#if i had to pick gun to my head honestly the best character in rise is splinter

[nimagine]

mr. gets shredded for the bingo

i had trouble deciding whether things counted if they used to be true but arent anymore (i.e. i used to constantly rotate him in my mind but i do not at present). im leaning more towards only counting things in the present.

[basicjetsetter]

The Rise of Deus

♡ Pairing: Mob!Peter Parker x BlackFemale!Reader

♧ Setting: The Terrace Room in The Plaza Hotel, New York

♤ Warnings: Language, Adult Themes, Violence, +18 Smut (If you are under age, please do not read this).

♢ Word Count: 7.2k

☆ A/N: Okay, so I got a little carried away. This is such an indulgent mess, I love it to pieces. If you haven’t read The Fall yet, I suggest you read it before you get to this part. It takes a while to setup, but I promise it’ll be worth it.  Please hit like if you enjoy it, leave me a lil’ comment and a reblog if you love it. Happy reading! (P.S. I like these two characters so much, I might just write some more moments for them).

The game is in your hands. Exactly as planned.

♢ ♤ ♡ ♧

You’re not a great poker player.

In fact, compared to Peter and even Rumlow, your skills are subpar at best. The idea of betting everything on chance rankled the very fibers of your being, and you never could quite remember which hands beat which. But you were excellent at reading people.

It’s how you became New York’s best attorney. That, and because you were sharper than most people assumed you were.

Exhibit A: Rumlow.

You have to give it to him, though. He was initially difficult to read.

Earlier in the game, you tried to gauge his tells as he demolished Peter. Everyone reacts when they have a good or bad hand, whether they’re aware of it or not. As an attorney, you study your clients, plaintiffs, and sometimes the theoretically impartial jury for their tells—how they react to damning information, or rather, how they choose not to react.

The truth is in their eyes. The way they hunch their shoulders. Touch their face. Purse their lips. Breathe. Everything is a tell.

Rumlow’s whole personality screams dominant knowing, and he strategizes that way. Like he’s seen your hand before you even pick up the cards.

He plays too smart. And when he’s drunk, it becomes all the more apparent.

The way he rubbed his bottom lip before bargaining the final bet, slow and methodical, sealed the game against him. It’s not much to go off of for some, but for you, it’s more than enough. It’s a nervous habit—the movement confirming that his hand isn’t crap, but it isn’t the best, either.

You glimpsed down at your hand, then back up to Rumlow with a pleasant expression.

No, you aren’t a good poker player. But Peter is.

“Save your time, sweetheart. Let’s just get this over with,” said Rumlow, leaning back in his chair. It creaked under his muscular weight. “Fold.”

You arched an eyebrow, then crossed one leg over the other, causing the hem of your dress to ride up and show a decent amount of skin. “Don’t I get to place a bet of my own? You know, just in case my hand is better.”

Rumlow’s eyes predictably feasted on your exposed skin before he dragged them back up to your face. “What makes you think your hand is gonna be better than mine?”

“Indulge me, Brock,” you nearly purred, internally gagging as Rumlow’s breathing became labored. “If you know your hand is better, then you have absolutely nothing to worry about. I just want to have a little fun.” 

Part of you is grateful that Peter is handcuffed in the back of a police car, not here to witness your attempt at seduction. You needed to do it while Rumlow is still drunk enough to fall for it.

Rumlow contemplated your words for a split second, eyes dipping down once more to relish the sight of your skin while his thumb repeatedly ran over the top of his cards. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes.

He finally said, “Alright, I’ll bite. What’d you have in mind?”

Saccharine venom oozed into your words as you held a charming smile. “When I win, you’re going to give me $20 million, all of your inventory and routes to Peter, and I want your promise that the Scorpions will no longer operate in New York. You can go be someone else’s problem.”

The smug light fizzled out of Rumlow’s eyes, and his mouth hardened into a flat line. “Not going to happen.”

“And why not?” you asked innocently. You’re having way too much fun with messing with Rumlow’s head. “What’s so different about my demand from yours?”

“You don’t think you’re asking for too much?”

You leaned forward, letting your eyes slowly roam over his face before settling on his dark eyes, loving the way it made him uneasy, then said matter-of-factly, “Not at all. If you want everything from Peter, then I want everything from you. Only seems fair. That is, of course, if you want to renegotiate your previous proposal…?”

Rumlow sat up in his chair, staring too hard into your face. Searching for a crack in your armor. He wasn’t going to find anything that wasn’t already there. You’re sincere and know next to nothing about manipulating a game of luck, and it showed all over your face, clear as day. He’s got nothing on you.

“What is this?” He looked around the room as if there were hidden cameras on the walls, looked at the clueless faces of people spectating the game.

Tony muttered, “Well, this was supposed to be a party, but I’d say we’re miles away from that—ouch!” He groaned as Pepper elbowed him in the ribs.

“What do you think this is?” you questioned him back using the same inflection.

Rumlow’s head snapped back to face you, his eyes practically pitch-black. “A fucking setup.”

“It’s just a game, Brock. That’s all it is.” You’re surprised at how serene you sound because your heart is leaping around in your chest, about ready to burst free and fly away from the excitement of it all, but you’re conscious enough to keep the surprise off your poker face. “Do we have a deal or not?”

He filled his lungs with a ragged breath, expelling it out of flared nostrils. Pinched the bridge of his nose. Strategized. “$25 million. Everything else stays the same. His routes. His connections. You.”

You nod once. “And you accept my wager?”

Rumlow begrudgingly nodded. His knuckles turned white from clenching his cards.

“On three, we show our hands,” you said and waited, giving him one last chance to object. He doesn’t; he just keeps his hawk-like stare trained on you.

“One.”

“Two.”

“Three.”

You both turn your cards over at the same time.

Rumlow’s hand shows a Three, Four, Five, Six, and Seven, all clubs. Straight Flush.

Peter’s hand shows a King, Queen, Jack, Ten, and an Ace, all hearts. Royal Flush.

“Bullshit!”

Rumlow shot up from his chair, threw his cards to the floor, and snatched the gun from one of his men, aiming it at you.

Gasps filled the room, and you’re certain you heard Tony shout your name in alarm. Just as they’d done with Peter, the venue's guards raised their weapons at Rumlow and his men. 

You broke out into a fit of giggles. There were uncontrollable, bubbling from your lips and almost doubling you over. Maybe it was your nerves finally getting the best of you, or perhaps it was the dumbfounded shock on Rumlow’s face as he pulled a gun on you. Either way, you didn’t have a hope of taming them.

Rage intensified the crimson flush on Rumlow’s face. He barked out, “Why the fuck are you laughing?”

You struggled to pull it together. “Di-Did you honestly think you could beat Peter at poker, of all things? Seriously? I mean, don’t get me wrong. I knew you were dense, but geez.”

“He cheated. Ain’t no way he got that hand. Ain’t no fucking way.”

“Oh, come on,” you said, trying hard to stifle the giggles. “You said it yourself. Peter's a lucky son of a bitch.”

Rumlow took a minute to process the loss, eyes spacing out while the gun remained pointed at you. Your giggles died down as you sat patiently, drumming your fingers against your thigh and staring right back at the gun, uninterested. He wouldn’t shoot you. Not if he valued his life.

If Peter were here, you knew he’d be proud. Furious, yet proud.

At last, the arrogance returned to Rumlow’s smile, and he scoffed, “Congratulations, I guess. But um, I don’t really have to give you anything, you know. All bets have been word of mouth, nothing written down.”

Your smile never faltered. “Don’t do that, Brock. That isn’t how this works, and you know it. You were fully expecting Peter to hand me over to you with a nice, shiny gift bow taped to my ass and $25 million. Right? Or are you pointing a gun at me just because you feel like it?”

Rumlow shrugged with one shoulder. A hint of his anger traced his features before it faded back into an impassive mask.

“Doesn’t matter. I’m not giving you shit.”

You sighed dramatically. “Okay, fine. Be that way. But this is how it’s going to play out, regardless. You have three choices.” You ticked them off on your fingers. “One: You give me what I won and leave New York. Two: I sue your ass until you have nothing. Three: You get to deal with Peter. That last one won’t bode out too well for you.”

“Oh yeah?” he asked, snickering. “And what you gonna sue me for, sweetheart? Gambling?”

Your eyes firmed into a severe gaze as you spoke. “I had a nice little chat with Miss Shuri Udaku earlier.”

The dark look passed over his eyes again. A thick mask of indifference tried to hide his culpability before you could spot it, but you didn’t even need to see it in his face. The guilt in his tightened shoulder blared like a blinking neon sign.

Bullseye.

You forged on. “Now, if what Shuri told me is true, which, guessing by the look on your face, it must be, you’re in deep shit. And I’ll take an educated guess and presume she isn’t the only one you’ve…spoken with.”

You paused for him to defy your assumption. He remained silent, his jaw grinding.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” you inquired with a faux mask of concern. “Did I hit a nerve?”

Rumlow’s eye twitched as he lowered the gun. Defeat heavy in his furrowed brows. “I’m gonna make you pay for this. You and him.”

“Just be sure to run me my money, first,” you said. A sly smirk curled up the corner of your mouth. “I want the whole amount by tomorrow, and I want you out of this state by the end of the week, got it?”

A snarl rumbled in his chest. “Got it.”

“Good,” you smiled brilliantly. “Now get your ass out of here. And take the Dynamic Duo with you.”

Everyone lowered their weapons as Rumlow and his two shadows stomped out of the Terrace Room. You watched their backs until they were no longer in your eyesight. It’s over. You won. A rise of applause swelled after the threat ultimately left the room, catching you off guard as you moved to retrieve Peter’s cards from the ground. You curtsied for them and offered a humbled grin.

A rush of adrenaline is humming through your veins, and it’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. You’re positive you could scale the Empire State Building without so much as a harness, just running on pure pent up energy. Maybe you should do this kind of stuff more often.

Steve was the first to come up to you, confusion laced in his blue eyes. “We’re letting him go? Just like that?”

“Yes.”

“He pointed a gun at you!”

You brusquely scanned your unscathed body. “No harm, no foul, Lieutenant Rogers.”

“Jesus, you and that kid are a match made in Heaven,” Steve mumbled, shaking his head in shock.

“Wouldn’t be marrying him if we weren’t. And thank you for reminding me…” You trailed off, heading in the direction of Tony and Pepper.

You had to tell Tony the truth about you and Peter before your nerve wore off, or else you’d never find the courage to ever say it straight to his face. Even as you trudged over to him, a leaden ball of anxiety smothered your chest.

Shuri sprang at you without warning, tightly hugging you and jumping up and down as she squealed, “That was so awesome! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“It was nothing,” you said mirthfully.

“It was everything! That man’s been breathing down my neck for months about those weapons. I couldn’t turn a corner without seeing him. I can’t thank you enough.” As you broke apart, she handed you an embossed card. “If Peter is interested, I would love to have a meeting with him. Maybe we could all catch lunch.”

“He is definitely interested. I’ll be sure he calls you,” you assured, beaming her a friendly smile.

She nodded in agreement then waved her goodbyes, walking away to find her companions.

Everything always falls right into place for Peter.

You shook your head in awe as you made your way over to Tony and Pepper again, this time scanning your surroundings to ensure no one else ambushed you. Once you were close enough, they both threw their arms around your shoulders and pulled you into a protective embrace. 

“We’re so glad you’re okay, sweetie,” said Pepper as she rubbed a comforting hand up and down your back.

“Don’t you ever pull something like that again, you hear me?” Tony chastised, his tangible relief choking up your throat. He pulled away to look into your eyes thoroughly. “I almost had a heart attack watching that. How could you just stare at the guy as he held a gun to you? You didn’t flinch or anything. I swear you’re turning into a different person right before my—”

You blurted out, “I’m marrying Peter.”

Tony blinked and opened his mouth to speak, but you cut him off, the floodgates bursting open as you spilled everything.

“He proposed three months ago, and I said yes because I am in love with him, Tony. I am in love with Peter Parker, and I know you hate his guts because of what he does, but I don’t care. And…” you stopped, sucking in a deep breath to steady your trembling words. “And I don’t care if me loving him means you hating me. You’re like a father to me, and I respect you, but I won’t continue to let you badger me about being with Peter.”

Tony interjected, “Woah, woah, woah, pump the brakes. Where did you get the idea that I’d ever hate you for being with Parker?”

Both you and Pepper raised an eyebrow at Tony, a universal look that easily translated to Your words said it all.

“Alright, sure, I never really liked the kid. He’s this devious little mastermind who circumvents the law to get what he wants and somehow even got you. But I can hate him and still love you, hon.”

You coughed up a laugh partly because of your relief and partly because of how ridiculous Tony was. “I want you to tolerate him at least. That means no more bringing up the fact that I am his Personal Attorney, no more threats of arrest, and no more nicknames.”

Tony sighed and said, “Okay to the first two, but I can’t make any promises for the nicknames. Baby-faced Criminal has a nice ring to it.”

Your smile brightened. “Deal.” You stepped back into his hug, pressing your face against his shoulder and exhaling. Finally, having the truth out in the open felt like releasing a breath you held in for three long months.

You heard Tony add, “ ‘Sides, I already knew you were engaged.”

“What?” you screeched, stepping back. “What do you mean you already knew?!”

“First of all, ouch,” Tony groused as he rubbed at the ear you accidentally screamed in. “Second of all, Pepper is not really that great at hiding wedding preparations as she thinks she is. And Parker came to me about four months ago.”

You’re so shocked you forgot to breathe, involuntarily pulling in a long drag of air as it dawned on you that your tormented lungs screamed for oxygen. “What—what do you mean Peter came to you?”

“Your young man thought it proper to ask me for my blessing before popping the big question, and I may have expressly told him to go swim in the Bermuda Triangle.” At your expression, he quickly added. “Well, he didn’t!”

“It’s just—He never told me that he asked.” You omitted the part where Peter held your refusal to tell Tony about the engagement against you. Tony wouldn’t understand Peter’s motives any more than you could. But you were going to make him explain himself. 

A brief impression of chagrin flashed in Tony’s eyes. “I admit I wasn’t that forthcoming about it. He probably thought it’d be better to keep it to himself than tell you I said no.”

That’s not what it was, but you hummed in agreement anyway.

“Welp, my party mood’s long gone,” Tony stated, unbuttoning his jacket and loosening his tie. “Anybody else up for some Shawarma?”

| Next Morning  |

Today wasn’t unlike any other day. Phillips told you your client's location, even though you both knew the area by heart. Third floor. Cell Block E. Number 7. Always Number 7. Lucky Number 7.

♢ ♤ ♡ ♧

One of the guards, a new hire with a tag reading Lang, shadowed you as you walked out of the detention center’s lobby and into the bustling dayroom, then up to Peter’s cell. An untrained eye wouldn’t notice the guard’s careful proximity, and an untrained ear wouldn’t hear his trepid footsteps. You knew better. 

Your fiancé is many things, and cautious just happens to be a large part of his make-up. None of the inmates lounging around the dayroom dared to glance your way, not because of the authoritative figure trailing behind you, but because of Peter and his imposing rap-sheet. 

While Lang’s presence was somewhat reassuring on your way around the crowded cells, you didn’t need the security detail. You weren’t afraid of anyone in this facility. The moment you propositioned to be his attorney, he should’ve known you weren’t one to be easily rattled.

When you stood in front of Peter’s cell door, Officer Lang moved up close enough to smack the door twice, then placed the key in the lock. As the heavy metal door swung open, you weren’t sure what you might see. 

He’s been away from the action, holed up in here all night. A tiny part of you expected Peter to be pacing the floor, running his hands through his hair and wringing them together in distress, beads of sweat trickling down his neck as he counted the seconds to your arrival. You wondered what it would be like to witness God panicking.

What you saw made you smile. Peter, sitting on his squalid mattress with his body propped up against the wall, his eyes closed and mouth slightly ajar, is sound asleep. Some of his brown curls are slightly lying over his forehead, giving him the perfect air of innocence.

Lang took a half step through the door, poked his head in the room, and loudly sang, “Wakey, wakey, Parker! You’re sprung.”

Peter jolted up from his position, looking around as if he forgot his bearings. The moment his eyes landed on yours, a sly smirk slid onto his lips, and the air of innocence vanished.

“Took you long enough.”

He got up from his bed with a low groan, stretching out the kinks in his neck. His dress shirt from last night is has a few more buttons open, exposing his black undershirt, and his shoes are in the corner of the room. The guards didn’t bother giving him a change of clothes because they knew he’d be out in less than 24 hours.

“I could always leave you in here, Mr. Parker,” you said, a small, teasing smile playing at your lips.

Peter grinned back at you, then retrieved his shoes. Lang stood against the wall like a statue, head forward and hands crossed in front of him. 

When he was out of the cell, and Lang locked the door behind him, Peter addressed Lang. “She can take it from here, Scott.”

And just like that, Lang’s stoic face melted into a rueful grin as he mockingly saluted Peter and walked off, leaving the two of you alone. 

Your mouth gaped for approximately two seconds before you caught on. “You hired him to play pretend-cop?”

“Oh no, Scott works here.” Peter slipped his shoes on and unbuttoned the rest of his dress shirt’s buttons. “He just also happens to work for me while working here.”

You wanted to ask how many Scotts he had in this facility but thought against it, deciding to quietly lead him out of the dayroom and into the lobby. No one acknowledged your departure. Every single one kept their heads down and tended to business as usual. 

Peter’s driver, Flash, leaned against the car, smoking a cigarette. Once he saw you both approach, he stamped it out and immediately opened the back seat door for you and Peter.

“Good morning, sir,” he said, always overly cheerful.

Peter clapped Flash on the shoulder and said, “Hey, man. How you doing?”

“Good, sir. Thank you for asking.”

“Dude, we talked about this. Stop calling me ‘sir’ so much. It’s getting weird.”

Flash automatically nodded, saying, “Right, sorry about that,” before closing the door behind Peter. He’d call Peter ‘sir’ again by tomorrow.

Peter groaned in instant satisfaction as he sank into the leather seat. It’s a low and throaty sound, and you felt its vibrations all the way to your core, leaving a flustered mess for longer than you’re proud to say. Two years you’ve been with this man, and the lust hasn’t dimmed.

Peter got right to the point. “So, how’d it go?”

You smirked contentedly, flattening your hands across the lap of your pencil skirt. “You are $20 million richer. And you have the Scorpions’ trading routes and connections, along with a guarantee eviction by the end of the week.”

“20 million… Damn, baby, I knew you were a hustler, but that’s in-fucking-sane!” Peter whooped, turning in his seat to face you fully. His face radiated with excitement. “I bet Rumlow’s pissed.”

“Oh, yeah. He was pissed, alright. He tried renegotiating, then tried to worm out of it. It was fun to watch him squirm.” You’d never mention the part where Rumlow pulled a gun on you to Peter. Not because you cared for Rumlow’s safety in any way, but because you’ve seen how Peter reacts when someone threatens his loved ones, and you never want him to go down that dark tunnel again.

Peter leaned his head against the headrest and wistfully said, “Wish I could’ve been there. Stark didn’t give you a hard time for gambling, did he?”

The topic shift smacked you with the remembrance of what happened last night, what Tony had said. It shouldn’t have kept you up all night, but you tossed and turned with the nagging fact that Peter both hid his confrontation with Tony and had the nerve to pester you about not telling Tony something that he already knew.

For a while, you stayed up wondering why Peter even brought it up at dinner. What was his purpose? Why act cold towards you if there wasn’t a reason? Or was it even an act? Did he genuinely resent you that much for being anxious about telling Tony? Would you ever see that side of Peter again? So indifferent, so cruel. So quick to discard you.

The rest of the night, you replayed over and over how he ignored you, how he minimized you. That wasn’t part of the plan. Most of what happened before the cards got into your hands played out unexpectedly, and you understood why that had to be at some degree, but the ambiguity of it all ticked you off. Did he not trust you?

When he dismissed you, you actually thought about leaving him there alone. Was that not real?

That ache in your chest was real.

“Babe?” Peter waved his hand in front of your face. “Babygirl? What’s wrong? What’d I say?”

You couldn’t bring your eyes up to meet his. They strayed to your lap, refusing to move even as Peter hesitantly took hold of your chin with his thumb and index finger. He emphatically called your name a few times, worry intensifying more and more as an unspecified amount of time passed. Peter never dropped his hand. His thumb caressed your chin while he waited for you to speak, knowing you would.

The desire to verbalize took longer than you expected. There just didn’t seem to be a right way to say what was weighing on your mind. Outright confronting him with only inference to go off of felt childish, but so did beating around the bush. You ultimately chose to address the subject of your silence.

In a tense voice, you said, “Tony told me that you asked for his permission to marry me.”

About thirty seconds ticked away. Peter sighed, “Are you upset that I didn’t tell you?”

You nibbled on your lower lip, then brought your eyes up to meet his. Mild concern drowns his warm brown eyes, somehow increasing their depth, and frown lines creased his forehead. If this were one of your typical squabbles and he stared at you with those damn eyes, you’d have been a goner.

“No.” You shook your head to clear the effect of his gaze. “I’m upset that you asked Tony and then proceeded to act like I had an obligation to tell him something you already told him. And then you got so mad about it last night…” you trailed off in a whisper, recalling his restrained animosity, something you never thought you’d experience with him.

“I wasn’t actually mad,” he rushed.

“So you were pretending?” You asked lamely, feeling the ghost of last night’s ache lash around in your chest. “All that wasn’t real? Ignoring me? Snatching your arm away from me? Dismissing me?”

He insistently shook his head, brown curls swaying across his forehead. “None of it.” 

To you, the truth is almost as bad as the lie.

“It felt real to me.” Your voice sounds so small, it’s humiliating. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, severing the eye contact again. “The fact that you couldn’t just tell me that that’s what you were doing beforehand makes me feel like… like you don’t trust me. Like you’re willing to sacrifice my feelings for some stupid game. Like I’m a pawn.”

“Fuck,” Peter cursed, running a swift hand through tousled his hair. “No, baby, that’s not it. Come ‘ere.” 

Peter reached over the divider and pulled you into his lap despite your attempt to scoot away. You didn’t want him holding you, consoling you because even if you tried your hardest to resist him, an irrational part of your brain would immediately relent to his closeness.

You stiffened at the touch of his hand rubbing small circles on your lower back, then loudly to clear your throat. “What is it, then?” You spoke to him as if he were one of your clients. Professional. Distanced. But you couldn’t look into those eyes.

“I was giving you an alibi,” he confessed, not fazed by your tone. “In case anything went wrong. We needed to look distant so Rumlow wouldn’t catch on to how coordinated everything was.”

Okay, that’s nowhere near the answer you were expecting. Because, of course Peter would come up with a convoluted explanation that only made sense to him. Irritation rose in you like a brewing storm as you peered straight into his eyes, ignoring the visceral pull as they locked on you.

“Did it ever occur to you that I’m a grown-ass woman who can handle shit by herself? I didn’t need a fucking alibi, Peter,” you said, indignation souring your tone. “What, did you think I was going to fuck up that bad?”

“No,” said Peter firmly. When you scoff, he persists. “I mean it. I was just—I was just trying to look out for you.” He held your chin again, applying a slight amount of pressure to keep your eyes on him. “I’m sorry. You’re right, you’re more than capable of taking care of yourself, and I love that about you. Sometimes, though, I want to be there for you as much as you’re there for me, if not more.”

You stubbornly held your tongue. You’re not going to cave with a simple apology… no matter how sincere it sounded.

Peter leaned in closer, poorly hiding his smirk as he heard your breath hitch while his lips skimmed up your neck. “I’m sorry, baby,” he murmured against your skin. “I apologize for not considering your feelings.” He placed a tiny kiss on the crook of your neck, trailing the tip of his nose against your jawline. “I’m sorry for keeping you in the dark.”

An undeniable heat flickered to life within you, building as Peter’s actions grew enticingly bold. The pads of his fingers glide up and down your stocking-clad thighs, and each motion brought his hands down further and further until his whole, warm palms flattened down to massage your calves and thighs. Unknowingly, you inclined your neck to allow him to access a larger expanse of your skin.

Any resolve you cemented against Peter crumbled as a pair of lips outlined the shell of your ear. His voice comes out hoarse when he speaks, hoarse and deliberate. “I trust you with everything I have. You know that, don’t you?” His lips hover dangerously near yours.

You exhaled out a breathy, “Yes.” You do know that. He wouldn’t trust anyone else to hold those cards but you, wouldn’t trust anyone else bargaining with his assets but you.

Peter held your lowered gaze steady as he hooked his hands under your thighs and hoisted you up so you fully straddled him, your pencil skirt elastic enough to permit marginal movement. A low whine emitted from your throat as he pressed a chaste kiss to your lips, then pulled away to stare at you, using the full force of his immorally brown eyes.

“Can you forgive me?”

It’d be as simple as sin to whimper out a pathetic affirmative and let him off scot-free. Excruciatingly simple. You knew he meant every word, and you were glad he let you express your anger before apologizing. You wanted to forgive him. But your mind currently wasn’t on the same circuit as your mouth, refusing to utter a single word, wondering where that would get you.

“Hmm,” Peter hummed pensively, contemplating while a predatory grin crept onto his lips. “Guess I gotta work for it, then.”

♢ ♤ ♡ ♧

Your back arched up off the bed, and you toss your head back as you gutturally cried out Peter’s name for the fourth time.

The moment you two entered the house, Peter was on you, guiding you to the bedroom with his lips attached to yours and his hands groping your backside. His hands never left your body, and once they did, it was only to tear off his clothes. You weren’t sure what you signed up for, but something glinting in Peter’s eyes, an erotic passion you’ve encountered several times in your relationship, bespoke of an intense afternoon headed your way.

Before you could even guess what that might entail, you were lying on your back in the middle of the bed, and Peter was parting your legs open.

Currently, his grip on your bucking hips remains vice-like as he keeps his face planted between your quaking thighs, still lapping up the rest of your orgasm and staring you dead in the eyes with wicked lust.

Each time he made you cum, he’d huskily ask, “You forgive me?” The first time, you were cheeky, shaking your head with a tiny pout on your lips and eagerly wiggling your hips and tugging on the silky strands of his hair for more. The second time, your body ached wonderfully, and you lazily nodded your acceptance of his apology, but he didn’t stop, tightening his hold on the swells of your hips and delving his tongue through your silken folds. By the third time, you were religiously chanting, “I forgive you,” grasping the sheets for dear life as Peter solely sucked on your clit and salaciously groaned into your core.

On the fourth orgasm, your whole body is aflame, your fingers are desperately clutching Peter’s wrists, and you’re a blissed-out, gibbering mess with tears of ecstasy streaming out the corners of your eyes.

“You forgive me?” Peter rasped, his breath fanning against your sensitive skin. He alternately kissed your inner thighs, sometimes gently sucking the skin until he left stinging love bites.

Knowing words were well beyond your reach, your jerkily bobbed your head up and down, gulping in air to calm your heaving chest.

