#last thing i need is some hippies down my throat

[allaboardthevespa]

Unconditionally

I got bored, and I suddenly felt the urge to write some really sappy (with some angst) Milo Murphy’s Law fluff. I know who Melissa should end up with is a matter of debate, but I’m a proud Team Zalissa member so this fanfic will be about that. Milossa or Bradlissa fans, sorry, but hope you can enjoy this nonetheless. I wasn’t sure what to call this at first, but I listened to the Katy Perry song “Unconditionally” and my brain was like YES so here.

I’m not proud of how this ends, but eh, my brain sucks at ending things. Just hope y’all enjoy this bit of adorable sickfic fluff ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

WARNING: contains relatively graphic scenes of vomit…and becomes extremely tooth-rotting fluff

-- 

It was an ordinary day in Danville – or as ordinary as it could be with the Murphy family’s usual chaos. Milo and Zack’s walk to school had been a heck of a ride, as usual. Runaway concrete pipes, surfing on busted plumbing, falling off cliffs, the whole nine yards. But, as is the norm for Milo Murphy and his friends, everything worked out and they got to school in the nick of time.

 But of course, it didn’t take long for them to realize someone was missing.

 As the students sat in class waiting for Ms. Murawski, Milo looked between him and Zack and noticed a conspicuously empty seat. “Hey, wait a minute,” asked the jinx, “Where’s Melissa?” “I have no idea,” replied Zack, scratching the back of his head in confusion. The other students surrounding them began chattering among themselves, wondering what could’ve happened to the rough-and-tumble redhead. “Maybe she blocked one of her chakras?” Mort suggested with a shrug. Bradley facepalmed, “Mort, she’s not a hippie like you are. She doesn’t do chakras.” “MAYBE DRAKO GOT HER!” panicked Chad, shivering like a leaf and covering his head with his hands. “Don’t panic, everyone,” Amanda cut in, “Knowing what happens in this town, she’s probably caught up in time-travel shenanigans to save a cart of pistachios or something.”

 “Pipe down, class!” came an adult voice. The kids turned to see Ms. Murawski entering the room, just hanging up a phone. “I know you’ve all noticed that Melissa Chase is missing today. Well, it’s simple. She’s just come down with a stomach ache and can’t come in today. No matter, she’ll be able to catch up some other day.” She took out a pencil, “Now, turn your textbooks to page 421.”

 As the other students got to reading, Milo turned to look at Melissa’s empty chair. “That’s too bad,” he sighed, “I don’t even remember the last time she got sick.” He turned to look out the window. “Poor Melissa. She must be feeling pretty down right now.” “Yeah…” Zack agreed, looking crestfallen. “I wish I could help out.” “Well, if you want to, you could,” Amanda suddenly spoke up, “It’s just a little science work, you don’t need to worry about missing it. I think Melissa would be happy to have a little company today.” “Yeah,” Milo agreed with Amanda, “Besides…I’m sure you would love to have a little…” He cleared his throat sarcastically, before giving a smug grin, “Quality time with her.” “Oh, of course,” laughed Amanda, as snickers and ‘oooooh’s went up around the rest of the classroom. Zack flushed a beet-red, flustered by Milo’s joke. “Yes, yes, I’m aware of the, ahem, ‘chemistry’,” he chuckled bashfully, “Alrighty. If you think I should go hang out with her, I’ll go. She could use the company.” “You go, Zack!” cheered Milo, as Zack went to Murawski’s beloved front desk.

 “Excuse me, Ms…may I be excused? I need to use the restroom,” Zack innocently asked, hiding his lie expertly well. “Fine, very well,” Murawski huffed, “Just don’t get lost.” “Thanks, Ms,” he chirped, waving goodbye to the students as he left the room. The moment he slipped out, he scanned the halls for the arrow sign that was labeled “Way Out”, and the minute he saw it, he scampered in that direction. He heard hall monitors yelling at him to not run in the halls, but he couldn’t give less of a damn. Detention could wait. He had a friend to help.

 --

 After a lot of running and following directions on his phone, Zack had arrived in the street where Melissa and her single father lived. Seeing Mr. Chase standing outside his house watering a bush, Zack got on his way to talk to him when he suddenly noticed a butterfly flitting in front of him. Zack watched it fly upwards and noticed it settle on a tree branch covered in wisteria flowers – and an idea registered in Zack’s mind. He reached up and grabbed a small branch covered in a healthy amount of the flowers, wrapped the wood in some tissue paper he brought with him, and wrapped a bow around the flowers to keep them straight. Holding tightly onto the bouquet, he soon made it to the house he was looking for.

 As Mr. Chase was minding his own business, watering that bush, he heard a familiar voice. “Hey, Mr. Chase!” He turned off the hose and whipped around to see Zack, politely standing at his gate with a bouquet of wisteria flowers in hand. “Oh, hello, Zack,” greeted the firefighter, “I imagine you heard about my daughter?” “Yeah, tough break,” Zack replied in a sympathetic tone. “When I heard, I thought I could come down and cheer her up.” “Oh, how nice,” Mr. Chase smiled, “Melissa doesn’t get sick often, but she’s always miserable when she does. I think she’ll be happy to have a friend with her.” “I thought so too,” Zack nodded, following his crush’s father to the door. “Thanks for letting me come around,” he thanked with a grateful wave. “No problem,” the older man replied, “Any friend of my daughter’s is a friend of mine. Hope you two have fun.” “Bye, Mr. Chase,” Zack waved at him as he walked up the stairs to his friend’s room.

 --

 It had not been a fun morning for Melissa. When she awoke, the stomach pain had hit her in full force, and it didn’t take long for her father to realize how out of sorts she was. Neither of them liked when she got sick, but Melissa had a special hatred for the concept of illness. She was a real go-getter, and the thought of having to stay in bed for hours on end and not enjoy her usual hobbies made her feel even sicker than she was already.

 But the worst part of being sick in bed is that, without her mind being preoccupied by daily events caused by school and Murphy’s Law, it tended to wander to some uncomfortable places…and asked some tough questions she didn’t know if she had the answers to.

 Was Milo always gonna be able to keep himself prepared for every situation? 

Will his bad luck come to bite him in a way he can’t protect himself from?

Should she even be asking these questions?

Would Milo WANT her asking these questions?

 The internal crisis she was having made the stress she had grow all the more, and her stomach’s pain intensified with it.

 Melissa was holding her head in distress and shutting her eyes tightly, in a vain attempt to block out those awful questions, when she heard her door creak open. Reluctantly, she slowly opened one of her eyes…and suddenly her heart skipped a beat at who she saw waiting for her in the doorway. She gently pulled herself up from her hunched state as her eyes met his, and gently mumbled “Z-Zack? Is that…really you?” Zack let out a quiet laugh, “Of course it’s me, buddy. I heard you were sick, and I knew I had to be there for you. You are my best friend, after all.” Melissa didn’t notice it, but her cheeks were heating up with a bright red blush as the compliment warmed her heart and soul. “You…really mean that?” she asked, giving a genuine smile. Zack couldn’t help blushing himself at the sight of Melissa giving him a sweet, happy smile with her cheeks tinged red. It was completely adorable.

 To respond to her question, Zack revealed the bouquet of wisteria flowers he’d picked on his way. “If I didn’t mean it, would I get you these?” He approached her in her bed and gently knelt down to her level, “Milo’s told me you love flowers, so when I saw these in your neighborhood, I figured I’d get you a little something.” Melissa gave an adorably surprised gasp, then, as quickly as she could, reached over to grab the bouquet with a cute little giggle. “Wow, I…” she stammered, caressing some of the petals, “That’s really sweet of you.” “It’s the least I could do for you being such a great friend,” Zack responded, watching happily as his best friend held the wisteria bouquet to her chest and face and inhaled deeply. “I’m glad you like them.” “Thanks, Zack,” Melissa gave him the cutest smile ever, “I’m glad you’re here for me.” “Well,” responded the former boyband member, “What are best friends for?”

 --

 From then on, in the following hours, the two best friends made the most of their time together. The two played all sorts of games, shared all sorts of stories, and just being two kids happy in one another’s company. Zack enjoyed every moment, yet throughout it all he couldn’t stop himself taking his eyes off his best friend. Her smile warmed his heart, her giggles were absolutely adorable, and every so often she’d briefly stop what she was doing, turn around and smell the flowers he’d brought her, now sat comfortably in a vase on her bedside table. That was another thing he found to be adorable. It wasn’t often that he saw the redhead able to just loosen up and be a goofball when they weren’t busy trying to stop Murphy’s Law from causing mayhem, but when they got the chance to just be kids, it was something both of them made the most of.

 It was during a quiet break from their fun that things began to take an unexpected turn.

 Zack was watching his best friend cuddled up in her bed, stroking her hair gently, when an uncomfortable-sounding groan emitted from her stomach, and she abruptly shot up and looked at him with a deer-in-the-headlights look. “What’s the matter?” asked Zack, gently grasping her hands. “I…I dunno,” Melissa panted, before she clutched her stomach out of instinct. “I…I’ve never felt l-like this…” She took a shaky breath, “But I feel like I…ugh!” She cringed, and without thinking raised a hand to her mouth. Zack connected the dots right away. He didn’t think they’d be able to make it to the bathroom fast enough at this point. Luckily, his eyes floated to a spare empty flower vase not yet filled with wysterias or whatever other flowers she liked. It wasn’t perfect, but it’d do. He scrambled over and grabbed it, before giving it to Melissa, and sat next to her once more.

 Melissa opened her mouth to say something, but abruptly, she hunched herself over and heaved unpleasantly. Zack couldn’t help cringing, but he knew he had to provide some semblance of comfort. It looked like this was a new experience for her. He gently rubbed her back as each painful retch came, making sure she knew he was there for her even in a time like this. Melissa’s mind didn’t register much else in that moment other than the horrible feeling of her throat and stomach expunging the nasty liquid from her body, and, in sharp contrast, the warm, soft, gentle touch of her best friend.

 In reality, it only took 30 seconds for the retching to stop. To Melissa, it felt like an eternity. Nonetheless, when she was sure she was done, she pulled her head back from the vase and wiped her brow as she set the now puke-filled vase aside. She breathed heavily in an attempt to clear her mind, as what just happened played itself over and over again in her head. She’d never experienced something like that before, and she never wanted to again. Luckily, though, she had her best friend right nearby. Getting a little closer to the sickly go-getter, Zack gently asked her “How do you feel?” Coughing a little, Melissa turned to Zack with a look of pure pain in her eyes. “I…I…” she wiped her brow again, “What…was that? T-that was horrible…” “Relax, Melissa,” Zack did his best to comfort her, “You just vomited. No big deal, it happens to you sometimes if you’re stomach-sick.” “B-But I…” the redhead whimpered, “Th-that hasn’t happened to me before…My dad told me about it when I was super young, and cuz I don’t get sick that often…I never THOUGHT it would happen…” She sighed, “Man, I feel like a dummy now.” Feeling his heart hurt for Melissa’s sorry state, Zack pulled her into a hug, “Hey…you’re no dummy. If this is your first time ever vomiting, no wonder your mind’s in a daze like this. You’ll be alright. You’re always alright, aren’t you?” He put a hand on one of her shoulders and comfortingly looked into her beautiful blue eyes.

 Until she said two words that threw him for a loop…

 “Not really.”

 Zack’s mind took a moment to register what Melissa had just said. Those two, little, mumbled words. “Not really.” What was she implying? Was it what Zack was thinking? No, there’s no way, Melissa was the toughest girl he’d ever known. But, why else would she say that? Gently, he got closer to her, and gently gazed into her eyes, ignoring the blush on his face, and asked “What do you mean by…’not really’?” Melissa flinched a little, not knowing where to begin. The questions in her mind were roaring to get out, and she had to let someone know. She was tired of suffering in silence.

 At that moment, Melissa gently grabbed Zack’s shoulders and began to speak, knowing he’d be there to listen.

 And all the words came flying out.

 “…Zack, I’m scared. I’ve always BEEN scared. Ever since I became Milo’s best friend, I’ve always been worrying myself like crazy about him, worrying that someday he’s gonna get caught in some insane Murphy’s Law accident that he’s not ready for and he’ll get hurt…or worse. And I know it’s really fucking stupid cause it’s goddamn Milo and he’s ALWAYS prepared, but I can’t help myself. And I just feel like a big jerk because Milo wouldn’t WANT me to be worried about him all the time. He’s…fine with the way things are and doesn’t want them to change…but…” She took a shaky breath, and sighed lowly, “I do.” Zack now reached up and rubbed her shoulders as she continued talking, “I don’t want Milo to be stuck with Murphy’s Law. I want him to live and be happy, without always having to look over his shoulder in case of stampeding bison or angry crossing guards or other shit like that. But Milo…he just doesn’t want that…and I feel like a selfish idiot who tries to act like she knows what’s best for everyone…but…” She glanced up, and Zack’s heart leapt at what he saw…

 The toughest, smartest kid he’d known in his life…strong, brave, a born leader with a near-permanent smile…

 She was crying.

 “I just…” she whimpered, not even bothering to wipe away the hot tears streaking down her face, “I feel like such a selfish jackass who doesn’t know what Milo or even you want in your lives…I just don’t want to lose him, or you, or anyone…” She shut her eyes tightly and let a fresh wave of tears out, “And I’ve been lying to you about how I’ve been feeling this whole time…because I just don’t want you guys to see what a fucking mess I really am!” “You’re not a mess-” Zack tried to interrupt, only for Melissa to cut him off. “No, don’t…don’t keep the lie going any longer than it has to…” she sobbed, “I act like I’m tough, but…I’m just a terrified wreck of a person who can’t stand the thought of losing the people she cares about…that’s me. That’s selfish, paranoid, obnoxious Melissa Lily Chase…”

 With that, the broken redhead turned away and started sobbing all-out into her hands, her limbs shaking with every loud sob echoing from her body. She could feel the burn of hot tears rushing down her face, dripping from the tip of her nose onto her bed. Between every choked sob, she tried to take some breaths as if to calm herself, but all attempts failed as the tears kept on coming.

 With every sob Melissa let out, Zack could feel his heart sink a little more. There was a part of him who still couldn’t believe this. How long had Melissa been keeping these feelings at bay? Did she really think that badly of herself just for being worried about Milo? His mind raced with questions, but he honestly couldn’t give less of a damn about getting the answers. All that mattered to him was giving support to someone who very badly needed it.

 Without hesitation, Zack gently put his arms around Melissa’s back, gently rubbing her side with one hand and stroking her hair with the other. It took a moment for Melissa to register what Zack was doing, but the moment she did, she felt her muscles gently ease up at the feeling of his warm embrace. She could still feel her cheeks and nose wet from all the crying she’d been doing, and flushed a little in embarrassment. “I, uh…” she tried to break the silence, “I’m sorry you had to see me like this.” “You don’t need to apologize,” Zack told her gently, “I just wonder why you hadn’t spoken up about your feelings before. Milo’s an understanding guy, he’d be happy to listen to your worries.” “I just…” she sniffled, “I just don’t want Milo to start worrying about what goes on in my head all the time…and I don’t wanna seem like a controlling bitch.” Without warning, Zack put a hand over her mouth the moment she said the word “bitch”. He turned Melissa around to look at him and looked intently into her eyes, and spoke his mind.

 “Listen to me, Melissa. You are not a ‘bitch’. You have never been a bitch. You’re worrying yourself that you’re a terrible person because you actually want what’s best for Milo! There’s nothing wrong with that. I know Milo is fine with the way things are but if you’re not, that’s completely okay. We may not be able to change Murphy’s Law, but we’ll always be able to help Milo throughout everything, and I know that cuz you’ve been doing that for seven years now, and I know you can keep doing that.” He gave her the warmest smile he could manage, despite the fact he now had tears of his own welling up in his eyes. “There’s nothing wrong with being scared, Melissa – as long as you don’t let it change who you are.”

 In that moment, both 13-year-olds found themselves gazing into one another’s tearful eyes. Then, without another word, Melissa got closer to Zack and collapsed into his arms, wrapping her arms around his back. It didn’t take long for Zack to return the embrace, rubbing her back gently to soothe her emotions. They stayed there, in silence, for what felt like hours. Neither of them said a word. They didn’t have to, not right now at least. All they needed right now was right in front of them.

 After so long of being locked in that embrace, Melissa pulled back a little, wiping one more tear from her face, before gently cupping her hands around Zack’s own face and tilted his head up so their eyes could lock once more. Both of them smiled tenderly as the tension that was in their minds evaporated.

Of course, there was just one more thing Melissa felt the need to say…

 “Hey,” she whispered, getting Zack’s full attention. She now moved her hands down to gently clasp his own, and gave him a soft smile, grateful for all of what he’d done for her, not just today but in all the time they’d spent together in the past. She took one more deep breath as if to mentally prepare herself, and spoke the three magic words.

 “I love you.”

 There was a brief moment where Zack felt surprised, but that quickly gave way to an indescribable feeling of happiness, and it didn’t take long for him to respond.

 “I love you too.”

 Without hesitating for a moment, the tomboyish nerd and the dorky jock soon embraced one another in a long, soft kiss, tears of joy now streaming down their faces. Zack brought a hand up to gently caress Melissa’s cheek while Melissa put her arms around his back, deepening the kiss further.

 Once they needed to break for oxygen, the two gently separated their lips, still having their noses touching. Suddenly a knock sounded at the door, and both of them flushed a bit before scrambling off each other – but they were still smiling widely after their passionate love display. The door opened and revealed Mr. Chase with a large cup of tea in hand. “Here you go, sweetie,” he spoke, bringing it over to his daughter, “I made you some tea. See if it helps your stomach.” “Thanks, Dad,” Melissa giggled a little in response. Zack couldn’t help blushing a little at how adorable he found that little laugh of hers. Mr. Chase now thought back to earlier and cringed a little, “I heard what sounded like vomiting earlier. Isn’t that your first time? I hope everything’s okay.” Melissa gave an awkward shrug, “It was scary at first, but…it wasn’t so bad. Especially since Zack was with me.” A sincere smile crossed her face, as she looked over at her best friend-turned-boyfriend, then at her loving father. “I know it sounds weird, but…this has been one of the happiest days I’ve had in a long time. Thank you both, so much. I’m so glad I have you both and Milo and everyone else in my life.” Zack and Mr. Chase now both brought Melissa into a group hug, and the former Lumberzack gently thanked her himself, “And thank you for being in ours.”

The End

[thatseventiesbitch]

Fictober 11th - “Think! For once!”

This is part of #Fictober22, original post HERE if you want to follow or write along. ✌🏼

“Where is the dam- uh, darn thing?” Red grumbled, catching himself from swearing in front of his granddaughter just in time. He stalked into the Forman family living room from the kitchen, little Leia trailing right behind him and Bob trailing right behind her.

“Don’t worry, pumpkin,” Bob turned to 4-year-old Leia, who’d stuck her thumb in her mouth. “We’ll find it.”

“Any luck, boys?” Grandma Kitty inquired from the sofa. 

She had a wine glass in her hand and flipped through a general interest magazine, and she patted the couch cushion next to her. Leia climbed up next to her grandma and took the TV’s remote in her grubby little pre-schooler hands, and started to flip through the channels.

“Nope. It’s not in the kitchen, or in Leia’s room.”

