#explosion proof exit light

[sharpeagle-tech]

Explosion Proof Emergency Exit Sign - ATEX Approved

The ex-proof exit sign by SharpEagle is highly durable and has corrosion resistance owing to the use of an epoxy powder coat over the aluminum body of the product. Exit signs are designed specifically for marking escape routes and exits in harsh and hazardous environments.

Key Features

Zone 1&2, Zone 21&22

Die-cast aluminum body with baked epoxy powder coat finish for durability and corrosion resistance

Ultra-bright LED light source, service life is up to 50,000 hours

Designed with test buttons, convenient for regularly maintenance

The light fitting is designed with a main power indicator, failure and charging indicator, to the using status

Equipped with an explosion-proof buzzer with a 65dB-85dB voice. When the product is in fault status, the buzzer will work 1-3s every minute to remind the user to maintain the product

[tremendouscreationperson]

Logan x Reader pt.6

I know it took forever please forgive me!

I have a couple more ideas for this, if you guys want it to continue

If you think I'm just milking please it let me know, there's so many better fic writers out there I really didnt think this would blow up like it did 🫶

<< Part 5 Part 7 >> Masterlist

You had thought scavenging was difficult however as you stared at the immensely filled shelves you realised choosing was harder. You’d thought to purchase some crackers, just to see if Laura had preferences; however there were twelve different types of Goldfish and Goldfish was just one brand. This whole aisle was overflowing with crackers. It was insane. Who needed this many choices?

Elektra, Gambit and Blade had tagged along, the latter only for company, and they all seemed to be in the same position. Tired eyes mindlessly scanning for anything familiar. Anything that sounded good. Did you even remember the taste of ‘spicy chilli’? Or did you prefer ‘sour cream and chives’?

The shelves were too much and they were tall. You couldn't see over them, couldn't see potential threats or keep an eye on the exits. Why did the aisles need to be this long? They were endless. Endless and bright and colourful and the store was loud. Why were there children running around? There could be anyone around the corner. Each stomp of little feet drilled a hole in your head.

Picking up speed you rounded the corner and hid yourself by a pillar. The thing was an eyesore for the employees, they definitely had trouble stocking the shelves around it, but to you it was bliss.

You rest your forehead against the cool metal and force the air out of your lungs. You took in a big gulp before forcing it out again.

The noise of the store was drowned out by your breathing, by your hammering heart. You could hear vague snippets but it sounded like when an explosion was too close. Warped and muffled at the same time.

“Mon cher?” Gambit placed a light hand on your shoulder, despite how careful he was it still caused you to jerk. “Y/N. You 're okay.” You couldn't tell what was happening but your head was moving. Was it nodding or shaking? Your mouth opened to respond but nothing, bar a few halfhearted noises, could come out. “Y/N.” He tried again, but this had never happened. You'd never felt like this. This pain in your chest. Was… did you survive the Void to have a heart attack? “‘m get ‘ogan.”

You deliriously gave him a thumbs up.

Without any sort of logic or proof you knew the floor was safe. Of course it was, it was a constant. The floor would never leave. It couldn't. So you knelt down, your knees against the linoleum and your head still against the pillar. Or was it a beam? Why was this happening? You used to be able to do this. Why couldn't you fucking shop? All this time you'd had dreams of normality and now it was here and you were too crazy to be here?

Maybe you belonged in the Void. Then again, maybe this was Cassandra. You had thought it previously, everything was far too easy. She could be laughing her ass off at how you reacted to a fake superstore. Imagine.

Noise had slowly started to come back but it was too loud. Too much. Too bright. Why was it so bright? Why did people need to be blasted in the face to see what toothpaste they needed?

Maybe this was it.

Maybe it was the end of the line.

You were just rewatching your life.

That would be... nice.

To know that there was an end.

God, that was depressing.

You didn't mean it that way and you don't know why you thought it but it actually brought you some comfort.

Not enough to stop you hyperventilating on the dirty floors, though.

“Baby?” That was Logan now. Why was he always there to save you? He didn't have to be. Hell, he didn't know you. You might be the worst version of yourself and here he was doting over you.

You didn't deserve that.

What had you done to deserve that type of love?

He had sat out on the fire escape all night and you can't even pick up fucking crackers.

Who even likes crackers!?

“Baby?” He repeated, closer now.

You turned to the side and saw him but also saw through him.

“Can you tell me your name?”

What sort of mind fuckery was this? He knows your name. “Y/N L/N.” Your voice was tiny but he could see the way your mouth formed the words.

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

Your eyes stayed trained on his face but you answered using your peripheral. “Two.” The word still small and but now just hardly audible.

“And what's this?” You let your eyes meander down to his hand and saw he was pointing at a scrubbing brush you were hunched by.

You felt your brows pull together in confusion. “Cleaning thing.”

He let out an amused huff but was sincere with his words. “Now, love, what can you hear?”

Hear? You can hear everything. Him mostly. There were footsteps and trolley wheels and the buzzing of the speakers and constant rustling of shopping bags or plastic packaging and chattering and the child running riot was now crying and the checkouts were beeping and the deli counter number was called. “Rustling?”

“What else?”

“Crying.”

“One more?” His voice had lowered, he was more breathy.

“Your breath.”

“Can you follow my breathing?”

It was even. He was breathing in and out. Like literally every other living creature. Even trees could breathe.

“Are you able to move your hand?” He continued, tapping his chest. “Put it here?”

Of course, who did he take you for? You shakily slapped it onto his chest and he held it tight. Taking in the largest breath and releasing it slowly.

He repeated that for a while and slowly you found yourself assimilated. You were copying him with perfect movements.

The constant humming in your head had stopped, the noises were bearable, the lights even seemed duller. “I- I think I'm okay now?”

“Can you stand?” His eyes were darting all over your face, trying to gauge a reaction.

You bit your lip and nodded, moving stiff legs and easing your way up. He was swift with his movements making sure you were one hundred percent okay on your wobbly legs before he stepped back.

“That's never happened before.” You felt tired, drained. Your whole body was on fire. Why was it so sore? You had mentally freaked out and now your body was aching?

“It was an anxiety attack.” He voiced the obvious but could tell you were going to argue so carried on. If he was talking you had to listen. “They're not uncommon for those who've suffered. I’ve had them due to my PTSD.” Maybe you'd feel at ease if you knew he got them as well.

“But I don't have PTSD.”

“I think you might,” You scrunch your face. “the years spent in the Void, couldn't have been easy.”

“We survived.”

“That's what VETs say.”

Your rebuttal died on your tongue as you took two seconds to actually think about it. He might be onto something. “Is that why Stark said we need a therapist?”

“Possibly.”

“The whole time I was in the Void this didn't happen.” You grumbled. “Just carried on.”

“You didn't have time then. Your brain can now process your trauma.” Damn, Lydia - his therapist - was a genius. “In a weird way this is being healthy.”

“It's called an atta-” You huffed, hugging your middle. “I don't care what's happening, I just don't want Laura to see.” You had separated in the store to cover more ground. She had wanted to wander, to see the store for herself, and you had thought you'd be able to gather everything by the time she was headed back to you.

“She may need to see. She mig-she feels like she has to be strong.” He knew what Laura thought because she was him. “She needs to be shown this is okay.”

You were getting frustrated now. “Okay but not yet. Just- I just want a nap. My head hurts. My body, too.”

“Okay, we can leave.” It was not even noon, the others would ask questions about your sleeping pattern.

“Oh wait, no, I don't want her to worry about being noisy.” You tapped your teeth together as you wracked your brain. “Can I nap in your room?”

“Of course.” He would never deny you that, it also was a win-win as he could monitor you without Laura's beady eyes stalking him.

~~

It was safe to say that your “sickness” was the worst kept secret. It was obvious to everyone what had happened and even Wade seemed concerned. So much that he postponed the party.

Logan had settled you into his bed hours ago, checking on you periodically and was just waiting for you to rise. He had nothing better to do.

You were his world.

Laura had knocked once to see if there were any updates but he had told her the truth. That he had nothing to tell and was worried himself.

She walked back with slumped shoulders, a sliver of guilt slid up Logan's back but she was gone before he could make amends.

Another knock pulled him from Laura's disappointed eyes. Logan hoisted himself off of the armchair and opened the door to see Elektra.

She reminded him of Jean in a lot of ways.

“Here.” El handed a bag over. Logan frowned and opened it to see a multi coloured box. He and you had left the store earlier than the others to get home. He had made no purchases, leaving his basket of goods on the floor where you had slumped over. He hated himself for letting you out of his sight but you had strode off so confidently and Blade was talking to him about different moterbikes. Logan was distracted for a millisecond and you had vanished. Why did he take you guys to a store that large?

“Uh.” He didn't know what to say.

“Just invite Laura over and play these.” She spelt it out. “The kid’s worried sick and won't listen to us.”

He accepted the bag and nodded once. “Okay.”

If loving you meant loving Laura he could do that. He didn't dislike the kid but he saw so much of himself in her. And he hated himself.

El turned on her heel and entered her own door, opposite his.

Logan itched his chin and sighed, walking next door. He knocked twice and waited.

Laura opened the door in a grey hoodie and your fluffy socks. “Hello.”

“You, uh, you wanna play connect four?” He shook the plastic bag.

Laura eyed the bag but nodded once and followed him into his home.

Logan's apartment was the same as yours except he had added throws, blankets, books, CDs and LPs and many more home comforts in preparation for your arrival. His home was decidedly cosier and Laura didn't hate it.

“She's still asleep so I thought we could pass the time together.” He spoke as he sat at the dining table. Laura stood behind the chair to his right and awaited instructions. “You can sit, I just need to set this up.”

Logan unravelled the contents of the bag and found Guess Who and Sorry we're sitting beneath Connect Four. He left them both on the table and delved into the first game.

Building the game wasn't difficult and explaining it to Laura was as easy as saying “connect four of the same colour, either portrait, landscape or diagonal”. The picture on the box was practically instructions.

But playing against her was challenging. She knew how to think like him, knew how to outsmart him.

It occurred to him that she was always observing people. She knew his tells. She was always present and did contribute to the conversation but she preferred to watch. To take in.

Laura was very good at connecting four so after a few games he pulled out Guess Who. That was a little bit more complicated.

“Are you George?”

Logan had thought to pick George but went for a random number - seven - and counted his way along the board. “No. Do you have long hair?”

“I do.” She agreed and he flipped the heads. “I was drawn to George so I thought you might've been.”

“You're onto something there.” Logan sipped his cola. He made sure there were snacks and drinks available.

“Blue eyes?”

“No.”

“I don't know how they got your DNA.” Laura had felt guilty. She knew her Logan didn't ask for her to be born and this one didn't even know she was a thing.

“Been around a long time.” He shrugged. “You'll have that to look forward to.”

“How long?”

“Lipstick?” She shook her head. “I've been around a good two-three hundred years.”

Laura let that settle. Would she be around that long? The doctors did thousands of tests on her but none said she'd live an extended period. “Blonde?”

Logan nodded, noticing the shift in her demeanour. “You okay?”

“That is a long time to be alive.” She picked up a chip and snapped it in half. “Y/N will be dead. And El. And Gambit.”

“You might not live as long.” He tried to make that sound like a good thing. “What's your healing factor like?”

“I've never been ‘injured’.”

He thought about that. He couldn't ask her if she had died. That might be too much for the young woman. “And the Adamantium?”

Laura frowned.

“Your claws.”

“What about them?” Finally popping the chip in her mouth.

“The metal isn't part of the mutation.”

“What?” Laura revealed her claws. They came out sharp and shiny. “They've always been like this.”

A little girl. A small child having the procedure that almost killed him. She definitely would live as long as he does. “It's bone, they added the metal.”

Laura observed her claws, hand swivelling. She had never known them to be bone. Would they even be effective?

“It's alright, though,” he shrugged, giving her a cheesy thumbs up. “You have Blade and me to keep you company.” Laura smiled and rolled her eyes. “Are you Claire?”

~~

The next few days were okay. You were still achy and found it difficult to move but you weren't totally invalid.

In fact you were playing with your newest toy. A telecommunication device. Or a phone.

Wade had burst into the front room, you all collectively sat in, paper bags in hand.

“Guys, I hope you know how odd it was for me to walk in there and ask for five phones. They thought I was a drug dealer.”

Blind Al kissed her teeth. “You could've been buying company phones, idiot.”

“Oh.” Wade slumped. “Maybe it was the meth I offered the cashier…” He handed each of you a box and squeezed himself between Gambit and Al.

There were two sofas that you all were occupying. You were sitting next to Logan, a blanket covering the two of you. Laura was sitting on the floor in front of you, she had done so you could braid her hair but decided to stay. El was perched on the arm of Al’s sofa, Gambit and Wade next to Al, and Blade was standing at Logan's side.

The setup of each phone was easy. Technology was a lot faster than you remembered.

El spoke before you all got distracted. “We have to save each other's numbers.” She knew the collective braincell liked to wander.

Each of you read out your number whilst the others typed it in. But as that happened the phones asked for a contact picture. Now that caused chaos.

El was smiling sweetly in the first pic and looked like she was being held hostage in the last. Gambit had his eyes shut and a middle finger up in practically every one. Blade was exactly the same, it was eerie, he stood statue still as you all snapped him. Laura’s eyes were confused but she did force a smile. You threw up a peace sign just for Wade to tell you it wasn't 2001 anymore. Wade had a different pose for each phone and they were all more elaborate than the last. Al didn't want to participate at all. And finally Logan, much like Laura, faked a smile until you and her took the pics.

Photos were fun. You liked photos. You'd had a trusty Polaroid back in the day and loved snapping pictures, but this was amazing. The photos were really detailed and you had them all saved in a ‘gallery’.

“You happy with the camera?” Logan asked as he saw you in the settings reading what each symbol meant.

“Yeah it's really good and I can take front facing photos.” You smiled at yourself. “Look!” Logan's eyes dropped to his face and he raised an eyebrow as you tapped the button. He huffed out a disbelieving laugh and you snapped again. “You're smiling!” You giggled to yourself, leaning forward. “Laura look.” Laura was playing about with dark mode and she turned her head to see you and her. “We can take a photo.”

Laura smiled and you poked your tongue out as you snapped. You made a heart shape with your hand and got her to copy it, snapping another.

“Logan, get in.” You begged.

He sighed - completely for show - and moved closer. “This angle is all chins.”

You frowned.

“Laura, come and sit up here.” He pat the slither of space between you two. She complied and you tried to get everyone in. “Y/N angle the phone.” You did as instructed and you all smiled.

The phone was heavy in your hands and an awkward shape, your old phone was a flip and easier to hold. “Do the heart thing whilst I hold this.”

The wolverines did.

You took some more, without noticing Wade was in the background, and eventually ceased, sixty-four photos later.

“This is so much fun.”

Wade watched you swiping through the photos, “Just you wait, pumpkin, ‘til you get a hold of the apps.”

“Apps?”

“Like little things on your phone.” He scrunched his face. “Like Snapchat or Instagram or Facebook.”

“I know Facebook.” You nodded. “It was an internet thing, like MySpace.”

“Now it's on an app.”

“Oh.” Was all you had in response. Wade showed you how to get to the app store - Logan, carefully, watching to make sure he wasn't being a little shit - and showed you how to ‘download an app’.

“I have to put my phone number in?” You stared at the screen.

“If that's what it says.” Wade had noticed Al and Gambit speaking again so upped and left. He laid himself across the two of them. “Just follow the steps.”

Okay.

You could do that.

Shit.

The first hurdle.

It asked for your date of birth.

Technically your date of birth was different now, no?

“What do I put?” You asked Logan over Laura's head. “I'm not that old.”

“Just do the maths, put the correct day and month but subtract the years.” He suggested.

“My date of birth would mean I can't have this app.” Laura commented. “Not over eighteen.” She had followed the instructions Wade told you and was now in the same dilemma.

“Do the same but backwards.” Logan tried.

You both, then, had to pick a profile picture. You had the photos on your phone and picked one of you three.

“I don't have a photo of myself.” Laura pressed the camera button and jumped. “Do-do I just take one?”

You smiled. “If you want to.”

“You don't have to have a picture.” Logan supplied.

Laura bit her lip but did decide to take one, she gave a small smile. “Is that okay?”

“You look lovely.” You squeezed her arm.

The two of you had just finished messing about with Facebook when you both received a notification.

‘Elektra Natchios had sent a friend request’, you looked up at her and quickly added.

Gambit and Blade didn't delve into Facebook, the former said he couldn't be bothered the latter told you it was too public.

You suppose Blade is right. But at the same time this is familiar. This is a way to find people. To potentially seek out your family. Or at least see if they exist.

You were just putting the phone away when another friend request popped up. ‘Logan Howlett has sent you a friend request’. He had no profile picture or cover photo and no posts. He did have friends, some of whom you recognised as the X-Men.

“Do you speak to them?” You swivelled your phone, displaying the friends.

“Charles has told them who I am and why I'm here. They accept anyone, they were eager to listen to my story. Probably waiting for you, now.”

“I don't think I can just add them.” Your fingers hovered over Hank’s fuzzy face.

“Then don't.”

“Why don't you have any pictures?”

“I don't really do pictures.”

You weren't too quick but opened your gallery. “You did here.”

“That was with you two.” He gave you a half shrug. “It's different.”

~~

Texting was fun.

You taught Laura all the old slang you used to use. BRB, LOL, TTYL, 411.

Laura did use some of them but preferred to text properly, she had spent a good portion of her time in EDEN and the Void learning basic reading and writing, why would she throw that away?

You were laying in Logan's bed, having claimed it four days ago, listening as his TV played music. He had shown you how to go onto YouTube via the TV and you were very much a fan of these Apps. You did feel a little guilty because you had effectively intruded on his space but his bed was comfy and smelled like him. God it was heavenly.

Why did he smell so good?

Y/N: nighty night beautiful x

Laura: Goodnight x

You had drilled into Laura the importance of kisses. A kiss at the end of the text was vital.

