop,the whole thing would be blown. “Have a good day, sir.”

“’Sir’,” Jason started laughing. “You’re agoddamn hoot, Paul.”

 Paulwas locked into his room, buried in his notes when he heard Isaiah shouting forhim. He ignored him, hoping that Isaiah would shut up and let him work inpeace. It usually worked in the past. Usually. But soon the sounds of a scufflereached his bedroom.

Aheadache bloomed behind his eyes as he heard Tim Drake shouting his way toPaul’s room.

“Listen,kid, I dunno ho yougot in here, but you have to leave!”

“Isaiah,right? I just really need to talk to Bru- Paul. He’s behind… on his loanpayments.”

“Youlook like you’re twelve!” Isaiah said.

“Internship,”Tim fired back before he jimmied open Paul’s lock.

Paulhad been desperately trying to shove all his papers under the mattress, butthis damn kid was too fast. He darted over, snatching up as many papers as hecould. Bruce lunged for him. Tim dodged.

“Goddamnit!What part of ‘Dark, do not contact me,’was unclear to you all?” Bruce nearly snarled.

“It wasfine until we realized you’re trying to dethrone the Falcones. They knowsomeone is working against them from the inside, Bruce,” Tim waved as hescanned Bruce’s notes. “You’re writing as Paul, not Bruce. There are key factsmissing from this case—”

Brucewalked over to Tim. He grabbed the back of the boy’s shirt, and bodily liftedhim into the air. It was only then that Tim saw the anger bubbling in Bruce’seyes. He’d thought his dad would have been happy to see him after so many weeksgone, but Bruce just tired, frustrated, and bordering on pissed.

“Gohome,” he said lowly. “Tell everybody else this area is off limits. If I see any of you, you’ll all begrounded for the rest of your lives. Clear?”

“Crystal,”Tim gulped, slowly curling into a small ball.

   Paulwas coming up on two months on being undercover. After his conversation withTim, his children’s visits had cut down significantly. But tonight, as he threwthe heavy black trash bags into the dumpster behind the building, he noticedone small shadow that was out of place. He wiped his hands on his pants legs, looking up at his daughter.

“Cass.”

Theshadow disappeared for a moment, then appeared right in front of him. Her darkeyes were staring intensely at him; and with that Bruce realized she was aboutto ream him out. Her hands began flying, and it took every ounce of Bruce’sstrength not to immediately head home and start packing up his stuff.

“Iknow. I’m nearly done.”

“You’relying. To me,” she said.

“I’llkeep trying till you buy it,” He smiled sheepishly.

“Even Icould tell that you were,” Damian’s voice reached him from above.

Brucelooked up, mildly impressed with his youngest’s ability to sneak. He wasgetting better. Glacial blue eyes flickered to Cass, and she was grinningproudly.

“Oh,god. You two have been teaming up,” he groaned. “Fine, two more weeks. I’llhave it all wrapped up.”

It didn’ttake two weeks. It didn’t even take one. The Falcone’s goons blew up hisapartment as he was leaving for work that night. Isaiah, thankfully, had gone outto sing in the subway. Bruce sighed as the flaming remnants of his notesfloated to the ground. He went to work after giving a statement to the policeand ignoring the way Gordon kept staring at him.

The doorcreaked open.

Insidesat Nightwing, Red Hood, Red Robin, Orphan, Robin and Spoiler. Hog tied at theirfeet sat the Falcone family, gagged and growling.

“Paul,”Nightwing smiled. “Did you know you were working for the most notorious crimefamily in Gotham?”

[tigerlilynoh]

Almost Got ‘em

Written for the 2019 @spnsummergen. Rating: G Featuring: Original characters, and a couple familiar faces Word Count: 3,143 Warnings: foul language Author's Notes: The prompt was “Early season - demons in hell plotting to take the Winchesters down.” I was immediately inspired by the Batman: The Animated Series episode “Almost Got ‘im.”   Summary: Deep in the depths of Hell, a group of demons discuss the two latest pains in their collective ass: Sam and Dean Winchester. Rumor is that the brothers had found the Colt and even killed a demon. Of course, rumors are just big talk— yet a pair of demons patiently listen; their plan is already in action.

Two figures made their way through the halls of the third lowest dungeon in Hell.  As they walked the jagged stone walls seemed to close in around them, but their petite, female forms prevented the blade-like rock from tearing at their temporary flesh.  Even if they were injured it would be of no importance; they were demons and there was a meeting that they very much wanted to attend.

Both were wearing lean, blonde women who might’ve been mistaken for sisters, but that was the limit of their outward similarity.  The slightly older of them wore a gauzy, white dress that, when combined with her delicate steps, gave her the air of a drifting spirit.  Her partner was another story.  The younger demon’s black combat boots thudded with every step, announcing her presence.  Her attire was entirely leather—the cow sort, not human—dyed dark enough to hide spilled blood.

Neither of them said a word as they approached the auxiliary dungeon rumored to be containing an unusual sort of rendezvous.  The pair didn’t have anything more to discuss for the moment.  They both knew their immediate goals, responsibilities, and when push came to shove, which of them was in charge.  They damn well better have known.  Between the two of them, they’d spent over a decade putting their respective pieces in order and double-checking their work.

When they reached the unmarked door that they’d heard whispers about, the demon in the white dress pushed it open without hesitation.  She stepped through the door with an unassuming demeanor.  Her colleague followed her, studying the contents of the chamber with a wary eye.

