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feralego · 2 years

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@ruinaa / @sweetbittr sent: five times luz and theo almost fought, and one time they did

It’s easier to leave than to fight. Experience has taught her this lesson time and time again. And by the time their first real fight primes itself to erupt after a long, tension filled day, Luz does just that.

It is not subtle. She sees him open his mouth to speak, senses they’ve passed the tipping point, and she vanishes: fading out of view, throwing open the front door, and bolting out into the night with no plan and no shoes.

Two days later, she returns. They don’t speak of the argument that hadn’t happened, and Theo pretends not to watch as she rebandages a wound on the ball of her foot. He restocks their medkit the next day, and leaves a pair of slip on shoes by the door for her.

Days come and go in which she thinks it would be better for the both of them if they went their own separate ways. The reasoning is not always sound, but when it is, sometimes she finds herself waiting and watching. Looking for something to pick at; to pull up a tab and expose it all.

It is one of those days, and she is fixated on the fact that he’d absently left the coffee pot on for too long and the liquid had scorched itself dry into the bottom of the carafe. A saboteur in her head tells her this malicious carelessness; that it’s a sign of a bad partner or friend or housemate or whatever the hell they even are to each other; that he is thoughtless about her belongings and their shared space, and thus must be thoughtless about her.

She bites her tongue, waiting for him to bring it up. To apologize for something she’s not even brought to his attention. And every time she looks at him, she gets a little angrier about it.

But eventually, he gets up to go to the kitchen for a refill, and the desire to fight about it crumbles when she hears him curse in his grumbly tone as he pulls the carafe from the warming plate and begins the task of scrubbing it out himself before he starts a new batch.

Her face is as red as her hair when he returns with a freshly brewed cup for the both of them, ashamed at what she’d almost started–and perhaps ended, if she’d listened to that little voice–so needlessly.

The bar they’re in is a little seedy, a little dark, a little grimy, but so is the entirety of the small town they’ve stopped in for the night. And Theo doesn’t particularly want to be there, but doesn’t want Luz to be there alone. So he is seated in a torn up booth seat, narrowly avoiding accidentally snagging his best pair of jeans on a protruding spring, and his empty beer bottles are taking up more and more space on the table as he watches her dance.

She makes eye contact with him through the smoky haze every now and again, gesturing for him to join her on the dance floor, but he holds firm in his refusal. On her fifth attempt to get him up, she tries something else without fully thinking it through.

Still moving with the music, she makes her way across the floor to another lone man sitting off to the side, and holds out her hand in invitation. And when he takes it, she shoots a pointed look over to Theo.

This could have been you, it says. This should have been you.

But he is already on his feet, shrugging into his jacket, and laying cash down on the table. He’s leaving. And Luz has a choice to make: have her fun now and face the music later, or leave with the man she’d really wanted to dance with.

She makes the right call, abandoning the stranger on the scuffed dance floor to grab Theo’s sleeve on his way out to the car and to apologize for dragging him there in the first place.

They don’t speak on the drive back to the rundown highway motel. Or as they pack up their things to continue their journey in the morning. She’d almost rather they fight about it, but she’s too afraid of what it might uncover.

It’s Valentine’s Day, and Luz is a little wine drunk by the time Theo gets back to their double queen suite with bags of takeout, shaking the snow off his winter coat in the little kitchenette. Which is awfully close to the bathroom, where the door is cracked open and Luz is sitting in the whirlpool bath with her wine.

She smiles at him and pulls a hand from the water to blow a palm full of bubbles at him.

“It's about time you got back,” she teases him, laughing to herself about the expression on his face. “When I said I was hungry, that’s not what I meant.”

The food goes uneaten, thrown haphazardly onto the counter.

Hours later, she thinks about arguing that it hadn’t happened after he acknowledges the forgotten dinners when they’ve both dried off and dozed off for a bit. But they are still tangled up together on one bed, under the same covers, and what would be the point? They’ve done this too many times now to keep denying it as vehemently as she has in the past.

