#maybe i should just give up on dc its gonna be so painful for the next few years

[oifaaa]

Oh no. James Gunn called Damian Batman's "actual son". That bodes poorly.

He also said the series is gonna be based off of grant morrisons batman run you know the one that's meant to have dick as batman not Bruce yeah no I've got absolutely no hope for any of that

[waywardimpalawriter]

“I’m done. I’m done trying so hard only for you to never even look in my direction.”

With Marcus Pike? Maybe BFFs to lovers because I want it to end happy? Thank you 🙏

Love of his life

Pairing: Marcus Pike x best friend!Female Reader

Characters: Marcus Pike,

Setting: five years after the last episode Marcus was in.

Rating: PG:13

Warnings: 2,774

Summary: Conversation overheard leads to feelings of regret at the chance not taken. Will he take that risk and go for who he wants or let it slide away just like the past?

Word count:

Notes: Written for the lovely @hnt-escape asking for the prompt “I’m done. I’m done trying so hard only for you to never even look in my direction.” Will be in bold in the story. I hope you enjoy sweetie.

Tag List:

Forever tags: @chickensarentcheap @jedi-mando

Pedro Pascal tags: @evyiione

Staring into the caramel colored liquid ceramic mug warming your hands, thoughts clouded by a certain brown eyed man and how to handle the feelings you’ve harbored since grade school.

“Trying to divine this weeks lotta numbers from you coffee sweetie?” Soothing southern accented voice breaks through the fog smile in the sweet lilt.

Head snapping up to look towards the blonde, grin firmly in place over her ruby lips, “I wish, would donate at least half to research the antiquities we have that no one’s cataloged yet.”

“Wow devoted,” chuckling, walking over to the Keurig k-cup spinner to pluck the last Colombian dark roast pod. “What or should I say who’s on that gorgeous your mind that’s got your brow furrowed deeper than the Mariana Trench?”

Not wishing to discuss your thoughts right now, you deflect to ask, “Those things waste so much Donna and bad for the environment. Why don’t you just buy the bulk grounds?”

“Great way to keep from answering the true question,” baby blues lock, sincerity written deep and meaningful. Knowing she’s only trying to help having confided many times your dilemma those feelings you’ve held on to for so long brings about. “I don’t know why you haven’t told him sugar I mean you came to DC…”

“For this job Donna, Marcus turned up later… not much later,” last few words muttered into cooling coffee you try to hide behind while taking a sip. “I didn’t upheave my life for a man,” not sure who you’re trying to convince more yourself or Donna.

Established in your position at the museum a month before Marcus’s transfer and at the time he’s heavily invested with one Teresa Lisbon. Memories flood through like film reel before your eyes. Of that very night he comes to you heartbroken bags in hand with no one beside him and no real place to go. Promising yourself to shove your feelings aside and help him get back on steady legs. Even letting him stay till his place became ready to move in.

Loud snort greets your ears, breaking you from memory lane. “You keep telling yourself that and while you’re at it keeping him friend zoned when your clearly in love with him does neither one of you any good. He ain’t gonna wait around forever sugar trust me on that one,” hurt coloring her tone speaking volumes of her own pain. She looks away to watch the final drops of coffee land in her mug. You know exactly why she’s not looking at your right now, the hurt she tries to hide behind the bubbly personality. Fixing her coffee up just the way she likes to hide her own pain she’s shared a few times.

“How,” licking your lips slowly, mug placed beside you on the counter to clasp your hands in front of you. “I’m not even sure how or where to start Donna. He’s my best friend knows me inside and out I don’t…”

“Do you love him?” Simple question with no easy answer as grey blue eyes land on and pierce you with their intensity.

“I…” wringing those hands her question chases thoughts around your head. Finally giving the heart answer, “I love him, just unsure if he loves me in the same way. I don’t know if I’m strong enough to change the dynamics of our relationship and loose what we have for a what if.”

“Oh sweetheart I know it’s not easy to bank on what if’s but trust me when I say that man loves you in ways I’ve never seen and I’ve seen a lot.” Giving you a teasing wink then sobering, “Why do ya think I haven’t tried to snag him up myself?”

“Cause he’s not your type?” Joke sounding stupid to your own ears, glaze dropping to your shoes. “What if… what if I’m not his type? I mean you’ve seen the women he’s gone out with before. I’m hardly in the same league.”

“No your in a league of your own sugar.” Head nodding in understanding Donna comes over resting a hand on your bicep giving a gentle squeeze. “Compensating maybe even trying to replace the one he truly wants sweetheart. Don’t let a good man slip away especially since you love him.”

“I do, he’s,” head shaking at a loss for words to describe Marcus. “Amazing and sweet, the kind of man that’s so easy to love and care for. I’m lost truly without him.” Happy tears blur your vision for a moment thinking about him. How he’s always at your side just when you need him without notice at times. Sixth sense when you need those late night pancakes from the best diner in town. Watching old movies after a crappy break up, snuggled together with popcorn and beer, snacks of all kinds. Snap shot of his face filters across your vision, “I’m gonna tell him in fact,” glancing down at your watch finding end of day fast approaching. “Would you close down for me Donna I need to tell him now before loosing my nerve.”

“Don’t have to ask me twice sugar go get your man,” nodding towards the doorway you start for, coffee long forgotten in favor of someone more sweeter. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.”

“There’s things you wouldn’t do?” Cheeky grin highlighting your features, the sound of crinkling plastic reaching your ears so you look down. Frown replacing the smile at finding a small bouquet of blue tipped carnations laying on the ground. Bending to scoop up the beautiful flowers knowing only one man would’ve brought these. “Shit,” curse flying from your mouth while your feet start to eat up the distance towards the back doors bouquet held firmly in your grasp.

Missing Donna yelling about your keys and belongings, to not forget about the storm rumbling in the background. Wide smile forming watching you go hoping you’ll catch Marcus just in time.

While you pray with each step taken you’ll catch him in time to explain. Thoughts running rampant wondering what he heard and didn’t. If the reason for the dropped flowers has to do with the fact he thinks you love someone else. That last thought spurs you on into a run, thankful for the flats you wore today instead of customary heels you normally wear. Eating up the distance you burst through the back doors into a curtain of rain meeting your eyes as more curses fly from your lips. You pause eyes narrowing through the gloom looking for Marcus’s car, his back, hair surely plastered to against his head. Something to point you in the right direction. At the right moment a flash of lighting illuminating the darken skies, makes you jump but press on determined to find him. While stepping out into the pouring rain, clothes soaked through low rumblings of thunder taking your calls out for Marcus away with the howling wind.

Tears form and slide down cool cheeks, still franticly looking around but coming up empty till you catch the flash of grey out of your periphery. Whipping around you head in the direction calling out his name praying there’s a break in the rain so your voice carries to his ears.

And for a moment that one split second he catches a sound other than the storm raging around him. Sweet desperate voice calling out his name, giving him pause in dragging footsteps. Looking around but seeing nothing but the driving rain, drops soaking his suit and blurring his vision. Before turning to resume his path the voice calls out again, nearer and stronger than the last time.

His doubts cloud the mind, accusing him of hearing things the wind brings from other parts of the parking lot. Till a vision dressed in black slacks, creamy silk blouse, hair and clothes plasters to your body appears in front of him. Hand raised in the vain attempt to keep the rain from your face as you search for him.

Eyes lock surprised deep chocolate orbs meet the relief in yours, “You’re gonna get sick sweetheart go back inside.”

“No,” single word yelled out as you near Marcus, gripping his bicep and moving closer to speak into his ear. Warm breath making him shiver despite the cold rain trying to drown the both of you. “Why’d you leave?”

“Saw you busy didn’t want…” shaking your head Marcus swallows catching sight of the flowers in your free hand.

“You dropped these why?” Hurt lacing the tone in your voice as you bring the small plastic wrapped bundle up between you. “Thank you.”

Eyes dart between the flowers and your eyes unsure how to answer your question as so many of his own chase around his mind. Wanting the truth Marcus gather’s his courage to ask, “Do you love him?”

Confusion coats your veins, drawing up your brows with the same emotion till it clicks. “Yes, very much in fact you just doesn’t know it.”

“I’m done,” pain etched into his voice heart aching behind its prison of bone and flesh. Misunderstanding the look in your eyes and the words your spoke. “I’m done trying so hard only for you to never even look in my direction. I just can’t do it anymore it’s so much worse than any of the other.” Taking two steps back from your touch that sears the skin under heavy suit jacket and starch white cotton dress shirt. Gaze dropping to concrete unable to look into your eyes a second longer knowing he’s lost the chance. Internally cursing himself for waiting so long, letting other’s in his heart when the one woman he’s wanted all along stood by him through all life’s ups and downs.

Frowning at the loss of touch, his words sinking in you step forward he matches with one back. “Marcus,” soft achingly tender voice reaches out towards him. Heard now the rain has slowed to light drizzle. “Do you know how long I’ve waited to tell you I love you? Not as a brother or best friend, but in love with you.”

“What?” Single word choked off on a gasp, eyes reaching your smiling orbs trying to find the jest. Only seeing genuine love backed by worry and fear that he doesn’t truly have the same feelings. “You never told me.”

“You didn’t tell me either Pike so we’re kinda in the same boat,” carefully reaching out for his nearest hand tugging him back towards you. “So many times I’d try to tell you, to explain, to see if there’s a chance for us. Every time someone else got my shot. I gave up almost for good this time.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Moving closer, warm palm coming up to cup your cheek from apple to jawline. Thump brushing slowly over soft delicate skin drowning in your eyes as you rubbing your cheek into his large palm. “Never would’ve guess you felt the same way.”

Not sure how to answer the first question, so you joke instead. “Not only good at picking out a fake piece of art but putting on a good show.” Trying to infuse a little lightheartedness into the tense moment. “Gonna call Oscar see if they’ll give me one of those little golden guys for my performance. Not Ingrid Bergman worthy but I can hold my own,” nervous little laugh leaving your lips that Marcus brushes his thumb over the bottom lip. Stuck dumb by the action breath shallow before held while trying to depict the emotions running through those sweet brown eyes. “Say some Marcus.”

The tremor in your voice shakes the shocked cobwebs from his mind to focus his thoughts. Picking up that you haven’t answered his first question, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Which time?” Breathy sigh leaving your mouth as you try to gather the right words. “Not to mention your my best friend Marcus I didn’t want to fuck that up especially if you didn’t feel the same way,” taking a breath fresh rain mixes with the warm subtle cologne Marcus wears. “Couldn’t risk loosing you and changing our relationship for a what if.”

“And now?” Cupping the other side of your face, keeping your chin tilted upward, eyes searching the depths of yours. Finding the peace he’s missed out on with everyone who came before. Home written in your embrace, sweet light flora scent wrapping around his senses reminding him of just who he needs.

Swallowing, pink tongue coming out to wet your lips, a path he follows with rapt attention. “I recently became enlightened by a good friend reminding me sometimes you need to take those chances.” Both arms wrap around his neck, flowers still clutched tightly, free hand carding through rain soaked strands at the back of his head. Blunt nails scratching gently over Marcus’s neck receiving a shiver that vibrates through your body and has nothing to do with the cool air or wet clothing.

“And you want to take that leap with me?” Inching closer with barely a millimeter’s breath between your lips. Eyes still wide open assuring each other and finally showing the truth and need.

“I think this is the beginning of a beautiful love affair,” cheeky smile splitting your face at the crinkles appearing at the corners of his eyes. Knowing full well you’ve gotten the quote wrong on purpose.

“Here’s looking at you kid,” deepened voice sending tingles of excitement racing down your spine. Slightest brush of his chapped lips to yours bringing a sigh and parting your mouth that’s captured and devoured.

Angling your head just right as he licks into your sweet coffee tasting mouth mixing the minty freshness of his. Low groan whispers between your lips, which moves and changes. Nibbling his bottom lip, slipping your tongue over the bruised skin to sooth before sliding back into the warm cavern of his delectable mouth. Dreams having no merit on the real kiss that makes your toes curl a moan of your own existing to join with the groan he’s let loose. Air becoming much needed and you part to rest foreheads together.

“I love you to have for a long time,” admitting his feelings frees a part of him held back for so long. “I’m sorry for all the missed opportunities but if you’ll let me I’ll make them all up to you.”

“Start by taking me home to change then out for pancakes,” bright smile blooming over your lips that press into his. Unable to stop yourself from giving another tender kiss while wrapping your arms around his shoulders tighter. “And kisses lots more kisses,” mumbling the words into his mouth while initiating another kiss for emphasis.

Only breaking when someone clears their throat you both turn to see Donna standing there with your purse in hand. “No making out in the parking lot you two take it home,” grinning extending your purse towards you. “Just remember don’t do anything I would,” before turning to start back towards the museum. “Congratulations by the way took y’all long enough.”

“There’s things you’d do I wouldn’t Donna,” you call after her shaking your head before looking back up at Marcus. Catching the look burning in his eyes, “I’m guessing pancakes won’t happen tonight huh?”

Soft smirk slides over those kiss swollen lips, “Later but right now I have other plans.” Tugging you against his chest for one last deep drugging kiss that leaves you weak kneed and panting.

“Care to share those plans?” Snuggling into his arms as you both head the last short distance to his car.

Opening then crowding you into the corner of the door hands braced on either side to lean in placing a soft chase kiss to your cheek. “Making up for all the missed time and then later,” pausing to brush his lips over your ear. Whispering the last words with gentle puffs of air floating across your skin. “I’ll make you those pancakes and lick the syrup from your lips afterwards and any other place you’ll let me.”

“Only if you’ll let me return the flavor,” mischievous smile stretching across your lips, ducking under his arms to slide into the car. Finding him still standing there, you tug on his jacket gaining his attention.

Darken eyes meet yours, “I’ll even paint you like one of my French girls,” sending you a playful wink while closing the car door and running around to the drivers side. Marcus slides in, key slipping into ignition, simple flick of his wrist the car flares to life and he’s backing out heading for home and a new start filled with promise.

[river-bottom-nightmare]

Nightwing #81 Review

i swear i actually thought no one was interested so i didn’t write one but a grand total of two (2) people said they wanted to read it, so here it is. honestly, my opinion’s been going a bit downhill, but the art is really cool and there are some decent parts so. holding out i guess? i really hope taylor has an end goal or at least a cohesive plan, otherwise i don’t see this series going anywhere i’ll particularly enjoy

the cover is very straightforward in its imagery, this villain has nightwing in the palm of his hand, easily manipulated, easily controlled no matter the action dick thinks he’ll take. 

what i find interesting is the colour: both previously and heavily in this issue, the colourist has chosen to make pink this villain’s main colour, with different shades of pink as accents. so why the red in the cover? possibly to just make it more eye-grabbing, though one could argue that pink is even more eye-catching than red. maybe to convey a sense of dread or fear that pink won’t fully get across. either way, it’s definitely a decision i’m curious about.

so melinda zucco is in a high enough political position within bludhaven that she is next in line to become the mayor after the previous mayor died and dick just,,,,didn’t have any idea she existed? dick didn’t know anything about her? forget dick’s own brilliant detective skills, forget his doggedness at anything zucco related, you’re telling me bruce never found her and told dick about her? maybe he wouldn’t have now, but back when dick was a young kid, he definitely would have at least made dick aware of her existence, to let dick know and ask if he wanted to interfere with her life or anything.

i have a thought about zucco’s facial expressions. she is very much stone-cold poker face throughout the entire issue. the only time i see her pull a different expression is near the end when dick corners her against a wall with an arm around her throat. 

this is most certainly intentional, what with the varied and intense expressions we see on other characters, dick most prominently. i’m wondering what exactly is the creative team’s reasoning behind this. in these panels, zucco is meeting with the most dangerous, powerful, near-bloodthirsty man in all of bludhaven and becoming the mayor of the city respectfully. in both of these panels, there is barely a hint of emotion in her face: no fear, no determination, no satisfaction. it’s just odd, considering the circumstances she’s in, regardless of any training recieved.

just spitballing here but. like. from what i’ve read so far, dick doesn’t really seem like bludhaven’s guardian angel. more like when peter parker first put on spandex and blindly stepped out into new york.

dick, how exactly can you underestimate someone from one move. so he caught your escrima. anyone with enhanced reflexes can do that. you still don’t know how he can actually fight, and this is shown in the next set of panels. 

i just don’t like the wording here. dick’s “underestimated” him, but beats him up easy in the next page. in addition, i don’t know much about combat, but i would assume it would take more than one move to determine exactly what an opponent’s skill level is, made even more complex when you add physical enhancements and metahumans and aliens into the mixture.

idk my first thought when i saw that he caught the stick was “ah ok he’s enhanced” because obviously he couldn’t have reacted fast enough if he wasn’t (as there are few people trained enough to catch it on human reflexes alone.) then the wording in the next panel, i’ve underestimated him, made me think “oh no ok so he’s not enhanced, he’s just a really good fighter and can give dick a run for his money in a fight.” then, it turns out my first assumption was proven correct in the next panel. it just comes across as misleading to me.

(also sidenote but his curls are cute.)

have i praised the art enough in this series? no, i have not.

i adore the way this is laid out and illustrated. without even having to read the text, the action sequence is visually engaging and intense, and easily followable from one panel to the next. dick’s physical expertise comes through quite efficiently, and i love the special attention shown to draw our attention to dick’s escrima in the bottom right corner.

also that move in the middle row leftmost panel that’s the mcu black widow move to get up off the ground it was the first thing i noticed and it made me laugh; thought it was worth noting

i’m really loving dick’s escrima sticks in this run. they’re just so multipurpose, it’s hilarious and exhilarating. kinda reminds me of bruce’s belt, the way the button in the middle does eevveeerrryyytthhiinngg. 

got a problem? don’t worry! dick’s installed a feature into his escrima that can fix that! (i like thinking dick helped make them it makes me happy and makes my engineer!dick side satisfied)

yawn. your big heart is your one true weakness yadda yadda the fact that you care will be used against you blah blah we get it. jesus can the villains please find a different weakness to exploit, this is getting old.

i need dick’s capacity to empathize and care and love to stop being a weakness that villains sneer about. bonus points if dick saves everyone anyway, either because of or despite his great big heart and the villain is surprised by the goodness of mankind or some shit like that.

i need it to be a strength, right from the get-go. the fact that he cares so incredibly much should be an asset that dick has and will use. he’s a very complex character with years of background, it can’t possibly be that hard to find another weakness of his. 

ooooh this is cool, gosh i absolutely love this.

because what exactly is the reader doing? we are seeing the fear in dick’s face, just as this villain intended. even better, we’re seeing the reflection of it from the villain’s glossy mask, telling us exactly what we’re seeing and exactly what he likes so much about it.

dick’s standing up straight, shoulders drawn back, looking up at this villain’s face with determination and resolve, but his suit is tattered. one eye looks to be swollen. his hair is falling limply around his eyes, as opposed to the curls from earlier. his escrima aren’t even part of the main focus, instead blending into the side of the mask in the outer corners of the mask’s eyes, which tells you exactly how big of a threat they are to this villain.

poor bitewing’s quite alarmed.

also on second thought why would you bring your puppy out like this, when you know you’re gonna end up fighting someone in the suit. a) how many grey three-legged adorable little puppies live in the bludhaven area dick? and how easy will it be to connect the doggo running around with nightwing with the doggo that dick grayson owns? and 2) is this puppers trained? does she have fighting experience? how exactly can you ensure she will survive this highly stressful situation?

dick take better care of your dog 

you know what? i was with tim on this one. why exactly is dick so optimistic and trusting about the people of bludhaven? bludhaven, which has been described as gotham’s smaller, smellier, more corrupt sister city once or twice. it’s not just the corrupt people in power, the entire system needs to change and people need to have faith and hope in order for them to come together, espcially if they’ve been living in conditions like how bludhaven has been described. from how clueless dick is about his own goddamn city, i can tell he hasn’t been here long.

it was a nice moment of hope, i’ll admit. but it was a tad unrealistic for me.

also it was in a weird place in the comic. this sort of confrontation and big get-together of the people to rejuvenate hope in each other feels like it should come near the end of a run, if not the end of an issue. certainly not in the first third of an issue. the pacing’s a bit off to me.

loyal little puppy patiently waiting for her human to wake up. i love her so much.

no it’s not. it’s bitewing.

living for this t-shirt honestly. do comics of dc characters exist in the dc universe? they must if the mug and the shirt are any indication

(now i’m imagining the first batman movie that came out in the dc universe and bruce just. being so offended at who they chose to play him.)

well, yes. but when a group of people are put through hellish conditions over and over again, they soon become desensitized to the pain and terror of their everyday lives in order to both stay sane and keep their life relatively stable, and part of that becomes ignoring or blocking out anything that isn’t directly important to you or your loved ones. having a bleeding heart will most likely get you killed in a city like bludhaven if you don’t have the same skills that vigilantes have.

and of course, people are more than capable of coming together and rallying under their city’s vigilante after seeing the good they’ve done and how they’ve helped the people, but that sort of trust takes time and effort to build. dick also had the whole ric arc and was gone for a while, which has been referenced several times in this particular issue in fact. that’s not going to make bludhaven’s citizens any more likely to trust him.

maybe i’m being a bit harsh but this comic is comic off as a bit too idealistic for the amount of change nightwing can do in a city given the present and past circumstances as well as nightwing’s own abilities. even dick grayson can’t pull off everything.

ok seriously this needs to stop this needs to stop.

right now, dick reminds me of oliver queen in the few episodes of the cw’s arrow i watched. he does the punchy-kicky-fighty and occasionally has smart insights due to the skills he gained from his past that he certainly definitely totally has but only ever exhibits once, while his team does all of the background research and information gathering and actual work.

this is dick’s city. if he has the same intelligence, worth ethic, and stubbornness in this run that he’s been shown to possess all his life, then he knows this city inside out. he’ll have meticulous notes organized in a ridiculously efficient system, he’ll have scouted out zucco long before this started, he’ll have known when anything big happened in the bludhaven political landscape in an instant.

i’m really not liking exactly how much dick’s relying on babs and tim in this series. sure, he loves them and cares for them and likes working cases with them. but he always pulls his own weight, has always been a mentor figure to tim instead of what’s weirdly becoming the other way around, and takes point on the cases in his own damn city.

what kind of weak-ass oracle is this?? redacted fbi files are child’s play. babs used to hack into the fbi for fun. this one particular picture is so out of character i want to laugh.

reading this series has unfortunately made me confront that, despite the tiny fluid acrobat dick that lives in my head 24/7, canon dick is impossibly 5′10 and muscular at that.

mmm. titties.

tim said hydrate or die-drate bitch

love how dick’s doing all this intense brooding and stuff meanwhile bitewing is curled up in a soft comfy post having the time of her life.

you don’t understand i would legitimately kill myself for her.

also the lighting in this one scene is cool. the blue tones come off so well.

they’re just. so multipurpose!! they can become a bo staff. they can cut glass. they can become a grapple hook/line. they can electrify someone. they’re a funky colour. i’m becoming really attached to these things. absolute solid choice in weaponry.

if you’re gonna write up every rookie mistake dick has made during this series to head trauma, then dick shouldn’t be out and about at all, much less in costume.

see this? this is just straight up wrong. dick most definitely should have spotted her, and would have immediately moved to take her down.

scratch that, dick would have done a full check of the building, because he knows not to break into places uninformed, especially if the owner of the apartment was raised by the maroni family. someone as highly trained, experienced, and competent as dick wouldn’t have done this.

and if you chalk it up to head injury, (which is probably true), than his ~love interest~ and his little brother should have done a much better job making sure he stays in his house.

zucco looks so awkward it’s fucking hilarious

are those shadows that mimic a domino mask, to both reflect and hide the fact that his mask is missing? are those bruises around his eyes, to show how, despite what good he’s doing, being nightwing is hurting dick right now? 

(isn’t his domino mask supposed to have an electrifying feature that keeps people from removing them?)

it’s a little odd how the three known villains of this series are all coloured in warm shades, more specifically pink. meanwhile, in earlier issues, dick’s fondest memories were in pink, memories of him and alfred in particular. why has the colour pink changed from signifying something benevolent to something malicious? idk i hope this gets explained later.

this i did like. either it’s just a display of brute force in anger, or dick slipped the ties and pulled them off once untied. both ways, it’s an unintentional display of power, and i think that’s kinda cool.

again. dick is,,,tall? sort of? weirdddd

i’m so glad most readers are unified in the notion that this was the absolute dumbest fucking thing.

i’m hoping this gets disproved or something soon. and i hope dick doesn’t fall for it, because he definitely knows better than to take something as important as this at face value.

what exactly is taylor trying to accomplish here? why is he trying to go back on what we all knew was a happy, loving childhood and throw strife and disharmony and (what i’m assuming will be) infidelity? this will not end well at all.

---

,,,,,this review got way longer than expected lol. and i realize most of it just became me ranting. i guess i didn’t realize how ticked off i was originally. fingers crossed it gets better.

tag list: @woahjaybird @birdy-bat-writes @anothertimdrakestan @subtleappreciation @screennamealreadyused @bikoncon @pricetagofficial @catxsnow @thatsthewhump @xatanna-troy @red-hood-redemption @capricorn-stark @batshit-birds​ @comics-observer

[marvelobsessedteenager]

All The Hurt - Chapter 6

Pairing: Peter Parker x fem!reader

Warnings: ANGST, Peter was an ass, reader is a hurt and petty bitch, fluff to make up for the angst, curse words, lots of “coincidences”

Word count: 4.9k

A/n: This one’s gonna hurt..we’re nearing the end :3

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

You were driving recklessly, you knew. You were in no condition to drive, the world around you blurring into blurbs of mixed sounds and colors, and in the middle of it all was black smoke, like a monster of threatened death. Your eyes were glued to it, not even leaving it when you passed multiple red lights, nor when you went way above the speed limit, nor when the camera had caught you doing so.