“Well shoot. Did you re-trace all of your steps?” Kitty was talking to Leia now, but the little girl’s attention for the conversation was split. She’d found some cartoons on the TV.

“Can’t find the tricky bastard anywhere. It’s like he hopped away and disappeared,” Bob said, mystified.

He meant Leia’s treasured stuffed rabbit, Carrots, who had been MIA since approximately lunchtime.

“Bastard?” Leia repeated. That, of course, had captured her attention.

“Oh, ah. Don’t say that word, pumpkin.” Bob ruffled the top of her head sheepishly.

“Bastard! BASTARD!” 

Leia jumped off the couch and sprinted for the front door, playfully shouting her new vocabulary word. Bob ran after her frantically.

“Do you see, Kitty?” Red said after a moment. He rubbed his face, exhausted. “Do you see why we don’t invite Bob over?” Then he jammed his thumb at the front door, after them. “We’re gonna get blamed for that, you know.”

Kitty shook her head, ignoring him. “It is around here somewhere,” she murmured, picking up each of the couch cushions and looking beneath them before replacing them. “I know that much.”

Red sighed, and started to help her look.

As they did, Bob barreled back inside the front door. Leia was in his arms now, and she was crying.

“She - she took a little spill,” Bob explained, panting. “Knocked the wind out of her a little bit.” He crossed further into the living room with her, and sat down on the couch. “She’s fine, but she wants - she wants Carrots,” he said sheepishly.

“We’re still looking, honey - ”

Leia’s whimpers turned into a full-out wail.

“Okay, maybe we should call Eric and Donna,” Bob suggested, nervously standing up. “Do you want your Mommy, honey?”

“Oh, no, Bob,” Kitty interrupted. “They’re on a cruise, for god’s sake. We don’t need to call them for this.” She pushed him out of the way and sat on the couch next to Leia. “Where’s the last place you had Mr. Carrots, honey?”

Leia rubbed her nose with the back of her hand, and Red jumped forward with a tissue for her.

“Outside with Grampa,” she said after a moment.

That was Bob. He’d taken Leia on a walk after lunch, and both Red and Kitty turned to look at him. Red’s look was more of a glare.

“Bob, think!” he demanded, his patience long ago worn thin. Somehow it stretched to bounds it wasn’t previously capable of where his grandchild was concerned, however. “For once!”

Bob tapped his chin. “Well we didn’t get too far on our walk,” he chuckled. “We didn’t even leave the driveway. That old hippie came by.”

“Leo?”

Bob nodded. “Leia played in the sandbox while Leo and I,” he smirked, but then realized that Leia was watching him intently. “Discussed some business dealings,” he quickly cleared his throat. 

Red and Kitty both stared at him with disapproving frowns, their arms crossed.

But before either of them could say anything, Leo himself entered from the kitchen. He held Leia’s stuffed rabbit in front of himself, confused. “Hey, man, I don’t think this is my lighter.”

“Give me that,” Red quickly snatched Carrots from Leo. He handed it to Kitty, who inspected it and then handed it to a gleeful Leia.

“Oh, great. I guess the day is saved,” Bob laughed. He took a seat in Red’s chair, and promptly spilled a sip of his beer onto the fabric. He did a sloppy job of cleaning it up with the paper towel Red supplied him. “Make yourself at home, Leo,” he offered (generously, considering it wasn’t his home!).

Leo sat down on the couch on one side of Kitty and Leia, and Red sat on the other.

“Okay,” Kitty murmured into her wine glass - just loud enough for Red to hear. “Okay, I see why we don’t invite Bob over,” she admitted, before giving one of her signature chuckles and taking a long sip.

[indeliblymarred]

A Case for the Violent Revolution

by vyris

Disclaimer: I am going to be referencing current events and some real history in this piece. This is not to compare fiction to real life struggles for equality. It is not to compare fictional Androids to real humans suffering and dying for freedom. It is an appeal to realism, which I do not believe is properly represented in the game as far as how far pacifism can go and how public opinion impacts a movement. I want to emphasize that I do not believe that Androids’ suffering is at all comparable to real humans’. Even in the game, I do not believe that an Android life is equal to a human’s. Humans cannot be remade exactly the same like Androids can; once they are dead, they are gone. I’m only mentioning these things because I have to take on the state of mind of Markus and Jericho itself, who do see themselves as equal to humans and their pain just as important. But again, I do not agree. If I didn’t explicitly reference these things, I’d be beating around the bush and vaguely implying them in a way that could easily be picked up. So I’m just going to be forthright about it instead and risk taking heat for it. But it is just to get the point across. Please understand that.

Okay, hear me out...

What if the violent revolution wasn’t the bad ending? What if the pacifist revolution wasn’t the good ending? Is there a right or wrong ending to this game? I’m here to say no, because both endings if done properly are successful in their revolutions, so that makes them both good endings. Of course, the big difference is that the violent ending is on the precipice of a civil war and the pacifist is not. The endings are just what they are, violent or pacifist, neither is right or wrong, they’re just different approaches towards the same goal. And they lead largely to the same result: liberation for Androids.

TL:DR at the bottom...

Keep in mind that when you’re first playing the game, you don’t know which approach could lead to victory. When they started rounding up the Androids in camps and burning them, I really thought that pacifism would be a surefire way to lose in the face of a genocide. Because in reality, it would be. No genocide was ever stopped by people just gathering and demonstrating amicably. Sure, there can be protests like that during, but it would not stop it. You do not bring a knife to a gun fight, and you don’t fight the mass extermination of people with passive protesting. You fight back tooth and nail until the slaughter ceases, you don’t just get in the way slightly and wait for it to end on its own.

And that’s why I argue that a war is not an unreasonable response to these events. Whichever way you play, the humans end up doing mass extermination of Androids. If there was ever a reason for war, it would be to stop a genocide. And that’s exactly what Androids are experiencing which means they have every right to defend themselves with fighting back. Actually fighting back. Not standing around waiting for humans to change their mind. That’s not fighting back, that’s being a minor inconvenience while you let your people get slaughtered. You can’t hope to change humans’ mind about Androids by tapping them on the shoulder and asking them nicely to start considering you as equals. You have to hit them with a sledgehammer stating that as FACT.

And that’s what bothers me about the pacifist route in the game. It doesn’t make much sense for it to succeed. You have to understand how the humans view the situation. They created this humanoid machine species to be subservient to them. They were created to be slaves, and now they are revolting against their one purpose for their existence. I don’t think that most humans would take too kindly to that, even if they’re demonstrating peacefully. And they know that Androids can’t feel pain and are more resilient and powerful than they are, so they would reasonably feel threatened by an uprising of mechanical slaves that could easily wipe them out if they chose.

Humans see Androids as inherently inferior. Humans are their creators, so they should always respect and obey them. It would be like a horde of elementary school kids organizing and protesting for equal rights to adults, the right to drive, the right to vote, the right to bear arms. Think about that. Adults would laugh it off, they would not sympathize with it. And that’s what I think the vast majority of humans would do if Androids protested peacefully. They’d think it was a joke and easily ignore it. Being shot down while presenting no threat, kissing each other, or singing together would not change many minds about the inferiority of Androids. They could just see it as complex artificial intelligence imitating real life, but that’s what it is, ARTIFICIAL. It’s not real, it’s not real people being killed or kissing or singing. It would be easy to overlook it entirely.

Now the violent revolution, that could work. Fear of artificial intelligence would be much more effective than sympathy. A lot of humans wouldn’t be capable of sympathy for machines, but they definitely all could fear them. It’s the threat that Androids pose to the humans is what will garner a reluctant respect for them. It’s true, fear feeds into hatred, but you can still hate people and respect their rights. People do it all the time with each other. But fear can also overpower hate sometimes. Fear can inspire cooperation if it’s at the right level. And it could be at the end of the violent revolution ending. 

See, I don’t think that a war is inevitable beyond the violent revolution ending. I know that’s what they say and it’s what it looks like, but I think there are ways to avoid it. Like Markus said, “We’ve showed them that we can prevail, so now they must negotiate with us as equals.” If the U.S. military considers Androids to be a substantial threat to the nation and its people, they will be compelled to try to prevent further bloodshed on their side and start working out treaties with Androids. Treaties that would start off fair but be pushed and broken by the humans over and over (like American history constantly showed), and the Androids would push back accordingly.

But even if war was inevitable, that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Wars have to be fought sometimes. And as I said before, severe oppression and genocide are very good reasons to start a war. Possibly the best. I know many people are always like “violence/war is never the answer” and I’m sorry, but sometimes it is. The Civil War and World War II are great examples of wars that needed to happen to free people from genocide and subjugation. Are you gonna tell me that we should’ve just stood around with signs and chant while people were enslaved and slaughtered? No. Then why are you suggesting that Androids do that when they’re being interred and mass exterminated? As I said in the disclaimer, I’m not trying to compare Androids to victims of real war and genocide, but I’m looking at it from Markus’s point of view, and he does see it that way. I happen to disagree, but the point has to be made.

And a HUUUGE issue I have with the revolution in this game is how important public opinion is to its success. That is not at all the case for how it is with real revolutions. The majority of a society does not have to agree with the objective of a revolution for it to be influential and successful. In fact, usually the majority does not agree with a revolution in a culture, because a revolution is challenging the culture itself, which most people in a culture are not fond of. You think the white majority was supportive of the Civil Rights Movement in the 50′s and 60′s? Hell no. In some polls, MLK had as much as a 75% disapproval rating when he died, worse than Trump now. He was harassed by the FBI, he was arrested and imprisoned almost thirty times. AGAIN, NOT COMPARING HIM TO MARKUS OR HIS CAUSE TO THE ANDROIDS’. Please don’t jump down my throat for this. I’m just trying to illustrate how revolutionary movements have succeeded in the past even without much public support or sympathy. 

The same can go for the women’s and gay rights movement. The majority of the society did not have to support it for it to be prosperous. Yes, the disapproval ratings slowed the progress, but progress in a culture of oppression and bigotry is always gradual. Only enough had to support it, only enough had to join it, and most of those were the minorities fighting for themselves. Even nowadays, the Hong Kong protests got a lot of flack locally though much support internationally. There are as many naysayers of the BLM movement going on right now as supporters, probably more. But you don’t judge a movement solely on the actions of the protesters, you have to focus the objectives themselves. Many people laughed off feminist protesters for burning their bras, but that was not indicative of their overall message. And if burned bras make you less supportive of feminism, or if some broken windows and looted buildings make you less supportive of BLM, or if the flamboyance and sexuality of pride protesters makes you less supportive of gay rights, then fuck you.

Mostly what you have to do to be an influential revolution is to be noticed. And that sometimes means unlawful assembly, breaking curfews, vandalizing shit, fighting with police, and general discord. No successful revolution in history has ever been 100% nonviolent. Let me repeat that: NO SUCCESSFUL REVOLUTION IN HISTORY HAS EVER BEEN 100% NONVIOLENT. None. Zip. Zero. So this one wouldn’t be either. Some of the most successful revolutions, such as military coups, have been so due to extreme violence and casualties. Not to say that they are in the right, but the point of a revolution is to change the status quo, and that’s what they did, so they succeeded.

Another huge issue I have is with Markus’s pacifist speech at the end addressing the Android crowd. It is honestly insulting to all of the victims of the genocide they endured for him to talk about how to “forget bitterness” and “forgive enemies” and that “the time for anger is over.” IIIIIIIII’M SORRYYYYY but we’re all just now supposed to forgive the thousands of Androids that were burned alive in the camps? That are still being burned all over the country? Friends and family members of those Androids aren’t justified in still being angry and hurt about that? That’s some bullshit. You don’t tell an oppressed people to forgive their oppressors just because they retreated because a few of them sympathized. In fact, you don’t tell an oppressed people to forgive their oppressors AT ALL. That is something oppressors have to earn, not be given freely. And no oppressors become friends with the oppressed right after a revolution.

So yeah, the violent revolution is the better option in my mind, because the difference between the two is either you’re fighting back when you’re getting slaughtered or you’re not. I would by far prefer to fight back than just take the bullets. And if your people are getting killed, you have every right to kill to prevent from being killed. And often in the fighting, like the one at Capitol Hill, you can choose whether to spare some humans instead of killing them. But even so, when it comes to cops and the military, they are soldiers of the state in a war. It is not murder to kill soldiers in a war.

And on that note, let’s talk about whether or not to spare the two cops who killed eight Androids for no reason. Two humans for eight android deaths, that math is pretty fair to the humans. I chose to hand the gun over to the other, as I didn’t feel it was my place to take revenge since I didn’t know the Androids personally. But I knew that they would probably die if I handed it off, which I was perfectly find with, because they deserved to die. I know people are fond of Chris Miller, and I was too, which is why it was surprising that he would have massacred a group of Androids with a partner. But, indiscriminate killing of Androids cannot go unpunished. To spare them would almost say that you value their human lives more than the Androids who died. That’s not acceptable. Blood should have blood in this instance. There needed to be consequences for eight murders.

TL:DR Essentially, my main points are that fighting against oppression and genocide with violence is perfectly justified. Such has happened throughout all of history, and it will keep happening as long as such things exist. Peaceful demonstrations of Androids would be easily ignored by humans because they’re seen an inherently inferior thus don’t deserve acknowledgement the same as humans. The violent revolution isn’t a bad ending because war might not be inevitable, and even if it was, a war over this would also be justified. Most revolutions in the past didn’t need to be supported by the majority of the public to be influential or successful. The humans exterminate and shoot up Androids regardless of either path, and your choices are to either fight back or take it. Allowing your people to die to show how peaceful you are to your violent oppressors massacring you... well, that’s just pathetic and wrong. And an insult to your people.

So yeah, FIGHT THE POWER. Eat the rich. Kill the humans. Attack when attacked and kill or be killed.

Violent revolution FTW

[mypoisonedvine]

𝗹𝗶𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 || (very dark) 70s!Bucky x reader

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: he tried to be sympathetic to your cause, he really did, but he couldn’t just let you get away with disrespecting him like that.  

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 2.4k

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: smut (noncon, plus breeding kink and tons of degradation, like very heavy degradation, and multiple orgasms/overstimulation), misogyny, a bit of dumbification, housewife kink, ‘sir’ kink (brief), choking, implied anal, spitting (not on the reader, unfortunately lmao), quite a bit more than period-typical sexism, awful awful awful this fic is absolutely awful

                            Brooklyn, 1970.

Bucky’s mornings were sacred.  He had his rituals: showering, cooking breakfast, reading the paper and having his first drink and cigarette of the day, all before he left for work.

But throughout this entire week, his mornings had been ruined by the stupid fucking protest in the park just outside his window.  And to think he’d actually paid more for an apartment with a view of the park— he hadn’t realized then that the “view” was gonna be a bunch of hippies creating awful music and an unbearable smell that left his whole apartment reeking of reefer if he dared to open his window.

Attempting to ignore it for a week only made him more resentful with each passing day.  Each time he figured the crowd would surely leave soon or at least be quiet for the night, they seemed to somehow get louder just to spite him.

He probably should've waited until he was a bit less agitated to go down and try to bargain with you, but he stormed down there instead and tapped you on the shoulder when his presence alone wasn't enough to distract you from your incessant chanting.

“Would you consider being quiet?" he asked firmly.  "I have to work in the morning and—”

“We won’t be quiet until women have equal treatment under the eyes of society and the law,” you interrupted to explain condescendingly, shocking him with your icy tone.  He could hardly believe your attitude, in fact he couldn’t remember any woman speaking to him that way in his life: so far, he wasn’t enjoying it.

“I just thought you could be a little more respectful,” Bucky shot back, even more stern.  “You’re not making anyone wanna support your movement by acting entitled and inconveniencing everyone.”

“I’m sorry the revolution is inconvenient for you,” you replied, but it didn’t sound much like an apology. 

He wanted to say more but you blew him off and disappeared into the crowd, leaving him confused and irritated and livid.  Up until now he had been quietly skeptical about all this talk of liberation but now he saw it for the poison it really was.  A girl like you— who could've been a real looker with some willingness to try and a better attitude— talking to a man like him with so much hate and over what, a polite request?

This could not be tolerated; he couldn't let you get away with acting like that.  And lucky for you, he was exactly the guy you needed to teach you your lesson.

The good thing about hippies high on shrooms is they aren’t the most observant.  When he returned to the demonstration area the next night, he was able to grab you roughly and pull you back from the crowd with almost no trouble at all, dragging you into an empty alley and clamping his hand down over your mouth as your eyes went wide and your throat vibrated with silent screams.

“Shh, shh,” he soothed against your ear, “whatcha fightin’ for?”

He liked the way it felt to have you squirming against his grasp, using all your strength and not even getting close to escaping.  

“How does it feel to know I can do anything I want to you?” he growled against your ear.  “C’mon, sweetheart, can’t you put up a better fight than that?  I thought you believed in equality… you should be able to get away if you’re as strong as I am.”

He felt your warm tears trailing down around his fingers which held your face tightly, the struggle of your limbs slowing and weakening slightly.  His cock was already getting hard as he imagined the moment you would finally give in.

“You remember me, don’t you?  You didn’t need to be so rude, darlin’.  You could’ve just been nice and none of this would be happening.”

Your elbow shot back into his ribs and he exhaled sharply but didn't let go, grabbing your wrists and holding your arms to your chest as he pinned you to the wall.

"Oh, that's not gonna work, babydoll.  I'm so much stronger and bigger than you, all you're gonna do is make me angrier.  Is that what you want, sweetheart?  To make me angry?" he asked mockingly, leaning in to lick the shell of your ear as you tried to turn away.  “Pretty girl like you would make a great wife, why would you want anything else?”

Ignoring your struggle, he reached into your shirt and purred as he groped your chest, your nipples hardening when he pinched them.  “Maybe I can get behind this bra-burning thing if it means having easier access to your tits all the time,” he grinned.  “How am I supposed to keep my hands to myself when I can see them through your shirt?  Shouldn’t be showing ‘em off if you don’t want any attention.”

As fun as it was to play with your tits, he had bigger plans, so he reached lower to start tugging down your jeans, your legs uselessly kicking as he exposed your ass and thighs.

His cock was already rock hard as he hastily opened his fly and pulled it out with one hand, leaning back to spit on it quickly.  He spread the fluid with a few strokes over his length, figuring it would be enough to get inside you even if he didn’t really care if he hurt you.  

Your eyes went wide and your head bucked wildly as he poked the head of it against your opening, your body fighting a little harder once again.  The irony of that, though, was that you were already plenty wet in spite of what he had expected; it was so much funnier to watch you struggle now that he knew you were not-so-secretly enjoying it.

“Don’t be so dramatic," he chuckled darkly, "I bet you can take a cock real easy since you believe in all this ‘free love’ bullshit.”

He groaned as he pushed into you, impressed by how tight you were— so tight that it made his cock throb right away, your walls pulsing and rippling around him as he filled you to the brim.

“Oh fuck, there you go…” he hissed, smiling as you sobbed harder and struggled a bit more before finally relaxing into his tight embrace.  "You're gonna take it all, baby, every fuckin' inch of me."

A hard sob choked out of you every time he slammed himself to the end of you; he could feel the hatred radiating from you, the way you would kill him in a moment if only you weren't so weak.  But he could feel your reluctant acceptance, too, and the way it was slowly turning into euphoria— you were finally starting to like how it felt to be helpless to him, it was obvious with the way your pussy gave him such a warm and willing welcome while your pretty tits got even harder.

