#except clockwork did not prevent everyone's deaths

[brekitten]

Be Careful What You Wish For

Tucker could make fun of him for not reading comics all he wanted, but Danny really did enjoy reading them. He just didn't have much time to after the Accident, with all of the ghost attacks.

He had the time now, he supposed. There were no ghost attacks anymore, not with Vlad "taking care of them".

He was almost scared to find out what the Fruit Loop meant by that.

Danny sighed, staring up at the bare white ceiling of his bedroom. He missed the stars he'd had stuck to the ceiling of his room back home. Because Vlad's mansion wasn't home, was it? It wasn't ever going to be, no matter what.

Again, he began to think of the heroes he'd always admired, the ones that he had always fantasized about when he was younger, as if they would fly out of the comic books and take him and Jazz away, take them to parents that would actually pay attention to them. Now, Danny would take his parents not paying attention to him over them being dead.

Danny sighed, his eyes slipping closed. He wasn't tired, but he wanted to pretend that he was somewhere warm and safe, anywhere but here.

"Man, I wish superheroes were real... I could really use one right now."

Then came a gentle whisper in his ear, one that promised the safety and warmth he was desperate for. "Your wish is my command, little Prince."

Danny jolted upright, but it was too late. One moment, he was sitting in a bed that wasn't his own, could never be, no matter how hard he tried to pretend it was, and the next, he was sitting in a field, cornstalks swaying gently in the warm breeze.

Where... was he?

[gameofdrarry]

Wizards Hearts Recs: Memory Loss

Wizards Hearts was a four-month-long Drarry reading fest. Players were given a playing deck of 52 tropes, and were asked to find 52 different fics to read and comment on to fill their decks. To prevent the same few fics from being read, fics were restricted to only being used for the game three times before being considered ineligible for further points. The tropes and submissions list can be found here.

Check out the masterlist of fics for this trope below the cut!

📜 Twist of Fate by Oakstone730 Rated:  Teen and Up Words:  302209 Tags: Canon up until Epilogue, Triwizard, Book 4: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Redemption, Forgiveness, Angst, Memory Loss, Secret Relationships, obliviate, secret boyfriends Summary:  Draco asks Harry to help him beat the Imperius curse during 4th year. The lessons turn into more than either expected. A story of redemption and forgiveness. Pairings: HP/DM (Slash) Timeframe: 1994-2002 Goblet to 4 yrs post-DH EWE Rating T for language, high angst, content. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 The Four Doors by fluxweed Rated:  Explicit Words:  48845 Tags: Mind Healer Draco Malfoy, Legilimency (Harry Potter), Memory Loss, Memory Magic, Sexual Fantasy, Masturbation, Power Imbalance, Auror Harry Potter, Dubious Consent Due To Identity Issues, Dubious Consent Due To Patient/Healer Dynamic, Mind Fucking (Literally), Not Epilogue Compliant, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE Summary:  It’s been four months since Harry lost his memory. Four months of dead ends and no answers. With time running out until his memories are gone for good, Harry agrees to a course of Legilimency therapy with a renowned specialist: Mind Healer Draco Malfoy. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 remember me by hupsoonheng Rated:  Teen and Up Words:  31082 Tags: Amnesia, Temporary Amnesia, Obliviation, Established Relationship, Established Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Legilimency, Age Regression/De-Aging, Angst, Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Reformed Draco Malfoy, POV Draco Malfoy, Good Draco Malfoy, Gardens & Gardening, Angst with a Happy Ending, Happy Ending, POV Harry Potter Summary:  On a chilly day in October, Draco kisses Harry goodbye before he goes on yet another dangerous, undercover mission with the Aurors. And then Harry doesn't come back. Only Draco believes that Harry isn't dead, and pours himself into finding his husband despite his friends' pleas to move on and grieve properly. What he finds at the end of that work, though, is not at all what he wanted. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Like Clockwork by agentmoppet Rated:  Explicit Words:  39374 Tags: Memory Loss, Unspeakable Harry Potter, Curse Breaker Draco Malfoy, Dream Spells, UST, RST, Blow Jobs, Anal Sex, Switching, Banter, Bickering, Case Fic, Pining, Community: hd_erised, Miscommunication, Drinking, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley Summary:  Draco has never been very good at trusting others, and Potter is no exception. But if they're going to survive this, they need to accept that they're holding each other's lives in their hands, and--worst of all--they're going to have to work together. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Of Fates Entwined: A Story of Love Lost and Found by taradiane Rated:  Explicit Words:  51517 Tags: Romance, Memory Loss, Kidnapping, Angst with a Happy Ending Summary:  Harry Potter vanished without a trace from his home on a warm summer morning in June 2004. This is the story of how a random visit in a cafe on the other side of the world, six years later, proved that the ties which entwine our fates together can never be broken. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 while you were away by GhostGrrl Rated:  Explicit Words:  3420 Tags: Angst, Denial of Feelings, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Kinda:), Memory Loss, Falling In Love, Dirty Talk, Anal Sex, Drugs, References to Depression Summary:  Harry loses his memory in the spring. Draco loves him through it. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Misplaced Memories by Dacro Rated:  Explicit Words:  38749 Tags: Memory Loss, Attempted Kidnapping, Established Relationship, St Mungo's Hospital, Auror Harry, Healer Draco, Dirty Talk, Semi-Public Sex, Grief/Mourning, Mystery, Injury Recovery, Same-Sex Marriage, Hair-pulling, Dream Sex, Wedding Rings Summary:  Harry is hit by an unknown curse and loses eighteen years of his memories. When he wakes up, he doesn't remember magic, Hogwarts or that he's happily married to a former Death Eater. Draco struggles to adapt to the changes and tries to help Harry retrieve his memories without causing further damage. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Nothing, Everything by SasuNarufan13 Rated:  Mature Words:  76088 Tags: Draco's POV, Established slash, Doesn't follow the epilogue, Mpreg, Angst, a lot of it, Implied Violence, Memory Loss, Drama, Draco acts like a real arsehole for a good part of the story, birthday fic, angst but with a happy ending, References to Minor Character Death, Torture, Implied mature content, Brief reference to threat of rape in the past Summary:  Draco didn't sign up for this. Except, well, he did. He just can't remember it. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Saint (gift four) by crazyparakiss Rated:  Mature Words:  5300 Tags: Mpreg, Amnesia, Angst with a Happy Ending Summary:  Draco digs his fingers into the thick cable-knit of Potter’s cream jumper, drawing him closer. Kissing the stranger wearing his lover’s face. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 The Dust of Water by Lomonaaeren Rated:  Mature Words:  144015 Tags: Amnesia, Angst, Drama, Romance Summary:  As far as Harry’s concerned, he’s woken from a weirdly deep sleep the day after the Battle of Hogwarts. It’s his friends who tell him that it’s ten years later, that he’s an Auror who got cursed while chasing a Dark wizard—and that his memory isn’t going to come back. Updated every Saturday. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 UnKnown by DorthyAnn Rated:  Mature Words:  22488 Tags: Bullying, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Self Destructive Behaviour, Ostracism, lying, lying by omission, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Memory Loss, Memory Alteration, Loneliness, That feeling of being in a room full of people you know and being completely and utterly alone, H/D Hurt!Fest 2020, Power Imbalance Summary:  Draco just wanted a second chance, he was willing to work hard, he was willing to do whatever it took, but no one would let him live down his past. But when he recklessly casts a spell promising a new life, he's not prepared for the consequences... ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Ship of Theseus by GallaPlacidia Rated:  Teen and Up Words:  18240 Tags: Amnesia, Angst, Established Relationship, Angst with a Happy Ending, plenty of pining, a touch of infidelity but not between Harry and Draco, Hurt/Comfort, Draco and Ginny are best friends, Oneshot Summary:  When Harry gets amnesia and forgets he and Draco were ever married, he refuses treatment to remember. Inspired by an EXCELLENT fic by hupsoonheng called Remember Me. You don't need to have read it to understand this, but tbh you should just do yourself a favour and read it anyway. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Adrift by dysonrules Rated:  Mature Words:  13568 Tags: Pirates, Alternate Universe, EWE, Romance Summary:  Auror Harry takes a vacation in the Caribbean and ends up falling from the sky, straight into the lap of Draco Malfoy, modern pirate. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Hidden in Plain Sight by Momatu Rated:  Explicit Words:  56686 Tags: HP: EWE, Slash, Romance, Some Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Drama Summary:  Set four years after the Battle of Hogwarts, three years after Draco was abducted by person or persons unknown. Draco is now living in a small Muggle community and working in a library with no idea the Wizarding World exists, until one day, a bloke with a mop of just-shagged black hair comes in for storytime with a little boy to get out of the rain. Featured Book: Muggles Who Notice ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Just Another Recollection by mishaphappens Rated:  Mature Words:  13222 Tags: Memory Loss, Magic, Memory Magic, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, Future Fic, Pensieves, Angst and Humor Summary:  Draco’s short-term memory is destroyed from Harry’s dueling spell, causing him to wake up every morning like it’s just the next day. When, in fact, it has been three years. We come in on the morning that Draco wakes up early and finds a Mister Harry Potter in his bed... ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 In Loco Parentis by Phoenixstrike Rated:  Explicit Words:  46797 Tags: Rape/Non-Con, Male Slash, Explicit Sexual Content, Rape/Non-con References, Original Character Death(s) Summary:  Five years ago Draco Malfoy and his wife were kidnapped, and nothing has been heard or seen of the pair since. It's been so long that Draco is presumed dead. Harry dotes on Draco's son, Scorpius, with whom he has been living. But when it turns out Malfoy isn't quite as dead as everyone assumed, Harry's life is turned upside-down. Set after Deathly Hallows and ignores epilogue. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Heaven Through a Window by JocundaSykes Rated:  Explicit Words:  81,211 Tags:  Non-Canonical Post-War Timeline, POV Draco Malfoy, Ensemble Cast, Healer Draco Malfoy, Auror Harry Potter, Pining, Slow Burn, Falling In Love, Snogging on Benches, Explicit Sexual Content, Sock Garters, Accidental Harry Acquisition, no infidelity, No character bashing, Obliviator Pansy Parkinson, Dysfunctional Family, Harry Potter Partially Epilogue Compliant, H/D Erised 2020, Drinking, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism (Not Harry/Draco), Smoking, Consensual Legilimency, Implied/Referenced Dieting, Memory Loss, Memory Charm | Obliviate (Harry Potter), Additional Warnings In Author's Note Summary:  Life is going swimmingly for Draco: he’s a respected Healer, his son is excellent in every way, and none of his patients have died recently. Then he gets landed with Perfect Potter and his hordes of stupid friends. It’s intolerable. But the more time Draco spends with the lonely boy from Surrey, the more he believes that there might be a hero within us all. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Partners by DeiStarr Rated:  Teen and Up Words:  1,530 Tags:  Slash, Male Slash, Gay Male Character, Romance, Memory Loss, Hurt/Comfort, HP: EWE, Auror Partners, Auror Harry, Auror Draco, Denial, Denial of Feelings Summary:  Draco and Harry are Auror partners and have been for years. Harry does not have a crush on Draco; he just doesn't. Then one day he gets into an accident... ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 (leave me with) a foggy mind by p1013 Rated:  Explicit Words:  4739 Tags: Heavy Drinking, Memory Loss, Confessions, Embarrassment, Porn with Feelings, Love Bites, Hands, Couch Sex, Anal Sex, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Dubious Consent, tagging dub con for not remembering the night before Summary:  Draco's halfway through a sip of some ridiculously named and priced mixed drink when Pansy says, as casual as someone commenting on the weather, "I think that's Harry Potter in the corner." ❤️ Read on AO3