All you thought about was him. You couldn’t help but imagine the worst-case scenario, which only made you drive faster, pure terror gripping your poor heart in painful ways.

You sloppily drifted the car into a parking spot once you got there and stared up into the smoke, already feeling the fumes creep up your lungs. It looked much bigger up close, and before you knew it, you were slamming your car door and running into the flames, completely forgetting to lock your car.

Fear was shaking you to your core as memories of Delmar’s and DC made their way to the top of your head, but you attempted to push them down.

For Peter.

Heavy smoke filled your lungs and caused your eyes to water as you ripped a part of your dress and tied it around your nose and mouth, making your way through hell on Earth. Fire, scalding beneath your bare feet, lined their way through the sand, aggressively marking their territory, and only growing angrier by the minute.

You coughed and hissed through the blaze, screaming out Peter’s name in hopes that he would answer. That he would be alive to do so. Your throat was raw and burned as you continued calling out for him, wafting away the thick smoke that blocked your vision. The fire crept up towards the ends of your dress, causing most of the fabric at the bottom to turn into ashes.

It was difficult to even see, let alone breathe, but the sound of gruff coughing provided you with a path. You followed the noise, feet pushing hard against the dull sand that threatened to pull you in, but you ran anyway.

You were heaving by the time that you saw them. Two figures lay on their backs, one significantly smaller than the other - one you recognized.

You fell down beside him, “P-Peter?” Your eyes scanned his face, bloodied and bruised with scabs that littered it.

Please, please.

“Peter?” You asked again, watching closely for any movement, “Hey! Hey, wake up!” You slapped his cheek a couple times before picking up his arm and letting it go, watching it lifelessly drop beside him.

No.

You placed your hand on his chest, moving it around fervently, panic starting to settle in when you didn’t hear anything. You shakily pushed two fingers against his neck, praying and praying that you’d feel a pulse. It didn’t matter if it was strong or not. You just wanted to feel something.

Anything.

And yet, you felt nothing.

Nothing at all.

You breathed heavily, starting to feel tears of anger and immense sadness make their way to your eyes, but you refused to give up. You coughed some more, feeling your chest tighten painfully as you climbed on top of Peter, hands above the center of his chest and knees on either side of his body.

Thirty compressions, two rescue breaths.

One, two, three, four.

You counted and counted, feeling like someone had wrapped barbwires around your throat and pulled until your face felt wet. Your tears fell down onto his bloodied cheeks, creating a clear trail through the gathered dirt.

Twenty-nine, thirty.

You pressed your lips against his chapped ones, the taste of metal on your tongue as you supplied him with the limited air that remained within you, pulling back to see if it did anything.

Still nothing.

“Come on, Parker.” You continued pushing, harder this time, "Come on, Pete, breathe, breathe, please! Don’t leave me, come on, come on! Wake up, Peter!”

You screamed out in agony as you pressed against his chest, your arms aching and sore but not ready to let go.

Save him.

Eight, nine, ten.

If only you’d gotten there sooner.

Eleven, twelve, thirteen.

You stared up into the night sky, and you couldn’t help but plead its creator for a miracle. "Turn back time!" You cried in between heaves, "I’ll do anything. Please!”

It felt as if the world was against you, using Peter as a way to lure you into another world of emotions and rollercoasters, and now they were taking him from you - again. But this time, you had the chance to keep him. If you’d been here sooner, maybe you could’ve saved the boy who laid below you.

“I love you.” You bawled, the heel of your hand burning into his septum, “Please don’t leave me. I need you. I need you.”

Two rescue breaths.

You pulled back, bottom lip shaking as you held his still face in your hands, wiping away the dirt and saltwater that covered the pale skin below, feeling the hope you had within you dull. You placed your forehead on his, noses touching as you breathed into him one more time.

Just one more time.

You pulled back, once again staring to see any movement. Anything.

But there was nothing.

Nothing but a black, endless void of silence - a silence that could’ve been filled with his laughter and joy that could light up a planet. His stupid stories that he would forget he told you, but you wouldn’t tell him, just to hear his excitement when he said it.

You’d give anything to hear his voice again.

You hugged him tightly as your head heavily fell against his frozen chest, harsh sobs wracking through you, accompanied by unimaginable pain and memories you were too fond of to forget. The world spun around you, and you laid there with the faded love of your life. He was gone, and it was all because of you.

“I’m sorry,” you wheezed, “I’m so sorry, Peter.”

You couldn’t save him.

This is all your fault.

Quick breaths made their way in and out as you felt your body on the brink of a shut down from the lack of oxygen, hands digging into his suit as your eyes began to slowly close while you whispered apologies through little heaves of air.

Until you felt an inflation.

Then a deflation.

You slowly sat up, fighting through the tiredness as you placed your hand on his chest, feeling a weak pulse drum beneath your fingertips.

Just to make sure you weren’t going insane, you pressed your ear against his chest.

Thump-thump, thump-thump.

You couldn’t help the small laugh that came from you. You cried, placing a gentle kiss on Peter’s forehead, feeling a small puff of air come from his mouth as you did so.

“I got you,” You mumbled against his head, “we’re okay.”

A low grunt came from beside you, and you wiped your eyes and looked to your right, squinting through the smoke. A man with much fewer bruises than Peter lay beside you, just beginning to twist and turn.

Boiling anger ran through your veins, your hands shaking with the urge to murder Liz’s dad, and you would have done it had you not needed to leave as fast as you could.

The air around you was too hard to breathe, and if you didn’t leave, you would’ve saved Peter for nothing.

Quickly, you tore the web-shooters off of Peter’s wrist and tried your best to web Liz’s dad up as much as you could. While doing so, his teary eyes locked with yours, watching you in defeat. He didn’t even try to fight back.

You shook your head at him, coughed some more, then ripped off another part of your dress, using the piece of fabric to cover Peter’s mouth and nose. You then proceeded to carry Peter on your back as you weaved through the thick smoke, falling a couple of times. Though your legs ached and your lungs burned, you kept going, eventually falling to your knees and crawling with Peter’s body on top of you until you reached your car, carefully laying him down on the backseats.

You shook your head of the dizziness and drove away, leaving the mess behind for the authorities to deal with.

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

For hours you sat beside Peter on your bed and cleaned his bloody face with a wet rag, the shock still bolting through you like lightning, screams and ragged breaths echoing in your empty mind. Your fingers tingled with memories of the vacancy they felt beneath them when Peter’s chest was still, when he gave no evidence that he was alive. It was almost like you were reliving the memories like they happened years ago. But it was so vivid. You’d stare into space, sharp pains slicing through you as they’d appear before you.

You watched him like an eagle, worried that his breathing would somehow stop. You worried he’d slip away like he did hours ago. You worried he’d die, and that you wouldn’t be able to save him again.

You contemplated leaving him, knowing that you should take some time to care for yourself, but your feet couldn’t show you out the door. They were stuck, frozen in spot as you watched his chest rise and fall. The bags under his eyes stood out against his pale skin, and you wondered how often he slept.

If he slept.

You didn't know what you’d say when he’d wake up. You didn’t even know if he’d wake up. Shivers went down your spine when you thought of that possibility, but you knew you shouldn’t dwell on it, so you tried not to.

You felt a sudden dip in the empty spot beside you, but didn’t dare look away from Peter. A gentle hand placed itself on your shoulder, and a soft voice followed, “Y/n..” Jane called out. You continued to blankly blink at Peter, and only realized how dry your eyes were when Jane moved her hand and cupped your face, guiding your vision to hers.

“Y/n, honey, you need to go wash up. I’ll look after him.”

“I’m good, J.” You said. You trusted Jane with your life, and therefore trusted her with Peter’s, too, but you simply couldn’t leave him. You let it happen once. You should’ve stopped him, or gone after him the moment he left. But you didn’t. And look where that got you.

You were still dirty and covered in debris with first and second degree burns on the soles of your feet, but you paid them no attention. When you parked outside your house, you ran up to the door and rang it as many times as possible. You made it back to your car, crying out for Jane’s help and ignoring all questions she was throwing your way. You both carried Peter to your room, and only when you told her you’d change his clothes did she leave.

You were lucky Peter used to undress in front of you without a care in the world, but still felt awkward as you replaced his suit with some of his clothes you still had in your closet - ones you wore so frequently it smelt like you instead of him.

Jane came by afterward to help stitch him up, and spoke no words. She didn’t need to, though. It was clear she understood everything. She gave you clothes to change into, and stayed with Peter while you changed in a record-breaking time. You hadn’t washed yourself, too scared to leave Peter for too long.

“Sweetie..” She sighed, “you can’t do this. You need to take care of yourself, too.”

“I’m fine, Jane. I just need to be here.”

She gave you a sympathetic smile and a small nod, “Let me go get you some water, okay?” She stood tall before giving your shoulder a squeeze, leaving you alone with an unconscious body - one that could stay that way for God knows how long.

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

It was just past 3 AM when you heard the low sound of groaning. You were nearly asleep by the time that Peter’s eyes slowly fluttered open, no doubt fighting the soreness of his body. He was lucky he didn’t obtain any serious injuries.

He was lucky he was even alive.

“You’re awake.” You said, an eerie numbness coating your words. You said it in a way that was calm. Too calm for someone who held their dead ex-best friend in her arms. You shivered at the memory and wrapped your arms around yourself, standing up and going over to grab the glass of water Jane had brought over.

“Y/n?” He squinted his eyes at you, his voice husky and dry as he began coughing. You rushed to his side and helped him sit up, placing the rim of the mug against his lips. He downed the water and sighed in relief, head lolling back against the headboard.

“Where am I?” He said, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

“Look around you, Pete.” You gestured to your surroundings. His head followed his eyes’ directions as they wandered around your room. Not much has changed since the last time he’d been here, save for a few more books on your bookshelf, a new rug, and-

And you took down the photos and cards. The board you both spent hours on.

His head cocked to the side, a rush of pain shooting up his chest. But this sting wasn’t from the fight. This wasn’t something that could be healed with antibiotics.

You noticed him zeroing in on the bare wall and cleared your throat loudly to divert his attention.

“You-” died, “-you passed out. Next to the wings dude and I saw and-“

“Mr. Stark’s stuff!” He realized, planting his feet on the ground and wobbly standing up, grabbing the top of the headboard to stabilize himself as he did, “I-I have to-“

You gently pushed him back down onto the bed, “No, no, no. You got the guy.”

He blinked up at you, confusion swirling in those warm brown eyes until he put two and two together, eyebrows creasing.

“How did you know where I was?” He asked, looking up at you with accusing eyes, “H-how am I here?”

You bit your lip and took your shaky hands off of his shoulders, knowing he knew the answer. He just wanted to hear you say it. The thumping of your heart became louder in your ears, but you replied anyway.

“I...” You gulped, “I went after you.”

“What?! Why?” He incredulously asked, his voice rising to his height as he towered above you, fire burning beneath his piercing stare, "Why would you do that?! It could’ve been dangerous, Y/n! You could’ve gotten hurt!”

“I could’ve gotten hurt?!” You yelled back, blood suddenly boiling, "I’m fine, have you seen yourself? You were bloodied and bruised and passed out beside him and he was awake! He would’ve murdered your ass! I believe it’s called thank you!”

“Thank you?! I had it handled!” His feet bumped into yours, head bowing until his nose nearly touched yours. You saw an angry vein popping from his neck to his forehead, pushing against the skin and you wanted to do nothing but smooth it back into its place. But you were too furious to do so.  

“Oh, yeah, it totally looked like things were under control considering a giant ass plane crashed out of nowhere, you were surrounded by fire and smoke, and there was a guy with wings who was ready to tear you to pieces!”

“Why do you care anyway?! Why are you trying to help? You just suddenly stopped wanting to make my life miserable? For what? To get even more popular? To tell your friends that you helped Spider-Man? You’re as fake as they come!”

The color drained from his face the second the words slipped, guilt and regret painted all over his features as he stood in shock at his own words.

And that, you realized, was your last straw.

You backed away from him like he had burnt you, letting out an empty laugh as he shook his head, ready to take back what he said, but now it was your turn to speak.

“Wait-"

“Fake? You wanna talk about fake? If I was fake, why haven’t I told anyone your secret? Why haven’t I just told the entire school who you really are? Why haven’t I told the world that the person behind the mask is really a selfish, naive high school teenager? Hell, if I was “fake” I would’ve let you die, because maybe then my life can piece itself back together after you fucking tore it apart!"

Your heart raced against your ribcage, adrenaline pumping from your head to your toes at lightning speed. You felt it everywhere as you backed him into the corner of your room.

You knew you had to stop and pick up the pieces of dignity he had left of you but you couldn’t. You couldn’t stop for the life of you. The confessions that tumbled from your lips were strong enough to push the little voice in your head that was begging you to stop.

This isn’t right, it said.

He was dead. He died. And here you were, screaming your head off at him.

But you just couldn’t stop the pain from forming into words. They only got even more raw and real as you fired at him, aiming deep into his soul directly into his heart with the intention to painfully crush.

And he felt it.

“What on fucking earth do you think happened to me after you vanished from my life, huh? What was I supposed to think when my best friend of years just decides to drop me and pretend like he doesn’t know me? What’s worse than that is that you carried on like I never meant anything to you! But you meant the fucking world to me! I was in love with you for fuck’s sake! But apparently, I wasn’t even good enough for you to give me a reason as to why you left, or good enough for you to stay! You of all fucking people should not talk about being fake!”

Your voice cracked and ached, but you showed no sympathy, even after his shoulders shrunk in their place. Frankly, all you saw were red and blue. Two dangerous colors that shouldn’t ever mix.

“You died, Peter! YOU DIED! You laid there with no fucking heartbeat, no breaths, absolutely nothing! What was I supposed to do? Just leave you? I wish I had the heart to do that but I don’t! I fucking don’t! No matter how much you hurt me, I’ll still be there for you like the fucking dumbass that I am because I’m still in love with you and I always fucking will be, even when I shouldn’t be!”

You were panting and out of breath, like you’d just ran laps upon laps. Your throat was in desperate need of liquid, head pounding against your skull painfully as your tongue felt heavy in your mouth, like someone was holding it down.

His eyes seem to water, but you couldn’t see past the buildup of angry tears that gathered on your waterline and dropped onto the rug below you.

Peter looked shocked, guilty, and afraid. He’d never seen you blow up like this before, much less on him. But he’d also never truly known just how badly he hurt you. No fight has ever been this big. No fight had ever shattered his heart and swathed him up in remorse as he watched you furiously wipe at the tears that had slipped past the barriers of your eyes.

The tears he caused, and that was enough to make his throat tighten and mind turn into mush.

You silently stepped back when you realized what you’d said, berating yourself for exposing your secret. You confessed. You confessed more than you should’ve, and you regretted it.

You were right back to square one. You didn’t want to look at him. You still felt that burning rage of hatred inside you, only this time it wasn’t directed towards him. It was directed towards yourself, for all the times you chose to listen to your heart over your brain.

Now was one of them.

And because of that, you knew he couldn’t look at you the same way again. You couldn’t look at yourself the same way, either.

“Y/n,” He called out, voice breaking like his demeanor, "I didn’t-"

“Get out.” You demanded, voice stern despite how broken and vulnerable you appeared.

He faltered, hand pausing in the air from when it was going to reach out to grab yours, “What?”

“Get out of my house, Parker.”

A beat of tense silence passed. You didn’t want to know what he was thinking. You knew what he was going to say, and you didn’t want to hear it. You didn’t want him to apologize and make amends. You weren’t going to set yourself up for failure and heartbreak again, especially if he didn’t leave at this moment.

He wasn’t going to say it back, and that was enough to make you hate yourself for loving him for all these years, all the while he didn’t feel a single thing back.

“Y/n, just listen to me-"

“I said-” you furiously grabbed his mask and suit and threw them at his chest, only getting angrier when he actually caught them, “-get out! Now!”

“Y/n/n,” He said, sounding like he whimpering in pain. But you knew he didn’t care. It was all an act. He showed how he truly felt about you in the heat of the moment, and those words can never be forgotten.

“Don’t call me that. Don’t fucking call me that. Just get the fuck out of my house.” You walked to the door and held it open for him, anxiously waiting for when he’d leave as your fingers fervently drummed against the handle.

He sighed, his fists clutching the fabric so hard it would burst if it were glass. A gulp could be heard as he padded across the room, pausing to whisper ’I’ll talk to you soon' and walking out, flinching when you slammed the door behind him.

You paced the length of your room with ragged breaths and your hands on your head, feeling an onset of a meltdown as the words made their way in and out of your mind. Hot tears heavily weighed you down until you fell to the ground beside your bed, cradling your knees to your chest and rocking back and forth, letting out the most painful wail you ever have in your life.

That night, you cried your hardest, the tears enough to fill buckets upon buckets. You wept until you were left out of breath, until you were defeated by the tiredness.

You were just...

Done.

Your exhaustion quickly knocked you out as you fell asleep on the ground with smeared makeup, a dirty face, and a clogged nose, unaware of the concerned eyes that watched you from your balcony with an aching heart.

——————————-

You somehow ended up in your bed with a foggy memory, the morning sun welcoming you with its rays that warmed you up, spewing a happy yellow across your tired body through the openings of your curtains. They promised you joy, and for a moment, you delightedly basked in them.

Until the memories of last night hit you like an oncoming bus, causing a throbbing, sinking feeling to lodge itself in your chest. What was worse was when you remembered today was Monday, a school day in which you’d most probably see him again.

You sighed and stretched your sore limbs, trudging your way to the bathroom, passing by the mirror that hung on the wall.

Then you backtracked.

You tilted your head in confusion, fingers tracing the clear skin of your face and arms. You were unable to recall if you wiped your smudged makeup off last night, let alone cleaned yourself, but beside your mirror was a garbage can filled with used wipes, so you shrugged it off and assumed you did.

Guess Jane must’ve taken care of me, you thought.

You went through your morning routine and got ready for school, making your way down the stairs with a heavy backpack and an even heavier heart, your stomach vibrating in a dull pain in anxiety. The sound of sizzling made its way into your ears the same time you caught a whiff of eggs. You paused for a moment, wondering if you should sneak out the back door.

You hadn’t expected Jane to be awake this early. Usually, she was dead asleep - she wasn’t much of a morning person - so her being awake alarmed you.

Regardless, you walked into the kitchen and flopped down on one of the stools, placing the backpack on the ground beside you, careful not to startle Jane, who stood with her back to you flipping an omelette.

Quietly, you cleared your throat and sat up straighter, “Mornin’ Jane.”

Her shoulders reached her ears in surprise, pan staying in the air for a couple of seconds, "Oh. Um, good morning.” She said with a strained voice, transferring the omelette onto a plate and sliding it over to you with sympathy painted on her face.

“What’s up?” You slowly asked, pulling the plate towards you suspiciously. The last time she made you breakfast was when you were twelve. From there on out, you told her you were old enough to make your own food, and though she stood by you to supervise, she let you do your thing.

“You only call me Jane when you’re upset.” She pointed out, lips rolling inwards.

“And you haven’t made me breakfast in years so,” you awkwardly laughed, picking at the appetizing omelette. You didn’t know what was wrong with you. You were hungry, but you couldn’t eat. The thought alone of doing so made you want to throw up.

“Do you want to talk about anything?” Jane asked, craning her head a little and watching your every move.

“Yeah, um,” you dropped the fork and scratched the back of your drooping head, “C-can you keep Peter’s secret? He doesn’t want anyone to know and-”

“Sure. Of course.” She nodded, agreeing quickly, "Is there anything else?”

“I…” you sighed and chewed on your bottom lip, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

False. You wanted nothing more than to talk about it. But you simply couldn’t burden Jane with your problems. She probably had enough on her hands as is.

She seemed disappointed in your answer, like she was waiting for a specific one, but gave you a small smile anyway, “Okay, well, you know I’m always here."

“Yeah,” you blankly stared at the plate in front of you, “I know.”

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

“Y/n!” You heard someone shout from across the hall, and had to fight the urge to run away and pretend like you didn’t hear anything. You felt incredibly drained today, and had no energy to deal with anyone, even Flash.

You groaned inwardly and turned, waiting for Flash to jog up to you with a grin. You wanted to get out of school during lunch, just for a while, but it seemed like you couldn’t leave at all.

“Where were you? Crisco Kid said your phone’s with him but he wouldn’t give it to me.” He pointed his thumb in the direction he just ran in from.

“Crisco Kid? You mean Ned?”

“Yeah, haha, get it? ‘Cause he’s fat?” He nudged your rib, giving you a playful wink, but you were in no mood for games.

“That’s not funny, Flash. Don’t make fun of appearances.” You said, already walking away from him. You felt like you were being suffocated everywhere you went, with no escape whatsoever, whether it’d be catching Peter’s eye from across the room or having someone question you about Spider-Man like you knew him personally. Which, you did, but they didn’t need to know that.

Ned had passed you a note in the middle of class saying “meet me at 2:45 sharp in the decathlon practice room to get your phone.” You furrowed your eyebrows and looked up, but he was already immersed in what the teacher was saying. You were too tired to argue with him, so you shrugged it off and planned to do what he said, no matter how suspicious it was.

Flash easily caught up to you and stood in front of you with his hands on your shoulders, concern lacing his voice, “What’s gotten into you, Y/n/n? You don’t…look okay.”

No matter how much makeup you'd put on, your bloodshot eyes and bags that were being held beneath the layers of foundation and concealer shone through like a bright light, a reminder of the shit that happened yesterday.

All it took was Flash’s question for him to break through. A switch had flipped in your mind, and you were suddenly feeling overwhelmed with emotions.

“It’s just…he came- he asked- I don’t know what to do a-and-“ you were having a hard time constructing your thoughts into a sentence, words spewing left and right, already feeling the buildup of tears.

“Okay, okay,” Flash quieted you down, “let’s talk about it.” He grabbed put his arm around your shoulder and guided you towards the cafeteria, warding off anyone who tried to come near the both of you with a glare while you wiped your stray tears.

Tags: @peachescream06, @hayhays

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[scullydubois]

Only the Light: Ch. 10

10/? | AU where Melissa moves in with Scully after Scully’s abduction | angst, msr slow-burn, occasional fluff | currently: s2, ep 12, Aubrey (post-ep) | T (for now?) | 4.5k | previous chapters | read on ao3 | tagging: @today-in-fic

Missy accompanies Scully to a doctor's appointment. Afterward, Missy confronts Scully about her feelings for Mulder, and Scully slips-up on the phone.

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

She digs through her suitcase, searching for the business card she tucked in the pocket with her underwear. A sharp edge penetrates her skin, stings immediately. Her fingers close around the paper card and pull it out. A thin red cut traces the length of her middle finger, blood begging to seep out. She ignores it and grabs the phone off her nightstand, plugging in the number for the Aubrey Motel. 

As she’s dialing, she realizes that it’s already past lunchtime in DC, and even though Missouri is an hour behind, there’s no way Mulder is in his room. She lets it ring anyway, then asks the man who answers for room 12. He patches her through, and sure enough, the line rings until it gives up. 

Impressed by her own newfound patience, Scully hangs up and dials Mulder’s cell instead. She’s not exactly sure why she didn’t just do this in the first place; maybe she likes the idea of Mulder being stationary without her, stuck in his room like a lost little boy with no one to guide him. Her heart sinks when she thinks about Mulder gallivanting around Aubrey, solving the case like there’s nothing to it, like he could have been doing it by himself all this time. She wants him to need her. Naturally, she is ashamed of this desire.

She hits the call button and waits while an invisible force shoots across states and connects her to her partner. She does not have to wait long; he answers after the first ring.

“Hello?” He sounds the same as always. Simultaneously there and drifting, one body split between two minds. 

“Mulder, it’s me.” 

“Hey Scully.” There is a lightness in his voice now, like a balloon cut free of its tether. He is smiling, she thinks...She hopes.

“I just wanted to let you know I made it home safely…” She trails off, not wanting to stop talking to him, but finding herself with nothing else to say. 

“I’m glad, Scully.” He always addresses her by name more when they are apart. This is a comfort to both of them. “How’s Melissa?”

Scully looks through the doorway, confirming that her sister is nowhere near to cause any antics. “She’s alright.” She deals in half-truths. “We’re going to the doctor later to get an x-ray, but I think it’s just a sprain.” 

“Well, keep me updated. I found a lead on the case--Harry Cokely, the suspect of one of the 1945 murders. I’m on my way to see him. He’s been out of jail since ‘93.”

Scully gulps. “Are you alone?”

“Uh-huh.” He senses her tension through the line. “But I’ll be fine, Scully, he’s an old geezer now. What kind of agent am I if I can’t defend myself against an eighty year old?”

“You could have taken BJ with you.”

“And put a pregnant woman in the line of fire? I’ll be fine, Scully. They wouldn’t have let him out if he were still a danger.”

“Okay, Mulder.” This is not what she means, but it has already been a long day, and there is too much left of it to get into an argument with him. 

“I might be able to come back tomorrow,” she blurts out, as if saying it will make it more true. “...I’d like to come back tomorrow.”

“Take all the time you need, Scully. I’ve got this.”

She knows he is trying to be accommodating-- though he so rarely is--but his casual manner confirms her worst fears about her own superfluity. “I want to work, Mulder, you know that.”

“I’m not gonna stop you.” Then, his voice uneven, suspecting but not willing to confront--”Just take care of Melissa--and yourself--okay?”