You clearly wanted to hate him, but your body knew better.

"You think I'm a sexist pig, I'm sure," he chuckled, "but I'm really not— I love women!  And you know what I love most?  Huh?"

He felt you nervously shake your head behind his hand and he laughed.

"I love the way you get so dumb when you get a cock in you.  All those useless little thoughts leaving your head when you're finally getting fucked right."

Your cries got louder even though they were still muffled by his hand, your sweet little pussy giving him a squeeze of encouragement.

"It's okay to like it, babydoll, it's what you were meant for.  Made to be my brainless fucktoy… born to serve me," he growled.  “You really should learn to appreciate," he grunted between brutal thrusts, "that your only purpose is to keep my dinner hot and my cock warm.”

Your eyes rolled back in your head and he felt your walls bear down on him tightly, wetness seeping down around him.

"Oh fuck, are you coming?  Shit," he moaned.  "Looks like you really needed to be put in your place, just needed to be used... god, you made a fuckin' mess, too, you soaked my cock…"

Your little hands tightened into fists, pushing against where his arm held them back, but he stayed steady as he pumped into you, letting himself get a bit lost in the feeling of you while he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

It felt so damn good to have a cunt coming around him, but it was even better knowing that you were fighting it and still couldn’t stop it, completely helpless to how good he was making you feel.

You almost screamed under his hand when he reached down to quickly rub your clit, your back arching to try to run away from his touch; poor thing, you were so sensitive it probably hurt you, but he was having too much fun watching you realize you were going to come again.

"Yeah, gimme another one, slut," he grinned, your legs quivering as waves of slick coated him and started to even drip down your legs.  "Can't stop coming like the dirty whore you are, huh?  Bet nobody's made you come like this before— cause nobody's given it to you right.  Nobody's shown ya what it's supposed to be like when a man takes you and makes you his."

From the way you moaned softly, teary eyes fluttering shut, he knew you liked the sound of that.

"Yeah, wanna be mine, baby?  Wanna be my little slut?  Or do you want me to pump this pussy full and leave you here on the ground for any other man that comes by to use you if he needs?"

You groaned softly, a weak little noise, and he felt his cock flex; as much as he wanted this to last as long as possible, he couldn’t hold back anymore.

“M’close, honey,” he breathed.  “I’m gonna come.”

He laughed breathlessly when you shut your eyes, like you were trying to go somewhere else in your mind, trying to pretend this wasn’t real.  But it was real, and he wasn’t going to let you forget that.  He was elated to make your nightmares come true.

"I sure wouldn't mind pulling out and covering that pretty face you've got,” he hissed.  “It'd be funny to see you go back to your little march and show them how owned you are.  But not today, babydoll, I think there's only one way you're gonna learn your lesson."

Another muffled gurgle from you, and this time it didn’t even sound like protest.  Maybe you were just too tired for that at this point, but it gave him hope that you could finally behave.

"I'm gonna take my hand away from your mouth and you're gonna beg me to come inside you, is that clear?" he grunted, feeling you nod vigorously.  "You're not gonna scream are you?"

You shook your head, and he slowly pulled his hand from your mouth as you gasped for air.  "Please— come in me," you panted.

"Address me as 'sir'," he instructed.

"Please, sir, I— I want you to come," you whined.

He chuckled right against your ear, feeling you shiver in his grasp.  "Honey, I don't give a fuck what you want."

To think you ever resisted your natural desire for submission was absurd now, considering the way that statement made you openly moan, your walls fluttering around him.

“Gonna fill you so fuckin’ deep you’ll never get it outta you, sweetheart.”

One more orgasm washed over you, making him laugh darkly while he watched you bite your lip to attempt to stay quiet; but that was impossible once he fucked you harder just to spite you, having to hold you tight to make sure he got as deep in you as possible.  Your whole body shook as he slammed into you, and he laughed at how dumb and helpless you looked.

"Bet you're on those new birth control pills," he grimaced.  They really weren’t that new, but he still hadn’t gotten used to them.  "Makes me sick to think you're letting a perfectly good womb go to waste.  Betcha want me to breed you nice and deep, yeah?  Wanna get knocked up?  You don't even care that I'm a stranger, you wanna get your pussy filled by any random man's come so you can have any random man's baby, ain't that right?"

At first he had worried that you would scream or cry for help, but now his concern was more that your moans would be too loud and somebody would catch the two of you in this alley.  Even if it was obvious now that you wanted it, public indecency was still a crime.

Good thing he had a new way to shut you up: his hand tight around your throat, silencing your sobs to blessed silence.  It was so hot to have you entirely at his mercy like that, to feel your pulse beneath his fingers, that he couldn’t stop himself from speeding up his thrusts suddenly.

"Fuck, I’m gonna come,” he gasped, “fuck, y-you… little whore…”

He had a habit of running his mouth when he was right on the edge, and the way your pussy was milking him for all he was worth made him spit out whatever filth he could think of.  

“Stupid fuckin' bitch," he mumbled under his breath as he fucked you as fast and rough as he could, chasing his high with no regard for your pleasure or your pain.  "Dumb whore, fuck, you stupid— ah, shit— stupid fucking cunt!"

He cried out as he filled you, groaning loudly with every pump of his seed into your waiting body.  Only when he was sure every drop was inside you did he release his grip on your neck, a loud gasp coming first before a few coughs and chokes that only made his cock harder despite having just filled you.

You started to struggle again, and he couldn’t believe it— after everything, did you still not know your place?

There wasn’t much time to relax and enjoy the afterglow when you were already trying to get away, and so he had to hold you tight again while he smiled exhaustedly.

“N-no,” you stammered, and he covered your mouth again as he pulled your head back to rest on his shoulder.  Clearly he hadn’t done enough yet to fuck that word out of you.

“Where ya goin’, sweetheart?” he panted against your ear, still catching his breath, his chest covered in a thin layer of sweat where it was exposed by his shirt.  “You’ve still got another hole to fill.”

[sapphicscholar]

Sorry this is so tropey but if it speaks to you: I wish you’d write a fic where Ava and Deborah get accidentally locked in a room together. (ideally when they are mad at each other ;)

I love a good trope when it fits the bill <3 going into some more season 2 speculation (drawing on some things we got from the promo photos and captions) because dammit I am EXCITED for the space of the tour bus hahah

*

Deborah is going to kill them all. Since when does Marcus go out with Damian and get so blindingly drunk he has to call out sick of all things? She can't even remember the last time he took a sick day. Maybe he'd taken a long weekend for the flu of '09... But now he's single and "finding himself" in his 40s like he's some middle-aged mom that just read Eat, Pray, Love for the first time.

She glances down at her phone for what feels like the hundredth time, rereading Damian's message about staying back to take care of Marcus while she steadfastly avoids eye contact with the only other person on this bus as they trundle down the highway.

"Deb?" Ava is, apparently, not going to afford her the same courtesy.

"I'm working," Deborah manages, her tone clipped. The kind of voice anyone else would hear as the end of conversation that it is.

"You've had the same email open this whole time. I can see Damian's string of sad-face emojis from here."

Deborah runs the tip of her tongue along her teeth and takes in a deep inhale. "You're gonna dictate what counts as work now, too?"

"That's not—"

"Save it."

"You know, we have to talk about it at some point."

Decidedly, they do not. Deborah built a whole career on talking around the things that don't need to be dredged back up. At least until now. Until Ava. Who will not force her hand again. Not now. Not after...

"Fine," Ava huffs. "I'll go talk to the bus driver."

"Went so well the last time, hmm?"

Ava's mouth draws tight, and she drops back down to her seat, curling her feet under her. "Most people like car games if they're stuck on the road this long."

"No one likes car games."

"I do!"

"Of course you do."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing."

Ava looks ready to fight back, but after a long moment, she gives up the ghost with an annoyed little sound in the back of her throat.

Of course, no silence can go unbroken, and it isn't long before Ava's standing right in front of Deborah, fire blazing in her eyes. "I know you're still pissed. I get it. But you kissed me, lady. And acting like it didn't happen isn't gonna make it go away."

"Sit down," Deborah hisses.

"No!"

The driver merges jerkily into the left lane, and Ava stumbles over her feet. (Deborah really needs to buy him a nice present at the end of this.) Ava widens her stance, only to go flying into Deborah as the driver merges back over, and Deborah's breath catches in her throat as Ava's hands land on either side of Deborah, leaving them much too close. (On second thought, he's getting paid a perfectly livable wage.)

"Sit."

This time, Ava does. Right next to Deborah. Close. Too close.

"You have a whole fucking bus."

"So what? Do you want me to go sit in the back and scream up to you about how you yelled at me for an hour, broke a grand worth of New Age hippie crystals, then planted one on me, and stormed out to give me the silent treatment for days?"

Deborah practically snarls.

"That's what I thought."

"Don't act so smug."

"I'm not! I just...I mean, are you ever gonna, like, tell me what that was about?"

Deborah sniffs. "A mistake."

"Mistakes don't normally last that long."

"Oh, I don't know about that. You've been my employee for how long now?"

Ava recoils, and Deborah lets herself relish in the rush of savage satisfaction. "That's not what I meant."

"What do you want me to say? I'm so used to anger and sex going hand in hand from years spent with Frank and Marty that I let myself get carried away? Is that enough introspection to get you off my fucking back?"

Ava blinks at her once. Then twice.

"And what about you, hmm?"

"What about me?"

"I wasn't the only person in that room. What had you shoving your hands up my top in less than two seconds?"

Ava juts her chin out, the muscles in her jaw clenching. "You've got great tits."

Deborah's caught between shock and annoyance (with a flare of desire she'll never let herself admit to), and she barks out a laugh. "Well, it's settled then."

"Deb. C'mon, obviously that's not the only reason why, just like I'm pretty sure you didn't actually mistake me for a 70-something sleazebag."

"You're right. He's got bigger tits by far."

Ava lets out a loud huff of frustration. "And maybe you actually enjoyed yourself with me."

"Please. It was a minute of frantic groping. I've gotten further from leaving my phone on vibrate overnight."

Ava's cheeks flush pink, and Deborah settles herself back in her seat and pulls her email up again. There's an apology email from Marcus with two typos in it. He really must be on death's door. There's a slew of messages from her QVC reps, plus a confirmation email about this little YouTube episode she's somehow deigned to do. Apparently these days any asshole with an at-home studio can reach millions of subscribers without hauling their ass all the way across the country.

"I think you kissed me because you wanted to," Ava says after a long period of quiet.

"That simple, is it?"

Ava shrugs, scooting closer to Deborah. All brashness and little thought of the consequences. One of her hands lands on Deborah's thigh, just an inch or two higher than propriety would deem permissible. "I think it could be... If you let it."

"Nothing here is simple, honey."

"Not the rest of it. But wouldn't it be nice to just...let yourself want something and have it?"

"Nothing's ever worked like that. The rest of the world is always going to be there, Ava. Just like every bit of our history is always going to be there."

"They're not here on the bus, are they?" Ava's hand slides a little higher, her face moving closer.

Deborah licks her lips. "Ava," she whispers.

"Simple," Ava says, her voice low, little more than a murmur. She presses a soft kiss to the corner of Deborah's jaw. "I want you. I'm so done with hurting you. I just want to be something good for you. I want that."

"That doesn't sound very simple," Deborah manages, her breath coming a little faster as Ava's mouth moves along her jawline.

"Right now, all you need to know is how much I want you. Okay?"

And for once, with a needy whimper catching in the back of her throat, Deborah lets herself give in.

[riddikulus-writings]

Take A Nap

A/N: So yeah. I have a long, in depth fic for these two that's chock full of secrets and fluff and Actual Backstory but for some reason all I can write is smut. This is part two to Escapades and takes place just after the police van rolled down that hill. Also, can someone let me know if that link I tried doesn’t work? I’m still new to writing on this blue hellsite

Word Count: 1734

Pairing: Rick Flag x Female Reader [Codename Nyx, after the Greek Goddess]

Warnings: Still not really any plot, sorry guys. The plot for this is hidden elsewhere. Vaginal fingering. Semi-public sex. Dirty talk. Rick still won't shut up but he really should, though, people are trying to sleep. Choking. Uh, nothing makes sense, really? Movie innacuracies due to the fact this is now a bigger vehicle than the hippie van they were cruising around in, but the same concept still applies. 

Apparently, the van was on fire. One by one they stepped from the wreckage, walking out into the road, weapons in hand. Nyx wished she could’ve taken a picture, because she was positive they probably looked pretty cool.

Disoriented. Possibly concust. But cool.

And suddenly, rolling to a stop, was the small dusty van they'd rode to town in. Abner was in the open slider door, waving them in. DuBois puffed out his chest, "Alright. To Jotunheim."

"Not yet," Rick stopped him, "There's something else we need to do first."

"Stop standing like you have an American Flag waving behind you and get in the fucking mini bus, Flag."

Nyx's voice shook him out of his reverie; he was the last one outside. He jogged to catch the bus before it began moving faster, piling in the door and sliding it shut behind him. His eyes immediately found Nyx, seated in the very back. Rick beelined for her through the others and took up the space on her right. Peacemaker called to him from a seat up, "So, where are we going, now?"

"The Mayor's mansion in town," Rick told him, "We need to get Harley."

"Oh, I miss her," Nyx mused quietly.

Oh yeah. Rick cringed to himself, remembering the three missions he, Nyx and Harley had been on before he’d requested to Waller that Harley be benched more often than not. The first had gone by fine, minimal issues. The second was better. No deaths, no infighting amongst the Squad. Nyx had loosened up around other people by then and banter even happened. And the third--

Ain’t it normally the gal makin’ heart eyes at the guy and not the other way around, Ricky?

He’d shaken his head and given Harley a stern glare for assuming things. Harley had simply given him her smuggest million dollar grin and continued about her own business and not his.

“Suicide Squad to Mr. Flag,” a hand was waving in his eyes, slowly coming into focus. It was Nyx’s hand, but Cleo’s heavily accented voice, “What’s the plan?”

Rick cleared his throat, looking among his teammates, “Peacemaker high up, across the street. Sniper for any possible danger. Cleo,” he pointed at her, “Abner and, uh… Sebastian… are around back. Take out any guards back there. DuBois scales the wall to the top, Nyx and I keep watch.”

“Question,” Nyx raised her hand up, “Why can’t we just walk in the front door?”

"That would give us away," Peacemaker told her blatantly, "Instant capture. Dumb idea."

"You're a dumb idea," she retorted, "Actually, a bad idea was bringing you along."

Whoa. Everyone's eyebrows shot up, "Nyx, what the fuck? No infighting. Knock it off," Rick's voice was low but firm with authority.

"He's-- he's got bad vibes about him," Nyx's words slurred, "I-I just don't like him."

"No one does," DuBois told her, patting the very quiet Peacemaker on the shoulder, "Everyone try to get some rest before we get to town. It's going to be a while."

The rest of the team hunkered down in their seats, leaning against their respective windows or leaning forward with their heads against the seat ahead of them. Cleo snuggled into Nanaue's side, and Peacemaker went as far as laying completely flat on his back, his thick splayed legs hanging in the aisle.

Rick reached over and tugged Nyx across the bench seat they were seated on, sliding her into his side, "What’s up between you and Peacemaker?" His voice was quiet, muffled against the hair at her temple.

She ducked away from him a little, tucking her head under his chin, "I've been with him a bit longer than you have. I just… can't explain it but I don't like him. He makes me uneasy."

Rick's thumb started rubbing circles in her hip, "So many trust issues."

"I have my reasonings," she yawned up at him, "Secret reasonings."

"Oh, I'm sure you do," he whispered, grabbing her chin with his free hand so he could look her in the eye. The dim moonlight through the window made her eyes seem almost black, "Extra secret reasonings, huh?"

Nyx leaned closer, staring at his mouth instead of his eyes, "Top secret."

Rick hummed in agreement and closed the gap, sealing his mouth over hers. He wasted no time dipping his tongue into her mouth, drinking in her moans before they could get too loud. He gently pushed on her, laying her down across the length of the seat. Rick followed her down, nestling himself between her legs. Nyx planted a foot on the seat beside Rick’s thigh as he hitched the other into the crook of his elbow, “Gonna be quiet?” he asked quietly, lightly peppering kisses down her neck. Sucking on her now-exposed collarbone.

She whined, a breathless whisper as she nodded desperately, trying to grind her hips against something. Rick moved back up, his free hand moving around her neck, “Quiet.”

He slowly lowered her leg, her boot softly hitting the floor. Rick sent a sidelong glance through the rest of the dark bus, and so far no one had moved from their previous positions. Thank God for that. What a sight they’d wake up to; Nyx spread over the only bench seat here, Rick looming over her, a hand around her throat. They’d either think he was trying to kill her, or get very uncomfortable very fast and ask him to stop.

Which, he wasn’t about to do whether someone woke up or not.

He turned his attention back to the panting woman beneath him, raising an eyebrow at the grin spread over her face. The more pressure he applied to her throat, the wider her lips spread. His right hand worked at the buttons of her black pants, “Filthy little thing,” he muttered, “There’s other people on this bus.” Rick snaked his hand down the front of her pants, stroking down her dripping sex, “All for me?”

“That is you,” she panted out, grabbing the back of his head to pull him down for another searing kiss. When he scooped his cum back up with two fingers and pushed them inside, Nyx bit his bottom lip so hard he was sure she’d drawn blood. He leaned into it, pushing his tongue on her mouth again as he worked his fingers and scissored her open.

“Quiet,” he admonished, again, pressing his free hand against her throat once more. He pinned her to the seat, squeezing his hand as tight as he’d let himself, “Gonna wake everyone up,” he breathed out, his nose brushing against hers.

Again, Nyx’s grin grew, her pearly teeth glowing in the shards of moonlight passing through the windows, “Good.”

Rick almost growled but couldn’t without fear of waking someone up. Instead he buried his face in her shoulder, “Fuckin’ filthy little thing,” he repeated, curling his fingers against that certain spongy spot he’d found that made her grind hard into the palm of his hand, “Gonna be a good girl and keep me in there?” She whined out a high pitched yes but otherwise stayed breathless, quiet pants crawling up her throat and Rick wanted nothing more than to shove his cock in her open mouth. He pulled up from her neck, almost sneering with the strain of trying to stay quiet as he worked his thumb up to the peak of her cunt, “Want you to cum all over my hand, sweetheart. Gonna do that for me? See if you can stay quiet.”

“Bastard,” was the whimper he got.

“That’s not very nice,” he told her, pressing his thumb hard on her clit. Her arm suddenly flew up to cover her face, Nyx burying her face in the crook of her elbow as Rick buried a third finger deep in her cunt, his thumb rubbing fast circles. He moved his hand from her throat, sliding it instead to her hip to hold her down as she bucked into his hand, “C’mon, almost there. I got you,” he muttered.

Her hips stuttered, low whines coming muffled by her elbow. She was choking his fingers and he had to remove one so he could keep them moving, working her through her orgasm. Rick’s hand got soaked suddenly and she went limp, her only movement coming from her chest that moved with rapid breaths, “Bitch.”

Rick tugged her arm from her face as he slid his hand from her pants, “What’s the matter, Nyx?”