Instead, she just gets up and reheats the meals in the microwave and returns to Theo’s bed, where they refuel after their earlier exploits, and then drift off to sleep again.

Luz has done many a stupid thing that’s gone and gotten her hurt, and Theo has had saintlike patience with her through most of it. But the tables have turned, and Luz is unsteady as Theo lumbers in through the door with blood soaking through his shirt.

Panic tightens her chest, her throat; it races in her mind as she works with shaky hands to patch him up and tries to get the story of what had happened out of him.

She is terrified of what could have happened if the puncture had been any deeper, or come any closer to his heart, his lungs. She is terrified of losing him to the same violence they’ve sworn themselves into. And when she is done with the wound care, she opens her mouth to start in on him. To hypocritically ream him for his foolishness.

But he’s fallen asleep under her care, and he needs his rest.

This is it.

Luz Carrey has a locked desk drawer full of treatment pamphlets and medical bills, a bleak prognosis, and she wants to make this easy on him. She wants to make this easy on him, because despite how he presents himself, she knows what is behind that gruff, rugged exterior. She knows that facade is there to protect something, just as her own outward self does.

And she loves him enough that she can’t stand the thought of him mourning her when the treatments stop delaying the inevitable. She’d rather end things now so that he can be well on his way to being over her when she’s truly gone.

Isn’t that a kindness? All things considered?

So she picks an asinine fight like that old voice in her head always wanted to. She picks a fight on their first afternoon alone together in over a week–after dodged texts and endlessly rescheduled plans–and it seems as though he’s in the mood to fight as well, because he jumps in with his own complaints and concerns about her absent and shadowy behavior in the past few weeks, months.

Full of fatigue and no small amount of regret, she has trouble keeping up her end of the spat. What had started with such ire peters out after just a few rebuttals, and it's not long before she’s shaking with the burden of it all. It’s not long before she begins to consider giving him the truth; explaining what’s been going on and where it’s headed.

But she is in too deep now, she assures herself, nearly swaying on her feet but unwilling to let him see, so she demands that he leave despite his points eventually winning their argument and nearly winning her confession.

She is gone when Theo comes back, her locked drawer emptied and her closet picked through.

And for years, she does not return; does not call.

#sweetbittr theo #sweetbittr theo:// luz #sweetbittr:// luz #sweetbittr #medical cw//#suggestive cw//#i do not know how to use the beta editor #so i do not understand why some of it is indented and some isnt #edit: upon refreshing none of it is indented i do not know what happened :')

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alphateamsfinest · 2 years

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❛❛ You say you hate my 𝓰𝓾𝓽𝓼, but you're still coming back for 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎. ❜❜

Teeth bared, despite the challenges of this realm, Jill Valentine was not one to take the shitty situation she was in and just lay down and accept it. Some killers were worse than others- these masked freaks were some of the ones she truly hated going against. More than once had she let her guard down enough, thinking that it was some other survivor, ran towards them unaware only to realize her mistake.

The click is almost imperceptible to someone who wasn't skilled in explosives- she lets go of the generator, the way out. There wasn't going to be a way out for her, but she was hoping that she can at least distract him long enough for the others to get out. What's left of a medkit she found is left, someone else can get more use of this than she can. She is staring into that unyielding mask, refusing to let her eyes deviate to where she sees a teammate.

"Could say the same about you. Think you can keep up with me this time?"

Limited seconds to make her exit, to put precious distance between them. Breaking off in a sprint away from him vaults the closest window. Make as much noise as you can Jill. Let the others know you're coming- buy them as much time as you can.

#answering machine #v: drowning in the fog #[Honestly been playing this song since you sent in the lyrics]#[Thank you for sending this in!!]