She nods into the phone. “I will.”  She is staring at the barrel of Mulder’s metaphorical gun, knowing he won’t shoot, almost wishing he would. Bleeding out feels like the simple solution. “Bye, Mulder.”

She is leaving so soon, he thinks, grateful to have had her voice accompanying him on the trip. “Bye, Scully. Call the motel tonight, will you?”

“Alright.” She kills the line, each extra second another thorn in her side, a lie allowed to linger. Sin multiplying.

She stands there, clasping the phone in her hand and feeling like a stranger to herself. Her sister thought she should tell him before she flew a thousand miles and let an hour fall between them, and she disobeyed. What Melissa didn’t understand was that vulnerability is not a word in her and Mulder’s shared language. There’s no way to spell out the situation, even if she had wanted to. And she didn’t want to at the time. Or rather, she had wanted to so badly that it was dangerous, that she knew she risked more pain by telling than by withholding. She would have had to invent new words in their language, expand its bounds, and who knows what would come next. Give someone the language to express their feelings, and they will say them. And what then?

She is scared of her own feelings--and his too--because she knows that admitting means losing, somewhere down the road, and she doesn’t ever want to be without him. If she had never met him, she would never have to live without him. This is the gun that is always pressed to her head. She and Mulder are both holding the trigger.

She doesn’t know if he has such a gun against his temple, thinks that maybe he doesn’t, hopes so at least. There have been others for him, she knows this. Phoebe and...well, Phoebe’s the only one she’s met, and she wasn’t that impressive. But he’s a good-looking guy, and a good guy at that, and the whispers of a dark-haired woman who broke his heart float up and down the hallways of the Hoover building. He doesn’t tell, and Scully won’t ask because she worries that the mystery woman is the gun he holds against his own head.

She sets the phone back in its receiver, tired of thinking about guns and triggers and brains blown out. For now, she is in one piece--she’s pretty sure--and she would like to stay that way for as long as her soul will let her.

Her sister calls from down the hallway. “Dana, are you ready?”

Scully managed to book a last-minute appointment with her OB-GYN, thanks to Missy’s insistence that it was an emergency. Personally, she wouldn’t use such a strong word--I mean, it’s not like she’s hemorrhaging or anything. It’s the absence of blood that’s the problem. But there are tests, scans, and probing of the like that can be done, and once Scully admitted this her sister would not drop the issue. Off to every woman’s favorite place they go. 

--------

The waiting room is a stepping stone, a purgatory, a beginning and an ending rolled into one. She has been here before, many times. In the past, it felt like an inconvenience, not a threat.

She makes an appointment every year, does everything exactly as she is supposed to do in between, and still she is here and scared. She is careful as careful comes, as prepared as one petite woman alone in the world can be. She can dislocate a jaw, strike a man’s legs out from under him, break a nose. And yet, and yet, and yet...Who first uttered “fairness,” thought it existed on this Earth?

Even so, the consolation of knowing lingers in the distance. Like the minutes between calling 911 and the ambulance arriving. Help is on the way. The nightmare will end, or it will settle in. Lucky or unlucky. Win or lose.

Scully is not sure what she wants to hear. Three tests is quite definitive; pregnancy is unlikely. And what else is there? That her cycle has been thrown off by stress, that it’ll come back on its own time, don’t worry about it? That’s no comfort. She doesn’t want something to be wrong with her, but she knows something’s not right, and what’s worse than knowing that you don’t know? She and Mulder have lived in that hell for years. She can handle mysteries of the outside world, but what a cruel trick for her own body to blockade her. 

Missy nudges her from the adjacent vinyl seat, elbow meeting bicep. “What are you thinking about?”

“How my mind doesn’t know what’s going on with my own body,” Scully replies dryly. “I mean, I know I have a tendency to close myself off, but I’ve cloistered myself so much I no longer know what I am.”

Melissa frowns. “Don’t you mean who? Who you are?”

“No.” Scully shakes her head, looks at her lap. In her darkest thoughts and most blistering nightmares, she is not human anymore. They desecrate her, ravage her body, and leave a memento in her skin, a touch of them. It’s so vivid it might be a memory. Mulder wants an alien; he may have one. That would be ironic, huh? 

Can you learn to believe in yourself when you become something you never thought existed?

Can you still believe in God?

Every job she has dreamed of doing involves solving. Knowing enough to know what you don’t know, then figuring that out. Taking the pencil lines, shading them in. Seeking and finding and never wondering why. She cannot keep this up. There has got to be a meaning.

It is not enough, anymore, to simply wonder for the sake of wondering. To cast light over the darkness because you are tired of the darkness. Why? Is she doing it for Mulder, for the traumatized twelve-year boy locked inside him? Is she doing it for herself, fending off the fallibility, reconciling her belief with proof so that she can get off her own back? Or is she doing it because she was told to, because she is still the daddy’s girl who wants to please? 

Twenty-nine years, and she is still coming to terms with herself. We are all our own x-file. We are all taking ourselves apart and piecing ourselves back together and looking for meaning and losing our minds. 

Missy reaches over the wooden arm of the seat and pats Scully’s hand. Scully is reminded that she hasn’t yet ruled out the possibility that her sister is a mind-reader.

“Dana?” a nurse calls. Her first name feels so secondary that Scully feels certain they’re calling someone else.

“Right here!” Missy responds, getting up and pulling her sister along with her. Scully tugs her sister’s sleeve like a child might, wonders if Missy has ever considered motherhood. 

Once in the corridor, they separate. The nurse takes Scully to get her vitals checked, while Melissa seeks out waiting room D, where the nurse’s flat voice--already tired from hours on the job--told her to wait.

It is not long before her sister joins her there.

“How was it?” Missy asks before Dana even manages to sit down.

Scully shrugs. She turns her left hand to show the pink bandaid on her index finger. “My iron levels are above average.”

“That’s not serious, right?”

“No, it’s usually a good thing.”

They sit quietly, listening to the staticky alt rock song coming through the speakers. They are alone in this particular area, but nurses and doctors bustle just around the corner from them.

Scully regards her sister with a latent curiosity. “Have you ever thought about having children?”

Missy turns to her, laughs. “What?”

Scully is somewhat perturbed by her sister’s nonchalant reaction. “Do you want to be a mother?” she reiterates. “It’s not something we’ve talked about since we were kids, so I was wondering.”

“If my life unfolds that way, then surely I think I’d enjoy it. But I’m not prioritizing it.”

“Ahh.” Her sister has always had a particular reverence for destiny. 

“And besides,” Missy continues, “it could be hard, you know, with Trinity and all.”

It takes Scully a moment to realize what she means. “Oh.” That’s something she’s never had to worry about herself. She runs her finger along the grooves of her bandaid, feels her heart clench up for her sister. “There’s always adoption.”

“Yeah, I guess so. It’s a long, drawn-out process from what I’ve heard.”

“Mmm.” Scully nods, wondering how two women could have two such conflicting problems. 

Before she can voice the irony of this, another nurse pops out from around the corner, peers at a clipboard. “Dana Scully?” Her voice is bright and chipper.

“That’s me,” Scully says, raising a hand to show the bandaid, her battle scar.

“I’ll show you to your room.”

Missy pats Dana’s shoulder as she stands up. “I’ll stay here. Come get me if you need me.”

“Okay,” Scully breathes, grateful to be given her space yet to know support is right around the corner.

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

For someone that went to medical school--and enjoyed it, for that matter--Scully always feels much too out of place in a gynecology office. It’s nothing she hasn’t seen before. In textbook diagrams, in wall art, in her own flesh. Yet the 3D model of the reproductive system, the color-coded illustration of the uterus, and the various pamphlets on everything from STDs to birth control to what to expect postnatal smother her, serving as a fresh reminder that Catholicism’s tendency to repress haunts her still. She’s more bothered by her involuntary discomfort than what she sees. 

Dr. Zapolsky enters, easing some of Scully’s nerves immediately. Tall and dark-skinned, she has been practicing medicine for 20 years, and Scully has been seeing her since she moved to Washington. She can be intimidating if you don’t know her, but she’s honest and extremely competent, two things Scully requires of her doctors. And herself.

“Hello, Dana.” Scully sits up straighter as the woman’s voice hits her eardrums. She’s admired Dr. Zapolsky for years, seeing her as an exemplary figure, someone that might have been a mentor to her had she put her medical degree to work. “What can I do for you today?”

There are few things Scully hates as much as being the patient. If she’s the patient, that means she has failed at being her own doctor. That means she didn’t know--and worse--didn’t think she could figure it out on her own.

She wrings her hands. “My cycle is over a week late, which is very concerning considering that it’s always been timely. I’ve been having migraines and nausea and nightmares, and I just know something is wrong.”

Dr. Zapolsky drops Scully’s file on the counter. “Well, the pregnancy portion of your urine test came back negative.”

“I took three drugstore pregnancy tests too, and they were all negative. That’s why I’m here.”

“Have you had any notable lifestyle changes over the past few months?” Dr. Zapolsky asks. “Anything out of the ordinary? Stress is a major contributor to fluctuations in the menstrual cycle, as I’m sure you know.”

Scully nods, gathers herself. Dr. Zapolsky is oblivious to the rabbithole she has just fallen into. “I was, um, abducted, about eight weeks ago, and I have no memory of it.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Dana.” Dr. Zapolsky wheels her stool beside the medical chair. “We have a bit of catching up to do.”

“Yes,” Scully looks at her feet. They dangle a few inches above the tile like a child’s. Nothing new. She glances back at her doctor. “There isn’t much to say. I don’t know anything about what happened.”

“Well, tell me what you do know.” Then, seeing the apprehension on Scully’s face--”I’m not trying to play therapist, I just want to understand.”

Scully blinks slowly to keep from crying. It goes like this, it always does: she can manage the trauma until she has to say it out loud. This is a story no one wants to be in, but everyone wants to hear.

“I was taken by a man involved in a case that I worked on. Well, that my partner worked on, actually. I got involved--and long and complicated story short--the man broke into my apartment, bound my wrists and ankles, and stuffed me in his trunk. That’s the part I do remember. After the trunk, it’s all a blur really.”

The doctor furrows her brow. “How were you found?”

“I wasn’t found, I was returned. To the hospital. None of the staff had any idea how I got there, and I was bathed and cleaned by my abductors so no trace evidence was collected.”

“So no rape kit was done, then?”

Scully shakes her head.

The doctor uncrosses her legs, recrosses them with the opposite leg on top. “How long were you missing?”

“About a month...My mother bought me a gravestone, she didn’t think I would be found.” This is a detail she has never spoken out loud. Saying it feels like letting air out of an over-inflated balloon. 

“I’m so sorry, Dana.” Dr. Zapolsky lifts a hand, then puts it back in her lap. “May I hug you?” Scully nods and lets herself be embraced, though she does not feel it necessary. “That sounds like a horrific ordeal.”

Scully shrugs as best she can with Dr. Zapolsky’s arms wrapped around her. “It comes with the job.” Always modest about her suffering, she is. 

Dr. Zapolsky speaks into Scully’s ear. “No, I don’t think it does.” 

The doctor lets go. Scully doesn’t say anything. She curls the fingers of her left hand around her right wrist and squeezes hard enough to be certain that it’ll leave a mark.

Dr. Zapolsky slides her stool back over to the counter, flips through Scully’s file.

“I’d say the best course of action is to start with a blood test. I’ll check a few hormone levels---follicle-stimulating, anti-mullerian, luteinizing. That’ll give some insight into your pituitary gland function and your egg reserve.”

Scully nods along. Those hormones are complicated names she barely remembers, but she trusts it’s the right course of action.

“With that, we can determine whether this is a symptom of a larger problem, or if it’s simply a result of the stress you’ve been under. It should only take a couple days to get the results back.”

Scully nods, bites her lip. More waiting.

“Have you been seeing a therapist by any chance?” Dr. Zapolsky asks.

Scully shakes her head. Dr. Zapolsky should know her better than that. 

“Well, I highly recommend it even to those who have not gone through any trauma. And for a survivor, it can truly be life-changing.”

A survivor. What is she, a war hero? That word is fitting for her father, who lived on the sea and sought eternal rest there. Not her.

“Thank you, but I’m okay.” Scully cannot meet her doctor’s glance.

“If you need any referrals, I can give you some names.” Dr. Zapolsky is just trying to help, Scully knows this, but this is not the help she came here for. 

“The FBI has an on-site psychologist,” she says to close the subject.

“Oh, what a wonderful resource.”

“Most definitely.” Scully smiles weakly and ducks her head, ready to get out of here.

-------

There are many things she is afraid of, but physical pain is not one of them. The unknown, slow but certain death--these are the things that spook Dana Scully. When you’ve spent years being told that what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, you are prepared to suffer for honor. 

This is simply the prick of a needle, a relinquishing. Doctors used to prescribe it as the cure for any ailment, believing it to vanquish toxins from the body. Med school would have been a lot simpler if that were true.

She watches the blood flow out of her veins and into the vial. Some people can’t look; she can’t look away. Missy is seated in the chair next to her, chin resting in her palm after her offer to hold Scully’s hand was rejected. She traces the path of her sister’s blue eyes as they slide from her arm to the vial in the nurse’s hand. Dana has never been afraid to look--that’s the problem.

In an instant, it is done. The nurse smooths a bandage over Scully’s skin, tells her they will call with the results in a few days. And then it is two sisters, going, going, gone.

----------

They have a pleasant ride home, a soft and sisterly evening in. The prospect of Dana going back to Aubrey in the morning never even comes up, much to Melissa’s relief. Perhaps the illusion of normalcy her sister pedals in her head has finally given way to their unreal reality. They don’t waste a moment on the uncertainty circling them, instead curling up on the couch with popcorn and gummy bears for another Golden Girls marathon.

“Which one do you think Mulder is?” Missy asks during a slow moment in the episode.

“Huh?” Scully laughs. “Which Golden Girl, you mean?”

“Uh-huh.” Missy pops a red gummy in her mouth. “Or is he too interesting to be pinned down?” she teases, mimicking the swoony non-answer he gave about Scully some weeks ago.

“I don’t know honestly,” she says, pushing a blanket out of her lap. “I’m not sure that I know him well enough to decide.”

“You’re kidding.” Missy glares at her. Clearly her sister has not dropped the illusion after all.

“No, I’m not,” Scully intones, getting up to refill the gummy bear bowl. “And that reminds me, he wanted me to call.” She glances at the clock. It’s half past 8 there, so surely Mulder is back in his motel room. 

Missy isn’t letting her off the hook that easily. She follows her sister into the kitchen. “Dana, I guarantee that you know him better than anyone else in the world. If they conducted a test on every single living human being’s knowledge of Fox Mulder, you would get the highest score.”

“Knowledge isn’t the same as understanding,” Scully murmurs, dumping the remaining gummy bears into the bowl. 

“I’ll give you that, but you know what? You do understand him, you’re just too afraid to confront it.”

Scully wants to recoil, but freezes in place instead. It’s just as dramatic but gives less away. After a breath, she crumples the plastic bag into a ball and dunks it swiftly into the wastebasket.

She speaks rigidly, each word cutting through the air. “If I understood him, there would be no fear.” 

Missy feels this in her chest--the aching, the truth in her sister’s voice. Dana is as close to crying as she ever gets. Missy strides over, clasps her sister’s hands in hers. “You don’t have to be scared.” She pulls her little sister in, squeezes her heart to Dana’s own. “He loves you. And I’m not talking about in a romantic way--I don’t know, maybe--but just in general. He loves you, and he would never hurt you.”

Scully’s eyes are glassy with tears now, but Melissa cannot see this in the midst of their hug. “Haven’t you ever been hurt by someone who loves you?” She says into Missy’s ear. “We never mean it, but it happens. It happens all the time.”

“And then you apologize, and you go on. Being hurt once doesn’t mean being hurt forever.”

“It can.” Scully pulls away, wipes her cheeks before her sister can overanalyze. 

“It won’t, not with Mulder. I know enough about him to know that.” She brushes her sister’s hair out of her face. “If anyone was going to cut off the relationship, it would be you.”

“Wha--” Scully gives up the protest. She is partial to burning bridges that are prone to collapse, a last-ditch attempt at dignity. Yet Mulder doesn’t strike her as a bridge that would burn even if she set it aflame. Maybe that’s worse though, it prolongs the struggle.

“Hurting him would be worse than getting hurt,” Scully mutters. 

“Loving him would be better than not loving him,” Melissa responds.

“The correct phrasing of that argument is ‘loving him would be better than being loved,’ if you wanted to copy my logic.” Scully gets curt and analytical when she’s annoyed. 

“Hmm, well, consider that too.”

Their eyes meet and Scully can tell that neither one of them is going to win. “I’ve got to call him before it gets too late.” They both know who he is. She turns on her heels and heads for her room. 

--------

He didn’t pick up the first time she called, which scared her more than she’s willing to admit. She sat cross-legged on her bed until the phone rang again about twenty minutes later, until she heard his voice on the other line.

“Hey Scully, sorry, I was out wrapping up the case.”

“Wrapping up?” She doesn’t even bother to say hello. “It’s over?”

“Open and shut...or, err, something like that.”

“What happened?” Her voice strains for no reason. She clears her throat.

“I’ll catch you up some other time,” he says breezily. “How’s Melissa doing?”

For a moment, Scully forgets her lie and tries to figure out why he’s asking about her sister and not her. Then--”Oh! She’s okay, yeah, it was a sprain like we suspected. Nothing broken on the x-ray. She can just about walk normally now, I think she’ll be off crutches by tomorrow.” Embellish, embellish, embellish. Missy had taught her to lie in the 6th grade, and she finally had some use for that knowledge.

“That’s great! I’m flying back tomorrow morning, I can be at the office by 10 if you wanna meet me there.” 

“Will you tell me about the case? And BJ? How is she?”

“I’ll...I’ll tell you that tomorrow, Scully.” There’s a bit of gravel in his voice, which Scully has noticed comes out when he’s tired or holding back. 

“Fine. Should I assume that by 10, you mean 10:30?”

“Well, you know how the line at the Dulles Chick-fil-A gets,” he wisecracks.

Something goes wrong between her brain and her tongue as she goes to wrap up the conversation. “Alright, 10:30. Love you, bye.”

Mulder makes a noise like a stifled laugh or a cough that couldn’t be held in. “What was that, Scully?”

Her face is flushed, and she’s thankful he can’t see it. “Sorry, I’ve been talking to Missy on the phone a lot lately. Habit.” The voice flowing out of her sounds calm and collected, like that was just an honest mistake. In a way it was...a much too honest one that has made her anything but calm.

“Oh, is that who you say that to?” he teases. 

She laughs. Surely he couldn’t think there’s anyone else, could he? 

“Just Missy, and maybe my mom.” She says it like a promise. He hears it like a prayer. Unusual, for both of them.

“Bye, Mulder,” she says, ushering any sentimentality away. 

“Bye, Scully. Hate you. Oh, sorry--that’s what I say to my dad on the phone.”

Scully giggles into the phone. She’s still giggling as she sets the phone back on the hook.

Even after the call flat-lines, Mulder holds the phone against his ear like it’s a seashell echoing Scully’s giggle back to him.

[blu-eh]

Danny Phantom Ao3 Fic Recs

i have absolutely nothing better to do than go through my bookmarks countless times so i figured i would share some lesser-know (sometimes) COMPLETE fics that i rlly enjoy reading when im perusing ao3 in search of content. this is ofc not all of them 

under keep reading bc its gonna be a Long Post probably 

Unearthed by Marsalias | 1 out of 3 works of the Exhumed series 

Something has been found that should not have been.

aka police find a body/half a body (dannys) in the woods. phantom says its his. Shit Goes Down as police assume hes been murdered and conduct a formal investigation and basically bite off more than they can chew.

Absurdism by DarkNymfa 

Absurdism: doctrine that we live in an irrational universe

Jazz is 14 years old, has no friends, and, oh yeah, she has ghost powers. And now, mere months after the accident that made her half-ghost, she meets someone like her.

darknymfa is a fantastic author w/ fantastic stories so be sure to CHECK THEM OUT but this is my all time favorite basically where canon danny gets stuck in a world where a younger jazz was turned into a halfa instead of him. doppelgänger shenanigans. danny as a teacher. We All Love A Good Dimension Travel Fic Here

Parental Woes by DarkNymfa 

Humans form families of flesh and blood, while ghosts form theirs based on connections in their cores. But what does that mean for a half-ghost?

clockwork and pandora see danny and are like. this is my child now. attempt to adopt despite danny still having human parents that he does actually consider family too. found family? normal family?? both at the same time??? 

Hitch-Hiker by cosmonaughtt

Danny's lost, thanks to the help of another ghost patrol gone wrong. Luckily he finds a kind driver who's willing to take him to the next town. But is this driver just as "normal" as he is?

STEVEN UNIVERSE x DP CROSSOVER THAT WE LOVE AND DESERVE 

Adoption by Marsalias

What, exactly, does ghost adoption entail?

clockwork takes in danny after dannys parents are uhhhhhhhh Not Good. lots of world building for ghost legal systems. danny deserves a hug (and gets one!) 

Shift by Alexa_Piper

It turns out that the views of Agents O and K are not held by the rest of the Guys in White... which they discover when they bring in a fourteen-year-old half-ghost kid for "painful experiments".

the giw seeing danny and his neglectful parents and are like: My Child Now. ft. danny getting the hugs he deserves 

That Razor's Edge by Fionn_Sgeul

Valerie's world was clear-cut and straightforward. Then came the night when everything she thought she knew came crashing down on her head … along with a few tons of pulverised building.

That was the night that she became the thing she feared … and discovered that maybe it wasn't a thing to be so frightened of.

And also, maybe it was finally, finally time to admit that Phantom wasn't such a bad guy after all.

HALFA VALERIE HALFA VALERIE HALFA VALERIE

what a teacher would do for a student by mageofmoonlight

Danny tensed, pulling his hands away from the bars of the cage, frost swirling at his fingertips, his core buzzing in his chest as he prepared to transform.

“Do not touch my students,” Mr. Lancer said.

There was a flash of light.

this fic and this concept is so underrated. i love it. i need a dozen more fics like this

Jumpsuiting To Conclusions by Kimcat

Jack and Maddie have finally managed to catch Phantom, and they can't help but take notice how similar his outfit is to their own.

Warnings: Mentions of drugs and blood

ofc.....good old parental identity reveal. this one is goodddddd

Real World Item by Marsalias

Danny Fenton shows up on ghost detectors when in the real world. What does Danny Phantom show up on in the Ghost Zone?

this is another one of those fics where its like i keep recc’ing this author because they DESERVE IT and are GOOD AT WRITING FICS and this fic is no exception. aka danny shows up on the real world item detector in phantom form and has some Explaining to do to his parents 

Dancing Around the Truth by Taliax 

The last thing Valerie wanted was to get caught up in Paulina’s plot to ask Phantom to the winter formal. Unfortunately Paulina’s made sure she doesn’t have a choice. Meanwhile, Danny just wants to finish his Algebra quiz.

i lvoe this fic smsmsdm sdjkgf WOW ok basically: paulina finds out valeries secret, valerie finds out dannys, paulina finds out dannys and its all one Mess of a situation 

Icebound by Pandemi

The Justice League gets their hands on a magic orb, but when it starts giving off emotions, they find that this is no ordinary magical object... in fact, it just might be sentient.

this is one of my first dp fics & all time favorite fics. a dc x dp crossover. danny gets trapped in his core, the justice league find & help him. then they adopt him (they dont but like they basically do) 

[tonystarkissist]

I don't know if you're taking requests (don't have to do it if you don't want to) but Peter's on a mission with the Avengers and gets hurt he tried to tell the other Avengers (he doesn't want to to worry Tony) they think it's just small thing and cap tells him to walk it off. After Tony finds him he asks why didn't you tell anyone "I did and cap told me to walk it off" Tony is angry and gives cap a good talking to. Bonus: After this Tony and peter cuddle on the couch while watching a movie.

Alright here we go! Sorry for the kinda long wait anon. It’s been a while since I’ve written a one shot.

WARNING: Mild Description of a Panic Attack

“Alright Peter, you got this. You got this, Peter,” Peter whispered to himself under his breath. “You got this.”

He flipped his way through the chaos, shooting webs from every angle he was able. He saw Falcon zoom by him, taking out whatever androids he had missed on his way by and Peter couldn’t help but grin. It was like he was actually a part of the team and he couldn’t help his fanboy heart from swelling so big it warmed his chest.

Tony would be so totally pissed once he found out… but still, this was totally epic.

“Kid, pack of 10 with Nat at your 4 o’clock.” Falcon’s voice crackled in his ear through the comm system Captain America himself had FRIDAY transfer through Karen when he’d jumped in and joined the fray. 

“Got’em thanks!” He chirps, maneuvering midair to throw himself towards the group of evil bots attacking Black Widow… The Black Widow. Oh boy he was gonna fanboy so hard when this was all over. No doubt.

He helped her take them out no problem and she winked at him. Like… actually winked. 

“Don’t know why Stark’s kept you under wraps so long, kid.” Peter grins through the mask at her backhanded compliment and then she was running away, flipping off the hood of a totaled car to kick a droid in what Peter assumed to be its face. Then she was talking again, but it was through the comms and Peter may or may not have started hyperventilating. “The kid’s got skill, Steve. You might be able to use him against the big guy over there.”

“Alright, catch that kid?” Steve Rogers' voice crackles through his earpiece. “Meet us up here on 15th. Be careful though, this guy’s got a mean swing.” 

Peter couldn’t believe it… he was actually going to fight alongside Captain America. He wasn’t going to just be on the outskirts of the real battle helping to catch the stragglers and evacuate citizens. He was going to do something important. 

