#do you trust me

[triptych-of-voids]

It's manwhore monday again, happy manwhore monday!!

i was debating replying to this ask with a super cropped nsfw but. ill restrain myself. happy manwhore monday though :]€

[mumbledramblings]

vash lovers, you should listen to "hungover in the city of dust" by autoheart (specifically the acoustic version, but both are good). for, no reason in particular.

[arjengelly]

[melanie-ohara]

The Working of My Hands

Whumpuary, Day 17 - Prompt: "Do you trust me?"

A murder in her lover's hometown puts Lae'zel on a dangerous path

Lae'zel and my pacifist Tav Emily of Rivington, cleric of Ilmater

AO3 Here

The camp on the outskirts of the city of Baldur's Gate made Lae'zel uneasy. It would be easier to evade her kin - her former kin - in the buildings of the city, but there were too many istik and too many buildings, and too much she didn't understand. At least the Shadow Curse had made sense to her after the upheaval of the crèche, but now they were free of the constant danger she had nothing to distract her from what she had done and what she still had to do. Rejecting Vlaakith was the hardest challenge she had ever faced, but she knew that freeing Orpheus would push her even further. Her blade couldn't be sharp enough.

She took the sword away from the grindstone when she saw Emily approaching along the path that led into the camp, laying it on the bench alongside. She had elected to stay behind while everyone else set out in groups to explore the town, to have some time to herself, but nonetheless she was pleased to see Emily. Her constant frown and bedraggled appearance had become strangely reassuring lately, and Lae'zel liked her for more than just her surprising utility in bed - for such a weak little istik, she could take a great deal of punishment and still begged for more. To hear her explain it, it was by dint of her work as a cleric of Ilmater, though Lae'zel knew it was much more than devotion to a mere god. 

"Lae'zel!" she called out, breaking into a jog as she hurried towards her. 

"You return alone," Lae'zel said, folding her arms and looking her up and down. To her disappointment there was no blood on her clothes, which made it unlikely that she had been sent to get Lae'zel as backup. 

"There's been a murder at the temple," Emily said. "My temple." 

Lae'zel didn't quite understand Emily's sentimentally, but she grudgingly admitted that it had saved her life several times now.

"I am… sorry," she tried awkwardly, and winced at her own insincerity. 

Emily smiled weakly. "It's alright, you don't have to. Wyll already did all of that."

"Better than I could, no doubt," Lae'zel complained without thinking.

Emily reached out to squeeze her arm gently and smiled softly. "That's not why I like you, darling," she said. 

"Zhak vo'n'ash duj," Lae'zel replied. The expression was far from accurate: Emily was not the source of any of her bruises. In fact, she hadn't taken a life the entire time they had been in Faerûn. Before she met her she would have called that shameful cowardice, but she had learned quickly the value of a healer prepared to draw the attention of the enemy. The githyanki term of endearment didn't apply - couldn't apply - to what they felt for each other, but it couldn't be more than that. She couldn't be in love with an istik. Faerûn had changed her, but that was a step too far. 

Emily leaned forwards and kissed her quickly, an all too brief brush of their lips before she pulled away again.

"Do you trust me, Lae'zel?" she asked.

"Trust you?" Lae'zel asked, thrown by the sudden seriousness of the question. "I put my life in your hands every time we enter battle." 

"I know that," Emily said, letting her hand slide down Lae'zel's forearm to close around her wrist. "But this is different. Something I… haven't told the others." 

"Go on," Lae'zel prompted, but Emily shook her head. 

"Not until you say it," she insisted.

Lae'zel fought the urge to roll her eyes. There was no reason she couldn't just lie, and if she didn't trust her then it would be foolish to tell her the truth. But she did trust Emily. More than the others. She put her life in Shadowheart's hands when they fought side by side, but though they had stopped clawing at each other if left without supervision she still wouldn't trust the half-elf with any of her secrets. 

"I trust you," she said. Again, Emily gave her a quick kiss - and again, Lae'zel hoped for the longer, more indulgent kind that Emily normally granted her. 

"Good. Because I think I know who the killer is," Emily said. "A priest of Loviatar. They target Ilmatari all the time."