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gold-and-rubies · 4 years

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In It For Th Long Haul - Chapter 9

Mac’s POV

They stumbled into Goodneighbor just after sunset. They would have Gotten there sooner had they not run straight into a horde of Super mutants. They had miraculously gotten through Kellogg and his synths without any injuries, but the mutants had left them pretty banged up. Flynn had a new scar on her chin.

MacCready let himself relax a little as they approached The Memory Den. He knew Goodneighbor well, and the people, most of them, knew better than to mess with him.

His eyes widened when they entered The Memory Den. He had never actually been inside before. It was quite hard to get in, and cost more caps than he was comfortable spending on something like this. The high tech loungers contrasted the ornate, red drapes and rugs. They were in surprisingly great shape despite everything. A woman in a fancy dress was lounging on a couch in the middle of the stage at the end of the room. Valentine walked up to the woman.

“Mr. Valentine, I thought you had forgotten about little old me,” she purred.

“May have walked out of The Den, but I’d never walk out on you,” he flirted back. MacCready’s nose scrunched up a little in disgust.

“Hmph. Amari’s downstairs, you big flirt.”

Valentine led them behind the stage, and down the stairs to a makeshift lab. There were several tables and cabinets with several different medical items. There were two different loungers, several different kinds of technical equipment that MacCready had no idea about, and a computer the doctor was using. There was an office chair between the loungers, and a couch against the wall. He wondered about the couch.

“Doctor Amari?” Valentine said.

“Yes? I take it this isn’t a social call.”

Flynn walked up to Valentine, and stopped next to him. She clutched the blood stained medkit in her hands.

“We need the memories from a man named Kellogg,” she explained, “But he’s dead.”

Amari got a horrified look on her face, “Besides the fact that you’re asking me to defile a corpse, the memory loungers require living brains to function.”

“This dead brain had inside knowledge of the Institute, Amari. The biggest scientific secret of the Commonwealth. You need this, and so do we,” Valentine argued.

Amari sighed, “Fine. Do you… do you have it with you?”

“This is… what we have,” Flynn said, handing over the medkit.

She popped it open, and exclaimed, “What’s this? This isn’t a brain! This is… wait…” she picked up what was inside, “This is the hippocampus! And this thing attached to it. A neural interface.”

“Those circuits look awfully familiar,” Valentine muttered.

“I’m not surprised. From what I’ve seen, all Institute technology has a similar architecture.”

“Go on, Doctor,” Flynn said.

“Mister Valentine is an older generation synth,” she explained, “Institute technology being what it is… The brain implant could fit him. But that’s… an incredible risk to take. We’re talking about wiring something to his brain.”

Maccready watched as Flynn’s face became swamped with worry.

Before she could say anything, however, Valentine said, “Don’t worry about me. I’m well passed the warranty date, anyway.”

“Are you sure?” she asked. Her worry was practically tangible.

“The Institute is responsible for who knows how much of the things that go wrong out there. I’m sure about this,” he assured her as he walked over to the office chair to sit down, “If I start cackling like a grizzled mercenary, pull me out, okay?”

“Let’s see here…” Amari muttered, “I need you to keep talking to me, Mister Valentine. Any slight change in your cognitive functions could be dire. Are you feeling any different?”

“There’s a lot of… flashes… static… I can’t make sense of any of it, Doc.”

“That’s what I was afraid of. The mnemonic impressions are encoded. It appears the Institute has one last failsafe. There’s a lock on the memories in the implant.”

The defeated look was making it’s way back on to Flynn’s face. MacCready could see her becoming exhausted by everything. Her voice was getting close to being there too, “please tell me there’s a way past this.”

“Let me think… The encryption is too strong for one mind, but… what if we used two?” she suggested.

“What do you mean?” Flynn asked.

“We load you two into the memory loungers. Mister Valentine here will act as the host, while your consciousness drives through whatever memories we can find.”

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” MacCready asked. He was not about to lose Flynn to a technical failure that could be avoided.

“I have to do this. We don’t have any other way,” she said. Despite the softness of her voice, he knew he was not going to change her mind.