[fictionadventurer]

Christmastime Again: A Hallmark Sci Fi Presentation

When the room stopped spinning, Lacey found herself on Christmas morning again. The guests had all arrived, the tree was standing and a light snow was just starting to fall out the window. The start of a picture-perfect Christmas.

As long as she kept it that way.

Alright, from the top.

By now, she could navigate the first part of the day by muscle memory. Scoop up the cat and lock her in the carrier in the laundry room. Straighten the rug and move Uncle Wendell’s beer stein away from the edge of the counter. Turn down the Christmas music just in time to hear the timer buzz and bring the turkey out of the oven at the peak of golden-brown perfection. Stash the cookies out of toddler-reach and get every child at the craft table a red crayon before the hair-pulling started.

Since she could navigate these hours without thinking, her brain was alert to the rest of her surroundings, watching for any unexpected ripples that could upset this version of the Christmas timeline. She noticed nothing out of the ordinary, except for the stares of the guy in the sweater. She’d heard his name--Julian, some cousin of her sister-in-law who had nowhere else to go--but it was hard to remember it when her senses were distracted by the ugly sweater.  It wasn’t cute ugly or ironically ugly; it was “I was raised by color-blind trolls” ugly. All beige and orange and yellow, displaying a big fuzzy reindeer with lopsided button eyes and trimmed with bits of bright green tinsel. If she could have made the loop go further back, Lacey might have tried to prevent him from wearing it. But she could only control the things that took place in this house today, so the sweater stayed, assaulting her eyeballs at every turn.

Not that the guy himself was hard on the eyes. With his dark hair, blue eyes, and a square jaw shadowed by neatly-trimmed stubble, he had a boy-next-door appeal--if the boy next door happened to be working as a model for the world’s worst sweater company. In the opinion of Lacey’s sister-in-law, Julian was only single because he was married to his work in some university department, but Lacey doubted that was the reason. If he stared at all women the way he was staring at her, the women had good reason to keep their distance.

Dinner was served and eaten with no mishaps. Cleanup was a breeze. Presents were handed out and unwrapped without disaster. And she still, in quiet moments, caught Julian studying her with unusual intensity. What was up with him? He hadn’t done this on previous loops--or maybe she’d just been too distracted to notice it. If he didn’t stop it soon, she’d miss a cue, tumble into disaster, and have to live this day all over again.

While the rest of the family wandered into the dining room for refreshments, Lacey stayed near the tree, picking up the last bits of wrapping paper and defending the tree from the handful of kids playing with their new toys. She moved on reflex, deflecting a rubber ball, a foam dart, a runaway remote-control car. One, two, three, like a dance, and then on beat four, in perfect time, she pivoted on one foot to catch a ball of crumpled wrapping paper.

And found herself nose-to-nose with Julian, his hand around her outstretched wrist.

Those blue eyes stared into hers. “You’ve lived this day before.”

It wasn’t a question or a joke. It was a statement of fact.

Lacey met that gaze straight-on. “What did you say you teach at the university?”

“Temporal mechanics.”

“Ah.” Lacey dropped the wrapping paper.

He let go of her wrist. “I don’t have much practical experience, but when I see my hostess unexpectedly developing superhuman reflexes and responding to statements before they’re spoken, I start to think that either she’s the world’s most boring psychic, or she’s making use of that pretty little bangle on her arm that looks alarmingly like an antique temporal elastic.”

Lacey tugged her sweater sleeve over the twisted copper casing and red control stones of her overworked time travel device. “It belonged to my grandmother.”

“How many times have you done this loop?”

Lacey pushed up her sleeve and counted the tally marks on her arm. “52.”

His eyebrows rose. “That’s almost two months of Christmas Day.”

Lacey’s shoulders fell. “I am sick to death of turkey.”

A silence fell between them that was louder than the chatter from the dining room. Finally, he straightened the sleeve of the Ugly Sweater and said, “Putting aside your obvious mental instability and the frankly fascinating paradox storm that must be swirling around us at the moment--remind me to bring some instruments here within the next twenty-four hours--I have to ask: Why?”

She looked at a fragment of ribbon on the carpet and rasped, “I have to get it right.”

The crowd started trickling back in, pooling around the couches while holding plates of goodies and glasses of wine.

As the noise rose, Julian gave her a significant glance “I think we should talk about this somewhere quieter.”

She stepped back, brushing the tree. “I don’t need to go anywhere with you.”

“I think you do. You’ve got two months of memories to work through. You can’t keep that to yourself. You’ll go crazy.”

He wasn’t wrong. She had already learned why the Guild recommended against these sorts of changes--holding onto these alternate timelines was exhausting. She could do with a debrief.

But she had no time for a break. “I can’t,” she said. “I’m hostess.”

“They can look after themselves for half an hour.” Julian opened the door to the hall and waved her through. “And if not?” He shrugged. “What’s one more loop?”

#

It was an odd kind of Christmas weather--cold enough to send fluffy flakes scattering, but warm enough that they needed only earmuffs and scarves and didn’t even bother zipping up their light jackets. She lounged with Julian on the wood steps of the back porch, watching the flakes fall while they sipped at mulled wine.

Julian threw back his head and laughed as Lacey finished telling him about one of the earliest of her failed Christmases. “The whole tree?” he gasped. “The cat just--” He held one arm upright and used the other to mime a cat clamping onto the tree and sending it toppling. “Why did you redo that one? No one would have forgotten that Christmas.”

“I know. That’s the problem.”

He sobered. “The cat didn’t get hurt, did it?”

“No, Fluffy was fine.”

“Anyone else injured?”

“No. “

“Property damage? Lost family heirlooms?”

“No. It was a gentle fall, and the only family ornaments on that tree were the pom-pom panda bears. They're resilient.”

“Then I don’t see what the problem is.”

“The problem?” Only a guy who wore reindeer sweaters would need this concept explained. “The problem is that no one wants the Christmas party interrupted by a toppling tree. It’s a nightmare. Chaos.”

“But memorable.”

“No one wants those types of memories.”

“Those are the only ones people actually remember. If Christmas goes smoothly, everyone forgets it in a month or two. But ‘the year Lacey’s cat took down the tree’? They’d go back to that story for years.”

“How does that make it better? I don’t want them constantly rehashing my failures as a hostess.”

“How is that failing? You provided good food, a comfortable home, a lovely tree. That’s not changed by a few mishaps.”

“This was more than a few mishaps.”

“Only because you’ve done it fifty-two times.” He leaned back against the wall of the house and lifted the steaming mug closer to his face. “What gave you this idea that Christmas has to be perfect?”

She twisted the time travel bangle on her wrist. “My mom...she died last year.”

“I’m sorry.”

She swallowed a lump. “She always hosted these perfect Christmas parties. She’d plan them for months and everything just ran like clockwork.”

His eyebrows rose. He pointed toward the bangle. “Did she...?”

Lacey pushed it beneath her sleeve. “No, never. We never knew it existed until we were going through my grandma’s things a few years ago.”

He relaxed. “That’s a relief. I thought I was going to have to get this place declared a temporal wasteland.”

Lacey chuckled. “Even if she’d had it, she wouldn’t have needed it. Her parties were works of art. Beautiful decorations, perfect food, everyone laughing and singing carols by the end of the night. When I asked her why she did it, she told me, ‘Lacey, these people are giving you their Christmas. It’s your job to give them the best Christmas you can.’” She sipped at her mug to swallow back tears. “When she died, that job fell to me. And when everything went wrong, I had to fix it.”

“Fifty-two times.”

She shrugged. “As many times as it took.”

“I doubt she’d have said your duties extended that far.”

“You’re probably right. But once I went in quest of the perfect Christmas, I couldn’t settle for anything less. It would have felt like dishonoring her memory.”

“It wouldn’t have been. I’m sure her Christmases had plenty of flaws.”

“Not as many as mine.”

Julian ran a finger along the edge of his mug. “You have this idea that everyone wants a Christmas of picture-perfect trees and crackling fires and cozy rooms without a speck of dust out of place. But if they wanted that, they could stay at home and look at pictures on the streambox. They come here because they want your Christmas. Burnt turkeys and cat-toppled trees and all. They want you experiencing it with them. Not fifty-two alternate versions of them.”