"We met one," Lae'zel recalled. "In the goblin camp." 

Emily nodded enthusiastically. "Exactly. I think he slipped away from the Absolute's army and got past the blockade."

Lae'zel frowned. "Why not tell the others?" she asked. 

Emily raised her eyebrows and tilted her head a little, the way she did when she thought someone had missed something obvious. "Sithla carries Loviatar's blessing," she explained. "I've lived here my whole life, I'm sure I know where he's hiding." 

"Mellephora should be informed," Lae'zel said. She didn't necessarily like their leader, but she recognised their talents. 

Emily shook her head emphatically. "We can do this without the others. You're the strongest. You're all I need." 

Lae'zel folded her arms. "You think me incapable of recognising flattery? K'chakhi," she chided. 

"Not at all!" Emily protested dramatically. "But I also don't think you're immune to it, my kith'rak in shining armour."

This time Lae'zel did roll her eyes. "I will fetch my armour," she grumbled and turned back to her tent. 

"I knew I could count on you!" Emily called after her.

"Kainyank!" Lae'zel shot back over her shoulder, and Emily's heartwarming laughter followed her until she dropped the flap of her tent.

*

Lae'zel picked her way through the undergrowth as she followed Emily down towards the river. Evening was starting to set in, and the warmth was leaving the air along with the light. Lae'zel wasn't cold, of course, years of training and preparation had left her ready to face any conditions, but Emily didn't seem particularly bothered either despite her usual sensitivity. It was strange too to be following her lead for once, when more often than not her cleric found a spot just behind Lae'zel and stayed there until a fight started.

"You have changed much since we first met," she said to Emily's back, as they approached the mouth of a cave where a shallow stream trickled out to join the river. 

"Have I?" Emily asked, and then added, "you haven't." 

Lae'zel paused. She certainly felt changed - by the course of their journey, by the people she grudgingly called friends. By Emily. 

"No?" Lae'zel asked, surprised. After all, it was Emily herself that had told her she was different now, the last time they had slept together. Lae'zel had been taking care that her teeth didn't break skin for once, and Emily had remarked that it was surprisingly civil of her.

Emily stopped at the cave mouth and faced her. "Devotion to Vlaakith, devotion to Orpheus." She shrugged. "You see?" 

Lae'zel took an angry step forward and jabbed a finger at Emily's shoulder. "Vlaakith betrayed my people," she growled. "As soon as I knew it was true I turned from her."

"She tried to kill you twice before you figured that out," Emily said nonchalantly. 

Hearing cruelty spill from her lips was a shock, and it hit Lae'zel hard enough that she felt her cheeks grow hot as something dark began to bloom in her chest. 

"And then there's me," Emily said, stepping towards Lae'zel with a lover's intent burning in her shining blue eyes. This time when she kissed her, it was long and lingering, her tongue sliding easily between Lae'zel's teeth. For a second, Lae'zel was sure she tasted something acrid and cold on her tongue, with the bite of metal and the aftertaste of blood. She was too late to pull away though: she felt the unmistakable punch of pain as something sharp was driven into the muscle of her left shoulder blade. A hiss built in her throat, but it never made it to her lips. When she tried to reach for her sword, her limbs wouldn't obey her. 

Emily took a step back, smiling softly, and holding a long dagger stained with Lae'zel's blood. 

"Such an easy victim for you," she said, carrying on her sentence as if nothing had happened. "So weak, and so eager, and oh so easy to bruise." 

Lae'zel desperately strained against the paralysis that locked her body in place, but there was nothing she could do as Emily raised the knife to her own face and pressed the sharp edge of the blade to her cheek. 

"This is what you like, isn't it?" she asked, her voice low and sultry as she pressed in and carved a bright scarlet line down from under her eye to the edge of her lips. "You like to see me bleed?"

Lae'zel wanted to scream as much as she wanted to move, but this parody of Emily wouldn't even let her do that. Instead, she touched the blade to Lae'zel's lips and smeared blood from both of their wounds across her mouth. She could taste the heat of it, and wished she could spit it out. Emily's blood had graced her taste buds before, so willingly and happily given, and she knew the taste. This was something else, something vile and stale and dead.