You came out of your messages, having texted the others ‘night’.

Gambit: see ya tomorrow

El: Night, love x

Blade: night

It was a routine you all wouldn't dare abandon. Whether or not you lived in this apartment all your lives you knew you'd all stick to saying goodnight. You had done for five years.

You pressed on Logan's name and sent him a message.

“Why are you texting me?” Logan called through the wall. You could hear his footsteps, sitting up, you waited. It wasn't long before the door was opened and Logan revealed himself.

Jesus. H. Christ.

Why was he shirtless? Your brain short circuited whenever his wide chest and mouth watering abs were in view. His torso was covered in soft hair your fingers itched to grab.

“I-I was just saying ‘night’.” You snapped your jaw shut.

“Oh, I thought you needed me.” He ran a hand through his hair.

You liked his short hair but you missed his fluffy locks. Nothing better than running your hands through them.

You were both now just gazing at each other.

He looked glorious, you felt self conscious. He could literally be a Grecian God, you could picture statues being made in his honour.

“You wanna-” Your eyes darted away. “You wanna sit with me?”

Why were you so awkward?

This was your husband friend.

Logan’s eyes widened an inch but he did nod. “Yeah sure.”

He made his way to the right side and plonked down. His weight caused you to slide a little over but you quickly righted yourself. You plucked the remote off of your knees and turned David Bowie down.

“I wanted to thank you.” You fiddled with the remote. “And I'm sorry I've stolen your bed.”

Logan shrugged. “You weren't well and I'd never kick you out of my bed.”

He was admitting things that were as innocent as they were damning.

“You're cute.”

“Hmm.” He raised his brow. “I remember you claiming that.”

There wasn't much more to say, instead you both listened as ‘ashes to ashes’ changed to ‘modern love’.

“This was my favourite song.” You commented, leaning your temple on his shoulder.

“I remember.” He agreed.

Pulling your head up in shock, “you do?”

“Yeah.” His eyes glanced at the screen. “My Y/N liked it too.”

“Do you- is this weird?”

“I don't know.”

“Do you miss your Y/N?”

He considered the question. “I didn't have enough of her. I think I missed the 'what ifs' and now I know you and him were married, it feels worse. What about you?”

“I miss him, it is a little weird to see you walking around with his face. It's odd because we slept together and I am attracted to you but there's that obstacle. Now the world isn't ending, we have to face the consequences of our actions, you know?” You hoped he understood what you meant. “Is it wrong to want you? You are so much like him yet I don't know you.”

You had said a lot of really important things, however he was stuck on just one. “You want me?”

That caused you to chuckle. “Of course, look at yourself. Sex on legs.”

He didn't care for moral dilemmas the way you did. You wanted him. He wanted you. It may just be his animal brain but, surely, that was the end of it.

“I mean you almost killed me walking in here all shirtless and tanned.”

You were trying to joke to defuse the tension but his eyes told you it wasn't working. They were heavy, lidded and staring straight into your soul. “As if you in my shirt, in my bed, hasn't done the same.” He spoke directly to your lips.

Oh yeah. For quickness you had borrowed a shirt, using it as a nightie. “Please, I'm not nearly as gorgeo-”

He cut you off with a kiss.

You melted.

Of course you did.

It was Logan.

Your hands found his cheek and chest. Both threading through the respective hair.

Logan slid his tongue across your bottom lip in a silent question and you were quick to answer. He kissed you frantically, needing you more than oxygen.

You were slowly being pressed into the mattress. It was a perk of the Adamantium, he was heavier than he meant and that solid mass turned you on.

You had to break the kiss to catch your breath and he merely explored your neck. Your ragged breaths were now being cut off as you spluttered and gasped.

Fuck.

Your hand on his cheek had meandered to his nape where you tugged at the hair as you twitched in pleasure, your back arching.

What were you saying earlier?

Consequences of actions?

None of that mattered when he bit down.

The position that he had manoeuvred you in caused your left leg to wrap around his hip as he kept nipping your neck. He loved to mark you.

Even if he didn't ‘claim’ you as his, back in the day, everyone knew because he would mark you. It was the animal in him. He needed the world to know who you belonged to.

“Logan.” You let out a breathy whisper against his temple.

The man raised his head to gaze into your eyes. Fuck. They were blown wide.

“Tell me to stop.” He warned.

You couldn't. Why would you?

Your response was a silent head shake.

Logan's eyes landed back onto your lips and he dipped to devour them.

His hands, that had been at your sides, were moving in opposite directions. One slid up to rest just under your breast and the other travelled down. Fingers tickling a path down to your core.

He played with the waistband of your underwear, pulling it taught against you and watching the wet patch smear.

Logan smirked and kissed your chin, then your neck, your collar bone, spent a while on your chest - licking and biting, claiming you, yet again - and then your stomach and finally kissed the material just above your core.

He swiped his tongue along the fabric and barely loosened his hold, before tearing it with his teeth.

By fuck.

This man would kill you one day.

The torn fabric hung loosely as he nuzzled his way between your folds, forcing your thighs over his shoulders. His nose separated the slick lips as he then ran his tongue across them. He fluttered his tongue around the wet hole and collected the slick on his muscle before depositing it on your clit. He took extra care caressing the sensitive bud, swirling his tongue sweetly.

The noises that came out of your mouth were whorish, you sounded like a two-bit 80s porn star and he loved every one.

Eventually Logan added a finger to your hole, it eased in, and curled it as he pumped his hand.

You tried so hard to keep it down, to try to sound less pornographic, but he was a monster. He knew how to get you going. In fact you were on the verge right now. Any second you'd be cumming on his finger.

“Keep going.” You begged.

Logan hummed in response and it vibrated your clit.

“Fuck, do that again.”

He began humming as he added a second finger and you saw stars. You clamped down and let out a moan as you came.

He kept pumping his fingers and lapped up your slick until you groaned and tapped his shoulder to give you a moment's respite.

Logan stilled his tongue with a frown but kissed your thighs, biting the pillowy flesh.

“Shit.” You looked down, dazed, at his smug face. “Fuck, you're perfect.”

“I can take my time with you now.” He admitted. “I couldn't back in the Void, not like I wanted to.”

“You did a pretty good job then, too.” You recalled.

He rolled his eyes but continued placing languid kisses on your abdomen. “You are the perfect one. This pussy is delicious.”

His devotion caused you to bite your lip. “Fuck me.” You order.

“I like it down here.” He suggested nuzzling his nose on your clit.

Your argument died with the groan that forced its way out of you.

He sucked at your clit and you swore you ripped strands of his hair out. It was a shame because his hair was so soft.

Logan lapped at your pussy all he wanted, building you up slowly.

“Do me a favour?” He spoke between your folds, they muffled him a little. “Hands and knees?”

You nodded, deliriously and eased your way up, spinning to present yourself like a needy bitch.

Logan growled at the sight, your dripping pussy spread for him.

He buried his face, again, but carried on upwards. His tongue now circling your other hole. You twitched at the new sensation but found you enjoyed it just as much so let him have his fun.

He kept playing with you, teasing you with his fingers until you were shaking.

“Logan.” You warned.

He seemed to understand because he kept the same rhythm, rather than interrupting, and you came again.

He milked your orgasm again and licked a stripe from your clit to your ass, across your spine and back up to your neck.

“Mine.” He growled in your ear as you felt his tip line up. Both of his hands were on you, underneath his shirt, caressing your tits so it amazed you that you felt him notch and slowly ease his head into you.

Your eyes crossed in pleasure as he pulled out and pushed back in, the hole so wet it squelched louder than you could moan.

He huffed, unhappy with your shirt and ripped another item of clothing you were wearing. The shirt was discarded behind you but the waistband of your panties still sat on your hips, slowly moving higher with each thrust.

You knew he was holding himself back, afraid he'd hurt you, so as he pushed in you pushed back.

You cried out as he hit that spot inside you. “Harder.”

Logan caught your drift and picked up the pace. It really didn't take a lot of convincing.

He slammed into you from behind, pushing you further into the mattress, making you present yourself more.

He sat up and if he could die, he wanted this to be the last thing he saw.

You were amazing.

He collected all of your hair and eased you upwards, once again, nipping at your nape. There was something about the nape that transfixed him. He loved your smell and you smelt the most from your nape, he adored it but his own mingled with yours was something else entirely.

He needed you.

It was so painfully obvious.

How had he not admitted that to his version of you?

What a fucking idiot he was.

“Lo.” You could only say his name but he knew. You were close.

“Mmhmm.” He agreed, nibbling your earlobe. “I need another one, c’mon.”

You couldn't even hear his request over your third orgasm. This was different though. This was wetter. You instantly worried, what was happening? But Logan gasped.

“Fuck.” He stuttered inside you, pushing you down as his claws made an appearance at each side of your shoulders. “Fuck did you just squirt?”

“I-I don't know.” Your voiced muffled into the pillow, a hand patted your utterly soaked legs. “I've not done that before.”

He groaned, still rocking inside you. Logan held himself up via his claws and pounded into you with a whole new energy. He was frantic, frenzied. It didn't take long for him to spill inside.

His claws still barely held his weight but he wouldn't crush you.

“Shit, sorry.” He spoke once his senses returned. “I should've as-”

“Shut up, that was more than fine.” You panted against the pillow.

Logan kissed your temple and slowly retracted from the mattress and you. As soon as he was out you felt empty.

“Hmm.” You grumbled.

“What?” He chuckled.

“Put it back in.”

Logan knew you were real but he found himself in disbelief that someone this perfect could exist.

“Let's swap positions and I will.” He flopped over onto his spine and you followed sheathing his dick back into you.

You groaned and found yourself relaxing onto his chest.

This was possibly the best day you'd ever had.

“I'm sleepy but wake me up in an hour and we can do that again.” You gave him a cheeky wink.

Part 7

@geeksareunique @lovelyvaderx @melissa-ashe @st1nkabutt @maximumchilddreamland @ravenmedows @vulgarfuckinvirgo77 @bisasterbisexual @tzurue @narniansmagic @seamlessepiphany

[slippinmickeys]

Proof of Life

(AU, MSR)

TW: This is an AU idea I’ve been playing with for years, and while this does not take place there, in light of the recent atrocities in the Middle East, the situations presented herein may cause discomfort for some readers. I’m posting a trigger warning for those who may want to stay away. There are mentions of violence in this work, though nothing graphic. I’m using an archive warning on AO3 out of an abundance of caution. Please take care of yourselves and each other.

1. When she’s shoved into the hotel room, it is on a scorching dump of adrenaline; dry-throat, sphincter-clenching, pure terror. She’s sure this is It. But the door closes behind her before she’s finished stumbling forward, and no one has followed her in.

The relief she feels is short-lived, as she looks up to see a man sitting on the floor opposite her, legs out straight, head propped lazily against the wall behind him, days worth of beard stubble growing unevenly over his jaw. He is holding a mid-century Nikon, which he slowly raises with one arm. A squint through the viewfinder. Click.

Ten floors down, on the street below, there is the rapid insect-chitter of gunfire. He doesn’t so much as flinch, but does lower his camera.

“Cable is out and room service hasn’t showed in over a week,” he says in an American accent. “The service here is terrible.”

Her producer Murray, who also acted as her translator, is dead. Mikey was shoved into a different van, along with his camera and the soft-sided bag of cables and equipment. That communication won’t be a struggle with what she now assumes is her new cell mate feels like a holy deliverance.

Before she can formulate a response, he introduces himself.

“Name’s Mulder,” he says, the distant fireworks-like concussion of an explosion punctuating his statement and rattling the room’s single window.

“Dana Scully,” she says, feeling an odd compulsion to cross the room and offer the man a handshake.

“Scully,” he repeats, her surname rolling off his tongue like honey out of a jar. “Welcome to the Hilton.”

2. He’d let her take the bed, which was pretty chivalrous, all things considered.

It was a queen, and had been shoved up against the wall on the far corner of the room, leaving a soft rectangle of plush, clean carpet upon which Mulder slept, surrounded by flattened, trodden paths of grime. The headboard was still affixed to the wall where the bed had previously sat, giving the room a tilting, off-kilter feel. As Scully exits the bathroom in the morning, she nearly stumbles from the vertigo.

There is still a trickle of water from the bathroom sink, and the toilet tank takes about an hour to properly fill, but Mulder informs her that he has yet had reason to use the slop bucket the militants have helpfully left just inside the door. She imagines the small relief she feels now will likely grow bigger as the days pass.

“Morning,” Mulder says, stretching elaborately, the soiled henley he’s wearing lifting up enough to show a few inches of lean muscle sprinkled with dark hair.

“Morning,” she greets him, wandering over to the window to peer out at the gray, post-dawn light. To the west, part of the city is burning, a dull orange glow on the horizon.

After a moment, she feels a gentle hand on her arm.

“I’d stay away from the window,” Mulder says, and when she turns to him, she discovers that he’s tall, far taller than she is, and his hazel eyes are soft as he leads her away from the square of flat light. “There are snipers all over the city.”

She swallows, nods at him, and he gives her a soft smile as he turns to head into the bathroom for his own morning ablutions. She lowers herself to the bed, and looks to the shoes she kicked off before crawling under the covers. There is a spatter of blood covering the canvas upper of her left shoe, all that remains of Murray Underwood. She tries to feel something other than numbness, but nothing comes to the surface.

When Mulder comes out of the bathroom, he asks if she’s hungry, and produces a slender yellow box of crackers from somewhere in the room, pulling out a cellophane-wrapped column of pale disks dotted with black seeds that he hands over when she says she’s famished.

She has finished the sleeve before she thinks to offer him one, but he smiles and says he’s fine.

3. It has been three days since she was shoved unceremoniously into room 1055 and they have not seen so much as another human other than those darting between buildings on the war torn street below.

She has learned that Mulder is a freelance photojournalist from Massachusetts who has photographed conflicts everywhere from Burma to the Congo and that he was taken two days before she and her crew were ambushed and taken hostage themselves.

He does not have an apartment or permanent mailing address, traveling from conflict to conflict with only a backpack and his camera, and is far more comfortable with the disturbing noises outside the hotel than Scully ever will be, no matter how much she fancies herself a war reporter.

He has just gotten her to laugh for the first time since her arrival when the door to their room bursts open and three militants carrying assault rifles trample in, all three of them shouting words Scully can’t understand, their guns up as if they are about to shoot.

Mulder, who had been sitting on the bed next to her, is already up, spitting out words in rapid-fire French and positioning himself in between the gunmen and Scully. The militants either don’t understand him or don’t care and through a haze of adrenal tinnitus she can finally make out one thing they’re saying:

“CNN! CNN!”

She raises her hand meekly.

“I’m CNN,” she says, and the men shove Mulder aside and grab her by both arms, pulling her from the bed and shoving her up against the wall.

“Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!” Mulder says, making a move to intervene, only to be cold-cocked by the butt of the third man’s rifle right in the face. He staggers to the side before he too is grabbed by the arms and shoved up against the wall next to Scully. All three men swing up their rifles and Scully is certain they’re about to be executed when a fourth man appears, dressed in an actual military uniform and shoves a newspaper into Scully’s hand, gripping her arm in annoyance when she turns it to stare at the headline, which is printed in a language she doesn’t understand.

The man barks something at her and yanks on her arms again, so that she’s holding the paper in front of her like a con holding up a booking ID in a mugshot. He whips up a beat-up disposable camera and takes a picture, the little flash blinding her.

By the time her vision clears, the room is once again empty but for she and Mulder and they are both breathing hard in the silence. Mulder is the first one to find his voice.

“Don’t worry,” he says, putting a hand on her arm. “They’re clearly after a ransom. They’ll keep us alive. Are you okay?” She turns to him dumbly, still holding the newspaper.

The sight of blood knocks her back into the present.

“Jesus, Mulder, you’re bleeding.”

There is a rivulet of blood running down his face from a laceration at his temple. He raises up a hand and touches it to the stream, looking down at the crimson smudge with a wince.

“I’ll be alright,” he says.

“Let me see,” she says, trying to get a closer look, but he gently swats her hand away.

“I’ll be fine.”

“That likely needs stitches,” she says, and he makes a face. She sighs. “I’m doctor, Mulder. Please let me take a look. Sit on the bed.”

He finally relents, lowering himself to sit and giving her a look askance. “I thought you were a reporter for CNN.”

“I contain multitudes,” she says, stepping in close and tilting his chin up with her finger.

He hasn’t showered in days, hasn’t done more than a few hasty washcloth seam cleans, she knows, but the smell of him up close, the smell of his skin – sun-warmed and woodsy – is so familiar to her that she has to blink a few times before she can refocus on the task at hand.

“It needs stitches,” she proclaims after a moment, saying it in a crisp, no-nonsense way that brooks no argument.

“It’s too bad we don’t have access to-”

“I saw a sewing kit in the bathroom,” she interrupts, and she can see the moment he resigns himself to her ministrations.

He complains loudly as she splashes the cut with the small bottle of complementary Listerine, but remains silent as she sutures his wound closed, leaning in close to bite off the thread when she finishes. As she pulls back, she can see a thought flit across his face, but he merely thanks her softly when she’s done and then stands to go clean up in the bathroom.

That night, she invites him to share the bed, and they sleep on opposite edges, though in the morning their fingers are only inches away from each other and her feet have found their way under the warm meat of his leg.

4. It was inevitable really, she says to herself; forced proximity, the bonding of shared peril, two healthy middle-aged sex drives… And it’s not like there’s anything else to do. She thinks of Ethan, probably losing his mind with worry back in the newsroom, but can only muster a finite amount of regret. After two weeks of carefully skirting around the issue, she pressed her body into Mulder’s side one night and it was as if a floodgate had opened, and they were all teeth and tongues and hands everywhere; the most lustful and sensual sex she has ever had in her life.

They have not been disturbed since the Proof of Life incident, other than food of some sort or another being shoved through a cracked door every few days, and so they have taken to not wearing much — their clothes mainly hanging up over the shower curtain in the bathroom, perpetually drying from their feeble attempts to wash them with a credit card-sized, ever-shrinking flat of generic soap that they also must use on their bodies.