Inside there were eight lesser demons standing or sitting around a storage room.  Three racks had been laid out flat, then pushed together to create an improvised conference table.  Five of the occupants were perched on crates of acid, steel nails, and other implements of pain.  The remaining three leaned against the far wall, cautiously keeping some distance.

A brutish-looking man with pasty skin, a pronounced brow, and stringy black hair glared at the newcomers from the opposite side of the table.  He stared with the intensity of someone who had taken charge—he certainly didn’t hold any noteworthy rank as evidenced by his badly calloused hands that hinted at many decades or centuries of wielding a whip, the shoddy ones meant for working souls.  

In a low growl he asked the two women, “What do you want?”

“We heard that this is the place to be if you truly hate the Winchesters,” answered the elder one.

He stared at them for a moment before replying, “Get inside and shut the fucking door.”

The pair entered, closing the door behind them.  From the way that everyone turned their attention to a stout demon sitting on a box labeled ‘spiders’ they assumed that it was his turn to speak.  The two women settled themselves on a non-technically-iron maiden that was lying along one of the walls as if it were a bench.

The stout demon resumed addressing his audience.  “So then I tore the cow apart—six chunks, big ones but still enough to spread around, and some smaller hunks.  You don’t want to waste it by piling the whole cow in one corner of the room.  You might as well not bother cutting the damn thing up—Anyway, I hung pieces of it throughout the house.”  The sound of scuttling inside the box he was sitting on filled the room as he fumed for a moment in anger.  “It’s a classic omen!  It’s a horror!  And the older of the brothers makes a joke about hamburgers!”

“So disrespectful,” muttered a female demon with hollow eyes and frayed white hair.  Several demons nodded in agreement with her comment.

“That kind of work takes time,” complained the portly demon.  “I’m not a high-caste demon.  I can’t just wave my hand and make things move.  Do you have any idea how long it takes to cut up a cow?  And the first cleaver broke and I had to find a store—”

“Was it a vegetable cleaver?” asked the lean demon with a mangled left arm and long, frizzy brown hair sitting next to him.  When he looked up at her face in confusion, she rested her hand on his thigh, then said in a soft voice, “Milmont, sweetie, two kinds of cleavers.  Vegetable ones aren’t made for bone.”

“I don’t fucking believe this,” muttered a red-haired demon.  He was dressed like Billy Idol but his rosy cheeks undercut the attempt at an edgy look.  “Did you fight them or not?”

“I fought them!” Milmont replied indignantly.  “I had a knife—”

“Paring or bread?”

“—and I swung at the older one’s neck.”

One of the demons standing in the shadows noted aloud, “Swung means a miss.  You got your ass kicked.”

The stoat demon flustered a bit before reluctantly explaining, “He shot me in the chest with rock salt and hit me in the face with his gun—” 

“You fell on your ass,” guessed the red-headed demon.

“The younger brother can perform an exorcism really fast,” Milmont said while shifting, jostling the box of spiders.

“You shouldn’t have gone after them,” said the brutish leader of the group.  “You’re too weak.”

The stout demon glared as he hissed, “I have every right to go after the prey I choose.  I’m allowed to prove myself!”  He waved his hand at the rest of the room as he asked, “How many of you have been exorcised by them?  If you’re here bitching about the Winchesters on your weekly one-hour break, yeah, I’m guessing they made you look like an idiot too.”

Several of the demons nodded in acknowledgement of the point or murmured agreement.  The leader let out a small grumble as he reached into an open crate next to him.  He pulled out an unlabeled bottle containing reddish-tawny liquid, then yanked the black cork from it with his teeth.  After taking a swig, he handed it to Milmont.

“Corceo.”  The stout demon toasted him before having a sip.  

“You’re lucky that you were only exorcised,” the hollow-eyed woman told him while reaching out, wordlessly asking for a drink.  Milmont passed it to her and she took a sip before continuing.  “Rumor has it they possess the Colt.”

“Dajhila, they don’t have the Colt,” replied the demon with the bad arm.  “I brawled with them ten days ago and they didn’t shoot me.”

“Maybe you aren’t worth the bullets?” jabbed the rosy-cheeked punk.

With her good hand, she picked a knife up off the ground and stabbed it into the wooden table in front of her, inviting him to fight.

Corceo, the leader, hit the table, drawing everyone’s attention.  “Tisha, don’t carve Frey a new asshole.  He has plenty already,” he joked, earning a chuckle from one of the demons watching from the wall.  “The fact is that they had the gun.  They killed Tom.”

“Tom was an idiot,” huffed Frey.  “The only reason he wasn’t wading through viscera like the rest of us was because he was Azazel’s son.”

“Apparently he was attacking Sam, and Dean shot him,” Dajhila explained.  “There were witnesses.”

Frey shrugged indifferently at Tom’s death.  “Silver-spooned nepotist should’ve been the one to get his ass beat before he got shot.”

“I’m fine with the younger Winchester getting that bludgeoning,” interjected Tisha.  She snarled, “You know that little shit is a psychic?  I was so close to killing them.  It took me three weeks to lure them to this abandoned insane asylum.  I’d murdered twenty people in there—six hunters came before the brothers finally took the bait.  That’s the shit I had to deal with in order to roll out the red carpet for those thick-brained, underwear-model-looking—“

“They aren’t that good looking,” said Milmont.

“They are,” countered Corceo.  “Now let her finish or I’ll tear your fucking tongue out.”

Dajhila with the hollow eyes quietly said, “We should’ve kept the talking stick.”