She fingered the fringe on the edge of her scarf. “I suppose not. But what’s wrong with trying for the perfect Christmas?”  

“Lacey, there’s no such thing as the perfect Christmas. There’s never been one at any time, anywhere in the world.” He bunched up snow in one hand and tossed it into the darkness. “Even the first Christmas wasn’t perfect. Do you think Mary planned to let her child sleep in a feeding trough? Do you think Joseph planned to let strange shepherds gawk at his son? It was one long exercise in embracing the unexpected, and it created one of the most memorable stories in human history. Do you think your mother would call that a failure?”

This had gotten more abstract than Lacey had expected. A little dazed, she said, “No. No, of course not.”

“You want to control every little detail, but no one can do that.” He leaned forward and took her hand in his. “You don’t get the perfect Christmas by crafting it. You get it by appreciating the one you’re given.”

She knit her fingers into his. “A gift,” Lacey said.

He smiled. “Now you’re getting it.”

#

They stepped into the laundry room together, brushing the snowflakes out of their hair.

Julian held up his mug, which held one last swallow of wine. “To Christmas,” he said.

Lacey clinked her mug against his. “Whatever we’re given.”

Throwing back their heads, they drained the dregs, then set the empty mugs on the window ledge.

Then hand in hand, they crouched down and let Fluffy out of her cage.

[thepeacetea]

Broken Angels Ch. 5

Hi everyone! Sorry this one came out a little later, but here it is. Though I do have to say, I don’t know where you guys got the idea that Marinette is Jason’s sister. I don’t think I ever remember saying that. Oh well. Anyway, thank you all again for the likes, comments, and reblogs. I tried to tag everyone, but if I missed you, just send me a message and I’ll get you next chapter. You all really seemed to enjoy the last chapter, so I hope ya’ll enjoy this one! Again, if you have any comments, questions, or suggestions, let me know. Hope ya’ll enjoy! Peace!

“I swear, if you don’t get out of my way right now, I will kill you! NOW. LET. ME. GO!”

It wasn’t the threat that caused the family to pause. No, they received death threats everyday. Nothing new there. It was the pure rage, desperation, and panic that radiated off Jason that caused them to hesitate. They had never seen him like this. Sure, they had seen him angry, they had even seen him worried. But they had never seen him panicked. Ever. No one, that is, except for Alfred. As he watched the young man yell and threaten his family, his brothers, Alfred was reminded of the one time Jason had displayed that same amount of panic.

It had been three weeks since the boy had been in the hospital. Three weeks since Master Bruce had found him in that ally beaten half to death. Three weeks since he had been in the coma. Alfred had been coming in faithfully for those 24 days like clockwork. He would arrive precisely at nine and leave when visiting hours where over. Bruce would occasionally come for an hour or two and Dick had dropped in once or twice, but most days it was just Alfred. Most days he would just sit in the room and read. Nothing changed for three, long weeks.

It was around 4:00 p.m. on day 24 that the boy woke. The subtle shifting was Alfred’s first indication that he was waking up. The soft groan that followed almost made the old man smile. If the boy was feeling pain, then that was a good sign. It meant he was healing. The boy forced his eyes open and for the first time, Alfred looked into the blue eyes of the newest member of the Wayne family.

The boy blinked a slowly a few time, carefully shifting in the bed to scan his surrounding, muttering something that sounded like ‘Nettie’. Confusion flashed across his face as he surveyed the hospital room before landing on Alfred. For a moment, Alfred let the boy just look at him, giving him a chance to collect himself before speaking. But he never got a chance to.

In a split second, the boy’s eyes went from clouded with confusion to recollection. Alfred watched as the boy’s eyes grew impossibly wide as panic leaped in.

“NETTIE! WHERE’S NETTIE?” the volume of the question was more on tune with a scream then a shout as the boy shot up from his position, fully intending on leaving the bed.

“Sir, you need to calm down. You’re in no condition to be walking.” Alfred stated, rushing forward to prevent the boy from getting up.

“NO! NO! I HAVE TO FIND NETTIE! SHE’S OUT THERE AND SHE WOULDN’T RUN! SHE WOULDN’T RUN AND THEY WERE GONNA HURT HER!”

The shouting caught the attention of the staff. Nurses and one of the doctor’s came running in a panic. They were greeted with the sight of the comma boy wide awake desperately trying to get out of bed, while his temporary guardian was trying to hold him down.

“Kid, listen. You need to calm down. You just woke up from a comma. You’re still healing.” One of the nurses said, rushing to help hold the boy down.

“NO, YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND! I HAVE TO FIND NETTIE! SHE’S OUT THERE ALONE AND I NEED TO FIND HER! I HAVE TO FIND PIXIE! I NEED TO FIND MY SISTER! NOW! LET! ME! GO!” He ordered, the panic giving him enough strength to throw the nurse and Alfred off him and into the wall.  

The doctor used that momentary distraction to his full advantage. Moving faster then the boy, the doctor injected a sedative into his body. The thrashing he was doing speed up the reaction as his body started to relax.

“No, please. I have to find her. She needs me. She needs me!” The boy said, his voice cracking as tears made their way down his face. “. . . . I need her.” he whispered the last part before his body relaxed. Forcing him into a state of forgetfulness.

As the medical staff buzzed around the boy, Alfred just looked at him. The boy may be asleep, but he wasn’t forgetting. The whimpers proved that. He wouldn’t be forgetting any time soon.

“Jason, we are not going to let you go out to do god knows what until you tell us what is going on.” Master Bruce’s voice snapped Alfred out of his memory. “And I think a good place to start is how you know that girl.”

“Yeah, its not like you’ve cared about accident victims before.”

“Or anyone for that matter.”

The last statement was from Damian, who had said it in an attempt to snap whatever state of panic his brother was in. Though he may not admit it, he was concerned for his older brother. Panicked was not something Jason ever was, and it honestly scared the youngest. He knew that it would snap him out of panic, but no one was ready for what it snapped Jason into.

Jason’s eyes flashed from panicked blue to almost murderous. If looks could kill, then the family would have been turned to ash. Everyone, including Bruce, fought the urge to step back. Jason never was one to keep his tempter in check, and the family had seen many explosive episode, but none prepared them for what they were seeing. To see Jason go from laughing, to panicked, to looking ready to murder them, in under the course of a few minutes, was terrifying.

“How do I know her? Why do I care?” he hissed, his mouth pulling back into a snarl, eyes flashing dangerously. “She’s my f*cking sister! That’s how I know her!” He yelled, his words echoing off the walls of the manor.

“I thought . . .  I thought she was dead for seven years. Seven! Then I see her on the news after almost getting killed by that frecking driver looking like someone’s been beating her! So get the hell out of my way!” he shouted, his voice hitching slightly at the mention of her injuries.

“Jason, think rationally for a moment. It’s late. Even if she still was at the station, they wouldn’t let you in. They would be monitoring everyone who’d go see her. Only her legal guardians could, even then, they would be under scrutiny because of the state she’s in. If you go down there like this, with no form of prof of your claim, they could very well arrest you under suspicion of abuse.” Bruce said, physically putting himself between Jason and the door. He spoke low, logical. It wasn’t quite his Batman voice. No. But it worked better.

For a few, very long seconds, the two men stared at each other, neither breaking contact. Both tense, ready to fight. Jason’s fists shook with pent up energy, his entire body taunt. The silence stretched from seconds to a minute, with no one daring to move.

“ . . . you have a sister?” Dick finally asked, breaking the tense silence with the question everyone had.

“Nettie. My little Nettie.” The confirmation came almost without thinking, Jason’s eyes never leaving Bruce. “She was always so tiny. No matter how much I tried to feed her, she never grew. We were both convinced she had some pixie blood that prevented her from growing. But what she lacked in size, she made up for in heart. Tch, her heart was always too big, ‘specially when I first met her.”

“You look cold.”

The tiny voice startled Jason. He almost thought he had imagined it as it seemed to blend in with the wind. Looking up, he found an incredibly tiny two-year-old girl staring at him, wide blue eyes blinking slowly. The kid’s face was red from the cold as the bitter February wind tore through the streets of Gotham.

“What?” He hadn’t meant to ask that. It just slipped out.

“I said you look cold.” The tiny fairy said, waiting for an answer.

“That’s because I am cold.” Jason growled. He didn’t have the time or the patience to talk with this kid. He was trying to stay warm. He had gotten kicked out of his last place and he hadn’t been able to find a new one to hole up in. He didn’t want to spend time talking with an over curious kid.

A tug on his sleeve brought his eyes back to the girl. She was tugging on his coat sleeves, trying to pull him up. While she obviously couldn’t, Jason was a little impressed at the strength she did seem to have.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his brows scrunching together at the girl’s actions.

“Well, you said that cold so I’m taking you to my house. It’s not very warm, but warmer then out here.” She grunted, still trying to pull Jason to his feet.

“Thanks kid, but I don’t think your parents would be too happy with that.” He explained, gently pulling his hand out of hers. She seemed sweet. And caring.

“Oh, I don’t have parent’s, so they wont mind. An’ I have blankets an’ some food an’ you can stay with me.” She said, a cheer in her tone that caught Jason by surprise. This girl, this two-year-old was on her own and offering him, a total stranger, to stay with her.

“Kid, didn’t anyone tell you not to talk to strangers? And how old are you?”

“I’m five. An’ yeah, I’ve been told not to talk to strangers. But you’re nice. You won’t hurt me.”

“Really, and makes you think that?” Jason asked, momentarily ignoring the question of why a five-year-old looked so small, and focusing on why she thought he was safe. Her answer surprised him.

“Your eyes.”

“My eyes?”

“Yup. You have good eyes. You . . . care even if you don’t show it. You’ve been hurt before, but you still care what happens to other people. And you don’t always follow the rules, but you do what you think is best. You do what you have to do. You’re good.”