Oh god Tony was so gonna kill him. 

But that didn’t deter him at all as he swung his way to join Captain America and Co.

It was going fairly well until it wasn’t.

He’d gotten back handed by the huge robot several times already and, okay, maybe his insides felt like they’d been shattered multiple times, but he was fine! He was totally fine. The adrenaline was keeping most of the pain at bay, so he was fine.

Then he was thrown through a wall, rolling across the hard cement floor of some building before he came skidding to a halt at the center of the large open expanse… It looked like a parking garage. 

He groaned then hissed in pain, rolling onto his other side as he hugged his chest. His head was throbbing and he’s pretty sure every rib in his body had been fractured. No. Every bone.

God that hurts.

“Peter. Several injuries have been detected. Shall I alert Mr. Stark?”

Hell no, Peter couldn’t help but think. There was no way he was going to interrupt Mr. Stark in DC when the man had given him explicit instructions to lay low and be safe while he was gone. Besides… if Mr. Stark found out, he’d make Steve take him out of the fight and Peter can’t let that happen. He’s gotta help or else a lot of people would get hurt and it’d be his fault.

So, he scrambles to his feet and winces when he felt a slight throb in his right ankle. Yeah… not good. “No, Karen,” he winced, “I’m fine. Don’t tell Mr. Stark.”

Then there was a loud rumble and the ground beneath him shook. He stared down at the space between where his feet were awkwardly planted and his eyes widened when he heard several small pieces of gravel from the ceiling over head splatter on the ground. Peter swears he hears a distinct crack too and-- oh god the building’s gonna fall.

It was going to fall. He had to get out of there! It was going to fall and he was going to be trapped! And he was going to be all alone and nobody would ever be able to find him!

“Spiderman!” Captain America shouts through the comms with a pained grunt. “Where are you?! Get out here we need you! Hurry it up!”

Peter whimpers. He hugs his chest tighter, head whipping around to find his quickest exit because he had to get out of here before it fell on top of him and trapped him forever. The building was going to fall. It was going to fall right on top of him and he’d never be able to get out.

There’s another rumble and a harsh shake, followed by even more crumbling pieces of cement along with several chunks of rock raining from above as well. Peter cries out in a panic, arms flying up to cover his head as he cowers away from the falling debris. He’s frozen to the spot, eyes blown wide as he focuses his energy on controlling his breathing so he could actually force himself to MOVE goddammit! Oh god, he couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. He needs to get out of here!

“Spiderman!” Steve calls again over the comms with frustration lining his tone. Peter winces at the noise, but he answers despite his discomfort.

“Here sir,” Peter whispers, cowering away from the sound of his own voice. It was too loud. Too loud.

Ok… so maybe this is worse than he thought. Panic attack… not good.

“Get out here then, kid.” That was… that was Falcon's voice this time.

Peter gulps and he forces his foot forward, then the other. He watches the ceiling carefully as he makes his way through the half full parking garage, watching to make sure it wouldn’t catch him by surprise. He runs through the instructions Mr. Stark taught him for when he was having trouble breathing in situations such as this… he imagined the man’s voice coaching him through his breathing.

“Um-um sir…” Peter swallowed thickly once he caught his breath… Maybe Steve could help him. Maybe he could help like Mr. Stark helps him. “The-the building is going to fall.” Or maybe he’d realize that he’s not doing so well and sit him out just like Mr. Stark would do.

“What building?” The Captain at least had the decency to sound concerned.

“The building I’m in. The Parking Garage.” Peter answered, stepping closer and closer towards an open space he could escape from.

“Are there any civilians?”

“No.” Peter answered, sounding ashamed and childish.

“Then get out of there and get out here!”

Peter swallowed. He knows he shouldn’t… his whole body is screaming and now that he’s stopped fighting he can feel every cut on his body, and every step he took felt like his entire body was screaming. And god, he can’t breathe again… oh god. The building’s gonna fall and the only person that cares enough to actually get him out is a whole state away. 

Maybe he does need Mr. Stark after all.

“Um-um sir… I got um… I’ve gotten pretty banged up. I don’t think Mr. Stark would want me to--”

“Just walk it off, Spiderman. If you can still walk, you can still fight. We need your help.”

So Peter gulps down his panic and takes a running leap out of the building, landing in a deserted alleyway just outside. His breathing is still labored, his chest is still burning, and he’s pretty sure his ankle had officially snapped from the landing… but he’s out. Oh goodness he’s out. He got out. The building didn’t fall.

He falls to the ground, gloved hands covering his masked face as he leans against the alley wall and brings his knees to his chest. He’s out. He’s safe.

Then he cries… he knows it’s stupid. He knows. He should just walk it off like Captain America told him too, because that’s what a real hero would do. But, instead, he cries. Maybe it’s from relief or from the influx of input attacking his senses or maybe it’s the adrenaline completely wearing off and allowing him to finally feel the fatigue and the pain  encompassing him, controlling him, and screaming at him. His muscles tightened as he fought off the urge to scream and he just-- he couldn’t move. 

The commotion going on in the battle around him was so loud the vibrations reverberating on the ground beneath him shook him to the core which only heightened the throbbing pain in his head. He wanted to get out of here. He needed to get away but he couldn’t move. It was too loud! He needed to get away… but he couldn’t tell Captain America… he has to be better than this. He-he can’t be knocked down by a few bruises, a stupid trauma, and some loud noises. He was Spiderman for god’s sake.

“Just walk it off, Spiderman. Just walk it off.” He repeats it like a mantra until his teeth are gritting with such strength he’s sure he’d have broken his jaw by now if he were a normal human.

He needed to get out of here… 

“Peter, you are in severe distress. Contacting Mr. Stark.”

And he doesn’t protest this time.

***

Tony had gotten the call from Steve that New York was under attack… again. So he had politely dismissed himself from his meeting with the President and began the uneventful flight back to the city, knowing good and well the fight would probably be over by the time he got there anyways. 

He hadn’t felt the impending panic to rush until a half hour later when he received an alert on his HUD transmitted from Peter’s suit. He tensed, a cold sweat springing forth, then commanded FRIDAY to patch him through to Peter with a worried waver in his voice.

The line clicks and Tony doesn’t hesitate.

“Peter?! Peter! Peter do you hear me?”

Nothing. 

“FRIDAY, is he unconscious?” He’s panicking. What if the kid was hurt from the attack? Had he tried joining in to help?

“No sir,” FRIDAY answered. So Tony tried again.

“Peter, buddy. Peter, answer me pal. C’mon. You got me worried here.”

There was a small whine of acknowledgement and nothing else. At least the kid was alive. He was almost to the city… he was almost there, but he pushed the suit even harder. “FRIDAY, track his suit and get me on the team’s comm.”

“On it, Boss.”

He was met with a pained huff from none other than Captain Rogers himself. “You almost on site Iron Man?”

Tony doesn’t bother with pleasantries, but he does his best to tap down on his panic and remain calm.

“What the actual F*CK, ROGERS?!”

Ok, maybe not so calm.

“Wha-- Tony. I’m sorry to interrupt your important meeting but I believe this constitutes as an emergency.” Tony hates that he taught the man sarcasm, but at least he sounds peeved at his rudeness. Good. 

“Where’s the kid?” Tony spit, coming up on the outskirts of the city, dipping lower and beginning to weave his way through the skyscrapers to reach the location of the blinking dot on his HUD. He was going a bit faster than he probably should, but he needed to get to Peter.

“What kid?”

“You know DAMN WELL what kid! Where’s Spiderman?!”

“He was fighting with us just fine Tony. Calm down. We haven’t seen him for a few minutes, but I’m sure he’s fine.”

“Well he’s not,” Tony spat. “I gave you one order--”

“You don’t make the orders Tony,” Steve interrupted, sounding just a little more pissed off at his attitude, but Tony was not having it right now. 

“No!” He snaps, “This is where you shut it! The only reason you’re in charge is because I’m too goddamn busy keeping the world intact to micromanage and babysit all you idiots all hours of the day. You understand?! You put my kid in danger when I explicitly told you to stay the hell away!” And with that, he zooms right past the pitiful “threat” Steve, Bucky, and Sam were duking it out with, straight towards an alleyway behind an unstable looking parking garage.

“Tony! We need your help. The kid will be fine for a few minutes. You need to--” 

FRIDAY thankfully cut off communications before he could lose it on Steve and say something he wouldn’t regret. He landed with a harsh thud and he stumbled out of his suit, rushing towards Peter’s form huddled in the corner of the alley.

“Hey, kiddo,” He whispers softly, grabbing for the edges of the kid’s mask to pull it over his head so he might be able to breathe properly. He sees the trail of tears falling along his cheeks and the redness around his eyes as his chest heaves up and down with each struggled breath.

“Hey,” he tries again, this time grabbing the kid’s shoulders and pulling him close. “Calm down, Buddy. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

And then he sees the blood.... And the mangled foot... Okay, maybe he’s not so okay.

“FRIDAY. Scan him for injuries,” he instructs his AI under his breath. “Kiddo,” he then addresses Peter, “can you tell me what hurts?”

He’s met with a quiet keen as the boy slowly lifts his hands to clamp over his ears. “Loud,” he whines, curling further into himself as a loud crash erupts near the battle site.

Tony instantly knows what’s wrong and he begins rummaging through his pants pockets as he scans the list of injuries FRIDAY displayed on his watch. Broken ribs, broken leg, dislocated shoulder, lots of abrasion and gashes, lots of bruises, and a possible concussion… what the HELL was Rogers thinking? 

He tamps down on his anger and is able to fish out the special earbuds he always carried around for instances just like this. He moves forward to pull Peter’s hands away from his ears so he could insert the devices gently, being careful to not jostle him or touch his skin too much. The kid may not say anything about it, but Tony isn’t ignorant to the pain and discomfort that comes with touching when Peter’s senses are going haywire with hypersensitivity.

Once both are fitted in either ear, Peter’s body visibly sags with relief and Tony pulls him close, combing hair out of his face with a soft brush of his fingers. He’s careful of the cuts and bruises dressing the boy’s face and he swallows past a lump of fury as he slowly turns his comms back on.

Steve was already shouting at him, but he was quick to interrupt him with a quiet fury. He’s sure Peter could feel the rumble of his deep growl vibrate through his chest.

“Tell me what happened,” Tony interrupted with a huff.

Steve paused, obviously not a fan of being bossed around, but he gives in anyway. “This guy showed up in a powered suit which we think is supposed to be a knockoff of the Iron Monger--”

“I don’t give a shit about that lousy fight. Tell me what happened with my kid.”

“Stark,” Steve scolds, a sharp bite to his tone, “you seriously need to get your head on right. Get your priorities in check. The kid is fine. He can take care of himself.”

“I swear to GOD Rogers. If you don’t tell me what the hell happened this instant, the world’s gonna have a jolly ol’ time figuring why Iron Man blasted Captain America’s head into Timbuktu. You copy?” He moves away from Peter to allow the suit to surround him, then he picks him up carefully. One of the kid’s knees were busted and ribs on both sides were fractured so he tucked the kid close to his armor and tried not to jostle him, chest to chest and Peter instinctively wrapped his limbs around the armor.

Then Steve was explaining with helpful details pitched in here and there from the others.

“The kid was freaking out about the building falling and not feeling all that great or something and Cap told him to get on outta there and to walk it off so he can get back to helping--” 

“He did what?!” Tony shouts, boots already igniting as he slowly ascends. He’s heard Steve say that too many times to count and it never bothered him all that much before… but he said it to Peter? That was NOT okay. “You told my kid to walk it off when he told you he was hurt and scared? Do you have any idea how long it took for me to drill that self-preservation into him?! Do you have any idea how much pain this kid can withstand without complaining?! He is a child and he was HURT!”

“I didn’t think he was that hurt Tony!” Steve immediately defended. “I thought he was just being--”

“What? Dramatic? You thought a fifteen year old kid who was just thrown through 2 feet of concrete after being tossed around like a limp rag doll was being dramatic?”

“Ok, but--”

“Uh-uh, no buts.” Tony snapped. He turns his suit to face the “threat” the team was oh so struggling against. “I’m done discussing this with you.” He lifts the arm not supporting Peter and aims. “I want you all back at the Tower in an hour for a special meeting since none of you seemed to get this explicit stipulation the first time around.”

“You can’t be serious,” Natasha argued, “this thing is still terrorizing the… city…” Just as she finishes off her sentence, Tony’s newly designed missile hit it’s mark and the hunk of metal fell to the ground without so much as an explosion, along with its fleet of lousy robots. 

“One hour,” Tony growls. “If you’re late, then you can find somewhere else to sleep and mooch off of from now on.”

Then with that, he hugged his kid closer and took off towards the Tower, already contacting Helen and instructing her to get the medbay ready.

**Bonus**

Tony locked himself and Peter away in the penthouse after Helen finished treating the last of his injuries. He’d kept himself busy after she kicked him out while she was operating by telling each of his teammates off for putting his kid in danger and ignoring his small plea for help. Thankfully, they all kept silent during his harsh lashing, even Steve… he supposed it might be because he seemed a little unhinged, and, well, they’d never really seen him emote any type of emotion except for maybe a little irritation here and there. So he supposed their stunned silence was excusable.

But, he’s sure he was able to get the point across this time around. They’d never dare do anything like that again unless they wanted to find themselves facing some serious consequences. Hell he has all the power in the world to make their lives miserable. They depend too much on him to dare risk going against him.

So, now, here he was with his kid huddled close to him as they watched movies long into the night as his team licked their wounds a few floors below. 

“Tony,” Peter whispered, voice hoarse from disuse. Tony turned down to look at him. “I’m sorry.” The kid sniffed and maybe it was Tony’s imagination, but the kid’s arms seemed to squeeze around his waist just a little tighter.

He sighed and leafed his hand through Peter’s shower damp hair. “Don’t be sorry… just… next time, listen to me, yeah?”

Peter nods. 

“I just… I wanted to-- I couldn’t just not help.”

Tony humms, nose pressed firmly against his crown. “I see your predicament… you did good by the way. Just… I don’t want you getting involved with things like that without me there to back you up, alright?”

Peter pulled away far enough so he could look up at him with a frown. “You’re not always gonna be there to protect me Tony,” he argued, “I can do things myself. You said you trusted me.”

“I do trust you,” Tony agreed, “it’s just all the other bastards in the world I have trouble trusting.” He pushed back the kid’s hair, the backs of his fingers brushing against his forehead. “I just need to know you stay safe, and I know I won’t always be there… but I can try to be.”

“How will I ever grow if you never let me do things on my own?” Peter continued arguing petulantly, and Tony could sense the boy’s irritation rising. 

“Peter,” he replied sternly, “whether you like it or not, you’re my top priority. I don’t care if you’re fifteen or fifty, I will always do everything in my power to make sure you’re safe. You understand?”

Peter’s lip stuck out and he nodded his head pitifully, body falling against him once more. “Yes’sir.”

“Good. So, maybe next time, instead of deliberately disobeying me, give me a call or something if I’m out of town so I can at least be your voice of reason as I’m commuting. That way I may be able to keep you from flying head first into something you shouldn’t. Or maybe wait till I’m there and can properly assess the situation.”

“Fine,” Peter grumbled.

Tony smiled, and FRIDAY cued up their next movie. 

Half an hour in and Peter was yawning nonstop, eyes blinking lethargically until they eventually slipped closed. Just when Tony was sure the boy had fallen asleep, the kid surprised him again.

“You totally told off Captain America.”

“Sure did,” Tony chuckled.

He could feel Peter’s grin spread across his face as he whispered once more before finally slipping off to sleep. 

“So badass.”

Hope y’all enjoyed! Hit me up with any other fic requests. Can’t guarantee they’ll be done in a timely matter, but I try XP

[thecanadianowl]

Batman: Death in the Family Review (SPOILERS)

 This is going to be long.

I originally had no interest in watching this mainly because it's based off a story where its only significance is Jason's death. The thing that won me over was the "choose your adventure" type which is an interesting style to do for this particular event. The three main selections are Jason cheats death, Robin dies and Batman saves Robin. Of those 3, only 1 of them was the most interesting. But before I do that, let me go over why the other 2 were disappointing.

 Robin dies choice is basically a rehash of the Under the Red Hood animated movie only its shortened and narrated by Bruce as he is speaking to Clark Kent at a diner. All it is a repeat of shit we knew. Bruce blames himself for the path he set Jason on and Clark giving a hopeful message of finding Jason. All this choice does is add an extended ending.

Robin cheats death one puts Jason having gone through surgery, having his skin grafted and stitched up from the explosion. The trauma and pain has Jason resent Bruce for the life he been put into and basically becomes Hush. He goes after criminals (btw decapitating Nygma, waay too much) which gets the attention of of Talia Al Ghul where she proposes an alliance with Jason while also taking in baby Damian under his tutelage. The problem isnt the story itself bit that it had so much potential. Seriously it could have been Batman:Hush as well as seeing where this conflict between Bruce and Jason will end now that Talia and Damian are in the equation. Btw Talia fans, this is probably the only ending with the character you are gonna like.

Batman saves Robin okay this is the one with multiple choices involved and goes down interesting paths for some of them. So Batman saves Robin but in doing so, he dies and Robin lives, and Nightwing becomes Batman (cool I guess, too bad they never gave him any dialogue). The first choice given is whether Jason chases/arrests the Joker or Kills him.

Kill Joker option where Jason is at a Diner and talks with this stranger who is revealed to be Joker who is now given up being the Joker because “his” Batman is gone. He recites the ‘2 inmates escape an asylum’ joke that he said in the Killing Joke allowing for Jason to put it together and kill him right there in front of 2 cops who are also in the diner.Immediately after you are given the choice to turn yourself in or run. The run option is the one that matters because Jason becomes Red Robin and begins his killing spree. Which Btw is just recycled footage they used in the Robin cheats death option just with the Red Robin edited over Hush. Really? Was budget that low? But what makes this ending good is that RR is later pinned down by Two Face and given the clean/scratched coin option, Jason is saved by Tim Drake (with a taser) and is reminded of Batman’s code and its importance not only to himself but to the people of Gotham. In doing so Jason stops killing and takes Tim in as a sidekick: BatKid. Seriously, that is the name you chose? Why not have Jason be Nightwing (which he was for short while, albeit to ruin Dick’s reputation) and Tim be Robin? Batkid :Great name for a kid’s Make-A -Wish dream, not so great if you want to use it in more serious context . This is one of the better endings as Jason becomes a better person in the end and the type of hero Bruce would have wanted but at the same time shows that Jason’s past habits were hard to get rid of especially with his father gone.

Arrest Joker has Jason become Redhood to lure Joker out in public. When he does that and unveils his true identity to him, the Joker brags about how he created him and how his rage has lead him down a murderous path, reinforcing the jokers belief of "one bad day". The next decision to be made is whether Jason should kill Joker or not. This decision ultimately has no impact as both decision lead to the same concluding decision set. I chose to kill him because let's be honestly this the path set by Jason really compliments the 2 choice options you have to make in the final one. Where Jason is confronted by Talia with a resurrected Batman who only says “Zur-en-arrh” trying to get Jason to join them but later results in a fight.

Okay there is a lot to unpack here. First: Did Grant Morrison write this? I’m asking because of how he has written Talia during his run on Batman (and how it upsets a lot of fans). You would think Talia knowing first hand what the effects of the Lazarus pit are, would she actually risk it turning the man she loves into a husk of his former self? Yes she would want Bruce to join her on their crusade against the corruption of the modern world but not if it meant Bruce wasn’t in a rational state of mind. Secondly, of all the possible Batman personas/iterations why this one?

I know they give some sort of reason near the end, but it just seemed so out of nowhere. Maybe I am looking too much into this, but if they were going to go this route, I feel like it would have been cooler to see Bruce in the Knightfall suit or have him wear a similar Batsuit that Damian wore in Batman 666.

And thirdly, you would think a fight between Jason and Bruce (where the roles are reversed, sorta) would be the most epic shit ever, but it doesn’t even last a minute it ends with either Bruce getting stabbed or knocked out (depending on which you choose). Before I go with why I think letting Bruce live is the better ending, I would like to say that when Jason kills him, Bruce sets off a bomb killing all three of them and the final shot  of Jason’s corpse is very reminiscence of that comic cover of Jason caught in the explosion. I thought it was cool.

Now the reason why, I liked the save ending (and find it to be the definitive ending for this movie)   is that Jason gives up being Redhood and works with Babs, Dick and Alfred in helping Bruce gain back his sanity.  This  ending encompasses all that was needed for Jason’s arc from becoming Redhood, to killing Joker, to his realization how wrong his methods were to being part of the Batfamily again and finally to save his father. It encompasses the idea that being Batman is more than just pain and suffering, its about hope and being able to become a better person, that your pain/anger doesn’t define who you are/can be.

Overall, I feel that this movie is a disappointing as both a prequel/sequel to Under the Red Hood. Unless you are a huge fan of Jason Todd, wait for a sale or when they release this in a collection with their other movies. The letdown for me is that certain choices have better writing than others and supporting characters aren’t used to their full potential. That being said, the idea of having different choices and giving the audience the chance to explore each of them. I hope they do this with other pivotal moments in DC’s history.

Also do the writers hate Black Mask? I get he isn’t the most popular Bat-villain but damn Sionis gets the short end of the stick in every timeline especially in the first ending of Robin Cheating death, it was so ridiculous that it is borderline hilarious

[spohkh]

miracle on cornelia street [dean/castiel]

so BASICALLY sarah @adanceinasnowglobe and i were talking about what everyone would be up to post-series -- yknow, like, now that theyre all safe and healthy n everythings cool and destiel is officially together. yknow. as happened in canon -- and we were like so obviously destiel get a house, and thats kind of the basis of this verse so !! this is the foundational fic for what i HOPE will be a series of fun lil day-in-the-life drabbles, from both me and sarah!! 

ehehehe :-) enjoy!

read on AO3

The house is a quaint thing, sitting low and snug under a pair of shady oak trees in a quiet suburb just outside of downtown Lawrence. Its brickwork face is weathered—definitely in need of a good power wash—and the roof is just as worn. The bottom step to the porch slants unevenly, and the porch itself has cracks in the concrete. There are chips in the paint on the window frames, the iron porch railing is rusting, and who knows when the gutters were last given a proper cleaning.

There’s a lot of work to be done, but standing there in the small front lawn, Dean Winchester can’t say if he’s ever seen anyplace else so perfect as the house at 3767 Cornelia Street. Dean’s house—his home. His home with Cas.

“Can you believe it?” he quietly says to Miracle, who has been sitting patiently by Dean’s leg. Miracle tilts her head and wags her tail. Dean looks back up at the house. “Yeah, me neither.”

The sound of a familiar car rumbling up the road snaps Dean out of his reverie. He rubs a knuckle at his eye and clears his throat and tries to look like he hadn’t been standing in his front yard about to cry while talking to his dog, christ.

The car rolls to a stop on the curb just in front of the house. The driver’s side door opens, and Sam slowly unfolds his ridiculous limbs as he gets out. It’s always a wonder how he can fit himself into a car at all. Sam gives a dorky little wave as he ambles over to where Dean is standing.

Dean peers behind Sam, trying to see into the car. “What, no Eileen?”

“Hello to you, too. Dick,” he replies snarkily. “She’s wrapping up a work thing. She’ll come over when she’s done.”

Dean sucks his teeth in disappointment. “Ah, well. Guess you can go home then.” Sam shoves at his shoulder. Dean just laughs and pulls Sam in for a proper hello hug.

“Why are you standing out here, anyway?” Sam asks when they part.

“Can’t a man just hang out in his own front yard? Accompanied by a dashing canine companion?” He leans down to pat Miracle on the head.

“I guess…” Sam looks down at Miracle. When she tips her head up and gazes back at him, Sam snorts.

“What?”

“Miracle on Cornelia Street,” Sam says with mirth.

Dean squints at him. “What?” he repeats, now more incredulous.

“You know—like Miracle on 34th Street. But we’re on Cornelia, so.” He nods down at the dog. “Miracle on Cornelia Street.”

“Dude.” Dean rolls his eyes at Sam’s goofy grin and starts walking up the path to the house, Miracle trotting behind him. “Shut up and come inside already.”

Sam follows after him, pausing just inside the threshold as he spots something on the doorframe. “Oh, classy,” he says, throwing a sardonic look to where D.W. and C.W. are scratched into the wood.

“Just wait,” Dean jokes with a toothy smile, “when I got the time I’m gonna draw a little heart around it.” He was joking, but now that he said it, he kind of wanted to.

Cas looks up from the stove when they walk into the dining room. He’s wearing one of Dean’s old AC/DC tees, the logo all but worn away from being washed so many times. He’s usually in some ratty tee or other when lounging around these days. But in honor of Sam’s visit today (Cas’ words) and to seem a little more dressy short of donning his usual button-downs (Dean’s private opinion), he’s also wearing the cable-knit cardigan Sam got him as a gift last Christmas. “Hi, Sam.”

Sam leans against the counter that separates the dining and kitchen areas, craning his giraffe neck to catch a glimpse at the stove. “Hey, Cas! What’cha cooking?”

“Nothing. Dean made it. I was just watching the pot so it didn’t boil over.” He locks eyes with Dean, his intent stare very clearly communicating I did not touch the chili I added nothing I did not touch the dial I was just watching it like you asked so don’t even start.

Dean just smiles as he walks past the counter and steps into Cas’ space. “Thank you, sweetheart,” he says, and busses Cas on the cheek.