Frey held up the pointy, splintered remains of a blood-stained wooden dowel that had evidently been used to stab someone.  The woman shrugged, conceding that it had worked better in theory than in practice.  The red-haired demon tossed it aside, grabbed the bottle of alcohol from where it had settled on the table, then gestured to their current storyteller.

Tisha waited a beat to see if anyone would interrupt her before continuing.  “I swear on my life, that Sam kid really is a psychic.  They knew it was a trap.  I’m sitting there with a semi-automatic rifle—I’m not fucking around—and all of a sudden the sprinklers are raining holy water.”  Her lips curled downward at the memory as she snarled, “Sam used a megaphone from the parking lot to exorcise me.  I only got to see their faces as my cloud was getting dragged back down.”

“Jesus,” exhaled Frey.  “A megaphone… and you had a rifle.”

“What weapon did you go after them with?” asked Tisha.

He thought for a moment before finally admitting, “A big rock.”  Everyone stared at him for a moment, then burst into laughter, so he added, “Sometimes simple is best.  We’re stronger than them and there was a big rock right there that I could throw—  It was a tactical decision.”

“With genius thinking like that, it’s no wonder we can’t catch a break against them,” said Corceo.

Dajhila commented, “The only good news is that the dad, John, he died two months ago.”

“John Winchester, hunter savante—  That piece of shit finally dropped?”  Milmont looked around, eyes wide with excitement.  “What did ‘im in?”

“I do not know.”  The hollow-eyed woman crossed her bony arms.  “Margot, down in processing, says his file is classified, but it is there.”

Frey leaned forward with interest.  “File—  We got him?  Fucker isn’t playing a harp?”

“In the pit as we speak,” she replied smuggly.  “Rumor is that Alastair’s working him personally.”

“Alastair?” asked Corceo.  “They’re breaking out the Grand Torturer himself for a Winchester?”

Tisha nodded slowly to herself as she put together a few pieces.  “Well, he is classified.”

The two women silently observing from their place on the iron maiden exchanged a knowing glance.  The one in leather subtly placed her hand on a bulge by her belt that was obscured by her jacket, but the woman in the white dress discreetly shook her head and gestured for her to wait.  At the order, the younger demon gave a quick roll of her eyes before relaxing her posture.  By the time they’d turned their attention back to the meeting, the conversation had switched back to discussing different methods of pursuing the still-living brothers.

“Dean is a hedonist,” commented Dajhila.  “Take a meatsuit with a figure as an hourglass and lay yourself in his path.”

Tisha raised an eyebrow.  “You really think he’s going to fall for something like that?”

“He’s young and proud.”

Tisha countered, “He’s a paranoid with low self-esteem—“

“Here we go,” muttered Milmont.

“—You all think they’re heroes out of a fucking Greek epic, but they’re just men—feeble, petty little things—“

“Little,” Frey scoffed.  “Have you even seen them?”

Tisha slammed her fist on the table.  “They are mortal children, too absorbed by their grief and self-pity—Yes, they are little, but that makes them paranoid, partially-psychic, sneaky cunts who use megaphones.”  She paused a moment to look around the table at the others, then said, “And maybe they don’t have it now or maybe I wasn’t worth the bullets, but they know about the Colt.  They know how to kill us—  Kill, not exorcise.”

After a brief, pensive silence, Milmont asked, “When was the last time you heard of one of us getting killed?  Cain going nuts and turning traitor?  That was almost 150 years ago—Earth time.”

Corceo nodded.  “Half the crew in my dungeon wasn’t even turned back then.  The sniveling pups thought we were immortal until they heard the news:  the fucking Winchesters killed Tom.”

There was a grumble of shared frustration at the indignity.  Humans had managed to kill demons, for the first time in over a century—and the bastards hadn’t even had the decency to stick around long enough to be killed in return.

“We have to stop them,” said Milmont quietly.  

Frey scoffed.  “Have you been listening or are ya’ as dense as iron?”

“Oh, choke on a ball of blades,” Tisha hissed.

The red-haired demon waved his arms, sarcastically miming fear.

“Save it.  The enemy is up there.”  Corceo waited to see if anyone would interrupt, then continued.  “I’m tired of all this theatrical, solo bullshit.  We murder them in their sleep.  If they salt the door, we use guns.  If they ward the building, burn it down.  Fucking drive an oil tanker truck into them—this is war.  So how do we find them?”

Milmont replied, “Since their dad died, my denmate, Bahshin, spotted them a few times with another hunter:  male, middle-aged, reddish-brown greying hair and beard, baseball cap, one of those grizzled sorts.”

Tisha nodded.  “I know the one.  His name is Bobby—don’t know the last name.  I’ve run into him and his partner a few times.  He sticks to the north central U.S.  Rural looking, lots of plaid.  He had an old truck.”

“Fucking hick hunters,” muttered Frey.

The woman in leather sitting along the wall wordlessly withdrew a small notebook and pen from her pocket, then wrote down, “Margot:  soul processing department grunt,” and “Bahshin:  den-dweller, has an Earth pass.”  

Corceo eyed the two silent newcomers from his place at the table.  “Taking notes?  Dainty little things like you gonna go gunning for the big bad Winchesters?”  He laughed.  “Well get in fucking line.  You come here, don’t say shit, and crib off our hard work—  How close have you come to offing them?  What makes you so cocky you’re gonna be the ones to kill the bastards?”

The woman with the notepad gestured to her partner, inviting her to address the challenge.  The demon in white stood up and smiled, unconcerned by the hostile attitude of the others in the room.