A whine of relief breaks free when Peter finally lets go of your hips and leads a sloppy trail of kisses up your abdomen, between the valley of your breasts, along your neck, your jawline, until he claims your lips in a sensually slow kiss, one that stole away your regained breath. You mewled into it, wrapping your arms around his neck and threading your fingers through his hair. He lowered his body on top of yours, deliciously suffocating you with his body heat and his scent—an intoxicating aroma of smoky spice you only associate with Peter.

Your brain treads on a fine line near oblivion. All your mind can comprehend is Peter. His soft little grunts in your mouth, his toned chest brushing against yours, his hardened cock against your stomach as he ruts into you.

“I want you,” you panted, wanton need thick in your voice. You’re entirely spent, but you couldn’t help but crave more of Peter, couldn’t help but want him to thoroughly build you up only to tear you down all over again. 

Peter teasingly nipped at your lips, mumbling, “Where do you want me?”

You let out an impatient, low-pitched groan. “Inside me, baby. Please, Peter.” Your hips angled up on their own accord, grinding your dripping core against his cock. “Please, fuck me.”

His eyes rolled back, mouth slightly agape, and his face pinched in pleasure—what a pretty sight. Your eyes drank him all in. You loved the way he squinches up his eyes, almost as if all the sensations are too much to process. You loved how the flush creeping up his neck turned his skin a lovely scarlet. You loved watching him try to be attentive to you while being so engrossed in his own bliss.

Unhurried, Peter took himself in his hand, then slid his length through your folds before guiding his tip to your entrance. He always liked to draw this moment so he could hear the desperate noises you’d make for him. Your whole body sang out for him, from the broken moans spilling from your lips to the constant, stuttering pitch in your hips. 

At an agonizingly slow pace, Peter slid inside of you, hissing out a drawn-out Fuck. You jumped and gasped at the slight sting as he stretched you out, gripping onto his biceps and clenching around him as the sting built up to a toe-curling burn of ecstasy. 

He stroked into you with painstaking emphasis, hitting a deep spot within you that brought stars to your vision while capturing your lips in a blistering kiss. Your hands held his face as the kiss deepened, both of you moaning into each other’s mouths in carnal abandon. Yeah, it definitely tops the sex you had on the night he proposed.

Peter broke the kiss to dip his head down and favor the skin on your neck. His voice is a low murmur when he speaks, barely louder than your gasping breaths. “You forgive me?”

You practically sob out, “Yes! Yes, baby, I forgive you.” The flames are multiplying, licking up from your lower region and engulfing you as his strokes rock steadily. 

“You know you’re my everything,” he grunted, sucking down hard on your skin and laving it with his tongue after you yelp his name.

Your heart flutters as you moan, “Yes.”

“Say it, baby,” Peter mumbled, an undercurrent of firmness in his voice. “I wanna hear you say it.”

“I’m your everything.” The things this man does to you…

“Good girl.” Peter’s hand wedged between your entwined bodies, reaching down to rub your overstimulated clit, watching the tremors shaking through your body as your mouth hung open in a silent moan. “I want you to remember that,” he ordered. “You’re my everything, and I’m sorry I”—grunt—“Fuck, I’m sorry I hurt you.”

He carefully collects you in his arms before rolling over and putting you on top, wrapping his arms around your back so your bodies remain pressed together. Some of your twists cascade on either side of Peter’s face, but he doesn’t mind, keeping his head buried in the crook of your shoulder as he pumped up his hips, deeply thrusting into you. 

“You feel so good, babygirl,” Peter said roughly, his hips picking up into a bruising speed. “So wet for me.” His hands slide down your back and squeeze your ass. “Always take me so well.”

All you could manage were needy, shameless whimpers in response as his dirty words, his scorching touch, his soft lips, his slick body against yours all sent you reeling towards a rapturous release. Every stroke brings you closer to the edge, and you know Peter isn’t far behind.

With some effort, you drag yourself up to sit on Peter’s cock and brace your hands on his chest, lolling your head back as the new angle allowed him to hit a deeper spot within you.

Peter admired you through half-lidded eyes. “So fucking beautiful.”

You mustered up a beaming smile for Peter, then set your focus on riding him with the little energy you had left, slowly bouncing up and down on his thick length and loving the quick hitch in Peter’s breath as you took control. You wanted to see him writhe underneath you as he came inside you, wanted to see his pretty lips part as he called out your name. You’re so close, it’s maddening, but you’re waiting for Peter to fall off the edge with you. 

As soon as Peter’s hips began to chase yours in a broken pattern and a repeated mixture of your name and fucks streamed out of his mouth, your climax slammed into you, slightly choking you up as you came with a high-pitched, quivering gasp and cried out, “Peter!”

Peter’s crashed down on him with the same force. His hips stalled for an instant before jerking up into you one last time, your name tumbling from his lips in a hoarse groan as he filled you with his hot, sticky cum. It feels as if you’re riding the wave of your orgasm for hours, and you blissfully drown in it. Savor it. Bask in the absolute pride of knowing that this man is yours and yours alone even though you have yet to seal it with the promise of ‘for as long as you both shall live.’

The comedown is a sluggish process, like trying to swim the length of a 10-foot pool of honey. Your heart rate is the first to slow down into a stable rhythm, then the raucous hum singing in your body simmers down to a delicious buzz whose sole purpose is to remind you of the five breathtaking orgasms Peter drew out of you. Every part of your body aches when you merely think about moving, so you cave and slump onto Peter’s torso, eliciting an amused oomph from Peter as he wraps an arm around your waist. When he pulls out of you, his cum smears a sticky trail in between your thighs.

Peter brushes away some of your twists from your face to press a gentle kiss to your perspired forehead. “I love you.”

“I love you,” you echo back, leaning up a little to peck his jawline. You snuggle up closer so your head rested on his shoulder. “And I really do forgive you. Your intentions were pure, and I know you were just trying to protect me.” You reach up and grab his chin, making him look into your eyes. “But I want your complete trust, Peter. Trust that I can handle things on my own.”

“From this point on, you have my whole trust,” Peter promised. He took hold of your hand, entwined your fingers together, and then put your hands over his heart. Its slow thud matched yours. “You have my word. No more alibis.”

You laughed tiredly. “Thank you.”

For a while, you two just stayed in each other’s embrace, your eyes falling as Peter’s finger lazily traced an infinity sign around your knuckles. You’re still buzzing, and you know you should roll out of bed to wash up, but you try to save these soft moments in your memory, to help remind you of the kind man who can be, at times, too cruel for words. That’s when he’s Deus. Right now, he’s your Peter.

Seconds away from succumbing to sleep, a thought occurs to you, and you quietly ask, “Hey, babe?”

Peter sounds wide awake. “Yeah?”

“Did Tony literally tell you to go swim in the Bermuda Triangle when you asked him for his approval?”

He snickered. “I believe his exact words were, ‘Go to hell, Parker. Better yet, why don’t you do us all a favor and take a swim in the Bermuda Triangle, and become a cold case?’”

Geez, Tony. You bit your lip. “And you still asked me to marry you anyway, even though he didn’t approve?”

“I was going to, regardless,” Peter murmured, and you could hear a smile in his words. “I just wanted to try and, you know, see if I could make you a little happier. Me and Stark bump heads a lot, and I saw how it upset you, so I thought asking him for his permission would get us on the right track to some sort of civility. Wanted it to be a surprise if he did say yes.”

Unexpected tears gathered in your eyes, and your chin wobbled. He tried for you. Had been trying for you. He even noticed how his and Tony’s bouts caused you to be anxious about your future together and tried to mend the stupid rift between them, for your sake. You aren’t going to lie and say that you’re glad Tony refused. You wished with your whole heart that he could clearly see how much you loved Peter. But, from now on, you’re no longer going to be scared of what Tony thinks of Peter. You love him, and he most certainly loves you, and that’s all that matters.

You scooch up a little more and capture his lips in a deep, passionate kiss. He’s only caught off guard for a second before kissing back, wrapping both of his arms around your waist. When Peter felt the wet tear tracks on your cheeks, he brought up his hands and wordlessly wiped them away.

As you pulled apart, you rested your forehead against his and said, “I can’t wait to marry you, Mr. Parker.”

Peter lightly rubbed the tip of your nose with his, replying, “I’m already yours, Mrs. Parker.”

[wren-fell]

Stuck in Borderland

Chapter 2: Six of Diamonds Part 1

Warnings: Language, weapons, violence

I split chapter two into two pieces, because I felt like it was getting too long. Part 2 is a WIP! Thanks for reading!

All characters are ocs except for Hatter and Kuzuryu who belong to Haro Aso.

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

Sayaka leaned against the wall in the back of the lobby with Madoka, while Hatter stood on a balcony addressing the entirety of the beach with the same bullshit speech about hope.

           “So he does this same speech every night?” Sayaka whispered leaning over to Madoka who nodded.

           “More or less. It’s pretty much the same.”

“And you have to be sorted into groups for the games?”

“Yep. There’s always at least one militant in the groups. He says it’s to keep everyone safe. Gives us better odds if at least one person has a gun, but…” she cast a glance around the room and dropped her voice to a whisper, “I think it’s just to make sure we hand over the card in the end.”

Sayaka nodded. It had been 3 days since she had completed the 3 of diamonds game and been brought to the beach. And every night she had been treated to Hatter’s speech about hope, rallying the members before they went out to their games. But, now it was night three and Sayaka’s own visa was expiring, and that speech was directed at her.

Hatter ended his speech wishing them all luck and a cheer erupted from the lobby, as everyone charged to the front to receive their group assignments. Sayaka quietly pushed forward with Madoka, her visa also at its end. They made it up to the table where one of the beach members handed Madoka a folded piece of paper. Sayaka reached for her own paper when Kuzuryu appeared behind the table, “no need Sayaka you’re coming with my group. We want to test your skills see if you’re fit for an executive position.”

Sayaka stared at him wide-eyed before glancing at Madoka who smiled, “well good luck then. I’ll see you after, stay safe.” She flashed her the four from her card and gave Kuzuryu a nod, “nice to see you Kuzuryu.”

Kuzuryu nodded at her before turning to Sayaka, “we need to get going come along.” He turned sharply heading to the entrance.

Sayaka pouted, but glanced at Madoka with a sigh, “see you later be safe,” before following Kuzuryu. She didn’t want to be an executive, honestly the less time she had to spend around any of the executives the better. She had learned Niragi the man with the piercings was severely unhinged and was way too eager to kill someone should they make a mistake. Hatter gave her the creeps always taking different girls that looked way too young for him up to his room, and then there was Chishiya. He had been watching her since the night she had gotten to the beach. Sayaka always saw the flash of his white hoodie out of the corner of her vision, though he had never actually tried to talk to her, which just made it twice as creepy.

Sayaka was led to the same beat up corvette as the other night, though now she noticed that it had a crude “2” spray painted on the side. I guess that’s what the numbers mean. She sat in the car as it sped off into Tokyo to find a game arena.

“Sayaka.”

“Yes.”

“We will be using this game to test your skills. You excelled in the 3 of Diamonds game, if you do well tonight I can almost guarantee an executive position for you, which does have it’s perks so,” Kuzuryu glanced over his shoulder from the front passenger seat at her, “try and impress me.”

Sayaka frowned, but gave him a curt nod, “do my best.” She had no desire to impress him let alone be an executive. They pulled up to a high school one of the few buildings in the area with its lights on.

Everyone piled out of the car and headed towards the entrance with Sayaka lagging behind to survey the team she had been saddled with. If Kuzuryu wanted her in charge for the game she should know who she had to deal with. Their team of five consisted of Kuzuryu, herself, two militant men each with a handgun sticking out of their swim trunks, and one girl who seemed to take a liking to one of the militants hanging onto him saying how scared she was. Could be better, could be worse I suppose… But, it all depended what type of game this was.

They walked up the steps to the entrance passing through the doorway with the familiar shing of the security grid activating behind them. Sayaka picked up a phone from the table and the screen lit up, “facial recognition in progress, please wait for the game to commence.”

As the timer on the wall counted down Sayaka drew in a deep breath, the waiting was the worst part. The anticipation of finding out what type of game they were playing. She could see the fear starting to form on some of their faces. The girl who had been faking being scared actually started to look horrified, and was clutching tightly to the militant boy who was staring intently at his phone.

DING DONG, “registration is now closed. The game will now commence.” Sayaka stared up at the ceiling where she assumed the invisible voice was coming from.

“Game: Trivia Crush, Difficulty: Six of Diamonds,” Sayaka felt bile rising in her throat as she stared at the card lighting up her phone screen. She hadn’t played a game above difficulty level 4, especially a diamonds game.

“Rules:

Complete the trivia questions correctly to advance to the next room.

Answer a question incorrectly, and there will be consequences.”

“What kind of consequences?” The other beach girl asked, but everyone shushed her in response causing her to shrink into herself.

“There are 10 rooms in total.

Leave the 10th room before the timer stops, and you will have successfully cleared the game.

If you do not leave the final room within the time limit, you will die.

Time limit: 60 minutes,” a door opened on the room to the right of the lobby causing everyone to jump, “please proceed into the room to begin the game.”

Sayaka drew a deep breath before she walked into the room letting it out as she entered, you can do this, you’ve played trivia games before.

Once everyone had piled into the room the door slammed shut and locked with a loud click. Sayaka took this chance to survey the room. It was an old classroom with the desks still placed in neat rows with pencil and paper sitting on each. If it weren’t for the boarded up windows she would say there was nothing suspicious about it. The blackboard at the back of the room flipped causing them all to jump.

“Your time has started.”

“Alright Sayaka,” she turned to Kuzuryu, “this is your executive test, so you are the only one to answer these questions.”

She stared at him wide-eyed, but gave him a curt nod. What else was she going to say? Very slowly she turned her head towards the blackboard. Please don’t be math, pleeeaaaasseeee. Sayaka nearly cried out loud when she read the board.

Written in almost unsettlingly perfect handwriting was the question, “1. Write out the empirical chemical formula for Titin.”

“I know that!” She screamed as she ran full speed to the board fumbling for the chalk that she made fall onto the floor in her hurry.

“You do?” One of the militants asked.

“Yes, I’m a chemist. I memorized this as a joke to impress one of my professors to get an internship” she let out a breathy laugh at how insignificant that piece of her life seemed now, “it worked too.”

As she wrote it on the board the girl from the beach chimed in, “are you sure that’s right? There’s some sort of consequence if it’s not!”

“Shut it Akiko! Let her work!” The militant she had clung to a moment before snapped.

Sayaka paused and glanced to the side as she set the chalk down and took a step back, “yes,” she drew in a deep breath, “I’m sure this is right.”

“This answer is…” The was a long pause as the voice spoke, “correct! Congratulations, please advance to the next room.”

Sayaka let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and raked a hand through her hair, “thank god.”

A door to the right of the blackboard popped open and Kuzuryu walked past her towards it, “nice job, one down nine to go.”

She pouted, “don’t remind me.”

The next three rooms seemed a breeze simple trivia questions about the human body or science that were right up Sayaka’s alley.

They all walked through the fourth door to another classroom, but when Sayaka saw the question that was written on the board her heart sank. “Three resistors of equal resistance are connected in series. Compared to the voltage provided by the battery, voltage across each of the resistors is _______.” She walked up to the board and stared at it for a moment before turning to Kuzuryu, “I don’t know the answer.”

He nodded, “well you have to figure it out. This is your executive test.”

“Yea, but I don’t know anything about electrical work.”

“You can figure it out.”

Now Sayaka was starting to get mad, “what word do you not understand. I. Don’t. Know. The. Answer.”

“If you cannot solve the question on your own then we all die,” Kuzuryu said calmly.

Sayaka drew in a sharp breath sucking in her lower lip, “fine,” she leaned against the wall and crossed her arms, “guess we’ll die then.”

The militant who had snapped at Akiko stomped up to her pointing the gun in her face, “solve the fucking question!”

“I can’t.”

“Do it or I’ll shoot you!” he screamed pushing the gun in her face.

Sayaka turned her chin up at him, “go ahead. You’ll die whether I answer it or not.”

“You have to answer it Sayaka,” Kuzuryu said trying to remain calm, but she could see the panic starting to build in his eyes.

“I can’t.”

“You’re not even trying!” The militant snapped.

“What do you want me to do teach myself electrical engineering in the next 40 minutes?”

“There are now 30 minutes remaining.”

“The next 30 minutes, excuse me,” Sayaka corrected leaning back against the wall.

“So we’re just supposed to die!?” The militant snapped.

“Guess so,” Sayaka shrugged.

“I can solve it.”

All of their heads snapped around to Akiko who was taking a hesitant step forward.

“We only have a one chance Akiko, shut up and stay back,” the militant snapped.

“Shut up!” Sayaka snapped and took a step towards Akiko, “how do you know you can solve it?”

“I was an electrical engineering student. I used to work with circuits all the time,” she said quietly.

There was a long pause as they all started at her, “I think she should do it,” Sayaka said.

Kuzuryu snapped his head around to look at her, “no this is your test.”

“Fuck the test Kuzuryu! Do you want to die?!” Sayaka flailed her arms.

He hesitated looking from Sayaka to the board to the phone in his hand where the timer continued to tick down, “fine.”

“Akiko it’s all you,” Sayaka said quietly holding the chalk out to her. Akiko drew in a deep breath and shakily took the chalk from Sayaka before walking up to the board. She drew a crude rectangular diagram with the same waves on 3 sides and an open space on the other.

“If this is what the resistors would look like, then the voltage would be…” she hesitated.

“Just answer it Akiko!” The militant shouted.

“Yelling at her isn’t helping!” Sayaka rounded on him.

“The same!” Akiko scribbled it on the board and closed her eyes, “the voltage would be the same!”

There was a deafening silence within the room before there was another chime, “Congratulations please advance to the next room!”

“Thank god! Great job Akiko!” Sayaka smiled patting her shoulder as they all clambered into the next room, room number 5.“What is the largest organ in the human body?”

“At least it’s another easy one…” Sayaka mumbled and headed towards the board, but Akiko’s militant was already scribbling on it.

“Psh, yea even I know this one!” He turned around crossing his arms, “it’s the stomach.”

Sayaka stared at him in horror, but when she opened her mouth to say something there was a loud buzzer sound. They all looked up at the ceiling as the silence came over them again, “That answer… is INCORRECT.”

“How is that not the answer!?” The militant screamed turning back to the board.

“Well what’s the consequence?” Akiko asked glancing at Sayaka who shook her head.

“I don’t know, but knowing the game makers it’s deadly,” she whispered. There was a loud thud and then the sound of screeching metal, and they had their answer as the ceiling started slowly dropping and spikes lowered from circular holes.

“Holy shit, change the answer! It’s skin! The largest organ is skin!” Sayaka screamed at the militant.

“You idiot skin isn’t even an organ!” He snapped back.

“Change the answer Kaoru!” The other militant yelled.

“That’s not the fucking answer Daichi!” Kaoru screeched back.

Sayaka honestly didn’t know what to say and just stared at him until Kuzuryu made a dive for the board. He erased the stomach and crudely scribbled “skin” down. They all paused waiting for the voice, but the ceiling kept lowering.

“That answer is…” The voice paused teasing them, “Correct! Please proceed to the next room.” The door next to the board popped open and they all made a mad dash for it.

Kaoru shoved Akiko out of the way knocking her down as he scrambled for the door. Sayaka helped Akiko to her feet and held her arms as they both slipped through the door and it closed behind them with a thud. They all stood breathing heavily until the voice chimed in, “there are 20 minutes remaining.”

“There are five rooms left that means 4 minutes per room,” Kuzuryu said turning to the board and they all froze. Sitting on the board was a long complicated calculus problem with the simple words, “solve this equation,” written above it.

“Oh we’re so fucked,” Sayaka breathed.

[third-rail-vip]

Unexpected Guests

Summary: 

Ivy gets a surprise visit from a bored Piper while she's recovering from her injuries from Forest Grove.

MacCready runs an important errand in Goodneighbor.

What's a week off from adventures without a chance to catch up with old friends over drinks and maybe get a little bit of gossip?

Notes:

This is a bit of a self indulgent split pov fic.  I’ve had a chance to drop in some character backstory and separate Mac and Ivy and let them talk to other people about each other too.

Rating:  Teen

Word Count: 6456   [AO3 link]  [Then I Met You - Series Link]

Ivy woke with a start, chest caught in a tight knot from the blinding flash relived behind her eyelids.  Still clutched in her fingers from before she drifted off was an old photograph, faded by the centuries, but lovingly maintained.  It showed a perfect nuclear family; a smiling husband--dark-haired, handsome and square-jawed--his arms wrapped tightly around the waist of his wife, her rich brown curls perfectly framing a serene expression of absolute love towards the baby cradled in her arms.  

Nate, Nora and Shaun Carroll - October 20th 2077 was written in neat looped script on the back - the precious memento had been pressed into her hands by Codsworth as she set out for Concord.  Ivy could remember peeking through the blinds of Rosa’s living room - still recovering, still hiding from the world - and seeing them take that photograph.  The laughter and the sweet ridiculousness of their Mr Handy attempting to take it first before they resorted to a neighbour.  

Her dream wasn’t of that moment though.  It was of thundering knocking at her door, of propellers whirring deafeningly overhead, of Nora’s hand in hers dragging her up the hill to the vault, of her throwing more military legalese at the gate guard than Ivy could wrap her head around until the man let them pass.  It was of being held tightly in the arms of a near-stranger as the light from a rising mushroom cloud burnt itself onto their retinas, and of a baby screaming in its father’s arms.  

Ivy owed the Carrolls her life.  Not that the debt mattered much to the frosted dead eyes that stared back at her through thick glass when she fell coughing and half-frozen from her own metal tomb.  It was in the ruins of what had been her sanctuary, that she promised Codsworth that she’d do everything she could to find the boy and bring him home - to whatever kind of a home this world had to offer.  

Sliding the photo onto her bedside table, Ivy checked her pipboy:  6pm.  Shit, when did that happen?  Last time her eyes were open it’d been 11.  

The dull thrum of conversation from the Dugout’s evening crowd drifted through the thin walls, punctuated occasionally by the proprietor's booming laugh.  Even that was drowned out in the wake of the incessant knocking which shook the door.  

Her sleep-clouded eyes indignantly took in the lamplit room, wondering why her partner had put up with the banging as long as he had - MacCready’s patience was infinitely shorter than hers at the best of times - but her surroundings were severely lacking one mercenary.

For a moment she wondered if it was him at the door, but he never knocked.  Well, not unless he thought she might be changing.  He’d learnt that one the hard way; wandering in on her in her underwear, the poor guy had been so caught off guard that, instead of running his smart mouth, he’d turned tato red and nearly smacked his nose on the door when he spun back around.  

Ivy pulled her flannel shirt into a more respectable position and swung her legs off the edge of the bed - bare skin instantly goosebumped by the touch of cold air, she dragged the blanket to cover them.  As a second thought, she lifted her pistol off the bedside table and tucked it under the blanket, pointed at the door.  

“Who is it?” she called across the room at the now incessant knocking.

“Blue, it’s me.  If you don’t open up soon, Vadim is gonna think you’re up to something disgraceful.”

Piper Wright.  Diamond City’s version of trouble incarnate - if you were a corrupt official at any rate.

“It’s open, no need to bust out those fancy picks.”

“I would never,” the reporter grinned at her, slamming the door and leaning back on it.  

In Piper’s hand were a couple of beers – they were probably warm, and flat, but there wasn’t much more to be hoped for two hundred years after brewing.  She raised an approving eyebrow when Ivy withdrew the gun and tucked it back on the table.  

Hazel eyes, keen with the spark of a bored investigative journalist took in the dingy room;  rifles tucked under the bed, packs stowed by the unused chest of drawers, notepads strewn across the table next to a full ashtray and some nuka cola bottles, and a discarded pile of blankets on the sofa where the occupier had kicked them off.  Piper frowned, but resisted the urge to lean closer and read the notes.  

“So, Blue, what’s kicking?”

“Ha. Ha.”  Ivy rolled her eyes, sticking her bruised and swollen ankle out from under the blanket.  “You know, not much at the moment.”

Piper ditched the beers on the coffee table, then on second thought used one of them to prod the blankets out of the way from MacCready’s makeshift bed on the couch.  With some effort, she helped Ivy hop over to sit in the space she’d made while she took the armchair.  Passing Ivy the blanket beer, Piper kicked her feet up onto the table and twirled her own bottle in her hand, watching the flat liquid regain some of its fizz before taking a sip.  

“I heard a rumour you were back in town.  Thought I’d check in on you, see if there was any news from Nicky.”

MacCready had promised to check for her when they got back to Diamond City, but the meeting had yielded little more than Mac’s frayed temper snapping at Valentine.  Followed by a surprise apology from the mercenary.  Maybe that was the gossip Piper had come for.

“I’m sure you’d have heard before me if there was,” Ivy huffed.  

Passing Piper the photo of the Carrolls, she sank back into the cushions of the sofa and hugged her knee to her chest.  “No, not a damn thing.  It’s hardly surprising, if anything, my memory’s getting fuzzier.”

Piper stroked her fingers across the glossy picture, a sad smile half-tugging at her lips.

“They look so happy.”

“They were.”

“Still nothing?”  She glanced up at Ivy.  

There was less hope and more resignation in her eyes every time she asked the question.  Back when Nick took her case, both he and Piper had tried to talk her through ways of recalling information, even small details, ways to look past the trauma.  

None of it had worked.  

“Just the voice.”  Smug and malicious.  Calling her the backup.  “His face is still just blurry.”  Even though he’d leant right in and tapped on the glass like Ivy was a goldfish.  Bastard.

“It’s not your fault, Blue.  You’d already been through so much.  That kind of trauma--”  The look Piper gave her ached with pity, despite her attempt at an encouraging smile.  “You found - you rescued - Nick.  If anyone can help, he can.”  

“I made a promise, it just doesn’t feel like I’m doing enough.”

“You’re doing so much!  We got the article out there.”  

Ivy shifted uncomfortably.  “All that’s gotten me so far are commiserations.”

“I know saying you were his mom didn’t sit right with you--  I should have warned you.”

Piper reached out and squeezed her hand - it was an apology that came every time they saw each other following that first interview.  A more extreme attempt to make it up to her, had been the trip across to Boston Common which had resulted in them fleeing to Goodneighbor back in October.  

“I don’t know if you noticed, Blue, but this world is kind of selfish.  Honestly, I think people will be more likely to help this way.”

“I know… I know.”

“By the time we’re done, there won’t be a person in the Commonwealth who doesn’t know who Shaun Carroll is.  We’ll get him back, I promise.”

“Thanks, Piper.”

The reporter awkwardly cast around for something else to do, and settled on straightening out the notebooks; eyes that didn’t miss a thing, skimmed the scribbled maps and notes that Ivy had carefully taken down as Mac tried to describe Mass Pike from memory.  

Ivy flicked the book shut when that questioning gaze fell on her.