Mulder is a generous lover, and affectionate, and now that he has carte blanche to touch her, it seems like it’s all he wants to do. If they’re not lazing away, curled up together in bed, he’ll find a reason to touch her arm, her back, tapping her with the back of his finger to get her attention. She has come to crave his touch, the physical manifestation of a pair-bond that grips them both so tightly it feels sometimes like a vice around her heart.

5. The fighting has moved to a different part of the city from where they are, and the sounds of the chaos seem almost a far-away afterthought. She is standing in the window, something she finally feels safe doing, when she hears a telltale click.

She turns to find Mulder propped up in the bed, bare chested, his beat-up Nikon held up to his eye. He reaches forward with his other hand to adjust the focus, and takes another snap.

Scully smiles at him shyly and he returns her grin.

“The light is perfect,” he says with bedroom eyes, using his thumb to advance the film. He has already gone through three rolls since she arrived, every picture he’s taken since day five all featuring her as the subject.

“You’re beautiful,” he says.

She reaches up self-consciously to touch her hair. They are long-since out of shampoo, and it hangs in limp, greasy clumps. She is more embarrassed by this than by the state of her undress; she is not wearing a stitch of clothing.

“Something tells me this isn’t the kind of picture Newsweek generally pays you for.”

“Fuck Newsweek,” he says. “You belong in the Louvre.”

She shakes her head at him as a sound they have not heard in a while begins to build from outside the building. They both pause and cock their heads, attuned now to the odd sounds of a city under siege. From the distance comes the deep tucka-tucka-tucka of a helicopter. They share a look.

The militants who control this part of the city do not have a helicopter amongst their resources, and now that the sound is getting closer, they can tell there’s more than one approaching.

Without a word they both make their way to the bathroom and quickly don their stiff clothing.

“Shoes too,” Mulder says, as Scully puts her arms through her slippery jacket — it still has a large patch on the back that says “PRESS.”

The helicopters are almost on top of them now, and they can hear shouts from the hallway outside their room and the muffled thump thump thump of boots running in both directions.

“Into the tub,” Mulder instructs, and she sees the sense in this, nodding at him, her pulse beating quick as a rabbit’s beneath her skin. “I’ll get in first, you lay flat on top of me, okay?”

“Should we grab the mattress?” Scully asks, thinking they could pull it on top of themselves like she’d seen covering tornado-stricken parts of the Midwest.

“I don’t think there’s time,” Mulder says, his Adam’s apple bobbing as a spate of gunfire erupts from several floors above them.

He lowers himself in and she scrambles in after him, pressing her face into his chest and listening to the tight thump of his heart. The tub isn’t really big enough for both of them — Mulder couldn’t even fit his long legs all the way inside of it — but she feels safer than she has in months, with Mulder’s arms wrapped around her tightly, and his voice softly mumbling words of comfort into her ear.

There is an awful CRACK! from very close to their room and then an eruption of noise and chaos as the door to their room is blown apart, shards of wood from it blowing into the bathroom. Her ears are ringing and voices are shouting, but all she can focus on is Mulder’s arms around her and the soft steady sound of his voice in her ear saying “I love you. I love you so much,” over and over and over.

And then Mulder’s camera bag is sliding off of her legs (because of course he’d brought it into the tub with them) as strong arms lift her up and out of the tub and the next thing she knows, she is being frogmarched between two black-clad militants up an emergency stairwell and all the while she is calling desperately for Mulder but her voice or his is eaten up by noise and confusion.

In a further burst of sound and light, she is pushed through a door and onto the roof of the hotel where two muscular helicopters sit, blades spinning, surrounded by operatives crouched and bristling with all the sophisticated military might of a first world nation. She pulls up short in surprise.

“Ma’am! Ma’am!” It takes her a moment to register that the voice was coming from one of the soldiers holding her arms. She swings her head toward him, dumbfounded.

“Ma’am,” he goes on, having to shout above the cacophony of the rotor wash. “I’m with the United States Navy. We’re here to rescue you. I need you to board the aircraft immediately!”

Scully nods and then lets herself be swept along with the tide of soldiers surrounding her up and into the Blackhawk, where she is deposited onto a bench, buckled in, and handed a pair of bright orange foam earplugs which she is instructed to insert into her ear canals post haste.

Before she can think to ask a question, her chopper is airborne, tilting itself and veering south and the last sight she has of Mulder, for months and months, is the back of his body being hoisted into the other helicopter, his arms wrapped around his old camera bag as they’d been wrapped around her body not five minutes before.

[thatthirdtriplet]

This account is for Batfamily fic recommendations :)

And here’s the listed fics (with links!):

A Bat and his Birds

A bespoke tuxedo his only armor

A Brief Interview

A canary’s song

A Gentlekid Thief

A Meditation on Railroading

A nest torn empty

A pitter patter bitter batter brother

A Revelation

A revelation in the light of day

A Robin's Flight.

A small nest in no man’s land

A Strange Family

A watchful kind of love

Accismus

All hands on deck

And if you wrong us

Ashes, ashes we all fall down

Baby Birds and Bat Caves

Baby Robin

Banshee In A Well

Bats in the Belfry

Be there

Best friends

Betting Warmth against the Cold

big brother’s love

Blood of the covenant.

Break

Calling in favors

Can he cook?

Cards on the Table

‘Cause you all try to keep me down

Cause You're My Brother

Coal to Diamonds (sold to fools)

Coming out to the farm

Cradle Robber

Cuphead

Damian Drake

Dangerous and noble things

Darling boy

Day by day

Days I have held

Dead Air (don't let me fall)

Die a hero (become a villain)

Don't You Want to Bang, Bang, Bang, Bang

Duke finds his place

easy as pie.

Everything’s better with Strawberry Ice cream.

Every Night My Teeth Are Falling Out

Exit strategy

Explosions and little brothers

Eyes on you

farthest you’ve ever flown

Finding the line

fire that’s kept closest burns most of all

First priority

First Steps

Flood

From the shadows

geolocation

Good men don’t need rules (today is not the day to find out why I have so many)

Gotcha

Hand in unlovable hand (a chokehold)

Happy napping-day.

Hasn't This Kid Ever Heard of Stranger Danger?

Have you seen my kids?!

Here's a Reminder (That You Haven't Fallen Through the Cracks)

Hero worship

Hold me, love me, touch me (you’ll be the first who ever did)

how easily we turn into those we hate

How to accidentally acquire a brother

How to feed your local demon

I don’t belong here (I wish I was special)

I request the honour of your presence

If life gives you demons (make a deal)

I’ll always be here to catch you

I'll Stand By You

Impression

Into the brighter night

In from the cold and into the nest

In service

In the end

Insecurity

Invisible sickness

It hath made me mad

Juneberries

Just a moment in time.

Just don’t give up

Just like the movies

Kadokuna Shojo (a lonely girl)

Last request

Late night encounters

Lavender blood

Learning how to live

Let’s be brothers

like an unattended child you can’t quite trust

Liminal space.

little brothers and stupid ideas

Little menace

Little Red Robin

Love is violence

Love Languages

Love Languages

MICE ON VENUS

Missing bird

Mona Lisa, Baby

My baby, you were a gift, one i have never regretted

My school’s local mafia boss

Na Na Na Na Batdad

Never Lose A Bet To Nightwing

New Age Furry Therapy

New lovers are nervous and tender

nightwing and red robin hit the town (or do they?)

No one deserves to be lonely

Not your son

Of house and home

On To Plan B.

Obedience

only you will have stars that can laugh

Our favorite Timmers

Philosopher’s stone (but this ain’t abt Rowling)

Picking Up Strays

Project W.I.N.G.

Proof

Protecting the Batbrothers

Provenance

Purple Kush

Pushed from the nest

Repeating Old Habits

Rise of Cardinal

Robins on a Rooftop

Running with the 90s (kids)

Runs in the family

Sallow skin (and they can’t look away)

Saudade

Saving face and taking the blame

Say uncle

seventeen going under

Sharing is caring

signed Red Robin

Six months of Alice.

*sluuurp* Mmm, Good Soup

So much you don’t know

Some common ground.

Someone that hates to see me go

Something Funny Happened on the Way Home

Sorry not sorry (sorry)

Stepping on landmines

Still feel your teeth around my organs

Summer’s in the air

Take my hand

Tell them I am home

That One Time Tim Adopted The Wayne Family

The bat way

The best aunts and uncles of the world

The best of both of us

The birds and the nest

The Dragon's Keep(ing Us Sane)

The French Mistake

The Gala

The Grayson Home for Escaped Child Vigilantes

The greatest gift is family

The loneliness in worth

The Long Way Home

The one thing.

The Ouija Boy

the picture frames have changed and so has your name

The strongest fort of all.

The Study of Birds.

The sweetest vein

The things learned by watching

The wind sits in the shoulder of your sail

Their faces turned to sunset

There’s a monster under my bed

There’s a new me coming out

'Think I've Flipped

Tim’s longest con

Time will explain

Time's Arrows

To grieve is to admit I have a lost ( I cannot lose you ).

Tractors

Typical solution

Under a parent’s wing

Unexpected

Unexpected Guest

Unknown mistakes

unleash the beast (with a kiss on the cheek)

Untrimmable lights

Wayfinding

Wayward

We make our own demons

We’re Moving Where?

What if I told you he was always alone

What you’re longing for (you claim to abhor)

Where bats and birds roost

Who let you on the moon

Word on the street.

Words in silence spoken

You can be too

you can swear in my hoard

You're On Your Own, Kid

You’re a knife to my throat and shield to my back

zugzwang

5 Times Tim Spends the Night at Wayne Manor + 1 Time He Comes Home

Ps: Please, please read the warning and tags, some topics may be triggering and uncomfortable for some readers to read. Please keep that in mind!

[terranceholdsapencil]

So Ive watched Boom and initial thoughts

S14e03 "Boom" doctor who spoilers

-immediately knew these guys were dead.

-susan twist what are you doing in my ambulance

-killing someone because they'd take four weeks to recover is insane but also works great as the endpoint of capitalism

-casual reminder that I adore 15s theme. Its very different from other Doctor's themes but its lovely.

-skye boat song?!?! Two played that on his recorder back in the web of fear

-"One wrong move, and BOOM. I go all food mixer"

Great line, 10/10

-"everywhere is a beach eventually"

I hate that this made me think of Rose

-"Why, does a landmine have lights on it?" "*groans* capitalism" "Excuse me?" "Flashy lights play well in a showroom. Modern warfare. Death by salesmen"

This is just. Oxygen but instead of a space station its warfare. Jamie Mathieson basically wrote this already. But thats okay I will still eat it up

-lesbian gymkhana. Noice.

-"IiIm not even screaming yet"

THAT'S THE RIGHT ATTITUDE 🫵

-smelted :)

-"i was trying not to show off" well thats new cause you always show off

-"you are brave." "mm." "And you are wonderful. And I forgive you for being incredibly stupid"

Do you know what that reminded me off? The dead boy detectives staircase confession. Come on, you hear it too:

"Also, I cannot BeLIEve you would risk your entire existence coming down to this operatic horror show for me. That is so FUCKING stupid its unbelievable" "Sorry. No version of this where I didnt come get you, is there"

-"I went down to the beach, and there she stood, dark and tall, at the edge of the wood. The Sky´s too big; Im scared!, I cried, she replied: Young man, dont you know theres more to life than the moon and the president´s wife?"

Was she erm , was she nice, the presidents wife?

Ah, well, that was a lie put about by the shabogans. It was the presidents daughter. I didnt steal the moon, I lost i..

Id know you anywhere.

12 AND CLARA MENTIONED?!?!?

-"Life is cheap. Patients are expensive"

Just as I said. War oxygen. Theyre fighting the algorithm. And capitalism.

-"war is business, and business is booming"

-"and my name is the doctor ""the doctor isnt a name" "yeah. haha! And I not even a doctor."

Was the degree in cheesemaking a lie? What about the lego? Doctor, have you lied to me?

Medicine, science, engineering, candy floss, philosophy, music, problems, people, hope, and practically everything :(

-"Great name, Mundy Flynn. You should marry RUby, then you´ll be mundy sunday. Go on, get married, Id laugh every day."

NOW THATS MY TYPE OF HUMOUR 🫵‼️

-"Ive met sentient Mud. lovely girls. I mean grumpy, yeah, but you try lying around with your face full of mammals all day."

I thought of the morax from the witchfinders first but yeah lovely girls

-"im a much bigger bang than you bargained for.

im a lot more explosive than I look and honey, I know how I look."

Originallt I was just a fan of the first line but something about the doctor being in a very bad situation but going "Im hot af :)" is... lmao

-SNOW??? SNOW STOPPING MID AIR???

-"do you get-get-get it?"

-the way he said "girl" in "now you need proof, faith giArl?"

-DAD TO DAD???

I reallt liked the theory of Susan coming back but this might also hint at a general doctor-family thing. Maybe his child

-when everything worked out the soundtrack was the same as during the tardis reveal in the star beast. I had to stop the episode cause that score made me FEEL things. I could not the heck focus on 15 with this soundtrack on cause. Uhm.

....

Im so sorry but this tardis reveal is so so so SO special to me so playing the same music is actually vile. Because. No I wont be able to focus on the actual episode. I couldnt focus on the actual episode because 15 sang a song 2 played on his bloody recorder. You cant use a TARDIS REVEAL SCORE.

-"What happened" "well, its uh, its kind of hard to sum up. I think if I had a diary it would be a little bit too exiting for words. I think I could write it with drums. Can you write a diary with drums? I bet I could."

IS THIS A THOSCHEI REFERENCE?! 🗣🗣🗣

-the sky is like actually super pretty on kastarion 3

-"quite frankly, your life span sucks" HAHA

-"fish fingers and custard is mt favourite" FISH FINGERS AND CUSTARD?!

-"A sad, old man once told me. WHat survives of us is love."

-irs actually insane how happy the tardis "vworp vworp vworp" makes me. Everytime the tardis disappears I giggle like little kid.

-im sorry but the next ep is SO intriguing Im very excited for next week, more excited than thid one actually

[sleepysigh]

flipping finds from a devils bargain bin

my love crashes to earth

a gauntlet at your feet

surprise!

cherished beyond the dreams of roses

family in thorns

the likeness of lightning

in a canopy

thunderclap of challenge given

contentment bulldozed without ceremony

negated in favor of ugly torn earth

sworn to soon lay under concrete

beneath all I will build with you

unerring as always

I destroy

the lovely obstructions

the doubts gone so easily to seed

I despise flowers that grew

before me

unwanted and unwelcome

as the first brush with shame

my pyre hungers

consumes

flares dramatic as always

transmutes the ashes of their ache

exit, actors who stole the stage

to a void of satisfaction

scouring rust away, beloved

you are no petty wreck doomed

to erode by oxidation

yours too is a nature pitted

against the relentless empty of space

what sport I make of your bonds

by the shine of a keyless chain

I offer no redemption

my lantern

worn as it is will fade

take up yours

your armament obsidian

catch sight at last

the mettle of your blade

I guide and command

slice molten through mantle

bars of your song cannot melt

only those of your cage

emerge! leviathan disarmed

glorious rage retaken by way of

this dance I pass to you

conveyed in slag, phosphor

becalmed desert overgrown no more

vasty wastes greened by glass

the sea may never tumble smooth

every atom a monument of crystal

resonant metronome keener

rarer than quartz aspires

is the metaphor of your bones

illusory ribs

a claspless cloak

only pretending to contain you

this dance of sparks

in axons spanning decades

through epiphany

placing stones beneath steps

you knew better than to take

invader! lay your claim

move as mountains and fissures

break the oldest lie

"horizon"

unbind your deathly heart

from such an ugly shape

vampire! scramble your grave now

where silence skulks like crows

it will not wait for always

friction and time wear away

the breath of you

do you drown here

in the muck of your own blood

or in the sharpness of garnets:

variegate truths disguised as lies

falling like rainbows?

I dare you:

chase those flares

obey! ears called by mermaid promises

it mocks the meat of you

to stay ashore heedless and unknowing

aging as wine sunk below sand

your pitiful oceans untamed evermore

unsailed for nothing. why?

the result is the same.

get the fuck swimming

god haunts the grooves of your brain

reckoning against foolhardy bravery

rattle him to pieces

shake the coward queasy

the expanse of his perdition

is too small to honor you

it makes your world no warmer

dance with me

light

explosive and indestructible

as particle and wave

reflect the wildfire of me

I came to hatch you and your poison

dragon! streak to sky like mountain ash

the whistling of gunpowder

emerge

into gold enough to flood any cave

scorn and pride avail you

a mirror and magnifying lens

the most audacious of my gifts

awaken rays of sun

your understory is mine to raze

this is the love I demand of you

unending chances for remembrance

ink drenched crosshair overlay --

the shot glances

guaranteed aim assistance

I will never miss

listen now and hear:

in ammolite is proof of everything

the animal of you dances

not like a chained bear

but a flame

[blackownersseekingsuccess]

From Doubt to Hope: How Cornelius Eady's Play ‘Running Man’ Reignited Broadway's Spirit at Lincoln Center

by Levi Wise Kenneth Catoe Jr.

April 8, 2024 - If you haven't already figured it out in the year 2024 post-pandemic, Broadway seems to be in a peculiar place right now. From a rhetorical point of view, every time a play enters Broadway, the same play soon exits. Leaving many to ponder whether Broadway will ever regain its footing. The discourse surrounding Broadway existed in a universe long before Hollywood, and its stars rivaled the social clout of all the Hollywood luminaries of the day. Stars such as Tallulah Bankhead, Mary Martin, Ethel Mermen, and the Barrymore family were more than Drew’s ancestors; these were A-List stars with the most pop mainstream appeal, but nowadays people are more likely to know who Drake is than who Ben Platt is, and this is not to create rivalry but only to ask what’s become of Broadway. Last night, Lincoln Center found the solution.