“We haven’t tried to kill them,” she replied.  “And we have a plan, the likes of which history has never seen.”

“Ready to shared with the class?” Frey asked.  “What brilliant plan are you two peons gonna try?”

“We’re gonna give them what they really want.”

Corceo’s eyes passed over the two women.  “A pair of eager-to-please blondes in suggestive clothes?”

The woman in the white dress corrected him.  “The only one we’re eager to please is our lord, Lucifer.”

A few of the demons chuckled at the absurd statement.  Lucifer was a fairytale, as much as God and angels were to the humans.  

“I’ll bite.”  Corceo’s mouth curled into an amused grin, punctuated by the occasional barbed fangs.  “What are you gonna give them?”

“We’re gonna make them heroes.”

The demons around the table laughed outright at the reply.

“You’re going to make them heroes?  Those hunter bastards know about the Colt.  They killed Tom.  They’ve been exorcising us.”  He placed his hands on the table and stood up, ready to confront them.  “The Winchesters aren’t scared of us—not the way they should be.  We’re demons.  That still means something.  So I don’t know what crazy scheme you’re thinking up, but it isn’t happening.  They don’t get to be heroes.  They die.”

“They’ll die when we—” She gestured to her partner “—say they die.”

“Looks like we have something of a race on our hands.”  Cerceo walked up to her and stood so that they were only a few inches apart.  A head taller than her, he glared down at her before hissing, “You think you can beat me to them?”

Her eyes turned white, causing his jaw to drop.  “Child you’re busy boasting and we’re on step fifteen.”  Lilith waved her right hand, locking the door to the room.  In a quick backhanding gesture, she threw Corceo against the far wall, then turned to look at her companion.  “Ruby.”

Ruby stood up and smiled as she drew her knife from the holster on her belt.  She systematically worked her way through the room, killing the others while her partner held them in place with telekinesis.  Afterward, she placed the bodies on the table, then rested her palms on the topmost corpse.  A few lines of Aramaic later, blue flame engulfed the bodies, destroying the evidence.

While watching the fire, Lilith asked, “Is Meg ready?”

“She’s still running recon on the other children.  In terms of pressure points so far:  four have lovers, eight of them are close to a parent, and we have a few like Sam where the sibling could be an incentive.  As of yesterday, she was watching the stoner with imprinting telepathy to figure out his achilles’ heel.”  Ruby wiped her bloody blade on the sleeve of her jacket to clean it while asking, “Did you take care of Crowley?”

“I encouraged several of his aides to let a few deals lapse.  Numbers are down.  He’s dying to get a big deal.”  Lilith looked at her.  “The second Dean Winchester’s soul comes across his desk, he’ll sign off on the contract just to get his name on something.  The grubby-fingered broker didn’t check the fine print on John; why should the son be any different?  I’ll hold Dean’s contract and the moment he bites it, he’ll get expedited delivery to Alastair’s dungeon.  No official processing.  No gossip—”  She gestured to the smoldering remains of the demon who had accidentally outed Margot as a leak in the processing department.  “—No mistakes this time.”

Ruby huffed an unamused laugh.  “The two of us sure as hell won’t have time to clean up any messes once this show gets rolling.  Round one we could afford to have things go a little sideways.  Once we pop up on Sam’s radar, that’s it.  We’re in, and I’m not coming back downstairs on a fucking milk run.”

“It will all turn out,” Lilith assured her.  “Our lord wills his return.  He cannot be denied.”

Ruby didn’t reply to the pious statement.  Instead she studied the charred racks in front of them.  “I know he’s your mentor and we couldn’t have done this without him, but Azazel can’t survive this.  You know that, right?”

Lilith nodded.  “When he finishes aligning his pawns, he’ll throw the fight.  He knows how important it is that Sam’s anger be directed solely at me.  That means clearing the field for the next generation of nemeses.”

“Don’t worry,” Ruby placed her hand on her partner’s shoulder.  “When I’m done with him, Sam will be foaming at the mouth to kill you.”

“I envy you,” Lilith sighed.  “You’ll live to see our lord.  It’s going to be beautiful.”

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

If you enjoyed this story, check out my Sam/Ruby Fic Masterlist or my Full Fic Masterlist.

[gumnut-logic]

Gentle Rain (Part Six)

Title: Gentle Rain

Warm Rain Series

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Author: Gumnut

24 - 26 Jan 2019

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS

Rating: Teen

Summary: Sometimes it is so gentle, you don’t realise it is happening.

Word count: 2937

Spoilers & warnings: Virgil/Kayo, Scott/OC, spoilers for Warm Rain up to this point in the timeline.

Timeline: Six months after ‘The Proposal’, almost a sequel.

Author’s note: For @scribbles97  I had so much fun with this one sitting on my back porch on a gorgeous sunny day. Many thanks to both Scribbs and @the-lady-razorsharp for help on this bit. Also for @vegetacide for some plotwork we did for further into the story. Next chapter is half written and I’m still having fun :D I hope you enjoy this fic that has a mind of its own.

Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

-o-o-o-

It was like some kind of daydream caught in a whirlwind.

The week had passed with medical consultations and chats with Scott over the network. His eyes lit up when he smartly inquired about Kayo asking her to Tracy Island.

“So you coming?” Was that expression hopeful?

“I’m considering it.” She bit back a grin. Why should she make it easy?

His eyes narrowed at her. “What could I offer to entice you?”