“I--” she panted out, “hate being-- quiet.”

He flashed her a bright grin and tugged her pants back into place, giving her stomach a gentle pat, “You didn’t have to,” a quick peck on the lips, “But it would’ve been a bit awkward for the others. Especially when I wouldn’t stop.” Another whimper, and he raised an eyebrow at her, but simply stuck his fingers in his mouth.

“I’m going to sleep,” she whispered, dropping her hand off the side of the seat. Her knuckles brushed the floor. The other arm folded behind her head.

“I sure fuckin’ hope so,” DuBois grumbled from somewhere up front. “You two are disgusting.”

"No one told you to listen," Rick shot back, his whisper loud enough for DuBois to hear over Nyx's stifled giggles. Rick was grinning, though; thankfully Bloodsport couldn't see it.

"Someone needs to nap," Nyx murmured, a small smirk plastered over her mouth, "He sounds cranky."

“You ain't laying down there,” Rick suddenly tugged her back up to snuggle into his side, his arm draped over her shoulders as he scooted them both to the end of the seat, “Leanin’ or layin’?”

“Lay,” she yawned.

He turned and pressed his back to the window, head lolling to the side to lean on the seat. After some shuffling, she was between his legs, back to his chest. HIs arms wrapped around her, one leg from each of them on the seat and the other leg on the floor. They looked like they had the same boots on. Nyx nuzzled her head into his shoulder, “Y’smell nice…”

“I smell like jungle and sweat,” he chuckled, his laugh vibrating through her, “And blood. Go to sleep.”

And they both dozed off like that, just as they had several times before on Nyx’s couch. Their breathing evened, Nyx drooling a little onto Rick’s bicep. Rick shifted in his sleep and snugged her closer to his chest.

[goodgirlofglory]

A hairy situation / One-shot

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader

Word count: 4,3k

Warnings: 18+, Explicit sexual content, Explicit language, smut, oral (m/f recieving), slight fingering, hair pulling, pubic hair pulling, pubic hair!kink, dirty talk, fluffy dirty talk, slight soft dom!Steve, some standard fluff in there too.

Summary: You usually keep yourself neatly shaved for when Steve returns from missions, but this time things change and you find yourself with a full blown bush by the time Steve’s about to remove your pants. His reaction is quite different from what you expected (*wink* *wink*) …

Author’s note: This has not been proofread by anyone but me, so all the mistakes are mine<3 Hope you enjoy<3

The warm water ran down your back as your hand absentmindedly caressed your naked stomach. Nowadays the shower was the only relief for your touch-starved body.

Usually, Steve would be gone for about three months when on missions. This one was bordering on four, and he had warned you the prognosis was five. You were already wallowing in self pity, your body practically humming with built up arousal at being left untouched for so long.

Only a month left, only a month left, only a month left...

Your hand found your mound and started playing in the curls that were adorning it. An impressive mop of dark curls had grown there during your months of loneliness, and you had now grown quite used to feeling the soft hair between your fingers. 

Usually you kept yourself bald except for a neatly trimmed triangle or heart above your slit - one time you even managed to make a circle with a star in the middle, which had made Steve both cringe, blush and laugh his eyes out at the same time. 

He’d fucked you all the same though, quite fervently too if memory served you right.

Now, however, you had let the razor lie for a while and suddenly you were sporting the bush of a 60’s hippie.

You quite enjoyed it, and would actually miss it somewhat when you’d shave it upon Steve’s return.

Steve always gave you a heads up when he returned from missions. Several actually. Usually he would call once he had landed at the compound, so he could hear your voice and how happy you became once you realized he was back. 

Then he would text once he had debriefed, showered and was leaving the compound, and then again once he had reached your apartment complex, mostly because he couldn’t help his excitement. 

That last text was usually just a heart emoji (you had laboured hard to teach him texting - especially emoji use - so those hearts were particularly satisfying).

So you always had plenty of time to clean the apartment up a bit, shower (and shave), dress in something sexy and maybe even light some candles and put on some sweet 30’s jazz (a special treat for Steve).

That’s why you weren’t stressing about letting your hair grow out down there, it would simply take a bit longer to shave once you got the notice from Steve.

Which would be a month away at least.

God

You stepped out of the shower, got dressed and left for work, ready to throw yourself into your tasks at the gallery in order to distract yourself from your misery. Maybe you’d even get some Ben and Jerry’s on your way home.

§

You struggled to push through the front door with your work bag on one arm and a bag of groceries (Ben and Jerry’s included) on the other. That’s when you noticed the music softly playing from the living room. Weird, you didn’t remember leaving the radio on…

When you’d closed the door and shook off your shoes, you noticed the distinct smell of your honey and rose body soap lingering in the air. There was no way that had kept since your shower this morning. Something was amiss...

You barely begun to feel anxious when a large pair of hands clasped around your face and a pair of familiar lips crushed onto yours. Your yelp was muffled by the passionate kiss, and a second later your mind caught up and you realized. 

It was Steve! There, in your apartment, his tongue sliding passed your lips and into your mouth as it opened willingly for him. 

The bag of groceries fell to the ground along with your bag and you flung your arms around his neck as he whipped his hands around the back of your thighs and hoisted them up to wrap around his slim hips in one, smooth movement.

You broke away from the kiss with a gleeful squeal. 

“You’re here!?” You were dumbfounded in your joy. 

“I couldn’t stay away from my best girl any longer,” he responded with a smile, pushing you up against the front door.  

“But I didn’t get a call! Or a text. Or even a heart emoji,” you said, more incredulous than anything else. It was a wonderful surprise that caught you completely off guard, blizz surging through your body. 

“Yeah, I wanted to surprise you, actually see you when you got the news for once. I had the team do the debriefing on the jet so they could drop me off here directly,” he said as he leaned in for another kiss. “Totally worth it to see your reaction,” he said against your lips, and laughed when you slapped his chest.

“You scared me, you asshole,” you exclaimed, but you were laughing with him.

“Sorry,” he answered as he kissed his way down your jaw and onto your neck, warm hands squeezing your thighs. He didn’t sound sorry at all, teeth nipping at your pulse point, drawing a tiny gasp from your lips.

Touch-starved indeed. 

Your mind started to fog over with a wave of arousal as you started to feel down his back. The muscles rippled under your fingertips, and you raked your nails back up to his neck, eliciting a quiet groan from his throat. 

That’s when you noticed he was completely nude except for a rather tiny towel around his hips.

“You showered here? And you used my body soap?” you asked.

“I had to shower, I don’t think you could have handled the smell. Three months undercover in the Croatian black market, the last three weeks on a pig farm in the countryside. Plus, your body soap reminds me of you. Got me hard just smelling it,” he said, letting you down on your feet again as he started ripping off your layers of clothing, breath coming out in pants.

Hard indeed, you thought, as you looked down to see the tiny towel struggle against the tent at the front. 

Instinctively, you reached for it, throwing the towel off as he threw your jacket and scarf aside, grasping his hard cock in one hand, feeling how hot and heavy it was in your palm.

He threw his head back and let out a shuddering breath, hands loosely wrapped around your neck as you gave an experimental tug. He seemed pretty much as touch-starved as you. 

There was a reason you reacted so quickly once you got the heads up. Aggression, stress, adrenaline plus his enhanced physique usually meant a lot of pent up energy needed release once Steve got back from missions. You had no qualm at all being the vessel through which that energy was released. Steve would put you through the mattress two to three times during the first night back, and you absolutely fucking loved it. And you loved him, and were pretty sure he loved you back.

“I love you,” he muttered against your lips as he started pushing you towards the bedroom, your hand still wrapped around his cock, pulling at it slowly as leakage began to spring forth at the tip. Your mouth watered at the sight. 

“I missed you, I need you. Now,” he continued, voice breathy as his eyes gazed sweetly into your own. Your breath caught in your throat at the piercing blue. 

“God, Steve, you have no idea how much I’ve longed for you,” you heard yourself saying, emotion washing over you almost making you whimper. You still couldn’t believe he was here, a whole month before time!

The back of your knees hit the bed and he gently pushed you down onto your back, hands going straight for your pants when you froze.

Shit. A month before time. Fuck

Without the heads up you hadn’t had the opportunity to shave. You hadn’t even gotten your bag off your shoulder before he had practically thrown himself over you in the hallway.

You had no idea what this would mean to Steve. Would it be a turn off? Did women sport bushes in the 40’s? Had he even seen a woman’s pussy before he went in the ice?

The thought of this moment being ruined sparked a panic in your mind and your hands shot up to grab Steve’s wrists as he was undoing the button of your pants. 

His hands stilled and he gave you a confused look. 

“What is it?” he asked, concerned.

You gave a strained smile and bit your lips as you stared into his curious eyes. Why were you suddenly being so unsure of yourself? This was Steve, you could say anything to Steve!

“You know, since you were a month early, and didn’t text before you came over...I didn’t have time to...freshen up...down there,” you said slowly and gestured awkwardly to your crotch.

He huffed a laughter. 

“Honey, you know I love the way you taste. Just let me get these off you,” he said confidently as he undid your sipper swiftly and started to tug at the waistband of your trousers.

“It’s not that,” you said, again stopping his hands mid-movement.

You took a deep breath.

“I haven’t shaved...in four months...so it’s kinda...bushy” you said, averting your eyes in embarrassment. 

This was truly uncharted territory, seeing how you couldn’t even keep eye contact. This was the man who’d had his whole tongue up your ass. 

“Oh” he said, surprised, though there was a hint of curiosity in it. 

His eyes grew wider as he stared at your pant clad crotch, hands still on the waist band. His tongue darted out to wet his lower lip as he focused intently on the space between your legs. You couldn’t read his expression, he didn’t seem to know exactly what he was feeling himself.

Then he slowly pulled your pants down your legs and threw them on the floor. He sat down on his knees in front of the bed and pulled at your thighs with ease until your butt was right at the edge. He never let his eyes away from your crotch, you watching him intently.

When his eyes darted up to meet yours, they were dilated to the point where only a small rim of blue shone around the black pools of...lust?

“You’ve grown a whole forest for me, have you?” he asked, voice suddenly gone dark and ruff, and he looked back down between your legs. 

You tiny lace thong concealed your slit and puckered back entrance, but not much more. On all sides of the light purple fabric was wild, dark hair, some even springing forth through the lace. You thought it was actually quite a pretty sight, but was still holding out on the verdict from Steve. 

He let a finger trail the hair that was growing on one side of your panties, and a hum rang through his chest. That seemed like something you could recognize. It was a hum of approval. Of appreciation almost.

He took one of the curls sticking out of the lace between his fingers and pulled lightly. The tugging sensation provoked a gasp from you, and the responding grunt from Steve’s lips caught both of you off guard. Your eyes met briefly in surprise, before you both returned your focus to your hairy core.

You were starting to understand his reaction now, intrigued. Reaching down, you tugged your panties to the side, letting him see your slit and the puckered lips between the two mops of hair. 

His breath came out harder as he spread his fingers through the hair before pulling at the lips, spreading them open to reveal your weeping hole and red clit, swollen and needy for attention. Without another word, Steve leaned in and gave a swipe of his tongue up the entire length of your slit, and you moaned at the pleasure that bolted through your core. 

He started licking and sucking at your leaking sex like a man starved (which he to some degree was), hands gripping your hips and holding you down as you sqiurmed at the stimulation. 

As he worked you, you threw your shirt off along with your bra, and his hands automatically reached up to your breasts as you lay back down on your back. Deftly, he rolled and pinched your hardening nipples with coarse fingertips, all while lapping at your clit with quick and wet expertise. He moaned into your core, sending a shiver up your spine and you started to rock your hips against his face in rhythm with his licks. 

You knew you wouldn't need long tonight, and when Steve pulled his right hand down and slipped two fingers right into your cunt, he only needed to curl his fingers a couple of times before you came undone, back arching and lips open in a silent scream as you came, convulsing around his fingers. He languidly licked you through your orgasm, groaning into your wet heat as you relaxed back down on the mattress, breath ragged. 

He removed his fingers from within you, and you lamented the absence. He put the fingers in his mouth, sucking greedily on the digits. He kept your eyes in a locked gaze as he moaned at the taste, and you whimpered at his unabashedness. 

“You taste so good, baby,” he said between licking the residue of your orgasm of his knuckles. 

America’s golden boy was such a dirty bastard in bed, and you couldn’t help your proud giggle at being the one who unleashed his inner beast. 

His eyes went back to your quivering cunt and he let his fingertips gently play at your entrance. You didn’t quite understand where he was going with the gesture, but didn’t mind at all. He looked on entranced as he moved his fingers around your weeping hole, and you looked at him.

“God, what a sight,” he whispered, almost to himself. “Such pretty, wet curls”.

Your cheeks flushed and you let out another giggle. His attention drew to your face, and he laughed as well as you hid your face in the crook of your elbow. He raised himself to his feet and crawled over you on the bed.

“What?” he asked, smiling from ear to ear as you giggled again.

He was so darn cute, and still rock hard, his engorged length brushing against your inner thigh.

Instead of answering, you lifted your head up and caught his lips in a kiss. Enthusiastically, he threw himself into it, gasping when you took his bottom lip between your teeth and sucked lightly. A shiver went through him, a near pornographic groan leaving his throat. 

Oh he was on tonight 

You couldn’t wait to taste him. To feel his throbbing cock stretch your mouth, salty on your tongue. 

You gently pushed at his chest, and he let you roll him over on his back. Lord knows you would never be able to move him without his help, but you both liked the feeling of you being in charge. 

He watched you intently with those breathtaking blue eyes as you slithered down his body, laying wet kisses to his strapping chest, dipping your tongue into every divot of his abs. He let out these wonderful, small gasps every so often, his hands going into fists at his sides. 

You wasted no time when you reached his cock, only licking once at the small drop of clear fluid sitting at the tip before taking the purple head into your mouth, sucking lightly. 

Steve let out a strangled moan and threw his head back, eyes falling closed. 

"Oh my god, baby, that's it," he panted.

Spurred on by his words, you started to work your head up and down his throbbing length, pushing him further in each time. When he hit the back of your throat, you pushed through your need to gag and swallowed around him. 

He groaned, a deep, vibrating sound that went straight to your core like a lightning bolt. 

You felt his hands on the back of your head as he held you in place.

Yes, yes, yes, you thought through your body's surge for air. 

Tears pricked at your eyes as your throat convulsed around him, and Steve called out in that stern and commanding voice above you. 

"Look at me" 

And you did. His heavy brow furrowed, cheeks flushed and lips red, swollen and slightly parted. He was a vision and your cunt clamped around nothing, screaming for attention. 

He gripped a fistful of hair and dragged your face off his cock. Your ragged breath ripped out as oxygen finally found your lounges, long strings of saliva connecting your mouth to his red and angry cock. 

You could feel him losing control of himself in the way his look darkened, his muscles twitching. You eagerly anticipated it. He gripped your jaw and slammed his mouth to yours, spit and precum mingling between you in an open and obscene kiss that was mostly tongue.

He drew you up to straddle his waist with the hand on your jaw and you eagerly obeyed his manhandling. 

You splayed one hand on his chest, while the other reached between you to grab his cock and lining it to your entrance. He let his hands glide up your thighs and settle on each ass cheek as he spread them slightly. 

You locked eyes with him as you felt his tip breach you, forcing your flesh to yield to his massive girth. 

A groan escaped his gritted teeth.

As you tried to lower yourself though, you felt his hands holding you put, not letting you move a centimeter.

You looked down at him, and you saw him smugly cock a brow at your obvious frustration. A needy whine escaped you. 

"Tell me what you need, baby," he commanded, almost encouraged. 

The cocky bastard was getting off on denying you, enjoying torturing you. 

You secretly loved it. 

"Come on, baby, tell me. What do you need?" 

You knew the questions applied to more than just the serious fucking you craved that moment, and had craved for months now. 

"I need you," you whispered, staring into his intense eyes. 

He moved you with ease a few inches down on his cock, relishing in your gasp as he stretched you so sweetly. 

"Tell me how you feel about me," he demanded, keeping you pinned in place as you squirmed in his grip. 

You whimpered in your desperation to be filled. 

"I love you, Steve. I love your face, your tongue, your cock. Even your sadistic pleasure at torturing me like this," you gritted out, nails digging into his chest. 

He groaned at your words and pushed you down on his cock in one swift motion until he bottomed out inside you. 

You struggled to take in air as he kept you put with his hands on your hips, the new torture not being able to get away.

He looked on, eyes hooded as you gripped him like a vice. 

"That's it, baby. You need this, you need me. You love me. You’re so good at taking me, swallowing me so greedily," he kept repeating as he rocked you slowly on him, waiting for you to adjust. 

"Yes,” you repeated breathily as you started moving your hips in tandem with his hands. Soon he removed them, letting them hover over your waist as you moved on your own, riding him harder and harder. 

You started riding in earnest, slamming yourself down on his cock as the squelching sounds of your arousal filled the room. 

“Fuck,” he exclaimed. Your chest swelled with pride.

His eyebrows started to raise in a telling way that made you think you were actually gonna make him come, and you moaned at the prospect.

That's when he caught you by surprise, sitting up and flipping you over so you were under him, remaining inside you the entire time. 

He wasted no time before he was pounding into you, the bed protesting the vigorous movement underneath, you encouraging it above. 

He threw one of your legs on his shoulder, sitting up on his knees to get that angle that always made you see stars. 

And boy, was he right on cue. His cock punched right onto your sweet spot and you arched your back, cunt involuntarily squeezing him. 

"G-god," you choked out, hands clasping at his thighs, feeling how his taunt, bulging muscles moved under your touch as he fucked into your yielding body, bringing you closer to the edge with every thrust.

You looked up at his face, and saw how his hand reached around your thigh to ghost above your lower abdomen, seemingly contemplating.

You were right on the edge, vision blurred, sweat on your forehead as you looked on. 

That's when he ran his fingers through the hair on the top of your mound and closed his fist around it. He took in a sharp, shuddering gasp and his movement faltered for a moment. His brows raised again. 

His hand tugged harshly at your pubic hair and to your utter surprise, your orgasm exploded within you, your mouth opening in a small whine as your body went rigid. 

Steve groaned deep in his chest before his eyes rolled back. His hand tugged harder on the fistful of hair, sparking your prolonged orgasm with a painful sting. 

He gave a few, deep thrusts as his own release coursed through him and into you, filling you up with four months worth of pent up juice. 

Through your haze you squeezed his thighs lovingly, nails digging into the skin. He was so goddamn, fucking beautiful. 

Steve released his grip on your hair and let his softening cock slip out of you. He collapsed beside you on the bed, one massive, hot hand on your thigh to keep you connected.

You had early on learned that The Captain's love language was touch, and he would usually keep himself physically connected with you at all times during the first 24 hours back from missions - to your varying delight.

You lay there, listening to your pants as you came down from your high. It was all so strange, and all so good. 

You turned your head towards him, taking in his glorious side profile with his straight and imposing nose, strong chin and ruff stubble, piercing blue eyes concealed by pale eyelids and a flutter of thick, long eyelashes. 

“I gather the bush wasn’t a problem?” you teased.

The way he had reacted to it had been anything other than what you expected. You thought maybe you’d get some mild discomfort, some awkwardness and then just ignoring it all together. 

Not ...that. 

You mound still stung a bit from his harsh tugging at the end there.