“I’ll be okay,” she reassured. She sounded like she was talking more so to herself than him.

He frowned at her. He had been more than okay with Valentine sacrificing himself for this, but she was different. He had seen her put herself in harm's way before, but he knew how to nurse a bullet wound, not whatever this might do.

“Whenever you’re ready, please take a seat in the memory loungers,” Amari instructed.

Flynn looked at Valentine and nodded.

“See you on the other side,” he joked.

She looked at MacCready one last time with a soft smile before she climbed into the lounger. Once she was settled the The glass top closed.

Amari turned from her terminal to MacCready and Piper, “YOu to may want to come over here to observe what they are experiencing.”

He nodded and stood behind her where he could see the screen. He glanced at Piper, who had been quiet this whole time. She looked as worried as he felt.

“Initiating brainwave migration between the transplant and the host,” Amari announced. MacCready assumed that meant she was starting everything.

He looked at the screen. It was a lot of technical jargon that he did not understand.

“Mnemonic activity coming from the transplant! It’s deteriorated, but it’s there! We are going to load you into the strongest memories we can find. They might not be… stable… Just hold on!”

He wondered how they could hear her.

The screen changed. Now it showed a webbing of, well he did not really know what they were if he was honest.

“Ah, good. The simulation seems to be working,” Amari explained, “although the memories are quite fragmentary. I’ll try to step you through the intact memories, and hope we find one that gives us a clue as to the Institute’s location.”

She did somethings on the terminal until she found a memory for Flynn to walk them through. It was a bedroom with a child on the bed and a woman sitting in a chair next to it. A man could be heard yelling at them from outside the room. A radio was on. MacCready assumed Kellogg was the kid.

“Wait,” Piper said, “is the radio talking about the NCR forming?”

He gave her a confused look, “Wouldn’t that make him around a hundred years old?”

Their side conversation was interrupted by the next memory. They were now looking at a young adult Kellogg in a kitchen with a woman and a baby in a crib. His wife and child. They were talking about having to move, because of his new job. It sounded like mercenary work, or something like it. MacCready felt himself starting to be overcome with a sad sense of Déjà vu. He looked away before his mind started to wander too much. The scene was far more familiar than he liked.

When he looked back they were on to the next memory. He was being taunted by some mysterious voice. When he realized they were taunting him over the death of his wife and child. He knew the look on Kellogg’s face all too well. He was starting to feel more and more uneasy.

The next one made his blood run cold. He was sat in a bar discussing a mercenary job with two guys. The situation by itself was practically nothing. Bars were common places to pick up clients. It was attitude, the way he spoke, and the look on his face that threw MacCready off. It was like looking at himself from just a little over a month ago. The night before he had been hired by Flynn. There were so many similarities. Too many. He started to quietly panic. His mind raced as he thought about how similar they were, and if he might end up like him.

He was dragged out of his thoughts by the sound of Flynn’s muffled yelling and screaming. His head whipped around to look at where she was laying in the memory lounger. Her breathing was faster and she had a pained look on her face, but she was quiet. He looked at the screen instead. He was met with the scene of a row of odd looking pods inside of what looked like a vault. He quickly realized what this memory was. He heard her and the other vault dwellers banging on their pods and yelling. He watched as Shaun’s father begged desperately for them to not take him. He watched as Kellogg shot him without a second thought. He saw the horror on the mother’s face after the gunshot.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that again,” Amari said, “I found another intact memory… Whenever you’re ready.”

He glanced over at Flynn. She was still taking ragged breaths. He could not imagine what she was going though right now. She was living through what he figured was one of her worst memories again.

It took a few moments for the next memory to start. He did not blame her. This one was in a shack. He was sitting in a chair while a child sat on the floor. It took him a moment to realize this was in Diamond City, and that was Shaun.

They watched as a man walked in an odd leather getup and sunglasses.

“One of these days you’re going to get your head blown off just barging in here like that,” Kellogg said.