“Oh, you’d like to entice me, would you, flyboy?”

He really did have a beautiful smile. “I think I could.”

“Then entice away.”

He posed thoughtfully. “Now what would a gorgeous looking young woman like yourself find attractive on a tropical island. Let me think.” He tapped his lips with a finger.

She choked on a laugh. “Really?”

He held up a finger as if struck by a thought. “Marshmallows. We have the biggest, fluffiest marshmallows in the Southern Hemisphere. Absolutely delicious roasted over a slow fire.” He licked his lips.

Her eyes almost fell out of her head. “Scott Tracy, you are a flirt.”

“Yes. Yes, I am.”

“And brazen about it.”

“Do you mind?”

That brought her up short, but she didn’t hesitate. “I think I can handle it.” And she was grinning.

His voice dropped an octave. “Good.”

She shivered.

Wow.

She still got one over him. He never did find out if she was coming to visit or not. She held him at arms length the entire week, taunting him.

He seemed to enjoy it.

Kayo picked up the game and swore Virgil to secrecy. Virgil threw up his hands and refused to be drawn in to any of it. The fact he was called out to a rescue two minutes later aided and abetted her little conspiracy.

Scott left the hospital two days before she did. Now it was her turn and she found herself aboard the Tracys’ private jet, all leather and luxury. Virgil was flying while Kayo attended to her, and it was just the three of them flying over the stark red brown landscape of the Australian Outback.

She had luggage, a new hoverscoot, and a belly full of butterflies. There were popular rumours about where exactly Tracy Island was and what you would find if you ever managed to actually get there. Mansions, a secret city…heh, one website claimed Tracy Island was on the other side of a wormhole somewhere in the Bermuda Triangle. Another claimed it was easy to find by tracking birdlife.

Em didn’t really know what to think. The concept of a tropical island was steeped in stereotypes in any case. Perhaps palm trees would be present. The rest was likely up for grabs.

Kayo sat opposite her, occasionally looking at her with just a touch of concern. Em hadn’t said much since they had left Perth airport and she probably looked terrified.

For crying out loud, you’re a fully qualified professional, you’ve faced down much more in your life than a family of billionaires. Hell, she once stared down a patient holding a knife in her face. She was Em Bloody Harris, stop being such a wimp.

A little focus and a little spine.

She straightened and Kayo looked up. “Are you comfortable?”

“Yes, thank you.” Conversation. “Are you all pilots?” A frown. “Do you fly?”

A small smile crept across Kayo’s face. “Yes, and I most certainly do. Though I’m not surprised you haven’t heard of my Thunderbird.”

Em’s eyes widened. “You pilot a Thunderbird? Which one?”

“Thunderbird Shadow.”

The Thunderbirds were well known across the world as angels of mercy. They appeared at the most desperate moments, often long before any other rescue organisation could possibly have made it. There was the grey, blue and red rocket plane, the green behemoth that nursed all the equipment, a red rocket, a yellow submarine and the Voice Who Answered. There was also rumour of another plane, but sightings were rare and little was known about it. Em’s eyes widened. “You’re the ghost Thunderbird.”

The smile widened just a touch. “You could say that. We take our security very seriously.”

“Yet you’ve invited me.”

Kayo raised an eyebrow. “You checked out.”

It was hard to work out how to feel about that.

“Em, I don’t invite on whim. I thought you would like to visit and I know I will enjoy your company. The background check was just procedure.”

Em dropped her voice to a harsh whisper. “Please don’t tell them. They don’t need to know.”

She could tell by the security specialist’s reaction that she knew exactly what she was talking about. Equally quiet. “They won’t hear it from me.”

“I don’t blame International Rescue. It wasn’t your fault. The only one deserving blame was the bastard who caused it all. I hope he rots in hell.”

“He is.”

Em stared at her. “He’s dead?”

Kayo’s expression was horribly cold. “Yes.”

“How?”

“Classified.”

Blink. “Okay.” She swallowed. “I hope he suffered.”

The other woman didn’t answer, but something sad flickered briefly over her face.

“It is awfully quiet in here. Should I be worried? You two aren’t plotting a mutiny or anything, I hope.”

It was like a switch had been flicked. Kayo’s expression changed completely, smiling up at Virgil as he entered the cabin. “No need for a mutiny, love. I have plenty of other ways to get what I want.”

Virgil didn’t quite roll his eyes, walking past to grab a drink from the fridge. “Can I get you anything?” He waved a bottle of water in their general direction.

“No, thank you.” They chorused together.

Virgil looked back over his shoulder. “Do you have any idea how creepy that sounds?”

Em bit her lip, but couldn’t help parroting the sweet innocent smile Kayo sent her fiancé’s way.

His gaze darted back and forth between them, more alarmed by the moment. “Okay, I’ll just be upfront piloting the plane. Don’t summon the devil by accident.” And he stepped smartly back into the cockpit.

Em turned to Kayo to find the woman fighting back a grin. Em’s lips twisted as their eyes locked. A heartbeat and they both burst out laughing.

-o-o-o-

“Skies are clear, winds 20kph and from the south. You are cleared to land, Tracy Two.”

Through the open patio doors, John could hear the distant engagement of T2’s VTOL. Nowhere near as loud as her Thunderbird sisters, but strong enough to lower her safely onto Thunderbird Two’s runway.

He estimated no more than fifteen minutes before Kayo and their visitor would arrive in the lounge.

Sooner the better before Scott burnt out Thunderbird imPatient’s hover jets with his irrational ‘pacing’.