Orin the Red reached up with Emily's hand and snapped her own neck. For a moment, her sweet cleric stood in front of her as a dead woman, and that was worse than anything Orin has visited on her so far. Then the vision was gone, and her blue eyes faded to white and her skin to grey, and Orin straightened up to twirl her knife artfully between her fingers. 

"What a pretty form!" she announced. "I'm sure we'll have lots of fun while I wear the skin of your pretty punching bag." 

Lae'zel roared curses at the evil bitch, but not a single one passed her lips.

"Nothing to say?" Orin teased, and then gave her blade a long, lurid lick. Lae'zel noticed the cut she had made to Emily's face was gone. "I thought you might have found me out sooner," she said, walking slowly around Lae'zel's frozen body. "After all," she whispered in her ear, "surely you could taste the death when I kissed you?" 

With a supreme, desperate effort, Lae'zel fought to drive her elbow back into Orin's chest. She managed to barely perceptible shudder. 

"Oh, you are a strong one!" Orin crowed. She stepped back into Lae'zel's line of sight and then grabbed her tight by the chin, pulling their faces close so all she could see were her deranged, staring eyes. "This is going to be fun."

With a flash of darkness, they were gone.

[medusapelagia]

Running From The Daylight - Part 7

Part 1 , Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, (coming soon Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15)

Written for @whumpuary

Rating: Mature Relationship: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson Prompt: Do you trust me? Words: 953

The car’s front doors are snowbound, but the ones in the back are not, so Eddie opens one of those and tests if the car can bear his weight when he is sure that it can, he slowly gets to the front seat, takes the charger that they keep in the car, and starts the car. He tries a couple of times but nothing happens, and after a few attempts more and some curses, Eddie grabs the penknife he has always with him and cuts Steve’s car cables: hot and wire was one of the few talents he inherited from his father and he isn’t very proud of that, but when finally the phone starts to charge, taking the electricity from the car battery, he decide that maybe he should thank his father for giving him such an important life lesson.

“Yes!” Eddie cheers, looking at the green light of the charging battery and turning the phone on: as he suspected Steve has many messages too, but the first thing Eddie does is call back Wayne.

“Steve? Where are you? Is Eddie with you?” The man asks in a worried voice.

“Wayne, it’s me, Eddie, we are stuck! There was an avalanche and we were stuck. The chalet is destroyed! Steve is hurt and I don’t know what to do!” He yells in the phone, as if screaming would make his words more understandable.

“OK, son, calm down. Everything is going to be ok. Now I’m going to call for help, but you have to keep your phone close, ok? I’ll give them your number and…”

“I can’t stay here for long! I’m in Steve's car, which is almost upside down, to charge Steve’s phone because mine is broken and there is no signal in the chalet!”

“Ok. Ok…” Wayne says, trying to calm him, but Eddie can hear him go back and forth anxiously when someone knocks at the door and Robin’s familiar voice yells something “I’m on the phone with him! Can you call for help, please? Eddie? You still there?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. Robin is here, she is calling for help, ok? You just stay on the phone with me so if they ask us any question you can answer, ok?”

Eddie nods like anyone could see him, grabbing the phone so hard that his hand hurts.

“Steve… I need to get back to Steve.”

“Kid, do you trust me?”

“Of course I do.”

“The best thing you can do right now is stay on the phone with me and give me any information that might help us find you, ok?”

Wayne is right but Eddie is still worried about Steve “He has a broken leg and a nasty cut on his head. I should be inside with him, checking on him.” He murmurs.

“It will not take long, ok kid?”

Eddie answers all the questions Wayne asks him, telling him that the chalet is destroyed, that they have almost no food left, that they are going to drink melted snow, and that the help must come with a helicopter.

Wayne mutters something and then he says to Eddie “They are not going to use a helicopter, they are worried it may cause a new avalanche. The help is on his way but they need to clean the streets to get there.”

Eddie looks around him, there might be at least three feet of snow around them, how long are they going to take to get finally to the chalet?”

“Listen to me, try not to use your phone too much, ok? If there is no signal turn it off and send me a text when you turn it on again, ok? Text will consume less battery.” 