“Not to bring up the elephant in the room…” Piper tried a subject change instead and nodded to Mac’s ‘bed’ on the sofa. “But weren’t you meant to be ditching the hired help once you found Nicky?”

“I never said that.”

“So what?  You’re keeping him around because you like the stink of cigarettes and, I can only assume, wet dog.”

“Piper Wright, play nice!  I know you aren’t his biggest fan, but MacCready watches my back.”

“He watches your butt, Blue.  Or what is it you Brits say?  Bottom?  Bum?”  

Ivy tried to sound outraged but she was laughing too hard at the plumy queen’s english that just left her friend’s mouth.

“Piper, he does not.”  

Liar.  She bit her lip, unable to keep the colour from her cheeks.

He did watch her ass, she’d caught him more than once.  Sometimes he wasn’t even ashamed of it, although it was far more fun when he was.  And maybe she did put a little more sway into her walk now and again, or lift with her back instead of her knees every so often. But what was the harm in that?  

“I should have expected you’d stand up for him.  My sources tell me you two showed up in town with him carrying you like a couple of honeymooners.”  The reporter crowed smugly.  

“Because of my leg!”  Ivy cried, responding to Piper’s dramatic spouting of mock-marriage announcement headline, with a playful shove.  “And I know your ‘sources’ are Danny.  I saw him gawking.”

“Speaking of Danny, he said your mercenary--”

“Not my mercenary--”

“Whatever.”  She raised an eyebrow.  “Danny said he saw MacCready head out this morning.  Didn’t see where he was headed though.”  Piper paused, scrutinising her between sips of beer, before her expression softened again.  “You don’t know where he is, do you?”

“I’ve not seen him since first thing when he said he was going out.  I never even thought he might leave.”

“Leave,” Piper scoffed and chugged the last of her beer.  Slapping her hands on her knees, she sprang to her feet.  “You know what you need, Blue?  A distraction.  And something stronger than beer.”

After making Ivy swear she’d get up and showered, and watching to make sure she downed the last of her own beer, Piper left in as much of a whirlwind as she’d arrived, with a promise that she’d be back in twenty minutes with a change of clothes and Ivy had better be ready.

--x--

Nothing says welcome like the stench of urine soaked garbage, MacCready had once complained to Ivy on one of their trips back to the inner city settlement, but despite the ever present smell of tomcat, Goodneighbor still felt like the closest thing to home he’d found in the ‘wealth.  He wouldn’t go so far as to say he got no sidelong looks, but fewer than any other settlement he visited, and at least these were somewhat based in fact.  

Despite the ache in his head from where a board had hit him, his dumb yet ingenious - if he did say so himself - plan to return to the re-supermutant infested library had paid off.  Stowed safely in his pack was a pre-war map that covered the whole area around the Mass Pike Interchange.  With it, they could plan a route to take on the Gunners without a repeat of their last disastrous attempt.

MacCready had slipped past the raiders and the mutants en route across Boston, tracing a route that he knew by heart from the months he’d spent there before meeting Ivy.  It was late afternoon by the time he sauntered through the gate to Goodneighbor, whistling past the cigarette hanging from his lips.  Other than the surly presence of the neighbourhood watch, the streets were quiet;  the night owls weren’t up yet and the day drinkers had already shambled off to the Third Rail to dull whatever pain they kept tight-lipped about.  

That meant he wouldn’t have to wait for a quiet spell to drop in and see Daisy.  It’d been too long since they’d stopped by Goodneighbor and he had a pile of caps burning a hole in his pocket, just waiting to be shipped back to the Capital Wasteland.  Not to mention a desperate hope for news from home.  

“MacCready, long time no see.”  Daisy leant across the counter of the discount store, beaming when she saw him.  “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten about our little corner of the Commonwealth.”

“How could I forget about you, Daisy?”

“Nice try, kid.  Don’t think I don’t know why you’re really here.”

She reached under the counter and produced a lockbox which clicked open with a key kept around her neck.  MacCready grinned, its contents might be cargo precious to no one but him, but Daisy understood.  

He took the letter that had been locked safely away, dragging a thumb over the crayon doodles that covered the envelope before he tucked it securely into his breast pocket to read later when he got a moment of privacy.  

The old girl had always been good to him, ever since he staggered into Goodneighbor without a cap to his name, a wild look in his eye and Gunner blood on his face.  She’d treated him like family with no explanation other than he reminded her of herself when she was younger – a fuck up too, he’d guessed at the time.  

On the anniversary of Lucy’s death, after more than a skinful, Mac had broken down and told her everything.  Daisy let him cry it out, never passed judgement, and once his sobs had settled she told him the caravans owed her more than a few favours, handed him a pen and paper and said write to your boy.  I’ll get it to him.

So now, more than six months later, MacCready paid her back as best he could - by dealing with trouble - and she kept him afloat with a lifeline home.

“Here on your own?”  

“Yeah, the boss is laid up.”

The word ‘boss’ tasted odd on this tongue.  It’d been a while since he’d used it to anyone other than strangers.  It hadn’t felt like Ivy in a long time, but it was easier not to try and fumble his way through that explanation.  

Carefully checking they were still without an audience, MacCready emptied out every last cap he had - digging deep into his pockets and tipping out bags to make sure every last one was accounted for.  Daisy wrapped them tightly in fabric to stop the telltale tinkle of metal on metal, adding more as he discovered them squirreled away in various places.  

“Laid up, huh?  Sounds like there’s a story behind that,” she chatted idly.

“Just ran into some trouble on the way to take out some old trash.”   Trouble, with any luck, they’d avoid next time.

“Gunners, huh?”  Nothing got past Daisy.  “Those boys might not be the brightest, but they’ve got numbers.”

“You don’t need to worry about me, Daisy.”

“And what about your boss.”  

Nothing got past Daisy.

“She sprained her ankle.  Doc says she’s got to keep the weight off, that’s all.”  His explanation appeared good enough for now.  

Next for the package were two envelopes; battered from being repeatedly crammed in pockets before anyone could see him writing, opened and reopened as he added more news while waiting for his chance to get to Goodneighbour and send them off.  One was covered in messy scrawl addressed to Carys, the other he’d lovingly and carefully addressed to Duncan and was filled to the brim with adventures he wished he could tell his son in person, and a promise that daddy would be home soon.  

“Anything else?”  Daisy asked, taking the toy car out of his hands and wrapping it with the caps.

MacCready patted his pockets down and felt the hard glossy sheen of a photograph that had remained stowed in his duster for longer than he’d care to admit.  

On their first trip to the library for Daisy, Ivy had found a working camera and he’d damn near blinded himself with the flash.  After some ill advised chemistry experiments, her and Sturges had managed to develop a single unscathed picture;  he was squinting, caught off guard by the sudden light, and tucked into his side was Ivy, smiling over at him like she wanted to laugh.  The look had recently started to make the air catch in the back of his throat.  

He turned the picture in his hand, half of him wanting to send Duncan something more than words or toys to remember him by, but the other half didn’t want to let the picture go.  

“Wait.”  

Taking the cap stash back from Daisy, he removed 200 and tucked them back into his pack - it was about time he stopped hiding behind their initial arrangement.  As much as he hated debt, he disliked the idea of Ivy thinking he was just there because she paid him, more.  

But speaking of debt.

He sighed and pulled out another 300.  At least he could finally afford to pay off Whitey’s tab in something other than favours, even though he’d rather send the extra caps home.  

“Before you go wandering off with the look of a man who’s lost at cards, I’ve got a little something to send along to Duncan,”  Daisy smiled.

She produced a couple of packs of gumdrops and one of snack cakes, and, most impressively, a pristine teddy bear.  MacCready stared, speechless.  Daisy had obviously gone to a heck of a lot of effort to clean up the toy and get it into good condition.  He’d never have admitted it when he was a kid, but he’d have killed for something like that.  

He bit the inside of his cheek to keep back the threat of tears at the thought of Duncan’s face lighting up at the sight of it, and instead ducked around the counter to press a sloppy kiss to Daisy’s temple.

“You’re a doll, you know that right?”

“I know.  Now get out of here.  I’m sure you’ve got plenty more important things to do than entertain an old ghoul.”  

Barely making it out of the doorway on his debtors traipse to the Third Rail, Daisy called him back.

“I think you forgot something.”  She slid the photo across the counter to him, but had the grace not to tease him.  “You be careful out there.”

--x--

“Gunners.”  Ivy swayed gently on her barstool, carried on a breeze of cheap vodka and weak beer.

The Dugout Inn was a whole world away from the far shadier, but infinitely friendly Third Rail.  That evening the bar was filled with its traditionally grumbling clientele, mostly spaced so that they wouldn’t be forced to interact with anyone they hadn’t specifically come to see.  It was about as congenial as her old Metro commute - although commuters these days were more likely to eat you than glare if you tried to force them to converse.

The pair had been getting scornful looks from the second Piper half-lifted Ivy out of her room and to the bar, and that was a good few hours, and a bad few drinks ago.  

Dragging the sleeve of her rather too large t-shirt back up onto her shoulder, Ivy knocked back another shot of vodka and pulled a face at the burn in her throat - she’d assumed it would ease with regular applications of the spirit.  Her theory was not panning out.  

Piper grabbed Ivy by the knees and twisted her so they were facing.  The sharp movement nearly knocked her own shot flying, luckily the practiced hand of Vadim - who had learnt from the number of spillages caused by Piper’s over excited limbs - caught the drink before it had a chance to topple.

“Are you nuts, Blue?  Why the hell would you go after Gunners?”

“Shh shh shh.”  Ivy patted at her friend’s mouth, bemused at her lack of understanding.  “They were bothering him.”  

Realisation slowly dawned across Piper’s as one hand fished around for her drink, eyes not leaving Ivy’s.

“It’s those big bastards from Goodneighbor, isn’t it?  Damn, Ivy, you’re running around on that mercanar— mermenar—” Piper growled at the word that refused to untangle from her tongue.  She threw back her rescued shot instead and tried again.  “That merc’s vendetta?  You remember you hired him, right?”  

“Yes, I remember I hired him.  It set me back 200 caps.”

“Out of a grand.  You sold that shiny laser rifle, remember?”

Ivy patted more frantically at her friend’s mouth in an attempt to stop her loudly spilling any more secrets, especially money related ones.  

With the stalls around the market closing and the rumbles of another encroaching winter storm bouncing off the stands outside, a fresh wave of patrons huddled into the muggy gloom of the increasingly packed Inn, bringing with them a cold, damp breeze that channeled straight to the bar each time the door opened.

“Miss Wright!”  

This latest wave had apparently washed up Doc Crocker, who greeted Piper from somewhere behind Ivy.  The man was a disconcerting sight at the best of times, smiling away like a used car salesman from under a pair of goggles he never seemed to take off - apparently not even in the darkened bar.  He beamed across at Piper while he waited to be served.

“Doc.  What brings you here?”  she asked with the strained patience of a woman who had probably had this conversation many times before.  

“Well, I must admit to a small vice,” he tittered away to himself, as though answering questions they’d not heard asked.  “A quick drink after work!”

“And the jet,”  Piper muttered into her glass so only Ivy could hear.  

“You have marvellous bone structure.  Beautiful…”  Suddenly Ivy was trapped like a rabbit in headlights under the focus of those bug-eyed goggles.  “But not perfect.  You should stop by the Mega Surgery sometime.”  

The surgeon picked up his drink and wandered off to the couches to comment on somebody’s nose.  

Ivy prodded at her cheekbones and gave Piper a bemused look.  “Well that was charming.”

“Oh, he’s harmless, Blue,” the reporter chuckled, reaching across to smush Ivy’s cheeks.  “Aren’t you tempted by a little nip and tuck?  Impress your mer--”

“Stop it or I will push you off your stool.”  Ivy muffled through her forced pout.

“Come on, Miss Kendrick, a statement for the press…  You can’t tell me you’re helping him for no reason.”

Piper didn’t see it, but MacCready was in trouble, Ivy knew that much for sure, but the extent of which was anyone’s guess.  Trying to work out what was going on with the guy was like trying to put together a thousand piece jigsaw of throwaway comments, far off looks and names he’d whisper as he tumbled out of bad dreams, except she was missing the lid and all the pieces were baked beans.  

“I’m helping him because he asked.  That’s basically all I’ve been doing for people since I defrosted, isn’t it?  Build me a house, fetch me this paint, get that body out of the water supply.”  Ivy ignored the horrified look on her friend’s face and topped up their glasses.  “Isn’t it enough that he asked?”

“For you maybe, Blue.”

“Do you want me to call back Crocker?  See if we can get your eyes fixed?  Your hunger for a story is making you hallucinate, Miss Wright.”

“Fine.  Go after your Gunners if you must.”  She raised a shot with Ivy and waited for her to drink.  “All I’m saying is when you get round to it, the sex better be worth it.”

Ivy choked, spluttering on the alcohol that threatened close off her airway.  She turned, slack jawed to her friend, fully aware from the hairs pricking up on the back of her suddenly overheating neck, that the entire queue at the bar had turned to look as well.

“Piper--”  A hoarse chastisement was all she could manage.

Vadim’s booming chuckle cut across the bar before Ivy had a chance to gather herself enough to clamp her hands over her friend’s mouth.  The women managed to glare him away before he was able to comment.  He strolled off, still laughing to himself, to serve the last waiting customer - one of Diamond City’s security guards, a rare sight without a helmet on.

Poor MacCready had already been the butt of far too many of the bartender’s jokes about the amount of time she’d spent shut away in their room.  Mac had given up trying to explain himself and by day three of her convalescence he was practically running through the bar to avoid the insinuations.  This was going to make things a thousand times worse.  

Their reprieve was short-lived; Vadim reappeared with two glasses of good whiskey and a smirk that threatened to split his face in two.    

“From a not-so-secret admirer.”

The bald security guard, who was obviously the sender of what Ivy fully intended to be her last drink of the evening, made no move to come and talk to them.  He just raised his glass and gave them a nod - his expression unreadable behind dark glasses.  

Ivy and Piper raised their glasses and nodded in return before huddling conspiratorially.  

“You’re going to give me a reputation, Piper Wright.”

“Renting a room for a week with that mercenary is going to give you a rep--admittedly I’m not helping...”  She gave Ivy a cheeky little grimace.  “Ugh, Blue, why is there nothing interesting to write about?  McDonough is shutting me down at every angle.  So much for freedom of the press.  I just want a decent story!”

Still hovering nearby, the bartender seized his moment to make a bid for 15 minutes of fame.  It wasn’t happening.

“So, Piper, you have finally decided to come publish Vadim’s latest tale of heroism, yes?”    

“That’s not news, Vadim.  We all heard about the nudity.  And the coolant.  Earl spread that one faster than a town crier,”  Piper snorted.  

“See what I mean?”  she sighed when Vadim had been successfully shooed away to the opposite end of the bar.  “All I get are people telling me stupid stories like that.  Whenever I publish the real deal.  The truth about what’s going on in Diamond City, everyone looks at me like I’m mad.”  

There was something so miserable about seeing Piper dejected.  Stuck in a room filled with her critics, not even managing to get a hint of gossip out of her friend.  Ivy hadn’t been out drinking with a girlfriend since college, and the more she thought about it... Piper had braved this place with its bad beer and bitchy clientele to keep her company.  The least she could do was throw her a bone, after all, two centuries is a long time to go without gossip and a giggle.

“You got me thinking and I have a very serious question.”  Ivy downed the rest of her whiskey, which in hindsight was not supposed to be drunk that way.  

Piper perked up in an instant, leaning in close as Ivy beckoned her forward until their foreheads were practically touching.

“What is it, Blue?”

“What if sex changed in the last 200 years?”

Piper’s snort was worth everything Ivy was going to have to endure.  It was the loudest, most undignified, joyous noise, and set Ivy off cackling too.  

“I knew it!  I knew it!”

“What?  Shut up, I’m asking for a friend.”

--x--

On the other side of town, it was getting to that time of night where MacCready needed to catch himself before knocking ash into his whiskey and picking up his ashtray for a drink.  A good time of night.

“Not me, brother.”  Hancock shrugged, leaning back on one of the tattered sofas in his rooms in the State House.  “You think I go around paying off tabs?  You’d drink me out of house and home.”

“You know it wasn’t that kind of tab.”  

Mac shifted uncomfortably, glancing across at Farenheit, who lurked in the gloom, leaning against the doorframe, her unimpressed expression lit by the glow of a cigarette.  He’d been convinced it was Hancock when Whitey refused to give him a name.  

“I know, but I’d rather Charlie didn’t have to dispose of too many Gunner corpses either.  They might decide it’s actually worth starting shit.”  MacCready might have earned his place as a friend of the mayor, but Hancock wasn’t going to risk Goodneighbour to the Gunners.  “Sure you aren’t missing the obvious?”

“Positive.  She wouldn’t have,” he scoffed.  “Ives had way too much of Charlie’s swill to remember my tab.”  

“I should be insulted,” Hancock drawled, without the slightest hint of offense taken.  “Your doe-eyed vaultie talked Charlie into coughing up 400 caps for my warehouse job.  You sure she was as drunk as you remember?”

“You shoulda seen her at the Rexford,” MacCready settled back into his sofa, wrapped in the warm embrace of a whiskey induced haze, a far away smile sneaking onto his lips.  “One minute she’s swaying on her feet, the next she’s got old Fred to offer 500 caps for a trip to Hallucigen.  She just smiled and told him it was hazard pay.”

A lazy grin spread across Hancock’s face.

“What?”

“Nothing, man.  Just nice seein’ you something other than drunk or sour.”  He got up and meandered over to the cabinet, fishing out a bottle to replace the whiskey they’d finished - an action that didn’t fail to get Mac’s attention.  “How is the new job working out?”

“Hope you’ve got enough of that to go around.”  Without bothering to lean forward, he toed his empty glass across the coffee table for a refill.  “Hate to admit it, but i’m actually enjoying the work.”

The ghoul raised an eyebrow at his mucky boots draped across the wood, but filled his glass anyway before kicking his own feet up.  “Just the work hmm, nothing to do with the company?”

You don’t know the half of it.  

MacCready had been doing a damn good job of keeping things professional - harmless flirting didn’t count - but admittedly it was getting more difficult, and a badly timed return to their room had only complicated matters.  In a matter of seconds, keen eyes usually trained to spot weakness and danger, had read details of his half-naked partner’s life that he hadn’t earned the right to see.  She had three tattoos - knowing Ivy they had stories behind them, a couple of old bullet wounds had left superficial scars across her upper arm, not to mention the surprisingly distracting dusting of freckles.  

All things he shouldn’t hope to study slowly and in infinitely more detail.  

“The work is good.”

“Ha.  I knew it.  Don’t tell me, don’t tell me,” Hancock chuckled.  “She’s not as sweet as she seems.  You’d never have stuck around otherwise, not unless you got to play bad influence.”

“She’s an angel.”  MacCready smirked at the nickname that used to be taunt.  He shook his head as an irrepressible grin cracked across his face.  Damn whiskey making him loose lipped.  And damn half-empty pack on Mentats - the ghoul was on the ball today.  “But you should see her pick a lock.  Those hands--”

It had come as a shock, but a heck of a pleasant one, that Ives could work a lock faster than some professionals he’d run with.  But the image that caught in his head was the way she dragged her teeth over her bottom lip when she concentrated, deft hands delicately coaxing the locking mechanism open.  

Once he’d cockily asked her if she could do it blindfolded and without missing a beat she’d told him she could do a lot of things blindfolded - it had made for a distracting fight through the rest of the raider camp.

He sucked a breath in through his teeth and concentrated on lighting his cigarette to avoid making eye contact with Hancock.

“Hey, distractions are good, man.  You gotta enjoy your time on this earth,” the ghoul shrugged.  “I admit, we half-expected to see you back here by now.  The boys had a sweepstake on how long it’d be before that sweet boss of yours sent you packing.”

Of course they did.

“Oh yeah, who’s winning?”

“Yours truly.  Everyone else thought you’d be back by now.”

MacCready laughed.  If you asked around Goodneighbor about him, most people would tell you “good shot, bad attitude”.  Didn’t matter if they’d met him or not, word travelled fast and reputations tended to stick.  He’d been a defensive son-of-a-- well, his attitude hadn’t won him any popularity contests.  

“Sorry to disappoint but you’ll be waiting a little longer for your payday.  We’ve still got jobs planned.”

“I heard you were looking to make a move on the Gunners.”

Mac had given up long ago being surprised by the things Hancock heard on the grapevine.  

“That’s the plan.  Why?  You’ve not had any more trouble from them, have you?”

“Not since you left.  They’re watching, but then they’re always watching.  It’s the super mutants that are giving us more trouble these days.  Gotta say, we miss your gun on the defences.”

MacCready grinned.  What little work he’d managed to get out of Goodneighbor, despite his Gunner background, had been from people seeing him in action during those raids.  Although drifters and drug dealers didn’t bring in the steadiest or best paid work.  

Leaving Goodneighbor with Ivy had been a longshot, but then again those were his specialty.

“Any news from home?”  

Daisy wasn’t the only one who knew what drew him back to Goodneighbor so often.  

MacCready fished the latest letter from his breast pocket, running a calloused thumb over the doodles on the envelope.  “Carys says he’s ‘pretty stable’ - whatever that means - and he misses his daddy.”

She’d said other things too, mostly shit he didn’t understand like the boils had spread from his axillae and groins, but she was keeping an eye on them and they weren’t causing more issues.  Yet.  And that Duncan was still on his feet, but it was taking a lot of physio and he was hating it.  He throws the kind of tantrums baby you would be proud of, MacAttack.  

“And he still wants a puppy.”

MacCready bowed his head, the bridge of his nose pinched tightly between his finger and thumb, like that was ever gonna stop the tears prickling his eyes.  Carys - or the ‘lone wanderer’ as she was known to people who never bothered to get to know her better - was the only doctor he’d trust anywhere near his son.  She and her wife hadn’t hesitated to open their home to his little boy, to look after him while MacCready headed north.  But Carys was never one to mince her words.  She’d told him in no uncertain terms that leaving the Capital Wasteland meant that there was a risk Duncan could die without him there.

“So.”  Hancock wasn’t one to mince his words either.  “You made any progress on that cure?”

“You think I’d be sitting here getting drunk with you if I had?” he snapped, then sighed.  “Without Sinclair’s password it’s fuh-- it’s pointless.”

Trust issues and desperation were an ugly combination, but he’d had them in spades when he’d landed in the Commonwealth.  Sinclair and his partner had looked no better than kids wearing pots and pans as homemade armour.  Freaking useless.  There was no way he was going anywhere with those amateurs, but that hadn’t stopped him trying to beat them to the prize, only to realise he’d never get through security without a password - one Sinclair had neglected to mention when they proposed the team up.  The hoards of ferals were just the icing on the cake.  There was no way in hell he was getting in there alone.  

On the brightside, if there was one, there was no way they’d have made it through those ferals if he couldn’t.  So the cure was still there, just waiting for him to find a way in.    

“You know what I’m going to say, but I’m going to say it anyway.”  Hancock took a long drag of his cigarette then folded his arms, black eyes studying MacCready intensely from under the shadows of his hat.  “You were saving caps to hire some guys to get you into that lab, but you’ve got a partner who - from what it sounds like - would help you for free.  What’s stopping you asking?”

“I nearly got torn apart last time I went there.”  

He slammed his glass down, a wave of amber liquid sloshed across the wood.  Shame reared its ugly head as he tried to forget that he had tried to get Ivy to Malden.  And he’d lied to her to do it.  But that was before she was more than just a job.  His alcohol fogged mind drifted back to the tears that spilled from earnest brown eyes when she told him she thought she’d got him killed.  

His voice cracked, “I can’t watch it happen again.”

MacCready stood suddenly, the room giving an indignant whiskey induced spin.  Once his eyes could focus again, he checked his watch: 1am.  “I should get back.”  

At the door he turned, remembering his manners.  “Thanks for the drink, Hancock.  Sorry about the…” - he waved vaguely - “everything.”  

“No harm done,” Hancock smiled calmly.  He was always hard to rile, not to mention better at holding his drink than the mercenary.  “Hey MacCready, don’t be so hard on yourself.”

—x—

It was late - or possibly early - when MacCready finally made it back to the Dugout.  On the brightside, he was in one piece, having luckily skirted round any trouble while crossing Boston under cover of night.  On the downside, he looked like he’d swum up the Charles rather than walking - the storm that had finally broken when he was halfway back, and even the brim of his cap was sagging under the weight of water.  

He found his partner fast asleep, still fully dressed - in clothes he didn’t recognise - curled up on top of her covers.  She hadn’t even stirred when he kicked the door shut.  The bottoms of her feet were grubby like she’d been out of the room barefoot - must be what Vadim looked so entertained about when he wandered through the bar.  

Smiling to himself, he dragged a free corner of the blanket over her before kicking off his boots, ditching his sodden coat and hat and collapsing back onto the couch.  If his luck remained, maybe he’d sleep through any potential hangover.

[coll2mitts]

Super Mario Bros. (1993)

Thanks to the awesome people who donated to Extra Life (you still can, btw!)  y'all will now be treated to a retrospective on the 1993 classic movie, Super Mario Bros.  When I took on this milestone, the first (and only) person I messaged for ideas on terrible (but wonderful) films based on video games was my friend Max, who has a history of viewing and talking about bad movies.  He suggested this, and while I was aware of this magnificent piece of cinema history, I had not had the pleasure of viewing it myself.  He hooked me up with a copy, and to say this film lived up to my expectations would be an understatement.

I couldn’t help but be charmed by this movie.  It is filled with so many questionable creative choices that were fucking ridiculous.  Mario and Luigi not being blood related?  Sure.  Cheesy Italian accents replaced with a New York ones?  Yeah, why not?  Having all the enemies in Super Mario Bros. be canonically dinosaurs?  I mean... It's a choice informed by the great media dino wave of 1993, but whatever.  Yoshi is a dinosaur, if we want to extend that to goombas and Koopa for whatever reason, I'm down.  Having these dinosaurs live underneath New York City in a parallel dimension?  It's based on a video game, why the fuck not?  Everything is so goddamn bonkers.

The opening credits roll, and we’re told that 65 million years ago, a meteor created said underground parallel universe dinosaur land.  We witness a human-looking woman, who is really a dinosaur, leaving an egg baby on a church doorstep.  Don’t think about it too hard, the logistics of a human giving birth to an egg that size are just... it’s gross to think about.

We’re then introduced to the titular characters, Mario Mario and Luigi Mario.  Yes, their last names are Mario.  Making them the Mario brothers.  Because this movie is interested in answering the important questions.  Mario is the owner of a failing plumbing business, while Luigi is a conspiracy theorist who would have really enjoyed modern-day YouTube.

While they’re out trying to find work, they run into Miss Amy March herself, Daisy, who is an archeologist in charge of digging up dinosaur bones from a New York City construction site.  She’s being forced off the property by the mob, who apparently are annoyed that a blonde lady in cargo shorts is coming between them and whatever the fuck they’re building.  