The slickly repainted hover chair now sported a pale blue-grey chassis with a slash of cherry red and sky blue down each side. The number one had been neatly inscribed in Thunderbird font on both sides. How Virgil had fit it in the last three weeks, John had no idea.

They had been horribly busy. Alan had been forced to take on Thunderbird One much to Scott’s annoyance. They simply could not function without her. As it was, Virgil had been burning most days at both ends, between rescues, hospital visits, and Tracy Industries on top of his regular duties.

They had only just gotten back to rhythm after Virgil’s accident. Now they were a man down yet again for at least another two months, probably more.

At Christmas.

Christmas never failed to increase the need for International Rescue. It was called the silly season for a reason. The collective IQ of the planet appeared to drop around this time of year, regardless of religion. If John could believe in astrology, he might have been inclined to blame the cosmos, but in reality it was often just stupidity.

At the moment he was seriously considering leaving the missing fishing boat caught in a cyclone off Broome, in the north of Western Australia, to the local authorities. They should never have been out, they had received clear warning, and yet had gone out anyway.

But IR’s sensory systems were far more advanced than any other. He had already interfaced with TB5 in an attempt to short cut a location, but the electrical activity in the cyclone denied him a lock at that distance. Thunderbird Two should be able to get a fix on the fishing boat’s transponder within a few hundred kilometres and with TB4 on board she should be able to render any assistance required.

He watched Virgil bring the light jet into land smoothly knowing that in a moment he would have to ask his brother to fly out again.

Gordon was already on his way to the hangar.

And Scott was spinning around in circles.

“You’re going to make yourself sick.”

“I can take eight Gs in a spiral dive. This is nothing.”

“Fine, but can you stop anyway?”

His big brother sighed and slowed to a standstill, staring at the toes of his left foot, stuck out awkwardly in front of him.

Over the last hour John had become acutely aware that something was bothering his brother above and beyond his injuries and resultant incapacitation. He had become fidgety, restless and agitated. It was out of character. Scott was a ball of energy at most times, but it was controlled energy, channelled and targeted at need.

Apparently, he had sprung a leak and, like a dropped garden hose, was bouncing around the room, out of control.

“Is there something wrong, Scott?”

“No.” Sharp and abrupt and so obviously a lie, John was almost insulted his brother thought it would work at all.

“Could have fooled me.”

“What?” He was poking distractedly at TB imPatient’s controls. The hoverchair did a sudden donut and backed ungracefully down the steps into the sunken lounge.

“Can you please not kill yourself on my watch. Virgil would be pissed.” That usually meant a pissed Kayo, never a good thing.

It was so much more peaceful in space. In space there was a comms off switch.

-o-o-o-

One minute there was a massive expanse of Pacific Ocean, next an island appeared out of nowhere.

Em stared out of the window at the dual spiked volcanic rock in the middle of blue water. As they drew nearer, she could make out the remains of the volcanic caldera, the hints of coral beneath the lagoon and the house amongst the rocks.

As the jet angled into land, her side of the plane dipped towards the ocean giving her a stunning view of the little island paradise. Knowing the pilot, probably on purpose.

Yes, there were definitely palm trees.

“Wow.”

Kayo smiled at her. “It’s home.”

The runway came into view, lined by palm trees. Em frowned. That didn’t quite look long enough...or wide enough. “K-“

The underside of the plane echoed mechanical movement, and a sudden roar above that of the jet engines started up. Their speed dropped off abruptly and Em felt her stomach shift inside her. The nose of the plane lifted and they descended vertically.

Kayo was watching for her reaction.

Em arched an eyebrow. “So not your average personal jet?”

The other woman smirked a little. “I’m sorry, but you’ll find that the Tracys don’t do ‘average’.” Was that pride? Perhaps just a little?

Em couldn’t help but grin.

Several butterflies were firmly stomped on.

Their speed slowed to almost a standstill as the ground approached, the jet hovering before gently touching down on the tarmac. Then, to her surprise, the jet’s wings folded back on themselves and they taxied between two lines of palm trees towards a cliff face.

She couldn’t quite see from her angle, but it appeared the cliff opened because moments later they were trundling through an entrance.

And past the massive bulk of Thunderbird Two.

She couldn’t help but stare.

“Damn.”

It was whispered, but Em heard it anyway. Kayo was up and out of her seat in the next breath and disappeared into the cockpit without another word.

Em was left to frown a little and stare at the giant green plane as the jet slowed to a stop in its hanger off to one side.

Thunderbird Two was high up on its landing struts, but as their jet came to a halt, there was a rumble of machinery and a chain of green cargo crates trundled past. One labelled with the number four settled beneath the giant green plane and the craft lowered, swallowing the crate whole.

Thunderbird Two was even larger that touch closer.

Kayo entered the cabin once again, her expression annoyed. “Virgil needs to fly out.” It was very clear the woman was not happy. “Some idiot went fishing in a cyclone.”

Virgil Tracy flew Thunderbird Two. It was well known. But now she had met the pilot she had trouble reconciling the kindly man with the gentle baritone, the soft smile and so much expression in his eyes every time he looked at Kayo, with the image of the superhero rescue operative of popular myth. He wasn’t what she expected.

But then a mental image of the saviour wrapped in metal, tossing brickwork with giant claws, as he busted into that hole beneath the collapsed hotel in Perth, flashed up.

Well, Superman did have his Clark Kent.