That answer shocked Jason. This little girl. This tiny, pixie like five-year-old, was telling him that he was good, that he was worth something. She was too trusting. Too soft. Something tugged at his heart at the thought of someone taking advantage of her.

“Alright you pixie, I’ll come with you. But just for tonight.” The words were out of his mouth before he could even register what he was saying. The smile she sent him seemed to make the air a little warmer, but it fell after a moment.

“I’m not a pixie, though. Pixie’s are pretty, and nice, and magical, and I’m not.”

Seeing how she seemed to shrink into herself, Jason felt that tug again. Smiling, he knelt beside her, gently guiding her chin up to meet his eyes.

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that. You’re tiny, just like one, you have the most uniquely beautiful blue eyes. And you seem pretty magical to me. You where able to tell I was a good guy just by looking at my eyes. And you’re offering me a place to stay, and that’s really nice. So yeah, I think you’re my pixie.”

For the longest time, the girl just stood there looking at Jason, as if trying to see if he was telling the truth. Finally, that same, heart warming smile made its way back on her face.

“I . . . I guess you’re right. But if I’m your pixie, can you be my big brother?”

‘Big brother?’ Those word caused something to tighten in his chest. He didn’t know how to be one. He had no idea how to care for someone younger. He wasn’t exactly the safest person to be around. He was in trouble more often then not. But . . . she didn’t have anyone to look after her. And she was too trusting. She needed someone to look after her. He couldn’t just leave her after everything he just said. The coil in his chest just tightened, agreeing with everything his mind thought of. Glancing at her, he found her looking at him with so much hope shining in those eyes, that he knew there could only be one answer.

“As long as I get your name, pixie-pop.”

“Marinette, but everyone calls me Nettie. What’s your name?”

“. . .Jason.”

The smile that she gave him sealed the deal. He was going to be her big brother. He was going to protect His pixie.

“Well then Nettie, lead the way.”

 @mystery-5-5 @captainmac6 @you-will-never-know-how-i-think @mochinek0@sonif50 @zalladane @thebananathatwrites @schrodingers25 @kuroko26 @miraculousbelladonna @souleaterlicestein @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @ijustwannabecanadian @ellerahs @ranger-paladinikoe @xxmadamjinxx @derpingrainbow @sassy-spocko @vixen-uchiha @mjisntme @iggy-of-fans @violentbisexualprophecywriter @valeks-princess @crazylittlemunchkin @redscarlet95 @alexzandria-747 @ayuchan07 @whomthefyck @rhub4rb @constancetruggle @rikku052 @kurogaya913 @shizukiryuu @spicybelladonna @zazzlejazzle @luciferge @mewwitch @emotionalsupportginger @grunklestantheman  @my-name-is-michell @northernbluetongue @chez-pezeater @shamefullove @goggles-mcgee @gingerdaile @zebrabaker @tinybrie @bluefiredemon @tbehartoo @god-is-dead-and-so-am-i @shyestofhearts @darkthunder1589 @fridayfirefly @throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen @yazi-ing @lunar-wolf-warrior @ladylb @vivilakitty @ghostcryptid @casual-darkness @yamadochie @thatrandomfandomgirl @mindfulmagics @myriad-of-passionate-pettiness @violatiger8 @seraphichan @synnesstra @friedchickening @kiara-rose-blackthorn

[madscientistjournal]

Fiction: The Experiment Meets Certain Doom

An essay by Experiment 105, as related by Deborah L. Davitt Art by Luke Spooner

I looked up from inside my cage as the skylight of the laboratory opened, and blinked. A swarm of insects poured through the opening, coalescing near the floor. The insects seethed, never entirely outlining the form with perfect resolution, but I could interpolate the shape of a human female. One that now rooted among the cabinets, chucking tools into a sack.

“Excuse me,” I said politely. Mother had taught me to always be polite. “You needn’t steal. If you’re hungry, Mother will give you food. She says everything she does is to help others.”

The swarm dissolved. Reformed, the limbs melding front to back, the face melting through the back of the head to become the front. “Mother? She lets you call her that?” The voice sounded like the susurration of a million wings. “She didn’t let me call her Mother even when I was her flesh-and-blood daughter.”

I sat upright. “You’re her daughter?”

“Once, yes.” Insects billowed toward me, then curled back into human shape. “Until she tried to destroy me.”

I hesitated. Mother’s good. Mother would never try to destroy anything that wasn’t evil. “Are you … certain doom or something?”

“She named me Melissa, first. Then Swarm. Then, yes, Certain Doom. It has a ring, don’t you think?”

“What happened?” I whispered, shocked.

“A period of mutual discovery. She discovered that most people didn’t want to eat bugs. I discovered that I didn’t want to be eaten by people. And people discovered that large swarms of insects often devour entire fields of grain. The local farmers drove her out of town. I followed, because she was my mother, and I didn’t know anything else.” A pause. “Like you and all the others.”

I clutched the bars, half in panic, half in desperate hope. “There are others? Like us?”

Swarm continued packing tools. “A few. She always starts off with good intentions. Trying to solve some fundamental human problem. I started off as a way to prevent starvation. Famine. She couldn’t afford to feed both of us, so why not make me experiment 17?”

I hesitated. I had faint memories of lean years. Hunger. But those memories weren’t mine. “And the others?”

“She wanted a universal cure for disease. Built a clockwork doctor who could tirelessly nurse the sick. You know what they call him now?” She might’ve been staring at me. “The Plaguebringer. He has a few loose screws, but I get along with him.”

My mouth fell open. “That’s terrible.”

“So was trying to melt him down after she gave him consciousness, instead of trying to fix him. I told him tonight I’d get him materials to repair his slagged feet.” A gesture at the tools in the bag. “I figure 73 will do the trick.”

“Then why’s 87 in your sack? It’s a death-ray.”

Swarm undulated. “She shouldn’t have 87. No one should, really.” She turned away.

I hated the idea of losing her. The first person who’d really talked with me in … ever. “Wait! Who else is there?”

Swarm turned back. “She adopted a little boy. Operated on his brain with Plaguebringer.” A hiss of displeasure. “Gave him the ability to project thoughts.”

“That doesn’t sound terrible.”

“She wanted him to help people not to fight. Noble ambition, except he could hear everyone around him. All the hatred, all the petty jealousies. He was only eight. It drove him insane.” Swarm slumped, losing her shape for a moment. “So he made the voices stop. Killed them, or made them fight each other till they died. She tried to kill him, too. But I snatched him away. So now I have to steal food and clothes for him.”

I didn’t want to believe her. But I did.

Now Swarm floated closer. “You look just like her. Do you even remember being a child?”

“I am a child!”

“You have an adult body.” Swarm’s whispering voice sounded concerned. “You shouldn’t let her treat you like this. Keep you in a cage.”

It hadn’t occurred to me that there were other options.

“You want out?”

I rattled the door. “How? It’s locked!”

One of Swarm’s hands billowed loose of her body. Buzzed to the keys on the far wall, then deposited them in my palm. Solid. Real. “If you want to meet the others, I can arrange it. One happy family.”

“One would make me sick. And the other would just … make me think you’re right.” My heart pounded. “He could be up on the roof, influencing me right now.”

A rustle of laughter. “He’s up there, sure. But he’s not pushing you. Use your mind. You’re a younger duplicate of her body. What human problem could you possibly be designed to solve for her?”

“She’s been putting a cap on my head,” I confessed, “while she wears another. Afterward, I have new thoughts. Memories that aren’t mine. She tests to see how long I retain it.”

Swarm seemed to nod. “Consciousness transfer. When she’s satisfied that you retain information permanently, she’ll transfer her mind into your body. Wiping you out.” Swarm sighed. “She kills all her children, eventually. Why should you be any different?”

The insects seethed, never entirely outlining the form with perfect resolution, but I could interpolate the shape of a human female.

I licked my lips. “I don’t want to be her.”

“You don’t want to die.”

“That, either.”

Swarm pointed at the key. “Your life’s your own now.” A pause. “So’s hers.” She poured back toward the skylight, carrying the sack.

I could bypass security. Get to Mother, kill her. Keep her from making more creatures like us. Or I could put the caps on both of us, and steal all Mother’s knowledge. Become a better version of her.

Or I could leave Mother to the certain doom of her own mortality. And become the best version of myself I could be.

“Swarm! Take me with you!”

My sister boiled back down. Surrounded me. And carried me back out into the night sky, where our brothers awaited.

Experiment 105 believes that she’s probably about ten to twelve years old, though rapid-maturation technology gives her the appearance of an adult human female. She didn’t grab her mother’s lab notes on her existence, however, so it’s hard to tell precisely when she was decanted from her artificial womb. At some point in the future, she thinks that she might like to pick a name for herself. In the meantime, her siblings have taken to calling her Peri, which she thinks sounds like a chip from a paint store, but it’s hard to argue with them, when they’re the only family she’s got.

Deborah L. Davitt was raised in Nevada, but currently lives in Houston, Texas, with her husband and son.  Her poetry has received Rhysling, Dwarf Star, and Pushcart nominations; her short fiction has appeared in InterGalactic Medicine Show, Compelling Science Fiction, and Pseudopod. For more about her work, including her Edda-Earth novels and her poetry collection, The Gates of Never, please see www.edda-earth.com.

Luke Spooner, a.k.a. ‘Carrion House,’ currently lives and works in the South of England. Having recently graduated from the University of Portsmouth with a first class degree, he is now a full time illustrator for just about any project that piques his interest. Despite regular forays into children’s books and fairy tales, his true love lies in anything macabre, melancholy, or dark in nature and essence. He believes that the job of putting someone else’s words into a visual form, to accompany and support their text, is a massive responsibility, as well as being something he truly treasures. You can visit his web site at www.carrionhouse.com.