Eddie agrees, holding his phone tight, worried that if he closes the call he will never hear the voice of his uncle again

“Wayne?” He whispers.

“Mph?”

“You know I love you, right?”

“Eddie…”

“Because I do. I love you so much, and I’m sorry if I didn’t tell you enough! I should have! And I’m sorry if I was difficult when I came into your life and…” hot tears fall from his eyes, while he rants at the phone.

“Eddie, stop it. The help is coming and you both will be home in no time, do you hear me? We called Jim and he already called the local station, they are coming right now. You have to hold on tight, ok? And you must keep safe that boy of yours. I want you both back here as soon as possible.”

“Wayne… what if… what if they don’t get here in time?”

“They will. I’m sure they will.”

Eddie sniffs, cleaning his nose on his sleeve “I can’t live without him.” He murmurs.

“And you will not. We will take home both of you, and you’ll be grounded! Both of you! No more holidays far from home! You hear me? Both of you are going to stay in your comfy apartment! Where I can check on you!”

Eddie takes some deep breaths, trying to calm himself before getting back to the chalet but before he closes the call, Wayne asks him to repeat everything he said: “Turn off the phone, send messages, and wait for the help that is coming.”

“Good boy. And, Eddie, I always knew you do.” 

Eddie looks at the mobile phone battery, fifty-three percent, not bad, he stares for a long moment at the cables, wondering if this will be the last chance they will have to charge the phone, sighs, and then slowly gets out of the car before getting back to the chalets where his boy is still lying on the floor, whimpering.

“Hey, I’m back…” Eddie says, getting closer to kiss Steve and immediately noticing that he feels warm. Too warm.

[drabbles-mc]

Again and Again (Part 3)

Mayans!Juice AU

Day 15 of @whumpril's 2023 Challenge: isolation / flinching / "Do you trust me?"

Part 1 / Part 2

Warnings: 18+, angst

Word Count: 3k

A/N: I started this series back during Whumptober, so it felt fitting to post another installment of it for Whumpril! Hope you enjoy!

SOA Taglist: @espieviolet99 @littlekittymeow @chibsytelford @juicyortiz @i-just-read-stuff @justreblogginfics @buckybarneshairpullingkink @paintballkid711 @jitterbugs927 @fanfic-n-tabulous @mijagif @frattsparty @winchestershiresauce @beardburnsupersoldiers @choochoo284 @artemiseamoon @nessamc @garbinge @narcolini @cositapreciosa @darqchilddaydreamz @withmyteeth @camelia35 @passionatewrites (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

Despite the days that had gone by, and the fact that the worst of the physical pain was over, Juice had barely set foot outside his house. The few times he had, it was to go and get things that he needed—groceries, alcohol, cigarettes, weed. He had yet to set foot back at the clubhouse again. The mere thought of it made him shake, so he couldn’t imagine what his brain and body would put him through if he actually went and showed up.

He was lying on his back on his couch in the living room, staring up at the ceiling. His mind was wandering and taking him nowhere good as it went. The lights were off, but there was enough sunlight coming through the windows to keep the room from being too dark. This was where he had spent most of the last couple of weeks. Even when it was time for him to try and sleep, he hardly ever went and laid in his bed. That was one thing he wouldn’t have been able to explain even if he tried.

The sound of someone knocking at his front door caused him to snap his head immediately in that direction. His heart began thudding quickly in his chest as he stared at the door, with all of its locks firmly secure because he’d checked them each three times. He laid still, partially waiting but also partially unable to try and make himself move. Logically he knew it was most likely someone from the club, or maybe even the nurse that they’d sent over to check on him.

After the first couple of days, when they were all reassured enough that he wasn’t going to eat his gun, they didn’t have club members camped out at his place around the clock anymore. Someone always checked in once a day, usually Marcus, either with a phone call or an in-person visit. Juice still hadn’t figured out if the club had been asking Daniela to keep coming and checking on his injuries and his overall state, or if she was just the type of person who cared that much. She had brothers in the club, after all, so maybe it was just a sense of duty.

He must’ve been replaying the days in his head for longer than he thought, because there was another set of knocks. Juice was trying to will his body to move, but it was slow-going. His feet had hardly hit the floor when he heard Marcus’s voice from the other side of the door.