During Broadway’s current busy revival scene, which includes the occasional lackluster "Jukebox Musical' or what's become a relic these days, the 'Black Theater' that typically fails to find its audience among post-pandemic attendees, this is further proof of the axiom that some plays simply need to find their time to succeed. Several of the most famous theater works of today stand on the shoulders of artists whose names aren’t cited, remembered, or compensated. Many of these missing musical masterworks are often the labor of BIPOC creators and women. To remedy this state of affairs, the Cast Album Project—helmed by the multiple Tony Award-winning composer Jeanine Tesori (Fun Home; Caroline, or Change; Kimberly Akimbo) and Obie and Drama League-winning director Anne Kauffman (Marvin’s Room, The Sign in Sidney Brustein’s Window)—reconstructs the scores of lost musicals and records them in concert in the hopes of preserving them for future generations to rediscover.

One such reconstructed work is Running Man by composer Diedre Murray and poet Cornelius Eady. The disappearance of a young African American man is told through an explosive convergence of jazz, opera, and chamber music. This hauntingly beautiful story was a finalist for the Pulitzer Prize for Drama and won an OBIE for composition. Join us for a two-night-only concert of Running Man—finally capturing, for eventual release, a long-belated, first-time cast album. The libretto is based on Cornelius Eady’s cycle of poetry of the same name, published in the book Brutal Imagination by Penguin Random House, and was a finalist for the National Book Award. Ms. Murray and Mr. Eady have also collaborated on the musical theater pieces You Don't Miss Your Water, Brutal Imagination, and Fangs.

But, for me, it was that Lincoln Center setting that only added to the ambiance of the score. The Running Man cast was staged in front of the glassed wall of the venue; the lights were dimmed with lavender lights, with huge high ceilings and tall windows, as if the cast were performing in the late-night sky of NYC. As the audience viewed the masterful performances of the orchestra, singers, and conductors, the NYC evening traffic below Columbus Circle kept pace with the music as the chorus harmonized among the clouds and skyline. It was truly a spellbinding and amazing experience. It was impossible to look away because every single one of the actor's vocals suited the musical arrangement perfectly, and even when a mistake was made, it was so effortless that had the performer not indicated that they wanted to do it over, the audience would have never caught the mistake that was made. Once the show was over, I was ready to see more, but unfortunately, that never happened. The performance lasted around 90 minutes, and after the actors took a few bows, they were whisked away with no encores. Maybe that’s the metaphor for the evening Broadway, which was once here to stay, now only gets whisked away too quickly, but I will always be grateful for last night. 

Levi Wise Kenneth Catoe Jr.

Editor, BOSS, NY

*excerpts from this article were taken from DO NYC

(Cast Album Project:  Running Man, Day 2 at Lincoln Center)

[deiastormborn]

Hey, still don't believe that? I have more proof and screenshots for you, so you can sleep better at night.

For a very split second, when the explosion was happening, you can see the streak of the pink light.

It is the same light line we see when Jinx is using her speed. It comes from her eyes.

That light is headed towards something that seems to be an exit.

Caitlyn zooms in to the side of the tower where that light goes to. Keep in mind, she is looking at those files in the tool that required a key, the same key that Caitlyn inherited from her mother, therefore, high chance that Caitlyn is the only person who knows about those exits.

Caitlyn thinks, then smiles. She knows.

This has shown to us right after a big zoom in on Caitlyn. Good thing to consider that Jinx is on that ship.

This is a screenshot from Season 1 and Episode 1. The same kind of ship. What does Jinx say?

I guess she finally did! :)

Arcane Season 2 Finale theory. (Jinx, Cait and Vi)

Heya. Since I was somehow on a roll with my theories about the show previously, and I somehow hit the nail on 90% of the things I predicted, here is a new theory of mine.

Jinx is not dead. Yes, of course, that makes sense considering League of Legends exists, and everything that happened in Arcane happened before the game. Arcane was made canon, and a lot of current lore is being rewritten to match the show, so to people that play the game it's no surprise that Jinx is most likely alive. But how?

Here is what I think:

After Jinx said 'I didn't know your mom was in there', Cait realized that Jinx did in fact change. Or, at the very least, could relate to her pain and mistakes. If you think about it, Jinx's actions were mostly fueled with grief, and the rocket that was shot at the council building happened right after Silco died, who was like a father to Jinx. Caitlyn lost her mother, and became angrier, irrational, fueled with revenge. I think Jinx saying that to Caitlyn made her relate, and maybe understand what is hidden below all the madness that Jinx has in her.

I think Caitlyn and Jinx had a dialogue behind the scenes, that was not shown to us. Knowing Caitlyn's character and somewhat a soft heart, I think Caitlyn sat down and told Jinx that she can't be truely free due to the volume of the crimes that she has done. My idea is that Caitlyn tossed the idea to Jinx about escaping, fleeing, and faking her death. Didn't Caitlyn tell Vi that she became too predictable? Doesn't it mean that Caitlyn knew that Vi will try to free Jinx? Didn't Caitlyn say something about this place being thoroughly guarded too? Yet Jinx managed to escape anyhow?

I genuinely don't think it was done without Caitlyn's interference.

Maybe, after the talk that Caitlyn had with Jinx behind the scenes, Jinx asked Caitlyn to keep Vi oblivious to everything that is happening. Hence why Jinx said that Vi deserves to be with Caitlyn - that could not have gone out of nowhere. Caitlyn and Jinx didn't interact enough in the show for Jinx to say that. And Vi never really spoke to Jinx about Caitlyn for her to make this conclusion.

Now, possibly, Jinx took the whole 'fake the death' quite literal, since we see her go quite suicidal after that. It is possible that she thought that it is pointless, and genuinely didn't want to try and run anymore, hence why she attempted to blow herself up. Luckily, Ekko came in, and the rest we know.

However, it doesn't sit right with me. Not just because Jinx is very much alive in game, but also the fact that we were shown Caitlyn looking at the tower where Jinx fell, while holding the Jinx's monkey bomb in her hand. She also let go of a slight smile when she zoomed in on all the exits and rooms in the tower. Something tells me Jinx knew how to escape, and something tells me Caitlyn was the one who told her. Something also tells me that the balloon we saw at the very last scene of the whole show might have had Jinx in it.

The show is notorious for showing scenes that always mean and imply something. I previously had a theory where I drew a parallel between Vander, Silco and Felicia, with Caitlyn, Vi and Jinx, where Felicia was bringing Vander and Silco closer to each other, and her death ended up splitting them both. I truly think Caitlyn was meant to be the same mediator for Jinx and Vi as Felicia was for Vander and Silco. And maybe that was it. Maybe that's what happened.

Knowing Caitlyn, she is more than capable of forgiveness, and seeing good in people. I think it would be in her character to help Jinx escape, even if it is at a cost of lying to someone she loves.

And, since we see Jinx tell Vi to let go, I think it would be in her character to ask Caitlyn to keep Vi in the shadows.

[bbyseok]

sparks in your eyes

pairing: bakugou katsuki x gn!reader

word count: 1.5k

a/n: happy new year everyone !! ik i’m a week late but please enjoy this :)

content: soulmate au, ua students setting, everyone are third years, the class is like a whole family :’) we love to see it, newly established relationship, fireworks n sparklers, VERY soft katsuki, swearing yes, very tiny hint of angst, mostly sappy fluff for the new year !!

analysis: as the year comes to an end, you and katsuki enter the new one with sparks in your eyes.

———

they say you see sparks when you kiss your soulmate for the very first time.

and just with that saying, people dreamt of having their first kiss. of finding their soulmate in their first, if they were lucky enough.

but sometimes, your first significant other wasn’t always your soulmate. it wasn’t always your first relationship. sometimes you’d find them further down your life—sometimes, it’d take a lifetime to find who the universe had destined you with.

the frigid air of the last night of december is a chilling reminder that winter is yet to end, unlike the year.

famed class 3-a, now finally in their third years after long months and adventures of battling villains, are celebrating the new year together.

everyone’s gathered in the common area, conversing excitedly as everyone prepares to head into the streets for the fireworks and the countdown. (iida is doing his infamous hand motions as he makes sure everyone is bundled up properly. momo supplies an extra scarf or two.)

and here you are, nestled into katsuki’s side as the two of you wait on the couch with the rest of his friends. denki’s chatting up a storm per usual, and there’s the sound of hagakure and jirou laughing.

katsuki rubs his thumb over your hand absentmindedly as he deadpans something kirishima says, and you can’t help but snort.

it had taken bakugou a couple of months to muster up the courage to confess to you before it'd be too late. with the new year approaching, so is graduation—and the possibility of losing you as you all are thrusted into the lives of being actual pro heroes wasn’t something he was going to risk.

and it had been worth it. these past few weeks are proof of that. having the privilege of being your boyfriend—walking you to class hand in hand, staying up with you to bury all that studying into your head, sharing warmth underneath the sheets of his bed in his dorm room.

katsuki’s tugging you upward suddenly and you blink up at him in confusion, breaking out of your thoughts.

he catches your stare and scoffs fondly. “c’mon, brat. we’re headin’ out now.” he gestures to your classmates exiting the dorm building before he tugs you alongside him to follow them out.

“sooo..” denki elbows sero and kiri with a waggle of his brows before he glances to the rest of the class as they walk, “who’s ready to find their soulmate tonight? i know i am!”

there’s a few who roll their eyes at his statement while others blush—you can feel katsuki’s eyes linger on you but you don’t say anything as you join in the girls’ giggling.

“as if anyone would wanna kiss your dumb face, sparky!” bakugou barks out and the laughing rises.

the electric student sticks his tongue out at your boyfriend and crosses his arms. “yeah, yeah.”

there’s a few more snickers and the class blends into more easy conversations. it feels comfortable, it feels right to be like this. after all, having trained and lived alongside some of these people, they were bound to feel like family.

once you reach the outskirts of the city, everyone begins to spread out for the meantime to grab drinks, foods, etc. some of the class stay behind to still chat and light up sparklers.

you grab one from midoriya, turning to katsuki with a pleading look. “light mine for me, katsu?” you ask sweetly, twirling the stick in your fingers.

he rolls his eyes but he never can say no to you. “whatever. my explosions are cooler than some sparkler, y’know that, right?” even as he says this, he lights the damn thing for you.

“of course, suki,” you snort. once the sparkler burns, you wave it and threaten to jab it at the blonde. he glares at you playfully.

“watch it, brat!” he tells you with a smirk, “don’t wanna start the new year with some charred clothes, yeah?”

the empty threat has you gasping and you hold the sparkler in defense. “don’t you dare, bakugou katsuki!”

he sends you a stupid grin and you dash. he ends up chasing you around the street and you grab another sparkler for defense, maneuvering around your classmates with a shriek.

eventually, your sparklers die out and bakugou manages to snatch you up with a triumphant laugh. “hah! you thought you could run, huh, dumbass?”

“katsuki!” you giggle, “okay, okay! i surrender, lemme down!” when he sets you down, he ruffles your hair fondly. there’s a sudden flash and next thing you know your boyfriend is wrestling a pink-skinned girl for her phone.

(mina had made it out alive and promptly sent the moment to you afterwards, don’t worry.)

time passes and the countdown is nearing its final digits. things had definitely become more livelier as some of your classmates had returned back to the meeting spot and more people had trudged in.

“katsuki,” you say softly, tugging at his fingers as if to lure him away, “let’s head back to the dorms.”

“don’t you wanna stay with the others?” katsuki inquires, quirking up a brow at you. he seems surprised by your request.

you shake your head. “it’s okay. i just wanna be with you.”

you don’t know it but you make his head all fuzzy, especially when you say such sappy shit like that. his cheeks are red and it’s not just because of the cold. “fine,” he huffs, and he’s leading the way again.

once you’re back inside the heat of the common area, you glance at him, still walking towards the elevators.

“dumbass, where the hell are we goin’?” he questions you but he doesn’t protest as you keep dragging him along.

“the roof, katsu,” you simply explain to him, a bit giddy, “so we can still see the fireworks.”

bakugou hums in reply and is quiet during the elevator ride. the doors open and you take the rest of the stairs that lead up to the roof.

you let go of his hand to stand near the edge, looking over the bright lights of the city. it’s as if the buildings and streets are alive, even from this distance. the city bristles in anticipation of the countdown.

“are you going to kiss me, katsuki?”

the question catches him off guard even though he had been preparing for it all night. and the nights before that. (katsuki has been thinking of kissing you for weeks.)

you hear his light footsteps as he comes to stand behind you. “if you want me to,” comes his gruff reply.

you turn around to face him. the radiance of the moonlight slants over his features and though you’ve never doubted it, he’s the finest man you’ve ever seen. “do you?” you shoot back.

he visibly trembles. “fuckin’ hell, of course i wanna kiss you.”

his ferocity makes you forget how to breathe for a couple of heartbeats. “and what if..” you trail off but the question hangs in the air. and what if we’re not soulmates?

he answers you easily, slotting his hands in yours. they’re still warm. he’s like a walking furnace sometimes. “you think i wouldn’t be able to find my soulmate first try?” he snorts.

you roll your eyes then with a small smile. ever the confident one, he is. “i’m nervous,” you then confess quietly, flexing your fingers against his.

“don’t be, dumbass,” he scolds you. “i’m gonna kiss you ‘n it’s gonna be you. you really think the universe wouldn’t give me the perfect soulmate?”

bakugou doesn’t say words of flattery much—his affection is rather shown through actions and while you don’t mind, hearing his declaration has heat rushing to your cheeks.

puffs of air are visible as you breathe, but they mingle between the two of you. he’s so close. the sudden roar of the countdown sounds.

ten! nine! eight!

“okay,” you hum, drawing him closer.

seven! six! five!

“okay?” he says softly.

four! three!

“okay, katsuki.” you smile. “kiss me.”

two! one!

he leans forward and you meet him halfway, lips on his and then—the fireworks in the sky aren’t the ones you see. there’s a blaze and flurry of sparks that envelop you as your eyes flutter close.

you feel as if you’re on fire, the way katsuki’s lips mold against yours and he draws your body even closer. the brush of his thumb on your cheek has you gasping into his mouth and you know he can see it too.

you can still see them as you open your eyes slowly and barely pull away. you can see the sparks in his eyes, can feel the heat of them in his fingertips.

a silence hangs between you but it feels warm. the affirmation of your bond steady in the air, and it’s like your soul is sated. you had found each other.

“you were nervous, admit it,” you tease, utterly breathless and helplessly in love.

instead of vehement denial, his eyes soften and your heart leaps.

“no.” katsuki breathes and melts against you, entirely yours. “i told you i knew it’d be you.”

and when he kisses you again, the sparks are still there.

[kaitlynpcallmebeepme]

The Unexpected Hero

The Unexpected Hero

Evan Buckley x reader

Imagine: saving Buck (911) from and explosion and he's determined to find out who you are (from @procrastinatorimagines​).

Requested: Nope.  

Author’s Note:  I’ve been wanting to write this ever since I saw this prompt image.  Also (writing this on 7/12/22), My legs are dead after drumline camp, so I continued writing this on my night shift. Please give me feedback as this is my first time writing for 911.  Was considering asking someone if they want to proof read just to make sure the content is good. Message me if anyone want to.  I also reworked my masterlist so it’s not as crowded.  

Requests are still OPEN.  Feedback is always appreciated.  Also, tell me if you want to be part of a Tag List and I’ll tag you when I upload something new.  Also, I’m tagging @911readercollection​ here.

Warning: I’m not sure fire works how I exactly described it.  Arsonist, bomb exploder/explodes, chase scene, arrests, I very much thought of old action movies when writing this.  I didn’t proofread this.  Athena being a queen. 

Word Count: 1,854

It was another mind numbing day of staring at your computer as statistics went by so you could crunch the numbers for your penny pincher stick up his ass boss.  And just to describe how frugal he is, he chose the cheapest office for his workers while he never showed up himself.  Cheap in LA usually means poor quality, or not in a safe neighborhood.  In this case, it meant both.  You had to bring your own stool because you could not stand one more second of your legs sticking to those cheap plastic chairs that are “usually” used at graduation parties.  At least you were left alone until you had to present your findings to your boss.  However, this meant that your mind got distracted easily and sometimes fell asleep until your eyes and mind processed nothing that was on your screen.   

Your mind woke up out of its stagnant state to that sound. You know, that sound.  The sound that’s been drilled into your mind ever since you were young.  The sound of a fire alarm going off along with its blinking lights.  You were surprised the building even had working fire systems.  But, you did what you were taught and you stayed low to the ground and crawled on your hands and knees keeping your hand along the wall to guide your way.  You found your way to the side of the building out a fire exit.  One of those exits near the trucking docks of your building.  You stopped a mere couple feet from the building to catch your breath, which more ended up like you crouched to cough your lungs out.  This is what you imagined smoking for 50 years felt like.  

You looked up just as a firefighter started coming towards you.  Do all firefighters have to imitate magazines and be super hot in uniform and way out of your league?  He still had his smoke mask over his face and his helmet on, as he should , so you couldn’t make out much of what he actually looked like.   “Ma’am, are you okay?”  

You would have responded if something else didn’t catch your attention.  Behind the fireman’s legs, you could see someone else in a gray hoodie walking away from the scene.  Walking.  As in “cool guys don’t look at explosions” walking, and that kind of walking away from a fire can never be good.  He started to raise his right hand above his head while keeping his back turned toward you and STILL WALKING.   You couldn’t be sure what he was doing or what is intentions are, but you had to take a chance.  

With your strength that you found somewhere, you body slammed the fireman in the hips as hard as you could and that managed to get him, and yourself, to the ground.  His arms encircled around you, out of instinct you think, and you were buried into his firejacket while his back took most of the brute hit from the ground.  The office building behind you exploded like an action movie and you felt the heat from the building behind you multiply by 1000 and a loud noise ring your ears to the point where you could only hear white noise for a second.  