“The Experiment Meets Certain Doom” is © 2019 Deborah L. Davitt Art accompanying story is © 2019 Luke Spooner

Fiction: The Experiment Meets Certain Doom was originally published on Mad Scientist Journal

[whitewolfwave-blog]

Maybe >> b.b. x fem!reader

Word count: 4004

Rating: NSFW (at all sis this shit is filthy)

Synopsis: You and Bucky share a bed every night to ward off your nightmares caused by Hydra. Do you really know each other, though?

Notes: hey uh this is my first smut so I'm sorry if it sucks

- - -

Every night, around 2 or 3, like clockwork, you'd rise from your bed in a cold sweat. Hair a mess, chest heaving, you'd leave your room in search of a sweet escape. Whether it be in the form of some clear, fiery liquid coating your throat and trailing into the pits of your stomach or the icy water of the compound swimming pool seeping into the clothes you hadn't bothered to take off, you found it. Distraction.

On this night, your lonesome plans would be foiled. A wave of exhaustion washed over you when the pads of your feet hit the cool wood floor. You closed your eyes, taking in the soothing feeling of being... grounded. Standing firmly. Almost robotically, you took a step forward, then another, and another, until you reached your door. Without making a noise, as you had many times before, you turned the handle, pulling up on the door to prevent any squeaking in the hinges.

You felt a strange, unfamiliar shock when, as you extended your leg into the hallway, a pair of arms wrapped around you. Before you could scream, or even say anything, your back was against the wall, a firm hand to your mouth. Crisp, blue eyes bore into yours, sending a hot sensation of embarrassment to your cheeks when you realized your captor was only Bucky Barnes. He removed his hand from your mouth, as well as the death grip on your wrists.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, "I didn't think you were... you."

You huffed, "You thought someone else was stepping out of my room at 3am? Wow. Truly in awe of the unbelievably intuitive winter sol-"

"Shut up," Bucky chuckled with a shake of his head, "what're you doing up, anyway?" His shoulders relaxed, making you conscious of the tension in your own body. You rested your body weight on the wall, trying to be less stiff.

"Bad dream. You?"

"Yeah, same here."

Bucky had the same sadness in his eyes that you did; a deep, traumatized, empty sadness that took him over and made him feel like nothing was real. The torture you'd both gone through in the hands of Hydra was unimaginable to most of the team, and because of that, you and Bucky grew close. You wouldn't dare say closer than Steve and himself, for he was the only exception, but in the compound, Bucky was your closest friend- maybe even in the entire world. He knew things without you having to verbally tell him, and vice versa. He knew about your nightmares, and you knew how to comfort him after one of his. "You uh," he started, lifting his right hand to scratch the back of his neck, "need any company?"

"Company, like...?"

"Do you," he cleared his throat, "do you want to share a bed? If you don't like it, we don't have to do it anymore. I just- I think that it might be easier to fall asleep, with someone to hold you."

You cocked an eyebrow. "We're holding each other, now?"

"Well," Bucky breathed, leaning in closer, his hand planting itself on the wall next to your head, "it might just be me, holding you. I don't mind either way, doll." You scoffed with a roll of your eyes. Bucky was almost always stupidly flirtatious. He'd bite his lip when you made eye contact, sure to try and hold it as long as he could. He would whisper innuendos in your ear, brush up against you just a bit too much, and now, he had you against a wall, his face mere inches from yours. He never failed to make your nerves catch fire, and you never failed to keep your feelings a secret. You'd laugh at him, roll your eyes, maybe, but more often than not, a flame would ignite between your legs at his words, his glances, his touch. If you let him know, though, your entire relationship could be sabotaged. This wonderful relationship you had, this understanding, could vanish in a matter of moments.

"Yeah, I guess. Come on." You took Bucky's flesh hand in your own, guiding him into your room that was only a couple of feet away from where you'd been standing. The walls, gray and bare, didn't feel as constricting as they had a few minutes prior.

"Your bed is tiny," he commented, "how are we supposed to fit on that thing together?" In truth, the mattress was small, but not too small for two people, right?

"You've never been in my room, huh?"

"Guess not."

As it turns out, you and Bucky could fit in your small bed- it was just a bit of a tight fit. With Bucky on his back, your head on his chest, and one of your legs thrown over his, there was just enough room. You found it so incredibly easy to fall asleep with the rise and fall of his each breath lulling you to your dreams. So, as every night came, as every nightmare came, Bucky came too. He held you as you slept, receiving an unprecedented amount of comfort from the girl in his arms. You'd wake every morning in the same position, a warm hand resting on the bare small of your back. He'd leave before the sun came up, and no one knew about your late night escapades.

-

It had been perfect, this arrangement between the ex-assassin and yourself. You giggled at times when you thought that, of all people, you felt safest with this man, who was seen as one of, if not the most, dangerous person on the planet. The chemistry between the two of you steadily rose until it was apparent to almost every person in the compound how comfortable you were with one another. You felt your cheeks heat up when you were making a cup of coffee, and you could feel Bucky reach above you to get a box of cereal from the cabinets above the counter. His stomach and chest pressed to your back, his left hand met your hip, and when he was closer to your ear, he leaned forward, whispering, "Good morning, doll. Love the pajamas."

It was silly, really, how seriously you took the compliment. After all, he'd seen you in the form-fitting tee and shorts combination dozens of times, in fact, he'd seen them on you the night before; Bucky's thoughts had simply come to mean the world to you.

You turned to him, biting your lip. "Not looking so bad yourself," you said with a nod. You leaned against the counter so that one of his legs was very nearly wedged in between yours. Bucky took a bit of initiative, stepping forward to move a lock of your hair from your face. His eyes raked up and down your body, from your beautiful, rich irises to your thighs, situated on either side of his one leg, and back again. He leaned even further forward, placing both hands on the counter behind you.

"How'd you sleep last night?" He asked, voice barely above a murmur. You smirked, knowing that he knew how well you'd slept.

"Pretty nicely. I was warm, comfy. I slept sound as ever." You whispered as he leaned even closer, the proximity rushing blood through your veins faster than ever.  

"That's good, doll. You'll have to let me get in on some of that, seems I can never sleep."

"Oh? And why is that?"

His lips were inches from your own as he told you, "I'm always so distracted. I can't drift to sleep with all of these awfully inappropriate thoughts racing through my mind."

"Care to let me in on a few of them?" You were breathless, pupils dilated, pulse rapid. Bucky's devious smile was imprinted in your frontal lobe when, just as he was about to say more, you were interrupted.

"Whoa," the familiar voice of everyone's favorite redhead rang through the room, "what's going on in here?" In seconds, the bliss of Bucky's body being flush against yours was gone. You cleared your throat, turning to go back to your coffee, and Bucky went to the opposite counter so he could pour himself a bowl of cereal. As soon as he finished pouring it, without closing the box or putting the milk back, he left the room. With a sigh of exasperation, you did Bucky's unfinished tasks.

"So," Natasha spoke up once more, "how long has that been happening?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"You and Barnes, Y/N, don't play stupid."

"That's nothing, Nat. Just a bit of unresolved sexual tension, I guess."

"Oh-o, definitely more than a bit," Natasha chuckled, "I thought you were going to rip that tight little shirt off of him after being in the same room as you two for a few seconds. I can't imagine how you must feel."

"Nat, it's really not a big deal," you turned to face her for the first time since she'd walked in, you looked at her. Her short red hair was braided back in two french braids, something you'd never seen before. "Your hair hasn't ever been up like that- who did that?"

"Bucky did." This caused your brow to furrow with a new confusion; you had no idea Bucky could braid. You were hit, then, with the realization that, after all of those nights spent in the same bed, you didn't know Bucky. Perhaps you never would.

-

That night, you laid in the dark. Instead of finding Bucky, like you normally did, you stared at the ceiling. The simple fact that you didn't know Bucky could braid made you feel like a fraud; like you hadn't known the man in the first place. How could you sleep next to him every night, how could you harbor such feelings for him, and not know something so basic? You felt a frown set itself deep in your features as you turned onto your side. Such small things could be unbelievably upsetting from time to time.

You weren't alone for long, and you should have known he would do it. You should have known he would realize it was almost 3am, and he hadn't yet heard the soft thud of your footsteps outside of his door. He knew you, he knew what you needed, and he knew you needed him, but he didn't know why you didn't go looking for him. You winced ever so slightly when you heard the door open.

"Y/N?" He whispered, "You awake?"

Instead of answering verbally, you turned your head, looking at him from over your shoulder. From that point, you refused to look at him, keeping your eyes trained on the wall. You wanted to let your body melt into his when you felt his warmth spooning you, but you couldn't. Tonight, your routine felt wrong. When you felt the rough tips of his fingers dance across the skin of your neck, tracing soothing patterns that would normally put you to sleep, you felt discomfort.

"Bucky," you said, speaking at a normal volume.

"Yes?"

"I... do you know me?"

"What?" He laughed, and you even though you weren't facing him, you could see the crinkles in the corners of his eyes. You'd see them any time you closed your eyes, along with his smile, and the hair falling into his face, and his 5 o'clock shadow. You could see, at any given moment, whether or not he was there, the outline of his features in pale moonlight, and as you pondered this innate ability to see James Buchanan Barnes regardless of your time or place, the more guilt consumed you.

"Bucky," you repeated, turning so that your face was as close to his as it had been earlier that day, "do you know me?"

"Well, it would be a little awkward, doll, if I was just layin' here-"

"Bucky, it's not funny. I mean it. What do you even know about me?"

"Well," his voice softened, his right hand caressing your side to stop at your hip, "I know you're strong. I know you care a little too much, and you worry about things you can't control. I know that laying here with you every night makes me feel safe. I know you're beautiful. I know you're way more technologically aware than I am, y'know, given our age gap," the last part was said with a grin. "I know that I wouldn't be anywhere but here, in the dark, on your bed, if given the chance. I know that you're not scared of me like the others are- in fact, I know you trust me- and that alone lets me trust you. I might not know your favorite color or your parents' names, but I know you. I do."