“It’s me.”

Juice forced himself to pry the words from the back of his throat, a herculean effort when it shouldn’t have been one. “Coming.”

One slow step in front of the other, he made his way over to the door. Even though he knew it was Marcus, and even though he knew that if something was wrong Marcus would’ve warned him somehow, Juice still had his gun clutched tightly in one hand as he reached to start undoing the locks with the other.

When he finally pulled the door open, Marcus was standing patiently on the other side, his facial expression not giving away any particular emotion. That was something Juice had noticed he was good at—keeping things close to the vest. Marcus, to the extent of Juice’s knowledge at least, had never lied to him. He was always honest. But when it came to what he was feeling about something at any given moment, it was rare that Marcus wore his opinion on his face. Juice was trying to figure out if he found that to be a comforting thing or not.

Stepping to the side so that Marcus could walk through, Juice nervously drummed his fingers on his side of the door. Pushing it shut, he immediately set about redoing all of his locks. He tried to make his voice sound as normal as possible as he spoke to Marcus, even though the frantic movements of his fingers instantly negated his efforts. “All good?”

Marcus watched him, his expression still not giving anything away. He waited for Juice to turn and look at him before he finally nodded. “All good.”

“What’s, uh,” he tucked his gun into the back of his waistband, like that would somehow make it seem more casual, “what’s going on?”

“Just came to update you.”

Juice’s eyes widened. “Update me? About…about what?”

Marcus could hear the panic edging its way into Juice’s voice, and he kept his as steady and as neutral as possible. “Templo tomorrow.” He paused, seeing how Juice’s expression didn’t relax any. “We need you there.”

That wasn’t the answer Juice had been expecting. He’d spent day after day pacing around his house waiting for the worst. Truth be told, he was half expecting one of the guys, or Marcus, to stop by and ask for his kutte. It felt like all the trouble Juice had been drowning in when he was in Charming, just took on a new form and followed him right to Santo Padre. He was wondering when the Mayans would get sick of the constant clean-up like the Sons did.

“Why,” he sniffled and shrugged as he crossed his arms over his chest, “why do you need me there?”

Marcus’s brows came together for a brief moment before he recovered and answered, “Because you’re part of the fuckin’ club.”

From almost anyone else, that response would’ve sounded annoyed, or even angry. But not from Marcus. The way he said it was so matter-of-fact. A large part of that was because he wasn’t annoyed or angry with Juice. He wondered when that fact was finally going to sink in with the young man that was standing in front of him.

It wasn’t that Juice didn’t want to be at Templo, or that he didn’t want to be part of the club. He did. He wanted all of that more than almost anything. But after all that had happened, the thought of just going about his life like it was business as usual was impossible to wrap his head around. For years he had just gone from one mishap to the next, and they seemed to keep getting worse as the years went along. He’d always been able to rally, though, always been able to move onto the next thing.

Now, standing in front of Marcus with trembling hands and flashbacks that made beads of sweat gather along the edge of his forehead, it was all finally starting to catch up to him at once.

Taking a breath, Marcus asked, “What is it?”

Juice’s eyes that had previously been glued to the floor snapped up so that he was looking at Marcus. “What is what?”

“What’s keeping you in here?” He made a small gesture to the house.

Juice shook his head, eyes dropping back to the floorboards beneath his feet as he tried to string together an answer. He didn’t even know where to begin. It felt so obvious and yet so complicated all at once. Because, yes, danger was a part of what they did. There was no way to be an outlaw and do it safely. However, it wasn’t just the feeling of danger. It was something deeper than that, something internal and far less tangible than the threats lurking outside his door.

He still didn’t look up as he started to speak. “Everywhere I go…bad things happen. To, to me. To the people around me. No matter what. Queens…Charming…” he hesitated like he didn’t want to spit the words out, “Santo Padre. Bad shit. Every, every fucking time.”

“And it was all on you, huh? Every time?”

Juice knew what Marcus was doing. It wasn’t the first time that he’d had a conversation like this. And he knew that in a way, Marcus was right. It wasn’t very often that the man was wrong about much anyway. This, however, this Juice knew that if one of them was approaching the situation rationally, it was Marcus. All of that and he still found it so hard to believe him.