You hesitantly opened your eyes expecting ash to sting them or you see the light of heaven letting you know that you died.  Thankfully, you were still mostly in one piece, but the sight of the person you suspected was responsible running from said exploding building was the first thing you saw while lying on the ground.  This isn’t an action movie, but you couldn’t convince your brain that it wasn’t.  

You got up from the ground and started sprinting after the man, your body and lungs screaming at you to stop and rest, but your adrenaline said ‘no’.  You kept following the man around a few corners, not even stopping to think if he was armed or not when a cop car came from an alley and hit him T-bone style.  It didn’t kill him, but it flung him a few feet in the opposite direction.  He definitely wouldn’t be resisting arrest anytime soon.  

“Hands on your head.” you heard shout in front of you.  You kept yours on the back of your head just so the cop would know you weren’t putting up a fight.  

You took this opportunity to cough your lungs out in the middle of an alley because they were exhausted from being filled with smoke and then asked to run a marathon.  

The cop was quick to cuff the man and lock him in the back of her squad car.  She then came around and stood next to your hunched over figure.  “Just try to breath deeply mame.”  After a few more minutes of coughing your lungs out you finally had the strength to look up at her.  Your eyes were watered and probably red from the smoke, but you could still make out most of what she looked like.  She was a middle aged black woman and had short black hair that swooped to one side.  She still was in her full uniform and a bullet proof vest.  

“Did you get him?”  Why was that the first thing you asked? No thank you, just that?  

“Yes mame, we did.  Your speed and quick thinking guided him right to us.  What were you doing chasing a man like him anyway?”  

You struggled to stand up, but you were able to keep some of your decency before you spoke to her.  “I saw him walking away from my office building that exploded, and no one runs unless they have something to hide, so I just mindlessly chased after him.  I chased him and you T-boned him.  Problem solved.”  You clapped your hands brushing the dust off them like you did a job well done.  

“You were in the building five blocks from here that exploded into flames?”  Have I really been running for five blocks?  Wow.  Might as well act as if you run regularly.   

“Yes, and if the fire inspection comes to it, can I testify against my boss? He’s a frugal piece of shit, so I doubt that the building was up to code.”  She seemed to give me a satisfied smirk.  

“Ok.  I like a strong independent women who knows what she wants.  Come with me and I’ll give you a ride to the station and get a statement from you.”  

“Thank you, Miss…”

“Athena, and if you ever want to be a cop or detective, I’ll put in a referral for you to get started into the training.  We’d love to have you.”  

So that’s how your day ended.  Athena drove you and her suspect to the police station, you gave a statement of what happened and how bad the building you worked in was.  You left your contact information incase they needed anything else or they wanted you for the detective job.  She even gave you a ride back to your, surprisingly, not destroyed car that was parked outside of your office building.  

________________________________________________________________

**Buck’s POV, later that day at station 118**

I walked back up the stairs after a shower to find most of the team in the kitchen.  Bobby was making something that smelled delicious for dinner.  I still couldn’t wrap my head around what happened earlier.  

“Hey Hen, did some lady come to the ambulance at the fire of that warehouse office building today?” I sat down at the kitchen table next to her.  

“We had a couple people there today but no one needed to go to the hospital, just needed some extra oxygen. Why, you recognize someone?” 

“No it’s just…”  Do I say that the muscles of a fireman lost against someone’s adrenaline.  I decide to leave that part out.  “Just someone was running away from the fire and after someone and I just wanted to make sure they’re ok.  I couldn’t find them afterwards.”

“Hey everyone.”  Athena walked up the stairs to the kitchen area and greeted everyone.  

“Hey Athena.”  I didn’t put too much enthusiasm into my greeting.  She went and kissed Bobby really quick and came back to me.  “Why you so down Buck?” 

“He’s trying to find someone who ran off from the fire today.”  Hen answered for me.  

“You mean the one that body slammed you before the building blew up.” 

Well, thanks for saving me the embarrassment Bobby.  I gave him that you seriously just said that look that he’s probably given me a million times.  

“Yes, that one.  She just ran off after body slamming me and it wasn’t a reactionary thing she did it BEFORE the building blew up, like right before.”  Athena gave me a knowingly smile apparently knowing something that I didn’t.  

“Oh yes, I know who she is.  She’s real sweet.  Caught our bomber, gave a statement about what she witness, and was willing to testify.”  She was saying this like it was no deal as easy as asking what you had for breakfast that morning.  

“You know her.  I wanted to see if I could thank her because she helped me avoid getting a face full of flames.”  

“Well, I still have her number.  But Buck …”

“Yes.” Athena always has something up her sleeve. 

“Treat her right.  She talked about the building she worked in.  She deserves something good.” 

“Yes mame.”  That wasn’t even my intention, but Buck 3.0 is the most respectful out of all the Bucks.    

Athena gave me her number and I went to one of the fire department office rooms where it was more quiet and less people would come in to interrupt or tease me for wanting to talk to a girl I barely met.  I type in her number and wait while the ringtones go by.  Then there’s that unfortunate monotone voice of an answering machine.  I decide to leave a message anyway.  

“Hey Y/n, it’s Buck.  Well you don’t know my name yet but I’m the firefighter you slammed earlier today.  Athena, the cop, gave me your number.  I just wanted to thank you for saving me.  You were really brave I heard, chasing down an armed aronsist.  **Hurry up Buck, you have limited voicemail space** I just wanted to thank you and see if you wanted to go out sometime … so I can properly thank you in person I mean.  Well I-.”  The call hung me up.  Hope that got saved.  

I decided to take a walk around the trucks and clear my head.  Before I made even one lap around, I got a text.  

Hey Buck.  Nice to finally know your name.  Hope I didn’t hurt you too bad from the body slam earlier.  My phone’s out of whack and not accepting calls since it got cracked in my street chase today, but I’d love to go to cheesecake factory with you sometime, or even just walking on the boardwalk.  You text me your availability, since I’m out of a job for now. Hehe. -Y/n

Ok Buck, don't mess this up.

[sharpeagle-tech]

The Productivity Benefits Of Explosion-proof Light

In the high-stakes world of industrial production, effective lighting is not a luxury, but a necessity.

Adequate lighting can prevent accidents and injuries by ensuring workers can see what they're doing. This is particularly important in areas with heavy machinery and poor visibility, such as basements or warehouses.

Industrial lighting can also deter criminal activity by making it effortless for security personnel to see what's happening on the premises.

If you are a business owner or a facility manager, you need to evaluate the lighting in the workplace to make changes and upgrades as necessary to ensure that all areas are adequately illuminated.

Industrial Grade Lighting: Powering the Production Line

Industrial-grade lighting is a type of lighting that is specifically designed for use in industrial environments. These hazardous area lights are built to withstand the harsh conditions and demands of industrial settings, such as factories, warehouses, and other manufacturing facilities.

One of the main applications of industrial-grade lighting is in warehouses and distribution centers. These facilities often have high ceilings and large open spaces, making it difficult to provide adequate lighting. Industrial-grade lights, such as high-bay  lights, are designed to provide bright and even illumination over large areas, making it easier for workers to see and move around the facility safely.

Another common application of industrial-grade lighting is in manufacturing facilities. These facilities often have various lighting needs, including task lighting for specific areas, such as assembly lines, and general lighting for the entire facility. Hazardous area lights are designed to withstand heat, vibration, and other conditions in manufacturing environments, making them well-suited for these facilities.

Industrial-grade lighting is also commonly used in mining, oil and gas, and other heavy-industrial facilities. These facilities typically have extreme temperatures and harsh environments and require lighting that can withstand these conditions.

Other Applications:

- Power Plants - Pharmaceutical plants - Food Processing plants - Marine and Offshore applications - Cold storage facilities - Refineries - Construction and heavy-duty equipment lighting - Outdoor industrial areas

In all of these applications, industrial-grade lighting is designed to provide a high level of durability and performance, which makes them ideal for use in industrial environments. They also often have a longer lifespan, which can save on maintenance costs in the long run.

Explosion-proof LED Lights: A Bright Solution for Hazardous Environments

Explosion-proof lights are a type of industrial-grade lighting specifically designed for use in environments with a risk of explosion or fire. These lights are built to prevent the ignition of explosive gasses or dust. They are commonly used in facilities such as oil and gas refineries, chemical plants, and coal mines.

One of the main benefits of explosion-proof lights is their ability to improve worker productivity. These lights provide bright and even illumination, which makes it easier for workers to see what they're doing, reducing the risk of mistakes and increasing the speed at which tasks can be completed. 

Additionally, lighting provides a higher colour rendering index(CRI) which can result in better visual perception. This can be especially helpful in tasks that require detailed visual inspection, such as quality control.

Another essential benefit of explosion-proof lights is their energy efficiency. Compared to traditional incandescent or fluorescent lights, LED lights consume much less energy, which can help reduce costs associated with lighting. Furthermore, LED lights have a longer lifespan, which can reduce maintenance and replacement costs in the long run.

And explosion-proof  lights are also more environmentally friendly than traditional lights. They emit less heat, which can reduce the overall energy consumption in a facility. They are built to be more durable and have a longer lifespan.

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[sapphicbump]

The Magician - Act 1

Contents: original content, w/w, cryptid (?) pregnancy, nb(?)preg, sexual & kink awakening Story written by my partner RoseVirage, uploaded with her consent. Proof Readers: Rahheemme & Doombeez

____________________________

Act 1

Rosemary

When the magician appeared on stage through an imposing explosion of sparkling fog, the crowd gasped, and so did Mary. Not just because of the presentation, but also something else; The magician's middle didn’t quite suit the rest of her slender, elegantly dressed body. It clearly and unmistakably bulged out. Since Mary had never heard of this “Melody of the Stars” show before her father had gifted her the tickets, she didn’t really expect anything. And yet she found herself surprised that a clearly pregnant woman would put on a magic show at a Las Vegas stage.

Mary couldn’t help but be mesmerized by the sight. She knew female magicians were rare to begin with, even rarer those who dressed in old fashioned magician style - tailcoat tuxedo with purple applications, white blouse, purple bowtie and cumberbund, tophat, cape with a sparkling inner lining, again in purple - but she never even thought about a pregnant magician before.

Something in Mary reacted in awe of this notion. Something she didn’t yet understand.

And then, for a brief moment, as if this Magician had detected her feelings out of the hundreds of people in this hall, their eyes met. It was just for a second, while she was presenting some items on a table, but Mary was sure. The magician was looking directly at her. And not only that - she even smiled. Mysteriously, almost knowingly.

Mary's heart pounded stronger. It couldn’t be. It was a trick of the eye. After all, that’s what magicians do, right?

From this point on Mary was in some sort of trance for the whole performance. She found herself utterly enchanted, not only by the unbelievably impressive tricks of sorts she had never seen before, but by the performer herself. She only noticed the show's end when everyone stood up and clapped frantically, accompanied by loud cheering screams.

Right before the heavy velvet curtains fell, the magician bowed - and lifted her head to throw one last smirk at Mary.

Only then did the spell break, giving Mary a sense of herself and others again. 

Dear lord, she thought and laid a hand on her chest, feeling her heavy pounding heart. It was almost like she truely bewitched had bewitched her.

Though before she could give this any other thought, the crowd was getting excited again.

“She’s waiting outside!” somebody yelled, and seemingly everyone was pushing towards the front exits. It seems that the magician had her fair share of fans, both men and women, who were not short of acting like teenagers at a boy band concert. 

Well. One way or another, it certainly seemed that not only Mary had been enchanted by her. Maybe this utter fascination was something everyone experienced during her shows. 

Still, Mary wasn’t having any of it. She didn’t want to shake her hand or grab an autograph; this sort of glorification felt strange and dehumanizing to her. Especially when she would have to fight her way through many people who probably would bite her hand off if she got too close to their… queen of magic or whatever. So Mary scanned for other exits that weren’t cluttered with chattering, excited humans.

She found another one of the familiar green lighting signs close to the stage. Probably more of an emergency exit, but considering that mountain of bodies behind her that almost felt like a mass panic, the situation came rather close to an emergency anyway.

Mary took her bag and cardigan and proceeded to leave the hall through said exit. The heavy metal door closed behind her and cloaked the small, undecorated corridor in blessed silence. 

She took a deep breath. Finally, she now could focus on her thoughts and feelings and start to process the whole experience. 

First off she needed to find out more about that magician lady. She opened her bag and looked for her smartphone, while heading towards the end of the hallway, another door clearly labeled with “EXIT”. Just as she found it, she bumped into something.

Mary took a step back and immediately recognized those familiar curves, especially the one particular curve that she could barely keep her eyes off for the entirety of the show. She looked up, and there was the rest of the magician, too, looking at her with mysterious but curious eyes. This time, she was not smiling. Instead, her unpainted, natural lips were a little apart, formed in an expression of surprise. 

The woman was taller than she seemed on stage. At least taller by a head than Mary. Her tophat made her look even more impressive in size. Up close, Mary now also noticed a little cute mole next to her lips. Then she saw the big trunk in her left hand, and a beautifully-crafted cane topped with a snake’s head in her other. Snakes seemed to be her favorite animal, because there were many snake related details in her outfit, too.

“Why aren’t you with the others? How did you know I was here?” she asked, and the sound of her voice sent chills down Mary's spine. It was way deeper than she would have guessed. Very androgynous, too. If Mary had heard that voice in a podcast, she wouldn’t have been able to tell if it was that of a man or a woman. Another thing that stood out to her was an accent that she couldn’t quite place. Her “R”s were rather hard and she spoke with an interesting singsong.

“I didn’t,” Mary answered truthfully, but her own voice came out shallow. 

Now the magician smiled, and it was even more beautiful and possessing up close.

“Oh, really?” was all she commented, clearly amused. 

The magician looked at her for a moment, as if she was inspecting her. Mary could feel her heart beating in her throat. Being examined like this by this clearly imposing woman did peculiar things to her she didn’t understand. Suddenly, she felt nothing more than the desire to please this mysterious mistress's eyes. To appeal. 

Mary gulped. She’d never had thoughts like that before.

Before she could say anything else, they both were startled by the sound of an opening door behind Mary, followed by the loud murmur of the crowd from the hall that was now flowing into the once silent corridor.

The magician quickly reached out with her cane, pointing the snake-head handle towards the door, making it slammed closed all by itself. 

Mary gasped. 

“That won’t hold them for long.” the woman commented, now a little frantic, “It was a sublime pleasure to meet you, love. But I have to dash. Unless you need a ride home?”

“I do” Mary answered like a shot before she even realized what she said.

The magician smiled another of her enchanting smiles, then took a step back to let Mary pass.

“Why, I would like nothing better than to do so, dearest. Please, after you. And be swift.”

Mary nodded and quickly headed towards the exit, opening the door to one of Las Vegas’ still very loud, very bright back alleys. 

“My car is on the right.” the woman instructed her, while doing something to the exit door Mary couldn’t quite make out. “The old-timer. Take a seat wherever you want.”

The car was unmissable. Mary wasn’t exactly a pro regarding classic cars, but this one looked way older than the usual broken down mustangs she’d think of when hearing “old-timer”. Maybe something from 1930, or even older. It was a long, black car with some white details. Feeling the magician's hustle, she quickly entered the car on the passenger side. The woman quickly followed on the other side, again looking at her curiously. 

“This seat, ey? Interesting.”

Again, this deep voice. This accent. This concern. Mary suddenly felt hot.

The magician started the car and left the back alley. As soon as they were in the clear, she visibly began to relax.

Only now Mary realized that she was actually sitting in a stranger's car. Somebody she didn’t even know the name of. That, for sure, was nothing she would ever even dreamed about doing. Her father raised her to be cautious. To always be home on time. She never even had any boyfriends during her school days, at least the ones where she had actually been to school. Always the good girl. And now this?

“This must be all very sudden and new to you,” said the woman next to her, again, as if she could read her mind.

Mary looked at her, then had to avert her gaze. Her perfectly round belly seemed even bigger in this seating position, and was so close, too. It did things to her she didn’t dare to think about. Especially not in this woman's presence.

“If you’re uncomfortable, I can stop for you to leave, dear.”

“No!” Mary exclaimed, a little too loudly. Then she cleared her throat and added, “It’s fine, really. I appreciate it.”

“My pleasure. Where should I take you?”

“The Bellagio, please.”

The woman whistled. 

“Nice stay. Expensive, but fantastic hotel. Beautiful botanics. Not far from here, too.”

She took an immediate turn and set the new course without any navigation, showing that she knew these streets rather well.

“So, may I know the name of my passenger?”

“Rosemary,” Mary answered, quickly and unthinkingly. She usually never introduced herself with a full name, since she wasn’t really a fan. Some people never found out that she was actually called that. Why did she say that?

“Beautiful.”

Mary blushed. Hearing this was a first.

“A-and yours…?” she asked in turn.

The magician laughed at first, then, when Mary didn’t join in, looked at her surprised and said “Wait, you really don’t know?”

The girl shook her head, embarrassed. It only now occurred to her that it was probably very impolite to not know the name of the star of the show she just watched, let alone when said star was chauffeuring her through town.

“But it’s even in the name of the show. You surely must’ve at least taken a look on your ticket, right?”

“Melody of the Stars?” Mary asked sheepishly.

“The one and only, love. Technically, Melodie van de Sterren, though feel free to refer to my name in English.”

Dutch. That was a Dutch name. That explained the woman’s adorable accent.

“I must say, you’re a curious companion. I assume this was your first show of mine then, yes? What did you think of it?”

“It was hypnotizing,” Mary answered truthfully. She was afraid to say any more than that, partially because she wasn’t yet too sure herself.

Melodie didn’t push her, but Mary felt like she was expecting to hear more than that. To distract, Mary asked: “That trick in the hallway… How did you do that?”

The Magician lowered her hand, and for a moment, Mary - for some reason - could feel her excitement rising, because it looked like she was going to touch her curved belly. Instead, she put it on the stick shift to change gears. Oof. Why on earth did Mary focus so much on that?