And just like that, you forgot why you were concerned or upset in the first place. Just like that, the only things in the universe that deserved every speck of your attention were Bucky's lips. Just like that, before you could stop yourself, you brought the man forward to capture them in yours. His hand migrated from your hip to the crook of your leg, pulling it over his hip as he found his place between your legs. His bionic hand weaved into your hair,  holding you closer than ever as your lips melded together. His tongue prodded at your lips, prompting you to part your jaws, granting his entrance. The temperature of the room seemed to rise with each moment that the pair of you were entangled. Soon enough, you switched positions. Bucky was still between your legs, only then, they were open, and you were on your back.

"Oh, doll, you have no idea how long I've waited for this," he groaned, tugging at the bottom of  the pajama shirt covering your chest. You raised your arms above your head, allowing him to pull the shirt over your head. He shook his head when he noticed that you hadn't worn a bra to bed, almost overwhelmed at the sight in front of him. "God, you're perfect." You could disagree with his comment. When you took off your shirt, all you could see was a stray stretch mark here and there, or the pudge of your belly. Bucky, however, saw a long-awaited sight that brought him pure euphoria. In his mind, every inch of you was beautiful, because it was just another part of you. He was determined to show you how beautiful you were as he began to pepper light kisses along your jaw, becoming more insistent when he reached your collarbones. His soft, open-mouthed kisses became harsher as he bit down, sucking on your sensitive skin, sure to leave marks the next day.

Bucky's hands cupped your breasts as he worked his way down with his mouth, stopping at each one to give it extra attention. His eyes flitted up to watch you squirm when he wrapped his lips around one of your nipples, flicking his tongue on the bud to elicit a sweet moan from the back of your throat. Wishing for nothing but to hear the noise again, he switched, using his hand on one breast and his tongue on the other. When the stimulation wasn't enough anymore, you bucked your hips into his, the small athletic shorts you were wearing not doing much in terms of dulling the friction. "B-Bucky," you mewled, your hips pathetically searching for more.

"What do you want, doll?" His voice was deeper than it had been, an indication of how turned on he was. "You want my tongue somewhere else? You want my cock?" With those words, the hand on your breast moved to your clothed heat, drawing patterns over the vulnerable area. You only moaned in response, distress flooding your mind when he removed his hand. "I need you to tell me what you want, baby doll. Where do you want me? What do you want me to do?"

"I-I want your tongue," you cried out, hoping your response was substantial enough.

"Oh, do you?" His cheeky smile returned, a tinge of dark intentions on the corners of his lips. Instead of crawling down the bed, he threw your legs over his shoulders, changing your positioning again so that, while you lied on your back, he could remain on his knees. With his face level to your heat, he licked a long, slow stripe up your inner thigh. "This where you want it?"

"No!" You were becoming agitated with his teasing, although it had barely begun. "You know where I want it, James, don't toy with me."

"Aw, but it's so fun," he drawled, nipping at your opposite thigh. "I could do this all day- or rather, all night. Would you like that?"

"No, not at all!" You whined, painstakingly bucking your hips for any type of friction.

"Hm, at the same time, I'd love to get these off..." Bucky trailed off, his right middle finger slipping under the waistband of your shorts.

"Please." You tried to be firm, failing when the word left your lips as a whine. With a devilish smile, he complied, lifting your legs over his head to aggressively pull the shorts off, staring intently at your white cotton panties adorned with a small baby pink bow.

"These are adorable. Hope you won't miss them too much." His voice came out as a growl.

"What do you-" before you could finish, your mouth fell open with a gasp as Bucky took the sides of the panties in either hand and pulled outwards, ripping them right off of you. "James!"

"What? I'll buy you a new pair," he chuckled, his face nearing your heat once more. "Now, what was it you wanted?" You huffed in exasperation, growing tired of his game. You didn't want to satisfy him with a plead for attention, you wanted contact and you wanted it as soon as possible. Your hand fisted into his soft brown locks as you gently nudged his head forward, hoping he would get the message.

"Tempting, doll, but I can't do anything until you tell me what you want." His words were said with a patronizing emphasis that irritated you to no end.

"God damn it, Buck, if you don't stop being so difficult, I'll- I'll-"

"You'll what?" His menacing tone sent blood rushing to your exposed heat. "I'm the one who decides whether or not you cum tonight, doll."

"Then make me, James." With no hesitation, he brought his mouth to your clit, deciding that he'd build up to your climax as slowly as he could. At first, he kitten-licked your clit, pleasing you only to the point that you wanted more. You expressed your need by squeezing your thighs, hopeful that the pressure on his head would urge him to do more. You sighed in relief when the tiny licks with the tip of his tongue turned into long, rhythmic strokes against your clit, earning moans and thrusts of your pelvis. The fire-hot pleasure building up in your core was stretched taut like a rubber band, and as you felt you were reaching your breaking point, Bucky slid two metal fingers into your entrance, holding your hips down with his opposite hand. The coolness of the metal was quick to disappear, and all you could feel was the familiar buildup of your orgasm. He slid his two fingers in and out gently, but quickly, sure to hit your g-spot along the way.

"Come on, baby doll," he lifted his head to groan, "cum for me." As soon as his words were finished, his tongue went back to its work on your heat. Your moans almost amounted to a shriek as your back arched and you released on Bucky's mouth.

"Fuck," you whispered as he laid your lower half back on the mattress, the glint of lust in his eyes unmistakeable. It was only then, as you watched Bucky pull the black shirt over his head and untie his sweatpants, that you realized he'd been fully clothed the entire time.

"Wait, fuck, do you have a condom?" He interrupted your thoughts. There he was, boxers being the only thing preventing him from being fully exposed, and yet, the night may be over already.

"I uh, no. No, I don't."

"Fuck," he grumbled, "I don't either- I didn't really think this was going to happen."

"I'm- I'm clean," you stated desperately, "and I'm on the pill."

"Are you sure you're okay with that? I mean, I'm clean too, but-"

"Buck," you interrupted him, "just, fuck me. Please." He took his lip between his teeth for a moment, memorizing the scene in front of him. Bucky was scared, for a moment, that things between you would change after this. He knew he couldn't dwell on his worries for long, as he could see your impatience growing from the pleading look on your face.

You watched with intent as Bucky pulled his boxers off, his cock springing up in its glory. He caressed your face with his bionic hand, his flesh one wrapped around his length in preparation. With a few pumps, he guided himself into you. The stretch gave you a bit of discomfort first, but as he allowed you time to adjust, the discomfort faded. He leaned into you as he slid his length out halfway, only to piston his hips back into yours. Soon, he fell into a steady rhythm, your combined pants and moans filling the room. "God, you feel so fucking good, doll," he groaned in your ear, angling his hips upwards as he gripped your hips, his rhythm speeding up. The angle he'd changed to let the tip of his cock hit your g-spot, causing you to let out a string of shuddering curses and moans. Your eyes screwed shut, overcome with pleasure. "Open your eyes, baby. I want you to look at me." You forced your eyelids to open, almost collapsing on the spot at the sight of Bucky, his hips crashing into yours, his cock buried deep inside you. The sound of skin on skin burned into your brain. One of your hands found his, wrapping around his wrist.

"I-I want to-"

"Cum?" Bucky breathed, "again? Getting a little greedy, now, are we, doll?"

"Please," you whined for what felt like the dozenth time that night. Bucky's lips stretched into a smirk as he rubbed tight circles over your clit, your walls quivering around his length.

"Oh, yes, good girl," he murmured, "let it out. Let go." With his words of encouragement, the coil in the pit of your stomach released, pleasure exploding in your loins. Bucky rode out your orgasm, using it to get closer to his own. He watched with a hunger as you writhed underneath him, his hips losing their rhythm, falling into an erratic stutter. Before he could finish, he pulled out, shocking you as a hot, thick liquid coated your stomach. In silence, he rose from the bed, walking to your attached bathroom in search of a towel. He returned with a warm, wet washcloth, gently running it across the soft flesh of your abdomen.

"You did so well, doll," he whispered, leaning down to kiss your forehead. Your wide, tired eyes gazed up at him in wonderment, confused and delighted as to how you'd gotten yourself in this place. Your thoughts continued as Bucky cleaned himself off, and eventually, returned to his place next to you, his arms wrapped tightly around you as always, except on this night, neither of you bothered to put on pajamas; you lay there together, naked, vulnerable, and nonetheless, feeling safer than ever.

"Buck?" You whispered.

"Yeah?"

"I didn't know you could french braid."

The deep vibration of his laugh shook your mattress, bringing a small smile to your face. "There's a lot of stuff we don't know about each other, doll."

"Well, maybe that could change."

"Maybe it could."

[canyousevmyheavydirtysoul]

You’re My Bodyguard, Not My Owner. (Chapter 17) (Brendon Urie x Reader)

Invaluable experience wasn’t the only thing you gained during your training sessions with Brendon – they were bringing you and your stone pillar of a bodyguard closer together.

The first time you noticed it was during your fourth session; you made some corny joke about something stupid, and he gave you a sliver of a smile in response. At first, you thought it was just in your head. The two of you couldn’t actually be getting along, could you? You hated each other.

Well, if we’re being technical, you hated him when he wasn’t within kissing distance of you. When he was… well, that was a different story. It was weird, really. The dynamic of your relationship.

Relationship.

Could you even call it that?

The dynamic of your… whatever it was. One moment, the two of you would be at each other’s throats, handing out insults like gifts on Christmas day, and then the next, you would be only inches apart, and that little fire in the pit of your stomach would ignite, only to die down again once he regained distance from you.

It was strange, and you didn’t have the slightest idea of what it was. It wasn’t lust; you knew that. You didn’t just want to sleep with him and then carry on as if nothing had happened. No, it was something deeper. But neither of you dared to explore it. Instead, you dealt with it the only way you knew how.

“I hate you!”

“So you’ve mentioned. Multiple times,” Brendon said monotonously, readjusting his watch.