“I know,” Juice finally said. “I know there’s more to it but I just,” he ran his hands back over his head, hating that he could feel tears stinging at the edges of his eyes, “I can’t shake the feeling. Bad luck has followed me across the country and down the border. How long was I here before…?” his voice trailed off.

“I told you,” Marcus said firmly, “what they did was about the club—it wasn’t about you.”

“But it happened to me!” Juice finally broke, emotion cracking his voice. He pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes for a moment as he tried to get the shake in his voice under control and failed. “Because it always happens to me.”

Marcus didn’t say anything for a moment. Side-stepping Juice, he made his way deeper into the living room and took a seat on the couch that Juice had been all but glued to for the last few weeks. Leaning forward, Marcus braced his forearms against the tops of his thighs. He finally looked over at Juice and waited for him to come and sit.

It took a few moments, but Juice finally picked up on the cue. Walking over, he put his gun back on the table before sitting down next to Marcus. He could feel Marcus staring at him but he didn’t look over at him. He knew that wherever this conversation was going, he wasn’t going to be able to hide from it. He’d hidden from a lot, locked up in his house the way he had been, but now Marcus was here and it didn’t seem like he was going to leave until he got whatever answers he was looking for.

Juice gnawed at the inside of his bottom lip before saying, “I don’t know if I’m worth the trouble that follows me.”

Marcus nodded, not in agreement, but in thought. He looked down at his interlocked hands for a moment, at the Mayan ring that rested on his finger. He felt the weight of the kutte that hung on his shoulders.

“Are you going to turn in your kutte, then?” Marcus finally asked after a bout of silence.

The knot in Juice’s stomach tightened, his eyes widening as he looked over at Marcus. The lack of emotion on the man’s face left Juice wondering if it was a question or a request. “N—I…I don’t…do you…do you want me to?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Yea, but—”

“If I didn’t want you in my club, you wouldn’t be.” He paused, twisting the ring on his finger. “This isn’t about that. This is about whether or not you still want this. If you can still do this.”

It had been a long time since decisions with this much gravity really felt like they were Juice’s to make. He’s been a “Yes Man” for a long time, and he was pretty good at that. For years he’d listened to the decisions being made and contented himself just following the directions that he’d been given. But now he was the one who had to make the choice, and it was one that was going to decide whether taking off to Santo Padre was worth any of the stress it had caused.

Juice knew that he still wanted this. For all of the pain and the mess that it had caused, he still wanted it. For years now it had been all he ever wanted. Belonging somewhere had been the only thing he wanted for as long as he could remember. For the first time in a long time it felt like an attainable goal—he just had to get out of his own fucking way.

“I, uh,” he sniffled, trying to force his bubbling emotions down, “I don’t know if I can, Marcus.” The pause that ensued felt a few seconds too long. “I want to, but I don’t know…”

“If you want to do this, you gotta show up.” His tone wasn’t harsh, but it didn’t leave much room for argument either. It was the plain reality of it all.

And Juice knew that he was right. Marcus was understanding, he was fair in a way the men he’d worked with in the past never had the capacity to be. But he still had a club to run. He still had messes to clean up. The question now was whether or not Juice was going to be one of those.

Juice shook his head slightly, fear once again rearing its ugly head as he thought about all of the worst-case scenarios. “Why…why do you even care so much? Why are you doing all of this? It’s not,” he shook his head, “it’s not like you owe me anything. All I’ve fucking done is—”

He was cut off by the feeling of Marcus’s hand landing on his shoulder. Juice flinched at the contact, instinctively going to pull away before he realized what was happening, that he was safe, that the gesture was one of comfort and not aggression.

Juice got his tone back under control taking a staggered breath as he repeated his question, “Why are you doing this?” The familiar sting of tears in his eyes came back as he asked, “Do you even trust me? Can…can you even trust me?”

There was a pause, but it wasn’t hesitation. There was no trace of guesswork on Marcus’s face as he sat there looking at Juice. The silence was more to make Juice sit with his own line of questioning than anything else.