“You’re welcome,” Cas replies warmly. He’s gazing up at Dean with those summer afternoon blue eyes, standing in one of Dean’s shirts and that dorky cardigan, and Dean starts to get full of that feeling from out in the front yard again. If they were alone, Dean would probably say something recklessly sappy like I am so stupid in love with you.

As it is, Dean clears his throat and turns back to Sam, slinging an arm around Cas’ shoulders, and says, “He did the salad.”

Cas sneaks him a knowing look before, thankfully, putting his attention on Sam without commenting on Dean’s hasty redirection. “I did the salad,” Cas agrees blithely, and places the salad bowl on the counter for Sam to see, seeming pleased with himself.

Sam looks between the two of them, an amused tilt to his eyebrow that Dean implicitly distrusts. He’s definitely thinking mocking thoughts about the two of them. But he just quirks a smile and says, “It looks great.” Shrewd little diplomat.

Cas shifts to the side to see past Sam’s shoulder. Sam glances behind himself before shooting Cas a confused look.

“She’s still at work,” Dean tells Cas, guessing who he’s looking for. “Sadly.”

“What, am I not good enough?”

“Of course you are,” Cas promises earnestly, just as Dean says, “Well…”

Sam’s opening his mouth to retort, probably something absolutely scathing, when his phone chimes. He pulls it out of his pocket, a smile spreading over his face. “Speak of the devil,” he says, then tips his head with a grimace, “as it were. That was Eileen. She’ll be here soon, so I’m gonna go wash up.”

“Bathroom’s down the hall—“

“Dude, I know where it is. I did help you guys move in.”

Dean spreads his hands in assent. “Fine, christ, I swear never to be a good host to you in my home ever again. Go ahead and go take your dump now.”

“I’m not gonna—ohmygodnevermind.” He turns on his heel and huffs down the hall, Miracle trotting after him, the tags on her collar clinking together jauntily.

Dean reaches past Cas to turn the burner off, then lands his hand on Cas’ hip. “Have I told you today how cute you are in that sweater?”

“Yes.” Cas brings his hands up to cradle Dean’s face. “Four times.”

“Make it five.” Dean kisses him. He pulls Cas into a hug, pressing his face against Castiel’s shoulder. They sway into each other. After a warm moment, Dean says in a low voice, “The first family dinner in our house.”

Cas hums a soft, contented sound in agreement. “The first of many,” he responds, just as quiet. Dean squeezes him tighter. He knows they’re both thinking about Jack and Claire, their bedrooms sitting empty and waiting for whenever they can find the time to visit—and Kaia and Alex and Jody with Claire, if they can, and Charlie and her girlfriend, and Bobby, and all the other wayward extensions of their sprawling family caught out in the wind. Their house isn’t big enough to host everyone, but with Sam and Eileen up the block and the bunker just a few miles out, there’s plenty of room to put up people who come out their way. Dean has the hope that 3767 Cornelia Street becomes a common pitstop for folks—a suburban Roadhouse, a tidier (much tidier) Singer Salvage.

Dean presses a kiss against Cas’ neck, and Cas breathes a sweet little sigh that pushes all thoughts about future dinners right out the window. Fuck, this dinner could go out the window, for all he cares. He kisses a little higher up, right under Cas’ jawline, before pulling back to catch Castiel’s darkened gaze. “How ‘bout we ditch the nag and go have a private party of our own?”

“Dean, no. I worked really hard on that salad.” He sounds perfectly serious, but the playful glint in his eye gives him away. Dean snorts, mumbling oh, forgive me, Chef Cas as he leans in again.

Just as they kiss, Sam walks back in. “Hey, I think something’s wrong with your sink–- oh, sorry.”

“Huh?” Dean reluctantly pulls away as Sam clears his throat, looking sheepish. “What’s wrong with what, Sammy?”

“Uh, with your bathroom.”

“The bathroom? Oh, what, you clogged the toilet?”

“Wha— N—  I DID NOT SHIT IN YOUR BATHROOM.”

“Then how did the toilet get messed up?”

“It’s the SINK, the SINK—”

“You took a shit in the sink?”

Cas pinches the bridge of his nose. “Dean…”

“What? He started it.”

“Started WHAT?”

Dean snaps his fingers. “The end of the world.”

“Oh! My god!”

“I guess technically, yeah, since god is our kid...” He turns to Cas. “Weird, weird lives we lead.”

Cas just shakes his head, clearly exasperated. Sam has given up on speaking completely and has fallen back on making a gesture like he’s one second away from grabbing Dean by the throat.

“I was there for all twelve years of it,” Sam says to Cas, “and I still can’t believe you stayed with this guy.”

“Well,” Cas muses serenely, “you’ve been here a lot longer than me.”

Sam grimaces when Dean throws him his best shit-eating grin. Nothing like his two favorite people bonding over how much of a pain he is.

The sound of the front door opening distracts them, and then a voice calls, “Knock knock! The life of the party has arrived!”

“Eileen!” Sam exclaims happily. Miracle takes off down the hall, Sam hot on her heels.

Dean chuckles at Sam’s unabashed excitement, then gives Castiel another peck on the cheek before moving away from him. “Can you put everything out on the table? I’ll go check out the bathroom sitch real quick.”

Cas catches his hand as he starts to leave, softly saying his name. When Dean looks back at him, Cas smiles and says, “I love you.”

Dean wonders if maybe three time’s the charm and he should just give in to what his body wants him to do. If a man has a right to stand around and cry messily anywhere in his own home, surely the kitchen would be the place to do it. The kitchen, after all, is the heart of any house.

But Dean doesn’t. He indulges in a little sniffle, Cas’ eyes glimmering with knowing in the soft light. Dean brings Cas’ hand to his mouth and kisses the neat gold band around his finger, and he kisses each peaked knuckle, and he turns Cas’ hand over and kisses his palm and his wrist. Then he lets go and puts his own hand against Cas’ cheek, and says his recklessly sappy thing: “I love you, too, sweetheart.”

And the glowing feeling inside him doesn’t settle, only grows brighter.

Whatever’s wrong with the sink will be just one more thing to a long list of shit to deal with. Their house needs work, no denying. But Dean knows they’ve got plenty of time.

[nxsmss]

movies I watched in March

I made some changes about how I will post these. first of all, I won't be adding the cast and plot because I'm too lazy, sorry. second, I added if I would watch the movie again, and lastly I'm gonna post my reviews every week because doing it monthly makes the list too long imo

wonder woman

finding ohana

the lost city of z

promising young woman

the last sharknado: it's about time

secret society of second born royals

sentinelle

captain america civil war

doctor strange

guardians of the galaxy vol. 2

deadpool

instant family

spiderman homecoming

deadpool 2

rock it

groupies bleiben nicht zum frühstück

yes day

the amazing spiderman

mulan (2020)

happy death day 2U

contagion

jumanji

thor ragnarok

guns akimbo

black panther

infinity war

1. wonder woman

okay, first of all it's an amazing movie there's no doubt in that but there are just two tiny things that are bugging me and maybe it's just because it's a DC movie and my dad basically punched it into me to be a marvel fan since I was 10. so, i did not like those shots were the characters were either falling because of a punch or jumping several hundred meters. it just looks weird and unnatural in my opinion. and the other thing... could they give her any less clothing?!?! I know it's very comic accurate but c'mon

7.5/10

would I watch it again? probably ya

2. finding ohana

this was such a cute fun little movie. i really enjoyed. it's kinda like 'journey to the center of earth' just made for today's generation and it made me feel a little nostalgic. I fuxking loved ioane's throwing up noises

8/10

would I watch it again? hm I'm gonna go with yes

3. the lost city of z

its a good movie, i can't deny that and I should definitely give it a higher rating but I thought it was like this exciting adventure movie, which it wasn't, it is based on real events and I didn't know that starting this movie. what didnt help, was that I was really tired when I watched it. I fell asleep for a bit and even my dad fell asleep, which kinda says a lot cause he never falls asleep during a movie (only if it's really late, which it wasn't. we finished it before 11)

I have to admit I think my rating would be a lot higher if I went into this movie with a different mindset!! I feel sorry only giving it 4 stars :(

4/10

would I watch it again? yes when I'm in the right mood

4. promising young woman

oh I liked this, I really did and I can recommend watching this. I did like the end, not cassie's end tho, but u like that they all kind got what they deserve. (little spoiler I was really rooting for ryan and him turning out to be an ass kinda crushed me a little)

8/10

would I watch it again? hm not sure

5. the last sharknado: it's about time

my friends hate me for watching all of these movies and tbh I hate myself too for doing so🤦🏻‍♀️ they are all so terrible!! and I have no idea if they do that on purpose or not, I really hope so. it's just so fucking bad that it's funny again. the plot is just stupid and we do not talk about the special effects. I cant really give a serious rating to this movie because it would have to be like a 0. but I feel like I cant rate it like that because I still fuckifn enjoyed watching it haha

I fucking lost it when fin pulled the sword out of the stone and it was a chainsaw

would I watch it again? yes and I hate myself for this answer

6. secret society of second born royals

fun little family movie, makes me wish I was a second born haha. it's good, there was a very very unexpected twist in this movie that neither me or my family saw coming. I just think it wasn't exactly my type

4/10

would I watch it again? nah

7. sentinelle

yea um.. it's a no from me. it was kinda really boring and it felt like there wasn't happening anything. it was supposed to be an action movie but there was hardly any action in it

2/10

would I watch it again? no

8. captain america civil war

another one of my favorite marvel movies

10/10

would I watch it again? yes

9. doctor strange

dont know what to say hahaha but if i could be a character in the mcu i would very much like it if i was a sorceress

9/10

would I watch it again? yes

10. guardians of the galaxy vol. 2

I think this is in general one of the least favourite movies in the fandom but I like it a lot. think i actually like it more that the first one and I love that we saw more of yondu in this, I really like his "powers" and the end was really sad.

8.5/10

would I watch it again? yes

11. deadpool + 14. deadpool 2

love love love the deadpool movies!!! can only recommend them. I like the second a bit more tho. what I was disappointed in, before it was released they made such a big deal about the rating saying "oh its gonna be so brutal and blah blah blah" and then, both of the movies are rated age 16+. I remember, for the first one I was so excited and then i watched it and i was like "well.. that wasn't exactly how I thought it was gonna be but okay

8/10

8.5/10

would I watch it again? yup

12. instant family

this is one of my absolute favorite movies ever. god I love it so much and the end always makes me cry (not in a sad way)

10/10 definitely

would I watch it again? YES

13. spiderman homecoming

I dont know what it is with me and this movie but I just dont really like it. I cant explain it. I'm also not the biggest mcu spiderman fan (sorry, please dont hate on me)

5/10

would I watch it again? yes if I'm doing a mcu rewatch but I don't think I would ever pick homecoming to watch when I'm bored

15. rock it

this has to be one of my favourite childhood movies (I dont even knowing I can say childhood, I was like 10 when it came out haha) I feel so sorry for all you non german speakers that cant enjoy this movie as much as i/we do. god I love it so much😂 and why the fuck isn't the soundtrack on spotify, I hate it

if you're german and you didn't watch this movie as a child I am very sorry for you.

I can already see myself watching "groupies bleiben nicht zum frühstück" sometime soon🤦🏻‍♀️

10/10 (god I had to) actually no 9/10 because of the ending. I'd liked it more if they would have kicked her out of the school and they got the band back together

would I watch it again? duh

16. groupies bleiben nicht zum frühstück

yup, I watched it. and I dont like it that I did because my aggression level was already high when I started and this movie did not help with it. the main actress is just no. I'm not sure if it's her or the character but I absolutely do not like her performance in this. argh it makes me want to break something. the songs slap tho!!

this movie is just straight up 1D fanfiction from 2013

4/10 but the songs are definitely 10/10 (they definitely got inspired by green day)

would I watch it again? ugh I hope not.

17. yes day

oh I loved this movie!! fun little family movie. it only has 5.7 stars on IMDb which i totally dont get, should be higher imo. loved seeing edgar ramirez in something other than an action/thriller kinda movie.

9/10

would I watch it again? yes but I don't think anytime soon

18. the amazing spiderman

aahh the feelings I got watching this movie. like I was 12 again... I love it and this movie. andrew garfield is my favorite spiderman and no one can change my mind.

9/10

would I watch it again? yup

19. mulan (2020)

I liked it. I don't know/remember the original disney movie so maybe that's why I like it. to me it feels like they got inspired by the original movie and made a version for (young) adults. it definitely didn't feel like a kids movie

5/10

would I watch it again? I think so yea

20. happy death day 2u

naahh I didnt like this one. the first one was good (I think, I dont remember) but this one was really boring. if it wasn't for my dad I would've stopped the movie half way through

1/10

would I watch it again? no.

21. contagion

it's a very good and interesting movie but tbh i was a bit bored towards the end but maybe that was just because of my mood

6/10

would I watch it again? hm, yea probably

22. jumanji

I'm not really a fan of Dwayne Johnson but I like/tolerate him in this haha. it's a fun adventure movie, I really like it, can recommend. when I watched it in theaters I didn't know nick jonas was in it and when he showed up my sister and I completely lost it

8.5/10

would I watch it again? yes

23. thor ragnarok

another one of my favorite marvel movie. I think definitely top 5. cinematography, soundtrack, jeff goldblum, everything is just 😚👌🏼 I just realised I really miss heimdall. such an underrated character and I wish he didn't die in infinity war

god the memories I get watching this movie. I think since ultron, my family and i have been to the premiere/the first screening, whatever, of every marvel movie and for some reason this was monday midnight, no idea why... but we went anyways. my mom drank 2 liters of cola, we were home again at like 3am and everyone had to get up by like 7 the next day because of school and work.

10/10

would I watch it again? hell yes haha

24. guns akimbo

wow. I gotta say I went into this with very low expectations but I was pleasantly surprised. nice fun action movie but it also made you think about some serious issues afterwards. I loved the camera work on most of the action scenes.

7.5/10

would I watch it again? yea maybe

25. black panther

it's a fucking masterpiece!!

10/10

would I watch it again? stupid question

26. infinity war

painful

10/10

would I watch it again? another stupid question

[yicruz48]

My Review on the Teen Titans(2016) So Far

Date Written: March/14/2020-March/18/2020

Updated: May/10/2020

[Overall review of Special 1, Annual 1 and Issue #20-40]

My Opinion So Far [Issue #20-40 written by Adam Glass]:

-> In comparison to the first 19 issues of the Teen Titans, issue 20 and on have been bearable.

-> I will reiterate this over and over again; I will never understand why create new characters (Djinn, Roundhouse and Crush) when DC has a perfect stash of characters that Damian is already acquainted with (Colin, Maya, Surren, Maps and Jon). Although, having characters like Red Arrow (Emiko Queen) and Kid Flash (Wallace West) apart of the Teen Titans is understandable.

-> But again, in comparison to last group of Teen Titans [issue #1-19], I favor this group more. The first 19 issues are just literally Starfire, Beast Boy and Raven parenting Damian in Bruce's absence.

-> In my opinion this group is much more balance in terms of heroing experience:

A) Literally new to being a superhero and working in a group: Djinn, Roundhouse and Crush.

B) Still figuring out their place in superhero world: Robin, Red Robin and Kid Flash.

-> I am totally in favor in Kid Flash being considered the “moral compass” of the group. But so far in the Glass’s run haven’t really seen Wallace really prove this.

->It really shows that Glass had no idea or didn’t bother to do research on Emiko. Glass wrote Emiko as a sort-of Damian clone (And we all know Glass doesn’t write Damian well, so a badly-written-Damian-clone). Emiko is much more sarcastic and upbeat type of individual and wasn’t written that way.

->You can also tell Glass didn’t do research on Wallace. Wallace has a love for comics, is actually quite intelligent and is a prodigy engineer, but none of that was really expressed in the 20 issues.

->Crush, AKA Xiomara Rojas is a character besides the core three that I’ve grown to like. She is an empowered latinx Lesbian feminist who could care less what you think of her. But her backstory is rooted in stereotypical and racist beliefs. Her adoptive parents were druggies who were constantly running away from legal issues...ring a bell? Yea, its the common stereotype that latinos are all drug dealers, a stain on society and always run away from the legal ramifications of their actions. As as a latina myself, this was was extremely disappointing to see. 

-> I have a lot of issues with the hyper-focus on Robin, as much as I love Robin content, I feel like like every-other mission the Teen Titan’s have revolves around Robin. I would like to explore Red Arrow, Kid Flash and Roundhouse’s character development more. And I believe writer’s are totally capable of advancing Robin’s character development without the mission being tied to him anyways.

-> I ABSOLUTELY LOVE Robin’s ongoing goal to create a criminal system better than their superhero processors (mainly Batman and Superman) who only arrest criminals in a prison with “a revolving door” which criminals always escape from. Although, I ABSOLUTELY hate how Adam Glass has handled how Robin has gone upon learning the best system.

-> I have to admit, I like how most of the members are comprised of teens that...

A) Been raised/used to kill; Robin, Red Arrow and Djinn.

B) Are related to villainous characters; Robin, Red Arrow, Kid Flash, Djinn and Crush.

In the words of Kid Flash, the Teen Titans are just, “a bunch of screwed up kids,”

-> I strongly dislike the love triangle that Adam Glass (the previous writer) was creating between Robin, Crush and Djinn. I felt like Djinn was just created to mimic the popularity of Damian x Raven and it just lessens the value of characters like Crush and Djinn. (Plus I am on the side that believes that Robin should developing his friendships before developing a romantic interest). Hopefully, Robbie Thompson (New and current writer), will throw that idea in the trash. Although I wouldn't mind Djinn × Crush though😶.

-> Also I hate the connection Adam Glass created between Robin and Roundhouse (Billy Wu). It was soo unnecessary, and he could've found another creative way to get Djinn a trapped in her ring🙄.

-> Love the growing friendship between..

1. Robin and Red Arrow

2. Red Arrow and Crush

3. Kid Flash and Roundhouse

4. Crush and Djinn

5. (Would like to see Robin and Kid Flash’s friendship grow)

-> The build up to "The Other" for over 18 issues [Issue #20-38] was disappointing. I am still trying to understand the villain motivations because it made no sense whatsoever besides the obvious fact that Adam Glass was attempting to give Robin yet another useless redemption arc he didn't need.

-> Excited at the connection between “The Book of the Damned” and Batman #666 ( I will most likely make a post expanding on this). This offers an explanation as to why Damian was suddenly using magic in that one Batman issue and claiming he could take down Superman with magic in another issue.

-> Robin's "Prison", AKA torture chamber. Although it's not out of Damian's character to believe that his father's way of imprisoning villains in Gotham is GREATLY lacking better security, I DO NOT THINK DAMIAN WOULD CREATE A PRISON, much less a torture chamber. Damian does research on ALL the batfamily including his own father, he would know that Bruce attempted something similar  and failed which would make Damian hesitant about creating his own. Instead of developing his character this whole fiasco with the prison just ruined it and gave Damian haters another tool in their arsenal to “prove” Damian is evil (which no, its just bad writing).

-> Yes, I will acknowledge that Robin is not the kindest of the batch. But Blackmailing Black Mask with threatening to put his son's life endanger-even if he was bluffing-would not be something Robin would do. Robin is known to have compassion for children (*cough cough* Batman: Streets of Gotham) and wouldn't use a child as leverage to get his way EVEN if he was desperate.

-> Robin basking in the pain of his prisoners. LIKE EXCUSE ME, WTF. Like Robin does enjoy beating up criminals who deserve it but the way Adam Glass wrote it made it seem like Robin was a sadist and a psychopath.

-> Pissed off they killed Emiko’s development by killing Deathstroke. There really wasn’t any real reason given as to why Emiko “killed” Deathstroke. 

-> Don't get me started on the fight between Red Hood and Robin. JUST DON’T.

But I have hope:

Teen Titans issue #39 and #40 written by Adam Glass and Robbie Thompson.

As you may or may not know, Robbie Thompson has now replaced Adam Glass as a writer. And his first issue he worked on was released February [issue #39] and I've already been seeing some improvements. Robbie will be fully taking over after issue #41.

-> Robin has stepped down as leader. Leadership in the Teen Titans will now be a collaborative approach.

-> The Teen Titans struggling and learning on working as a group instead of working under one leader. They've already failed their first mission as a team without Robin as leader. Which I'll give them a break for, they've recognized how poorly their plan was executed themselves. But this just shows that the writer is demonstrating that the Teen Titan's is still learning how to best work together without a leader.

-> Robbie Thompson is now writing Damian more in character. Instead of writing him off as an asshole for no reason like previous writers.

-> Confirmed Damian went to hell after being killed by Heretic. With an added plus of the Teen Titan’s finally learning a bit more about Robin’s past.

-> Brought up Damian’s ongoing internal struggle of finding his own path that isn’t influenced by his father or his grandfather.

-> I’ve gotta admit, issue #40 has exceeded my low expectations I have set for the past 19 issues.

What I am Actually Looking Forward to [Upcoming Issues]:

Teen Titans #41 / Teen Titans Annual #2

Written by Adam Glass and Robbie Thompson

-> Finally, we get Batman's involvement in all this. I just hope he doesn't beat up Damian like he did Jason 😒. I’d like to add there was actually foreshadowing for this encounter in Teen Titans #26 (I believe).

-> But the only reason I am looking forward to this because it seems like Robin has been keeping this new group of Teen Titan’s secret (including their base), or at least heavily restricting Batman’s involvement.  

-> And even though I think I know why Damian has been trying to keep this new Teen Titans a secret from Batman (if my theory is correct), I'm curious to hear it myself from him (if the reason is written well).

-> Don't get me wrong, I am pissed that the writers decided Batman is going to fire Robin. Although, I am not against Damian being his own superhero (I actually don’t want Robin to take up the Batman mantle), but I can see DC writers abusing this. Killing his character development and making him evil like they've been foreshadowing in some comics 😒.

-> Although, I am not sure if it's really gonna happen, or Damian got the memo, because Damian appears to wear the Robin outfit in future covers of the Teen Titans.

-> I am excited the current Teen titans getting a glimpse of Batman's and Robin's current strained relationship(maybe even learning more about Robin’s upbringing). The Teen Titans (except Red Arrow) are always criticizing Robin for his way of thinking without questioning the influence to his thinking.

Teen Titans #42

Written by Robbie Thompson

->Batman kicking them out of Mercy Hall?  I am actually kinda of excited for a Teen Titans without a base. 

-> But I wanna know what this means; less oversight by Batman or more?

-> I wonder what will motivate the team to retrieve Robin back into their team? The only one's who actually seem to have some sort of relationship with Robin is Red Arrow and Djinn, besides them, everyone seems to despise Robin

Teen Titans #43

Written by Robbie Thompson

-> We are FINALLY getting a proper reaction from Robin to Nightwing's near death. What we got from Nightwing Annual was definitely not enough.

-> Apparently, Damian goes on a hunt for KGBeast (who shot Dick). Which I don't see as out of character because we all know how much Damian cares for Dick, who is a brother and father figure to Damian (more than Bruce).

-> Hopefully, the Teen Titans don't let him kill or have lethal vengeance against KGBeast because that would just kill his character development 😡. 

->I wonder if this issue will tie in with the Joker War where apparently Dick is suppose to get his memories back. I doubt it, but thought I’d mentioned it.

I've been reading Teen Titans because I've been desperate for new Damian content. But it seems like the comic is finally starting to get interesting with Robbie on board.

I wanted to give you an honest review on what I've thought of the Teen Titans so far just in case you've been on the fence about reading it or not. I've tried not to hold back on my criticism so my review is as honest as it can be.

So I'll leave it to you guys to decide whether you will read it or not.

[what-is-your-plan-today]

Stark Spangled Banner Ch 58:You Have To Go Through The Worst To Get To The Best

Intro The Time Heist worked, but at a cost. Natasha gave her life for the Soul Stone. Following a promise to make her sacrifice worth something, the Avengers continued their plan and succeeded in reversing the Snap. But along with everyone else, the biggest threat the Avengers have ever faced re-appeared. 

Thanos.

Now Steve and Katie, along with the rest of their team are locked in a fearsome battle, between light and dark, life and death. Simply put, it’s a battle which they cannot afford to lose because they’re in the Endgame now…

Warnings: “Language!” 

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

Stark Spangled Banner Masterlist

 Sorry for your loss.

4 words that Katie was already sick of hearing. Sorry. I mean...what did people have to be sorry for? It wasn’t like it was their fault. Still, she acknowledged the sympathies that came her way, completely automatically, almost emotionlessly. She barely registered the fact she had spoken to Fury and Hill, two people who had been dead 5 years ago, she didn’t have the energy to wish she could knock Ross’ head off his shoulders and had no idea how long she had walked what was left of the compound...maybe an hour or so? Who cared anyway? She simply did what people asked her to do to help out, whilst Steve hurried around organising everyone and barking orders. 

Nevertheless, when the crowds of Emergency Services, Armed Forces and Support Staff that had flooded the Compound left, she suddenly felt alone and found herself  in their compound apartment, sat on the bed, staring at the wall. Just staring. It was quiet, but her mind was anything but. Her brain was screaming all sorts at her, but she couldn’t really understand any of it. She simply felt broken.

“Katie…”

She looked up to see Steve in the doorway.

“Hey.” she gave him a soft smile. “Pepper just spoke to Happy…the kids are fine. All 3 fast asleep. He’s going to wake them in a few hours and bring them back.” “No.” Katie shook her head “I want him to bring them now.” “Honey its almost 4 am.” he said, and she frowned. Ok, so she’d been walking around a little longer than she thought, then. “Let them sleep. We can go, get cleaned up and…” “Plan how we tell them their Uncle is dead.” she said softly, gazing back down at her hands.