They try and intimidate her, she storms off to use a payphone to call for security, and is almost picked up by two inconspicuous bozos in a cab who apparently are stealing Brooklyn women off the street for no reason.  Their plan is quickly thwarted by a random moving pane of glass.

Instead, Daisy runs right into Luigi, who forgets how to human once he sees her pretty face.  He asks her on a date, where she reveals even more exposition.  She believes the meteor that destroyed the dinosaurs landed in New York City.  Oh, and also, she’s the abandoned egg baby.  Luigi is also an orphan, and this shared trauma apparently gets them both hot and bothered.  They wander off to the dig site, because an underground pit attached to a sewer is so romantic, and it is also where Daisy feels the most comfortable.

What if we made out at the bone pit?

Their touching moment is cut short when the mob sabotages the plumbing in the sewer and water starts flooding the area.  They run to get Mario, because he is a plumber, to fix the pipes, which is so fucking clutch, I love it so much.

While the Mario brothers are distracted, Daisy is captured by the weirdo twins and dragged into the alternate dinosaur universe.  Mario and Luigi follow, and we’re treated to the most fucking amazing transition scene of Bob Hoskins spinning wildly through colorful rocks.

Turns out, parallel dinosaur world, or Dinohattan, is fucking lit as hell.  I am convinced that Futurama based their sewer city on this movie.

King Koopa, who is a dinosaur with badly bleached hair gelled back in an effort to look like Michael Douglas in Wall Street, has taken over Dinohattan.  He is the one who asked the goons to kidnap Daisy, because of the tacky crystal necklace she wears.  Apparently, it is a piece of the meteorite that crashed into earth, and once he puts the piece back into the original space rock, the dinosaur world will merge with the mammal world after 65 million years of his people being sequestered underground, and Koopa will have endless resources at his disposal.  Also, Daisy is a princess, and her dad is a giant fungus taking over the city, so that’s totally normal and not at all weird.

Problem is, the two idiots he sent to grab her didn’t think to check if she was wearing the necklace.  Turns out, Luigi has the necklace, or had the necklace, as they are quickly mugged by a granny, who is then robbed by a lady with a bright red spiky latex coat and springy robot feet.  The brothers are then arrested by the dinocops and are grilled by Koopa for the whereabouts of the rock.  When they play dumb he uh... reacts in a proportionate way.

I am not even going to attempt to explain the devo process...  It is a combination of insane and fucking disgusting.  Whoever in the costuming department looked at the cute fucking mushroom Goombas in the video game and decided to translate them into this scaly, jagged-teethed nightmare fuel deserves to be committed.

Also, there’s only one lizard king, and that’s Jim Morrison, so back off, buddy.

What is hilarious to me is this is the story the screenwriters came up with.  Super Mario, as a video game, doesn’t have much lore, right?  You slide down pipes, you jump on mushrooms, and you save the princess from a spiky turtle.  They took that game and created... This.  A parallel underground dinosaur universe that has a sentient fungus as a king, taken over by a human-like t-rex that devolves other lizards into tiny-headed night paralysis demons.

The middle of this movie alternates between a slog of expositional scenes about Daisy being a princess, and pretty entertaining action scenes of the Mario brothers running from Goombas while trying to find and save Daisy.  Mario and Luigi steal a cop car and drive it off a cliff Thelma and Louise-style; They cosplay as Ketchup and Mustard to steal the necklace back from Big Burtha while asking her to stomp on them; They jump off a bridge into a garbage truck; They break the pipes in Koopa’s building to freeze everything, and get past an elevator full of Goombas by making them dance.

Watching Daisy damsel-in-distress-it in Koopa’s high rise office building and fend off advances by a long-tongued dude who devolved her father into a mushroom was pretty boring and disturbing.  Alternatively, witnessing Bob Hoskins and John Leguizamo pretend to jump on giant sheets of fungus really sold this movie for me.  It succeeds when it tries to be ridiculous and fun, and fall flat when it attempts to integrate any sort of drama that I’m assuming was added to make this story more appealing to adults.

Mario and Luigi eventually find Daisy, and she introduces them to her father - a giant dripping blob suspended from the ceiling.  Luigi wants in her pants badly enough that he pretends this is a reasonable thing to do.  Mario heads further into the building to free the other ladies kidnapped by tweedle dee and tweedle dum that they initially thought were Daisy, but weren’t.  The newly assembled group are able to escape by sliding down the frozen pipes on a mattress before they are green-screen launched out of the pipe and back into the greater Dinohattan area.

The amount of times Mario and Luigi use their plumbing skills to overcome obstacles may be my favorite part of this movie.  The plot goes out of its way to justify a really bizarre character trait for the original game.

Anyway, the end of this movie comes at you fast.  First, the sentient fungus king gives Mario and Luigi a bomb, and they decide to wind it up and aim it at Koopa.  This takes about 10 minutes of screen time to matter again.

Koopa’s second-in-command tries to merge Daisy’s stolen necklace with the meteor, and instead gets skeletoned to bits, prompting the best line delivery reaction from Daisy, a deadpan “Yikes”.

Because the necklace has now been returned to its resting place, the worlds start to merge Infinity War style.

“Mr. Koopa, I don’t feel so good.”

Koopa and Mario end up back in Manhattan, and Koopa just starts shooting his devo guns at human mobsters, turning them back into primates, and giving their wardrobe a whole new literal definition of monkey suit.

Luigi uses his super plumbing powers to drill the necklace back out of the meteor, separating the worlds again.  The bomb finally goes off, they devo Koopa into slime, and the citizens celebrate by immediately painting over his ever-prevalent propaganda.

The king evolves back into a mushroom person or something, and Daisy stays in Dinohattan to get to know her father better.  Mario and Luigi return to their lives in Brooklyn as plumbers, and their heroic acts make them conspiracy community famous, as they now refer to our heroes as the Super Mario Brothers.  Roll Credits.

Except not, because Daisy returns to ask for the help of a couple of great plumbers, setting up a sequel that will never, ever happen because there is no god and we’re not allowed to feel joy.

Honestly, Super Mario Bros. is great.  It owned every bold plot and visual choice it made, and I have to respect it.  I could listen to John Leguizamo say Mario like 700 more times.  Y’all are missing out if you think you’re too cool to watch this movie.

I’ll be back to musical reviews later this month.  I have a few seasonally appropriate movies in my big red sack waiting to be placed under the tree...  Yes, I meant to phrase it that way.

[faerune]

basics and background + vera! 🧡

background also asked by @queennymeria!! thank you guys 🧡

What’s their full name? Vera Maria Victoria Volakov (we love a mouthful!)

What does their name mean? Why were they named that? Vera’s mother picked out Vera for her first name and Victoria and Marie are her maternal and paternal grandmothers respectively!

Do they have any nicknames? Besides, V I can’t really think of any! At least none that she would respond to lmao. The enemies in the game certainly have some colorful things they call V.

How old are they? Twenty-seven!

When’s their birthday? July 29th, 2050!

What’s their zodiac sign/element/birthstone/etc.? Do they believe that holds any significance? Leo, fire and rubies! For most of her life no but Misty turns her onto astrology for fun and honestly she’s just grabbing onto anything to make sense of everything/find comfort.

What’s their species/subspecies? Do they have any special/magical abilities? Just human! She’s got cyberware - most of it to help with her aim.

What “class” do they belong to (for fantasy characters)? If none, what weapon do they favor? Pistols~ Any guns really but pistols are her favorite. Too bad you can’t duel wield pistols in the game because you know I’d be using that all the time playing her save.

Where were they born? What was their childhood like? Heywood, Night City!! Full of both a lot of violence and things that kids should never be subjects to and a whole lot of community. Vera had love in her life - and she attributes that to her not going completely dickhead gonk ganger but her father was emotionally and physically abusive and her mother was in and out of her life due to her profession and addiction.

It really...made her accept the way things are in Night City and harden herself with that. A lot of things she can shrug off as “just the way things are” because it’s the way they always were for her and the people around her.

What’s their family like? sdkglsdgjk see above. Complicated and unstable. Vera’s mother really did love her and want the best for her. She tried her hardest to be the mother that Vera deserved and a lot of Vera’s fond memories of her early childhood are with her mom. Vera gets back into contact with her after about a five year gap when she’s 22/23? Her mother gets clean and they have a good few months together but sadly she relapses and passes away. 

It’s what first shocks Vera into some kind of...doubt of Night City? It’s why she leaves for Atlanta.

Vera was her father’s pride and joy - he told her how to shoot and fight and survive on the streets but he was very harsh and abusive in response to any of her wrong doings even just...mistakes that kids and teenagers make and deserve to learn from instead of...that.

He died when she was 18 during the final few years of the Valentinos pushing the mob out of Heywood. It was just another of those things that she shrugged off as “just the way things are” and he had nailed into her head that people who die are stupid so...funnily enough she kind of thought about him that way for a long time.

What factions or organizations are they a part of? What ranks and titles do they hold? Vera stays away from gangers, just being a solo because she saw how long her father was on a bottom rung of the mob and where it got him. She’s basically the last person who would be part of any organization lmao. Which is what makes her becoming an Aldecaldo -chef kiss-.

How do they fit into their “story”? I guess she’s the protag since she’s my V? lol

Idk I just really love the way throughout the story I kept hearing dialogue between a bunch of different unconnected characters about ya know. Do you wanna be a legend? Have you ever tried to leave Night City? Night City you either rise or you sink in quick sand, etc, etc. So I really wanted my V to lean into that struggle of wanting to be known and having their only option for that following this awful suicidal path of these “heroes” that came before her. And then breaking all that down and having her becoming disillusioned and finally finding peace on her own terms.

Where do they currently live? What’s their place like? She currently lives on the road with the Aldecaldos! Vera and Johnny own an RV and it’s cute. Nothing bougie or anything but they’ve made it their own and Vera loves it so much - Johnny says he hates it but he loves it too. It’s got a nice big bed in the back, a little kitchenette, nice living area with a breakfast table and sofa and some chairs. 

Lots of windows. Vera insisted.

How do they eventually die? I haven’t really given it much thought but hopefully old and after a long, happy life on the road with her soulmate.

[thebookworm0001]

for the cp 2077 oc asks - 4, 16, 22, 49 and 69? 💕 (and i do not mind that you went through my blog lol)

Thank you very much for the asks and for letting me go through your blog lol

4. what tarot card from the major arcana would you associate with them?

Death “Death is the card of becoming. It signifies an imminent and difficult transition – the conclusion of one phase of life and the beginning of another. Inevitably, something gets lost during the transformation, but something else will rise and take its place.”

Aside from it just sorta feeling right, V’s life has been defined by not only literal death but also the conclusion of all the different phases of her life. Each loss has led to something new eventually rising, but it didn’t mean the loss wasn’t hard.

Jury’s still out on if getting a dick of a rocker stuck in her head will end.

16. how would you describe their style?

Her ‘at home’ style is best described as the least amount of clothing she can get away with wearing knowing her apartment may get broken into at any moment. Is someone going to? Probably not. But honestly she wouldn’t be surprised to find badges busting down her door and she really doesn’t want her tits out for that.

Her daily wear is more… biker chic with a dash of old-school gangster. The dash is strictly the hat she has. It’s not a fedora but it might as well be. She’s got heeled but sturdy boots, tight fitting pants, and some kind of tight-fitting, midriff-baring shirt with a leather jacket on most days. She usually forgoes any sort of glasses or goggles or masks for a BD wreath since you through bd footage seems to be a regular occurrence on jobs now. If she took a spill on her bike she would be in for a bad time but she’s dressing for an aesthetic that says ‘I am hot and also capable of surviving whatever you throw at me so just try me bitch.’ The guns help.

22. do they like to cook for themselves, or eat out? do they prefer restaurants or street food? and how do they feel about vending machine food?

V is actually a pretty great cook. She helped her mom in the kitchen a lot of a kid and picked up quite a bit. Her mother had wanted to be a chef, but never made it closer to a professional kitchen that waitressing in a diner. So she made their small apartment as much a chef’s kitchen as she could. As her mom got sicker and sicker, she took on more caretaking duties, including making their meals. She learned to take anything she could get her hands on and make it edible if not actually appetizing. Now she prefers to cook for herself when she can, just to feel a little closer to her mom.

She’s definitely prefer to go to a proper restaurant if she can afford it and being able to afford a real meal at one of the fancy corpo places? That’s a dream.

Vending machine food is… there. She’s made do on it more times than she’d like to think about.

49. name three of your characters biggest turn ons.

Confidence. Not arrogance, that shit’ll rub her the wrong way instantly, but a person who isn’t afraid to know and own how capable they are? Yeah, that’s hot.

Empathy. Night City isn’t exactly an easy place to live. You’ve gotta learn to look out for yourself because no one else will. Anyone who manages to do that while still being able to give a shit about other people? That’s incredibly attractive.

Muscles. Well, strength would be more accurate than muscles. It’s not so much about the bulk as it is shows they’ve worked. You don’t develop muscle without making an effort. And the way they look isn’t half bad either.

69. do they like having music on while they have sex? share three songs they’d play while getting down. 

First off: nice lol

She does like having music on. For one thing, the walls aren’t particularly thick in the places she’s most likely to get laid so that helps to deafen any outside noise and also keep others from overhearing what she’s up to. For another, it can be helpful in setting a mood. Maybe she can’t rent out a nice room but she can at least make her apartment sound like it’s more romantic than it is.

[gaybastard2]

IDFC- Chapter 7- He’s Back

Text

[He's Back]

Warning: This chapter will contain gore and homophobic slurs

I stood up and stretched while we discussed who our favorite character from Heathers was. Mine was JD, he's a crazy motherfucker and I love him. Everyone was just fucking around and laughing. It was nice, it's been a while since everything was just calm. It was also nice with Travis. He's fucking adorable, like holy shit, how does he do that? He's a smart ass, but still. He's just so Travis. That doesn't make any sense but whatever.

Aggressive knocking from the door rang threw the room, making Sal flinch and Travis cringe. Both of them are kind of sensitive to loud noises. "I'll get it." I murmured, walking to the door. Who the fuck is trying to break the door down? Just as I approached the door it swung open, reveling a scowling , slim middle age man with short blonde hair and stubble on his chin. He wore an open, black suit jacket that showed his white button down shirt underneath. He had black slacks and black dress shoes. Basically, he looks like a jackass. My eyes lingered on a red stain at the bottom of his otherwise perfect shirt. Huh, that's kinda weird.

My eyes shoot up as he clears his throat obnoxiously, now sporting a plastic smile. I sighed, clearly annoyed, and leaned against the doorway, crossing my arms. "What do you want?" I asked, scowling. I know I'm probably being a dick, but I honestly don't give a shit. I just wanna get back to my friends and boyfriend.

His left eye twitched as his smile faltered for a second before going back to his fake-ass grin. He stuck out his hand as he spoke. "Well, young man, I believe my son is here. I would like if you would please bring him to me." He demanded gruffly. My eyes widened as I shot up from my lenient position on the doorframe. I pushed his hand back towards him.

"Sorry, your son isn't here. You can go now." I said quickly, beginning to shut the door. Kenneth stuck his foot in front on the door right before it closed. Shit. "I know he's here, Johnson." He growled, pushing the door open and walking in. Oh hell no.

"Get the fuck out!" I screamed as I kicked his stomach, pushing him back out the door. I quickly slammed the door shut and locked it before running back to the living room, trying to ignore the booming voice from the door. I ran up to Travis and cupped his face gently. "Travis, your dad, he's here. Go to the bathroom and lock the door. I promise, I'll keep you safe." I explained in a hushed tone,

He gasped, nodded, and quickly pecked my lips before shakily running to the bathroom and hopefully locking it. I turned to Sal and Ashley. "It's Kenneth. Sal, please go grab the bats from my closet. Ash, go and try and keep the door closed." They both nodded. Sal ran to my room to grab my bat and Ash ran to the door and leaned all her weight against it as Kenneth repeatedly kicked it.

Soon enough Sal ran back into the room, holding two metal bats. He handed one of them to me as we approached the door. We knew that Ash could only hold the door for so long before the grown man would fucking kick it off it's hinges. After a few more kicks from Kenneth, Ash was launched forward onto the floor as the door was finally knocked off its hinges. I looked over at Sal. Fear and anger was prominent in his eyes, even with his emotionless mask. His grip tightened on his bat as his arms slightly shook.

We had done some research and came to the conclusion that Kenneth Phelps was most likely a cult leader for the Devourers of God. Sal thinks that he's the person that killed his mom and disfigured his face. We also now know he physically and mentally abused Travis. Yeah, this man is scum of the goddamn world. I took a step closer. "Listen, if you don't get the fuck out, I swear to whatever god there is-" Before I could even finish my sentence, Sal launched himself towards Kenneth, bat first, aiming for his head.

Apparently Sal's aim isn't the best because he missed and hit Kenneth's shoulder. He merely winced before yanking one of Sal's pigtails upward and right hooking the side of his head. He yelled in pain, dropping his bat as he tried to break free. Kenneth repeatedly punched the side of Sal's head again, ignoring his screams, until he went limp, his screams stopping.

All I could do was stare. I physically couldn't move. The boy that's basically my brother just got beat till he was unconscious, unmoving in this bastard's hands. Silent tears ran down my cheeks. Kenneth chucked Sal onto to the ground next to me, laughing slightly. I turned to him, shaking. "S-Sal? Are..are you okay?" I got no response. Blood was oozing out the bottom of his mask and the side. "Sal....please..a-are you.." I started, my voice shaky.

My eyes went to his chest. It was rising and falling slowly. I sighed in relief and turned back to Kenneth, holding my bat higher. Then we heard a loud sob from my bathroom. Shit, Travis is still there. My grip tightened on my bat. I need to protect him. His head jerks to the bathroom and he smiles sickeningly. "I can hear you, faggot!" Kenneth yelled. I looked behind him. Ashley was laying on the ground, unconscious. She shifted slightly, beginning to gain consciousness. Fuck, I hope she wakes up soon, Sal needs help. I took a deep breath.

"If you even think about touching him or any of my friends, I will bash your goddamn skull in." I threatened. He snorted and made eye contact with me. "Go ahead. I wanna see what you can do." He has this sadist look in his eyes when he said that. I don't know what he has planned, but goddamn I'm pissed. I ran forward and swung my bat, praying to hit his head.

The edge of my bat did end up hitting his temple, sending him stumbling to the side. The hit opened a small gash in the side of his head. Blood trickled down his face as he laughed hysterically, his eyes both far off and manic at the same time. I slowly backed up, worried what he was doing, blood dripping off the end of my bat. Kenneth clutched his side as his body shook with laughter. Oh goddamn he’s crazy. The sobbing from the bathroom was getting louder, only making him more hysterical. I need to get Travis out of this situation, Sal needs help, and Ashley needs to wake up. I’m at a fucking loss. This whole situation is a cluster-fuck.

After Kenneth finally stopped laughing, he opened one side of his suit jacket, shakily reached hand in, and pulled out a revolver. I went stock-still. Holy shit. I dropped my bat. I was paralyzed. My mind was racing as he raised his arm up and cocked the gun. He smiled once again.

“Bye bye, Johnson.” Kenneth said quietly, his voice unsettlingly calm. He pulled the trigger, aiming for my chest. I tried to jump out of the way, but I was a bit too late. I felt a piercing pain in my shoulder, almost white hot, feeling worse by the second. Oh my fuck. I shrieked in agony as the world spun around me. The pain was almost numbing. I was shaking and hyperventilating, my heart pounding in my ears. My legs gave out and I fell to the floor.

I felt hot liquid running down my chest and staining my Sanity Falls shirt. I brought my hand to my shoulder and the liquid, biting back a scream as my hand grazed the wound. I shakily brought my hand back to my line of sight to see scarlet blood coating my finger tips. I turned my head to look behind me. There was a bloody bullet laying on the ground. Oh my god, it went though my shoulder, and I have no fucking idea if that’s a good thing or not.

Holy shit, this is it. This is how I die. My best friend badly injured next to me, my other best friend unconscious behind a piece of shit man and could wake up at any point, and my dear boyfriend stuck in a bathroom, his awful father right outside. My mother is going to come home to her dead son, or even worse, this motherfucker.

Hot tears cascaded down my cheeks as my body rocked with sobs. “Your fucking pathetic.” Kenneth spat. He then turned to Ash, who was now awake and crying hysterically, and smiled. “Time to get rid of the witness.” Then the door to my left opened, and I almost forgot about my pain, almost. What I assumed was a fucking angel walked out of the door. Oh wait, that’s just Travis. Eh, same thing. He gasped and cupped his hand over his mouth.

“Lar-Larry, please, p-please...be-be okay! Please don’t l-leave me!” He whispered, his voice barely audible. Tears starting to stream down his cheeks and he shook uncontrollably as his eyes stayed on my shoulder. “Hey, don’t worry, I-I’m sure I’m gonna-gonna be fine” I whispered weakly. God I hope I’m right. My head was dangerously dizzy. Travis sobbed quietly, only getting louder when he saw Sal.

He quickly took off his sweater and kneeled next to me. He speedily wrapped it around my wound and tied it to stop me from loosing more blood, murmuring quit apologies when I wince. Travis kissed me gently and pulled away. “I’m so sorry.” He whispered, more tears running down his cheeks as he pushed a piece of hair behind my ear. It killed me to see him like this, especially with the hot pain in my shoulder. I kissed him, cupping his cheek gently when he kissed back.

He pulled away carefully and turned his head to see Kenneth yanking Ashley’s hair up. Travis gasped and went bright red with anger. He stood up and looked down at the bat next to me, the blood now dried on it. Travis picked it up and before I could object, silently approached his father from behind.

“Trav, please be careful..” I whispered to myself as he crept closer to Kenneth.

[slifers-executive-writer]

My Thoughts on the Potential Personality of a Certain Pharaoh We Never Met

Hey guys...It’s been a while since I wrote something about YGO specifically and well since that is the main focus of this blog, I thought I’d create another discussion. 

This particular tidbit (more like a brain fart to be completely honest) is from scrolling through this website and other social media pages and therefore stumbling on the fandom making their theories and headcanons on what Atem’s true personality is. I think we have all seen the jokes on how we as a fandom like to write him off as this super gay, suave, smooth talking, prideful king. The counter argument I often see is that he is socially awkward, fumbling serial killer, with an identity crisis. All of these claims tend to be backed up by people recalling numerous amounts of the original source material from Mr. Takahashi, but sometimes I wonder what could have been. 

Popular headcanons asides (that means we are not using any ships and/or made up assumptions with no basis), let’s talk about this for a minute. What has Kazuki provided and what can we assume about Atem’s actual character. Despite being a 200+ episode anime, several movies, and over 30 volumes of manga, our favorite author has left a lot to be desired from this guy. Once we’ve discussed the material, I’ll make a personal evaluation of what Atem could have been like had we been able to meet him after he had retrieved all his memories.

Okay so perhaps the fandom is right about one thing, Atem started out as a borderline serial killer. Well, according to the manga, he has got quite a bit of red on his ledger with multiple violent injuries/deaths by his hands.

Right at the moment Atem’s spirit was reawakened by Yugi completing the Millennium Puzzle, we have an individual very determined to protect his vessel at any cost. Of course not without his own enjoyment in participating in his “Dark Games”. So we can tell Atem is very protective of Yugi, his group of friends, and generally any other innocent bystanders. We can argue he is a little over protective via his deadly methods but I guess it’s the thought that counts right?

Luckily for Atem’s victims, he stops his magically mind-fucking bullshit after the Duelist Kingdom arc. He never explains why he stops. Perhaps it has to do with his development as a character to not be as ruthless in an attempt to comfort Yugi.  

One attribute Atem does not lose throughout the series is when confronted with any sort of enemy, we see Atem is very confident in his abilities. Another thing the fandom got right is well... he is quite the smooth talker. Despite being from a completely different era, this guy always knows what to say to enemies and rivals alike. Not to mention his motivational speeches to his friends are always quite powerful. If anything I would almost consider Atem a bit of a life coach. He more or less helped raise Yugi and company into the individuals they become. 

Along with giving everyone their moments of support, Atem does a pretty good job blending in with modern society despite being locked up in his own head for thousands of years. I find some individuals, thinking Atem is a complete fumbling socially awkward dork and well, maybe not so much. Sure he has his moments, I think we can all look back on the ‘Date’ episode, but we have to look at which version we are watching/reading. For the sake of accuracy I tend to interpret the Japanese material as it is closest to the manga. As I said, Atem isn’t perfect, he can be very blunt to people when they ask him for an opinion (or telling people it’s the end of the world if he doesn’t win a card game), but I certainly wouldn’t consider him completely ‘socially awkward’ in general. 

But honestly that can be a whole other essay and I’m just talking about basic character traits overall. Now let us discuss some of Atem’s flaws.

So to make things easier, let us list the flaws as they appeared in both manga and anime:

When Shadi was first introduced to us (manga), we got a glimpse of seeing our favorite dark spirit sweat in the heat of a shadow game. It was revealed that Atem knew little of his true identity and sharing a Yugi’s body meant, that the two would share each others emotions. Moreover, this spirit had fears and doubts just like the rest of us.

As time passes we see more of Atem’s doubts emerge as he becomes more comfortable with Yugi and company, and therefore he expresses his confusion about his past. Where did he come from and who is he and such. This guy needs to have a sense of purpose and being Yugi’s guardian is fine, but at the end of the day, it would be best for him to become his own person.

There is another interaction in the manga (and in the Japanese version of the anime) that I found interesting. When Atem addresses this identity issue and whether his time on this plain is limited, Yugi kind pushes it off as something he doesn’t want to think about. The kid does it again (god I can’t remember exactly which arc this is, I wanna say DOMA), Atem mentions the issue and Yugi says “You can have my memories”. 

For fans of the pairing (to be honest I’m a boring canon-ish shipper so not my cup of tea, but I get it...this scene is pretty gay) this moment is viewed as tender love and care but I can’t help but notice a pattern and another character flaw. We have a guy with no memories of his own and having an identity crisis but every time he wants to discuss this issue, his best friend tends to push it away. I understand Yugi’s reasoning, that Atem is basically the catalyst for all the good things to happen in his life, but the constant ignoring of the problem for the first half of the series is borderline toxic. Furthermore, it shows Atem is a bit of an enabler when it comes to Yugi. Unlike Joey who loudly addresses the behavior to Atem’s face, Yugi finds comfort in it and for both of them it only makes the journey harder for them in moments of separation.

Just something I thought I’d bring up since I don’t see a lot of people talking about moments of toxicity in this friendship. Not that it is a bad thing, I find it quite interesting and realistic. Not all relationships with people are perfect.