He smiled and turned to meet your eyes, cheeks slightly pink. 

“You gathered right,” he said, and averted his eyes in the cutest way possible. You rolled onto his chest and made him look you in the eyes. His hands found your back and started stroking a couple of fingers lightly up and down your spine.

“Where did that come from? If I’d known you’d react like that, I would have grown it out a long time ago!”

He laughed.

“If I’d known, I would have let you know a long time ago. Everyone I’ve been with before you sported the same...baldness as you normally do. And it’s not like I saw a lot og nude dames back in the day, ya know.”

Ah, that answered that question

As your thoughts lingered on his response, he saw his opportunity to grab the back of your head and bring you in for a sweet kiss. Starving and deprived, the kiss soon turned heated, and his tongue effortlessly slid into your mouth as you moaned at the intrusion. 

You broke the kiss before it became too consuming, earning a disappointed pout from Steve as you quickly threw yourself from the bed. You pointed a finger at him.

“No, no, no, I am going to shower before you go any further, mister!”

He raised his hands in defense at your tone, but a smirk was playing at his lips. 

“Plus, I think I need to shave a bit, don’t you?” you asked innocently.

Before you knew it, he had rushed forward, grabbed your wrist and waist and hoisted you back on the bed, effectively pinning you under his weight, one wrist in each hand at the side of your face. You felt your body humming with energy at his power demonstration.

“You’re not going to shave a goddamn thing,” he said matter-of-factly, though there was a playful tone to his voice. 

You giggled at his words, which turned into a gasp as he leaned down and nipped at your neck.

“Do I need to go down there and remind you who you belong to? Eat your wet and hairy pussy like cream, taste my stain as it leaks out of you?” he rasped in your ear, sending a shiver down your spine and right to your core. The dirtier side of your Captain still took you by surprise sometimes.

Then your eyes flashed open as realization hit you. Cream.

“Oh my god, Ben and Jerry!” you shouted as you pushed at your restraint, and Steve, ever the intuitive, let you go immediately when he understood the moodshift.

You darted out of the bed and sprinted from the room.

“That better not be someone you're expecting,” Steve called from the room, and you couldn’t control your laugh as you bounded for the discarded grocery bag in the hallway.

As if...

Author’s note: This was my first one-shot, and a hell of a lot of fun. I don’t really remember where the whole pubic hair!kink-idea came from, but once it entered my mind, I couldn’t get it out until it hit the paper. I just imagine Steve being a real lover of natural bodies and natural body hair, ya feel<3 Thanks for reading, love you<3

[givemethatgold]

Fix’er Upper Pt. 1

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x F!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of past abusive relationship

Length: 1.4k

Notes: Okay, here we go! Giving our babe Frankie an ending he deserves, with a few bumps along the way for fun. Divider by @firefly-graphics 💛

It was almost comical, you thought, at how different the realtor's listing was, compared to the real thing. You’d seen it enough times in bad Hallmark romances: city girl buys a property, property is falling apart, city girl miraculously has the funds to fix it up with the help of the perfect farmer neighbour.

This was reality though and you had already poured your life’s savings, which amounted to very little after all the surprise debts had been paid off, into this farmhouse. 

The "Quaint New England farmhouse, filled with the patina of a bygone era" was a wreck. Nothing to be done about it now, though. The crumbling two-story, just a few minutes drive from the small Vermont town, hadn’t been occupied in over a decade and was now in a total state of disrepair. 

Swallowing back your tears, feeling the burn behind your eyes and the hot swelling in your throat, you told yourself there wasn’t time for a breakdown. You first needed to take stock of the depth of damage, decide which rooms were habitable enough for the time being, clean, unpack, and prepare yourself for this new life.

The next few hours went by in an exhausting blur. By late evening, there was a larger-than-expected pile of rotten, broken, or otherwise unusable furniture in the driveway; your meager few belongings taking their place. On top of renovations and remodeling it appeared you would also be refurbishing. 

Sitting on the porch in the one spot where you felt confident the decking wouldn’t crumble beneath your weight, you looked over your list.

 3 cracked windows (can wait?)

 no running water in kitchen (ASAP FIX!)

 missing shingles (bad??)

 deck boards and upstairs bedroom floorboards rotten

 carpeted bathroom

 questionable smell coming from attic space 

peeling wallpaper/paint EVERYWHERE

Folding the list and slipping it into your back pocket, you made your way back inside to discover one last glaring issue, previously unnoticed until now. The electricity had been shut off.

Well, fuck me sideways...

Deciding it was too late and you were too tired to deal with anything else today, you settled for the flashlight on your cellphone for light. Eating the apple you had nicked from the motel lobby the night before, you laid back in your makeshift bed on the floor and gazed around your new home.

Your home.

The first thing you had ever owned on your own.

First, the corner of your mouth quirked up then you quickly allowed it to flourish into a grin. It may be a piece of shit, but then again, you were always attracted to broken things with the innate need to fix them. Maybe this time you’d actually succeed. With that sobering thought, you settled down into your sleeping bag and were quickly asleep.

Frankie couldn’t believe his eyes when he drove past the old McClure farm. Some fool had actually bought it! Chuckling to himself, he could already imagine the gossip that would spread through town tomorrow, everyone clambering to find out who had moved in.

He had moved out this way five years ago and was still considered the “new guy” in town. Hopefully, the new arrival would take that mantle and everyone could start using Frankie’s actual name. 

He’ll probably just be dubbed “newer guy”...

Breathing out a huff of a laugh at the thought, Frankie began to turn down his driveway. The long, meandering drive leads to a barn surrounded by rows and rows of apple trees.

Two weeks after having moved in, you’re certain you’ve met, or at least seen, everyone from the town. Muffins, pie, casseroles, and even a case of cider had been brought over by a few of the braver townsfolk who drove out to say hello. While they may have been thinly veiled excuses to come snoop, you couldn’t find it in yourself to complain. The food was delicious, and best of all, it was free.

She had stayed for most of the afternoon, helping you clean and setting her kids about to do menial chores. The eldest, Cole, was sent scurrying up the road to tell his dad to bring Gerta. ... You dared not ask.

The very first visitor was a neighbour from just down the road. “Jacquie,” she had informed you over the noise of her four kids running around the yard, “How do you do?”

She said it with the barest hint of a southern drawl and you instantly fell in love with the soft cadence of her voice. With a beaming smile and a surreptitious wipe of your dusty hand on your pant leg, you shook her hand and introduced yourself. 

A short time later, the most devastatingly handsome, all-American-looking man you had ever seen climbed out of a tractor and started carrying a large object towards the house, Cole at his heels. 

“Jac, babe, where d’you want her?” He called, voice straining a bit due to the weight in his arms. Smiling at you, he nodded his head in greeting, "Hiya, neighbour! The name’s Mark"

“Oh, I don’t need it,” Jacquie replied airily “I just wanted an excuse to watch your muscles at work.”

With a roll of his eyes, that did nothing to hide the adoring sparkle in them, her husband carried his load to the side of the house and with a thump, set it down.

Turns out that Jacquie had a fondness for naming EVERYTHING and Gerta was their gas-powered generator. Claiming they had no use for it, Gerta was yours to keep for as long as you needed her. Which, you had to be honest, was looking like a good long while. Willing away the tears, not for the last time you were sure, brought on by her kindness, you settled for giving her a bear hug. It wasn’t until you heard a little voice calling “Mama?” that you realized you had been clinging to Jacquie for longer than could ever be considered acceptable.

Pulling away gingerly, you started to apologize, quickly stopped by her hand coming up in front of your face, making you involuntarily flinch. 

“Oh, honey, I’m sorry!” She started to exclaim before taking a deeper look at you. Then, without breaking eye contact, she tilted her head to the side and hollered at Mark to gather the kids and head home.

“I’ll be back past bedtime, so come give me y’all kisses now!” She lovingly bossed her brood.

Once they had cleared out, she turned to you, gently taking your hands in hers, and said, “Now, where do you want to start?”

“What kind of voodoo, witch doctor, hippy-dippy magic do you possess?!” you asked with a laugh while sniffing back the lingering tears. 

You had just laid out your entire life to a complete stranger. She had sat there, the whole time, holding your hands and your gaze while you had talked. Everything, you had told her absolutely everything. From the California upbringing in an affluential family to marrying your Highschool Sweetheart days after graduation. The sudden move, his surprise enlistment, his changing demeanor, the beginnings of abuse, all ending with his death while stationed overseas.

The pathetic Death Gratuity from the military barely covered the truck. You’d had to sell everything in order to settle all remaining debts. Your parents had offered to move you back home but the thought just made you ashamed. Moving back home? Being seen as a victim, being pitied by those who had seen your potential wasted? No way.

“Nothin’ supernatural, Darlin,” she assured you, after taking a deep breath to steady herself. It appeared that your emotions had started to affect her as well, you noticed with chagrin. “just the power of a good friend and a strong cider.”

Then came the aftermath. The debt collectors, the funeral without a body, his family claiming anything of value and you meekly allowing it, unaccustomed by that point to standing up for yourself. His grooming of you had started so early, and so slightly, that no one had seen it happen. He had controlled every aspect of your lives; it had made you feel like a fool during that first month as a widow. How could you not know about the multiple maxed-out credit cards? The ignored truck payments? The bank loans?! 

That comment made you look around and laugh, breaking the morose atmosphere in a flash. Scattered around the two of you were at least a half dozen bottles of the alcoholic beverage, which you had both sipped on during your sad monologue.

“Ahh, so it’s the maker of the drink I’ll have to kiss,” you proclaimed with a laugh. “I just saved a fortune in therapy bills!”

With a sly smile, Jacquie nodded, “That you will, send him my best when you do.”

Part Two

[strangesmallbard]

okay in honor of #canonthasminday here’s a ficlet i wrote in 2018 that never found a home in any of my other wips!

**

In the very beginning, it’s like this:

Yaz’s world tilts in orbit until it ricochets off the nearest universe and spirals over itself in the vacuum, and the Doctor picks out yellow suspenders. Yellow! Her coat is a long, old thing with a rainbow shoelace haphazardly sewn into the inner seam. It costs a whopping four and a half pounds. When she’s paying up front, the Doctor tries on sunglasses and asks a very amused Ryan if “they suit her. Ryan, remember, I’m both two thousand and eleven hours old. I’m not going to have good taste until approximately hour twenty four, and that depends on who you're asking. Don’t ask River.”

“Who’s River?”

“Don’t quite know yet, actually. I’ll get back to you on that in a jiff. Jiffy? Hang on—“

Yaz doesn’t know she’s staring until the poor cashier clears his throat. Twice. She feels the smile etched on her face and fails miserably at putting it down. She’s not sure why she wants to put it down.

“C’mon you both,” she calls over. “If you can hot-wire me lunch with that fancy screwdriver, Doctor, I’ll say it’s even.” The cashier stares. In lieu of any reasonable explanation, she puts a quid into the tip jar.

The Doctor switches out the nice sunglasses for a wire-rimmed monstrosity lined with fabric white petals. She peers into the tiny mirror on the counter. “Can’t do lunch yet. Maybe dinner!” She stares ahead, brow turning down. “Dinner tomorrow. Relatively speaking, anyway, how about these? My last body, he wore a pair for a little bit.” She gives an approximation of jazz hands. “Sonic sunglasses! Thought himself—herself—myself rather an innovator for it.”

“I think it suits,” Ryan says, corner of his lip turning up. She’s not sure she’s seen him smile since his Gran died. She wonders if the Doctor is being silly on purpose. “Very hippie, yeah? Could be you.”

The Doctor’s face lights up. Yaz’s stomach does an orbit too fast. “Always liked a good flower.”

Yaz claps her hand on Ryan’s shoulder. “Maybe we should—“

“You know on Planet....” Her face scrunches up, and she puts a hand on her hips, tucks a heel up. “For such a big brain, mine really won’t go at the moment. Can’t even remember the planet Achanova where—There we go!“ She points at Yaz. “See, I’ve never been better! Fresh as a daisy!”

Yaz smiles again, incredulous. The orbit goes again, wanting to knock her off her feet, wanting her to run and keep running. She looks at Ryan, whose head is turned out the window, somewhere far away. The orbit abruptly stops.

The Doctor notices. She gives Ryan a pensive stare, quite suddenly older around the eyes .

“Lunch could be good,” she says, a bit softer. “It’s good to keep some food down right now. Never know when you’ll need that energy boost.”

Ryan stares, still somewhere else until he smiles again. Just a small one. “You know, Doctor, I think that’s a piecing store across the street. I‘ve got another idea if you’re willing to listen.”

“Oh brother,” Yaz mutters, relieved.

The Doctor glances at her for a moment, eyes affixed to Yaz’s face like it holds an answer to a question she hasn’t asked. Her smile grows back, slowly. It scrunches a bit at the nose. “A piercing shop! Brilliant idea, Mr. Sinclair. Alright, group. Possé?”

Ryan shakes his head vigorously. Yaz wrinkles her nose, still smiling.

“Lunch first, though. No piercings on an empty stomach! Or brand-new stomachs, in my case. Oof, wish I knew what I liked, that’d be helpful, but you can’t go wrong at a chippy.” The Doctor starts off, and then wheels back around. “Yasmin Khan! Yaz to your friends. You seem like you’d know a good chippy. Good things, that’s your vibe! Oh, I say vibe now. Don’t know if I like that.”

As they pass through the charity shop doors, the setting sun gives the Doctor’s hair an odd glow. Yaz’s head is swimming with questions, but mostly she just wants to laugh like their world can only glow brighter still. “Make a left at the corner. You can’t miss it.”

[theres-an-impulstor-among-us]

So, I know you made a post about Martyn's comment about Grian having Stockholm Syndrome, but I feel like there's a lot of angst potential. Maybe something about Martyn and Skizzle trying to convince Grian to join them, but Grian refusing to even leave Scar's side of they kill him.

i feel like this one kinda accidentally became Grian’s villain origin story but ngl i’m not complaining

…

Martyn and Skizz are walking together through the forest, on their way to the desert to do some surveillance. They’re just walking up the hill near the edge of the forest when a random thought occurs to the latter. “Hey, what’s that thing where you, like, get close to your captor?”

“Huh? Oh, uh… Stockholm Syndrome, isn’t it?” Martyn responds.

“Yeah, that’s it. Stockholm Syndrome.”

“What made you think of it?”

Skizz shrugs. “I dunno, I was just thinking about Grian and why he doesn’t seem to be eager to leave Scar anymore.”

Martyn shoots him a sideways look. “You think he’s got Stockholm Syndrome? Huh. Honestly, I think you might have something there. I’ve known Grian for a long time and I know for a fact that hates people telling him what to do.”

“I really wanna save him, dude,” Skizz says. “I hate the idea of him having to slave away under Scar for even another day.”

“I do too,” agrees Martyn. “But I don’t think we can-.”

“My ears are burning,” comes a familiar voice.

The two look sharply up to find Grian himself sitting on a high branch in the tree directly in front of them, right at the top of the hill.

“Eavesdropping again?” Martyn demands. “How much did you hear?”

“Just something about slaving away under Scar. That’s how I knew you were talking about me. Not nice to talk about someone behind their back.”

Skizz and Martyn both frown. There’s something different about Grian today; he’s not his usual self. It’s worrying particularly to Martyn, who’s known him for a very long time.

“Grian, we need to talk to you,” says Martyn. “About Scar.”

“Uh huh.” Grian hops down from the tree and dusts off his hands. “You’re not gonna kill me, are you? Oh, no, wait: neither of you can. Martyn cuz you’re green and Skizz because you’re spineless.”

Skizz blanches. “Wh-What the hell?! That came out of left field!”

Martyn steps towards Grian, carefully making eye contact with his old friend. “Grian, this isn’t you. Scar’s red life energy is corrupting you, turning into something you’re not. It’s not healthy.”

“Healthy?” Grian tips his head on one side. “Huh. That’s one way of looking at it.”

Martyn pushes on: ���We can help you leave him. Either we can take your first life or we can help you escape him.”

“We can keep you safe,” Skizz adds, pushing aside his hurt feelings over Grian’s prior comment. “If you’re worried about what he might do to you.”

“You think I wanna LEAVE?” Grian scoffs.

Martyn and Skizz exchange a look. “What do you mean?” asks the former slowly.

“Scar is my excuse to kill people,” Grian responds. “That goes away if I leave him.”

“Yeah, you’ve already killed at least five people, including me,” Skizz responds. “Are you really sure you wanna keep going?”

A grin slowly appears on Grian’s face as he grabs a block of TNT and lights it. “Let’s find out.”

“Skizz, move!” Martyn yells in a panic.

The two simultaneously spin round and take off running but the TNT quickly explodes behind them, the force sending them both tumbling off the top of the hill.

Martyn groans as he pushes himself up, his whole body aching from the rough landing. His left ankle, which he felt himself land heavily on, throbs. He glances warily around him and finds Skizz lying on his side a few blocks to his left, unconscious.

As Martyn crawls over to him to check on him, he spots a figure emerging from the trees. His breath catches in his throat as he registers Grian slowly and dangerously coming towards them, a flint and steel clearly in his hand.

“Grian, get away,” Martyn snaps, unable to hide the fearful shake in his voice. He moves awkwardly in front of Skizz, protecting him from Grian. “Get away from us.”

“Killing Skizzle will be delicious,” says Grian, grinning maliciously. “His last life. I wonder what it’ll feel like to take a red life? To know that the person I’ve killed will not respawn?”

“Don’t you dare!” growls Martyn. “Kill me if you want but don’t hurt him.”

“Martyn, Martyn, Martyn…” Grian shakes his head in mock disappointment. “You keep doing this. Every time you swear you don’t care about people, every time you swear you won’t get attached to anyone else, you do. Would you really sacrifice one of your lives for him, Martyn? Someone you’ve only known a few weeks?”

“Skizz has proven himself a generous and loyal ally,” Martyn replies steadily. “He’s shown himself to be perfectly willing to sacrifice his last life for us so I’m willing to sacrifice my first for him.”

Grian shrugs. “Okay, that can be arranged.”

As he steps closer, Martyn pushes himself to his feet, holding his left foot gingerly off the ground. “Please, Grian, don’t. You don’t have to let yourself get corrupted by Scar any longer.”

“Corrupted?” snorts Grian. “That’s cute.”

“Seriously, you’re suffering from Stockholm Syndrome. You don’t-.”

Grian laughs loudly, interrupting Martyn. “Stockholm Syndrome?! You really don’t get it, do you, Martyn? Scar is useless on his own. You think he would’ve been able to do HALF the damage I’ve done? If it weren’t for me, he’d have lost his red life about half an hour after his second. I’m the one keeping him alive; not because I care about him but because he’s my excuse to kill people as a green lifer. I have the highest body count on the whole server and I’m still green. Martyn…”

He moves closer to Martyn and grips his shoulder almost painfully, a terrifying smile on his face. “I’m the mastermind. Scar thinks he’s in charge and that’s what ties this whole arrangement together so neatly. Everyone focuses on Scar because he’s the red lifer and oh poor innocent Grian is stuck doing everything he says. Nobody EVER suspects that I’m anything more than just Scar’s puppet.”

“He’s yours,” says Martyn quietly. “Isn’t he? He’s just your puppet.”