There was a hiss as Kayo enabled the cabin exit, an apparently automated set of stairs rolling into place. Virgil hurried from the cockpit, flashing her a quick smile before pausing in front of Kayo, his hands landing on her shoulders. Em looked away to give them privacy as he leant down to kiss her.

A whispered ‘fly safe’ and his boots hit the metal stairwell.

Moments later, the hanger was filled with the stirring roar of Thunderbird Two’s engines and she watched as the behemoth taxied out into the daylight. She couldn’t see the runway from where she sat and she had no idea how the huge plane managed on such a narrow tarmac, but seconds later, that roar swelled into a crescendo and the plane around her vibrated with the power being expended as the craft no doubt launched.

As the roar disappeared off into the distance, she looked up to see Kayo still standing at the exit, her back to Em.

“Kayo, are you okay?”

“Fine.” And the woman turned around a smile forced onto her face.

“Yes, Virgil.”

That earned her a glare. “Let’s get off this plane.”

That shut down the conversation. Em tried her best not to take it personally. It was obvious that Kayo wasn’t used to sharing her problems and honestly, it wasn’t any of her business.

Not much was said as Kayo helped her into her hoverscoot. The device was a smaller version of the hoverchair, less bulky now she had no legs to support. It had variable height so she could look a person in the eye if necessary. The harness supported her back, keeping her upright, while the remains of her legs were cushioned with anti-pressure in the small seat. She had chosen to wear what would have been a knee length summer dress today, the convenience of covering up her injury taken to full advantage, her stumps wrapped in soft socks beneath. The sleeveless dress hugged her overall slim figure, and was appropriate for the tropical clime

This was made abundantly apparent the moment she descended the stairs into the hanger. The hanger doors had since closed, the metal structure towering above her. In fact, the entire hanger was massive. But where she would have thought the air should be cool, it was gently warm, perhaps a remnant of the recent exposure to the outside.

Saltwater lingered in the air.

The cavern echoed with smoothly operating machinery. Some kind of automaton was interfacing with the cargo section of their jet and offloading their luggage and in the distance there was more movement of an unknown purpose. Kayo secured the plane before joining her and leading her over to an elevator.

“Gordon left with Virgil, but Scott, John and Alan are upstairs.” Kayo shot her a smile and Em managed to corral the butterflies just a little. “Did Scott ever work out whether you were coming today or not?”

“Heh.” Okay, so she was grinning now. “I strung him along quite nicely. He offered me all kinds of things to get me out here.”

Kayo actually let out a laugh. “Really?”

“I think the last offer was a Lamborghini.” Not that she would ever accept such a thing, it was hilarious to play the man.

“He offered you a Lambo?” A frown. “What colour?”

“Oh, I had a choice. Green or yellow.”

“Hah. Don’t trust him. He’s offering you Virgil or Gordon’s.”

Em’s eyes widened. “Really? You have Lamborghinis?”

Kayo snorted. “They’re boys. Did you expect anything less?”

She thought a moment as the elevator rose. “I don’t know. I never considered luxury in relation to International Rescue.”

The elevator slowed a moment before changing trajectory and travelling up at an angle. The movement was so smooth, her ‘scoot hardly reacted.

“Oh, they work for it, but the boys do have their toys.” Kayo’s smile was infectious.

“I told him I would only consider a blue one.” It had been teasing and off the cuff, but those eyes of his prompted everything.

“Points to you, Em. You picked his colour.”

And the elevator slowed to a smooth stop. She barely had chance to think before the doors opened and Kayo led her into a large lounge area.

Just in time to see Scott Tracy collide with a wall.

-o-o-o-

End Part Six.

Part Seven

[torannosaurusrexy]

Headcanon Game - A to Z: Daddy Tae 🤪

Oh Guuuurl you really gonna make me answer em all? Well, I suppose you asked...so I'll deliver. 

Kim Taehyung | V | AKA (Daddy Tae)

A - Aftercare

Personally I feel that Tae would be overly lovey after sex. He’d take a few deep breaths to recover before slathering you in kisses and praises of just how well you took his cock ;)

B - Body Part (Fav on them & on their lover)

Now I'm not sure if this is accurate but I feel like Taehyung really likes his hands...on his lover, I think he’d really care for their eyes. The eyes can tell a lot. And with Taehyung loving scenery and the art of Photography, I think he’d come to understand that the eyes can speak for the person they belong to.

C - Cum

Oh boy here we go, Tae and Cum. Hmmm, well if we’re thinking about where he’d like to cum...I’d say he’d love to cum either in your mouth or across the swell of your breasts (that is to say...if you were opposed to him cumming inside of you).

D - Dirty Secret

Taehyung secretly lovessss degrading dirty talk. He tends to exude a soft demeanor where he’d take on the role of dominant but his specialty has always been praising. However, he isn’t and never has been opposed to calling you his little slut, and may even go as far as calling you his cock sleeve. 

E - Experienced (How experience are they?)

Tae knows what he wants, and how to get it. He knows how and where to touch you in order to make you cum and to leave you wanting more...he’s definitely no rookie. 

F - Favorite Position

Taehyung lives for missionary. Any position that allows him to see your face mold with pleasure as he fucks you is a damn gold mine to him. He isn’t exactly impartial to doggy though ;)

G - Goofy (Are they serious or goofy in the moment)

Definitely serious. What more can I say? Taehyung takes sex with you. Very. Serious. Sure, foreplay can be fun and even laughable. But the second it comes to sticking it anywhere...all laughs melt away to reveal moans.