Last by certainly not least, Atem’s biggest character flaw, is he is one prideful son of a bitch. Yes, I said it. He likes to complain a lot about his rival (Kaiba) about the characteristic when he is also guilty of it. It’s always duelist pride this and duelist pride that, when a lot of the times this bullshit is what almost gets people killed. Atem’s pride kind of ties in with the ruthlessness of his character, where in the ride to victory he sometimes forgets the people he defeats are still humans beings. Take the incident with Arkana, it took Yugi switching back to keep the guy from getting his legs cut off. (Move out the way Jigsaw, Atem is gunning for your spot.) 

But his pride works against him when individuals such as Yami Bakura and Dartz use their words to question his morality. What would Atem do just to obtain victory? While our hero tends to grow from these experiences and beat the bad guys in the end, it does not negate the fact that the pharaoh’s greatest strength also tends to be his greatest weakness.

Okay so I’ve gotten most of Atem’s characteristics down pat before he retrieves his memories. In summary here is a list of some of his qualities I’ve gathered from the source material.

PROS

-protective & caring nature

-generally is confident in his abilities

-good with his words, knowing when to pick someone up and put his enemies down

-Adapts to modern customs and his friends pretty well, especially for someone locked up in a pendant for so long

-easily takes a leadership role (probably a projection of his kingship past) although he is often humble about his status as pharaoh

-his pride keeps his head held high and rises above all challenges

CONS

-let’s be real the guy is incredibly blunt (this could be a pro or con depending on preference)

-can be an enabler to Yugi at times

-ruthless nature (let’s be real his kill count is like 5+ people in the manga, probably more)

-has an overall identity crisis

-tends to put others above himself, which at times can be toxic or detrimental to his character

-his own pride can be used against him, placing fear and doubt into his mind (DOMA was a great example of this)

I feel like every time Takahashi draws him in a new movie, he just adds more flair and muscles (not that I’m complaining)

So now we come to a head and the big question is what are we missing out on? Perhaps one of the reasons Yu-Gi-Oh DM has so much fanfiction and forums about it is the general sense of emptiness the ending of the series left behind. I think dub Tea put it best, (these are not the exact words, I’ve already spent an hour writing this) Atem was leaving us just as we were getting to know him. Finally a season where we get to see him as his own character, and honestly him fighting bad guys and dying for it, was not the way a lot of us would have wanted to see him go. Instead he comes back to duel Yugi but Atem feels so stiff and mysterious. The guy doesn’t even talk to the poor girl crying in front of him. This isn’t a guy who just wanted to up and leave from the get go. But now that he got the information he wanted, suddenly he just says fuck it and gives a thumbs up walking into the light? Nah. I’m sorry to say the Yu-Gi-Oh is not on my top list of anime endings, but it can be one of saddest. 

I often wonder time and time again, what would have Atem been like around his friends. Maybe he would have more of a sense of humor (like he was with Mana). Would he have more wisdom? Would he be more charming? These are just a few question I and many others have about our favorite pharaoh. But hey that’s what we have headcanons for right?

Now some of you may be wondering, especially as a fanfic writer, what are my own headcanons about Atem? As I mentioned before I guess you can say I’m boring, I prefer canon-ish ships and I try to keep my headcanons as much in line with the source material as I can. Of course I add a tad of my own flair to it so it isn’t completely the same. If anything I try to fix so of the errors I see in the original. 

My headcanon for Atem (post memories): A lot of the qualities I mentioned before would most likely remain the same, if not positively amplified. He certainly wouldn’t be as ruthless as he used to be, the anime/manga has shown his growth from that. He would definitely still be very protective of those he cared about. Although I can’t help but think that after remembering his past, he would carry himself in a regal manner. Possibly even without him noticing because he was raised from birth to become a king. Considering the strong connection with his father, I can see the guy having a keen sense for family bonding, perhaps even wanting one of his own. It is traditional for pharaoh to want to pass on their legacy. I’m also sure we all like to think the guy would be incredibly charming, considering how he always seems to know exactly what to say. Although he would still be blunt with his statements, he isn’t one to lie or hold back. If you ask Atem a question you will get the truth and the honest truth. Pride and honesty are incredibly important to him. While he respects honesty, I can imagine he would like to keep personal matters to himself and not worry others. If anything he would rather stay quiet than create a lie. Lastly considering how humble he tends to be with the people around him and how he values everyone as equals, I can see Atem being very open-minded to try new things and explore various ideologies. He would not judge, or have prejudice. He would be accepting and encourage others to be who they are as long as they were good people.

 Okay so maybe he would be low-key nervous around pets lol.

Well, that was longer than I planned it to be, but thanks for reading all that if you did. Feel free to add to the conversation or blow up my inbox!

[afewmarvelousthoughts]

Dark Side: Part 1

 Pairing: Steve X Reader

Summary: You expected Captain America to be a lot of things... You didn’t expect him to be anything like you. As it turns out, America’s Golden Boy may be more than a little tarnished.

Warnings: Violence, sort of gory death (non-major character)

A/N: This bad boy is for @littledarlinhavefaithinme ‘s Marvelous Writing Challenge! 

This is only gonna be two parts (I swear) but I wanted to break it up because it kinda needs it and I didn’t post OFAM this week (because I was writing essentially the end of Truth please hold me).

I’m so happy this lovely human asked me to write for their challenge though! It’s my first! The prompt will be bolded and is in the next part.

Hope y’all enjoy! 

Tags are open!

Steve rips the com from his ear as it screams with interference. It’s useless now, more a distraction than anything else. Slowly he stalks around the outside of the warehouse, all his enhanced senses on high alert.

Their intel had been bad. There was only supposed to be a handful of guards here covering Popov. Instead, it felt like a whole fucking garrison. When he gets out of this he’s going to have Natasha’s ass-

A shadow flits across his path. For a second he thinks it is Natasha… That makes no sense, Nat isn’t on this mission. 

Maybe she came in because they were swamped? No, she wouldn’t have time. Doesn’t matter. He’s sprinting in the direction the person was heading.

Could be a trap. Vaguely he wishes he gave a damn.

He pauses outside the door of one of the two-story storage buildings. Sounds of a struggle inside are fading. Quietly he slips in. There’s a dim trail in the dust on the floor, a few drops of blood all leading to a staircase in the back.

As he peers into the half dark of the roof he sees a red-headed woman, clad in all black, about to kill their target. God fucking damn it.

“Natasha!” He bellows tackling her away from Popov.

They roll on the rooftop. Her head slams back into his nose, his grip loosens just enough for her to slip out. Popov is limping away and she’s heading straight for him. He slides his shield quick and low, not wanting to hurt Nat but wanting to make her lose her footing. It works and she falls, chin cracking against the ground.

Before she can stand he’s on her. “What the hell are you doing, Romanoff?!”

He turns the struggling figure over. The face that stares back at him isn’t Natasha. It is pretty though and filled with a sly grin. 

Your knee lands firmly in his groin and he grunts. You try to slip him once more. But he barely manages to keep a grip on you.

Your legs twist around him as you try to get to his back for a choke hold. Standing he digs his fingers into your hips spinning your body on his so that you’re facing him, and slams your back against the ground. You groan and he pins your upper arms to the concrete.

“Who the hell are you,” he growls.

“Not, Natasha. But you can call me anything you want, Captain,” your legs are still around him and you press yourself up, grinding against his body. Lifting your head you kiss him hard. 

Why in the hell he kisses you back for a split second, a low rumble shaking in his chest, he doesn’t know. The moment is fleeting but the distraction has the desired effect. For you anyway.

You’re able to knock him off balance and land a hard blow to his solar plexus. A quick crack to his jaw then his knee further unsettles him. It’s clear you’re not like him but you are good, damn good.

You place enough distance between you quickly that he can’t just reach out to counter and look around frantically. Popov is nowhere to be found.  

“Mother fucker!” You whip a gun out pointing it straight at his head as he rises. “If you just cost me this one you owe me a million, Cap.” A gunshot goes off and he flinches. The bullet passing just past his head. Then you’re gone.

Annoyed he picks up his shield trying to see where the hell you went. It’s pretty clear Popov went through the door and back out the way Steve had come in as the two of you fought. He jumps off the side of the building rage boiling.

He takes out five more of Popov’s men with vicious abandon. Losing himself in the fight. Letting himself just be this for a moment. Finally, he runs into Rumlow.

“This is a shit show, Cap. We got nothing,” Rumlow is panting. “Haven’t even seen Popov.”

“I saw him,” Steve grumbles.

“Where is he?!”

“Slipped me,” Rumlow raises his brows. “Not perfect man.” Rumlow just laughs and nudges his shoulder in acknowledgment.

They spend the next half hour clearing the area. No sign of you or Popov. Frustration boils in his veins.

It’s a bust and they call it.

Rumlow rounds the jet before Steve and hisses, “Holy fuck.” Steve rushes around to see what threat is coming their way. There’s no threat. At least not a visible one.

Popov is leaned against the building facing the jet. His mouth hangs open, a red wig on his head, his eyes very clearly gone.

Steve spins around, looking for any sign that you’re close and comes up empty.

Who in the hell were you?

-

Three days after that night you stare at your reflection in the floor length mirror. The bruises from Rogers’ fingers on your hips have faded a touch but not the feeling they left you with. Honestly, you weren’t sure what you expected from Captain America but it sure as shit wasn’t that.

He was brutal. You’d watched him fight before going for Popov trying to read what the situation would look like. Without a care, he threw himself into the fray… damn near unstoppable. So much like you, he liked the fight, the blood, and the sweat and the adrenaline. That was written all over him. But you couldn’t get past the feeling that he wanted to lose…

Your fingers touch your lips. He allowed himself to be distracted by your kiss. You were pretty certain he’d even kissed you back a bit, enjoyed it even. If he’d been truly concerned about self-preservation there’s no way the world’s greatest soldier would have fallen into that honey pot.

As much as you don’t want to admit it… he intrigued you. Of all the bears you shouldn’t poke S.H.I.E.L.D.’s best asset is pretty much number one. But… you weren’t always known for your sound judgment.

Two days later you’re hanging out near the National Mall watching Steve Rodgers run. It’s early and quiet, peaceful. The sky is lifting from dawn to morning. It’s a little dull but watching him is making you thirsty for more than your morning coffee, that’s for damn sure.

He does this every day. Not the smartest thing for someone of his status to have such a predictable schedule. Again, you’re hit with his disregard of safety. Sure he’s a super soldier but any sniper worth their salt, or someone like you, could easily wait in just the right spot on this path and plant a bullet between his eyes. No amount of serum would fix a blown out skull.

You’ve been following him for the better part of a week. He’s honestly not the most interesting person to stalk. He seems to like libraries, museums, parks. Public places where he can fade into the background and just watch, drawing or jotting down notes, are a favorite of his. You never really see him with anyone else… There’s a melancholy to him, a loneliness. Something you relate to. 

On day six you think you’re ready to chat. You get two of your morning coffees, he strikes you as a black coffee kind of guy anyway, and head to wait near the end of his running circuit.

As he slows his pace near the usual place you begin a slow clap. “Bravo, I mean really. Best time this week yeah?” A smirk curls your lips as he stares at you in confusion before realization dawns on his face.

“You,” he growls and struts over. Bending down you pick up the coffees. He stops in front of you, chest bowed out looking down with angry blue eyes.

You lift the coffee to his face, “Thirsty?” One of his blonde brows ticks up as he eyes you. “For what it’s worth I swear it’s nothing but black coffee.” He plucks it from your hand and unsurprisingly takes a swig. You give him an appraising stare.

“What?”

“I could have easily poisoned that ya know?” You sip your coffee as he shrugs.

“Figured you didn’t.”

“Uh huh. Well, you’re either too trusting, an idiot, or-”

“Or what?”

“You’ve got a death wish. My money’s on that one.” You smirk at him, “And my money is good.”

“And you make it by ripping people’s eyes out.” He completely deflects the first part of your comment. 

You let it slide. “A little dramatic I know.” You begin to walk away, “Wanna finish your circuit?” He stares at you for a minute, realizing that means you’ve been casing him, before following. “Anyway, that was the job. They wanted him dead and they wanted his eyes. I got them what they wanted. I got what I wanted.”

“Any chance of you telling me who they are?”

“Nope.”

“Well, they seem like great people to work for.”

“Smug for someone who’s just a glorified weapon in a tight suit.”

He grabs your shoulder and spins you, “I do what I do to help people not-”

“Because you feel dead inside if you’re not fighting?” Casually you sip your coffee, unfazed by his reaction. “Look, we all do what we have to. I’m not judging you.”

Releasing your shoulder he takes a few steps back. “You’re a murderer. I should-”

You cut him off with a bellowing laugh, “Should what?” 

His jaw clenches, a muscle in his forehead starting to tick. “And personally I prefer mercenary. Murders usually don’t get paid. Anyway, that’s one high horse you’re on.” 

“What’s that supposed to-”

“You’re trying to tell me you’ve never killed anyone and enjoyed it? Even a little?” His mouth opens before snapping shut. You pat his chest and start walking again, “It’s ok. I won’t tell anyone the star-spangled man with a plan doesn’t mind a little blood on his hands. Huh, that kinda rhymes.” You laugh a little at your own bad humor. Wade would like that one. 

“Is there a point to this?” You note he’s slowed his stride to keep pace with your shorter legs.

“You piqued my curiosity is all. I have to say you weren’t what I was expecting.”

“What exactly do people expect when they meet Captain America.?”

“Hmm… Less berserker and more poster boy. Far less snark. More vanilla, less kissing mercs on a rooftop.” He stops walking and you turn to face him. “Why, Captain Rogers, is that a blush I see?”

He clears his throat. “I think you misinterpreted-”

Another laugh bubbles from you, “I don’t think I’ve had this much fun in a long time.”

“This is what you call fun?” He pushes past you.

“I’ll admit my bar is kind of low these days but I’ll take what I can get.” You hang back just a step or so behind. “Thanks for the entertainment.”

-

Steve turns to make a comment about not being a dancing monkey and suddenly you’re nowhere to be seen. What were you some kind of fucking Houdini?! You were better at disappearing than even Natasha.

He stalks home, angry and frustrated with himself. Why had he even spoken to you? You were a murderer... mercenary... whatever. He should have taken you in immediately. But… the things you said…

Something about how you saw through him and didn’t hold back made him think of Bucky… Even your easy laugh, the way you seemed to constantly be smirking brought to mind his old friend. Your moxie though, that was so Peggy... 

He’d been thinking a lot lately of old friends. Wondering, perhaps a little too much, if being brought out of the ice was really something he was actually happy about.

As he slips out of his running shorts he feels something in the pocket that wasn’t there earlier. A card from a coffee shop. Flipping it over he sees the handwritten number. For a minute he stares, arguing with himself.

What he should do is give this number to the techs at S.H.I.E.L.D. to track. But… no part of him actually has any interest in doing that. He picks up his phone and dials. Strangely, he’s nervous as it rings and rings, not knowing what he’ll even say if you answer.

You don’t answer. The automated voicemail picks up and he ends the call. Rolling his eyes he tosses his phone on his bed and gets in the shower.

He’d hoped the steam would clear his head. It didn’t. With half a mind to try calling you again, he picks up his phone, toweling off his hair with one hand.

His mouth hangs slack a little when he sees the text from you:

-“Glad you found my note ;)”

Grinding his teeth he sets the phone back down, walking to his closet. Why do people like communicating like this? Isn’t talking easier? His phone dings behind him. After a minute he slips into boxer briefs and looks:

-“That’s a great coffee shop by the way. You should check it out.”

His fingers tap nervously on the back of the phone before responding:

S- “Local favorite of yours?”

A few seconds later you respond:

-“Lol, sorta. As of a week ago.”

S- “So not a DC girl?”

- “Nice try Cap.”

He can’t help the smirk on his face.

S- “Steve is good. You got a name?”

There’s a lull. He gets dressed and still no response.

S- “Didn’t expect one.”

Z- “How’s Zelda?”

S- “Interesting.”

Z- “Lol. It’s just from my favorite video game. Have you played?”

Steve searches, Zelda as he heads to the kitchen for water. The first thing that pops up is something called “The Legend of Zelda.” Settling into the couch he responds:

S- “Nope. Not sure video games are my thing.”

Z- “Ok but have you even tried?”

S- “No.”

Z- “Maybe give it a shot before you assume. You’re old, not dead.”

A bitter laugh pops from him without warning. You weren’t wrong.

The next day there’s a package outside his door. He’s highly suspicious until he reads the note:

“Maybe this will bring a little fun into your life. -Z”

It’s a Nintendo DS, whatever that means. He’s a little taken back by the gesture. Sure, it’s a little snarky but it’s also kind of a nice thing. Something he wasn’t anticipating.

Your text conversation continues for weeks. There would be days of silence but you’d often pop in daily with a little something you deem necessary for his “assimilation into the 21st century.”

Surprisingly he finds himself enjoying the video game, it’s cathartic in a way. He does have to be careful to not press too hard on accident and break the fragile plastic buttons and casing. After you insisted he watches Star Trek the DVD’s showed up in a gigantic box. Every single version of the show. The old ones were campy but he enjoyed them. However, he thinks he prefers Picard to Kirk. You tell him the best is Janeway, the female captain he’s yet to get to.

One day you send him a picture.

He doesn’t get it until he’s back from a particularly ridiculous mission, one that made him feel more like a janitor than a soldier. 

His mood is shit and all he wants to do is hit something until it breaks. But when he opens his phone he’s distracted from his rage.

A cathedral, it makes him think of St. Patrick’s in Manhattan, silhouetted against a purple evening sky. It’s truly stunning.

Z- “It never gets old. Kinda like you.”

A smile lifts his lips as he responds:

S- “Har har. I age, trust me. Where is that? It’s beautiful.”

Z- “... what?! Have you never been to New Orleans?!”

Steve feels his chest tighten. Honestly, he’d been so many places… but seen next to nothing.

S- “No. It looks nice.”

Z- “Ugh. Don’t super soldiers get vacation time?”

S- “Ha! Didn’t think to check the benefits package before I signed up.”

All the sudden he doesn’t want to beat his knuckles bloody... First, it’s just a small sketch in his notebook, then he decides he wants to do something more.

When he’d moved into his apartment he bought an easel, canvases, and just about any art supply he could think of… and never once touched any of them. Tonight though he breaks them out, there’s something about that purple sky that he wants to capture and a pencil sketch just won’t cut it. 

By the time he’s about to fall over from exhaustion, he’s only managed to sketch it all out on the canvas but still… it feels good. It feels like something Steve Rogers and not Captain America, would do.

A little over a month after you first start your conversation you send:

Z- “Got any plans tonight?”

For a few minutes, he stares at the screen, mouth suspiciously dry. He didn’t have plans. Who the hell would he have plans with? Finally, he wills his fingers to work:

S- “Nope.”

Z- “Figured :P”

He laughs:

S- “Ouch.”

Z- “Lol! Do you even own a suit?”

S- “I’m beginning to think you have no faith in me. Of course, I have a suit.”

Z- “This may be the one time your old fashioned ways pay off. You’d be surprised how many men these days don’t.”

S- “Finally! I was waiting for there to be a perk.”

Z- “Well good. 16th and M at 20:00.”

S- “Didn’t say I’d go.”

Z- “Don’t be late ;)”

@mywinterwolf @disagreetoagree @breezy1415 @peachthatdrinkslemonade @wonderlandmind4 @piensa-bonito @buckysstar @for-the-love-of-the-fandom @siriuslycloudy2 

[spn-ficfanatic]

F*ck Cancer- Ch 6: The Vow

SERIES MASTERLIST - CHAPTER ONE - CHAPTER TWO - CHAPTER THREE - CHAPTER FOUR - CHAPTER FIVE - CHAPTER SEVEN 

Summary: The happiest moment of your short-remaining life is upon you

Genre: Angst, fluff

Characters: Sam x Reader, Dean x Platonic!Reader*, Bobby x Platonic!Reader *For the Dean ladies/lads: it may not be romantic between him and the reader, but it’s a very close brotherly/sisterly relationship and I still think y’all will really enjoy it :)

Words: 2176

Warnings: None for this chapter!

A/N: Please be sure to comment if you’re enjoying it! 2 chapters to go from here

————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

When the back door opened your eyes widened in amazement. Flowers adorned every nook and every cranny, with fairy lights still twinkling under the cloudy skies despite the fact it was still morning. White silk tulle draped either side of the aisle, extending across the garden, and an arch filled with white and yellow roses stood at the end of a white satin aisle. Just a few chairs were situated at the front, and as you lifted your eyes they fell onto the man you were there to see.

Sam stood under the aisle in his fed suit, his smile wider than you’d ever seen. You smiled broadly back, all of a sudden wishing you could run down the aisle to kiss him. Graciously the music started, your favourite song, as Dean and Bobby gripped your arms tightly and helped you down the aisle. You noticed Sam’s smile falter slightly as he noticed your tight grip on them, and Bobby asked quietly how you were doing. You couldn’t answer, you were too focused on reaching your destination as quickly as possible. You nodded slightly and hmmed in an affirmative response, and he patted your hand. Neither man spoke as they led you down to Sam, and as you reached him they guided you into his arms. He hugged you and held you tightly, and you melted into his chest and sighed contently.

“Missed you,” you mumbled, and he chuckled in agreement.

“Is everything ok?” he asked you, his tone turning serious, holding you at arms length to see your face. “You were holding onto Dean and Bobby’s arms for dear life.”

“It’s all fine,” you assured him, and you moved to sit on the chair someone had graciously sat behind you while Sam did the same. You were close enough together that you could keep holding his hand, and you rubbed your thumb across his knuckles lightly. He smiled at the motion and lifted your hand to his mouth to plant a kiss on yours.

The celebrant had initially been standing, but upon seeing the height difference he decided to pull up a chair himself.

“I feel this might be less intimidating,” he joked with a chuckle as he took his seat in front of the two of you, and everyone smiled. “Ladies an… well, lady and gentleman. We are gathered here today to see these two friends who became lovers, finally become husband and wife.”

Dean and Bobby cheered from the crowd of two and you laughed along with Sam.

“Now Dean wanted me to stress that this will be quick and painless. As per the request by both you and Sam there will be none of that holy matrimony crap because regardless of how much time you have left together in the coming weeks, as hunters we know all too well that life is too short to mess around.”

You raised a surprised eyebrow and Dean shrugged. “Met him at Ellen’s bar one day and we got talking. Figured he might come in handy one day.”

“He’s held onto my card for 5 years,” the celebrant told you with a wink before extending his hand. “I’m Greg, and it’s an honour to meet you both.”

You and Sam each shook his hand with a warm smile before he cleared his throat and returned to his notes.

“OK gang, let’s get this show on the road. Sam and Y/N, Dean tells me that you’ve written your own vows so let’s start with the groom shall we?”

Sam nodded once in affirmation, taking your hand before taking a deep breath.

“Y/N. The very moment you walked through Bobby’s door all those years ago you took my breath away. I remember that you said hello, to this scared 13-something year old kid who had no idea what love meant before, only to have me run to my room and remain there until you left with your dad a couple of hours later.”

You chuckled at the memory, as did Dean and Bobby.

“I wish I could go back to that kid and tell him he was an idiot, that knowing you would be the best part of his life and that he should cherish every second he had with you. And now, here we are with both the best and worst time of our lives looming over us, and I should be scared but I’m not. Because I’m spending it with you. And while I would give anything to have a long, full life together, I will gladly and gratefully take whatever time I have left with you. You will ALWAYS be my wife, in life and death, and one day I know we’ll be together again.”

You nodded with a sad smile as tears fell down your cheeks, and with a shaky hand you wiped them away. Sam lifted your chin so you were looking into his eyes, and with his thumb he brushed a tear away before kissing your cheek. You licked your lips, salty from the tears that had fallen there, and cleared your throat.

“Well shit, how can I follow that?” you asked with a huff, and Sam laughed. “I uh, I thought pretty hard about what I would say when I got here but I could never come up with the words I needed. I have a lot of wishes of course, but unless Greg here is a wish-granting genie on top of celebrant we’re shit outta luck. So I guess I just wanna say… I wanna say thank you. To Bobby, for raising us right, and Dean for making today possible. But mostly to you Sam. For keeping me sane when my dad drove me mad, and for looking after me when he died. For listening to me crap on about the most inane things to the most deep. For not giving up on me when I kept the cancer from you, or when it was so bad I could barely remember my own name. You and Dean, you've kept me alive for the last 2 months. And I'm so grateful. And I'm so so in love with you,” you told him with a wide smile. “Oh and I think you’re nuts for doing this by the way, but it’s honestly the most selfless thing I think a person has ever done for me. And even if I wake up tomorrow with no memory of who I am, I will still carry this with me for the rest of my days. However short they may be.”

Sam nodded, looking down to hide the fact he had tears rolling down his cheeks. You tutted and lifted his face to yours as he had one to you only moments ago, wiping away his tears with your thumbs as you placed a hand either side of his face. You kissed him lightly on the lips, and he leaned forward to deepen it.

“Erm, you may now kiss the bride?” Greg instructed with a laugh, and Dean and Bobby followed suit. “We do still have the rings though guys, if you think you can hold on just a few more minutes.”

You pulled back with a grin, licking your lips to try and savour the moment. “Yep, sorry Greg, do your thing.”

“Alright,” he continued, gesturing to Dean. “I take it you have the rings?”

Dean patted his pocket with a nod, then patted his chest pocket. Frowning he reached into his jacket before his eyes widened and he furiously checked his pant pockets.

“Dude, don’t do the shtick,” Sam interrupted.

Dean rolled his eyes and removed the rings from the first pocket, walking over to give them to you. “Party pooper,” he sulked in jest, dropping them into your hand before returning to his place next to Bobby.

“OK, Sam and Y/N, we’re going to do this nice and simple-like. I want you to repeat after me, together, as you slide on the rings: With this ring, I thee wed.”

You handed your ring to Sam, holding his in your fingers. He took your hand first, sliding it on with ease before giving you his hand to do the same. “With this ring, I thee wed,” you repeated together, looking into each others eyes and committing this moment to memory.

You weren’t sure what Greg said after that, you assumed it was the whole “kiss the bride” thing but for all you knew you jumped the gun yet again. Once you saw Sam’s eyes you were overcome with the urge to kiss him, and kiss him you did. If you’d had the strength you would have romantically leapt into his arms but instead he lifted you, bridal-style of course, and spun you around. Dean and Bobby were cheering in the background you could hear, but they sounded underwater. The only thing that mattered in that moment, the only two people sharing this particular moment, were you and your new husband.

-----------

The rest of the day was simple but perfect. You shared cake, sat around with beers sharing stories from both hunts and the adventures on the road together. You drifted off a couple of times, waking up each time in Sam’s warm and loving arms as if you’d never left. By 7pm you and Sam were getting antsy to spend some “alone” time together.

“Sam,” you told him quietly while Dean collected the next round of beers. “I think I’m ready to head out.”

With a wiggle of your eyebrows Sam picked up the signal you were dropping, and he held up a hand for his brother.

“Not for us man, we’re gonna get going,” he explained, sliding you off his lap and standing with a stretch.

“Yer fair enough guys, have a good night. Enjoy the room.” he told you both with a wink, and he gave his brother a hug. Bobby came over and leaned down to hug you also.