Steve took a shaky breath. He felt beyond guilty. Guilty that he got to go home to his kids because of the fact that Tony wouldn’t. Steeling himself, he made his way to the bed, sat down next to his wife and wrapped his arm around her as she lay her head on his shoulder.

“What’s everyone doing?” she asked softly.

“Rhodey is in with Ross and President Ellis…” “Ellis is here?” she frowned.

Steve nodded “Rhodey’s giving him a brief on what’s happened. They’re gonna need to put an announcement out so…”

“Suppose it was probably a shock everyone re-appearing again.” she said quietly.  “What about everyone else?”

“Well Lang, Parker and Bruce already left.” he said as his hand gently rubbed up and down her arm. “And there’s a chopper on the way to take Pepper home and a couple more following to take the rest of us to the Tower. The roads are completely jammed, apparently there’s impromptu parties taking place all over. Might be a while before we can get back through to Brooklyn.” The thought of partying seemed alien to Katie, but as she thought about it, it wasn’t surprising. People would be greeting lost loved ones, celebrating the fact the world has returned to normal.

For them anyway.

“Clint will want to go home...” Katie nodded “He’ll be desperate to see Laura and the kids.” “We’ve got a jet on the way for him so he can go as soon as possible.”

If ever Katie was grateful for having a husband with Military organisational skills it was now. He’d literally thought of everything. She closed her eyes and nuzzled into him even more, seeking out comfort like a child, as they sat in silence until they were ready to leave.

****

“I guess this is strange for you too, huh?” Steve said as they made their way into the Tower, Bucky and Sam each carrying one of the bags of stuff they’d brought with them from the Compound, Steve the other. “Yeah you could say that.” Sam shrugged “one minute everyone was in Wakanda and then the next minute it was just us, and the jungle had changed and then that Strange dude turns up and tells us it’s been 5 years and we needed to go fight one last time…”

“Has it really been 5 years?” Bucky asked.

Katie nodded

“So now you’re older than me Stevie…” he grinned.

Steve chuckled a Katie gave a small smile. “Shut up.”

They made their way into the elevator and FRIDAY greeted them, somewhat forlornly, as Katie asked for their floor. The elevator fell silent as it scooted upwards, pinging open. Katie stepped out first, followed by Wanda then the men.

“Where do you want-“ Bucky began but he stopped dead, Sam bumping into him.

“What the hell Frosty?” he said, frowning as he followed Bucky’s eye line, his eyes growing wide. Wanda was also gazing, mouth open, and Steve immediately knew what they were looking at- the large framed photo on the wall in the living room.

Even though their home was in Brooklyn this was still very much their apartment. Katie sometimes stayed if she had a big meeting, or on occasions they would crash here when they grabbed a rare night out in Manhattan.  And it was for that reason that the photos in the apartment had been updated as their lives had moved on. The wall their friends were gazing at contained two photos. The first was one taken by Katie at the hospital when Jamie was hours old, the same photo also adorned the wall in the lounge at home. It showed Steve asleep in the chair by her hospital bed, hair unkempt and he was unshaven with his baby son clutched to his chest as they both slept. He remembered the moment like it was yesterday, one snapshot moment out of God knows how many, all of which the 3 people stood in front of him had missed.  The second showed a younger Emmy with her then 6 month old brother, both grinning at the camera as they sat on the sofa at home.

“You….”  Sam gasped as Wanda and Bucky turned to them, mouth hanging open.

Steve nodded “Yeh, err, did no one tell you?” he asked, rubbing his neck.

“No.” Bucky breathed.

“But then it never really cropped up in conversation whilst we were fighting Thanos…” Sam said, a little sarcastically and Wanda thumped his arm.

“How old…” she asked.

“Emily is 16 this year.” Katie said, looking at the photos smiling softly  “We adopted her after the snap…long story.”

She looked at Steve who smiled, knowing she was allowing him the task of revealing their boys names to two of the men he was named after.

“And Jamie’s 3.”  he said, looking at Bucky.

“Jamie?” Bucky asked thickly.

“Or to give him his full name James.” Steve said, nodding at Bucky who swallowed as he looked back at his best friend. “Anthony-“ then Steve turned to Sam “Samuel.”

Bucky and Sam exchanged a look, the pair of them floundering for words.

“Cap…” Sam swallowed, his eyes misting over “Wow, I’m so happy for you guys.” “I can’t wait to meet them.” Wanda beamed.

“You might regret saying that.” Steve chuckled “He can be a handful. Stubborn, opinionated, won’t back down- don’t even say it.” he pointed at Bucky who had opened his mouth.

“He’s awesome.”  Katie said softly “They both are.”

Her eyes moved round the apartment and fell on a photo of her and Tony taken at her wedding, and suddenly she couldn’t be there anymore. Excusing herself she headed into their bedroom. She shed her boots, cat suit and made her way straight into the en-suite now feeling utterly overwhelmed, and still struggling to make head or tail of her emotions. She should have been celebrating like everyone else in the streets was doing. Their friends and trillions of other people were saved, but she couldn’t because again, just like the other day when they had grieved for Natasha, there was one person who wasn’t coming back. Her brother.

She turned the shower on as hot as she could stand, an attempt to sooth the pain she now felt in every inch of her body. But whilst some of it was bruising from the multiple batterings she had taken, some of it was coming from inside. The pain of losing her brother was physical, and hard. Closing her eyes she lay her head against the tiles, allowing the water to beat down on her, lost in her memories. “I got full marks on my English essay Tone!”  her 10 year old self grinned up at him as he leaned against the car, looking as effortlessly cool as ever.

“Get you, you little brainbox!” he ruffled her hair “That’s awesome, so awesome in fact I think we need to stop for pizza and a shit load of ice cream on the way home…sound good?” “You’re the best!” she beamed as he took her pink back-pack off her and dropped it into the trunk as she climbed into the passenger seat of his BWM.

“Oh no, you are not going out wearing that!” he said, standing up as she walked into the living room of the house.

16 year old Katie rolled her eyes “Tone its boiling hot outside, what you want me to wear? A pair of jeans and a fucking coat?” “Not that!” he scoffed, looking at the rather short denim skirt “Young lady,I can see what you had for breakfast.”

“Oh bite me Tony.” she shot back, hearing the guffaw that Rhodey gave out from the sofa before she shot out of the front door to greet her boyfriend who had just pulled up the drive.

Then she was 18, cruising along the cliff in Malibu, laughing, her hands on the steering wheel of her convertible bug, Tony in the passenger seat sipping an iced tea,  the pair of them singing as loudly as they could to Drops of Jupiter- their song.

“Mr Rock and Roll over there, listen to you!” she laughed as the song finished and it changed to AC/DC Thunder.

“If you ever tell anyone about my love of Train I will kill you.” Tony looked at her over his sunglasses and she snorted, grinning.

“I’m so telling Pepper.”

“Err you know I can still pull my funding.” he glared “You can kiss goodbye to going to Oxford…” And speaking of Oxford, at 21, she was there, accepting her first class honours in English Literature and Mythology. As she smiled for the camera, she could see Tony stood up in the middle of the hall, whistling before he punched the air “That’s my girl!” he yelled “Katie Maria Stark. That’s my girl! No I won’t sit down...what did you just say?...” and he began arguing with the person behind him.

At 26 she was crying, tears of happiness as the ramp on the aircraft carrier opened to reveal her brother. His hair was longer, he looked thinner but he was alive. He was barely at the bottom before she flung herself at him, not caring that his arm was a sling.

“Hey Kiddo.” he said softly as she buried her face into his neck.

“You fucking ass hole!” she sobbed “next time, you ride with Rhodey, you got that?”

“Trust me, there will be no next time.” he chuckled as she pulled back “Afghanistan is a shit hole.”

A year later she was crying again, sobbing even, as Tony sat with his arms around her, gently shushing her as she sat up in her bed “How could he do that to me Tony?” she sniffed, her tears dampening her brother’s t-shirt as he rubbed her back, laying his head against hers. “I thought he loved me…but…” “He isn’t worth your tears kiddo.” he sighed “Grant cunt-face Ward doesn’t deserve them, or you. No one ever will…you got that? No one will ever be good enough for my Kiddo.”

And then she was walking up the aisle towards her future husband, her arm linked tightly around Tony’s. He pressed a kiss to her head.

“Just remember, just because I’m giving you away doesn’t mean I won’t kick his ass if he ever hurts you.” he mumbled and she snorted, turning to look at him. “I love you to the stars and back, Katie, remember that…” Like she could ever forget. Tony hadn’t been everyone’s cup of tea. Hell, at times they’d been completely at odds with one another, siblings estranged for 2 years at one point. But she had never, not once, stopped loving the man who had brought her up as his own. Her brother and father all rolled into one.

She finished washing her hair and stepped out of the shower, the tears still not arriving. She began to wonder if there was something wrong with her. She’d cried more when Natasha died. She pulled on a towel robe that was hanging behind the door and began to dry her hair, squeezing the water out of the long strands.

“I remember when you used to do that for me.” She grinned, watching Tony as he sat with Morgan between his legs on the lounger round the pool at her Brooklyn home, rubbing her wet hair ferociously with a pink beach towel, making the 3 year old cackle with laughter. I remember…but Morgan won’t.

And then the cry ripped from her chest, like someone had reached down her throat and pulled it from the very depths of her heart.

***** Steve made sure the guys were settled in the spare apartment, the three of them opting to share, none of them particularly wanting to be alone.  Making his way back into theirs, he headed straight to the bedroom and heard Katie turn off the water to the shower. With a groan he stripped off the top half of his uniform, dropping the grubby item to the floor and then reached to pull off the compression shirt.

But before he got chance he heard a noise that chilled his every bone. It was a cry. A primal, raw, broken scream. Quick as flash he crossed the room and pushed open the door to the bathroom and found his wife slumped on her knees on the floor, screaming and crying uncontrollably.

“He’s gone…” she screamed “He’s gone, he’s gone…” He’d known this was coming and it broke his heart that he could do nothing to help, nothing to take away the utter desperation and pain and anger she was feeling. Without hesitation he dropped to his knees and she turned to him, fisting her hands around his top as he pulled her close, one arm round her back, the other in her hair.

“Let it out…”his voice was croaky as he rocked her, gently stroking her hair as his cheek pressed against the top of her head. “I got you…I got you…” How long they stayed there for, with Katie screaming and crying over the soft sounds of his soothing, Steve had no idea, but eventually her sobs became sniffles as she regained some form of composure.

“Steve…” she managed to stutter as she pulled back to look at him” He’s gone…he’s gone…” “Oh sweetheart…” his voice cracked, his own heart ached with grief and sympathy and love as he dropped a kiss to her forehead, pulling her onto his lap as he settled on the floor, making no attempts to move her. He buried his face into her hair, his own sobs catching in his throat.

Eventually she stopped crying, and she truly thought at that time her body had run out of tears to shed. She pulled back to look up at Steve, his eyes wet as she took a ragged, deep breath.

“All my life Tony has been there…” she said gently as he stroked her cheek with his thumb, brushing away her stray tears, “Even when we were apart those years I knew that if I needed him, he would be there…but now…he’s gone and I don’t know what to do.”

“You do what you always do.” he said gently “You get up, you dust yourself off and you act like the amazing, strong, beautiful woman you are. My wife, my baby momma.”

She gave a watery splutter of a laugh before she buried her face into his t-shirt again, and simply breathed him in. His warmth and familiar smell, even if he wasn’t as fresh as he could be after the exertion of battle, was a comfort, a balm to her broken soul. Tony was gone, she knew that, but she wasn’t on her own. She’d never be on her own as long as she had Steve.

****

“Don’t be sad Momma…” Jamie said, as Katie’s tears tickled down her cheeks, her son on her lap, Emmy sat on her father’s, despite her age meaning she was normally way past that stage, as she cried into his chest, his arms gently cradling her. “Uncle Nee isn’t on his own.” “What do you mean baby?” she asked, sniffing as he played with a strand of her hair.

He looked at her with his baby blue eyes and shrugged, as if the answer was obvious “Because he’s with Auntie Nat-Nat.”

“Yeah…” Katie said, a soft sob escaping her “You’re right. But I’m still sad, but you don’t need to be worried about that ok?” He nodded “I can kiss it better” he said, and she smiled as he leaned up connecting his lips to hers with a loud smacking noise.

“All better.” she smiled, wiping her eyes.

“When can we go home?” Emmy asked, sitting up slightly.

“Soon, I promise.” Steve said. “I think we’ll stay here for tonight, your mom and I both need a rest.”

Emmy nodded “I expect kicking alien butt for hours takes it out of you.” Steve snorted. “A little.” “You did it though.” She said softly “Everyone came back.” “Yeah, and on that note…” Katie picked up, “We have some people we’d like you to meet. That’s if you’re feeling up to it.” “Is it them? Bucky, Sam and Wanda?” Emmy asked, her wet brown eyes opening wide.

“Yeah.” Steve smiled “If it’s ok with you, we thought we could all have breakfast together…”

“Pancakes?” Jamie asked hopefully and Katie nodded, dropping a kiss to his head.

“Pancakes” she affirmed.

“Now?”

“Do you ever think about anything but this?” Katie chuckled, prodding his tummy. He pondered for a second.

“legos.” he said, nodding “I think about my legos sometime.”

Emmy snorted and Steve let out a laugh “Pancakes and legos eh son?” he reached out and ruffled Jamie’s hair “Sounds like a perfect combination.”

A short while later Steve, armed with a selection of his clothes and Katie’s for the 3 adults headed down to fetch them, whilst Katie started to make breakfast. Pepper, as caring and thoughtful as ever had sent Happy back with a selection of food knowing that Manhattan was in utter chaos and going out in public was the last thing Steve or Katie wanted for fear of being mobbed. That, combined with the stash they had in the kitchen meant it was easy for Katie to whip up a batch of batter and throw some bacon in the pan.

She set Emmy to work chopping fruit, and never one to miss out, she stood Jamie on a chair in front of her and gently guided his hand as he held the whisk to stir the batter.  Katie was literally grabbing the ladle to drop the first load into the pan, the door to the apartment opened and Steve’s voice carried in to the kitchen.

“Hey guys…” Jamie squealed in excitement and Katie moved so he could get down. He shot out of the kitchen, barrelling into the lounge where he skidded to a halt by his dad and gazed up at the 3 strange adults in front of him.

The first thing that hit Bucky was just how like post-serum Steve the little boy was. Stocky, bright blue eyes and a shock of dark blonde hair. But his nose, his nose was distinctly like his mother’s.

“He looks like you.” he said, nodding to Steve.

Katie stepped into the room with Emmy and smiled.

“Jamie, Emmy….this is Bucky, Sam and Wanda.” Emmy raised her hand shyly “Nice to meet you all.”

Meanwhile, Jamie simply gazed up at Bucky, his attention focussed directly on his metal arm and Bucky suddenly began to worry that it would scare him. That was until Jamie stepped forward with all his usual boldness and pointed.

“Is that metal?” “Jamie…” Steve said, his tone soft. He couldn’t scald his son for being curious, but at the same time he had seen the apprehension in Bucky’s eyes. Apprehension that had now turned to amusement.

“Yeah it is.” He said, crouching down so he was eye level with his namesake. He held his left hand up, wiggling the fingers “Wanna touch it?” Jamie reached out and placed his palm against Bucky’s prosthetic and grinned, looking up.

“Dad…that’s really cool. Can I have one?”

“Absolutely not.” Steve shook his head with a grin.

“You think that’s cool you should see my wings.” Sam said, crouching next to Bucky.

“You have wings?” Jamie’s eyes grew wide “I want…”

“No!” Katie said with a snort.

“Fine I’ll just ask Santa.” Jamie shruggged and Sam let out a loud laugh.

“I like this kid!” he grinned, standing up.

“You can have him…” Katie winked, as Bucky stood up straight and grinned “Saves me sending him to Kiddie Prison.” “Morgan told me there’s no such place.” Jamie looked at his mother, and Steve let out a sigh. The threat of Kiddie Prison was their biggest bargaining chip when he was being naughty. Especially as the naughty step wasn’t an option, because the first (and last) time they tried that they caught him climbing up the staircase and sliding down the bannister nearly giving the pair of them a heart attack.

“I told you short stuff, it does.” Emmy said, with a roll of her eyes “I lived there before mom and dad adopted me. And all they give you to eat all day is slugs and slime…” Steve shared a look with Bucky and let out a loud laugh.

“Don’t…” Bucky shook his head with a grin.

“You gave Becca nightmares for days with that story!” Steve laughed as he recalled Bucky telling his sister about a hole in the ground where bad kids went “She wouldn’t go near a manhole for months!”

“I can still feel the blow round the ears my Pa gave me…” Bucky said, reaching up to rub at the back of his head. The chatter continued as they made their way into the kitchen. Steve went to brew the coffee as Sam, Wanda and Bucky took seats round the table with the kids, chatting away. Occasionally he caught the odd snippet as Jamie told Bucky about his toys at home, Sam all about his friend at nursery, whilst Emmy was chatting to Wanda about school and what she wanted to do in the future. But all the time the soldier had one eye on his wife as she stood, silently, cooking enough pancakes to feed a small army. Which, to be fair, was probably what they would need with 2 super soldiers and a hungry 3 year old to feed. He slipped his arms around her waist.

“You ok?” he asked, before he sighed “Sorry, stupid question.”

She chuckled and shook her head “No it’s not stupid. And no, I’m not. Not really. But I will be, in time. I hope.”

Steve dropped a kiss to her cheek and winced as a loud “GET A ROOM!” sounded across the kitchen and he turned to glare at his son, Bucky and Sam exchanging gleeful looks with one another. Steve raised his hand and pointed at Emmy accusingly. “That was not me!” she said, indignantly “It was Bucky that told him to say it…” “If this is the impression you have on my kids after all of 15 minutes James Buchanan Barnes then I’m going to have to seriously consider letting you near them again.” Katie said as she dropped the plate of pancakes into the middle of the table.

“Why did you just call him James?” Jamie asked, frowning

“Because my name is James too.” Bucky answered for Katie.

“No, it’s Bucky.” Jamie frowned.

“He only gets called James when he’s been bad, bit like you pal.” Steve chuckled, placing Jamie’s plate of food in front of him “Now eat that, and then you can show Buck your lego.”

“My legos are here?” Jamie said, grinning.

“Yeah they’re in your bag.” he dropped a kiss to his son’s head.

“What the hell is a Lego?” Bucky asked. The room feel silent as all eyes turned to the man who glanced around, suddenly feeling very self conscious.  “What?” ****

“I know there is much speculation surrounding the events of the last 24 hours, and it is for that reason I find myself addressing you all once more, with regards to the Decimation…only this time I am happy to greet you all with much better news. Thanks to the brave actions of the Avengers and countless others who fought in a ferocious battle Upstate, the Vanished have been returned to us in the same state in which they left. But it isn’t without cost. Unfortunately, I do bring some sad news amongst the happy, as I can confirm the rumours are true. Tony Stark and Natasha Romanoff both lost their lives in the mission to bring everyone back. My sincere condolences and thoughts are with the rest of the Avengers, in particular the Rogers and Stark families, and I’m sure I speak for the entire world when I say we will be forever indebted to the two fallen heroes for their brave sacrifices which ensured that friends and families across the globe could be reunited. To allow you all some time with those who have been returned to you, I’m declaring today and tomorrow a national holiday. So be with your loved ones. And now I speak to those who have been returned to us. For the past 5 years the world has become a very different place to the one you knew. Please be patient with us whilst we try to make sense of the fact you have all been returned to us and don’t be too hard on us if we seem a little, well, astounded. Thank you all, God Bless America, and God Bless the Avengers.”

President Ellis’ address rang out across the nation at 3pm that afternoon. On every TV and Radio channel there was. Rhodey had popped by to give them a heads up, and also inform Katie that they were talking about honouring both Tony and Natasha posthumously. Katie had merely shrugged, not entirely sure what Tony would have said about any of that, until Rhodey made her laugh about the last time he had received an honour, getting stabbed with the pin by the Senator awarding it to him. Senator Stern. Who had turned out to be Hydra.

That night fireworks exploded across the skies of Manhattan. The current occupants of the tower sat on the roof watching the symphony of colours and explosions as it light up the sky-line, Jamie opting to sit on Bucky’s knee instead of his father’s, because of course Bucky was now his favourite person on the planet. But Steve didn’t mind, well, not too much anyway.

The next few days passed them by in a bit of a blur. They moved back to the house in Brooklyn. Sam and Bucky came with them but, surprisingly to Steve (but not to Katie) Wanda opted to head to Clint’s after the archer called and offered her a room. Steve’s time was divided between speaking to the UN, various people in the senate and government along with Rhodey as they stared to make plans to help those people who had returned and found themselves in tricky situations. Some found their wives or husbands had re-married, others found themselves homeless as new occupants had moved into their flats post them being vacant in the past 5 years. Two of those people were Peter Parker and his Aunt May, who were now residing in the Tower until Katie could find them an apartment. And then there were the kids who had been adopted suddenly found themselves with two sets of parents, although Emmy’s foster family never came looking for her. And it was a good job, as they would have been met not only by her parents but a former deadly assassin and an ex Para Rescuer ready to kick the shit out of them having learned from Steve and Katie one evening about the girl’s past.

No, reversing the snap had swung up a whole cacophony of different problems, but for the time being Katie had no time or energy for anything other than planning Tony’s funeral with Pepper, and a service of sorts for Natasha with Clint. Natasha’s was to take place first, a small ceremony at Clint’s farm where they would be planting a red maple tree in her honour. Tony’s was slightly more tricky. The Billionaire had led a very public lifestyle and naturally (even if unfairly) was attracting the most public interest. They’d been approached by President Ellis, who had asked if they would be open to the service being shown on larger, outside Televisions across Manhattan to avoid public crowding the area. Katie had been horrified at first, until Pepper had snorted and reminded her that the Old Tony would have loved the attention and fuss. But New Tony wouldn’t. Which was why they compromised and chose to celebrate the two sides to Tony’s huge personality. For the Genius, Billionaire, Play-Boy, Philanthropist they would hold a service at St Patrick’s Cathedral and for the husband, father, brother, friend they would then hold a more intimate wake at the house. Pepper was also going to plant a tree by the lake house, where his ashes would be scattered eventually. And there was also the matter of his will to go through as well, but they decided that could wait.

It was draining, emotionally and physically, so it was no surprise that Katie was constantly tired and a little irritable, Steve feeling the harsh side of her tongue on more than one occasion. But he never bit back, he knew how she was feeling. He’d had to do it with his Ma. Instead he listened to her bounce ideas off him, helped with the organisation, and simply comforted her when she needed it.

On the 6th day post the return of the Vanished, things on the surface had returned to some kind of normal. Almost a half-way-house between what it had been like before the Snap and what they had become post the Snap. But what was noticeable to all of them was that they were persistently mobbed in the street, people wanting to thank them constantly. Jamie found the whole thing hilarious, waving to people as he walked with his Father one morning to the play-ground. Steve, however, after half an hour had returned home because he couldn’t stand it anymore.

“It’s mad.” he said with a sigh, flopping onto the sofa “I mean…”

“It’ll die down.” Katie yawned, “Just take a while.” “You still feeling crappy?” he asked, watching as Jamie sat on the rug with his trucks.

“A little.” she said

“You thrown up again?” “No” she shook her head “I don’t feel sick anymore just drained. I don’t think it’s anything serious. Probably just the stress of all the organising and stuff.”

But as she said the words something in her mind clicked.

Tiredness. Sickness. Haywire emotions.

“Shit…” she whispered, sitting bolt upright and he looked at her. “Bruce’s Snap…”

“What about it?”

“What if it brought everyone back?” “Well we know it did…” he said, not following her line of thought.

“No I mean…” she took his hand and placed it on her stomach “everyone…”

It took him a second to cotton on, and he blinked, looking into his wife’s wide eyes.

“Shit…” he stuttered.

“Language.” Jamie said, almost immediately, but both parents ignored him.

“I didn’t…” Steve swallowed “I mean, I didn’t even consider that a possibility…do you think…”

Katie took a deep breath “I dunno, I mean the first snap took it away…”

They stayed still for a moment, simply looking at each other, both thinking the same. If one snap had taken their baby, the second snap could quite as easily have brought it back.

“I think I need to go to the store.” Katie muttered. Less than an hour later husband and wife were stood in the bathroom looking down. Down at four different tests. Four different tests that all told them the same thing.

“I can’t believe it…” Steve whispered, looking at his wife as she glanced up at him, tears in her eyes.

“Me neither…” she whispered.

“I’m gonna be a daddy…again.” he reached out to Katie, his eyes shining as she gave him a smile.

“And I’m gonna be fat again.” There was a pause before Steve’s face cracked into a huge grin and he pulled her to him. She wrapped her arms round his neck and he hugged her close, the pair of them laughing through their tears.

“I like you fat with my kid.” he said, pulling away and wiping the tears that were trickling down her face with his thumbs. She smiled and returned the gesture, brushing the back of her hand over his wet cheeks.

“I love you. So fucking much, my baby momma.” he said softly as he dropped a kiss to her lips and she whispered into his mouth

“I love you too, my baby daddy.”

And for the first time in days, Katie’s heart felt a little less broken. Tags

@the-omni-princess  @momobaby227 @geekofmanythings16 @angelofhell-666 @thewackywriter @marvelfansworld   @cobalt-gear  @asgardlover75 @jennmurawski13   @jtargaryen18 @saiyanprincessswanie   @navispalace @patzammit   @joannaliceevans-fanficblog   @icanfeelastormbrewing @djeniiscorner   @ayamenimthiriel​   @coldmuffinbanditshoe​   @disneylovingal​ @madzmilllz​   @sgtjaamesbaarnes​

[dwaynepride]

Today Or Yesterday

CHAPTER 1

Summary: Reader is an agent in the New Orleans field office, and they start a relationship with Dwayne Pride. But all highs have their lows, and nothing is more true than when reader is called to DC for a case. Working with Gibbs again after so long? This’ll be interesting.