H - Hair (How well groomed? Does the carpet match the drapes?)

I think taehyung would take pride in his grooming regimen. However, he’d still feel that keeping some of his tree unpruned (if ya know what I'm sayin) would keep him feeling more manly and therefore, sexier. If you’re wondering what color Taehyung’s pubes are...well the carpet matches the drapes of his natural hair. (Clearly he doesn’t dye his drapes) omg can you imagine. 

I - Intimacy

Tae’s intimacy level fluctuates depending on his patience at the moment. I feel that if the sex between you two was ‘a quickie’ then he’d be just that. Quick. He’d make the most of your shared time and get you off, trying his best to not be selfish. However, if you had HOURS of time to do absolutely nothing except taint every surface then...intimacy would be Taehyung’s top priority. He’d tease, and praise, and oh god he’d kiss you everywhere. Calling you beautiful and HIS. If it’s intimacy you’re looking for...Tae’s your man.

Imagine this: Taehyung and you are married. You’re the mother to two beautiful baby boys. BTS has since disbanded (cries) and a shared life between you and Taehyung was all the two of you had wanted since the disbandment. The boys still stay in touch and regularly spend time together. Years of habit don’t get broken easily. In your free time, Taehyung and you have the most loving of sex. He slowly fucks you until you beg for more. He kisses your neck, cheeks, collarbones and so on. He takes pride in pleasing you first, hoping that getting you off will earn reward: which it always does.

J - Jacking Off

Why would Taehyung Jack Off when he has a ripe for the taking beautiful woman right in front of him? However, I think he’d loveeeee Masturtiming (Masturbating together over facetime.) If you weren’t together. He'd opt to doing that.

K - Kink(s)

Not sure if this classifies as a kink. But he loves to hold your hands over your head. Whether they be tied or held there...oh god he LOVES seeing you like that. Splayed out and writhing.

L - Location (Fave spot to do the dirty)

Tae’s all about hearing you. If the two of you were in public...keeping you quiet would prove to be a turn off rather than a turn on. So, he tends to like the bedroom. Or in front of a roaring fireplace if the option is there. Then the two fo you could share a tub of ice cream to cool down afterwards. 

M - Motivation (What turns them on, gets him going)

B I T I N G. I happen to be a strong believer that if you nibble on Taehyung’s lip, neck, or ear he’ll be putty in your hands. However, calling him daddy and asking him to cum for you will suffice as well. 

N - NO (Something they’d never do, Turn Off’s)

Pegging. Being the dominant one, seeing you attempt to switch the roles would not only have him soft but would also kill the mood in seconds flat.

O - Oral (Prefer to give or receive? Skill?)

He prefers to be given head. He’ll go down on you if you want him to. However, he wants to see you on your knees, looking up at him with eyes that beg for more...

P - Pace

Rough. And his pace would change throughout. He’d want to drag you close to the edge of oblivion only to slow down enough to have you float back to where you began. This would go on until he knew you could cum together.

Q - Quickie’s (Opinion on)

I kinda mentioned quickies briefly. Taehyung doesn’t like them. But if you decide to be a tease and wear a dress thats just a little too short out somewhere, especially around the others...he might just have to excuse the two of you for some hot bathroom sex. 

R - Risk (Willing to be risky? Game to experiment?)

Aside from perfectly harmless touches underneath the confines of a clothed table...then no. Being public is trashy to Taehyung and the very idea of anyone catching a glimpse disgusts him. He’d rather have his way with you in private. 

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

Tae usually bounces back rather quickly, especially if you’re game for another round. However, everyone has a limit. And both of you usually cut yourselves off at three...four...okay maybe five rounds a day ;)

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Toys + Taehyung = A GOOD FUCKING TIME. Usually used on you. He kinda likes gags...

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Tae loves to tease, I've hinted at this a bunch already.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

Groans. Tae would rather hear you though, so he remains quiet most of the time.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Taehyung agrees to public sex once, in a car. The two of you get caught by police and that’s just another of the many reasons as to why he hates it added to the list. You laugh it off and get Wendy’s after, arguing over the idea of whether French fries + frosties is a good combo or not.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

...need I add more?

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Taehyung has pretty good control and tends to hold his own...however, when you drop the slightest hint that you’re horny...oh he’s on you faster than a dog on a peanut butter covered spoon.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Well, how good was the sex? 1-10? When was it? If we’re talking a 10 at noon...give him twenty, an energy drink and a pat on the back. He’ll be okay soon enough. If it’s anything below a 5 after noon he’ll get up like it was nothing. However...sex with taehyung is always a 6-10 bitch. lets be real. 

6-10 between the hours of 7am - noon (THAT WAS HIS MORNING COFFEE BITCH DOESN’T NEED HIS LATTE NO MORE!)

6-10 between to hours of noon - 5pm (Most sex between you two happens around here. Taehyung’s energy is at its peak and you’re always looking so damn GOOOOOD. He can’t help himself. Needless to say, he’ll be awake well afterwards.)

6-10 between the hours of 5pm - midnight (Tae disfavors the evening due to the fact that he’ll most likely be eating dinner and dessert. No one gets horny when they’re stuffed...boy will need a quick nap.)

6-10 between the hours of midnight - 7am (He LOVES late night sex. Being woken up by you kissing at his neck and whispering sweet nothings in his ear is heaven. And he fucks you soooo good. Both of you will be wiped by the end, wrapped in each other’s arms.)

PHEW. Alright peasants. Taehyung DONE ✔️