“See you tomorrow pumpkin,” he told you, and you felt a lump rise to your throat. “I’m so proud of the botha ya.”

“Thanks Uncle Bobby,” you whispered, kissing him on the cheek and pulling back to recieve Dean’s hug next.

“This was amazing Dean, thank you so much for everything,” you told him, a tear sliding down your cheek.

“S’what family’s for,” he replied, squeezing you tighter. “Now go enjoy my little brother, and never ever tell me about it.”

You laughed and reached out your hand to meet Sam’s. You swallowed thickly, a little nervous given you hadn’t walked for several hours, and let out a smile sigh of relief when he picked you up again bridal-style.

“Will you let me walk today?” you asked with a laugh.

“Oh I’m never letting you go again,” he replied seriously, and as he walked you to the Impala out the front you glanced back to see Dean wink at you and give a small wave.

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

“Dean told you, didn’t he?”

You were laying in bed, fingers intertwined with Sam’s as you stared into each others eyes. It was corny you knew, but you couldn’t stop looking at the guy. Almost as if he might disappear if you did, even for a moment.

“About your legs?” he replied with a frown, and you nodded. “I asked him actually, I knew something was up the second you walked down the aisle. Dean suggested I carry you here instead, I didn’t want to dampen the mood before you got your surprise.”

You looked around the room, which was not the 3-star motel you were expecting but the 5-star Hilton in the city. Sam had carried you the entire way, only stopping at the desk to rest you against him and sign the papers. There was champagne and even rose petals on the bed when you arrived; you’d needed a girly moment upon that discovery and had shed a few tears at the gesture.

“This is incredible,” you told him. “I never thought I’d get to stay in a place like this in all my life.”

“List Item 13: Live like a princess for a day,” Sam recited as he brushed a hair out of your face, and you blushed as you remembered 13yr old you writing that one. “I’m going to spend the rest of our time together making sure you feel like a princess every day, so hopefully this was a good start.”

You chuckled and rested your head on Sam’s bare chest, hearing his heartbeat against your ear.

“This was more than I could ever have dreamed,” you assured him.

A comfortable silence fell as you listened to each other breathing, enjoying the peace from your 11th floor room. There was no traffic noise, no voices from the other rooms, and a cool breeze drifting through the open window lightly brushed against your skin. You knew you should have talked about your legs, and the situation at hand, but you couldn’t bring yourself to break the silence again. Instead, you stayed as you were and allowed sleep to take you.

CONT. 

————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

SERIES MASTERLIST - CHAPTER ONE - CHAPTER TWO - CHAPTER THREE - CHAPTER FOUR - CHAPTER FIVE - CHAPTER SEVEN 

MY MASTERLIST

Tag Lists (Open)

Series Taglist: @deghostyboi , @dreaminemz , @spence-rreid, @almostelegantfire , @ericaprice2008 @mirandaaustin93

“Dean/Jensen” taglist:  @mrsambroserollinsacklesmgk, @perpetualabsurdity, @mlovesstories

“Everything” taglist: @angelsandwinchesters, @grace-for-sale, @growningupgeek, @iamnotsaneatall, @nanie5, @waywardasfudge, @im-dead-inside05, @julzdec, @adoptdontshoppets, @meghanbeinghappy, @sleepylunarwolf , @sammysgirl1997, @imaginationisgrowth, @screechingartisancashbailiff , @flamencodiva

People who requested tags, that I cannot tag (but will still mention because I feel bad :( ): @ronja-uebrick, @lilydarcy, @cabbagewithissues

[bearly-writing]

Hi there! I found your exhaustion fic with Hunk on AO3 and I loved it! Thank you for writing it. I don't find a lot of fics with Hunk as a major character of the story and I sometimes don't get a response when I request Hunk fics from others. May I make a request? I am having a hard time choosing, so I'll let you choose! Could you do either electrocution or nerve damage with Hunk for your Bad Things Happen Bingo please? Orrr... you can do both if you like. *wink wink* Lol XD

Thank you very much! This is a lovely comment :) I love Hunk too! I’m so sorry that this took so crazy long for me to post, hopefully you’re OK with me picking electrocution too ;)

Crosses are posted, circles are requested. Thank you everyone who’s requested something - I know I’m getting through these painfully slowly, but I’m still open to requests for Voltron or the Batfamily :)

Set the Spark

Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender

Prompt: Electrocution

Characters: Hunk, Shiro, Allura, Lance, Keith, Pidge

Warnings: Violence, Torture, Electrocution, Vomiting

Summary: The metal floor is hard beneath Hunk’s knees, even with the paladin armour. There’s a drain set into the dip between his legs. Hunk shuts his eyes and tries his best not to think about why exactly that might be necessary, or about the fact that the Galra is hailing the castle and everything that means is probably coming. He’s not very successful.

Read it on AO3 here!

The Galra ship smells of hot metal and the strange, ozone stink of blaster guns. It’s a little like the way the lions smell, particularly during a battle, but there’s something else about it that turns Hunk’s stomach in a way the inside of Yellow never has. Something almost animal. It gets worse the further away from the hangar they get, Hunk stumbling along beneath the cool, impersonal press of the sentries either side of him. It’s the heavy, musky scent of living beings – of sweat and blood and other things that Hunk definitely shouldn’t think too hard about if he wants to keep the contents of his stomach.

Not that there’s much chance of that – it’s been churning dangerously ever since Yellow first took that awful hit, and there’s no sign of it letting up any time soon. The smell is only the cherry on top of an already rotten cake, sliding thick and almost tangible across Hunk’s tongue. By the time the sentries finally pull him to a stop, Hunk is sweating, his stomach a small, tight ball inside him.

“The Yellow Paladin.”

The hulking Galra soldier that turns to greet him does nothing to settle Hunk’s nerves. Neither does the rest of the room. It’s surprisingly empty, aside from the wide screen that takes up most of one wall, and the console underneath it, which the Galra currently eyeing him is leaning over.

“Not my first choice.” A flash of sharp white teeth. “But I suppose you’ll do.”

Hunk shivers. The blank metal walls seem suddenly too close, as if they’re shrinking in towards him. The Galra, when he steps towards him, seems inordinately tall. Hunk is a big guy – he’s not used to feeling quite so small.

“Glowing praise,” he finally manages, squeezing the words past the fear clutching tight in his chest. The Galra just smirks. One huge hand reaches out, slow enough that, if Hunk actually had a choice, he could lean away. He doesn’t. The sentries’ hands are tight on his arms. When he flinches, they grip hard enough that he knows they’ll leave bruises.

“Don’t worry,” the Galra murmurs, claws pricking at Hunk’s jaw as he clutches his chin. “You won’t have to do much besides scream when I tell you too.”

God. Hunk feels acid rising dangerously at the back of his throat. That’s…not good is probably an understatement. Hunk scrabbles around for a snarky reply but comes up empty.

“Kneel down and keep your mouth shut.”

The hand finally shifts away from his jaw, but it only moves to his shoulder instead. Something warm and wet trickles over Hunk’s skin. Blood, Hunk thinks woozily, feeling his stomach clench. When the Galra presses him to the floor, Hunk goes easily. Part of him is worried that if he stands any longer he’s going to pass out.

“Hail the Alteans,” the Galra snaps, turning back towards the screen behind him. One of the sentries moves immediately to obey.

The metal floor is hard beneath Hunk’s knees, even with the paladin armour. There’s a drain set into the dip between his legs. Hunk shuts his eyes and tries his best not to think about why exactly that might be necessary, or about the fact that the Galra is hailing the castle and everything that means is probably coming. He’s not very successful.

A burst of static has Hunk reflexively opening his eyes, and then the bridge of the castle is filling the screen, huge and surprisingly close. They’re all there, Hunk realises with a sick, sinking sensation: Allura standing at the centre of the bridge, Shiro at her shoulder; Keith, his bayard in his hand, on the far right of the screen; Lance and Pidge clustered together a little way in front of him; and, closest to the screen, Coran, standing at the Altean console, face unusually solemn. They must all be able to see him too, kneeling on the filthy metal floor of the ship, straddling a drain. He wonders how pathetic he looks.

“Release the Yellow Paladin,” Allura snaps, as soon as the screen focusses. It’s her command voice and Hunk feels his spine straighten a little in response. But the Galra only laughs, an awful, chilling noise without any humour in it.

“I’ll release your paladin if you turn over the rest of the lions to my control.” It’s an insane bargain. Hunk is honestly a little impressed – both with the fact that the Galra had the balls to suggest such an exchange, and the fact that he somehow believes that Hunk is worth so much. Even Hunk is distantly aware that he couldn’t buy one of the lions, let alone all of them.

“No.” Allura’s voice is steel. “You will release him, and in return, we won’t destroy your ship.”

“Feel free to destroy the ship, if you so badly wish to say goodbye to your paladin.” Even through the screen, Hunk can see Allura’s face tighten. “In the meantime, I believe you should consider my offer.”

He circles around, footsteps loud against the metal floor, until Hunk can feel the heat of him against his back. It sends a shudder crawling over Hunk’s skin. A heavy hand lands on his shoulder, warm even through the armour Hunk’s wearing, and Hunk’s stomach gives a queasy lurch. This is bad.

“I’m sure I can offer you some motivation.”

There’s movement behind him. Up on the screen, Allura’s eyes narrow, and Hunk can see the others reacting too, shifting and tensing in response to whatever it is that Hunk can’t see. Something thick seems to settle over the room. The sharp, ozone scent Hunk had smelt in the corridor seems suddenly so thick that Hunk can barely breathe. It’s as though the tension is a physical thing, settling across his shoulders, creeping down his throat and into his lungs. Hunk hears one of the sentries step close, then: “I’m sure you recognise this, Champion.”

That’s definitely not good – nothing good has ever come from the Galra taunting Shiro like that. Hunk should turn around, should get a look at whatever the Galra is talking about, but he’s too afraid. Shiro’s reaction is bad enough: his eyes go wide, his face losing the little colour he had. His expression tenses then goes abruptly blank, as if he’s smoothing all of his emotion away. It’s almost as frightening.

“This isn’t going to help you,” Shiro says, and his voice is strangely blank too. “You don’t need to hurt him.”

Another awful shudder tightens Hunk’s skin. He can almost hear the grin on the Galra’s face, as clearly as he can feel the danger in the air. Something bad is about to happen, and all of Hunk’s team mates are here to watch.

“I think I do actually.”

Before Hunk has a chance to even wonder what’s about to happen, something presses hard into the soft juncture between Hunk’s shoulder and his neck, and Hunk’s entire world blacks out. It’s…excruciating. Pain spears through Hunk’s entire body, branching out from that first sharp epicentre of agony. All of Hunk’s muscles seize and he can feel himself – as if from very far away – going rigid, his spine straightening painfully. It’s like liquid fire through his veins, sharp and jagged, as if he’s being torn apart from the inside out, and Hunk would be worried about that but there isn’t a single coherent thought in his head. Distantly, he’s aware that he’s screaming. Aware of the fact that he’s fallen jerkily to the filthy metal floor. Aware of voices floating through the air around him, strange and distorted and unintelligible under the sounds he’s making in turn. Then, finally, blissfully, the pain stops, and Hunk slides slowly back into awareness.

“-op! Stop it! Hunk!” Of course it’s Lance’s voice he hears first, because that’s Lance all over – loud, and forthright, and always in Hunk’s corner. Hunk feels a strange shiver of something he can’t quite define: a weird mix of gratitude and shame and the aching, hollow pain throbbing through his body as the aftershocks of the electricity tingle through him. The floor beneath his cheek is cold in a distant sort of way, as if Hunk still isn’t entirely present in his body. In contrast, the rest of him feels too hot, his skin small and tight and prickly.

“You’ve made your point.” Shiro sounds calm, but there’s an undercurrent to his voice that Hunk suspects he can only hear because he knows him so well.

Allura’s voice is a little less controlled when she says: “This will not get you want you want. Release the Yellow Paladin back to us at once.”

Hunk doesn’t bother looking up at the screen. He isn’t sure if he can even move his head right now, and besides, he’d rather watch his own panting breaths fog up the slick metal floor beneath him than have to see the expressions his teammates must be making. Just the thought of having to look at Lance’s face right now makes him feel faintly sick.

“Hmmm.” There’s a soft clicking sound and faint pressure as the Galra taps the shock rod – thankfully not currently active, although Hunk is aware that could change at any moment – against Hunk’s armour. “I really don’t think you get it yet.”

The tapping stops. Then the end of the shock rod presses into Hunk’s ribs and Hunk gets a rush of dizzying fear, and the sound of Keith snarling “No,” beyond the screen, before pain shoots through him again. It lasts a long time – longer than before, Hunk thinks, although maybe it just feels that way. By the time the electricity finally cuts off, Hunk has screamed himself hoarse, and his entire body is trembling with agony and exhaustion. His stomach is a small, hard ball, turning itself inside out in pain and fear, and Hunk manages to drag in one shaky breath before he’s expelling the contents of his stomach onto the floor.

It’s mostly liquid – it’s been a long time since breakfast – but that doesn’t make it feel any better coming up. Doesn’t stop his throat burning. Doesn’t stop the tears prickling hot behind his eyes. They spill over his cheeks without permission, trickling down to his chin, carving hot lines across his face. Hunk can’t help wondering, a little hysterically, if they’ll make the electricity worse. It’s not a clever thought, but Hunk’s brain is too fried for him to feel bad about that.

“You have one varga.” The Galra’s voice floats down towards him as if from very far away. Hunk had almost forgotten he was in the room with him. There’s a reply from the Castle, but Hunk doesn’t have the brain capacity to parse the sound into words, and then the screen goes abruptly blank. That’s…Hunk can’t actually tell if that’s a good thing or not. There’s no point torturing him whilst the others aren’t watching, is there? Then again, the Galra don’t usually need an excuse.

There’s a foot against his shoulder, rolling him onto his back, away from his puddle of sick, thankfully. Hunk goes with it easily enough, too sore and limp and out of his head to resist. There isn’t much point anyway – resisting just means more pain and there’s nothing here that he needs to protect, Hunk isn’t petty

“You’d better hope they make the right choice, paladin,” the Galra sneers. Then he turns abruptly and leaves the room, and Hunk is alone with the two sentries and a blank screen, and a pile of his own vomit.

***

It doesn’t feel like it’s been a varga when the Galra returns, although Hunk suspects he’s lost consciousness a few times in between, so he probably isn’t the best judge. He hasn’t moved from where the Galra left him, sprawled on the cold floor. His muscles ache too badly to contemplate pulling himself upright, and there’s nowhere to go even if he tried – not with the sentries standing silent guard. So, Hunk had lain on the floor and tried to get some control of his breathing back and listened to the pounding of his heart in his ears – too fast, too strong. God, this isn’t how Hunk wants to die. Hunk has survived too much for his heart to give up on him in some cold Galra torture room, miles away from Earth.

The Galra has the shock rod in hand, Hunk notices. His eyes catch on it straight away with a sort of instinctual fear. The Galra notices, waves it in a jaunty sort of salute, and grins, sharp white teeth beneath strange purple lips.

“I’ve not heard anything from your friends, little paladin.” The tip of the shock rod presses into the middle of Hunk’s chest, pinning him back against the floor, but, thankfully, not electrocuting him. Hunk’s heart races underneath the pressure anyway, punching against his ribs as if it might jump right out of him. “Perhaps they need another demonstration?”

Hunk had expected this, because he knows that Allura would never give up the lions for him – he would be furious if she did – but it doesn’t stop the awful, hollow pain in his chest, or the dizzy rush of fear. He’s glad he’s lying down, because Hunk suspects that he might pass out if he were standing, and the Galra had stripped him of his helmet before they had dragged him through the ship.

“Hail them.”

The screen flickers into life. Hunk allows himself to look, because he’s not being actively hurt right now. When the camera focusses, only Allura and Coran come into view, standing exactly where they had been, but suddenly four paladins down. Something shifts in Hunk’s chest. He isn’t sure if it’s hope or fear but he clings to the sensation anyway. The Galra smirks, seemingly unconcerned.

“Have you had a chance to consider my offer Princess?” He makes a show of looking around, although the entire bridge of the Castle is visible on the huge screen. “Are your paladins bringing me the lions as we speak?”

Allura looks as calm and regal as ever, but there’s a sharp curve to her lips that sends a little shiver over Hunk’s skin. “They are on their way, Commander.”

A rumble, as if from a distant explosion. The ship rocks beneath Hunk. Allura’s smile grows sharper. “In fact, you should expect them very soon.”

It’s difficult to see the Galra’s face from Hunk’s angle, but he catches the white flash of teeth as he snarls. Feels the press of the shock rod hard enough to bruise against his chest. “You bitch,” the Galra snarls and the shock rod sparks into agonising life.

There’s a crash that Hunk recognises even through the pain, then the electricity coursing through him abruptly cuts off. Hunk gasps for breath, disoriented, vision blurry with tears. Someone’s standing over him, he recognises, with a detached sort of fear. There are legs blocking most of his vision. Hunk can’t tell who they belong to in his strange haze – whether they’re the Galra or the sentries or the paladins – or maybe, he thinks with a little trickle of fear, something worse.

The sound of metal clashing against metal is loud in the small room. Probably here to rescue him, Hunk decides – probably the paladins – and he lets himself slump back against the floor. The legs move away, accompanied by the rhythmic thump of fast footsteps, then there are more footsteps and someone drops to their knees beside him.

“Hunk? Hey, Hunk? Are you OK? Please, please be OK.”

It’s Lance, because of course it is. His voice is thick, as if the words are squeezing out of a swollen throat, as if Lance is trying not to cry, and Hunk lets his head loll to the side to offer Lance a shaky smile.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” His voice is surprisingly small. He tries clearing his sore throat. Then, stronger: “I’m fine Lance, help me up.”

Hands press his shoulders back against the floor and Hunk’s muscles are still too weak to resist, even though normally he could have easily shrugged Lance off.

“Woah, hold on Hunk – let them –“

He’s cut off by a furious snarl. There’s fighting somewhere nearby, the sounds of a struggle, then a wet thump as the Galra falls to the floor and doesn’t get back up. Hunk flinches without meaning to and Lance’s hand tightens on his shoulder. His face, leaning over Hunk, is tense and surprisingly pale in the purple wash of the Galra ship.

Someone else drops down beside him – Pidge – and Hunk is suddenly painfully aware of the fact that he’s lying on his back beside a pile of his own vomit.

“Seriously guys, I can get up.”

When he shifts upright this time, Lance doesn’t stop him. Pidge tentatively reaches out and presses her own hand to his back, even though there’s probably not much she could do to support him if he really couldn’t sit up under his own power. He offers her a surprisingly solid smile anyway, shaking out his arms as he does it to try to get some feeling back into them.

“See, I’m fine.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” The legs reappear, and this time Hunk recognises that they’re attached to Shiro. The Black Paladin is smiling, but there’s something tight in his expression that has Hunk’s heart thumping painfully in his chest, something dark and furious in his eyes. “Are you up to walking?”

“Yeah.” It’s a little embarrassing to be the centre of such focussed attention. He shifts, and Keith steps forward to help him up. Hunk feels shaky and lightheaded once he’s finally pulled to his feet. He sways and Lance ducks under his arm automatically to try to steady him. Shiro too, steps forward to grip his other arm. The shock rod is in Shiro’s Galra hand, Hunk notices, with a queasy lurch of his stomach.

Shiro follows his gaze. His face twists and for a moment there’s such breath-taking anger on it that Hunk is honestly a little afraid. Then he tosses the rod away from him with a clatter. Hunk can’t help flinching. Can’t help wondering exactly what Shiro remembers. The Galra had suggested that Shiro had his own experience with the rod – and Shiro’s attitude certainly seems to back that up. It’s not surprising, but Hunk’s mouth tastes bitter with the thought anyway. That electricity had hurt – a lot. Hunk doesn’t particularly like the thought of any of his friends experiencing it.

“Sorry Hunk.” Shiro’s face has smoothed back to his usual neutral expression. Hunk smiles back, but it feels strange on his lips.

“It’s fine. Let’s just get out of here.”

[shan282-ao3]

The Devil Has Come Ch4

Originally posted on Archive of Our Own [x]

Chapters: 12/? Fandom: Far Cry 5 Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Female Deputy | Judge/John Seed, Female Deputy | Judge/Jacob Seed, Female Deputy | Judge/Joseph Seed Characters: Original Female Character(s), John Seed, Jacob Seed, Joseph Seed, Faith Seed, Staci Pratt, Nick Rye, Sharky Boshaw, Female Deputy | Judge (Far Cry), Original Male Character(s), Kim Rye, Boomer (Far Cry), Joey Hudson, Earl Whitehorse Additional Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, Torture, Fluff, Minor Character Death, Recreational Drug Use, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Eventual Smut, Character Death, Slow Burn Series: Part 1 of Bottom of The River

Summary: They should never have been there. Whitehorse and Pratt were right when they spoke against going to Eden’s Gate. They should have left The Project alone. They’d started something and there was no going back now. The lamb had broken the first seal and the deputy had been helpless to stop her.

Read below:

John looked down at her with a happy smile. “I told you I would help you atone.” His voice was so fucking soft and Sarah felt like she could trust him with her entire life.

She stood from her chair and looked down at herself. She was back in Faith’s white dress, it was decorated now with all sorts of flowers. A small Eden’s Gate tattoo now decorated her wrist along with a set of scales on the other hand.

Her eyes met John’s once again and she couldn’t help the wide grin that spread over her face. She felt an overwhelming joy that she couldn’t understand. “Thank you.”

He moved forward and grabbed her waist, pulling her flush against him. One hand moved up her side to cradle the side of her head. “I promised you I’d save you. Thank you for letting me.”

He gently pulled her forehead to his and closed his eyes, he looked at peace. Sarah sighed happily and closed hers as well. They stood there for what could have been eons, swapping breaths and reveling in each other’s touch.

Screaming broke the peace and suddenly John was gone from her fingertips and she was standing alone in the middle of the ranch. She looked back down and her dress was now torn all over, blood coated her hands and one of the sleeves had been nearly ripped off.

“John?” She called out, concern lacing her voice. “Rook? Nick?” Panic was rising, the screaming hadn’t stopped. There was gunfire somewhere nearby but she wasn’t sure where. She broke into a run, pushing through one of the doors, and continued screaming out names.

The scream broke off into a choked sob and a hand grabbed her leg, tripping her. She looked back in horror at Hudson who was clawing at her boot, the only sound coming from her was an unending sob. She struggled away, crawling backward in a panic, her eyes never left Hudson’s.

She bumped into something and whipped around, Hudson started screaming again. Sarah let out a broken sob herself when she saw what she’d just hit. John lay on the ground in a pool of his own blood, bullet holes riddled his body.

“I trusted you.” His voice screamed at her, rage causing her to shrink back. He didn’t move but she could hear him in her head.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” She sobbed, terrified to touch him.

“How could you Sarah?” She looked over and Nick and Kim were looking down at her, disappointment heavy in their voices. “We trusted you. You were supposed to save us.”

“No no no.” She shook her head violently and forced herself up, running away from all the voices swirling around her head. Suddenly, Rook stood in front of her and grabbed her arms, forcing her to stop.

“What have you done?” Her voice was cold and she looked at Sarah with a hard expression. Sarah realized her eyes were a milky white, her skin cold and complex pale. There was blood coating her deputy’s shirt. “You killed everyone.”

“No no no no no!” Sarah wailed, collapsing to the ground. The sobs and screams of her friends around her assaulted her senses, she clamped her hands around her ears to maybe keep them away.

The gunfire was back, louder now, so fucking loud. A particularly loud bang close by had her gasping.

Sarah shot up from the couch she’d been asleep on, her breathing rapid and panicked. She looked around blindly, trying to regain her bearings. The gunfire from her dream was still there, loud as ever and she realized it must have been what woke her up.

A bullet shot past her and lodged itself in the wall behind her head and Sarah dropped back down. That was one way to wake up her up. She scrambled off the couch and moved to grab her gun. She’d had enough sense to take down one of John’s minions on her way out and had taken the woman’s AR-C with her.

She poked her head up and out of cover, counting how many people were outside the hangar and where they were. She noticed Nick ducked behind a crate, he was pinned down and a Peggie was coming up on his right.

She aimed her assault rifle at the man and fired, a burst of bullets impaled him and he dropped. Nick swung around wide-eyed to look at her and Sarah raised a hand to wave.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He shouted over the sound of bullets, Sarah ducked back down into her cover. Of course, Nick Rye of all people thought the middle of a gunfight was the right time to have a conversation.

“I’m saving your ass! What does it look like?” She shouted back, aiming her gun over the couch again and taking down another Peggie. Nick took the opportunity of her distraction to exit his cover and fire on more of their attackers. Sarah jumped over the back of the couch as he lay down cover and, staying low, she ran towards a crate adjacent to Nick’s.

“What the hell do they want?” She asked between firing her gun and ducking away from flying bullets.

“Fuck if I know,” Nick answered, his voice wavering with fear. He was probably dead scared about Kim.

“Get the plane!” Someone shouted an order and Nick stood up immediately.

“Don’t you dare touch Carmina!” He shouted back in anger, Sarah shot across the divide and grabbed him, yanking him back down just in time as more bullets from towards where he’d just been standing.

“Forget the fucking plane, you idiot.” She hissed, he was gonna get himself killed before he even got the chance to meet his kid at this rate. Sarah was going to have to go to Kim and tell her that her idiot husband got himself killed over a plane of all things.

There was another burst of gunfire from behind them and Sarah turned around, her own gun raised and ready to fire. She gasped and immediately dropped it when she saw Rook advancing with her gun pointed at the cultists.

“Jesus Christ I almost shot you!” Sarah shouted at her as Rook took cover, she merely shrugged. The loud bang of a sniper above them rang out and a cultist dropped, Rook must have taken Sarah’s advice and introduced herself to Grace.

With the addition of two more guns, picking off the rest of their attacker was easier, though they weren’t fast enough to prevent one getting away with Carmina. Nick shouted after the plane, running down the runway a few feet before he stopped and dropped his head with a sad sigh.

Sarah swung an arm around Nick’s shoulders and pulled him against her side. “We’ll get her back buddy. Let’s go check on Kim, yeah?”

“Shit.” He exclaimed and broke away, taking off at a jog towards the house. Sarah looked back at Rook who was talking to Grace and pointed in the direction Nick had gone before following behind him after she got a nod from both of them.

She smiled when she broke through the trees in time to see Kim come out and wrap Nick in a big hug. She leaned against one of the trees watching the couple happily. They really were fucking perfect, she was honestly jealous.

Kim saw her and waved her over, going back into the house with Nick trailing behind her, Sarah followed them in. “Thanks for helping us out Sarah.”

“Hey, where’d you come from anyways?” Nick asked in confusion and he flopped down on the couch, his head tipped over the back so he could see her.