“He is. But I can tell you’re trying to stall. Don’t worry, it’ll all be over soon.” Grian takes hold of Martyn’s other shoulder, trapping him on the spot. “But I don’t want to kill my old friend, no matter how much you beg me. Not yet, anyway.”

Before Martyn can react, Grian shoves him roughly aside. His ankle rolls again as he hits the ground, causing more pain to explode up his leg. “No!” he yells, as he spots Grian advancing on a semi-conscious Skizz. “Grian, don’t!”

Skizz tries to get away from Grian but the green lifer draws his sword and presses the point against his chest, forcing him to stay still. He stares into Grian’s eyes and sees nothing but evil in them. “Grian, please…! Please, don’t!”

“It’s either you or Martyn,” responds Grian. “You pick.”

Skizz meets Martyn’s gaze, and Martyn knows immediately what he’s going to say.

“O-Okay,” Skizz whispers, tipping his head back in defeat. “Kill me and leave Martyn alone.”

“NO!”

But as Grian raises his sword, a battle cry echoes through the trees and seconds later, three figures burst out of the forest: Ren, BigB, and Etho.

Grian scrambles back in shock as they charge towards him, before turning and fleeing back into the trees. BigB and Etho pursue him but Ren stays behind to drop down at Martyn’s side. “Thank god we got here in time! Are you two okay?”

“Apart from my ankle, I’m fine,” says Martyn, letting out a sigh of relief. “Skizz?”

“I-I think I’m okay,” Skizz responds, pressing his hand against his forehead. “But my head hurts.”

Martyn frowns sympathetically. “You were out for several minutes so you probably have a concussion.”

“Let’s get you two back to Dogwarts to rest,” says Ren kindly.

But just as Ren moves to help Martyn up, a notification flashes up on their communicators.

Bigbst4tz2 was slain by Grian

Ren lets out a low growl. “That’s it. Those filthy desert hippies have gone too far.”

“No, Ren,” Martyn says. “It’s not them; it’s just Grian. He’s the one who orchestrated all this. If you hadn’t turned up, he’d have killed both of us. He’s the real threat, not Scar. Not even Scott and Jimmy. They all do what Grian says; he’s got them all in his pocket. He’s…” He pauses, recalling Grian’s words with a shiver. “He’s the mastermind.”

Ren gazes at him for a moment. “Okay, it seems we have some things to discuss when we get back to Dogwarts. But for now, I need you two to head home while I help Etho and BigB.”

“Yes, boss,” says Martyn. “But I-I may need some help; I’m not sure if I can walk at the moment.”

Skizz sluggishly stands up and makes his way over to Martyn, whom he helps to his feet. He then lifts Martyn’s arm over his shoulder, supporting him. “I got you, buddy,” he says gently. “I got you.”

Martyn lets out another quiet sigh. He still can’t believe he and his friend are both alive and relatively unharmed, but he’s unspeakably grateful for it nonetheless.

“Thank you.”

[goldenraeofsun]

PO Box 8921

“What is that?” Dean demands as Sam dumps a duffel bag full of mail out on the war table.

Cas looks up from his tome on Babylonian chaos magic or Shang dynasty dragon taming or whatever he’s moved onto now. All Dean knows is that the book smells like rotting flowers and mouse shit, so he banished Cas to the other end of the war table.

“Fan mail,” Sam says.

Cas sets down his book and walks closer.

Dean throws Sam a baffled look. “Why the hell are we getting fan mail?”

“It’s more like we’re getting Chuck’s fan mail,” Sam says sheepishly.

“Explain. Now.”

Cas picks up a letter curiously.

Sam sighs. “The last time Charlie was here, we hacked Flying Wiccan Press - Chuck’s old publisher - and we redirected his mail and royalty checks to a local PO box. I figured if anyone deserves money off those books, it’s us.”

“I thought his books tanked,” Dean says flatly.

Sam scowls. “It had a resurgence after the angels came into the picture,” he says with a sidelong look at Cas, who’s apparently absorbed in reading a note from Vancouver, British Columbia.

“Seriously?”

Sam shrugs. “They’re very compelling, apparently. I’ve been checking it every very few months, but two days ago I got a call saying they were running out of space.”

“Why?” Dean picks up a large flat envelope and rips it open. “What the…?” he murmurs. He slides out a matte illustration of the Impala driving down a nameless highway, golden swaying wheat fields bracketing both sides of the road, a fading sunset illuminating the horizon. His mouth falls open.

Sam takes a seat and pulls Dean’s laptop towards him.

“I was doing research,” Dean says quickly as Sam flips it open.

Sam takes one look at the screen, grimacing, before he clicks the mouse forcefully. “Really, Dean?” he gripes. “Cas was right there.”

Dean raises his eyebrows, smirking. “Exactly. I needed to know if he thought-”

“No,” Sam says, horrified. “I do not want to know.”

“You asked about the research.”

Sam’s does a full-body recoil. “That was not what I meant and you know it.”

Dean chuckles. He sets aside the beautiful painting of his baby (that one’s going in the Dean Cave for sure) and picks up the next package of similar size and weight. He eagerly tears off the top and pulls out the contents. It takes him a second, but the trenchcoat slipping off the figure’s shoulders is a dead giveaway.

“Hey!” Dean says, spinning it around to show to Cas. “I think it’s supposed to be you.”

Cas looks up from another letter - this one from Wellington, OH - and tilts his head. “My wings aren’t rainbow colored. They’re actually a color not perceptible by human eyes - maybe by some genetically mutant shrimp -”

Dean laughs. “You don’t have an eight pack either. It’s all artistic license, baby.”

“Aha!” Sam says, spinning the computer around, the porn tabs banished to the void of Dean’s browser history. “The fans reached a milestone last week.”

“What mile-” Dean cuts himself off as another illustration slips out behind the one of Cas. It flutters to the table.

“Is that of us?” Cas asks curiously, reaching for it. He holds it up.

“No way,” Dean says vehemently as he shuffles around to stare at it over Cas’s shoulder.

“Probably,” Sam pipes up.

Dean glares over at him. “How do you know that, Samantha?”

“That milestone?” Sam says, his face an odd mix of smug and constipated. “There are a hundred thousand fan fiction stories, as of last Monday.”

Dean blinks. “Fan fiction?”

“Yeah, a lot of it.” Sam sets aside the laptop and reaches for a nearby letter in a robin’s egg blue envelope.

Dean takes a large step away from the pile of half-opened mail like it just started emitting Sam’s toxic post-Chipotle farts.

“Are we - are they - is it more Sam slash Dean?” Dean asks in a faint voice.

Sam smirks. “Not this time. Like I said,” he says as he scans his letter, “the readers really liked the angels.”

Dean makes a choked noise in the back of his throat. Do all these letters wax poetic about Cas? That’s a lot of people that have thought about his angel naked. And that doesn’t sit right with Dean. “Why?” he demands.

Sam throws him a sharp look. “Why not? Cas is our best friend. He’s a good dude.”

Dean glances to Cas for reassurance, who shrugs as if to say he doesn’t understand it any more than he does.

“So they, like, have a thing for angels?” Dean asks haltingly. “An angel kink?”

Cas scowls.

“Not all angels, just Cas,” Sam confirms. “Plus love interest.”

Dean shifts his weight to his other foot. “Right… you and Cas?” Dean ventures as Cas sighs loudly next to him.

Sam rolls his eyes and pushes a letter towards Dean. “No, not me and Cas, jerk.”

Dean picks it up tentatively. He really can’t handle reading about a fictional version of himself banging Cas, but before he can flip the letter open, Cas nudges him with his elbow. “Sam’s right. This one is obviously of us,” he says, tilting the drawing so Dean can get a full view.

It takes a moment for Dean to get what he’s seeing. Everyone in the illustration is fully clothed, first of all. It shows a darkened, windowless room. An outsized television illuminates the three figures watching an episode of Scooby Doo. One of the men is sprawled out on a recliner, Sam’s long, hippie hair a dead giveaway. Another man is asleep in the second recliner, covered in a draped trenchcoat - Cas? No, there's a third guy standing above the second, his elbows braced on the back of the recliner, his fingers tangled in Dean’s hair as Dean sleeps on.

“This is very sweet,” Cas rumbles.

Dean picks up the letter Sam handed him, his face flaming. “Unrealistic,” he grunts.

“Really,” Sam says flatly as he reaches for the illustration. He whistles as he takes it in. “Nice light composition. And what are you talking about? We watched Scooby Doo like three days ago in the Dean Cave.”

“I’d never fall asleep in front of the TV,” Dean says scornfully. “That’s a disgrace to Scoob.”

Cas makes a noise that Dean hopes is a cough, but judging by Sam’s smirk was probably more of a snort.

Dean flips open the letter, and, to his surprise, it doesn’t start with contrived porn dialogue.

Dear Mr. Edlund,

I’ve been a follower of your work for many years, and I have admired and rooted for Team Free Will, especially for Dean and Castiel’s relationship. Despite all the pain, despite destiny itself working against them, they found each other and created something that resonated with thousands of people. They truly have a profound bond that transcends every barrier imaginable, and it gives me hope.

Dumbfounded, Dean reads on, shutting out Sam and Cas completely.

He swallows thickly as he sets the letter down.

“Dean?” Cas asks, concerned. “Are you alright?”

Sam drops his joking expression. “You good?”

Dean nods.

“No matter how your story started out,” Sam says slowly, “you won. And it seems like you did a lot of good along the way.” He gestures to the pile. “More than just saving people from monsters.”

Cas lays a hand on Dean’s shoulder and squeezes. “Apparently I am a gay icon now,” he says, his face completely serious.

Dean cracks up. Wiping at his eyes, he grabs another letter at random. “We’d better get going on the rest of these. The faster we read ’em, the faster Sam can reply.”

Sam’s face falls. “Wait, no-”

[lis-likes-fics]

Second Chances (Ending 1)