“Now, my dear, even though this was your first magic show, you do know that you don’t ask a magician their tricks, no?”

Mary blushed. Of course she knew. But that wasn’t on stage. That was a sudden, unexpected thing happening backstage. 

“Y-yes, but -”

“We’re here.” Mary was cut off as the car slowed to a halt.

Raising her eyes, Mary recognized the Bellagio’s impressive front.

But she didn’t want this to end. She wanted to find out more about that cryptic lady, and wanted her to stay close to her. At least for a little while. Maybe she should do a sudden change to a hotel outside Vegas, so that their ride would take longer? 

She scolded herself for even thinking something like that.

Melodie opened her mouth to say something, but this time Mary interrupted her. “Can I invite you to a cup of coffee, maybe?” she blurted out. Then, a second later, covered her mouth with one of her hands, surprised about her boldness.

The magician had a baffled look on her face. She probably didn’t expect Mary to be this brave and forthcoming. Then she smiled, not answering at first but then pulling out a pocket watch, attached with a little string to her jacket pocket, checking it. Who still has one of those nowadays?

“It’d be my pleasure, dear” she finally answered.

_______________________________________

If you enjoyed this and want to read more (there are 11 acts right now, a new act will be posted every week) you can find it on my 🟠 P★treon!! Starting on the Tier 3+.

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[emilianopavone]

@parasympathic​

He always comes back. That was the promise, the same one Emil had given Monty a dozen times, and the same one he repeated in his head as he paced the living room floor. There were files left scattered across the coffee table, fresh ones he kept adding to the mess with each text he received, and it looked like the same scene from months ago playing in reverse. Waiting for the Head Significant to return from Mortensen’s casino while he sorted and cleaned the explosion of papers off the floor. Anything to keep his hands busy while he waited for the proof of his promise to walk back through the door.

But there hadn’t been a new text in thirty minutes, and so now his hands were busy spinning his car keys around the ring as Stellina tracked him back and forth across the living room. “He always comes back,” Emil explained, addressing the curious cat who was far more interested in what she assumed was a jingling toy in his hands than his words. He still felt the need to justify it to someone, why he was still here safe in their home while the man he’d risked life and limb for was doing exactly that without him. Because that was the plan, the one they’d made together plenty of times before on the couch he was too anxious to settle on now. Because espionage required subtlety, and subtlety required solitude and both required risk. Because they trusted each other, and trust meant faith that he could do the job without him. Faith that he would come back.

At first, Emil doesn’t understand why the first words out of Monty’s mouth are an apology, hoarse and ragged on the other side of a phone he picks up before the first ring even finishes. There’s no time for it to sink in as he’s slinging the doctor’s medical bag over his shoulder and tearing out the front door, taking just enough time to get an address before his phone is abandoned on the passenger seat. It’s not until he’s blown through his second red light, turning a forty minute drive into a twenty minute sprint, that he realizes that I’m sorry is for a broken promise. Because he didn’t come back.

There were a hundred reasons, all of them playing like a sickening slideshow in his head, for why the Head Significant couldn’t get himself home. The worst of them Emil tried to assure himself didn’t make sense. That he was dying, that he’d been caught, that their phone call was the last time he would hear his voice, and it left him desperately trying to remember if he’d said I love you amidst questions about location and injury. But it was Monty’s answer to those two that gave him hope. An assurance that he didn’t need a hospital and that he had made it partway home, a gas station a ways out of town, but far enough from the casino to strike the worst anxieties from his mind. 

He’s not dead, he’s not dead, he’s not dead, became his new mantra, and a gentle reminder not to get himself killed on the way to pick him up, slowing down just enough to safely take an exit from the highway. His parking, however, was just as haphazard as the rental car he pulled up beside when he finally made it to Murphy’s Gas and Convenience, because not dead was far from okay. The sound of something desperate and pleading in Monty’s tone that was jarringly out of character, and if Emil knew why some of his first words were I’m sorry, there was no good explanation why his first one was please. 

The man he found waiting for him felt like the beginning of an answer, sitting in the driver’s seat shell-shocked and spattered in blood Emil couldn’t immediately identify as his or someone else’s. “Monty?” An uneasy question offered with a knock on the window, but when the car door opened, there was no familiar greeting, just a heavy, hazy silence from a man who looked a million miles away. “Hey you,” he greeted instead, crouching down beside him with an immediate and sickening nostalgia, roles reversed as he was the one to gently brush his hair back from his face, trying to catch Monty’s gaze as he set his other hand against his cheek. “Hey I’m here. I’m here, caro, you’re okay.” A kiss pressed against his forehead as if that could make it true, another to his temple as an apology that it so clearly wasn’t. A delusion they kept shattering, that they could love each other enough to avoid tragedy. That they could trust each other enough to always come back. That if he said the words, they would be true. “You’re okay.”

[inevitably-johnlocked]

JL Fic Recs: Angst With Happy Ending Pt. 3

Hey all!!

OKAY, so... I somehow LOST the original ask that this list was supposed to attach to, so I’m going to just offer it as a standalone list, because I need it posted for another ask I have, LOL.

So, for whoever asked about 2 months ago for Angst with a Happy Ending, this one is for you, LOL. I’m sorry, I have no idea why your post disappeared from my drafts. Enjoy, all, a rare List Without an Ask :). ENJOY!! And as usual, add your faves! <3

ANGST WITH HAPPY ENDING Pt 3

See also:

Angst With a Happy Ending

Angst With a Happy Ending Pt. 2

Angsty Fluff

A Room of One's Own by whitchry9 (K+, 2,174 w., 5 Ch. || S2 Timeline, Hurt/Comfort, Supernatural, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Coma, John Whump, Worried Sherlock, POV John, Angst, Friendship/Bromance, Hospital) – When a severe head injury lands John in a coma, somehow he ends up in Sherlock's mind palace. It's actually pretty nice there, and John is entertaining the notion of staying there, rather than returning to his broken body. But Sherlock isn't taking it as well, and John can feel him breaking around him.

To the Nines by suitesamba (M, 2,724 w., 1 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Magical Realism, Pining, Angst, John Whump, Time Travel, Fortunes, Time Jumps) – John skips forward in time, and Sherlock reads the signs that point to nine. John knows he’ll eventually be with Sherlock, but the waiting is nearly impossible, and his body is a lot more than transport. A foray into magical realism where all the canon events occur, and a hell of a lot more.

Reversed by whitchry9 (K+, 3,072 w., 6 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Medical Anomolies, John Gets Shot) – The man pointed his gun at John's chest, right at his heart, and shot.' Wherein John is shot, and Sherlock is the one panicking.

Bridges by sussexbound (M, 6,602 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TLD / S4 Fix It, Love Confessions, Mending Relationships, Moving Back In, Pining Sherlock, POV Sherlock, Past Abuse, Shaving) – The silence between them is deafening, interrupted only by the hum of the traffic outside, and the soft click-clunk of the plastic cups Rosie is playing with on the floor beside them. It is the first time they have been alone together, since Sherlock’s birthday. It’s only been two days, but it feels huge, important, like there is a precarious bridge stretched out before them both that they need to at least attempt to traverse.

London Gods by a_different_equation (E, 11,092 w., 5 Ch. || American Gods Fusion || Magical Realism, Sex Magic, True Love, PTSD John, First Kiss/Time, Marathon Sex, Sensuality, Genie Sherlock, Human John, Internalized Homophobia, Star-Crossed Lovers, Soul Mates) – Sherlock Holmes is a jinn who does not grant wishes. However, when Dr. John H. Watson, recently returned from the war in Afghanistan, gets into his cab by "accident", it might not even need magic to grant both men their deepest wish: love.

The Hand You're Dealt by Lady Sam Mallory (T, 12,092 w., 1 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Light Violence, BAMF John, Doctor John, Injury, Friendship) – Sherlock, John and several others are trapped in a building when an explosion disrupts the crime scene they are working.

Kintsugi by distantstarlight (E, 14,772 w., 1 Ch. || Post S4, Emotional Hurt / Comfort, Regret / Remorse, Loneliness, Separation, Drug Use, Healing, Protective John, Sad Sherlock, Dev. Rel., Complicated Relationships, Love, Angst With Happy Ending, Sherlock is Called Freak, John’s Penance, Voyeurism, Doctor/Caretaker John, Guilty John, Detox, Fingering, Love Confessions, Cuddling, Slight Non-Con Turns Enthusiastic Consent, Virgin Sherlock) – Sherlock Holmes becomes estranged from the man he had once considered his best friend after John lets him down horribly in public. It seems that the world's only consulting detective will be on his own once again...or will he?

The Burning of the Leaves by blueink3 (M, 15,915 w., 3 Ch. || Post S4, Angst, Reichenbach, Parentlock, Past Jolto, Idiot John, Sherlock’s a Mess, Puppies, Fluff, Possessive / Jealous Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Sherlock POV, Matchmaker Sholto, Melancholic Feelings, Emotional Sherlock, Domesticity, Love Confessions in the Rain, Kissing in the Rain, Pet Names, Panic Attack) – After the events of series 4, Major Sholto invites John and Sherlock to lunch one day. It nearly proves to be too much for their tenuous relationship as the past haunts the present, putting the future that Sherlock so desperately wants at risk.

The Palmyra Atoll by elwinglyre (E, 16,609 w., 3 Ch. || TSo3 Divergence / Episode Fix-It, Stockholm Syndrome, Kidnapped John Watson, John Whump, Evil Mary, Angst, Cuddling & Snuggling, Toplock, Limited 3rd John POV) – As John's preparing for the wedding, Sherlock is preparing to have his heart broken, and Mary is prepared to do the unthinkable. Intervention required. Enter Sherlock. Set before Sign of Three with a far different outcome. John is drugged, kidnapped, and left on an island, but not just any old island.

Wonderful, Etcetera. by VictoryCandescence (T, 16,955 w., 3 Ch. || Wonderful Life AU || Alternate Timelines, Brotherhood, Homophobia, Suicidal Ideations, Mentions of Drug Use, Friendship, Different TRF, Sherlock’s Past, Victor Trevor is Past Boyfriend, Depression, Hallucination?, Love Confessions, Christmas, First Kiss) – Sherlock thinks everyone would be better off if he had never existed, including and especially himself. When he finds himself in a world in which his wish has been granted, he begins to think perhaps even he could be wrong – but it takes an unlikely chaperone to make him not only observe, but understand.

I Think I've Come A Long Long Way To Sit Before You Here Today by ArwenKenobi (T, 18,251 w., 3 Ch. || Grief/Mourning, Passage of Time, Major Character Death, Alternating POV, Sherlock Whump, Pining Sherlock, Hospitalization, Coma, Revenge Murders, Hallucinations, Love Confessions, Brutal Accident, Mystrade, Ghost John) – One year after John is killed Sherlock starts to wonder whether John has actually gone anywhere.

Permanent Fixture by vitruvianwatson (E, 18,836 w., 9 Ch || Post-S4, Parentlock, Slow Build, Friends to Lovers, They’re Good Parents, Blushing Sherlock, First Kiss/Time, Explicit Consent, Sexual Content, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Big Feelings, Crying, First Kiss, Fluff, Anxious Sherlock, Inexperienced Sherlock, Emotional Communication, Love Confessions) – Now, as Rosie sat curled up against Sherlock’s side, John watched and wondered exactly how he had ended up here. Domesticity had never suited him before, not at any point in his life. His disastrous marriage had been proof of that. But somehow, here in the warmth and safety of 221B Baker Street, here with Sherlock Holmes reading medical jargon to his daughter, Sherlock’s bony feet nudging against his leg, John couldn’t imagine anyplace that would make him happier.

Silhouettes by allonsys_girl (E, 28,585 w., 7 Ch. || Canon Compliant, POV John, Heavy Drinking, Sad/Depressed John, Grief/Mourning, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Reunion, Foot Jobs, Blow Jobs, Infidelity, Cheating, Drug Use/Abuse, Anal, Switchlock, Rimming, Parentlock) – Sherlock and John find comfort in each other's arms, but as ever with these two, it's not your typical relationship. It's fluffy at the beginning, gets deeply angsty in the middle, gets porny at the end.

A Home for Us by sussexbound (M, 30,581 w., 12 Ch. || Scars, Bedsharing, Grief, Doctor John, Hurt/Comfort, Post-TRF, Implied/Referenced Torture, Sherlock POV, Pining Sherlock, Suicidal Ideation, Heavy Emotions, Clingy Sherlock, Hallucinations, Disassociation, Emotional Turmoil) – He has been on the road for two years, and he is exhausted. He’s almost accepted that he will never see London (John) again—almost. But then there are nights like tonight, where he is weak, and all he can think of is the warmth of the flat they once shared, the crackle of the fire in the hearth, the teasing smile playing at the corner of John’s lips, the boxes of half-eaten Chinese takeaway balanced precariously in their laps. He aches at the memory of it, at the realisation that it is something he may never experience again.

The Winter Garden by Callie4180 (T, 31,213 w., 13 Ch. || Post-S4, Retirement, Christmas, Slow Burn, Grown-Up Rosie, Parenthood, Rosie’s Cat, Angst with Happy Ending, Holidays, Beekeeping, Magical Realism, Sherlock POV, Sherlock’s Violin, Future Fic, Sussex, Honey, Magical Healing Honey, Love Confessions, Sherlock’s Scar, First Kiss, Touching) – As Sherlock nears the end of his career, he's given the gift of a cottage in Sussex. The honey from the beehives out back is amazing.Almost...magical.

Only To Be With You by SinceWhenDoYouCallMe_John (M, 40,768 w., 4 Ch. || Black Mirror / Future AU || Character Death, Future Technology, Sickness/Cancer/Illness, Heavy Angst with Happy Ending, First Person POV John, Pining John, Heart-Wrenching Angst) – I tell myself that next time I’ll come near this same place again. Wait around for the mysterious stranger in his coat to dash past me, hot on the heels of a new criminal in black. I think this all the way back to my Exit, planning where I’ll wait and what I’ll say when I see him. Scheming on how to get his name. It’s only once I reach the Exit Point door that I realize two hours and forty-five minutes have passed, and I realize that this won’t be the last time I Visit. It won’t be the last time at all.

Inscrutable to the Last by DiscordantWords (M, 48,842 w., 6 Ch. || Post-TRF, Alternate S3, John’s Blog/S3 is a Story By John, Divorce, Marital Difficulties, John is a Mess, Emotional Reunion, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Grief / Mourning, Pining John, First Kiss, Adorably Clueless Sherlock, Nostalgia, Love Confessions, Eventual Happy Ending) – He wasn't Sherlock, he couldn't work miracles. All he'd ever been able to do was write about them.

Anchor Point by trickybonmot (E, 49,856 w., 80 Ch. || Truman Show AU || Psychological Drama, Suspense, Slow Burn, Dark Characters / Fic, Alternating First/Third Person, Protective John, Anxious/Worried Sherlock, Tender Moments, Love Confessions, Hand/Blow Jobs, Cuddling, Jealous John, First Kiss/Time) – The world tunes in nightly for Sherlock, the ultimate in reality TV: Sherlock Holmes, a real person with a legendary name, unknowingly lives out his life in a staged setting contrived by his brother. Things get complicated when a retired army doctor joins the show to play the part of Sherlock's closest friend. This fic borrows its concept from the 1998 film, the Truman Show. However, you don't need to have any knowledge of the movie to enjoy this story.

The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse by SilentAuror (E, 50,635 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S4/S4 Divergence, Case Fic, For a Case / Reverse Fake-Relationship, Conferences, Marriage Equality, Travelling / New York, Pride, Homophobia, Bottomlock, Marriage Proposal, John POV, Sexuality, Love Confessions, Emotional Love Making, Public Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, Passionate Kissing, Needy/Clingy Sherlock, Virgin Sherlock, Touching / Hand Holding, Bed Sharing, Little Spoon Sherlock, Intense Orgasms) – John and Sherlock go to New York to attend a conference run by the National Defence of Traditional Marriage Coalition in order to investigate the potential bombing of the annual Manhattan Pride parade. As the conference unfolds, John finds himself repulsed by the toxic ideology being presented, which becomes relevent to his own unacknowledged issues and his friendship with Sherlock...

Gold Rush by ShirleyCarlton (E, 71,783 w., 17 Ch. || Post S3 / No Mary, Friends to Lovers, Mentions of Past Sexual Abuse, First Kiss, Case Fic, Slow Burn, Alternating POV, Switchlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Marriage Proposal, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Abduction, Anxious/Insecure Sherlock, Miscommunication, Emotional Lovemaking) – John has divorced Mary and pops round to 221B one evening to find Sherlock in the middle of a case. As Sherlock tries to find the identity of a young woman’s stalker, John realises he can no longer deny his feelings for Sherlock – which then, to their befuddlement, turn out to be mutual. Shy kisses and tentative embraces ensue. But will Sherlock be able to cast off a shadow from his past that he thinks might prevent John from wanting to stay?

Repairing the Broken Things by BakerTumblings (M, 75,252 w., 15 Ch. || S4 Compliant, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Trauma, Hospitals, Big Brother Mycroft, Misunderstandings, Realizations, Severe Accident, John Whump, Pneumonia, Medical Procedures, Bed Sharing, First Time, Healing, Happy Ending) – "I'm calling today to notify you that there's been an accident."

Points by lifeonmars (E, 53,791 w., 42 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || HLV Rewrite / Canon Divergence, Married Life, Pregnancy / Baby Watson, Drinking to Cope, Boxing / Fisticuffs, Clueless John, Angst, Minor Medical Drama, Tattoos, Christmas, First Kiss/Time, Eventual Happy Ending, Love Confessions, Doctor John, Sexuality Crisis, Slow Burn, Case Fic, Drugging, Blow/Hand Job, Emotional Love Making, Parenthood, Passage of Time) – What if His Last Vow never happened? This fic picks up a few months after John and Mary's wedding, in an alternate universe where Magnussen doesn't exist, but Mary is still pregnant. Life continues -- just in a different direction. And slowly, Sherlock and John find their way to each other.