Marcus took a deep breath. “Trust is all we’ve got.”

The statement hung alone in the air. After a few seconds, Marcus removed his hand from Juice’s shoulder.  Juice thought that his body would relax at that, but none of the tension dissolved out of him. His leg began to bounce as the two of them sat there. He knew that it was his turn to say something, that Marcus would be more than content to sit there and wait until Juice finally forced himself to give some kind of answer to the original question that spurred this conversation in the first place.

Even though Juice cleared his throat, his voice still came out as a whisper, like he was on the brink of losing his voice. “I’ll be there.”

Marcus’s expression didn’t shift at all as he nodded. “Good.” He paused, giving Juice the opportunity to say anything else that he needed to get off his chest. When silence ensued, he asked, “Nothing else?”

Juice gave a small shake of his head, still not looking directly at Marcus. “No.”

Standing up, Marcus brushed his hands on his jeans before starting to head back towards the door again. “Tomorrow, then.”

Juice nodded, forcing himself up off the couch so that he could follow Marcus and lock the door behind him once he’d left. “Tomorrow.”

When Marcus pulled the front door open, he immediately came face-to-face with Daniela, who was still in her scrubs from work. She took a small step back, a surprised laugh slipping out of her as she looked back and forth between Marcus and Juice.

“Hi, sorry.” She adjusted the small medical bag that was slung over her shoulder. “I was just, you know, um,” she patted her bag, “checking in.”

Marcus nodded in approval. “Thank you.”

She gave a warm smile. “It’s not a problem,” her eyes drifted over to Juice, her expression softening a little, “really.”

Marcus gently rested his hand on the outside of her arm as she slipped past him, allowing them to swap places so she was inside the house and he was out on the front step. He and Juice exchanged one more brief look, each trying to figure each other out just a little bit more, before saying one more quick goodbye.

Daniela waited and watched as Juice shut the door behind Marcus and did all the locks. Her sympathetic smile lost a little bit of its curve as she watched him go back and check the locks, and recheck them again.

“If it’s not a good time,” she offered, “I can always come back later.”

Turning around and facing her, Juice shook his head. He was trying to look less rattled than he really was, which was difficult with everything that had happened within the span of the last half hour. Still, she already showed up, so he wasn’t going to turn her away.

“It’s fine,” he forced out.

She didn’t want to turn it into a debate, so she just nodded. “Okay.” She gestured to the couch, and as they both stepped towards it, she asked, “You wanna talk about it?”

He shook his head as he sat down. “I’m good.”

She nodded again. Some days he talked a little bit, other days the two of them sat there in near-silence as she checked him over. It looked like it was going to be the latter. “Okay.”

Juice watched her as she pulled her medical bag onto her lap and opened it to look inside. He wished he had better things to say to her, anything, really, but he was coming up empty. She never seemed fazed by it.

“Thanks,” he said softly as she pulled her stethoscope out.

She gave him a tiny smile. “Of course.”

That was all that was said between him as she got wrapped up in making sure that he was at least physically alright if nothing else. Meanwhile, Juice’s mind was miles away trying to wrap his head around how he was going to pull himself together enough to do what needed to be done. This was just one day, one meeting, and it was taking this much out of him. As he flinched slightly from the cold metal of the stethoscope, he briefly wondered how he was supposed to handle all the days afterward, too.

[em-writes-stuff]

"do you trust me?"

@whumpril day 15

Hero, villain

Warnings: cursing, falling out of a helicopter

238 words

---

Hero’s foot kicks hard on the square of Villain’s back. Villain gasps and falls forward, grasping behind her for anything she can manage to grab. Her fingers seize the rip in Hero’s otherwise tight suit and she tries to pull herself up with him.

Hero tries to swat her hand away, scraping skin off of her hand, but she holds on tight. They both fall forward, tumbling out of the helicopter and through the air. Hero’s eyes widen and he flails, arms trying to catch on anything. But he’s not so lucky.

Villain stares at him, the horror on his face nearly making her feel bad for him.

She shouts above the roaring around them, “Is this your first time falling?”

“What the fuck are you talking about!?” he screams back.

She rolls her eyes and looks below them, “Do you trust me?”