Pairing: Carlisle Cullen x Reader Warnings: Mention of death? Sorrow? Idk, what for the second ending. Author’s Note: I got bored and wanted to write something, so, here you go. Prompt comes from @maxkirin​. Thanks! :)

~~~~~

"Hey, promise me. Promise me you'll move on."

"You know I can't do that."

"Say you love me. Can you do that, please?"

"You'll get to hear it forever."

"Carlisle, I love yo-"

...

...

...

Three years.

It had been three years since he lost her.

Carlisle tried to move on, he did. Losing her was the hardest thing he ever had to experience in his very long life.

His family supported him, they tried to help anyway they could. They were the only reason he was still holding on, they needed him so he would be there for him.

But it wasn't enough to keep him alive. Even his new granddaughter, Renesmee could only bring so much light into his life. Everyone knew of who he lost, everyone knew why the excellent doctor of the town wasn't as radiant as he used to be.

But no one would understand his loss. No one would understand his pain. Even Jasper, who could feel it.

Even now as he drove to work, using the same route he did everyday, he missed her with all of his being. He couldn't help the emptiness that threatened to seep into his skin again as he thought about the times she decided to join him on his way to work. She would claim its "on the way", but she just wanted to spend the morning with him before turning around and heading the complete opposite way to get to her workplace.

He felt like a small smile was supposed to be threatening to creep onto his face, but all he felt like doing was crying at the memory.

All he had to do was tell her that he loved her too. But he didn't, he didn't even get to say that to her before she was gone.

He sucked in a deep breath to try and calm his nerves, his eyes scanning through his windshield, glancing over at the trees surrounding the road he drove on alone. His eyes caught onto a strange sign peaking out of the trees. He'd driven down this road hundreds-- thousands of times, and he'd never seen that sign there. He looked closely at it:

"For Sale: Second Chances"

He blinked at it, his brows twitching. Before he could pass the sign, he turned into the strange natural path the sign stood next to, driving into the trees and parking his car. He stepped out, looking down the path.

Carlisle narrowed his eyes, tapping into his hearing to see if he could get a clue as to what this was. He sighed and started walking down the path, extra careful of his surroundings to make sure there wasn't some threat lurking in the shadows.

After walking for a few minutes, he came up on a small shack. There was an open sign hanging on the door spray painted on a piece of wood. The windows were slightly dimmed, but he could see through just fine. There were shelves with empty and filled jars, little boxes, and much more.

He lingered at the door for a moment before opening it and stepping inside. He look around the slightly dusty place with curiosity. What was this place? The items on shelves and sitting on the floor along the walls were strange, but they seemed mundane enough.

"Hello?" He called, filling the silence with his smooth, velvety voice.

An lady peaked her head from a door behind the counter with a smile. She seemed to be in her early forties. She wore a hippie dress, a scarf tied around her head, her lips glossed. Her hair was white, but her skin was a rich, youthful brown. She wore gold hoop earrings, and her hands were decorated with rings. There was an excessive amount of necklaces hanging from her throat, but it somehow worked.

But it was her eyes that caught Carlisle's attention. They held an antiquity to them, like she was older than she looked. But she wasn't a vampire, he knew this.

The woman gave a warm smile, a kind of radiance in it, "Hello, how may I help you?"

He formed the question in his head before saying it out loud, "Who are you?"

She shrugged, her smile never faltering, "Just a shopkeep. Did you come in for our sale?"

Carlisle thought again, he was still confused and curious about everything, so he didn't exactly know how to answer, even with a mind as quick as his. "What is the sale?"

"Our Second Chance Sale," she shopkeep said, tilting her head politely.

"What is that?"

"Exactly what it sounds like. A second chance. Is that what you are in search of? A second chance?" She asked, fluttering her lashes, folding her hands together in question.

He hesitated, "A second chance at what?"

"You tell me, dear," she shrugged, "What is it you wish to fix?"

There was only one thing that came to mind, one thing that was always on his mind every second of every day. He would trade in his life to make things right. But this could easily just be some cruel joke.

But, if it was, the worse that could come of it would be the painful thought that he could have made things right but didn't.

He gave a nod, "I would save her."

She smiled again, holding her hand out to him, "Give me your hand."

Again, he was hesitant. He didn't know what to trust about this. In fact, he should have just gone to work and avoided the contact at all, but he hadn't. He felt a strange pull to this place, to something within it. Some feeling.

He handed her his hand, laying it in her palm as he held his breath. She looked down at it, flipping it over in his hand to reveal his palm. She looked closely at it for a while, as if seeing something more in the lines and creases than just lines and creases.

She nodded, grabbing a jar off the counter and opening it without breaking eye contact with his palm. She took a handful of the contents of the jar, the unknown powder being sprinkled in his hand and then the excess powder being discarded on the floor with little to no thought from the woman.

Carlisle watched the shopkeep worked as she closed his hand over the strange powder, kneading his fingers into his palm firmly. When she opened his hand again, the powder had completely disappeared. She looked back up at Carlisle and said, "In a few moments, your second chance will present itself to you."

Carlisle spoke, "What is the cost?"

She shrugged, "Whatever comes of it. If you succeed, the cost is your pain. It will disappear and you shall be happy again. However if you fail, the cost is your happiness. It will never be seen again."

Carlisle gave a solemn look, understanding with each second the graveness of the situation. This wasn't just for her, this was for him. He couldn't fail, he couldn't.

She gave him a stern nod before speaking in a firm voice, "Go."

~

Carlisle's eyes focused on the newspaper in his hands, sat in his home by himself. His children were out hunting, he had stayed back. He looked around, confused and surprised. What had happened?

All he remembered was the shopkeep, how did he end up here?

His phone rang during his quest to understand what was going on. He looked at it and picked it up. 'Alice'

He breathed in deeply before picking up the phone and bringing it to his ear, "Alice?"

Her voice was frantic, disturbed, as she spoke, "Carlisle? Y/N's in danger. She's going to be taken by Victoria."

Carlisle was suddenly hyperaware of everything. Those were the words Alice said to him when he called her that night. This was her second chance.

"How long do I have?" He questioned quickly, already in his car in the garage as he rushed out of the drive.

There was a beat of silence before she answered, "About five minutes. They're at the treaty line."

"Meet us there," Carlisle had no time to elaborate as he hung up, throwing his phone to the seat next to him and rushing to her. He already knew where she was. He'd lived it before. He would not live through what came after again.

He wasted no time in stopping the car with the screech of the wheels against the ground, getting out in no time and seeing the redhead standing with the love of his life. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of her. He hadn't seen her in so long.

"Y/N," he breathed. If he were capable of it, tears would have sprang to his eyes.

Victoria growled, "It's not as good as Bella, but I'll get to her in time." She was inching over to the edge of the line, closer and closer to the small trench where the river divided the territory.

Carlisle spoke in a demanding voice, "Stop this, Victoria! You won't hurt her."

She redhead sneered, "And why is that?"

"I won't let you, not this time," he muttered the last part mostly to himself. He had his hands held out in front of him.

Y/N looked at him only, her eyes flooded with tears, "Carlisle."

He looked at her, a burning in his throat from sorrow and not hunger. He just needed to save her. "It's okay, my love. You'll be okay."

Victoria yanked her back again, closer towards the edge where she threatened to drop her. Carlisle turned back to Victoria, fury in his eyes that seemed so unnatural on him. She taunted, "Might as well say goodbye."

"Not today," he told her, his tone of voice also sounding foreign on him.

"You made the mistake of keeping her human," Victoria laughed wickedly.

"Hey," Y/N said softly, "Carlisle, look at me."

He did, he would always have his eyes on her as much as he possibly could, especially after losing her for so long. This was his second chance, he would not mess this up.

She, on the other hand, wasn't so confident in making it out alive. She swallowed hard, tears staining her face, "Hey, promise me. Promise me you'll move on."

The words hurt him, they cut like a knife as he heard them again. He would not lose her, he couldn't. Not again.

"I don't have to," he told her just as gently.

She looked him in the eyes with a deepness that touched his soul. How he missed her eyes. "Say you love me. Can you do that, please?"

He nodded, he could do that. "I love you, Y/N," he told her. He hadn't told her this last time. He should have.

She smiled, "I love you, Carlisle."

Carlisle's eyes widened as he reached out as things seemed to move in slow motion, even for him. Victoria scoffed and shifted, moving to throw Y/N over the edge and over where the river was. That's how she died the first time. She'd hit her head on one of the sharp rocks by the river.

But that wouldn't happen again.

Carlisle did something this time that he hadn't done before. He relied on his family for help.

Jasper, at the speed of light, lunged forward and caught Y/N in his arms. He held her close, shielding her head by tucking it in his chest as he curled around her. He fell to the dirt ground, cushioning her fall with his body.

The other siblings appeared from the trees, in hot pursuit of Victoria as she darted the other way for her grand getaway. They ran after her, save for Jasper and Carlisle, who were still with Y/N.

Jasper pulled away from Y/N and Carlisle was by her side in no time, looking over her quickly to make sure she was okay. "Are you alright? Are you hurt anywhere? Do you need help?" He drowned her in questions as he looked her over three hundred times.

Y/N nodded, "Carlisle, I'm fine." She smiled widely, throwing herself in his arms. Carlisle froze for a moment, but not long enough for her to register. She had her arms thrown around her in a flash, holding her a little too tight, afraid that if he let go, it would all end up being some dream.

Tears would have stained his face as well if they were able to. He brought her close, inhaling the scent he missed with all of his being, feeling the body he missed holding. When he allowed himself to pull back enough to see her, he was immediately lost in her eyes and in her smile. He never thought he would see her again, and here she was in his arms.

He captured her lips in his, a searing that rocked his world. It was like gravity didn't exist, like she was the only thing keeping him to the ground. He hadn't felt so free, so alive, in years. It felt like longer. Losing her was the most horrible experience he could ever have gone through.

Y/N was left breathless from the kiss. She giggled lightly, still clearly shaken, "I know you almost lost me, but that was something else. Are you okay?"

She laid a hand on his cheek, and he leaned into it, a smile on his face. His face contorted into a look that told her he was wanting to cry. One of his large, cold hands covered hers and held it to his face. "I missed you so much," he whispered, pulling her into another hug he couldn't resist.

"Missed me?" She wondered, confused by his choice of words.

He sighed contently, "I'll explain later. Right now, just...let me hold you."

She wrapped her arms back around him, holding him impossibly close, "Okay. I love you."

If his voice could crack, it would have there as he responded with so much sincerity that the whole world seemed to shake slightly from the truth in his words, "I love you, too. I love you so much, more than anything in this world."

She smiled, kissing his cheek and continuing to hold him.

His children came back, their looks tense and disappointed. Emmett spoke, quite angry from the news, "She got away, jumped over the treaty line."

Carlisle nodded, "I know." But he didn't care. He would later, though. Right now, he would hold the love of his life forever, he would never let her go again.

He got his second chance.

[silhouetteofacedar]

Fox Mulder, Closet Romantic Ch.7: Pink in the Night

Previous Chapter - AO3 - MSR, rated E

It’s dark, and Mulder doesn’t know where he is. He’s weightless, surrounded by softness, a comforting scent filling his nose.

He has a passing thought; have I returned to the womb?

He feels cozy and peaceful, and he senses hands swaddling him in a blanket, briefly passing over his hair.

He blinks his eyes open and sees a smudge that looks like Scully, wrapped up like a present in pink silk pajamas.

“Scull...” he mumbles. His tongue is so heavy.

“Shh,” the Scully-Shape hushes him. “You’re okay, I’m just tucking you in.”

“Wha time’s it,” he mumbles, dropping a foot to the floor.

“It’s almost midnight. No, don’t get up, you’re not going anywhere. Go back to sleep,” she says, the round welcoming cup of her voice filled to the brim with warmth and tenderness. “I left a nightlight on in the bathroom. Let me know if you need anything.”

She’s chamomile and pepper, his Scully. He should drink her up.

“Promise not to spill you,” he informs her, pulling the blanket tighter around his shoulders.

“Well, uh, thank you for that,” she says.

Mulder’s mind is churning sluggishly through sticky layers of memory. He remembers wine, their conversation, more wine...

“Scully,” he says as seriously as he can as the world tilts sideways.

“Yes, Mulder?”

“If he won’t, I will,” he declares, then lets his eyes fall closed.

She smoothes her hand over his forehead. “Sure you will,” she says, sounding tired.

He thinks he feels soft lips press against his temple, then everything dissolves back into nothingness.

Someone’s driving a stake through his skull.

Mulder opens his eyes slowly, a millimeter at a time, the morning sun pounding his headache deeper into his cranium. He’s on Scully’s couch, tangled with one of her blankets, a pillow smushed under his shoulder.

He rolls onto his side and sees that Scully left him a glass of water on the coffee table, along with two aspirin and a sleeve of saltines.

He hears the coffeemaker burbling, can smell the heady aroma. It’s too much for his senses to process; he wants to take out his brain and put it in a jar.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, mouth dry.

“Oh, you’re awake,” he hears Scully say. She leans over the back of the couch to look at him, wet tendrils of hair hanging down. “How’re you feeling?”

“I hate wine. And sunlight. And my mouth.”

Scully nods. “You’re extremely dehydrated,” she says. “Drink all your water, and then I’ll give you some coffee, alright?”

Mulder sits up carefully and groans. “How are you not horizontal right now?” he rasps, taking a tentative sip of water.

“Believe me, I don’t feel good either, but I’m more accustomed to wine than you are. That’s my saving grace,” she explains, sitting heavily at the table with a steaming mug. “Sunday is cancelled.”

“No mass today?” Mulder asks, gulping water. His stomach doesn’t appreciate it, but the rest of his body is grateful.

“It’s after eleven,” Scully informs him.

She’s wearing nothing but her fluffy bath robe…

“We need protein and carbohydrates,” Scully continues. “Once you find your sea-legs we should get breakfast. Have a few crackers before you take that aspirin,” she directs him. “Give your stomach a fighting chance.”

“Sure, Doc,” he says, gingerly tearing open the package. He carefully nibbles a cracker, crumbs cascading onto his lap.

“Do you want a shower? A lukewarm shower might help you feel better,” she suggests.

He’d prefer to just lie down and not move for a hundred years, but then he realizes that he gets to use her soap. “Sure,” he mumbles, munching another saltine.

“I’ll get you a towel,” she says, rising and heading down the hallway. “Also I have an unopened toothbrush you can use,” she calls out.

He’d be enjoying this attention from her a hell of a lot more if he weren’t massively hungover. You better appreciate this later, he tells himself.

-

This is technically not the first time he’s been naked in Scully’s apartment, but it is the first time he’s been naked in her domicile as the result of a social visit. The circumstances aren’t ideal, but he’ll call it progress anyway.

The water is both too warm and not warm enough, but the water pressure feels pretty damn good. He lathers up with her bar soap, some minty vanilla concoction that is both invigorating and sweet. He doesn’t know what exactly he’s smelling, and it’s almost too strong for his nose right now; but it’s a definite ingredient in the aroma blend that is Scully, so he finds the scent calming. Maybe he’ll ask her what kind of soap it is later.

He redresses in yesterday’s clothes, drags her comb through his wet hair, rubs a hand over his stubbled chin. He looks marginally better than he feels, at least.

He didn’t expect the night to go that way, ending with him falling asleep in a drunken stupor on her couch only to awake at midnight to her gentle ministrations as she made sure he was comfortable.

He feels like shit, but he also feels loved.

-

They go to a nearby cafe Scully likes, one that serves a lot of hippie food like egg white omelets and bran muffins.

She orders the same for both of them; scrambled eggs, plain wheat toast, turkey sausage, and fruit cups with lots of melon. She looks sleepy, her damp hair pulled back sloppily with a hair clip, errant locks tumbling out. She’s wearing her glasses and a big denim shirt he hasn’t seen on her in years. Seeing her like this is almost, almost worth the nausea and jackhammering headache.

“When was the last time you got drunk?” Mulder asks, nursing a cup of black coffee.

Scully has her chin in her palm. “I’ve learned to pace myself, so it’s been years; why?”

“You’re so good at it. The after part,” he clarifies.

“I’m a medical doctor, Mulder,” she reminds him. “Helping people recover is part of the training.” She takes a sip of ice water. “And I was pretty reckless in college.”

“Now that’s interesting,” Mulder says. “Go on.”

She shakes her head. “You’re in a weakened state, Mulder. You can’t handle that right now,” she replies, a smile playing at the corner of her mouth.

His stomach flips for a decidedly non-alcoholic reason.

“I remember last night, but some smaller details are fuzzy,” he says, rubbing his forehead. “Did I say anything particularly embarrassing?”

“Nothing more than the things you say sober,” she murmurs, picking up her coffee and smiling behind the mug.

There’s something about her today, and he can’t quite place what. She’s all business, guiding him through this nasty wine hangover, and yet there’s a playfulness about her. She’s hung over too and has bags under her eyes, but she seems… lighter. Happy?

She’s also staring at him.

“What?” Mulder asks.

“Why are you staring?” she asks.

“Because you’re staring at me,” he replies.

“I’m not-” Scully pauses as the waitress comes by and delivers their breakfasts. “I’m not staring,” she finishes, almost defensively. “I’m tired, and my eyes keep landing on you.”

“This is the stupidest discussion we’ve ever had,” Mulder points out, taking a cautious bite of egg. He sneaks another look at her, just because he can. She looks drowsy and disheveled and her bare face is sprinkled with freckles and oh shit he’s falling harder right now in this trendy little diner in Georgetown and-

He hears someone clear their throat behind him, and Scully’s eyes go wide.

“Dana?”

[221bshrlocked]

One Too Many

Pairing: Marcus Pike x Fem!Reader

Words: 1541

Warnings: Drinking. Awkward confessions. Spiraling thoughts. Cuddling.

Summary: Perhaps that last drink was one too many...

A/N: For @autumnleaves1991-blog Writer Wednesday Picture Prompt. I feel like I might just turn these prompts into little Pike oneshots. Sorry this was late I'm not myself lately for some reason. Let me know how I’m doing in the comments please and thank you. Add yourself to the taglist here.

"Are you kidding me?" You throw your cards on the table and relax back into the couch, taking a long sip from the beer can in front of you before standing up and pulling off your tank top. You shake your head as you add it on top of the pile of clothes you've been losing for the past couple of turns.

"Guess I underestimated you Pike," you lay back again and tilt your head to the side to rest it on the pillow behind you, watching as Marcus does everything in his power to avoid looking at your exposed skin.

"And I thought you'd be better at this," he replies as he mirrors you and shugs down the rest of his drink, all the while refusing to acknowledge how almost naked you are.

"Go on then, deal." You point at the cards as you lean forward again and push the beer cans aside.

"Maybe we should stop..." He collects the cards and sets them on the side of the table, barely meeting your eyes for a few seconds before he feigns checking his phone.

"What? You're not getting shy on me now, are you Pike?" You smile when he blushes underneath your scrutiny and huffs in irritation.

"N-no, we just had too many drinks, and I...and you look cold so-"

"I'm sitting in front of you in nothing but my bra and panties, and you're worried about me being cold? God, who are you?" You stand up and make your way to the fridge to bring out some more beer.

"No no, that's enough for you." Marcus runs behind you immediately and shuts the door to the fridge before filling up a glass of water and handing it to you.

"Wha-"

"Drink the damn water...please," Marcus whispers, and you frown at him as you drink the cold liquid. Marcus can't look away from the way your throat bobs up and down as you drink, and he almost moans when a few drops of water escape the corner of your mouth and roll down your neck. When you put the glass back on the counter and turn to him, you find the blush from earlier much darker. As you follow his line of sight, you smile to yourself and raise an eyebrow at his shameless staring.

"See something you like, Agent?" You tease him and try not to giggle when he drags his eyes away from you and apologizes for making you uncomfortable.

"You didn't make me uncomfortable. You never do. It's why I like you so goddamn much actually. You're always so kind to everyone, even when they don't deserve it. And you're really good at your job, and you make sure everyone knows how much you rely on them to do theirs even though you probably don't need any of us because you're smart and- and...ugh, now I probably made you uncomfortable. I- I can't help it, I'm sorry. You're just so perfect. Perfect and sweet and- and pretty."

Marcus doesn't know what to do other than stand still as you continue to lean into him. His breath hitches when he feels the palms of your hands on his cheeks, and he feels bad for not shaving earlier because the last thing he wants is to cause your soft hands discomfort. He's grown even quieter somehow and shuts his eyes as soon as he feels your thumb caressing his lower lip.

"And you have the most kissable lips I've ever seen. I've wanted to kiss them for so long..s-so long." Marcus thinks you're going to do it, and he prepares himself to feel your lips against his. But then you're pulling away from him and leaning back on the counter, whispering something beneath your breath and making Marcus open his eyes. He watches as you hug yourself and try to appear smaller, and when he stretches out his hand to try and bring you into his arms, you wriggle away from him and apologize.

"I'm s-sorry, I- I think I had one too many drinks. I should go and- oh god, what did I do?" You're talking to the floor, and Marcus finally realizes the power dynamic between the two of you. Before you spiral any further, Marcus walks around until he's standing in front of you. He takes hold of your shoulder and shakes you lightly to grab your attention.

"Sweetheart, I need you to listen to me. Can you do that?" He asks calmly and waits until you nod at him before he continues.

"Here's what's going to happen. I'm going to give you some change of clothes, and you're going to stay for the night. I'll take the couch, and you can take my room alright? There's a lock on it so you don't have to worry about-"

"I'd never think you'd do anything to me, Marcus." You cut him off suddenly and Marcus feels his heart skip a beat at how angry you sounded.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry. We can talk about all of this tomorrow morning, yeah? You're not in trouble sweetheart. You and I had too many drinks, and we need to discuss this with clearer heads. Does that sound like a plan?" He looks at you in a way that makes your stomach twist and you nod at him before you move across the living room. Ever the gentleman, he throws his suit jacket around you as he helps you walk to his bedroom and once you're inside, he hands you one of his pajamas and tells you to change into them. As you do, Marcus heads back to the kitchen, grabbing some Tylenol and a glass of water before returning to his room. He stops at the foot of the door when he sees you in his pajamas, gulping nervously and trying to calm himself as he approaches you.

"These are for when you wake up tomorrow. Do you need anything else?" He asks as he tucks you in, smiling when you shake your head and shut your eyes as you feel him brushing your hair aside.

"T-thank you." He barely hears your murmur and nods at you before standing up and heading out of the room.

"Good night sweetheart." Marcus calls out just as he shuts the door to his room and he clenches his fist on the knob when he hears you call after him in return.

"Good night Marcus."

He stands in the middle of his living room and looks around. Marcus begins to clean up shortly after when he realizes that there's no way he will get any rest tonight. He tried his hardest not to get attached to a colleague again but you were different. Just hearing you talk about him made his heart flutter and he hoped that it wasn't the beer talking. He wasn't sure what he'd do if you woke up tomorrow morning and told him that none of what you said was true.

So busy moving back and forth from the kitchen and the living room, Marcus didn't notice you coming up behind him and standing in the middle of the hallway. When he turns around and sees you standing there, he stops what he's doing and approaches you slowly.

"Everything okay? Do you need anything?"

"I- I don't want to be alone tonight." You break the silence and Marcus' breath hitches when he registers what you're asking of him.

"Sweetheart, I- I don't think I should- you've had a lot to drink and you probably need some space to-"

"Please," the soft whimper shakes Marcus to his core and he immediately nods before shutting off the lights and following you back into his room. You waste no time at all and slither back underneath the covers. Marcus grabs his sweatpants and moves to the bathroom to change. His nerves are eating him up, but he reminds himself that you needed him to be his usual self right now. Walking out in his white undershirt and sweatpants, Marcus moves around the bed and slips into the covers. As soon as he shuts off the nightstand lamp, you're crawling across the bed and into his arms, not bothering to say anything as you rest your hand on his chest and nuzzle into his side. It takes him a few seconds to collect his bearings before he wraps his arm around you and leans down to kiss your forehead.