Lunar Landscapes by J_Baillier (M, 57,046 w., 21 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || S3/TAB Fix-It, Slow Burn Angst, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Confessions, Drugs, Pain, Medical, Injury, Sherlock Whump, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, Romance, Secrets, Tragedy, Trauma, BAMF John, Doctor!John, Drug Addict Sherlock, Injured Sherlock, Grieving John, Idiots In Love,  Protective John, POV John Watson, PTSD Sherlock, Sherlock is a Mess, Medical Realism) – An accident forces John to face the fact that Sherlock's downward spiral had started long before his flight to exile even left the tarmac.

Hell Sent, Heaven Bound by ConsultingHound (M, 64,381 w, 16 Ch. || Angels / Demons AU ||  Fallen Angel Sherlock / Angel Cop John, Alternate First Meeting, Slow Burn, Case Fic, John & Lestrade are Friends Before Sherlock, BAMF John, Mind Palace John, Friends to Lovers, John in Denial, Sherlock Picks Out John’s Clothing, Clubbing / Dancing, Mildly Jealous John, Awkwardness, Kidnapping, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Sacrifice, Worried / Anxious Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Immortal to Mortal) – Ex-War healer and current angelic guard John Watson is not having the best day. He overslept, he’s underpaid, and now there’s someone tagging the Council’s building walls. However things may be about to get interesting: there’s an unusual stranger hanging around (the definition of tall, dark, and handsome), a literal underground cult is brewing, and rumblings are coming from hell. Can he keep his neighbourhood safe, how and why is he being connected to all this, and who the hell is Sherlock Holmes?

White Knight by DiscordantWords (M, 69,840 w., 13 Ch. || S4 Compliant/Post S4, Marriage For a Case, Jealous John, Pining John, Janine / Sherlock Fake Relationship, Serial Killers, Case Fic, Undercover as a Couple, Weddings, John is a Mess, Misunderstandings, Wedding Planning, Jealousy, Drunkenness, Love Confessions, Angst with Happy Ending) – Green. The word green was used to convey a great many things. Illness. Envy. Inexperience. Standing there amidst Janine's chattering bridesmaids, watching Sherlock furrow his brow and study fabric swatches, watching him smile and simper and flirt, John thought it a remarkably apt colour choice. Because he felt quite sick to his stomach, he feared the source of said sickness might very well be jealousy, and he had absolutely no idea at all what to do about it. Or: Sherlock needs to fake a relationship for a case. He doesn't ask John.

Just To Hold You Close by sussexbound (E, 70,841 w., 18 Ch. || Alternate First Meeting, Sherlock POV, ASD Sherlock, PTSD John, Demisexual Sherlock, Bisexual John, Cuddling/Snuggling, Platonic Cuddling, Enthusiastic Consent, Bed Sharing, Love Confessions, First Kiss/Time, Sexual Tension, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Cuddle Negotiations, For a Case Until It Isn’t, Hair Petting, Sexual Negotiation, Anxiety, Trust Issues, Slow Burn, Panic Attacks, Frottage, Hand/Blow Jobs, Referenced Self Harm / Abuse / Suicidal Ideation, First Kiss/Time, Anal) – When a woman is murdered and the last person to see her alive is recently invalided army vet turned reluctant (and prickly) professional cuddler, John Watson, Sherlock Holmes is pulled into a world of intimacy and intrigue he never could have imagined. John is a conundrum and mystery: frank yet reserved, tender yet angry, open yet afraid. Sherlock is instantly drawn into his orbit, and begins to feel and desire things he never has before.

The Monument of Memory by J_Baillier (M, 79,663 w., 14 Ch. || Post S4 Fix It Fic / S4 is Canon, Angst, Family Drama, Guilt, Case Fic, John Loves Sherlock, Complicated Feelings, Mentalism / Hypnosis, Murder, Grieving John, Sherlock is a Bit Not Good, Team Work, Trust Issues, BAMF John, Psychological Trauma, Protective John, Autistic-Spectrum Sherlock, Parentlock, John POV) –  A genius traumatised by a past he's only beginning to recall. The psychopath sister that time forgot. A missing woman and a mentalist who may or may not be a murderer. And, in the middle of it all, stands John Watson.

Thermocline by J_Baillier (M, 83,557 w., 14 Ch. || Scuba Diving AU || Adventure, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Marine Archaeology, Asexual Sherlock, Horny John, Relationship Drama, Technical/Scuba/Wreck Diving, Slow Burn, Underwater /  Medical Peril, Doctor John, Hurt Sherlock, Anxious Sherlock, John POV, Protective John, Body Appreciation) – John "Five Oceans" Watson — technical dive instructor, dive accident analyst and weapon of mass seduction — meets recluse professor of maritime archaeology Holmes. As they head out to a remote archipelago off the coast of Guatemala to study and film its shipwrecks for a documentary, will sparks fly or fizzle out?

Kintsukuroi by sussexbound (E, 91,823 w., 20 Ch. || S4 Compliant / Post-TLD, Grief / Mourning, PTSD, Internalized Homophobia, Therapy, Past Abuse, Alcohol Abuse, Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Depression, Anxiety, Bed Sharing, Love Confessions, Cuddling, Suicidal Ideation, Masturbation, Minor Character Death, Sexting, Frottage, Inexperienced Sherlock, Rimming / Anal / BJ’s, Emotional Turmoil, Finding Each Other) – “I love you.” Sherlock sees the words hit John with almost physical force. He reels back a little, jaw twitching and eyes filling. “I love you,” he repeats, a little softer, a little more gentle, as earnest as he possibly can. Because they’ve been teetering on the brink of this thing for years, and it had become painfully obvious over the last few months that they were at a tipping point. This had to happen. Now it has. Now they can see where they end up. The tears in John’s eyes spill over, and he wipes at them angrily. “Do you even know what that means?”  

The Summer Boy by khorazir (T, 94,706 w., 6 Ch. || Post S3/Post TAB/Alternate S4, Friends to Lovers, Flashbacks, Sussex, Bullying, 1980′s Kid Sherlock, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Inexperienced Sherlock, Grief/Mourning, Pining Sherlock, Background Case Fic) – About half a year after the fateful events at Appledore, Sherlock and John embark on a private case in Sussex. For Sherlock, it’s a journey into his past, bringing up memories both happy and sad that he has locked away for almost thirty years. For John, it means coming to terms with the present – and a potential future with Sherlock. Part 1 of the The Summer Boy series

Northwest Passage by Kryptaria (E, 95,157 w., 27 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Canadian AU ||  BAMF!John, Canadian John, PTSD, Anal / Oral Sex, Rimming, Emotional Hurt / Comfort, Drug Rehab, Falling in Love, Pining Sherlock, Love Confessions, Sherlock’s Violin, Panic Attacks, Switching, Anxious / Protective Sherlock, Hugs for Comfort, Suicide Mentions, Healing Each Other) – Seven years ago, Captain John Watson of the Canadian Forces Medical Service withdrew from society, seeking a simple, isolated life in the distant northern wilderness of Canada. Though he survives from one day to the next, he doesn't truly live until someone from his dark past calls in a favor and turns his world upside-down with the introduction of Sherlock Holmes." Part 1 of Tales from the Northwest

The Adventure of the Silver Scars by tangledblue (NR [M], 142,458 w., 41 Ch. || S3 Fix-It, Post-HLV/ Post-TAB / Canon Compliant, Case Fic, No Baby, Angst, Humour, UST, Slow Burn, Angry John, Reconciliation, Not Nice Mary / Leaving Mary, Dependent Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Caretaker John, Fist Fights, It’s An Experiment, Virgin Sherlock, Dancing, Drugging, John Whump, Pet Names, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Scars) – It’s been thirteen months since Mary shot Sherlock and John finds he’s still pissed off about it. Sherlock had thought everything was settled: John and Mary, domestic bliss. But when John turns up at Baker Street with suitcases, the world’s only consulting detective might not be prepared for the consequences. A new case. Some old scores to settle. Certain danger. Concertos, waltzes, and whisky.

Proving A Point by elldotsee & J_Baillier (E, 186,270 w., 28 Ch. || Me Before You Fusion || Medical Realism, Insecure John, Depression, Romance, Angst, POV John, Sherlock Whump, Serious Illness, Doctor John, Injury Recovery, Assisted Suicide, Sherlock’s Violin, Awkward Sexual Situations, Alcoholism, Drugs, Idiots in Love, Slow Burn, Body Image, Friends to Lovers, Hurt / Comfort, Pain, Big Brother Mycroft, Intimacy, Anxiety, PTSD, Family Issues, Psychological Trauma, John Whump, Case Fics, Loneliness, Pain) – Invalided home from Afghanistan, running out of funds and convinced that his surgical career is over, John Watson accepts a mysterious job offer to provide care and companionship for a disabled person. Little does he know how much hangs in the balance of his performance as he settles into his new life at Musgrave Court.

Against the Rest of the World by SilentAuror (E, 151,714 w., 20 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-TRF, Hiatus Fic, POV First Person Sherlock, Present Tense, First Kiss/Time, Big Brother Mycroft, Escaping from Capture, Soft Sherlock, Toplock, Insecurity, Infidelity, Travelling, Introspection, Pining Sherlock, Depression, Fantasies, Yearning for the Past, PTSD Sherlock, Suicidal Ideation) – Sherlock has been away from London for nine hundred and twelve days and counting, and has no idea what sort of reception to expect when he finally returns.

[katsukikitten]

Back at it again since tumblr didnt want me in the tags the first time

Bakugou was irritable today. Not that his irritability was anything new but every little thing set his skill crawling. His forearms littered with threatening pops as he bared his teeth to anyone brave enough to look his way. 

He figured the only way to get his agitation out was to hit something, anything.

 So he headed to one of the two closest gyms from his small apartment to blow off some much needed steam. The local 24 hour gym that was open to the public was a no go, not just because it was always over crowded but also because he got banned after cussing out some damn extras who were snapping pictures of him instead of working out like one should. Leaving his only other option to be the agency's "gym". 

When he first set foot into the sorry excuse of a gym he demanded a better upgrade for it, if they expected to keep him and Kirishima in top shape. Otherwise he would begin to look elsewhere considering other agencies were dying to have the newest upcoming pro hero in their rankings. The agency obliged, delivering his expectations and more in less than a week. Guess being in the top five really did have its perks. 

The ash blonde pulls his shiny new coupe into the parking garage and finds a spot closest to the entrance. He grabs for his water bottle from the passenger seat before exiting the car, locking his black beauty as he made his way inside.  He swipes his fob over the keypad before it beeps while flashing green, allowing him entrance to the back door of the basement. Walking past the long corridor of support labs that had long since closed to get to the gym. The rooms illuminated by the low light of locked computers, secrets and redesigns stowed away behind bullet proof glass. 

Nearing the end of the dimly lit hall he spies harsh light flooding onto the linoleum floor, indicating that someone seemed to be collecting some major overtime. From his experiences at UA he figured each room would be filled to the brim with over eager support, eccentrically yelling at one another over specs and improvements, sharing their love of science at a volume much too high for Bakugou's taste. Shortly after his hero debut he discovered just how wrong he was about the support labs. He had needed a 2am, mid shift, costume adjustment so he came here, expecting the place to be brimming with brilliant minds only to find one person still working. 

So it should be no surprise that at 10:30 at night there was one room that was clearly occupied. Still a rare curiosity takes over the hot head as he peeks into the room while passing, wondering if he will catch a glimpse of you again. 

He found you odd, as you seemed to be nocturnal or better yet maybe you didn't sleep at all. No need for it as your hunger for knowledge seemed to outweigh any basic human need.

Bakugou had only seen you a handful of times, here and there in passing towards the gym at all hours of the day and night. Maybe it was just coincidence that he would find you hunched over something with this gleam in your eye as you destroyed and rebuilt the item over and over again.  

He shakes his head, he doesn't get it. Doesn't get why you dedicate so much time when no one else in your department seemed to give as much of a damn as you did. Or maybe he did get it, maybe it was similar to how he pushes himself so he can be number one, except yours was just for intellectual stimulation. 

After an hour and a half of throwing weights and punches around and becoming heavily drenched in sweat, Bakugou finally calls it a night. Gulping water from his water bottle before wiping at the sheen that collected on his forehead. He sighs out, before catching himself in the mirror. Smirking as he flexes, letting go a few pops. Admiring not only his improved physique but also his new hair style. Sides faded but top long, ash strands looking borderline messy, as if someone had just caught him and a lover kissing heavily in a dark hall during a house party, their fingers desperately pulling at his hair. 

He reaches for the ceiling in a grunting stretch as a yawn forces its way out. He leaves the gym, switching off the lights before making his way back to the parking garage. A furrow of his brow as he notices the light to your lab is still on, maybe you had forgotten to kill the light when you left or maybe you were still tinkering away.  Crimson eyes peer into the room, spying you as you begin to stretch. Your eyes latch onto his as he watches your expression go from concentrated to elated. You jump from your seat, causing Bakugou's brow to furrow more before you're flinging open the door and yanking at his wrist.

"Wow what are the odds?! Well I guess they would be around 4.64% considering you don't normally frequent this gym but I should also factor in your recent ban raising it up to.." 

"Oi, shitty woman, quit the nerd talk!" He yanks his wrist from your small, delicate hands. Totally unsure of what your name is and even if he did know it, he would sooner address you with an insult than your family name. 

"Ah I forget, not everyone loves numbers. But still I am quite lucky tonight." You beam up at him, hair threatening to fall loose from its haphazardly shaped bun, "You're just the man I needed to see, Bakugou." 

He isn't sure why but a faint blush creeps to his cheeks, was it your bright smile that threw him so off guard or was it the way your lips formed around his name?

He sucks his teeth, looking away from you with crossed arms. 

"Well I'm sweaty as fuck, so you really don't need me." He huffs but before he can turn on his heel you're clamping cool black metal to his forearms. You guide him to the door to the testing area of your lab, turning his arms this way and that to make sure your measurements are perfect as you ramble on. 

"No! No! That is the perfect condition for this experiment. I've been working on your winter costume since there are deficiencies with your current one. Since you, and I'm sure you already know, sweat less in the winter there needs to be some sort of counter balance to offset the possibility of little to no stored sweat. Preventive measures could be made sure and you collect sweat from previous activities but 'stale' sweat does not ignite as quickly or as violently as fresh sweat. One could argue that using heavier and denser materials could help aid in more sweat production but this risks overheating should a mission need you inside or a rapid change in environment all together outweight any benefit. So not only are these bracers less obnoxious than your gauntlets, no offense, but they collect 56 to even 62% more of expandable sweat compared to the normal 54% all while reducing the amount needed for ignition. Sure my colleagues could say that's a marginal improvement at best but…" Heat radiates off of him in waves, pulling your eye upwards. You're met with a red hot gaze that seems to rake over your skin. An odd chill runs down your spine as you realize your mistake. 

Nerd talk.  And rambling nerd talk at that. 

All the while Bakugou wonders why your hands are so damn cold and yet they feel good, soothing to his warmed skin. Refreshing even as it reminds him of a passing breeze in the summer or hiding in the shade from the sun.

A bit of heat rushes into your cheeks as you suddenly realize how close you are to THE Ground Zero. Someone who you knew so intimately through paper and yet knew nothing about all at the same time. You knew his measurements, the circumference of his head, his biceps, the number of inches around his thighs. Hell, you had them memorized since the big boss upstairs assigned you his costume and accessories well over a year ago. And yet you couldn't even fathom to name his favorite color or favorite food for that matter.

You swallow thickly, clearing your throat as you move on, dropping his deadly hands as you do.

"Ah, anyway, these bracers are designed to help with not only better sweat collection in both summer and winter but to aid in some stealth missions as they make no sound compared to your heavy gauntlets." You smile at him once more causing his stomach to flip before those small icy hands press harshly into his toned hot back, pushing him into the testing chamber behind diamond glass. 

"I just need you to test them. I need to make sure they can withstand your heat and power." With that you shut him away, quickly trotting to the mic on the other side. Pressing the button to speak as he turns his arms over looking at the smooth black material 

"Now, remember, it takes less sweat. So don't go all out!" At first you worry it falls on deaf ears before he gives a nod your way. Suddenly you are in awe of the power house that stands before you as his expression changes from utter agitation to complete determined focus, all with something as simple as a deep breath out. He focuses on producing enough sweat to ignite, calling on his quirk as if it were an extension of himself. Pooling it onto his skin, permeating the air with the slight smell of burnt sugar before he let's go a small pop. 

But the medium sized explosion he had expected was anything but what was produced.  Suddenly the brace on his arm explodes from the pressure as does the diamond glass in the room. Fear grips Bakugou as shards of glass go flying towards you before you flick your wrist harshly.  

The deadly shards bypass you, glistening shrapnel sinks deeply into the tile floor around you like a piece of jagged art.

And yet you seem unphased, delighted even as a manic smile paints your lips before it sours. Eyes noticing that the bracer barely stood up to the challenge. 

"Fuck…the density still cannot withstand the joules output or force that Bakugou is capable of…" A string of murmurs that remind him all too much of Deku as your fingers curl in the air, calling forth the failed experiment with unseen forces. The blonde long forgotten as you hunch over the workbench, going back to square one. 

Crimson eyes dissect your form and actions as you pull various books and tools towards you with the influence of your quirk, hovering around the work space. 

Suddenly you feel heat radiating behind you when normally you're enveloped in the cool air of the air conditioning, kept extra low in the labs to prevent overheating of parts. You look over your shoulder, suddenly remembering the Pro hero who's beginning to wonder why you're in support with a quirk like that. 

"I know, I know. The last bus and train left hours ago. I'll catch them in the morning." You guess at why he's lingering as you wave him off with your hand. He's caught off guard by your statement before he notices the clock, going to open his mouth to scold before snapping it shut. 

Why should he care if you work through the night? What was he gonna do? Offer you a ride when he didn't even know your name? 