Words: 3,035

Warnings: None

Notes: part 1 of my new series!! i hope you guys enjoy this chapter and all the ones to come.

Part 2

The Louisiana sun promised that the street curb would be scorching when your ass connected with it, denim jeans offering little protection. Though, at least the bill of your cap kept the light out of your eyes. And if you lowered it enough, you couldn’t see the officers and crime scene tech milling around you. Blocking the street off and coming in and out of the house to process the evidence left behind.

Out of sight, out of mind. You couldn’t see them, so you just sat on your little spot on the curb. Ignoring the heat under your pants and letting your mind drift off. If you’d been better, or faster, or smarter, then the parish morgue wouldn’t be pushing a gurney past you and into the house. You love Loretta, you really do; but sometimes, you wish she’d have less work opportunities. At the very least, work opportunities that weren’t so damn young.

You pull your feet closer, knees higher to rest your arms against. And you were content to sit there and wallow until somebody told you to move or one of your friends came to collect you. But out of the corner of your eye, somebody sat themselves on the curb, and you wish you’d have just a little longer by yourself.

“How you holding up?”

Figures Pride would be the first one to check on you. So, pushing up the bill of your cap, you look to the right and see him watching you with a sympathetic look. It’s marred slightly by his own cap and the bright summer sunlight making him squint, but it’s easy to make out the worried lines of his face. And, strangely, the sight of them does lighten the load on your heart. “Fine, I guess,” you answer him while flexing your right shoulder. Movies were bullshit; knocking down doors with your body wasn’t easy.

Pride notices the movement and huffs a bit. “Shoulder giving you trouble?”

“Just a little sore,” you tell him flatly. More than a little sore, actually. Hurt like hell.

So when Pride starts pulling off the straps of your vest, you let him. It hangs awkwardly, but he’s giving your shoulder a rub and it feels better instantly, so you can’t argue. “Maybe you should take a couple days off. Case is over, we don’t need you,” Pride says as his hand moves in slow ministrations.

You just hum, fighting the urge to close your eyes at such a soothing relief of pain. “What if another one comes up?” You ask him.

“We’ll manage just fine.”

Pride smiles when your eyes narrow towards him, but you don’t reply. Maybe it’s not so bad that Pride plopped himself down next to you; the energy he brought was lifting your mood. It was comfortable, like how things usually are when it’s just you and him. Yeah, technically, you were surrounded by people in front of a crime scene, but it didn’t feel like it. You almost didn’t mind when his hand came to a stop, and he pulled it away.

The smile remains as Pride motions with his head towards the cars. “C’mon, lemme take you home. I’m sure you’re tired.”

You’re about to argue. And you want to. But other than the fact that Pride could always just order you home for the rest of the day, you really didn’t want to fight him on this. It was easy to stand up with him. Let him get you in the car and drive away from the scene, knowing the team can handle a simple evidence processing.

The drive isn’t even that long, but by the time Pride parks in front of your place, your body is stiff. Sore and sensitive and it takes a little longer to get out and shut the door that Pride is by your side out of concern. And yeah, you could’ve told him you were fine. But the way he falls into step with you - all the way up to the door in case you needed him - felt good. Felt safe.

“Home sweet home,” Pride says, voice chipper and it makes you smile as you unlock and open the door.

You’re about to turn and thank him for taking you home. About to tell him you’ll see him tomorrow when you come into work, and to have a good night. But before the words are out, you’re motioning into your home, stepping aside so there’s room for Pride to walk past. “You want some coffee before heading back?”

He straightens up in surprise, the easy look on his face vanishing for a moment before it’s back, and Pride’s nodding his head slowly with a smile. “Sure. Thanks,” he responds, slipping past and following you to the kitchen.

The time you took making the coffee is spent idly recounting the case with Pride. Him leaning against the counter beside you, saying how all the evidence found in the house will be more than enough to put him away. You replying with how pleased you are that the teenager would be the final victim. It’ll be good to get the killer off the streets, finally.

But even with the serious, idle conversation about the solved case, there’s still a layer of tension. As if the case was merely small talk to fill the air. You blamed it on the setting; Pride’s never been in your home. Not alone. The team was usually around for dinner or something. But now, it was just you and him. Standing in the kitchen with no place to be, at the moment.

And you can feel his eyes on the side of your head while preparing the coffee. Stirring milk and sugar and handing it over, feeling a bit of relief not to be the complete center of Pride’s attention. “Thanks,” he says before taking a careful sip. “Gonna need it, with all the paperwork we got tonight.”

“I wish you’d let me help you guys,” you reply, pushing an annoyed tone to your voice despite the small smile.

He just lets out a small hum, head shaking once and reflecting your smile. “Oh, I’m sure Christopher and Gregorio are gonna save you your fair share.”

He was right, of course. And that’s what made the two of you laugh. The sound of Pride’s chuckle, deep and genuine, echoed off the walls of the kitchen and it sounded....good. Right, almost. Like his laughter was something that’s been missing in your home, and now that it was here, you weren’t keen on losing it.

The laughter slows, and that’s when you notice how Pride’s eyes dart down. Landing on your lips, staring for heartbeat, and then avert away before finally looking back up to meet your eyes. The whole incident didn’t last more than a couple seconds. Maybe if you weren’t standing so close, you wouldn’t have noticed. And you’re willing to bet Pride was hoping you wouldn’t.

But you did. And despite yourself, your cheeks were growing warm as you glanced away. “Uh, thanks for checking on me, back at the crime scene. And then, you know, driving me home. I guess I shouldn’t be driving much with this shoulder.” Again, you flex the injured shoulder, grimacing slightly as you do.

That’s when Pride remembers that it was hurt, and he steps even closer. A hand coming up and landing on it to start massaging again. “It doesn’t feel any better?” He asks, concern edging his voice while examining the damage. It couldn’t be that bad, can it?

You don’t reply right away. No, you’re too focused on the way his hand feels. Too caught up in the sensation of long fingers digging into the sore muscle. It didn’t feel as friendly or platonic as it did on the street. It was hot. Electric, even. And it scared you slightly because you wanted more. So you shrug your uninjured shoulder. “Actually, it feels a little better, right now.”

Instantly, his eyes flicker up to meet yours. And the emotions you find in Pride’s green gaze reflect your own; surprised, hesitant, but also longing. His hand came to a stop, but doesn’t pull away from your shoulder. In fact, Pride uses that advantage to pull you in, and at the blink of an eye, his lips are on yours. Moving slowly, as most first kisses are, but there’s a hunger there that prompts you both to set aside the coffee mugs in order to grab at each other. Pulling the other closer while touching at the same time. Wanting to get the absolute most out of this kiss. Pride’s other hand is on your hip before it slides up to the middle of your back, meanwhile, both of yours caress down his jawline. And when it feels like Pride might move away to take a breath, your fingers thread through his hair, and he’s instantly melting back into it.

As passionate and fiery as the kiss is, it’s still so surface-level. You want Pride to pin you against the counter to push himself closer. Want to line his bottom lip with your tongue and feel him shiver, but you don’t. Even though the kiss leaves you wanting more, it’s still so perfect in its own way.

The moment could have dragged on for much longer had it not been for a little beep from Pride’s phone. The noise, as small as it was, is enough to break the immersion. Pride is the first to back away - not far, you still feel his hot breath on your lips. And when you blink open your eyes, he’s staring right back. Pupils dilated but still looking soft. Crinkles forming around his eyes tell you he’s smiling, so you do the same.

You try not to look too disappointed when he backs up even further, hands pulling away - you instantly miss the feel of them. “Um, would you want to have drinks later? Just you and me?” Pride asks, voice strained, so he clears his throat.

The offer prompts a wider smile. “Sure, but I doubt the team will leave us alone right after a case...”

“I meant alone. At the office?”

Oh. You wonder if your harsh blush is as obvious to Pride as it is to you. “Uh, sure. I’ll come over later.”

Another text notification from Pride has him sighing lightly. He steps away, but not before leaning back in. For a beautiful moment, you think he’s about to pick up where he left off, and you’re willing to completely forget about the team for a while. Of course, Pride simply presses a quick kiss to your cheek and leaves. It was sweet, and only heightened your blush.

But to say you were looking forward to tonight was an understatement.

--

Your first month working with the New Orleans NCIS office had been during Mardi Gras. And suffice it to say, you’ve never had to work under such chaotic circumstances before. The parties. The alcohol-induced amnesia. Tainted evidence. Large crowds. It was a mess, but a very fun mess. Mardia Gras, and the month following it, was easily the best time you’ve had in New Orleans.

The best up until this month.

Dwayne had broken that record single-handedly. It felt cliche to call these past few weeks “blissful” or “euphoric” but every time you tried to think of a word to sum up your feelings, it never seemed like enough. No case was enough to dampen the happiness. No late night took away the bright, loving look in Dwayne’s eyes whenever his gaze just happened to point your way. It was hard to feel afraid of anybody when you knew Dwayne was right behind you. Never wavering in his efforts to keep you safe and happy.

And you suppose that his insistence on making you breakfast this morning was another one of those efforts. You watch him move around the kitchen in silence. Listening to him talk about idle details of Laurel’s childhood because the meal reminded him of something. It was cute, to say the least. Reminded you of how the two of you spent that first night together; in his room, just upstairs. Drinks in hand and talking, up until Dwayne decided he needed to play you a song that reminded him of you.

And he played it beautifully, up until your lips distracted him away from the keys.

“You good, honey?”

His voice pulls you out of the pleasant memory, and you immediately nod your head with a smile. “Yeah, yeah, I’m good. Just thinking.”

Dwayne reflects your easy smile. Sets aside his cooking utensils to come around the island and stand beside you, leaning against the counter to get even closer. “Thinkin’ about what?” He asks lightly, eyes half-lidded and brimming with affection. You don’t think you’ll ever get sick of that look.

“You, actually.”

“Really?”

“Mhm,” you hum, leaning in to press a small kiss to his waiting lips.

As you lean away, Dwayne stays where he is. Probably in case you decide to kiss him again. “What was I doin’ in that pretty head of yours?”

Again, you hum; but in thought, this time. Eyes rising and floating around the room to feign remembering - and to leave Dwayne in suspense. Finally, your gaze returns to him and you smile. “You were finishing my breakfast and serving it to me.”

His deep laughter is also something you’ll never tire off. Mostly because it’s always accompanies that smile that buckles your knees. You’re glad you’re sitting on the bar stool. “Well, I’ll get right on that,” Dwayne replies. But he doesn’t. Not really. Instead, he’s the one to lean in for a kiss. And it’s slower, this time. Much more enjoyable, and you can taste the mix of coffee and toothpaste and just plain Dwayne on his tongue.

You would’ve sunk into the kiss, had it not been for the hesitant knock against the archway. Dwayne straightens up immediately, throat clearing awkwardly. He always tried not to get caught up with PDA at the office. Most times, it was subtle. This was definitely not.

When you turn to see who interrupted, Sebastian is standing in the middle of the opening with his eyes averted, obviously feeling awkward at walking in during a private moment. But he looks serious. “Uh, sorry...”

“What’s up, Sebastian?” Dwayne asks, adopting a more serious tone of voice as he returns to breakfast.

“We got a call, just now, from the Director.” The news made even you straighten up. What could Director Vance want? “He said he wanted to talk to you and Y/N.”

Immediately, you turn to look at Dwayne with a frown. If he’s as confused as you are, he doesn’t show it. Instead, Dwayne just turns the stove off and sets his spatula down. Nods to Sebastian before looking to you and gesturing to the courtyard. You follow him out of the kitchen, looking back to make sure Sebastian returned to his desk before whirling your head to Dwayne. And he didn’t seem at all worried. “What do you think this is about?” You ask him.

“Dunno. We’ll see when we talk to him.”

“Do you think we’re in trouble? You know, for dating?”

Dwayne smirks and glances down, looking annoyingly amused. “What is he gonna do? Fire us for bein’ in a relationship?” You don’t reply, so he reaches for your hand and squeezes it. “I’m sure it’s nothing. Probably only about a case. We haven’t done anything wrong.”

There’s still apprehension while entering SCIF, but you trust Dwayne. If he says there’s nothing to worry about, there probably wasn’t. So you both stand beside each other as Vance pops up onscreen, the dark room of MTAC behind him.

But it took you only a heartbeat to realize somebody was standing beside the Director. Your eyes meet his through the screen before the avert away to the floor. And it’s a good thing that Dwayne starts talking, because seeing the second man on screen came as a shock. Wiped any ability to speak from your brain and twisted your guts up so tight, you were nauseous.

After a few seconds, you force yourself to listen in on the conversation. Something about a case in DC where the suspect went on a killing spree in New Orleans ten years ago, making this a joint operation. Beside you, Dwayne nods once. “Alright, we can send you all the files we got on him...”

“That won’t be necessary,” Vance replies. “Your agent can bring them along with them.”

“My agent?”

“Y/N.”

Your eyes whip up at the sound of your name. They briefly look sideways to Dwayne before returning to Vance. “Yes, sir?”

“You’ll be flying to DC tomorrow to assist in the case, and hopefully, to escort the suspect back to Louisiana to face trial.” You nod your head; alright, a couple weeks in DC wouldn’t be so bad... “Gibbs and his team could use an agent from the area.”

Dammit.

Slowly, your eyes finally return to the silver-haired man standing next to the Director. He hasn’t said a word. Hasn’t looked any different than that same stone-faced expression. As if you were a stranger, and he couldn’t care less that you were coming back to DC. Your mouth is dry, but you manage to speak up. “Yes, sir,” you repeat.

The last you see of Gibbs before the screen goes out is his pale eyes averting down. He was always so hard to read.

Beside you, Dwayne lets out a slow sigh. “Some luck,” he mumbles, and that prompts you to look at him. The corner of his mouth quirks up in a forced smirk, but you can tell he isn’t too happy about your orders. “You goin’ to DC for so long.”

He walks past you to leave the room, and for a few heartbeats, you’re glued to the ground. Yeah, being away from New Orleans and the team and Dwayne will be hard. But if you were being honest with yourself, the thought of working with Gibbs again after so long was even more daunting. And scary.

[gingerwritess]

WAIT ELLIOT’S GONNA BE IN A RELATIONSHIP WITH MORGAN?????

ew, no, Morgan Potts-Stark is gross.

And annoying.

(Wait wait wait, this isn’t a hate post at all, keep reading you fool.)

She laughs too loud, she calls him names—especially Elli; “that’s not my name, Morgan”—she laughs when he gets hurt, blames him for things when Tony or Pepper catches them getting into trouble...she’s a pain.

But...as gross and annoying as Morgan is, she is fun, Elliot can’t deny.

You can usually find them sitting at the top of their staircase, eating Uncle Fury’s triangle grilled cheese, waving down to the countless superheroes bustling about with their day-to-day avenging. Most of the time, Morgan is the one doing the talking while Elliot listens intently, eyes wide and sandwich frozen halfway to his mouth.

She teaches him forbidden words, like his new favourite, “shit,” or another one they heard her dad muttering to one of his robots, “asshole.” Morgan knows a whole other language, he’s discovering.

She does things that he’s never seen anyone do. She builds things, purposely breaks her belongings just so she can fix them, she’s loud and dances too much, and she spends too much time smirking to ever smile at him.

She does laugh though, often, and most of the time at him.

And she knows, like, everything.

It’s a little intimidating.

* * * *

“Who’s that?”

“That’s the sad hobo from the fourth floor,” Morgan explains, following Elliot’s finger to the man falling asleep in an armchair. “Dad says he’s been alive over a hundred years!”

“Why’s he got a metal arm??” Elliot presses his face to the balcony railing, eyes wide as he stares.

“Bad guys. My dad said they were real bad.”

“Woah.”

Morgan grins at him for a moment, pride worming its way into her little heart at knowing more than him.

Then she taps Elliot on the shoulder and points at Thor. “Wanna know something about him?”

“I know that one, dummy, that’s my uncle.” Elliot rolls his eyes and scoots closer.

“Well duh. But did you know he’s stronger than Mr. Hulk??”

Elliot claps a hand over his mouth with a gasp—Thor hears and glances up at the two kids, flashing them a smile and a wave.

“No way,” Elliot whispers, giving his uncle a tiny wave back. “Nobody’s stronger than Mr. Hulk. ‘Cept my dad, but—”

“Um, I don’t think so.” Morgan turns around with a giggle to make sure your office door is almost closed, keeping their conversation private from you and Loki inside. “C’mere.”

She waves him over and cups her hand by her mouth, leaning in to whisper in Elliot’s ear.

“Mr. Hulk beat your daddy into a pulp one time.”

“That’s not true!”

“Sure is,” she giggles, waving down at the doctor in question who just walked in, thankfully not...well, green. “My dad told me he ruined your dad’s mon-uh-logue, they musta been playing a game or somethin’. Dad said it was the funniest thing he’s ever seen in his life—”

“That’s not very nice.” Elliot frowns and crosses his little arms. “Well, did you know my dad threw your dad out a window one time?”

“Uh huh.”

“Oh.” His chest deflates and Morgan giggles.

“You’ve got a sad face.” She pokes a finger into his cheek. “Stop it.”

Your son shakes his head, for some reason wishing he could run into that meeting and just...give his dad a hug.

I think they both need it.

“C’mon,” Morgan pleads, shaking his arm, “stop being sad. Stop it, stop it, stop it, stop—”

An inevitable smile starts to tug at his lips. “Stop bein’ annoying, then.”

“Can’t.” She shrugs and starts poking him in the tummy. “Not ‘till you’re done being sad.”

Within seconds, Pepper is stopping the corporate meeting you’re in to poke her head out the door and shush the two shrieking kids rolling around at the top of a staircase, a full fledged tickle-war underway.

* * * *

Elliot learns a lot from her. Stuff his books could never teach him—at least, not the books he reads. Like AC/DC; Elliot had no idea that words could be so loud.

He decides he likes it. Rock and roll. He likes listening to it at the top of the staircase with earbuds in—one in her ear, the other in his—the music so loud that he squints with each drum beat as they watch the weird people their parents work with bustling about the compound.

Morgan always insists on having the left earbud. He never argues or asks why.

One day she lets him have the left earbud for one song, something by a band called Guns ‘n Roses, and he nearly calls her an asshole when she turns the music up all the way.

The left earbud is louder. “More bass,” she explains when she’s done laughing. She takes it back and unpauses the song.

She doesn’t flinch at the music.

Morgan is stronger than he guessed.

She once told him that the guitar is her favourite part of the music—that night at dinner he announced he wants to learn how to play guitar.

If Morgan likes it, it’s probably a good thing to know.

He doesn’t catch the small smile you and Loki share when you agree.

Elliot is terrible at it, he quickly discovers, and he gives it up after only a couple lessons. Not, of course, before Morgan finds out and makes him play her a shakily picked out rendition of the intro to Sweet Child of Mine about seven times.

Each time he tries, she claps and smiles and laughs and he beams, glad that finally, he did something she was impressed by.

She has everything. She’s good at everything—like when she picked up guitar a week after he gave up and was playing entire songs within days.

It’s annoying.

Morgan is annoying.

Even more annoying when they’re in high school and she won’t admit she hates him.

Growing up together, Elliot always had a tiny grip on her feelings, her emotions, could always tell when she wasn’t herself.

When she was almost ten, she figured out that maybe her little black-haired friend wasn’t just a good guesser when she would quiz him about herself. Elliot could guess more than her favourite colour, favourite animal, food; the basic stuff.

He started being able to guess when she had a restless night, when she was mad at her parents, when she needed to get out of her head. How she felt in a good moment, where she feels most at peace. When she’s in a situation and wants a way out.

At first it made her uncomfortable.

Elliot could tell, naturally, and stopped spending time with her for a few weeks.

He avoided her at all costs, kept his head down when he had to walk by her in the compound, did everything he could to start controlling this third eye.

Except talk to Loki. He came to you at one point, almost in tears because Morgan said he was “kinda weird,” and you told him that he should talk to his father about this, too. After all, he would be the only one who might have a single clue about what Elliot is going through.

But he won’t, he won’t talk to Loki about it, for some reason he doesn’t want to bring it up.

Their abilities and for lack of a better word, magic, have always been something that brought the two of them closer. Never was a problem, was never weird—

Tony and Pep apparently had a talk with Morgan, judging from the stern frowns and the tear stained face of Morgan when they showed up on your doorstep to apologise.

“You’re not weird,” she choked out. “I’m sorry, Elli, you’re not weird, you’re my friend and I’m so, so sorry.”

He didn’t correct her, you noticed, for calling him Elli.

Morgan Potts-Stark is annoying—and gross—and...well, it’s a pretty dress.

It’s blue.

Soft looking, satin-y, draping down her back, and she feels unstoppable. Elliot can tell; this surge of confidence (he’s guessing it’s coming from wearing the heels), she’s never felt this sure of herself.

It’s weird, watching her walk down their staircase. They don’t sit up there much anymore. Sometimes Elliot will, he’ll make his own sandwich (unless Fury is there, of course) and take his homework, grab a book, and sit at the top of the staircase until you and Loki are ready to go home.

Morgan doesn’t sit with him much anymore. She has a workshop that she likes to hide in, and Elliot’s only been down there once.

As much as he tells himself it’s not because he’s in her head, she’s just busy, there’s a nagging thought that just won’t go away that maybe she’s back to avoiding him.

She’s going to homecoming; only her first year of high school and she got a date to the dance. Tony, of course, had everyone in the compound stand by the foot of the staircase to watch her grand entrance—she deserves it, Elliot thinks, when everyone starts applauding and she blushes deep red.

Elliot isn’t going to the dance. Same high school...different experience.

He chose not to go, said he didn’t want to. Said that crowded rooms hurt his head, they’re too loud, too full, too busy.

You and Loki take him and Frigg out for ice cream. Elliot doesn’t seem too bothered to be missing such an event; he carries Frigg on his back and lets her eat half his ice cream, shoving his hands in his pockets when they start turning blue.

The four of you watch a movie when you get home, the usual dogpile on Loki. Elliot seems happy; he’s smiling, laughing, has his head on Loki’s shoulder and occasionally stops to tickle Frigg when she tries to push him out of his spot.

In his pocket, his phone buzzes.

There’s a couple texts waiting to be opened. From Morgan.

“Guess what the theme of the dance is...winter wonderland. In September?? Made me think of you, frosty!”

His hands are still blue and patchy. He pushes them deeper in his pockets.

Loki notices and presses his lips to his son’s forehead. “Don’t,” he whispers, smiling softly. “We love you. Don’t.”

Frigg takes advantage of Elliot’s distraction and wedges her little self right between the two of them with a proud fit of giggles.

His phone vibrates again and he glances at it—Morgan again.

“Someone is trying to sing a karaoke Sweet Child of Mine. HELP.”

“Seriously, I’ll take your guitar version over this ANY day.”

He can’t help it and smiles down at his phone.

“OoooOOO!!” Frigg pokes him with a squeal. “Are you talking to a girl??”

He scowls and shoves a pillow in his sister’s face. “Shut it, Frigg.”

“You gonna date her??” Frigg can’t stop giggling, fighting against the pillow and trying to reach Elliot’s phone. “Gonna kiss her?! Mom!! Elli’s gotta girlfriend, Elli’s gotta girlfriend—”

“Shut up!” A pillow smacks Frigg across the face and Elliot tackles the little girl, shoving handfuls of snow down her shirt as she shrieks with laughter and tries to fight back.

Morgan?? His girlfriend? Oh, please, that’ll never happen.

Morgan Potts-Stark is gross.

And annoying.

Remember?

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

since i’m on mobile it wouldn’t let me tag like half of you on this post, sorry folks!!!

loki tags: @bluediamond007 @himitoshi @drakesfiance @destiel1597 @dangertoozmanykids101 @archy3001 @jcalpha1 @yzssie @skullvieplu @forthesnakeofdragons @skulliebythesea @wegingerangelica @storiesfrommirkwood @agarwaeneth @adaliamalfoy @laurfangirl424 @belladonnabarnes @fitzsimmons-is-forever @ladylokimischief @katelinwrites @tarynkauai @polaristrange @loavesofmeat @canadian-ravenpuff-multishipper @lou-makes-me-strong @holyn0vak @chocolatealmondmillk @swtnrholland @kenzieam @jessiejunebug  @catticas @the-republic-and-face-of-texas @doralupin01 @whitewitchdown @atomiccharmer @falconfeather23435 @babygirlicecream @avengrcs @vethrvolnir2 @bookgirlunicorn @wabisabigrl @myhealingstar @khaleesi-marvel @ei77777 @spacecrumbs @scarlettghost13 @rocks-are-pretty-odd @confessionsofastrugglingteen @easilydistractedwriter @arttasticgreatnessoftheawesome77 @fluffyllamaswearinghats @milktearose @lcyouinhell @h0tshotholland @dontmesswithmemundane @southsidesarcasticwriter @helnik-s @lilith-akemi @fire-in-her-veinz @unlikelysamwinchesteronahunt @mischievousbellerina @kcd15 @mellowgirl01 @lokislilcaribbeanprincess @allthingzhiddleston @scorpionchild81 @lokixme @blue-automne @galaxycharmed @devilbat @kangaroobunny @end-up-well @planetariumx @sarcsep @mrfandomtastic @amaru163 @im-way-too-many-fandoms @caswinchester2000 @kybaeza @wester-than-west @vintagesunshinebitch @adefectivedetective @poetic-nikolai @moonduhsted

[fablesrose]

Of Kings and Shadows IV

Chapter IV

Description: Y/n, a girl who seems to have found her calling. Being a SHIELD agent is like a dream come true. With a friendship starting to form with the Avengers, she’s the Queen of the world! What could go wrong?