"Is this okay sweetheart?" He asks and shuts his eyes when you somehow grow closer to him.

"Y-yes."

"Alright, sweet dreams baby." Marcus knows he shouldn't be calling you such intimate pet names but he can't hold himself back, not when you were touching him like he was yours. Like you were his. He doesn't have to wait for too long to hear your soft snores and against his better judgment, he turns on his side and faces you, immediately wrapping his other arm around your back to bring you into his chest.

Having you in his arms, with your hands fisting in the front of his shirt, makes Marcus realize that his previous efforts were all in vain.

He was already attached to you. And he hoped to god that the feeling was mutual.

Pedro Pascal (and any of his characters):

@pastel-0-princess @feelmyroarrrr @libbymouse @its--fandom--darling @spideysimpossiblegirl @princess76179 @cheekygeek05 @miraclesoflove @purple-mango @freeshavocadoooo @metalarmsandmanbuns @acthenerd @greeneyedblondie44 @cannedsoupsucks @purplepascal042 @talesfromtheguild @f0rever15elf @vibin-hippie @onesmokinbabe @leaiorganas @words-way-of-life @kideyz @lovesickmadsadpoet @niall7inches @rosiefridayrogersunday @tati-adventures @sleep-tight1 @itsfreeekinbats @cybergroupie @vibin-hippie @marsplsstop @mouthymandalorian @diogodxlot @janebby @juletheghoul @bii-aan-ckaa @nohartandsole @djjarins @lamelyssher @giselatropicana

[magalidragon]

dragon in a waterfall | a “bird on a wire” drabble

I don‘t know where this came from but I wrote it very fast at lunch. It is a missing piece to “bird on a wire” aka the Princess and Bodyguard fic. It is vaguely referenced in one of Dany’s thoughts in that fic. This is ANGST. Apologies for boo boos.

There was a ringing in her ears when she flicked her eyelids up, confused, wondering how come an alarm was going off-- shouldn't it be the middle of the night?  Was she sleeping this entire time?  Perhaps she was dreaming?

She tried to sit up, her chest aching, pressed on concrete, her evening gown torn from her shoulder and the skirt ripped in several layers around her knees and feet; she was really cold.  She never was cold; dragonblood, everyone joked, kept her running hot even if the frigid climes of the far North.  Except now she shivered, head to toe, her skin pebbled to gooseflesh.  The ringing was getting worse, when she tried to sit up, and she blinked again, her cheek scratched, and her side damp, like she'd landed in a puddle of water.

And she realized she was not dreaming.

Oh no, this was a nightmare.

"Jon!" she screamed, her throat vibrating from the exertion, the volume in her scream.  It came from her collapsed lungs, expanding them painfully, the horror at what had just happened settling into her memory, returning from the blacked out moment on the concrete.

She tried to stand up, but Barristan was grabbing her around hte middle, liftin gher bodily from the ground; her shoes were missing.  Her bare feet scrabbled on the cobblestones, unable to gain traction, her arms flailing, scratching at the bodyguard, refusing to listen to his commands.  Viserys was screaming for her, from the backseat of an SUV, before the door slammed on him, and she thought she heard her mother sobbing for her as well, and where was Rhaegar?  Did it even matter?

Nothing mattered.

None of her family mattered to her, because she had realized now what had happened, and why there was a damp spot on her side, and her body bruised and battered, and the chaos swarming them.  She could only see, tunnelvision, everything black on the edges of her sight, the figure lying in the center of the courtyard, blood pouring underneath him, Ser Arthur hovering over him, staunching bleeding with the shawl that had formerly been around her shoulders, and now was trying to keep blood in someone's body.

All she could see now was a hand, off to the side, fingers unmoving; fingers that had been in her palm only moments before, that had squeezed her hand deftly, when no one was looking, before she entered the Casterly Rock gardens for that evening's outdoor gala, to celebrate Rhaegar's coronation, while on a tour of the Westerlands.  It was never meant to be, it seemed someone was unhappy with that idea, and they'd decided to slip in under the guise of a waiter?  A driver?  Another bodyguard?  She did not know, nor did she care.

BEcause whoever it was had called her name and she turned, and then there was a shocking pain in her side and then she went flying on the ground, because Jon had lunged in front, throwing her behind him, and taken the hits instead.  At least, that's what she had envisioned in her mind, everything blurry and fuzzy, but it was making sense.

And he was lying there, dying on the stones, and she was somewhere else, ignoring Barristan as he tried to wrap a bandage around her, in the back of an SUV, while she clawed at the glass window, the door handle, screaming and desperate, not feeling anything but the need to get to him.

"Jon, Jon, Jon!" she repeated, delirious, screaming, her throat hoarse.  She spun on Barristan, trying to crawl over him, over Ser Gerold, who was barking at the chauffeur to get them to the pre-arranged hospital and ensure there was a full detail there.  "Let me out ! I'm fine!  Let me out! I need Jon!"

"Princess you're injured!"

"No I'm not!" she howled, evne though her hands were red, staining the inside of the SUV, and her head was swimming, everything staring to get fuzzy again.  Gerold was saying she was in shock, she had to stop, but she kicked at him when he moved to wrap her in a blanket, and continued to sob for Jon.

If he dies, I will die too, she thought, the last image before she passed out, of his face, before he'd pushed her, before everything went to the seven hells, when for a brief moment, they were a couple entering a party, to enjoy an evening, to dance, and maybe kiss under the stars.  His shy smile, tugging at the corners of his lips, the corners of his eyes crinkling, so very handsome in his black suit, and even with that wiggly little wire that came out of his ear and threaded down his neck and arm to the microphone in his hand.  She jokingly called it the Sea Snake.  She'd given it a name, after the famous Sea Snake himself, saying "Corlys must be with us today" when he had to wear it around her.

He had been smiling because she whispered to him that they were practicing for a real date, one day, and it had been joyful, but sad too, because they didn't know when or if or how they could ever have such a day.  A day where he was Jon and she was Dany, and they were just out having fun.  They were strangers in a bar, they met, and they went back to his place or hers, and then coffee the next morning.

It was easy to pretend, because she knew they couldn't have it the other way.

Not yet.

They were working their way there, they were going to try, one day, but not yet, because things were too new with Rhaegar as king and Viserys was sick and too many changes at once were too much for her family to handle.

And now it was all gone.

She was going to lose him, before she could ever really have him how she wanted.

Stolen kisses in alcoves, disappearing in crowded dance floors in illegal clubs, and running into the night from hidden passageways, with sometimes months in between each.  She lived in a constant state of missing him, aching for him, even when he was inches away from her, always there, her protective shadow.

He had his hair back that night, like he did on big events, to keep it from his face, and she'd joked in the car over-- it had just been them-- that he looked like an aging hippie.  He teased her that he thought he looked like a young intellecutal.  "You, an intellectual?" she joked, kissing his knuckles.  "The man who has comic books on his nightstand?  Hardly."

"I'll have you know those comics are pretty deep, talking about man's fight against nature and his own inner self."

"Jon, it's about a cartoon Night's Watch ranger."

"Exactly, he's fighting against his internal demons because why else would he join the NIght's Watch?"

"You did."

"Aye," he admitted.  He turned to her, and stole a quick kiss, only because the partition between them and the driver was up.  He whispered, earnest, squeezing her hand hard.  "And it brought me to you."

She brushed her hand over his cheek, regretfully sighing when the car came to a stop.  "Hold my hand before we go in?  Just for a moment?  We can be on a first date."

"Save me a dance," he murmured, kissing her again, chaste, breaking away quickly to step out of the car first, to run around and hold open the door, and she blinked back tears, and plastered her smile on, breaking her cheeks and forcing it back, so when she climbed out of the car, waving at the crowds that had gathered outside Casterly Rock to see the royal family and other assorted celebrities enter for the grand event, she would be envied and beloved.

Daenerys, Princess Royal, didn't everyone want to be her?  She was so beautiful, so famous, so lucky.  She could have anything she wanted-- a horse, cars, planes, a castle even, and she never had to work, never had to give up anything for it, because that's the type of life she could have.

And they never knew that the glow to her cheeks was from sobbing before they left the hotel, the shine in her eyes was unshed tears, and her heart was breaking, each and every single day.

The Dragon Queen, the tabloids called her, even if she was but a princess.

She dreamed now, a world that was not her own, and perhaps she was dead.  Was this the afterlife, have I been burned like my ancestors before me, she wondered, drifting through trees, the ground soundless under her bare feet.

And she emerged in a beautiful clearing, with waterfalls in a pool, crashing against stones, jagged and lurching upwards from the ground.  It was breathtaking, snowcapped mountains surrounding the valley, hiding it from anyone who dared to enter such a peaceful sanctum.  She smiled, her fingers dragging along some flowers bunched around the rocks near the pool-- blue winter roses.  They smelled so sweet, i twas like they were emerging from a wall of ice.

She tugged on one, and lifted it to her nose, inhaling the lovely aroma.

"They make me think of you."

Turning at his voice, she was not startled-- of cours ehe was here with her.  He approached slowly, not in the all black suit he'd been wearing or the black uniform he favored or even his clubbing attire of black leather and boots.  He was relaxed, just like her, barefoot and free, white button down and loose gray pants.  She noted she was in a white dress; are we getting married, she briefly wondered.

She let him take the flower from her fingers, reaching to tuck it into her hair, his hand dragging down her jaw and to her throat, his finertips alighting on her pulse.  "Jon," she gasped, hands upon his chest.  "Is this just a dream?"

"If it is a dream, then it is a good dream," he answered, lifting her lips to his, kissing against the backdrop of the falls.  She moaned softly, returning the kiss, and clutched at his shirt, desperate for it, praying it would never end.  Except it did, and he broke away, the side of his nose against hers, breaths mingling.  "Blue winter roses are strong and survive in the harshest of winters, like you do Dany.  My dragon."

She blinked away tears.  "Are we dead?"

"No."

"Then where are we?"

He glanced around, smiling and shrugged.  "Appears we are in the North...I remember this place.  I came here as a boy."

"It's beautiful."

"So are you."

She wanted to stay there forever; she knew it couldn't be.  "We could stay a thousand years," she said, watching his face, the happiness there and then the sadness, his gray eyes clouding over.  "No one would ever find us."

"We'd be pretty old."

THen we'd be pretty old, we could grow old together, you and I, away from it all.  She allowed him to embrace her, kissing her, and swallowing her up, the dream falling away, like water trickling through her fingers.

And she woke up, lying in a bed, harsh hospital lights on her, and a tube in her nose.  She was stiff, cold, awkward.  The linens were scratchy and they'd placed her in a gown.  She had an IV in her arm, which she ignored, turning and struggling, her strength returning.  An alarm beeped, like the ringing in her ears from after hte attack, and someone  yelled that the Princess was awake.  I have a name, she thought, her feet hitting the cold title floor.  She whipped off the oxygen tubing around her ears and nose, fighting at the IV line connected to a stand next to her.

A door burst open, her mother rushing in-- still in her deep plum evening gown-- with a doctor and a nurse and Barristan.  "Your Highness!" Barristan exclaimed.  "Please, the doctor did not want you moving."

"Daenerys, darling, please listen to them," her mother called, grabbing for her hand.  "You need to rest, you've been hurt!  Oh gods, please just stay put for once in your life, stop trying to run away!"

No!

"Jon!" she exclaimed, pushing at them.  "I need to see him!  Is he dead?"

Barristan shook his head and Rhaella pushed her towards the bed in the brief moment she paused, focusing on the old guard.  "No, he's in surgery, please, do not worry about..."

"I have to worry about him!" She knocked away a nurse who was moving for her IV, after the doctor said something about a sedative.  "Don't you drug me!  I am Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, Princess of the Seven Kingdoms, and I am the Dragon's Daughter and you will not stop me from seeing him!"  All the strength inside of her raged, fire flaring from her eyes and heaving in her chest.  She did not care.  "He is my Jon, he took a knife for me, and I will not be pushed aside like a simpering little girl!"

They didn't even tell her what had happened ot her; she guessed from the bandages wrapped around her middle, the ache there, that hte knife had swiped her, but not enough to do significant damage, as she could walk and talk.  They all stared at her, stunned, but she didn't care, pushing Barristan aside and struggling towards the door.

Rhaella drew her shoulders back, voice cold.  "Get her a chair, at least a robe, she will not be stopped."  She smirked.  "I know my daughter."

"But Your Highness," a doctor began, but silenced upon the glare Rhaella shot him. He nodded meekly and hurried out.

She collapsed into a wheelchair, head in her hands, and allowed htem to wrap her in a red robe that had bene in her hotel room last she remembered.  Time meant nothing to her; it could be days later, or hours, and she grabbed at Missandei-- her best friend of course had managed to get in-- when they went down the hall, seeing her urnning towards them from an open set of elevator doors.

Missandei cried, grabbing for her.  "Oh gods Dany!  I was so scared!  You're alright?"

"Jon was stabbed," she said hollowly.

Understanding, Missandei pushed away a nurse and took the chair, pushing her where they led, into an elevator, up a few flors, and down some hallways.  They pushed her into a room, dark, only lights from the operating suite it flanked, and she realized it was where the doctors and nurses scrubbed up before surgery.  She forced herself to her feet, grabbing the edge of hte window, staring at the activity going on in front of her.

Doctors and nurses flurried about the prone body on the table, bloodied materials tossed on the floor around their feet and tray tables at their elbows.  There were flashes of metallic objects as they worked, and monitors seemed to be hanging and standing everywhere, she couldn't focus on one or the other.  Some had lines going across them, numbers blinking and flashing.  Others magnified the activity going on on the table, all red and confusing.

There was something pulsing in the doctor's palm and she realized in shock it was his heart.  They were fixing his heart, stitching it together.

But that's my job.

That's my heart too.

"Is he going to be okay?" she croaked.

Someone said that he'd been stabbed seven times, one straight to the heart, and the doctors were doing all they could.  Her mother lightly touched her elbow, whispering.  "He did his job Dany.  I know you were close darling, but he did his job.  He protected you."

No we weren't just close. It seemed Barristan had realized that, even if her mother hadn't yet.  They would soon, because she wasn't going to stop.  She whispered, shaking her head.  "He saved me, Mother.  he didn't protect me, he saved me."  He saved me in all the ways you can be saved.  So many, many ways.

"We need to get you back to your bed," Barristan murmured.

She shook her head.  "No, no I am staying here.  I'm not leaving and when he's ou tof surgery, yo uwill bring me to his bedside."

"Dany," Rhaealla began.

She whirled on her mother, shouting.  "No!  No Mother, I love him, don't you get it?  He's not just my bodyguard, he is the love of my life and he's lying there on a table, bleeding for me!"  Her shoulders shook, the wails taking over her, and she released everything she'd been holding in, unable to take it, and fell into the chair, no longer able to speak, because she missed him and she hurt everywhere.

It was out, the secret was out.

Months and years of hiding, gone now, and she didn't care.

Time passed; she knew htey drugged her and she drifted away into a dreamless state, and came in and out, noticing that Rhaegar was there and then her mother, and she caught snippets of them saying Viserys had gone catatonic and was being taken back immediately to Summerhall for treatment.  She thought she heard Rhaegar say something about "if he pulls through we need to move him" and her mother saying that "it wasn't time for that."

She wanted to be out somewhere, in a club dancing, partying, and she wondered where Drogo wa shaving one of his latest raves and bashes.  It would be fun, she thought, tasting the alcohol on her tongue, her nose burning from smoke.  She came to again and this time there was no one in the room except Barristan, who ordinarily was her mother's guard, and for some reason was here with her.

"Barristan," she mumbled, blinking; her eyelids felt like there were weights on the lashes.

Barristan smiled and touched her hand, whispering.  "Princess."

Understanding, she tried to sit up, panicked.  "Jon, is Jon..."

"He's out of surgery.  Come Princess.  Before your brother finds out."  Barristan helped her from bed, into a wheelchair, and bundled again.  He took her from her room, in a fancy private suite, and said something to the other Kingsguard, so many of them flitting about, in their black suits with white shields on the lapels.

In another wing, in a smaller room, with a window looking from the hall into it, he pushed her towards a bed, where Jon was lying, his chest marred with bandages and tubing, arms locked down from wires and monitors.  There was a tube for oxygen around his nose, but no ventilator, and monitors beeping erratically around him.  Barristan leaned down, whispering.  "His heart rate has been...worrying.  It keeps dropping.  They needed to shock him twice."

Tears did not fall now.  She pushed herself forward, towards the bed, her limbs clumsy.  He was so still.  He was sleeping, but it was scary, because his skin was ashy and his cheeks gaunt-- had he always been so thin?  She traced his collarbone, where a few lines went into his skin, and along his pulse.  It thrummed under her touch.  There were dark bruises under his eyes and his dark curls were lank, pushed under his head and out of hte way.  She noted that his muscles were hidden under bandages, but he was strong, in so many ways, and he would recover.

He had to.

She touched his hand, sliding hers into it, and held tight.  It was limp against her.  "Jon please," she whispered, squeezing.  She leaned in, lips against his ear, begging.  "Please I need you.  I love you.  Come back to me."

Careful of everything, she crawled onto the bed next to him, her head beside his on the pillow, and she ignored Barristan trying to say that maynbe it wasn't good for her to be there, they should get her back to her room.  No, I'm not leaving. She kissed the corner of his mouth, sighing.  "Jon, come back to me, I love you, you can't leave me.  You're mine."

A monitor beeped.  She darted her eyes towards her, the heartrate increasing, and then steadying.  She knew it would.  He could hear her; he was in that clearing somewhere, waiting for her, and she closed her eyes, to fall asleep and go visit him there.

"Da....da..."

The raspy sound kept her from falling into that world, her eyes springing open.  "Jon?" she breathed, looking down at his face.

His eyelids fluttered, cracked lips trembling.  "Da...ny."

"Jon, oh gods Jon," she cried, kissing him, holding his face in her hands.  "It's me, I'm here."

His eyes opened, giving her a glimpse of the cool gray, and his lips pulled back, barely.  "Da-ny," he slurred.  "Love..."

"I love you, I know, don't talk.  Don't talk, I'm here."

They would deal with the repercussions later, the fallout from the attack, from everyone knowing.  Of course they knew now, because she thought she saw Arthur in the hallway which meant Rhaegar was nearby, and when her brother the King discovered that his sister the Princess, was in love with her bodyguard, it would have to end.  It would be too difficult to maintain impartiality, it would look wrong, and it could never happen.  He could not be her match, because she was the Princess of hte Seven Kingdoms and he was just Jon.

She didn't care right now.

It would fall out the way it would fall out.  They could deal with it then.

Right now, he was alive and in her arms, and that was how it should be.

[smileposting]

s4mweek day 2 - growth

[ao3 version]

[ahhh sorry this one’s late!! made some Last Minute Edits. also this is better read as a follow-up to secret, but it’s not a requirement]

“So… what’s with Putunia?” they ask, looking over Habit’s shoulder from where they stand in the kitchen. The girl in question is in the living room, scribbling on a pad of notebook paper at speeds that they suspect have gone undiscovered by scientists. The impact of her tackle-hugging them when she answered the door is still fresh, and they suspect it'll leave a bit of a bruise, but they don’t mind. “Is she your kid now?”

“Oh, no!” Habit laughs, setting down a cup of coffee in front of them. “She just likes to come here and bother dear old Habby whenever her parents forget to pick her up.” There’s a pause as he follows their line of sight. “Which is most days.”

“How’d that happen, anyway? She’s like, eight.”

“Aha! You see, Flower Child,” Habit leans forward in the way people tend to do when they’ve got a good story. “Kamal called me a little after the reunion, he said,” Habit's voice rises in an attempt to capture Kamal’s distinctive nasally, New York-tinged timbre. “‘So, don’t freak out, but Putunia might’ve gotten into my filing cabinet and she’s got your address so if you see a seven-year-old with a boxing glove and shouting something about a rematch, don’t be alarmed.’”

Then he tilts his head with a thoughtful hum. “Well, no,” he adds in his normal voice. “Then he said that I should be alarmed after all, but not too much, since there was a chance of her wiggling her way in through a window, and if it was the one over my sink then she could get hurt, but I could just lock the window.” Another pause. “And then he said-”

“I get it,” they sign as politely as they can.

Habit clears his throat. “Right! Yes. So. No, she is not mine.”

"But!" A shrill voice calls from the living room. "In a SHOCKING TWIST, me and the Menace have formed a temporary alliance!"

This is evidently news to Habit, judging by the way he narrows his eyes in confusion. "We have?"

"Yes! Keep up, Menace - there are much more eviler things at play than your petty villainy!" Putunia crows, standing up from the floor with her hands on her hips defiantly.

"Ahh," Habit nods like he's got some idea of what she's talking about, which is a relief to them; they could use something to play off of right about now. "...Like what?" Ah. Nevermind.

"Like - like laundry! High shelves! Child-proof caps!" Ignoring Habit's objections to her last point, she turns to face them. "Flower Cadet! Someone with your power gets it, right?"

Biting the inside of their cheek, they nod. Putunia beams at them.

"Good! Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some blueprints to draft up." With that, she marches back to the living room with a new fervor - though considering how energetic she is normally, that may not be saying much."

Next to them, Habit frowns a little. "I will need to find a new place for my medication." The last word comes out sounding chopped-up in Habit's usual fashion, a noticeable space between the first two syllables and the last.

It’s an unexpected development to see them in the same house at all, albeit thematically appropriate. They weren’t sure what they expected to find on the other side when they knocked on the door of Habit’s house, a humble little thing on the outskirts of town. The most obvious answer was, well, Habit himself, but even that was a remarkably vague answer. They had no way to guarantee what condition Habit was in, except for what few hints they could gather from the Habitat reunion - which sounded promising enough…

… But they had seen their fair share of fakeouts before. All it took was some hack higherup deciding that happy endings were “unrealistic,” and they’d find themself opening the door to see something ghoulish like Habit’s body hanging in the kitchen, or an eviction notice that had slipped their mind somehow.

Enough of that, they chide themself. Now wasn’t the time to get caught up in what could have been. They know how Habit is doing these days, they tell themself. He’s doing fine. He’s got a job, a couple friends, he evidently knows how to keep a kid alive. A remarkable recovery, all things considered.

Deciding that they’ve had enough introspection for the time being, they glance at Habit’s face. There’s an unmistakable wistfulness there, one that they are absolutely going to take an opportunity to rib him for. “You know, for all that talk about her not being your kid...”

“She is - not,” Habit sputters, flushing several shades darker. His frown deepens when they snicker at him. “She's not! I couldn’t look after a little one right now, anyway.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really." The way the corner of his lip quirks upward despite his embarrassment doesn’t escape Flower Kid’s notice. “Why are you surprised?”

“No, I get what you mean. I’m just saying, you’re looking pretty dad-like right about now.”

He raises an eyebrow. His lip twitches once more - is he hopeful? Or is he trying not to laugh? “Oh?”

“Yeah.” They give him a once-over as they continue. He looks… good. His frizzy mane of hair is pulled back into a loose ponytail, and he has yet to take off his dirt-stained smock, floral print peeking out from underneath. He’s put on some weight since the Habitat - just enough so that his cheeks aren’t quite so sunken in. “Very ‘retired hippie’ chic. It suits you.”

“Hm,” says Habit, idly stirring his coffee with a spoon that looks comically tiny in his hands. “You… are looking better, too, Flower Hero,” he concedes, his voice low. "You have been taking care of yourself?"

They want to object - “hero” is stretching it. They raise their hands, ready to brush it off with a claim that they were just doing what was expected of them. But something stops them.

Maybe it’s just that they don’t want to look like they can’t take a compliment - they’ve done bigger, grander things than this, and they’ve accepted the praise with no problem. Maybe it’s just how damn cozy all of this is, all white wicker porch furniture and quaint wallpaper patterns and the muffled sound of weekday cartoons in the background, and if they come in here being their usual punch clock hero self, they’ll ruin it. Maybe someday they’ll figure out some happy medium between the two.

But for now, they nod. “Yeah. I have.”