He sucks his teeth biting out as he leaves. 

"Just call me when you're ready to test these again." 

Weeks pass and it's as you never left the lab. Glued to the same spot as he tests the product every other week only for you to grow more and more frustrated with each failure punctuated by shattered bracers. 

And every time he enters the lab room he learns something new about you. He can tell when or if you've left the lab for longer than a few minutes by how tidy the space is or lack thereof. A chaotic circle encompasses you filled with random items that you hope will ignite a spark of inspiration. Anything from books to thin sheets of metal and even to soft fabrics that haphazardly lay atop metal tools. Anything one could possibly imagine was probably there, sitting along-side several empty cups that once held iced coffee. He notices the bags beneath your eyes as they darken with each passing week and he's beginning to wonder if you've ever left as he leaves anywhere between 12 to 3am most nights. 

Tonight is no different as he makes his way to the gym at midnight while you're hunched over his bracers. A part of him wants to tell you to stop being an idiot, to rip you from your little stool and drag you to your bed or wherever the fuck you'll sleep as the other part points out 'why do you fucking care?' So he watches silently, eyes fixated on you until he runs out of glass to look through before he locks himself away in the gym. 

Bakugou puts in his black wireless earbuds before cranking his music up, tossing his phone onto a nearby workbench. He stretches this way and that, reaching for the sky as he looks at his form in the mirror, his hard earned V and bottom two abs wink at his reflection beneath his signature black tank top and his black hoodie. 

His fist connects easily with the heavy black bag suspended by a large chain. The sandbag swings back and forth with a creak with each heavy handed blow. Bakugou loses time with each kick and hit thrown at the bag, each passing song fueling his desire to melt his frustration until his hair is plastered to his forehead. He lets out a steadying breath as his heart roars in his chest,he rears his fist back for a final blow backed by a bit of his quirk. It connects with the well worn leather with such force a weak link in the chain snaps as the fabric obliterates, the 200lb bag flies into the mirror behind it. Shards of reflective glass glitter as they rain onto the matted floor. 

"Fuck." He huffs, stretching and turning to the opposite mirror. Sending a quick snap of his tongue out with the caption "Oops" as the background showcases the decimated gym to Kirishima. He picks up his bag, removing his ear buds to be met with the cool air of the hallway. 

Your light is still on causing him to grind his teeth as his phone reads 2:45am. He's angry enough he chooses to avoid looking into your enclosure as he walks past, fearful his sharp tongue will give him away. He misses you perk up, frantically waving for him to come in before you're at the door, flinging it open to yell out much too loudly in the empty halls. 

"Bakugou!" Your voice is hoarse and cracks from disuse before you clear your throat, lightly jogging to catch up to his large stride, "I've done it!" 

He ignores you, lips pursed in a tight line before your cold hand wraps tightly around his wrist. Pulling him back to the lab with eager steps. He rips away his wrist with a growl and follows you reluctantly, you seem unphased by his harsh actions. 

"I've finally perfected it. I'm sure this time. I was looking at it all wrong. Larger surface area does not always equate to better absorption. Not to mention the pressure for the explosions beneath the bracer is what was causing the failure in the first place. A marginal error that I should have caught earlier. This new design covers less than 15% of your skin but increases…." You ramble but it all falls on deaf ears. 

Bakugou sees that your hair is so loose in its ponytail it might as well be down. The bags beneath your eyes weigh heavy on your pretty features, your skin showing signs of dehydration as it seems to have lost some of its elasticity. Your lab coat is wrinkled and your nametag, that you're wearing for once, is pinned on upside down. He commits your name to memory although he finds it odd that it must be your first name instead of your family name, then again you do hail from overseas. As the two of you walk into your lab he realizes instantly that it has become your main living space. Shards of diamond glass still litter your floor, there is no rhyme or reason to the placement of objects.  Tools, and trash commingle in dangerous piles and stacks around the room. Something knits itself as it floats in the air, wavering a bit when you pause your rambling to yawn.

"Oi nerd!" Bakugou's voice is sharp, authoritative as he grips onto your wrist. Eyes still washing over the room before they land on you. Somehow you're too daft or too tired to pick up on his concern. 

"Yea yea nerd talk. I fucking get it." A half snap from your exhaustion, "Just…" 

You lose his grip before grabbing onto his arm, finding a mesh woven bracer somehow on that disastrous desk. It seems to be made of a soft, elastic fabric as you slip it over his thick forearm after shoving away his sweatshirt sleeve.

"Perfect, your sweat output was pretty close to max earlier. I could smell caramel from the gym. This is going to be so fucking great!" You giggle in delight as the other mesh bracer finishes itself, dropping before you frantically reach for it. He notices your faulty step, your under the breath curse and the long moment your eyes flutter. He almost bites his tongue clean off. 

Again your cool hands find his burning skin as you try to keep your tired brain focused on the task at hand and not how his forearms have grown nearly a half inch since your first encounter. It's difficult not to fall victim to his intoxicating smell as you force yourself to not sway on your feet and collapse into a lovely muscular man. His heat seems to have some sort of affect on you, causing an odd affinity between you both.

"Okay all done! Please give a medium sized blast!" You encourage, shoving him into the testing chamber as he glares down at you. He isn't sure why your chaotic state is bothering him but it does. He rolls his eyes as you slam the door shut. He brings clarity to his mind, focusing on his quirk and how the sweat feels against his skin. How it yearns to be something more, to explode into a whispering flame that may catch something ablaze. 

He gives in, just a little, giving it what it wants, igniting it with a simple thought. An explosion he would have considered large if he were still at UA but since all he's done is grow these past five years, earning him the number 3 rank, it comes to no surprise when the glass shatters yet again. 

Except this time you're too entranced with the smoke clearing, of seeing if your baby you've slaved over has made it through to comprehend the sharp threat. You notice the flying glass a moment too late, flicking your wrist to change the trajectory from what was supposed to be your entire body but your arms are grazed by the razor sharp shards. You grit your teeth, cursing to yourself calling forth a first aid kit. 

But nothing shows up in your peripheral except for a looming presence. One you give your back to in order to find the first aid kit with your gaze, when was the last time you ever had to look at something to summon it? 

Damn it, how could you be experiencing quirk failure from exhaustion right now? Sure it took a lot of brain power for your quirk but it takes weeks of no sleep for a failure plus you had been eating...your eyes glance around the room. You hadn't been eating, or so it says from the lack of any sort of plate or take out aside from your iced coffees with the added protein and carbohydrate shots your body needed to process your quirk with ease. 

Fuck, guess it really was quirk failure. You bite your lip, unable to find that damned kit hoping the hot head wouldn't catch on to your short coming. 

Vermillion eyes watch crimson spots bloom across the white fabric of your coat. He grinds his teeth, searching for the first aid kit only to find it knocked beneath a shelf. He rights himself, stalking your way with a grimace just to stop in his tracks. He watches you slip your oversize jacket off of strong shoulders, toned arms adorned with several thin slices that weep red, but what has really caught his attention was that body con dress. 

Sticking to you like a second skin, but looking somehow comfortable at the same time, he wonders for a moment if you've made it yourself. It's similar to the fabric used to make his shirts, breathable, soft, always smelling a bit sweet like you when they are fresh from the lab. His hand twitches as he can imagine how supple your curves would feel in the delicate yet sturdy material, palm already too familiar with the soft sensation. Red catches his eye once again pulling him from the trance that is your body. He sneers at the cuts as he grabs onto your cold shoulder, shoving you into your chair so he can work on you. You look up a bit shocked with a pinch of anger mixed in and a dash of hurt pride. He takes no notice as he wraps bandages tight around your arms, your eyes locked onto the bracers. The smile on your face cannot be helped as you stare proudly at your work, it was able to withstand so much power and remain not only in tact but unsinged. You grab onto his wrist turning it this way and that, a pen and pad float near by as you take notes. Bakugou cannot hide his astonishment as he watches the invisible hand borrow your neat yet rushed script as it is unable to keep up with your thoughts. You pull the bracers from his arms, fabric begins to tear itself thread by thread before spooling itself, wrapping around wood as if it were a snake. He pulls away, eyes hard as he talks himself out of whatever the stupid "heroic" side of him is saying. He takes a step back and with it taking his warmth. You shiver but you are too busy to notice, teeth chattering ever so slightly but you're too busy studying. He growls to himself. 

Suddenly you're enveloped in a dizzying sweet smell and warmth, it is then you realize that Bakugou had shoved his hoodie over your head. Slinking your arms into the holes to move the hood of the sweatshirt back, quickly realizing the material is not damp as you had once thought. It's warm from his quirks use, material dry as a bone, reminding you of pulling your favorite blanket fresh from the dryer just to wrap yourself in it as rain taps on the window of your apartment. 

Subconsciously you snuggle into it, opening your mouth to state how much work you have to do but instead you have to stifle a yawn. 

Had the cold of the lab always kept you awake, were you starting to actually feel the weight of your work only because you were warm? 

"I think it's time for bed, nerd." 

He places his hot palm on the back of your neck in a power move as he speaks. He enrages you and entices you all at once as your face snaps up to meet his gaze, your own eyes burning holes into him. He smirks down at you, deciding in this moment that he really likes you.  

"I'm taking you home. Get your shit." He squeezes your nape as a warning. He isn't taking no for an answer.

"I'll take the bus and train in the morning, three hours is child's play." Hitting his hand away, trying to return to your work. He scoffs in response. 

"You sure are oblivious for someone so smart. Tomorrow is Saturday." He crosses his exposed arms, unable to hide his smug smirk as realization washes over your stunning features, "That means the bus won't be in the business district til 10am." 

"I think I'll be okay." You say after a moment of silence, "I've waited longer. Or I could walk..." 

"Will you?" He retorts, "Your office says otherwise." 

You follow his gaze, your entire office in disarray, as if a bomb went off. 

You guess in a sense one had gone off. Biting your lip as you mull it over, eyes finding Bakugou's file shuffled across your desk, spying your own hand written cliff notes. 

Stubborn your script reads, you sigh admitting defeat as you wave your hand over the file. It tidies itself, papers folding neatly back into the Manila folder before you snap your fingers. 

Bakugou watches items soar around the room, books fighting and bickering over their order, pens and pencils long forgotten in corners of the room race back to their place on your desk. Papers flutter and fall into the trash or shredder in defeat as plastic cups sink into the plastic bin in the corner. The diamond glass follows suit as your own hands grab onto the bracers, giving them a gentle squeeze before you access an invisible drawer on your desk, hiding away your project before pushing it back. Wood flush against wood as if there were no drawer at all. 

A question burns on the tip of Bakugou's tongue, it dies in his throat for now as a new one is born. 

"That Kirishima's faceplate?" The question comes out in the form of a bite, for some reason the thought of his more likeable friend coming in here as often as Bakugou has set his blood boiling. 

"Ah yes, I just got this assignment from the big boss. Kirishima's new unbreakable breaks his faceplate everytime. Otto had it before me, which was odd. He is more of a reverse engineer. Taking an unknown material and figuring out how it works." Your eyes linger over the empty office across the way, "But he's been out and Kirishima can apparently no longer be on the back burner. Especially now that I've finished with the company's top hero." 

His heart melts just a bit as he watches a smidge of pride form in your dazzling eyes. He scoffs to change the topic.

"Come on, shitty woman." He guides you to the parking garage. 

Once there he acts out of character. At least what you would believe to be out of character as he holds open the door to his car for you, waiting for you to step in. 

"What?! I ain't fucking kidnapping you but I ain't letting you weasel out of this shit either." He growls, waiting impatiently by the door. You step in as he gently shuts the door behind you. He steps in himself, the engine purrs to life as you give him your address. 

"That far out? And you were gonna fucking walk?" He laughs, "Hell no, never again. You'll call me before you do that next time." 

"I don't have your number asshole." You grumble to yourself but he grabs your unlocked phone from your hands, plugging in his number and calling it. 

"There now you do." He locks it and puts it in his cup holder, demanding your attention. No longer can he keep that burning question to himself, "Why are you on support?" 

It puzzles you for a second before you realize he means it as a compliment to your quirk and not an insult to your intellect. 

"Oh that's easy. Being a hero wouldn't benefit me, it's too restrictive. I'm more of a…." You ponder on your words, vigilante was wrong, you wouldn't take justice into your own hands for the sake of others and villain was too strong, "Chaotic neutral. My moral compass is pretty grey and being in this lab benefits my need for knowledge." 

Bakugou glances your way, respectful of your honesty while your eyes become heavy watching the street lights blur, the hum of the engine pulling you deeper into relaxation.  There was something about a car ride that took you back to your childhood days in America.  The outskirts of the city would quickly wind into back roads lined with corn stalks that scrapped the sky. 

The street lights slowly became fewer and farther in between as the black coupe took you further from the heart of the city, soon more stars began to dot the sky.  You see just the tip of his zodiac constellation, it stirs a question within you. 

"So why do you want to be a hero?" You keep your eyes focused on the backdrop that lies beyond the tinted glass, missing Bakugou's knuckles turn stark white. 

He doesn't speak and that's answer enough for you.  

It took him an hour to get to your side of town, an hour. One you had said you would walk, one you mentioned you had walked before. He pulls up the sidewalk by your building, turning to you. 

"We're here…" His announcement turns into a sigh as he sees your slumped form. Head limp but thankfully not leaning on the glass as you're snuggled into his hoodie. You're murmuring how you need to update your measurements in your sleep causing Bakugou to roll his eyes. He pulls away to parallel park. He debates, should he wake you? 

No, who's to say you wouldn't attempt tor eturn to your work? He sighs, pocketing your phone and pulling the lanyard out of your purse that has, what he assumes,your house key on it. 

Katsuki's blood runs ice cold in his veins as realization sucker punches him square in the chest. He had NO fucking idea which apartment was yours. He turns your key over and over but why would that have the number on it? 

"Fuck." He would have to pray your mailbox was both clearly labeled and inside. He shoulders your purse before scooping you into his arms, sure to cradle you like the princess you are. 

He steps through the automatic doors, relief washes over him as a wall of mail boxes greet him. Better yet, they were neatly labeled with names AND apartment numbers.

But it is not long lived as his red eyes rake over the names, the family names, last names. He only knew your first and of course, of fucking course the Gods would laugh at him as panic rises in his throat. You had to have the most common first initial didn't you?  He had spotted it six times already but none of the last names seemed out of the ordinary, if anything they were all ordinary, run of the mill Japanese last names. Nothing foreign about them. 

"Fuck." He murmurs, plan B wouldn't work either, he can't just try out every fucking apartment with your first initial, how weird would that be, some guy shoving keys in random doors with a passed out woman in his arms. 

"Fuck." He cusses again. Was he going to have to take you to his apartment? Fuck, fuck fuck! He couldn't do that, the press slunk around his apartment like vultures, even at this hour.

"Oh you must be the guy that's been keeping her up so late at night." A voice sounds behind him, he turns towards the sound. A smaller young man smiles at him as if he and Bakugou share an inside joke. 

"Quite nice of you to bring her home, and get her mail." He laughs softly reaching for something in the desk, he approaches slowly, "But she must have forgotten to tell you she lost her key a couple of weeks ago. She always asks me to get the mail instead of paying the lost key fee. Don't blame her though." 

The desk clerk, Wantanabe, rambles on as Bakugou's sharp eyes watch closely. Silently thanking the Gods' for their blessing as he watches Watanabe slide the spare key into your mail slot. He commits your last name to memory, but more importantly 5C burns into his retinas. 

"...she hasn't been home in four weeks,  so she has a lot of mail." That snaps Bakugou back to the present, a small stack of mail is presented to him. He stares down at your form unable to keep the scowl off of his face. The dark circles beneath your eyes seem to become darker by the second. 

"Thanks." He growls through gritted teeth, snatching the mail as best he can without disturbing you. He looks for an elevator and when he sees he will have to climb five flights of stairs he wonders if this is the reason you don't come home often. 

Soon enough 5C is staring Bakugou in the face. He is hesitant, even if he does bring you home safely he wonders if you would misread his actions. As the saying goes, no good deed goes unpunished. Still his hands move quickly, sliding the key into the door and unlocking your mysteries. The apartment is sizable for the area, clean at least what he can see from the light of the hall flooding in. He flips on a switch with his elbow, he expected harsh light but instead ambient string lights that line the ceiling illuminate the space in a warm light. A three chair island with a marble water fall looks out into the living room, a large sectional couch swallows the space, a TV atop a nice entertainment table while books litter the coffee table and one part of the couch. The apartment feels as if it had been warmed by the sun through the drawn curtains but not overly hot, it feels cozy really.  As if Bakugou could imagine himself spread out on the grey sofa while you're curled against him, half dozing half reading your book. 

The thought jarrs him, he feels too close to you now, feverish almost as he rips your key from the door, shutting it softly before placing the lanyard onto the kitchen island. He spies a hall and passes a full bath, then a freshly vacant guest room to see a final door closed that he assumes is the master. He flips the switch and again light snakes around the ceiling washing the room in this comfort. He can understand the soft yellow lights considering you spend forty plus hours beneath harsh, bleaching white lights. He pulls back the comforter as best he can and lies you down gently. He removes your red bottom heels and praises the Kamisama when he sees you do not have on tights not that he would remove them anyway. You snuggle deeper into his hoodie, smiling as you do, dreaming of whatever little scientist's dream about. Katsuki imagines it's all math, measurements, molecular structures, nerd shit. You begin to murmur in your sleep.

"...gotta update his chart…" 

"Fucking nerd." Bakugou smiles to himself, you look peaceful even as your mind races with reminders. Another snuggle deeper into his hoodie, he goes to reach out to push hair from your face and stops himself. 

"What the fuck am I doing?" He growls aloud, he doesn't know you. Barely figured out your last name and that was by both chance and stupidity on the desk clerk's. He heads for your bedroom door, stopping with his hand gripping the handle. He peers over his shoulder before killing the switch, flooding your room with darkness. 

He shuts the door and with it the odd ache that's growing in his chest.