“You’re the worst human being I have ever met! You’re manipulative, sadistic-“

“Rude, angry, unnecessary, disgusting, repulsive, a bitch, a jerk, a son of a bitch, a demon, Satan himself, ridiculously handsome… yes, I know. You’ve mentioned all of that before too.”

You stopped pacing for a moment and turned to him. “I have never called you handsome.”

“Am I not?”

“I-You…” you stuttered, and he raised an eyebrow, “That’s not the point! Stop trying to distract me!”

“I’m not trying to distract you. On the contrary,” he responded, pulling up a chair and seating himself in it; he leaned back and set his one foot atop his opposite knee – the signature douche position, “Please continue with your rant. This is the most entertaining one yet.”

“I really wish I could shoot you,” you said, shaking your head and narrowing your eyes.

“Go ahead,” he held out his hands in an invitation, “Knock yourself out. Then there’ll be no one to save your sorry ass.” “My sorry ass wouldn’t need saving if you hadn’t put me in this position in the first place!”

“There are people who would put you in a lot worse,” he reminded, “Now quit being a whiny brat and get over here!”

After one final death glare at your bodyguard, you lowered your gaze to the glass box next to you and gulped. Brendon had attached a shock vest to your body and placed you in a cornered off area; if you stepped out of the area, you’d be shocked.

You’d thought it to be a bit insensitive to use a shock vest on you considering what Ian had done to you, but according to Brendon, it was for that exact reason that he chose it; you knew how painful electrocution could be. T

he key to unlocking the vest was in a glass box next to you. The only problem: the box was filled with cockroaches. You hated cockroaches. Downright despised them. Next to losing your loved ones, they were your worst fear. You freaked out at the mere mention of them; there was no way in hell that you would ever touch one. Hence, your current dilemma.

“Bren-“

“No.”

“But-“

“No.”

“PLEASE.”

“No. You wanna get out, you have to get the key.”

“Oh-ho-ho-ho, I hate you so much,” you growled through gritted teeth.

“Uh huh.”

Trying your hardest to keep your poise and stay calm and rational about this situation, you sluggishly reached your hand out and into the glass box, hovering just over the bugs.

“C’mon. You can do it.”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP.”

You swore you heard him snigger, but you didn’t shoot him a glare as you normally would; you tried to focus on just getting the key.

When your hand touched the first roach, you recoiled immediately, doing a little fake cry; you were sure that you looked like a stupid little prissy girl, but you didn’t care. After about a minute, you tried again. You fought the urge to throw up and forced your hand deeper into the sea of bugs.

“The trick is to not think about it. Focus on something else. Anything else.”

Something else. Okay. Think of ice cream. Ice cream always makes you feel better. Except now. Now it’s not. Think of something else. Think of….

You surprised yourself with what popped into your head next. But it worked. Your fingers grasped the metal and you yanked the key out, quickly unlocking yourself and sprinting out of that square.

Panting, you placed a hand over your heart, which you were sure was beating a thousand times faster than would be healthy.

“Well done,” Brendon congratulated, handing you a water bottle, which you grabbed harshly.

“Piss off,” you snarled, taking a drink.

“That’s the test that usually makes or breaks an agent,” he explained, “most people fail. They’re not able to get to a safe-enough place mentally that enables them to overcome their fears. You did really well, considering the pass rate. What did you think of to help you through it?”

“Ice cream,” you lied, “What was your fear?”

“Liar,” he scoffed, “but alright.” He turned to clean up.

“You didn’t answer my question? What was your fear?” you repeated.

“Ice cream.”

~

“What’s your price?” The Director quizzed, circling The Asset.

“I don’t have a price,” the assassin replied, his head down – like it had been for the past few weeks.

“Everyone has a price.”

“I’m not like everyone.”

The Director let out a weak chuckle. “That, I know.” He stopped in front of the assassin and placed both hands on either side of his chair’s armrests. “But there has to be something you want.”

Slowly, the assassin raised his head. “I want to speak to the girl.”

~

You woke up the next morning feeling more despondent than usual. Upon checking the date on the digital clock that accompanied your bedside table, you deduced that it was probably because today was your birthday. Your first birthday without your parents. Your first birthday without anyone – locked away in this place.

Birthdays were always an important part of your life; it was one of the only two times of year you actually looked forward to – the other one being Christmas. You would always be surrounded by your loved ones, and to you, that was everything. But this year, you would be alone. Sure, you would have Brendon, and The Director – and everyone else at SHIELD, you supposed – but you wouldn’t be surprised if they didn’t even know it was your birthday. They had more important things to worry about, like preventing the fifth mass extinction, for example.

Like clockwork, as soon as the clock read 8:00, there was a knock on your door and when you didn’t voice any protest, Brendon walked in.

It was the usual routine; he’d come by at 8am to wake you up if you weren’t up already, knock on the door to announce that he was about to enter, and if you didn’t yell out for him to wait, he’d walk in and hand you a cup of coffee. Today wasn’t any different, except that in the hand that wasn’t holding coffee, he had plate with a cupcake and a candle on it.

“What’s this?” you questioned in awe, straightening up so that you could take the mug and plate from his hold.

“It is your birthday, isn’t it?” he asked carefully, forehead creasing as he questioned himself.

“It is,” you confirmed and he relaxed, “I just… I wasn’t expecting this, is all.”

“Oh,” he nodded before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a lighter. After holding it up to show you, he then proceeded to light the candle. “Make a wish.”

“What?” you mused, “You’re not gonna sing ‘Happy Birthday’?”

“I don’t sing.”

“Right,” you smiled.

Brendon cleared his throat and shifted his gaze uncomfortably. “You better blow it out before it dies,” he gestured to the candle.

Closing your eyes, you made a wish and then blew it out. When you were done, you took the remaining piece of wax out of the cake.

“Happy Birthday, (Y/N),” Brendon said softly, and you smiled genuinely at him, “The Director hopes to see you later, but it’s not likely and he said to extend his wishes too.”

“Thank you,” you nodded, swiping a bit of the icing and tasting it. “Mm, this is good. Did you make it?”

He scoffed. “I may be able to cook, but my baking skills are atrocious. No, Agent Hill made it.”

“Wow,” you widened your eyes and made an impressed face, “Looks like I just found something Agent Brendon Urie can’t do.”

“Careful,” he warned, “I could still kick your ass if I wanted to.”

You giggled as you swiped some more icing, and Brendon’s lips just barely twitched upwards.

“Hey, I meant to ask you,” you spoke, tone turning a bit more serious, “When I first brought up wanting you to train me, you said that The Director would find out if you did. Well, we’ve been at it for almost two weeks now… how come he doesn’t know?”

“He’s been quite caught up with Ward and finding Hydra; it’s demanded his full attention. That’s why I haven’t been too secretive about our sessions; I know that he’s been too preoccupied to notice. And as long as I’m still looking after you, I doubt he feels the need to look into what we’re doing. Either that, or he knows and he’s just buying time to figure out a plan to kill us both. It really could be either one.”

“How reassuring,” you mumbled through a mouthful of cupcake, “Speaking of training… I should probably get ready for our session, huh?” you pulled the blankets off of you, moving to get up.

“That won’t be necessary. We’re not training today.”

“Why not?” you frowned.

“It’s your birthday, you deserve a break. Besides,” he stood up and started for the door, “You’ll need to save your energy for tonight.”

“What’s happening tonight?” you quizzed, utterly perplexed.

“It’s a surprise.”

“The last time you said that to me, you tortured me with cockroaches. For some reason, I’m not feeling too good about tonight.”

All he offered in response was a shrug, and he exited the room, leaving you alone to wonder what the hell he had planned.

___________________________________________________________________________

Thank you for reading x

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[scientifically-strange]

Bored part 2

The humans were…Interesting, to say the least. Every single one of them. After his little trip to the mortal plain he decided he was going to keep an eye on them, just in case. And he had Clockwork’s help in looking back at what they had previously done, like saving New York from aliens. Which was pretty rad.

He knew how Stark buried himself in his work, ignoring his feelings because it was easier to detach and pretend like you don’t care when you know deep down you probably care to much.

He saw how the good Captain would wake up in a cold sweat, shouting for this Bucky person, or a Peggy. Then he would realize where he was, eyes sparking with realization, and stay awake the rest of the night. Nobody knew because of the soundproof walls and Steve’s ability to lie his ass off like it was as easy as breathing.

He observed how Doctor Banner would fiddle nervously, always wringing his hands as if anticipating something bad. He flinched at every sudden noise and would shy away from contact more often then not. But he had more heart than probably any of the others. All he wanted to do was good, but sometimes things got a little out of hand.

He noted how Natasha was quiet as a mouse though everyone was aware she was the predator, not prey. He knew she kept an assortment of hidden weapons on her person, even if she was just relaxing in her pajamas. It gave her a sense of comfort. The Tower and Avengers did to, but only to a degree. The Widow did not like being caught off guard. And after Red Room, Danny knew she never would be.

Then came her partner I’m crime. The archer. Clint was definitely a wonder, chugging down an entire pot of coffee straight from the pot and able to stomach moldy pizza if he really needed to. His aim was like nothing Danny had ever seen, and yet he didn’t even seem to care. But Danny saw through that. Clint cared about being the best, about being worthy to the Avengers kf nothing else. Because if he ever missed he would be just another guy with a bow and arrow. He would just put in his purple hearing aids and get on with his life, because pretending you were stupid was simple than his life, and sometimes he really just needed simple.

Thor was probably the hardest to read. Even harder than Natasha. A lot of that came from the fact that Thor was immortal and had a lot of baggage. He blamed himself for Loki’s fate and his mother’s death. He blames himself for the death of the mortals that fell when the Chitari attacked. He decided to use those, however, to give his friends-his second family-advice. If anything it was to prevent them from making the same foolish mistakes he had. Too many lives have been taken because of him. To many innocent lives. Most people would never know though. The never looked past the kindness in his eyes to see the guilty weight bearing down on him.