“I slept here.” At their obvious confusion, she shrugged. “John grabbed me last night, I got away and came here. But it was late and I didn’t want to be a both so I just slept on the couch in the main hangar."

Nick bristled at the mention of John, his hand clenching into a fist. Kim instantly shot into mother mode and grabbed Sarah’s face, tilting it this way and that to check for injuries. Sarah batted her hands away. “I’m fine Kim, seriously. He barely touched me, I got away before he could do anything.” It wasn’t exactly the truth, but it wasn’t a total lie either. “Just don’t tell Rook okay? She’s got enough to worry about.”

Kim gave her a look but nodded in unwilling agreement. A knock on the door turned their collective attention to the front of the house where Rook was standing awkwardly in the door. Nick jumped up from the couch to thank her for helping out and launched into a rant about his plane getting taken. Sarah stifled a giggle at Kim’s heavy eye roll and moved into the kitchen to grab some water.

A weight brushed against her leg and Sarah startled, looking down to find the culprit. Finny looked up at her with big yellow eyes and meowed, happy purrs reaching her ears. God, she’d missed this little idiot. She scooped him, peppering his face with kisses and shoving her nose into his gorgeous tuxedo coat.

“Baby boy, you’re okay. I missed you. How’s my handsome guy? You got here all on your own, you’re so smart. I love you so much. You’re my favor—” The room was dead silent, Sarah looked up awkwardly to find three sets of eyes on her, Nick had a stupid grin on his face. Rook was giving her the same deadpan look she gave whenever she babied Boomer. “What? Leave me alone I missed my best guy.” She said defensively to the room before she returned to cooing at the cat and the chatter in the room started up again.

They had been doing fine, no one at US Auto had seen them yet, there were only three guys left to take down before they could call in the Resistance to take over the place. They were in the home stretch. Then Grace happened.

They’d agreed to take the outpost stealthily and Grace, being their sniper, had found a spot overlooking the area. She was their backup, absolute worst-case scenario she was to start shooting. There was no silencer on her gun, God knows why. So every cultist within a mile would hear the shots and none of them were all that prepared for a massive gunfight.

Sarah had been strangling a woman when the shot rang out clear as day and the cultist that Rook had been moving towards dropped. Sarah’s eyes went wide and she released the woman as she, Rook, and the last uninjured Peggie all raced towards the only intact alarm. He reached it just before Grace fired, triggering it then dropping ungracefully to the floor.

“Goddammit, Grace!” Sarah shouted towards the sniper’s position. They had a few minutes to get in positions and it became an all-out scramble.

With no need for discretion anymore, Sarah fired her pistol at the woman she’d been strangling earlier who had finally gotten up. When she was down Sarah quickly grabbed her own pistol and unloaded it, pocketing the rounds. She noticed Rook doing the same and was glad they were on the same page. They would need all the extra bullets they could get.

The first wave rolled in and Sarah ducked into cover behind an old car. Two trucks, about 8 people total, skidded to a stop in the scrapyard and the cultists jumped out screaming. Sarah barely had time to aim before bullets were raining down on her.

They picked them off slowly, Grace assisting from her spot, and Sarah getting so fucking overwhelmed. Everyone was shouting, the cultists, Rook, herself, even Grace over the radio. Sarah was having a real tough fucking time keeping her head on straight.

She fired again just as a scream pierced the air, but she did her best to block it out as she continued firing on the incoming cultists. Her radio crackled to life again and this time Grace’s voice was more frantic than before, causing Sarah’s attention to focus on it.

“Rook’s down! One of the damn Peggie’s shot her.” Sarah risked a look out to where Rook had been and noticed her on the floor.

“Fuck! No no, oh, God.” Sarah cursed and ran from her spot, thankful for Grace’s cover fire. She threw herself down next to Rook. “Please be alive. Please be alive.” Rook coughed and Sarah gasped in relief.

“Thank God.” She exclaimed, standing up and pulling Rook with her. “Get inside the garage, you can’t shoot like that.” She ordered, gesturing to the fresh bullet wound in her arm. Rook nodded, obviously in shock, and went into the garage. Sarah didn’t dare breath until she was safe inside.

“Alright who shot my fucking friend?” She shouted at the cultists, “I wasn’t that pissed before but I’m gonna kill every last one of you now.” She didn’t bother with cover, letting her rage and worry take over, her finger squeezed the trigger over and over until the last cultist dropped.

Grace’s hand on her shoulder had her swinging around, eyes wide and gun raised. The woman backed away with her hands up and Sarah sobered slightly.

“Shit sorry.” She apologized and dropped the gun. Grace took a few steps back and regarded her cautiously, Sarah didn’t like the feeling of being sized up. She asked Grace to radio the Resistance in the area before retreating to the garage to tend to her own wounds as well as Rook’s.

The bullet had been a through and through, thank God, and Rook had been up and about as soon as Sarah stitched it up. Sarah had gotten away with just some scratches, bruises, and a cut on her leg from where a bullet had grazed her. All in all, they’d been pretty damn lucky considering how screwed up everything had gotten.

After the Resistance had arrived they’d helped one woman track down her missing friends, finding two alive. The third had been devoured by a very angry bear that would have killed them both as well if they hadn’t been quick and climb atop the shipping container it had been locked inside.

Sarah had taken that combined with everything else that had happened that day as a sign that she should take a break to get her head back on straight. So after bidding Grace and Rook goodbye and stocking up on ammunition for her guns, she’d taken one of the cultist trucks and driven home.

When she’d first moved to Hope County, she’d bought a one bedroom house not too far from the Ryes, it had been the reason she met them in the first place. It wasn’t much, looked kind of run down and pathetic from the outside honestly, but it was home.

She dropped her guns on the kitchen table before throwing herself onto her bed with an exhausted sigh. She hadn’t slept in almost two days, between running from John Seed and solving everyone else’s problems, she hadn’t taken even a minute to herself.

She yawned and kicked off her boots, curling in on herself and wrapping the jacket she’d stolen earlier around her body. It smelled nice, like expensive cologne and coffee. It was warm too, John had excellent taste in outwear it seemed. It felt safe. She tried to be disgusted at herself, she really did, but she couldn’t find it in her. Instead, she covered her face with the jacket, smothering herself in the smell, in the safety.

Mumbling from the kitchen had her jumping from the bed and she raced out of her room. She’d left her radio on and now John’s voice poured through the speaker.

“I’m just disappointed.” She caught the last of whatever he’d been saying and grabbed the radio. She let out a genuine laugh at his tone, it was almost playful. She walked back to her bedroom, laying back down on her bed.

She was glad she and Rook had decided to switch their personal frequency. Sarah still wanted to hold off on the big reveal that she’d been grabbed.

Sarah pressed the button on her radio to talk, “What do you want?” There was a beat of silence before John responded.

“I’ve already told you that.”

“I’m not joining your cult.” She left no room for arguing. There was a heavy sigh on the other side.

“Fine,” She could practically hear him rolling his eyes, “Are you enjoying my jacket?”

Sarah smiled and pulled the jacket tighter. “It’s fine,” She feigned disinterest, “Warm. I think I’ll keep it.”

“Do you have any idea how much it cost me?”

“Do you have any idea how little I care?”

There was a long silence and for a second Sarah actually thought she’d offended him enough to scare him away. Maybe she could finally get some sleep.

“Where are you?” John’s voice poured through the speaker again and Sarah groaned.

“Not telling you.” She replied in a sing-song voice. “I don’t need you sending your bitch ass lapdog to come get me.”

“Thomas would be highly offended if he heard that.” There was an obvious smirk in his voice. It shouldn’t be fucking possible to be able to hear a smirk, but this was John “Drama Queen” Seed.

Sarah bit back a laugh. “Again does it look like I care?”

“I don’t know, I can’t see you. I could though, if you came back.” He sounded almost hopeful and it had Sarah furrowing her brow.

“Why would I ever willingly go back to your ranch?” He had to be even more insane than she’d thought if he expected her to just waltz back in as if nothing had happened.

“Because you feel safe here, Sarah. In fact, I would say it’s the only place you’ve ever felt safe.” He sounded cocky, he was trying to get a rise out of her and it was working. Sarah felt her blood run cold and she threw the radio away from her. Screw him.

She stripped off the jacket and threw it away with the radio. She left the room to check that all the doors and windows were locked before retreating back to her bed.

Sarah didn’t want to think about what John had said. Yet she lay under the covers, gnawing at her lower lip, and his words swirled around her head.

He’d been right, at the ranch she’d felt safe and that terrified her. She hadn’t relied on another person in years, she hadn’t felt safe anywhere for just as long. The fact that she felt safe in the company of someone like John Seed of all people made her feel sick. If her friends knew they would all hate her.

Her worries ran around her head until sheer exhaustion took over and she let sleep take her. As she fell asleep she heard the crackle of the radio across the room and John’s voice filled the room.

“I will see you and your Deputy soon, Sarah.”

[cassiopeiassky]

The Potato of Mass Destruction

Hello, everyone!  Here is a little something to make up for all the angst I’ve been writing lately.  This is my submission for @ruckystarnes Rae’s Summer of Satire Challenge, the prompt is  “If I’m dying, let me eat cake.”/“You’re not dying.”/“Let me eat cake anyway.”  The prompt is in bold.

Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 2745

Summary: It’s your kids’ birthday party today, and everything is going well until some of your family arrives with an early birthday present for the boys.  Chaos ensues.  It’s all fun and games until someone gets hurt; Bucky, to be exact, when he is the victim of an extraordinarily random freak accident.

Warnings:  There’s not much here, kids.  Some mild profanity (but seriously, you should expect that from me by now), mentions of guns, Bucky gets hurt.

Also - I used some characters from one of my other fics (WEMtbB), so this story *could* be viewed as kind of a spoiler, however it can also be read as a complete story by itself.  I hope you all enjoy it!

Oh!  And the pic at the bottom - yes, I did that.  I am that extra.

The clock reads shortly after eleven in the morning as you hum along with the radio.  Despite the fact that you’re currently operating under a time crunch, you’re in your happy place.  Zen mode.  Relaxed and at ease in creative bliss.  As the smell of vanilla wafts through the kitchen, you painstakingly create a one eyed minion on top of a cupcake.

Your twin boys are turning eight next week, and you had suggested a private birthday party for their friends.  The boys had no problems with their friends coming to the family party, but you did.  Your extended family happens to include Captain America and Iron Man, among others, and their dad is the infamous Winter Soldier. Your boys’ friends know this and are perfectly capable of acting like decent human beings when surrounded by people who save the world as their full-time job, but their parents tend to get a little…intense…especially two of the single moms and one of the single dads.

To get around the inevitable secondhand embarrassment – and to keep the attention on the kids, where it’s supposed to be – you’d proposed two separate parties on consecutive weekends. It’s a lot of work, but it’s worth it to make sure they get the birthday they deserve.

The goggles on the current minion finally meet your standards, so you carefully place it on the platter with the completed cupcakes and…wait…weren’t you finished with 11 cupcakes?  Instinct has you whirling around, fears immediately confirmed.

“Bucky, no!  You can’t eat that!”  You snatch it back, inspecting it for any smudges in the icing.

Your husband stares at you, eyebrows drawn together, empty hand still held up to his wide-open mouth.  “I can’t have even one?  You always let me taste test.”

“No, Love, I’m sorry. These are for the boys’ ‘friends only’ birthday party this afternoon.  The first batch failed miserably – it’s a new recipe and I had to play with the temp and timing – so now I have exactly the number of cupcakes needed for the number of guests.  It’s a good thing I decided to make the boys a small layer cake to blow out their candles or I’d have to uninvite two kids.”

“So…just make more?” he suggests hopefully.  “I like cupcakes.”

You pick up another cupcake and begin to decorate it.  “Buck, I promise you can have all the cake you want next weekend when we have the family party.  And honestly, next week’s cake will be better cake.”

“But it smells so good, Doll, please?  You love baking,” he steps behind you and wraps his arms around your waist as he nuzzles into your neck, “and I love when you bake.  See?  Win – win.”

You snicker at his antics as you lean into his embrace.   “I would if I could, Buck, but I can’t.  The party is in less than two hours. Besides, I’m out of rice flour and can’t use regular flour until after the party because I can’t risk any cross contamination in the kitchen.  So many of the kids have allergies that I had to make these gluten, dairy, egg, and nut free.”  

“Gluten, dairy, egg, and nut free – what the hell is holding these things together?”  

“Xanthan gum and flax seed.” You shake your head as you laugh, “One of the little girls that’s coming is allergic to all of those, plus citrus.  I was so surprised when her mom told me that, I asked if her daughter survived on rainbows and unicorn farts.  I mean, what else can she eat?”

Bucky chuckles as he stealthily reaches for the bowl of icing, but you catch him in your peripheral and bring a wooden spoon down on his knuckles.

Every now and then you manage to impress yourself with your reflexes.

“Ow!”

“Bucky!  I took me six tries to get decent tasting dairy free icing and I don’t have any to spare, so if you can’t keep your hands to yourself, get out of my kitchen!”

“I just wanted some cake,” he grumbles as he pouts.

You turn to him and take his face gently in your hands.  “Bucky, my love, I know and I’m sorry.  I promise you’ll have all the cake you want next weekend.  I’ll even make some with extra frosting – I’ll pile on the old lady flowers so it’s an inch and a half thick, just like you like.  I just don’t have any to spare right now.”

“But next weekend is so far away,” he whines.

Your fingers slide back and tangle in his hair, and you press your lips to his before whispering, “I’ll make it up to you later tonight, okay?”

He pretends to think about it for a few seconds.  “Deal,” he smirks before pulling you close and kissing you deeply.

Who knows how long you were wrapped in each other’s embrace before you hear the door open and close – could be thirty seconds, could be ten minutes – you can never tell when you’re like this with Bucky because time stands still.

“Aw man, they’re at it again.”  Jimmy tries to sound disgusted, but you happen to know that he secretly loves that his mom and dad are affectionate.  It makes him feel secure.

You giggle at your son’s observation, but Bucky doesn’t break form.  He takes kissing his wife very seriously.

“Do you really have to do that here?  We have people coming over.”  Artie does a better job at sounding irritated, but when Bucky finally breaks the kiss and you turn to him, you can see the small smile on your son’s lips.

“Yes, I do,” Bucky replies before you can shoo them away.  “I will have you know that, as your father, it is my solemn duty to show you how a man should treat his partner.”  Bucky’s hands rise to cradle your face as he speaks, “If you don’t see me treat your mom with love,” he pauses to press a sweet kiss to your lips, “adoration,” another tender kiss to your forehead, “and respect,” a gentle thumb glides over your cheek as he kisses the other, “then how are you supposed to know how to treat the person you love?  You can think it’s gross, but I’m doing my best to raise my boys to be loving, respectful men.”  He gets a mischievous glint in his eyes.  “Besides, your mom’s hot.”

“Oh, gross,” Artie makes gagging noises while Jimmy rolls his eyes.

The conversation is interrupted by a brief knock on the front door.  “Hello!  Everyone decent?”

“Grandpa!! Uncle Eddie!!” The boys run to the door and into the arms of the two men standing there. Technically it’s your grandpa and uncle, but Great Grandpa and Great Uncle Eddie is just too much.

“Hey boys, guess what?”

Your uncle has an impish glint in his eye…you know this look.  You don’t know what he’s holding behind his back, but whatever it is isn’t good. “Uncle Eddie, no.”

“Uncle Eddie, yes,” he declares, presenting what he was holding behind him.  “Happy birthday kiddos!”

“What the hell is that?”

You speak at the same time Bucky does, but louder.  “No! You are absolutely NOT giving my seven year olds a potato gun!”

“We’re practically eight, Mom!”

“Wait, it’s a what?”  Bucky looks both confused and delighted.

Your uncle smirks at the chaos he’s sown.  “It’s fun!”

“It’s a weapon of mass destruction!” you shoot back.

Uncle Eddie shoots you an unimpressed look.  “You’re being a little dramatic here.”

You march over to your uncle and lift the white plastic barrel of the gun.  It still has its old Scooby Doo sticker on the side of it – the one you’d put there as a little girl. “It’s your old gun??  The one you souped up to make it even more powerful?!   No.  NO.  And I’m not being dramatic – it’s works by combustion and the barrel is wider than two inches – it is classified as a weapon of mass destruction.”

“She’s not wrong,” Bucky interjects, sounding slightly impressed that you knew that.

“Aw, come on, peanut, you know we’re safe!  You let Bucky teach them gun safety and you’ve let us take them deer hunting for the past two years.  You trust us, you already know they’re in good hands!”

“Okay, first of all, the reason Bucky taught them gun safety is because there are guns in the house.  They’re inaccessible to the kids, but he did it as a precautionary measure.  Second, I am a grown ass woman.  I officially outgrew the nickname peanut years ago.  Finally –“

“No,” your grandpa interrupts gently, “You were my first grandbaby.  You’ll always be my peanut.”

“I – okay, fine.  But finally, your gun safety isn’t in question, the potato gun is.  It doesn’t even have a safety!”

Uncle Eddie grins as he pulls the can of Aqua Net out of its chamber.  “There, satisfied?”

You fold your arms and glare at your uncle.  

“Please, Mom? Pleeeeeeeease?”  Twin sets of beseeching eyes turn your way.  “Just until the party?”

You can feel Bucky’s stare boring into the side of your head.  He’d never contradict you in front of the boys – the two of you always back each other’s plays, and if ever there’s an issue it’s discussed later – but you can practically hear his curiosity begging for permission.  

It’s pretty clear you’re outnumbered.  And, truth be told, it’s practically a right of passage in your family.   There was a time when it was you and your uncle begging your mom…

“Fine,” you relent, “but it needs to disappear before any of the kids get here for the party.”

Five beaming smiles are your reward as your boys, grandpa, and uncle race to the back door to get to the back yard.

“You know they’re gonna be fine, right?”  Bucky holds in his excitement to pull you into a reassuring embrace; even now, your well-being is his priority.  “Your family is really good about firearm safety, even by my standards.”

“You do realize that I just agreed to let my uncle – who drove through town last Saturday night with his bare ass smushed against the back window of his car while my aunt drove – take our boys out back to fire a homemade device that has enough power to shoot a potato over 200 yards?”

Bucky grasps you by the shoulders as he pulls back, eyes wide.  “When you put it that way…”

All you can do is nod when you see his curiosity overtaken by common sense.

“I’m gonna go…supervise…” He doesn’t even have the sentence fully out before he’s speeding toward the door.

“They’re gonna be fine.   It’s fine.  Everything is fine,” you mutter to yourself as you return to the cupcakes.

* * *

It’s about a quarter past one, and the cupcakes are finally done.  The boys’ friends will probably start arriving within the next 40 minutes or so, so you take the platter of cupcakes and the boys’ small cake for the candles and head out to the back yard to set up the cake table.

When you step into the afternoon sunlight, the sounds of giggles and shrieks meet your ears.  They’ve been busy – all of the folding tables that had been placed are now decorated for the party.  The potato gun is sitting on top of one of the tables, abandoned for a game of chicken.  Jimmy is on Uncle Eddie’s shoulders, and Artie is on Bucky’s as they race around the yard.

As you lay out the cakes, everyone comes over to see what you’ve done, including the squirrel that lives in the tree providing the shade.

“Mom, those are so cool!” Jimmy’s practically jumping up and down.

Artie wraps his arms around your waist, “You’re the best momma ever,” he whispers, and your heart promptly melts.  

Unbeknownst to any of you, the squirrel had shifted to get a better look at the brightly colored confections, not catching anyone’s attention until it let out a loud squeak as it fell out of the tree.  This wouldn’t have been exactly catastrophic except that it landed just right on the potato gun, somehow managing to fire a potato straight into Bucky’s crotch from 20 feet away.

The former assassin drops to the ground like a sack of apples.  His mouth opens in a silent scream as the blood drains from his face and he curls into the fetal position.

“Bucky, are you okay? Bucky?”  You rush to kneel next to him, trying to offer whatever comfort you can. You’re reasonably sure that this can’t kill him, but that doesn’t mean it won’t hurt.

“Oh my God, I think this is the end of the line for me,” he groans, trying unsuccessfully to roll to his knees.  “I can see flashing lights.”  He gives up his efforts to move and curls into a ball in the grass.  “This isn’t how I thought I would go.”

“Buck, you’re going to be okay.”  Recognizing by his tone and actions that he isn’t in any actual danger, you have to swallow back the laughter that’s suddenly threatening to bubble out of you.

“No, I’m not.  I really think I’m dying, and if I’m dying, let me eat cake.”

Yep, he’s fine.  In pain, but fine.  “You’re not dying.”

“Let me eat cake anyway.”  He grins up at you with watery eyes.

You sit back on your heels, unable to fully hide your relief as you mutter, “You’re a shameless little shit.”

The boys approach slowly. “Dad?”  There’s a hint of fear in their voices, and this is enough for Bucky to pull himself together.

“I’m okay,” he whimpers as you help him sit up.  “I’m okay.”

They both kneel in front of him.  “Are you sure?” Jimmy whispers.

Bucky nods while grimacing. “It’s just your standard potato to the balls, not much worse than Auntie Nat’s cheap shot in a fight.  I’ll be fine, just gotta walk it off.  Now help me up.”

As the boys help their dad, your eyes turn to your uncle, who is trying unsuccessfully to hide behind your grandpa.  “Seriously? You forgot to pull out the hairspray and the potato?”

Uncle Eddie stares at you in mild terror.  “I’m, uh, I should probably take that thing and leave because you have guests coming soon. See you next weekend, guys!”  You’ve never seen your uncle walk so fast in your entire life.

You turn to your grandpa, and he starts chuckling.  The laugh you’d managed to hold back earlier comes out in a snort, and the boys, understanding now exactly what happened, begin giggling uncontrollably.

“I can’t believe I still don’t get cake.”  The disappointment in his hoarse voice is crystal clear.  Shaking your head and completely unsuccessful at stopping your laughter, you pull his arm over your shoulders and help him limp back to the house.  When you pass the fridge, you pause to grab a bag of frozen peas for him to ice his tender junk.

* * *

Later that night, after the party is done and the boys are all tucked in, you do what you can to make up for Bucky’s ordeal.  He’ll be fully healed by tomorrow – the bruises are already beginning to fade – but you still feel bad for him.  

Giggling to yourself as you put on the final touches, you listen carefully for any sign of your husband. Not that it really matters – if he doesn’t want to be heard, he’s as silent as night.  Satisfied that he’s still upstairs in your bedroom either reading or writing in his journal, you snap the lid onto the dish, grab a fork, and make your way to him.

When you enter your bedroom, you realize why you were able to get away with preparing your little surprise.  He’s outside on the balcony with the doors closed.

Bucky turns his blue eyes your way when you join him, smiling softly as he reaches for you before noticing the thing in your hand.  Immediately recognizing the cake carrier, his eyes grow wide with delight.  “Is that for me?”

You smile as you gently place the dish in his lap.  “Mmm hmm.”

He removes the cover and bursts out laughing at what he finds.

A chocolate cake, decorated with an abundance of flowers and frosting at least an inch thick all the way around, with a message that leaves no room for misunderstanding as to whom this cake is for.

“Here’s your damn cake, you little shit.”

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[narika-a]

I Promised To Keep You Safe

[SVT as the Mafia] [Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5]

A/N: I’m finally back from the dead 😂 I haven’t posted in so long jesusususu I’m sorry

Jeon Wonwoo x Reader

Summary: Played poker with him once. He lost. Now he wants a rematch but you keep denying his challenge.

Genre: Mafia AU, fluff, suggestive

Word count: 4,878 (one of the longest things I have written tbh 😂)

“I still can’t let you go,” he said but now is nowhere to be found. You started thinking that maybe you only dreamt about him coming over yesterday. You looked at the empty spot besides you, sighed and rolled to the other side. There is still a few hours before work, might as well sleep a bit more. Why were you feeling so displeased by this turn of events, it’s not like you were expecting anything… You sighed again, this time louder as if it could make you feel better.

“Why the long face? It’s too early to look so depressed,” Wonwoo said, leaning over you from behind. His hair was wet and a few drops from his ends, rained down on your face.

“Oh my god! You’re still here!” you sat up immediately.

“What do you mean, I’m still here? Was I supposed to leave?”

You ignored his question and just gazed over his body. He was wearing nothing but a towel.

“Oh I took a shower, hope you don’t mind,” he answered when he noticed you looking.

“Then would you mind dressing up,” you said, getting out of the bed.

“Why? Don’t you like what you see?” he asked, standing in front of you. From here, you could smell that he definitely used your shower gels as well. “Should I take this off too?”

He took your hand and guided it to the hem of the towel. He has got to be kidding! You turned as red as a tomato and quickly snatched your hand away.

“Where did that cockiness from that night go away? You didn’t have a problem with it back then,” he laughed.

“I was drunk!” you said, side stepping him and going to the closet

“Obviously not enough to not agree to it,” he continued.

You opened the closet with a bang and threw him a glare, making him shut up instantly. He sat down on the bed.

“I’m just teasing you~ You know I love to see you blush, you look so cute then~” he chuckled.

Oh gosh. You hate him. He can’t just start flirting with you and then call you cute out of nowhere, it’s making everything worse. He should stop making you feel all sorts of things. You took a towel and came back to him. You put it around his head and started drying his hair.

“I don’t want you catching a cold,” you said while he just stared at you in silence. He put his palms over your hands when you finished, keeping them on his cheeks.

“This is nice,” he whispered. “You’re like some kind of pain relief…”

He’s becoming soft again but this time he’s not drunk. Not that you’re complaining, it’s cute seeing him like this but he’s acting completely out of character and this worries you. Something must have happened.

“Wonwoo, is everything okay?”

“Yes,” he quickly answered and you just frowned not believing him at all.

“If you say so,” you said. He let go of your hands and they somehow felt cold without him. Maybe it’s just the weather. Thinking about that, he must be cold too, sitting half naked and what not. “Woo, where are your clothes?”

“I threw them out,” he simply stated.

“You sure did!” you laughed.

“I’m serious though! I don’t want to wear the same clothes two days in a row, so I threw them out… In your washing machine that is.”

“My washing machine?! Aren’t you feeling a bit too much at home here?”

“Hey now, this could be like my second home,” he smirked, laying down on the bed.

You just stood there for a few seconds with your mouth slightly open.

“What are you suggesting?”

“Come on, you know what I mean!” he said, patting the bed besides him.

You decided to ignore him again. It seemed like the best option whenever things started to get out of hand.

“And what do you plan on wearing?”

“Nothing? I know you like me this way better anyway. I know I much more prefer to see you without clothes,” he cooed, a smug grin appearing on his face.

“Woo!” you shouted in frustration. You can’t take so much flirting, it’s not good for your heart. You went to your bedroom door. “I will find something for you to wear…” you said, before going out.

“Could we first talk about this cute nickname you gave me? From now on, I demand you call me like this!” he yelled after you but you didn’t say anything.