Pairings: Avengers x reader, Loki x reader (eventually)

Notes: Find it on Wattpad --> Here

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Violence

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The only thing on my mind when I got back was to get out of these sweaty clothes and take a shower.

Ever since that successful mission with the Avengers a couple weeks back I've been one more and more missions. Some in the new drone program, others, break in and blow stuff up, and still others, like this one, infiltration. Today it had to be quick, no extended period of time. In, get as much footage and information as possible, mostly about their tech and advancements for now, and get the heck out of there before they started to realize that they had extra agents in their halls.

I was in the team that went to the computers. Well, the back up, cuz we're smart enough not to go into the center heavily guarded computer lab and ask for them to download everything onto a flash drive... The back up was a room in a far corner, hooked up to the main lab, but all the info went to it, just in case. It could be readily accessible in case of emergency and they had to evacuate.

The progress on their largest, latest, and most dangerous projects were downloaded, and a bug placed in their system to spy and get the rest later. The computer room was hot, only too small of fans going to cool it down. The thick Hydra jacket wasn't helping in the temperature dilemma either. I dreaded having to replace the helmet and visor when we had to leave.

It went without a hitch, in and out. Now the shower was in the forefront of my mind. With my helmet on my head, for one, it was too hard to take off with all the straps, and two. for keeping my hands free for other stuff, I headed to my locker. The visor was put away immediately. I could almost feel the stream of water in my back, and the steam gently touching my face when the dream was crushed.

"Agent l/n!"

It was Brian Fletcher. Agent Brian Fletcher. He's been the dude in charge in... pretty much all of the missions I've been on in the past couple weeks. I learned his name on the second mission with him, and learned he was one who actually deserved respect twice as quickly. Incredible agent, and from what time I've spent working with him he seems like a good man. One thing is for sure, he's been doing this for a long time and knows what he's doing.

"y/n, I'm gonna need you to go down to the workshop... or where ever Mr. Stark is and give this to him." He handed me a file which I assumed had the information we just recovered.

"Yes, sir. I'll grab a quick shower and hand it off. "

"No, now."

I resisted the urge to groan, but failed to withhold, "why?"

Before I could retract the statement, or Brian could answer, there was a voice from across the locker room, "Because you're the only one here that Tony likes!"

He looked at me with a look that said, 'they have a point'

And I'd be lying if I didn't say I mirrored the expression.

So, I took the file, not bothering to take anything off, since this is so important. I trudged down the hallway, in the most respectful way possible.

I nodded to those I knew as I passed, the file securely in my hand. There were a few double takes at the uniform, but were quickly resolved once they noticed how disheveled the open jacket looked and saw my face. Which, looking back may not have been the best reaction, and wasn't a good decision on my part in the first place either...  

Oh well.

I finally made it to the lab/workshop/whatever you want to call it. That shower was still calling my name, so I wanted to get this over as soon as possible. Unfortunately, the commute to Tony's den was not short, and my legs were not getting any younger. Fortunately, we have been making the Avengers compound our landing base, so it wasn't like I had to go from SHIELD headquarters to find him.

I knocked on the window, but the music was playing really loud to be heard over the louder machinery. Since he wasn't gonna let me in I decided to see if JARVIS would let me in.

"Hey, Jarvis"

"Yes ma'am"

"I've got orders to give this file to Tony, can I get in there?"

"It is open miss"

The door moved a little bit to show it was now open. It kinda made me wonder if it was open all along, but there wasn't anything telling me it was so I didn't think too hard about it.

"Thank you sir" I said it in a little sing song to show my appreciation without all the formal crap.

"Of course miss"

I could feel the bass guitar rattle my bones in just the right way. In the short time that I listened to it I could tell that it was an AC DC song, but not exactly which one. Not that I should know, I only did have about five on my recognizable list.

Right then Tony's peripheral vision must have picked me up as he stood up knocking his chair over behind him. It probably would have been smart of me if I had noticed he was working on a repulsor. That was on his hand. And now charged up. And pointed at me.

As any regular sane person, I didn't want to be blown sky high, so I raised my hands and made sure my face was visible so he could see who I was and that I was no threat. There was a tense probably ten seconds (which felt like hours, but you don't wanna know that) where the only movement was the metal shavings on the floor, vibrating with the guitar rifts.

"Mr. Stark? Its me, Agent Y/n L/n?"

He blinked a couple times, like he was clearing his vision. I realized he was probably really tired, and plus looking at something so small and close probably messed with his eyes. After a second he seemed to have registered who I was and smiled.

I let out a breath, then figured I had better explain why I scared him half to death.

"Hey so I was sent to give you this file, right away. I'm pretty sure it contains information we just acquired from that HYDRA base we just infiltrated." I set the file on his desk then had an idea. "Hey Jarvis?"

"Yes miss?"

"Make sure Mr. Stark doesn't forget this file, please?"

"Consider it done"

I smiled, "Thank you!"

I looked back at Tony to see that he was lowering his hand with the state of the art in weapon tech strapped to it.  I was only alerted something was amiss when I noticed his eyes widen and look slightly above and behind me.

Then I was thrown into a wall.

The gut feeling washed over me too late. Maybe it wasn't even that gut feeling. Maybe it was just the churning from being tossed across the room, high enough in the air as to miss most of the equipment in the room.  Whatever it was... It didn't help me at all.

My vision went black, and I felt light headed as if I stood up too quickly. Before I could recover, a hand wrapped itself around my throat. My vision came back slowly, but not before that same hand lifted me along the wall so high that my feet no longer touched the floor. They seemed to know what they were doing as they held me in a manner that limited my airflow, but left enough open for me to answer.

Or die slowly.

"That symbol has no place here!"

I finally saw who it was, and my eyes widened in shock.

Loki.

I didn't even know he was released and approved, yet. That being said, maybe he wasn't. The only thing that mattered that he was either gonna question me, hurt me, or kill me, in the next few minutes. Who knows? Maybe all three.

"What were you going to do to the tin man!?"

He tightened his grip, a threat to answer. His over eagerness betrayed him, however. My view started shrinking. His questions faded out, the shower that was so wanted before, now seemed like an out of reach luxury. One I no longer wanted or thought about. The only thing on my mind was the pain of being slammed yet again into the wall, and the ever decreasing oxygen supply.

I smacked at his hand. Tried to pull it apart. In a last ditch effort I kicked my legs. One of my feet hit something, it was obvious it was on the side of his body as my heal glanced off of him. It caused him to bend at the hip, causing less pressure up against the wall.

I started to slide down and used the opportunity to smack his hand off of my throat. Dropping the rest of the way to the ground, I crawled away, instincts kicking in.

"Woah, woah, woah!"

I fell on the ground trying to catch my breath. I could see Tony step between me and my assailant, back to me, holding his hands up in a non-threatening manner.

My hands started ripping off the helmet, which I suppose I should be grateful for, and then throwing the jacket as far away from me as possible revealing in full the SHIELD cut off sleeved t-shirt underneath. It seemed like it would help stop the wheezing, and it also seemed to help defuse the situation behind me.

Once the adrenaline started to fade, my mind reasoned with what happened.

He was defending... Tin man? Did he mean Tony? Oh, I'm getting dizzy again... The ground looks inviting... Man, is he strong... I Do Not... do not... not... want ... to be... on his bad side...

All the wheezing lead to a coughing fit. One that hurt like the devil and seemed to last just as long. A hand rested on my back, rubbing back and forth as if to soothe me. I glanced back, Tony was crouched beside me, looking concerned. My eyes wandered past him to the man who held my life in his hand a moment ago.

He gave a very stiff nod, not a single emotion easily read on his face. He then turned gracefully on his heal and strode almost silently from the room. Only then did I notice that the music wasn't playing. My coughs echoing around the workshop.

Tony helped me sit against the wall. I gingerly touched my throat, clenching my jaw when I realized how tender it was.

"Are you okay?"

The first sound that came out of my mouth sounded strangled, and it hurt just as much. I took a sharp intake of breath before trying again.

"I'll... " I took another deep breath, "Live." I rested my face in my hands, letting out a shaky breath. I didn't know that there were tears rolling down my cheeks until my fingers felt them.

"Okay, breathe in. Through the nose. Hold it..." His fingers were lightly touching my knee, perhaps in a gesture to show he's there.

He guided me through breathing exercises for a couple minutes. The way he watched me do it and helped showed this was far from the first time he's done this. For himself or others I didn't know.

Once my breathing became regular, or at least more regular, he helped me stand.

"Let's get you to the infirmity, that bruise is getting swollen."

I wobbled on my feet, grabbing onto his hand to help steady myself.

"Thank you, sir."

"Y/n, call me Tony... After we get you fixed up I'm gonna find out what the actual crap happened."

Tags: @nightrose64

[comicsnas]

showtime

WARNING: eye gore!!, violence Disclaimer: this is..... an au where guy fieri isnt a cool and chill dude that just likes food. i am very sorry for what i do to him in this. i dont mean it and if the cops knock at my door i will blame it on hussie word count: about 3.7k. i am so sorry

context john gets kidnapped by his mom dave doesnt panic

Los Angeles, CA, Wednesday

“No matter what happens, nobody cancels the premiere,” you say. “Okay? No matter what’s in the news. No matter how bad it gets. The movie drops on Thursday, and people are gonna watch it. Got it? This is a scare tactic and we’re not falling for it. Even if the world is ending, we are premiering this movie and going through with the promo. With or without me.”

Catalena, your manager, has been with you for too long to think that you’re joking. She was who flew you in from Houston to LA back when you were twenty, who let you sleep on your couch until you made enough money to get an apartment, who thought that the message you had for the world was one worthy of her help. She knows that all of this is real, and that she can’t stop you.

Her face says, Dave, you’re scaring me. Her mouth says, “You got it. Could you at least tell me… what you think is going to be in the news that would make us not premiere it?”

“Something bad,” you say. “Hopefully, anyway.”

She tilts her head. “Are you faking your death?”

“Lalonde and I are gonna disappear for a sec,” you say. “How people interpret that is gonna be up to them.”

“Not like you to leave things up to chance,” Catalena says. “Some will think it’s elaborate PR.”

“That’s why I’m only telling you. Lalonde and I are gonna frame this to look serious, and no one else is gonna know what’s going on. You keep your cool, but don’t let anyone know that you’re in on it.”

“I mean, I barely am.” She gives you a Look, a capital L Look, then sighs and nods. “Fine. So if I hear about your presumed death tomorrow, I won’t freak out. At what point am I allowed to assume you are actually dead, and freak out a little bit?”

“If you don’t hear from me in a week,” you say, “then Lalonde and I have been killed by Betty Crocker.”

Houston, TX, twelve years ago

You’re blind.

That’s not true. You’re not blind. You don’t think you are going to be blind. There is no way that you’re fully blind, because the assassin only got your right eye, so it doesn’t make sense for you to be blind, but you’re blind.

The pain might originate from your right eye, but it’s engulfing your entire head by now, and there is something sticky in your left eye and you can’t open it anymore and it burns, and you’re going to go blind, and then you’re going to die in a ditch, in a pool of your own blood, and this is it. It’s over. You and your half sister fucked around on the internet a bunch, got really deep into some conspiracy theories, and barely two weeks after you made the discovery that Betty Crocker definitely, undoubtedly, literally is an actual alien, someone was sent to kill you.

They didn’t manage, so far. They got your eye, and they broke your glasses, leaving a cut on your nose, and a bunch of cuts everywhere else, and you think you cracked your head open when you fell. But you cut their knife hand off, good and clean off, watched it fall to the ground right in front of you. By the time it hit the pavement, the assassin had already turned around and ran away, leaving you to crumple and suffer here by yourself.

This is it.

“Strider?” Rose says. Before the blood trickling into your good eye ruined your vision, you managed to dial her number and call her up, and now you’re lying on your side with your phone pressed to your ear, imagining her in her college dorm room in New York. You were going to visit her there, years ago, after you ran away from your parents. It never worked out. Neither of you has the money. You really wish you could have seen her at least once.

“Yeah,” you croak. “You at home?”

“At the dorm, yes. What’s going on?”

“You gotta go. She sent someone after me, she’s gonna come for you too. If she knows that I know, she’ll know that you know.”

One of the most comfortable parts of friendship with Rose, you’ve found, is that she never asks you to clarify what the fuck you’re talking about. Either she just lets you ramble, or she knows exactly what you mean. “Shit,” she hisses, and you can hear rustling on her side of the line, hopefully from her getting ready. She probably has a getaway bag somewhere, you think. You have one, but not on you right now. It’s too late for that.

“They’ve already hit me, so whoever she sent to you can’t be far,” you say. You try to blink your eye open, but then it hurts the other more, and it burns. You can’t even tell where exactly. It just burns. “Hurry up, Lalonde.”

“They’ve hit you?” she echoes, still rustling, breathing into the phone. On the move. Good. “Are you okay?”

“No,” you say. “Gonna call an ambulance after this. Just get the fuck out and text me later, yeah?”

Rose pauses. You can hear her pause, you can hear everything go very silent for a second. She says, “You called me before you called for help?”

“Yeah,” you say. She told you, once, that there is a quick and easy way out the window of her second-storey dorm room, that lets her balance over to her girlfriend’s room only a few windows ahead. She can’t hide there, it’s too close, but it’s a start. She’ll figure it out, she always will. She was the first person to ever have your back. “Of course I did.”

On a plane, Thursday morning

“What’s on your mind?” Rose asks.

You’re leaned back, staring out the window, listening to the clicking of her knitting needles next to you. The pilot here doesn’t know who he’s dealing with, just that he is flying two rich people and their car to Washington, DC. Your Mustang is in the cargo part of the plane, a vital part of the plan. You’ll torch it later. It was the first car you bought with your own money, after SBaHJ had become big and you had finally paid off your hospital debt.

Rose’s apartment isn’t that old, she got it after Roxy was born and she decided to move to Los Angeles, so you could help each other babysit. Trashing it still felt wrong. A home is a home, but you wanted it to look broken into, to make sure that people put two and two together. This isn’t a Dave Strider marketing scheme, you both got hit. After all the work that you’ve done, at least some of the public should understand what that means.

“Us,” you say.

“That’s very sentimental,” she says. “Are you sure you aren’t mourning your car again?”

“Shut up,” you say, and blindly swat at her, hitting her elbow. She hits you back, hand slapping your shoulder. “It’s a good car.”

Rose hums. When you look at her, she’s already back to knitting. You have no idea what she’s making, but it looks like a onesie for an octopus. “We will be fine,” she says. “We have to.”

You nod, and go back to staring out the window, thinking about what Alma said. “It’s just,” you say quietly. “We gotta start thinking about the endgame, here, don’t we.”

“Start?” Rose echoes. “Dave, we know the endgame to this. We’ve known for a while. The second you landed in the hospital with a cut inside your eyeball, you and I both knew that this would end in death.”

You don’t say anything. She’s right, of course she is. You knew then, and she knew, as soon as you texted her from your hospital bed, and she texted you back from a Greyhound bus. And you tried to forget, you both did, for a very long time. You almost managed, for a whole decade, until last year, someone made you scared and angry enough to ram a sword through his throat. Until Rose came and disassembled the body on your rooftop, and then helped you burn it. Reality has caught up with you, and someone is going to die.

The clicking of her needles has stopped again. You turn your head to look at her, and she’s looking back at you, and her face seems younger than it should be. She is just as scared as you are. Neither of you ever wanted it to go this far. Neither of you wanted to kill.

“I don’t like it either,” Rose says. “But someone is going to wind up dead, and it sure as shit isn’t gonna be us.”

Washington, DC, now

)(IC: u comin or what TG: yeah about that

You’re on the hood of your car. The children -- and Sally, John’s pet hedgehog -- are with the one sitter you still trust. Rose is in position, which means she is at a remote location outside the city holding Guy Fieri hostage. She has sent you a picture of him tied to a chair and gagged, which means that it’s go time.

All according to plan.

TG: how about you come kill me somewhere else instead of home sweet home )(IC: why would i do that TG: dying mans last request? )(IC: stfu lol this is so obviously a trap TG: wow ok so is yours )(IC: fair TG: just thought that you know TG: john means something to both of us and dont try to tell me no because i know he does TG: so like can we maybe duke it out somewhere where i wont accidentally blow him to smithereens TG: innuendo intended )(IC: UG)( )(IC: gross TG: lmao TG: anyway bethany you know me and you know im comin with c4 in my backpack if im comin TG: do you really want that around your son or can you just get off your ass and meet me here so john stays safe )(IC: u reely think ya have a fighting chance to even get that far )(IC: buoy you set one foot in my house and ya get spearfished TG: yeah not really making a great point for me to come there rn TG: just thought maybe youd wanna be with your guy guy )(IC: who TG: you know TG: guy the guy )(IC: tf

You text her the picture that Rose sent, just Guy Fieri looking miserable, no indication of whether or not you or Rose are with him.

)(IC: )(-EY )(IC: motherglubber what do u think yoar doin TG: yoar??? TG: thats literally not a word. wym you oar?? what TG: anyway im gonna dismember this asshole if you dont agree to keep john safe and come here and im gonna start with the frosted tips )(IC: FIN--E )(IC: cant effin wait to be done with you )(IC: ill come krill ya if its so shrimportant just gimme the location TG: ok shrimportant is actually pretty funny TG: [coordinates] TG: see you soon

She drives a fuchsia Jaguar that looks like Xzibit threw up all over it, because of course she does. You watch it leave from your perch on your Mustang, then slide off the hood. shes gone, you text Rose. get ready to bounce

Before you leave, you turn back toward you car, and gently pat the roof. “See you soon,” you repeat, “for one last ride.”

Look, it’s a good car, alright.

Later on in the plan, once you’ve convinced John to come with you, and Rose has joined you in the no doubt brutal course out of the house littered with security guards, the three of you will pack into this car, and you will drive. You will be tailed, you know you will. Rose and you estimate two to three SUVs with more security personnel that will follow you, and sooner or later, you won’t stand a chance against them.

So, you’ll call the cops. You don’t usually do this -- even during all these years, neither you nor Crocker ever called the police on each other, and technically, you still won’t, today. You will just anonymously call authorities, and tell them about a burning car by the side of the road. Then you will hang up, and you and Rose and John will hop out of a moving vehicle as you crash your beloved Mustang and have it go up in flames. Authorities will come and find Dave Strider’s infamous car, and hopefully that’ll get people talking.

Crocker’s guys will hopefully exit their cars and go looking for you, or at least for John. It’s an easy con from there -- while they look, you will steal their SUVs and drive off toward your safehouses. Simple. No sweat.

“This better work,” you mutter to yourself, then leave your car behind and start climbing the fence around Crocker manor.

You’ve been here once before, while she was out and John was showing you around. You weren’t actively trying to case the place back then, just spending time with your boyfriend and checking out where he grew up, but you couldn’t help how curious you were. You still remember the most important spots, and you did your best to paint a proper picture of them to Rose (you drew a map in MS Paint), so now you have a pretty good idea of where you need to go.

The guard posts, of course, are randomized. You’ll have to take these as they come, and you feel prepared enough, with just your sword and a handful of knives. You’re wearing the kevlar you wore to the Oscars. You’re gonna be fine.

It’s a race against time now, knowing that there is no guarantee when Crocker will be catching on and returning to her house, and knowing that you stand no chance actually fighting her face to face. You climbed in toward the side of the house, because it’s the shortest distance between fence and wall. The front and back yards are ridiculously huge and opulent, and while you would have plenty of gaudy statues to hide behind, you’re not looking to make your way through there.

The first guard spots you right as you hop down off the fence, and your knife is in his shoulder before he even finishes drawing his gun on you. He’s also wearing a vest, but those don’t stop blades, and you take offense in knowing that she made them dress up like that. As if either you or Rose were going to show up with guns. She really doesn’t know you at all. You knock out the guard with a hit of the knife grip against his temple. Maybe you can get through this without deaths.

One of them you comfortably take out from behind a useless fountain placed in this part of the garden for some reason, appreciating how quiet and low-key you can be about it so far. The bigger the ruckus, the sooner she’ll return, so having them all go down in silence is your best case scenario.

It’s the third guard that ruins your track record. You’re almost at the house wall, and you know you’re under the right window, which means all you have to do is scale it and climb right into John’s room, but for that to work you need to have a clean path behind you. Which you don’t, you realize the second a bullet hits your back.

Your vest catches it, but the momentum still knocks you down, and you scrape both of your palms open on the weird break between lawn and pavement. You hate this fucking garden. Who lives like this? You’re gasping for breath and trying not to inhale any grass, dealing with the reality that this is the first time someone has shot at you and actually hit you, and the bullet might not have penetrated skin at all, but Jesus Fucking Christ it still feels awful. Like someone kicked you in the spine, only with a bullet instead of a foot.

Onward. You hear footsteps behind you, and now it’s your turn to kick, hitting them in the face with your boot in the same motion that you’re pushing yourself up from the ground. As they curse and stumble, you draw your sword, but they catch their footing quickly, and you know you only have a split second to act. That gun is pointing at you, again, or still, and they’re going for your head this time, and if you don’t fight now, the journey ends for you here. Someone is going to die, and it sure as shit can’t be you. Your arm darts forward.

The sword goes through their vest, their ribs, and their heart -- you wouldn’t call it smoothly, you really wouldn’t. You can feel resistance with every inch, you feel it right up to your shoulder, and you hate it, and it makes you want to throw up, but you can’t, now. You shove them off your blade and watch them crumple to the ground, and turn right back toward the wall. They are not getting up again. That’s on you, and you can deal with that later. You have to get moving.

Your phone vibrates.

You manage to pull yourself up on a balcony and crouch there, hiding from whatever is going on in the yard now. Other guards must have heard the shot being fired, so you really need to get the fuck out of sight, but this has to do, for now. If Crocker is messaging you, you have to respond, so she doesn’t think you’re in her goddamn garden.

)(IC: yo )(IC: send me proof yoar still with him )(IC: almost there this betta be worth it TG: one sec

As expected. All according to plan, so far. You hope the blood on your sword won’t make the sheath sticky. You’ll have to clean it, later. You don’t want to.

TG: shes asking for proof TG: go ahead. sorry TT: No worries. TT: I know we don’t endorse violence, but honestly, Dawon, after being in a room with him for this long, I am quite happy to do this.

She sends you a picture, and you grimace at your phone. It takes a lot to make you grimace, as a Strider born and raised -- at the same time, you’re not easily shocked or grossed out, but this isn’t great to look at. Fieri’s eye has been pulled from its socket, dangling down his cheek suspended from the nerve, a hole in the eyeball. You hope Crocker won’t be able to tell that this was done with a knitting needle, and forward the photo to her.

TG: hows this )(IC: )(--EY FUCK OFF )(IC: stop i reely like guy 38( TG: yeah well i really like john TG: eye for an eye TG: hurry it up im waiting and theres a second eye to gauge out )(IC: ten minutes )(IC: ur gonna be so sorry buoy

TG: 10 mins TT: On my way.

Okay. Crocker is on her way to a location where there will only be Guy Fieri and a set of elaborate boobytraps which you know won’t kill her, but hopefully slow her down. Rose is on her way here, to help you and John get out of here. That’s plenty of time you still have. Things are going suspiciously well, you think, before you remember the ache in your back and the fact that you killed someone.

You have to get to John.

He’s another two floors up, but you are right in front of a balcony door. For a second, you wonder if you could get into the house from here and do the rest from inside, so you don’t present yourself to the mob of people with guns in the garden. Unfortunately, before you can do that, another person with a gun appears on the other side of that door, mouths an angry what the fuck at you, and draws an assault rifle. Alright, well.

The thing that has mostly kept you from becoming too violent in the past is the fact that you’re fast, and you’re a great climber, so when you hop backward onto the banister of the balcony and pull yourself up to the next one above you, it happens so fast that nobody in the garden reacts. It’s after you’re already crouching behind the balcony, thankfully made of robust concrete, that the shots start hitting it. You do nothing, count the bullets, wait for them to get rid of half of their magazines down there. Then you pull a knife, peek over the balcony, and throw it right into someone’s bicep.

More shots. More ducking and counting. You have two more knives to throw, and you do, rinse and repeat. The people down there are very angry with you now, and very much still able to shoot, but you figure at least their aim will be off, and they’ll be slower. You hope. You haven’t held a gun yourself in fucking forever.

You take a breath, and jump up to grab the balcony you know belongs to John.

As soon as you’re in the open, another bullet hits your back, further toward your side this time, and you almost let go. You let out an undignified noise instead, and hold on harder, focusing all you have into your arms to pull yourself up. Shots are ringing in your ears, and one hits the concrete right next to your head at almost the same time that another one grazes your leg. You hiss in pain, grunt in exertion, pull, pull, and roll yourself onto John’s balcony.

Someone in the garden yells, “Motherfucker!”

You sit, curled up, and pull apart the tear in your pants with your aching fingers to check the wound. It’s not deep, certainly not as bad as the chunk of missing flesh you have in your arm from being shot at last year. It’s fine. You’ll forget about it in a second, when your newest problem will be telling your amnesiac boyfriend that he needs to come with you.

You pull yourself up into a crouch, not more. You don’t want to risk getting shot in the head as you finally face him, so you just do it like this. Hunkered down, disheveled and bloody, you lean forward and knock on John’s window.