“What the fuck do you think?!” he says, eyes glued to the ever-approaching ground.

She smiles and closes her eyes, letting go of Hero and stretching her arms out. Hero watches as the fabric on her arms rips, tearing apart to reveal wings. Villain smiles at him, a glint in her eyes that wasn’t there before.

“Grab onto me!”

“What the fuck!?”

She rolls her eyes again and wraps one of her arms (wings?) around him and uses the other to glide to the ground. Hero screams from Villain’s wing (arm?) and nearly passes out when they land safely on a roof instead of looking like a bloody, fucked up, pancake.

Villain lets him out from under her wing (arm? Oh, fuck it) and lets him gather himself for a second. She frowns when he vomits all over her shirt and pants, but otherwise doesn’t seem to be too weirded out by the whole situation.

She cocks her head to the side, “You alright?”

He just stares at her, wipes the rest of his puke off his chin and walks away, mumbling indistinctly to himself.

[glitch07deity]

Made this in between breaks at work; have the unfortunate pleasure of having overtime so having days off is rare nowadays ;w;

[speakvernatos]

[raywasheresoyeah]

[amynchan]

SCREAMS BECAUSE WHY WOULD DINGO DOODLES DO THIS TO ME SPECIFICALLY WHYYYYYYYYYY

[spyglassrealms]

had a fucking hilarious dream that tumblr replaced the "block" function with the far funnier "glock" function, which did the exact same thing except whenever anyone blocked you a random bullet hole, like a png of a bullet hole, would appear on your blog. discourse blogs were unreadable bc you'd go to the page and the sheer amount of bullet hole pngs stacked over the blogs obscured everything. I woke myself up laughing

[egophiliac]

IT WAS ERIC AFTER ALL!!!! I'm so glad we got to meet him (before Vil snaps him away with those Infinity Gauntlets) (can't wait to see what happens when we get the matching Infinity Tiara to go with them, there will be no survivors)

(sorry to be so slow/rough lately, just got a lot of stuff on the ol' brain at the moment! alas, if only I could spend all my time drawing incredibly stupid characters I mean I do but)

[inkskinned]

hey btw if you're in the USA at  2:20 p.m. ET on Wednesday, Oct. 4, they're testing the emergency broadcast system. your phone is probably going to make a really loud noise, even if it's on silent. there's a backup date on the 11th if they need to postpone it.

if you're not in a safe situation and have an extra phone, you should turn that phone completely off beforehand.

additionally, if you're like me, and are easily startled; i recommend treating it like a party. have a countdown or something. be surrounded by your loved ones. take the actions you personally need to take to make yourself safe.

i have already seen mockery towards any person who feels nervous about this. for the record, it completely, completely valid to have "emergency broadcast sounds" be an anxiety trigger. do not let other people make fun of you for that. emergency sounds are legitimately engineered to make us take action; those of us with high levels of anxiety and/or neurodivergence are already pre-disposed to have a Bad Time. sometimes it is best to acknowledge that the situation will be triggering for some, and to prepare for that; rather than just saying "well that's stupid, it's just a test."

"loud scary sound time" isn't like, my favorite thing, but we can at least try to prevent some additional anxiety by preparing for it. maybe get yourself a cake? noise cancelling headphones? the new hozier album? whatever helps. love u, hope you're okay. we are gonna ride it out together.

[frosted-co0kies]

I was rewatching But I’m a Cheerleader . Love the set design of that movie so much. Also rupaul in a straight is great t shirt

[striving-artist]

Tumblr skews young, so let me just share this.

The worst thing you can do in a job is not be bad at something. It's to say you are great at something while being bad at something. If you need to improve and you're upfront that you're not the best, people will probably help or teach or explain. They will sympathize when you get put on a task you're not qualified for.

If you claim to be awesome at something when you demonstrably suck at it, all of that good will and sympathy is gone and it will not come back.

Confident is good. Stand up for yourself, know your skills.

But the other side of this is to Know your Faults.

This message brought to you by the 23yo who bragged about how he was great at X and had the best program for it, and I spent the weekend doing his job for him because he is so so bad at it, and only about 5% of what he did is salvageable.