“Y/N!” he shouted again. No answer. He stood up from the bed and went to the door. “Babe are you angry with me again? It’s so easy to tick you off, that’s so adorable-“ he was about to say when he saw your figure with your hands raised standing at the end of the corridor.

“What the fuck?” he came up to you in quick steps, taking his gun out and pointing it at whoever is threatening you. He blocked you with his body.

“Where was he even hiding it?” you thought. That’s obviously not the most important thing at the moment but he was wearing nothing but a towel… You’re glad he came over quickly though. You could see his shoulders rising from the heavy breathing. He was angry. But a few seconds have passed and nothing happened. You peeked at the two men sitting on your sofa from behind him. Wonwoo lowered the gun and so did they. “Do you know them?” you asked.

“Yes,” he hissed in annoyance.

“So you were here after all, we thought we will have to threaten your girl to spill the beans,” the taller one of the men said.

“You already did,” he retorted, still standing in front of you.

“Now now, no need to be so angry, we’re all friends here,” the other laughed. “Let the girl through. I think it’s finally time I met her.”

“Well you had a great opportunity but you ruined it-“

But the guy was already at your side. He took your hand and shook it with a bit more force than needed.

“Wooow, what a catch. I’m jealous…” he pouted.

“Joshua!”

“You’re jealous? You’re making Wonwoo jealous,” the one still sitting on the sofa laughed. “Oh my god! Look at that furious face. Haven’t seen it in a long time!”

They both started laughing but you interrupted.

“Y/N,” you squeezed the hand back, still not sure what’s going on.

“Jisoo more precisely,” he flashed you a smile. “Strong grip,” he added.

You looked at Wonwoo then back at them.

“Could somebody explain to me what’s exactly going on here? You can’t just barge into my house and then point your guns at me.”

“My apologies, we had no choice…”

“Sure you didn’t,” Wonwoo said, crossing his arms on his chest. “Why are you two here?”

“Why are you half naked?” Jisoo asked.

“Were you having some fun last night?” the one on the sofa continued.

“No no no no,” blushing, you waved your hand in disagreement.

“I see…” Jisoo cooed. He looked at you from the bottom up, slightly rising his eyebrow. When you think about it, you were not much better than Wonwoo. You wore pyjamas, yes but it was only a tank top and short shorts.

“Could you not do that in front of me?” Wonwoo stepped in before you could say anything.

“Sorry sorry. I can’t help myself. It’s not every day you get to see a sight like this up close,” Jisoo said, raising his hands in defeat and slumping back down on the sofa. This guy seems worse than Wonwoo when it comes to things like this.

“Why are you here again? You ruined a perfectly good couple morning, Y/N was about to make breakfast for me.”

“I was not! Since when are we a couple?”

“I want breakfast as well!” Jisoo chimed in.

“Seungcheol sent us,” the other guy said, ignoring you both.

“Why?”

“Who were you with last night?” Jisoo asked.

“Y/N,” Wonwoo replied.

“You know what I mean,” Jisoo said, his face strict and serious all of a sudden. Everyone stayed quiet and the atmosphere in the room became so tense, you could cut if with a knife. “Where is he?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Wonwoo said after a while.

The other guy just sighed and propped his head on his elbow.

“Do you seriously think we will do something to him?”

“You? Nah. Seungcheol? Yes.”

“Umm… Who are you exactly? And how do you know each other?” you decided to finally ask, pointing at the other two. They looked at Wonwoo.

“You didn’t tell her?” Jisoo asked.

“Told me what?”

“Co-workers!” Wonwoo quickly replied. “They are my co-workers.”

Where the hell is he working if all of them can carry guns as they please. You sighed and went to the kitchen.

“No one leaves the room until we’re done!” Jisoo shouted, standing up but Wonwoo pointed his gun at him again.

“How about you sit down.”

“How about all of you shut the fuck up, it’s my apartment! If you want to stay here, act like civilized people!” you retorted, coming back with a chair.

“Maaan, I like this girl,” the nameless guy chuckled.

You opened the closet that was in your living room and set the chair besides it, climbing it to reach the top shelf.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting you the clothes as promised.”

“Why do you have male clothing in your apartment?” Wonwoo asked. You turned around and looked at him as if he was the dumbest person on the planet.

“They are my boyfriend’s of course,” you stated and the other two burst out laughing.

“What?!”

“Oh man, you were too late, of course a girl like her will be already taken,” the nameless guy said while Wonwoo came up to you. He picked you up from the chair and flung you over his shoulder.

“We need to talk,” he said going in the direction of your room.

“You can’t punish her, no matter how much you want it. It’s your problem she’s taken!” Jisoo shouted after you. Honestly, you wouldn’t be mad if those two left already.

“Woo, put me down,” you told him.

“As you wish,” he said, throwing you on to the bed and closing the door. “Now what’s all this about having a boyfriend?” he asked, hovering above you, his hands on each side of your head. “You don’t have a boyfriend, I checked it.”

“You checked it?” now you were the one who was angry. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that for all these months I have been more than interested in you,” he panted, making shivers run down your neck. He leaned in and kissed the soft skin of your neck before sucking on it.

“Wonwoo, not there! It visible!” you tried to push him off.

“But the ones from last time are barely visible,” he said when you finally got him off of you. “I need them to stay there,” he breathed out.

You set your hands against his chest to keep him at bay.

“I was just kidding! Don’t start leaving marks again, it’s was hard to hide them as it is.”

“Good,” he smirked before trying to attack your neck. “You will know what it means to joke about things like this with me.”

“Whose is it then?” you both looked up to see the nameless guy leaning on the doorframe. No privacy in your own home whatsoever! “The clothes, I mean.”

“Do you know what knocking is, Minghao?”

“Do you know what the word stop means?” he retorted.

“There is no stopping when it comes to her,” Wonwoo said while Minghao just rolled his eyes. You used this opportunity to slip away from underneath him. Rubbing your neck you sat up and crossed your legs in a yoga position.

“So?” he asked eagerly.

“They are my brother’s-“ you started but Wonwoo was already at your side, snuggling into your neck. He seems to have no feeling of shame. “He travels a lot but when he’s in town he often stays here, I guess to save money or something, so there is a bunch of his stuff here-“ you tried to continue but Wonwoo had no intentions of stopping.

“Could you get off, geez since when are you so clingy?” you hushed him.

“Don’t. Don’t say anything else,” he whispered in your ear before he bit down on it.

“Oww, Woo what are you talking about?”

“Can you let the damn girl speak?” Jisoo asked, coming in. He was holding something in his hand but you couldn’t see what from this angle.

“He usually doesn’t take that long on his jobs, like maximum 2-3 weeks or something but I actually haven’t seen him in more than two months. Even if he would need to stay longer, he would always inform me. I’m getting worried…” you said, pushing Wonwoo off.

“Y/N, what’s your surname again?” Minghao asked, standing up straight.

“Kim,” Wonwoo answered for you.  The other two men exchanged glances.

“Is this perhaps-“ Jisoo was about to ask but his phone started ringing. He looked at the screen and silenced it. “Never mind. It’s Seungcheol. I will tell him you will be at the meeting today because if you won’t…”

Seungcheol? So they really are co-workers.

“Yeah yeah,” Wonwoo brushed them off.

“Sorry we can’t stay for longer. I will come back for that breakfast one day though,” Jisoo said, ushering Minghao to the door. You stood up to send them off but Wonwoo grabbed you by your arm.

“They know where the door is.”

“What’s up with you?”

“Why are you so trusting? I told you not to tell them anything.”

“And what’s so bad about sharing my worries?” you asked, going back to the living room with his hand still around your arm.

“That’s not the point!”

“Wonwoo, don’t start…” you said getting free of his hold and finally taking your brothers clothes out of the closet.

“It will be better if you don’t,” he mumbled.

“What was that? You will have to speak up.”

But instead he picked up a covered suit from the pile of clothes.

“What’s this?���

“Oh I don’t know where he got it from. I have never seen my brother wear anything this fancy…”

“Maybe you will get the chance sooner than you expect it.”

“What?”

“I mean. I will take this one,” he said. When you think about it, opposite to your brother, you have never seen Wonwoo wear anything but a suit. Not complaining though. They just make him look even more handsome than he already is. He unzipped the bag and took the suit out. He stared at it for a while and then started laughing.

“What’s so funny?”

“Oh nothing, seeing this suit reminded me of something…” he got a hold of his towel.

“What are you doing?” you asked, covering your face with your hands but still slightly peeking through them.

“Getting dressed,” he said, dropping the towel. You were about to scream for him to cover up but then you noticed he was actually wearing boxers underneath.

“You sneaky bastard!”

“So you did want to see it,” he laughed.

“I did not!”

“Just admit it~” he teased you putting pants on. He quickly buttoned up his shirt and was about to take the tie when you snatched it from him.

“Let me do this one,” you said.

“I can do this myself.”

“I’m sure you can but I want to try it,” you said, throwing the tie around his neck and pulling him closer.

“Do you even know how to do this?” he said with a content smile.

“Watch me,” you answered but then looked past him to the clock. “Oh my god!” you let go of him. “I’m going to be late!” you rushed back to your bedroom.

“Should I take a shower with you?”

“Please don’t.”

He chuckled as he watched you disappear behind the bedroom door. He finished dressing up and then slipped his hands in the jacket’s pockets. He felt something inside and took out a crumpled up piece of paper and folded it out. There was an address written on it.

“Could this be the place, where the deal went off?” he thought. “I will have to look into this…” he put the paper back in his pocket and picked up the clothes to carry them to back to the closet. He stopped midway, looking at one of your book shelves. Something was off. And then he realized that one of the picture frames were empty.

“Shit. This is bad. He took the fucking photo.”

▲▼▲▼▲

Meanwhile, you were trying to enjoy the hot stream of the water. So many thoughts were rushing through you. Could it be that they actually know your brother? Is he in danger? If only you could stay in this warmth for longer. Standing still for a few more minutes, you finally decided to get out. Drying off and putting your underwear on, you exited the bathroom, going straight to the closet when your bedroom doors suddenly slammed open.

“Y/N!! I will take you to work!” Wonwoo shouted.

“Oh my god! Don’t just barge in like this, you scared the shit out of me!” you whined but he was already at your side.

“Aren’t you late? There is no time for you to show off. Unless… You did this for me,” he grinned.

“Keep wishing,” you said, ignoring the fact that you’re half naked and going through your clothes.

“Wait a sec,” he said, taking over. He went back a few hangers and stopped on one of the shirts. “Isn’t that?..”

“Yours? Nope. Definitely not,” while you were making excuses he just simply checked the label.

“Hah! I knew it! You liked it~” he said, taking it out. “Wow all fresh and clean, you should have just offered me this instead of looking for your brother’s clothes.”

“It’s mine now,” you said, snatching it away from him.

“Hey I’m not complaining, you looked amazing in it. It would probably look even better if you had nothing on, underneath it,” he cooed.

“Could you stop?” you tried to hit him but he quickly evaded you.

“How about I pick an outfit for you?” he said, taking out a tight black dress. “Just imagining you with this one on kind of turns me on. My hand on your smooth legs…”

“Are you seriously fantasizing about me, right in front of me?”

“It’s your fault you’re making me feel this way…”

“Oh shush you,” you said, taking the dress anyway. You went on to fix your make up and met his stare in the mirror. “I just dressed up, could you stop undressing me with your eyes?”

“As I mentioned, it’s not my fault-“ he was about to say when somebody called him. “Sorry. This is important,” he said exiting the room. It seems good moments with him are always ruined by a phone call. You went to the kitchen and to your surprise he had already made you coffee. You hoped it was just a lucky guess on his part which cup you liked the most. You sat down on one of the bar stools and watched him discuss something in the balcony, probably so you wouldn’t hear it. He looked like a completely different person when talking on the phone. You assumed it must be his “business mode”. It reminded you how he was the first night you met, not this cheeky boy who flirts with you ever 2 minutes. You hated to admit it but he looked incredibly sexy. Now you’re the one who’s staring…

“Who was it?” you asked as soon as he came out.

“Not something you should be bothered with…”

You just hummed in response. You wouldn’t mind if he shared something with you, always so secretive. You checked the clock again. Only 15 minutes were left till work. Yep. You’re definitely going to be late. Time with him passes too quickly.

“We should get going, I don’t have a good excuse for my boss. I’m never late… I can’t just tell him that I was late because my-“

“Boyfriend.”

“What?”

“You were going to talk about me, right?”

“Since when are you my boyfriend? Woo it doesn’t work that way. You can’t stalk me for months then we have a one night stand. Oh excuse me, almost have, if it wasn’t for your work. And then magically we’re together.”

“I think you summed up everything pretty well.”

You sighed and opened your mouth to say something again but he started talking before you.

“Then why don’t we start over?” he said leaning over the bar’s counter and kissing you. He licked his lips and looked you in the eyes. “Y/N, go out with me?”

“You don’t kiss people on the first day you meet them,” you blushed.

“That’s debatable. I mean, if you weren’t that stubborn I would have kissed you sooner than on that night… So how about it?”

“I… I will think about it,” you said, jumping up from the stool and going to the door. “I’m late as it is, could you stop stalling me?”

“You will think about it? Come on, I was so smooth and it’s obvious anyway that the feelings are mutual.”

“And how did you get to this conclusion?” you asked, trying to act offended.

“By the way you react to my touch,” he smirked, wrapping his arm around your waist.

He was right. Even a simple gesture like this sent shivers down your spine.

“I really don’t have time for this…”

“I’m just saying,” he pulled you closer and guided you to the car. “I will get you to work in no time.”

▲▼▲▼▲ 

Half way through the ride he noticed that you’re much more interested in something on your phone rather than him.

“What are you doing?” he said, looking over at you. “Hey!” he shouted, snatching the phone from you and finally realizing what it was. “You can’t play poker in my car.”

“Woo, give me back my phone. I’m winning.”

“No dear, you can’t win against someone else until I win against you,” but you just rolled your eyes. He looked at the cards on the screen. “How are you winning again? You should fold. These cards are shit.”

“Raise. I can feel a good card coming.”

“If you say so,” he pressed the button and you grasped your phone from his hand.

“Would you mind keeping your eyes on the road?” you said, waiting for the results.

“And?”

“I won,” you grinned.

“I can’t fucking believe this! How do you keep on doing this? Next time we will play with open cards… How much did you win anyway?”

“10 dollars.”

“Will you treat me to coffee?”

“Are you serious?”

“I’m just teasing you,” he laughed, so you focused on the road.

“Umm Wonwoo where are we going? You just drove by the turn to my work.”

“Good question Y/N. Where are we going?” he stopped the car on the side of the road and locked it, so you wouldn’t escape.

“Could you stop with this bullshit. Are you going to threaten me again as well?”

“I’m sorry babe but I feel like it will be better if I take you with me,” he said taking his tie off. “But the thing is, you can’t see where I’m taking you,” he tried to cover your eyes but you backed away. “Don’t you trust me?”

“I don’t! That’s the whole point!”

“So mean,” he pouted. “Too bad you get no say in this,” he quickly handcuffed you to himself. “Now be a good girl and cover your eyes.”

You sighed but did as he asked. You can’t really run away with him attached to you.

“I called your work, said you weren’t coming today, so no need to worry about that.”

“Thank you so much!” you scoffed but he didn’t say anything else. After twenty more minutes, he stopped again and released you. You quickly took the tie off. You were in front of a 5 storey building, with warehouses scattered around him, in the middle of nowhere.

“Where the hell did you take me?”

“That I can’t tell you. But one thing is for sure. You’re safer here than back in the city.”

“Safer from what?” you asked but he didn’t answer and instead took you inside. Both of you went up the stairs to the third floor. You were surprised everything was so modern in here, considering how the building looked from the outside. He went to the only door on this floor and opened it so quickly, he startled everyone inside.

“Wonwoo!” a familiar voice shouted. You stepped from behind him and noticed Seungcheol standing near a white board at the end of a really long table.

“You again!” he shouted, pointing in your direction. “I thought I was clear when I said that I hope to never see you again!”

“Hey! It’s not my problem!” you were getting annoyed by his rude attitude. “He’s the one who brought me here.”

“You did what!?” another young man said. You looked around and only now realized there were 8 other people inside the room excluding Wonwoo and Seungcheol.

“I brought her as proof that she’s in no way associated with Mingyu’s disappearance,” Wonwoo said.

“Mingyu? You mean my Mingyu?” you asked.

“Your Mingyu?” another man chimed in.

“Wait. I though Jisoo already told you,” Wonwoo said.

“Told us what? He’s not even here,” Seungcheol growled.

“Well shit,” Wonwoo was out of words at this point.

“For fuck’s sake, get her out of here,” another man, who looked even scarier than Seungcheol shouted, standing up.

“Babe, it will be better if you wait outside,” Wonwoo said, pushing you out of the room and closing the door right before your face. Wait? There is no way you’re waiting. You’re getting out of here. You turned around and went to the stairs but there were two bodyguard looking guys standing in front of them, blocking your way. It doesn’t look like they will let you through… You huffed and went to find a place to sit. Luckily you noticed some sort of waiting room. There was somebody sitting on the sofa though, so you opted out for the armchair. The man looked up from his computer and then focused back on the screen before quickly looking up again, seemingly realizing something.

“No fucking way!” he exclaimed. “Kim Y/N, how fancy meeting you here.”

You blinked a few times.

“Do I know you?”

“Nope,” he said, putting his computer aside and picking some papers from the table. “But since you’re here I might as well confirm a few things.”

He started going through the papers, mumbling something to himself. All you could make out was that he really did know a lot about you, from your parents to your work. Did Wonwoo get his info from him as well?

“Yes yes,” he said “It seems everything is correct and double checked. I only have two questions for you: What’s your relationship with Kim Mingyu? And how much did Jeon Wonwoo told you?”

“Excuse me? Who are you?”

“Hansol!” Wonwoo called from behind you. “What the hell are you doing here? I thought you’re on a mission with Seungkwan.”

“I’m obviously back as you can see,” he replied. Wonwoo came to his side and lifted him up by the collar.

“But what are you doing here? Talking to her?”

“Just gathering info as always,” Hansol said, raising his hands in defeat.

“Why? Are you planning to sell her out?”

“It depends,” he smirked. “It all comes down to the price.”

Wonwoo shoved him back down onto the sofa.

“Let’s go,” he said, taking your hand.

“Wonwoo, wait! Would you mind explaining yourself? Why did you take me here? How the hell do they know my brother?” you asked him, once you two were outside.

“Oh right your brother! I keep forgetting that that idiot is your brother. Now I’m more worried about what he will do to me when he finds out what I’m doing with his sister, rather than what the others will do to him once they find him.”

“You knew?! Wait… Is my brother in trouble?”

“He’s in such a deep shit. At this point, I’m pretty sure they will kill him if they find him.”

“What the heck did he do?!”

“I really hope you don’t know, so that they won’t have leverage over you,” he looked around and took some kind of bottle out of his pocket, drank a handful of it and then pulling you to him, kissed you to make sure you swallow all of it. You pushed him away with all your might.

“Wonwoo you bastard, what was that?” you asked, stepping away from him. You felt dizzy and the view started to get blurry. He caught you, right before you fell down unconscious. He brushed your hair away and stroked your cheek gently.

“Don’t worry babe, I promised him I will keep you safe.”

[k-bloggs]

Have an embarrassing read at something i tried to write a couple years ago. back when i was happy lol

My First Blog. – 20/11/16

Okay, so here goes. This is my first ever attempt at anything like this really. I have written before in many different formats and styles but I don’t know what’s come over me lately but I feel inspired to write again and I know as well as anyone else this isn’t a typical feeling that comes along every so often so by fuck I am gonna’ grab it and take a chance and see where I end up.  I literally just unlocked and locked my phone again there because I’m trying to have a proper focused dedicated mind to attempting this. I’m not even too sure what I’m supposed to do in a blog, what even is a blog? I don’t know but I know that I’ve wanted to start making a journal of things that are going on in my life but due the fact I am extremely lazy this may be very seldom so the next update could be quite a while so don’t expect anything too frequent.

Like I said I’m not even too sure what I am meant to be doing or how I am even meant to go about it, I am a firm believer in the fact that writing doesn’t have to be performed or practised in any particular way. That there is essentially no wrong or right way in how it is carried out or laid out, but I feel like I just want to do something a bit more productive with my life from now on. A long childhood friend has recently started doing animations and making his own videos and uploading them to YouTube and to be quite honest they are great, its so great to see something like that, the thing about Ryan Is that our friendship took a bit of a standstill when we were kids must have been between the ages of 8 and 10 at least. Ryan and his family were emigrating to New Zealand and as a kid yeah you see this as a big thing but you don’t realise the likelihood of seeing them as often is completely and utterly abolished due to the fact you have no idea how much it would cost to fly out there. Ryan must be around 18 or 19 now and I just turned 20 there this year, and its great to see we still have so much in common, to just spit it out and be clear after seeing that this is what he into it kind of inspired me to get back to what I love doing. I love writing. I’m not so much of a reader which is the weird thing, again all down to my laziness, if a book doesn’t get my attention within the first paragraph or so I find it very hard to stick with it or even go back to it if I do manage to finish a chapter. The same applies for the likes of articles and campaigns and any form of literature really. But I thought hey you know what it’s about time I started doing what I love and even more its about time I start love what im doing.

Just to be clear, this year has probably been one of the biggest milestones of my life. I finally did it, I finally got a girlfriend. Fuck. It’s still weird even saying that, so yeah I will leave the ultimate love story of the century to maybe the next blog or edition whatever the fuck you want to call this. This is mainly just for me to get to grips with the style that im going to write in, if I do choose to carry on with this (Which I feel like I will). If anyone reads this yeah, awesome im happy someone out there is reading my stuff but to be honest this if for me as much as it is for anyone else out there. I want to see what I can do and if this really is the best time to get back into writing, basically one side of me is saying yeah what the hell go for it you need something like this but at the same time as there always is, the polar opposite emotion of just fear I guess? Not wanting to pick something up again only to go off my track record and drop this 5 minutes later like I do with everything else? But hey its 7.15pm on a frosty Sunday night in November, what else am I going to do? Sit, procrastinate and wish I had of done something useful.

Not that im going off track because essentially there isn’t much to this article its just me spamming a lot of stuff down so who ever reads this can kind of of get a grip of where I am right now in life and basically why I’m doing this. So here goes, I dropped out of college for last week. For the second time…

Yeah im officially a two time college dropout, nothing t be proud of I assure you, but im just waiting for the opening credits to roll ad realise im in the first scene of a really shitty coming of age movie where im the older brother your parents don’t want you to turn out like.

But yeah, I left school at 16 and went to a technical college, basically an establishment which offers a-levels to people who didn’t get back into school or else didn’t want to go back to school. I studied a 2 year course in creative media production and honestly it was awesome, it was so fucking cool and the course didn’t have that many uninteresting or boring areas, but yeah you guessed it I was lazy didn’t do any of the work and just took advantage of the whole independent learning aspect of it and never bother showing up for class plus a whole pile of other steamy shit went on that year that we are just not gonna discuss at this moment in time. But coming towards the end of the second year when the course was gonna finish and In a couple months after that I would figure out if I got the grades to get into the uni of my choice I asked my teachers if they would be wiling to let me come back and repeat the second year of the course. They were more than happy to, they gave me exactly what I needed, a fresh slate and a chance to correct myself, and you know what happened? Yeah your right I totally blew it and fucked up again just hated the thought of working or studing in media for any longer. Like I loved making short films and writing screenplays and everything I even liked some of the assignments but basically I had it in my head I didn’t want a career from this anymore due to the fact it was something I loved so much and it was basically kicking my ass all day, all fucking week long. The only thing that got me through that repeated year of college was the girl of my dreams and we weren’t even going out yet. But as said before there is more to come with her, she deserves the whole word so the least I can do is dedicate one sole piece of writing to me and her and our story, truth is there are not enough words in the world to even begin to describe who she is and how she thinks and works and even jus to describe how she came into my life, yes a combination of letters on a page or screen may work for some people but no, not for her. This girl is a queen from another realm, she is a princess from a faraway kingdom, she is an angel from heavens further and beyond the highest clouds. She is the love of my life and that is the only way to explain her and who she is. But getting back to the educational fuck ups In my life, here goes the explanation to how I arrived here, 5 days after dropping out of another course. This time I was studying IT, you know trying to go down that route of career, thinking of my future and what not? Yeah that didn’t go to plan either, I basically rejected a full time promotion on good money and I hadn’t regretted anything as much in my life. Basically college was another fuck up and let’s just say I managed to get out and finished a bit earlier this time rather than waste my own time and anyone else’s. Plus, if I carried on with these next two years that would 5 years of studying A-levels just for me to be a whining little bitch about how I didn’t want to go to university. I am just at the stage of my life now, not where I am considering moving out and settling down but some things don’t appeal to me the same as they used to. Going to uni and living and experiencing that independence in life and finding a career path and devoting the rest of my life to something I may not even be happy at? Na, no thanks not for me. Not at this moment in time anyway. For right now I’m happy enough to keep my eyes and ears open for what all jobs are available for me and what foot to put next in front of me. Get a couple extra pounds in my pay check each fortnight and you know that might do for year or so. Maybe get back on the studying boat in a year or two and carry on with the IT. That is, you know if I don’t become like a stereotypical copy of a character you would expect to see in a ‘Community’ reboot.

I was watching a clip of Jim Carey giving a speech a couple of days ago and basically what I got from it was that he had returned to his old school or college or university or whatever in order to give a commencement speech or he was receiving his award or something anyway not really vitally important. What is important is what he said in his speech, basically his message he was getting across as in most motivational speeches, is the reinforcement of using fear to help you rather than to put you off, accepting fear and accepting that no matter what you will fail, but that’s okay and if it wasn’t for the fact that accepting it you wouldn’t have the drive to reach for greatness like so many greats have done before you, whether they have made it to great fame and fortune or if it was just the regular girl from a small town who made a life and career for herself because it’s what she wanted to do. Anyway, Carey says, “You will only ever have two choices, love or fear. Choose love and don’t ever let fear turn you against your playful heart.” Basically what Carrey is telling us here is to embrace fear, don’t avoid it, stare down the barrel of its gun charge at it and conquer it, but never let it conquer you, never let fear become the objective always make sure it rises no more than an obstacle in your course, a mountain you must climb or a hurdle you must leap over. Defeating fear is never the final piece of the puzzle. Like walking in a straight line, you put your left leg forward and then do exactly the same with your right, repeat until you arrive where you need to be? Well, fear is that first big step. The first big step into a new world and a new environment and mind set and who knows what it’s going to throw at you. But you need to remember that it’s there to make sure you don’t triumph in whatever you set out to do, but you can’t move forward without taking that step. Then comes the next step, failure. And as stated before yeah, your gonna fail, your gonna fail and you’re going to fuck up and mess up and trip up, over and over and over again, this is the repetitive steps the same as walking that we take to go in a straight line, the same works with this. Without taking the same repetitive bullshit same old story steps in life, we will never reach the finish line that is success.