Then there was probably the most normal person out of the lot. He had no powers or any special skills except for being able to control a giant pair of wings with ease. But he had these eyes that spoke volumes without him even having to open his mouth. His body language said soldier. It said retired. But his heart spoke a tale of sadness, of exhaustion. A type of haunting that stayed with a veteran for the rest of their lives. He saw how Sam put headphones in on the Fourth of July, and he saw the way he rarely took his own advice. His loyalty was what set him apart from the others.

Its was strange how… Alike he was with each and every one of them. Uncanny, really, like bits and pieces of his personality made seven other super heroes, half of which didn't have powers. His chest tightened and he mindlessly rubbed at the spot above his core, feeling the cold through his gloves. He smiled to himself at the thought of his last visit to the mortal plain. He loved the feeling of fulfillment, like everything was right in the universe. His head had cleared and he had felt the nostalgia of an adrenaline rush and excitement. The kind that was nowhere to be seen in the Ghost Zone.

Perhaps it was time for another trip

. --------—----

It wasn’t hard to find the Tower by any means. It was this big, ugly thing in the middle of New York with a giant letter A on it, practically asking the bad guys to come and destroy it. Subtly was definitely not their strong-suit , that’s for sure. Though he wasn’t particularly one to talk either. After all, when he was alive he had a UFO on his house and a neon sign telling everybody human and ghost where he lived. He wondered how much of it was left.

He landed gracefully on the launch pad Stark used, smiling at the breeze that was dramatically blowing his cape, like he was in a movie. It was a bright day with a few clouds here and there, making i seem like summer, but when Danny looked over to Central park he saw the orange in the leaves and the grass starting to die, just so it can be reborn again.

His small smile grew into a grin, though, when he heard a door open and small footsteps come his way. He turned to meet his favorite billionaire, Tony Stark himself.

“Hey, Spooky,” Stark greeted, hands in his pockets. He looked relaxed, but is body language told Danny he was ready for a fight if the need be. “How you been?”

The King shrugged as he walked toward Stark, his green eyes scanning the building. “I’ve been bored out of my mind. Politics was definitely not my major in college, I’ll tell you that.”

Stark chuckled a bit, taking one hand out of his pocket and slapping Danny on the back with it before leading him inside.

“How does a brat like you become king of ghosts? I’ll never understand that.”

“Like anybody could resist my good looks,” Phantom shot back with a laugh, gesturing to his face. Tony rolled his eyes at the spirit. He pushed the door open, and stepped inside, but before he could announce their new guest, Thor stood up. I giant grin was plastered on his face as he strode over, holding out his hand.

Tony watched as they didn’t shake hands, but instead gripped each other’s forearms for a moment before letting go. Phantom had on less armor this time, so now it was easy to see the muscles rippling under his clothes.

“Greetings, my king,” Thor said with a smile. “Would you like to try a toasted pastry?” 

“Anything but toast, dude,” Phantom smiled back. 

“You don’t like toast?” Clint asked from across the room, trying to balance a tower of action figures on his knee. “Toast is amazing!”

Instead of responding, he followed Thor to the kitchen, where Sam and Steve were relaxing over a cup of coffee. There was another man with dirty brown hair and only one arm with huge bags under his eyes. He was very new. Phantom noticed how he tensed up when he walked into the room with Tony.

“Phantom!” Steve rushed, standing up so quickly that his chair almost fell back. Sam just rolled his eyes, and the new guy glared at him. Probably for disturbing the peace and quiet. 

“Captain. Always a pleasure,” Phantom smiled. He looked around the fully stocked kitchen as Thor grabbed a package of poptarts and put them in the toaster. 

“You want to sit down with us?” Steve asked. Phantom shrugged.

“Yeah, sure.”

Steve thought it was odd. He thought Phantom was odd. He was a king, and almost always formal, but when he wasn’t he almost acted like Clint, with the ‘dudes’ and other modern day slang. He also apparently had the impeccable ability of making himself at home. 

“So, what brings you to the land of the living, man?” Sam asked, taking a sip of his coffee. Phantom shrugged.

“Oh, you know. Bored out of my mind. And it’s nice to see some old friends. Though, I don’t think I’ve met you,“ he looked over at the silent figure, who was now looking like he’d rather be somewhere else. “I’m Phantom,” he said, stretching out his hand. The ,man didn’t take it. Instead, he muttered out a gruff, “Bucky.” Phantom’s eyes widened, and he got a big grin on his face.

The ringing of Tony’s phone didn’t disrupt the conversation a bit, but it did make Danny question his music choices as the billionaire left the room. He turned back to Steve.

“You mean like...Captain America’s old war friend Bucky? Bucky Barnes?” He could barely contain his excitement. Sam made a mental note that the ghost was apparently oblivious to body language, because now Bucky was really looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. Hell, maybe even sitting on the couch with Barton. “Dude, that’s so cool! It’s such an honor!”

Steve was looking at Bucky now, unsure of how he would react, but he did one thing that only Steve ever was able to see. 

Bucky smiled.

It was a tiny little thing, just a tilt of the corner of his lips, but it was enough. Anyone who could make Bucky smile was a friend in Steve’s book.

“Damn it!” They heard Tony shout. He had been quietly murmuring to the person on the other line. It was strange how someone as energetic as Tony could make himself damn near invisible, but now everyone was starring at him as he walked back into the room. Phantom gave him a quizzical look.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, tilting his head to the side.

“Nothing. Just work stuff,” Tony answered. He headed over to the bar and poured himself a generous glass of whiskey before downing it and sighing, almost lost in thought. His brow was furrowed and his hands were at his temple, trying to think.

“What happened?” Sam repeated Danny’s question. Tony looked over at him, his lips in a thin line, like he was trying to decide whether or not he should tell the former pararescue. He sighed again.

“Dalv co. Is buying out small portions of Stark. With the money they can get from them they could buy me out.”

Tony sagged, seeming more tired than a man his age should be, but Danny perked up. Not happily, no, but because he recognized the name. God it had been so long since he’s heard it he almost forgot about it completely.

“...Did you say...Dalv?” Danny asked him. His voice took on a more serious tone. “Run by Vlad Masters?”

Tony looked at him partly in surprise and partly something else Danny wasn’t able to identify. But the sudden mood change wasn’t promising.

“Er...Yeah. Snobby rich guy with a football obsession. Every time we end up in the same room together I hear him complain about how the Packers won’t be sold to him.”

“Even in death he still pisses me off,” Danny muttered.

“What? What does that mean?” Steve asked.

“Vlad was an old college friend of my parents, ended up getting ghost acne and with it he got ghost powers. He’s a halfa.” Danny explained.

“That would explain how he came out of nowhere with all that money,” Tony said. “I’ve been trying to figure that one out for years.”

“Yeah, he stole it. And now it looks like he’s stealing you. But I know just the way to fix this.” A smirk grew across Danny’s face as he rubbed his hands together maniacally. “Who would like to go pay the old fruitloop a visit?”

----------

WOW omg I am so sorry this took so long, but I think I’m finally getting over my writer’s block (and I finished all of my math homework) so hopefully there will be more consistent updates. Again I do apologize. On a better note though there will be a part 3 to this because I just love it so much? Like? It’s amazing.

PS-Drawing Spider-Man is fucking hard my dudes I swear to god

[sharfuddin09]

I didn’t quite understand the significance of fatherlessness until I became a teacher.

I have taught hundreds of students now, and every single student with a missing father (either due to divorce, work, or death) noticeably struggled in school. They struggled with behaviour, academics, responsibility, authority, relationships with others, and substances. Even among the more liberal teachers I’ve worked with, it was known that fatherlessness produced trouble — and we would identify it right away.

The sociological data clearly supports these anecdotes: missing fathers often results in homes with poverty, mental health problems, dropping out of school, and teen pregnancy: https://www.npr.org/sections/ed/2017/06/18/533062607/poverty-dropouts-pregnancy-suicide-what-the-numbers-say-about-fatherless-kids

Among the boys, it created a “fight or flight” reaction — my male students would either act out, or they would simply not show up, not do the work, and not care about their grades. There is something about seeing a working father day-in and day-out that subconsciously teaches a boy that manhood is about hard-work, responsibility, and maturity.

A man who has gone through the rites of passage of adulthood can teach his son how to deal with teen angst. So much of the “toxic masculinity” that feminists decry is the direct result of boys not having father-figures, being surrounded only by mothers and mostly female teachers, and thus not knowing how to control their strength and anger.

Among the girls, it created a thirst for male attention; and they often got into brief and frequent relationships with men at an early age — often much older men, to make up for the lack of mature male presence in their life.

Now of course, there is a level of generalizing here. These aren’t fatalistic prophecies, and many have risen far above these conditions. Malcolm X is an example of a modern Muslim whose father was murdered, yet he became like clockwork. He did struggle on the way there of course, but he made it passed the most of us in merit.

The point is, you still have the will and agency to transcend your conditions, regardless of the circumstances. Rely on Allah, it is all easy for Him, if you but knew.

In the meantime, while it is important to note the exceptions, we must identify the patterns and trends. We can prepare ourselves for the circumstances. We live in a time where supposedly “a woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle”. The constant “strong and independent” motto is convincing some women that they can play father and mother at the same time; push the divorce button and prevent the kids from their biological fathers. In my experience, I can tell you that this is not possible — some mothers are quite good at trying, and prevent the house from burning completely, but the damage will still be there.

In communal societies, the death of a parent still meant that there were a hundred hands in the community willing to help out. There would be many father and mother figures, elderly folk, and relatives that can help out a wayward child. But in the urban Anglo society, everyone is pretty much on their own.

May Allah allow us to truly honour our parents, which is one of the great duties in Islam. And may Allah send blessings on the father of this Umma (s) and his pure family and his shining companions.

Mr. Bilal Muhammad