“Minimizing my exposure to civilians is a prior-”

“Forget I said anything,” he said, cutting the man off, “So, what’s the big crisis this time?”

“New orders for you. One of our scientists has left the Institute,” the synth siad. MacCready assumed he was a synth.

“Left? As in?”

“He’s gone rogue,” he explained, “Name is Doctor Brian Virgil. We know he is hiding somewhere in the glowing sea, here’s his file.”

Kellogg took the file and said, “Guess you’re taking the kid back then.”

“Affirmative. Your only mission is to find and eliminate Virgil.”

“You’re taking me home to my father?” Shaun asked. MacCready felt his heart twinge at that. The kid did not even know about his real parents.

“Yes, stand next to me and hold still,” the synth affirmed.

He then said some things MacCready could not quite understand, and with a crack of blue lightning they were gone and the memory ended.

“Did they just…” he began to ask.

“Teleportation,” Amari confirmed, “Now it all makes sense. No one can find the entrance, because there isn’t one! Let me pull you out of there, as soon as you’re ready.”

After a few moments of her working on the terminal the simulation ended. Valentine woke up before Flynn did, which worried MacCready a bit. He slowly got up from the lounger, as Amari asked him various questions. MacCready ignored them. He was too worried to listen.

After Piper led Valentine upstairs with Dogmeat’s help, Amari addressed MacCready, “It’s normal for one to not wake up immediately… especially if they witnessed a traumatic memory.”

He simply nodded in response.

“When she does wake up,” she continued, “I’m going to need you to keep a close eye on her.”

“I already do,” he muttered.

After a few moments her eyes opened, and so did the pod. He felt relief wash over him.

Amari helped her out of the lounger, asking if she was alright.

“I’m fine,” she tried to assure them. She sounded a little pained and tired, but okay. She looked the same.

“That’s good, but I want you to keep monitoring yourself. We have to be sure there’s no long-term side effects. Are you… ready to talk about what happened in there?”

She took a deep breath, “We got what we needed. Now we know how they get around undetected.”

MacCready frowned at her, but he did not say anything. He was not surprised that she was focusing on what needed to be done.

“Yes,” Amari agreed, “Their greatest secret has finally been revealed, but that only leads to more questions. How does it work? Where do we go next?”

“That scientist Kellogg was supposed to track down. Virgil? We should track him down,” MacCready suggested.

“You’re right! A rogue Institute scientist could answer all kinds of questions, but didn’t they say he was in The Glowing Sea? That doesn’t make much sense. No one goes there. Not even if they’re desperate.”

“Why? What’s The Glowing Sea?” Flynn asked.

That took MacCready aback. At first he worried that the simulation had messed with her head, but then he remembered that she’s only been out of the vault for a month and a half. Sometimes she emulated so much confidence, and she was such a quick learner that he forgot.

“It’s essentially a sea of radiation. It’s rumored that’s where the bomb dropped here, so if you’re going to go there you’ll need a way to combat the radiation,” Amari explained.

She nodded, “I’ll find a way to get through the rads. Don’t worry.”

“If you really are going to track him down, be safe, and good luck.”

“Thanks Doc,” she nodded, “Come on, MacCready.”

“Valentine and Piper are upstairs by the way,” he informed her as she turned to the entrance to the lab.

She nodded. Her steps were slow, but she did not stumble at all. He still followed her closely in case she did.

They found the other two sitting on a couch. When they approached there seemed to be something off about Valentine.

“Hey, how are you holding up?” Flynn asked him.

“Hope you got what you were lookin’ for inside my head. He he. I was right. I should’ve killed you when you were on ice,” the words from his mouth said. Although it came from his mouth, it was not his voice. It was Kellogg’s.

“Nick?” Piper exclaimed.

He blinked, “What?”

“You just sounded like Kellogg,” Flynn explained.

“I did? Well, I feel fine now. Amari did say there will be some mnemonic impressions. How are you holding up?”

“I’m fine, just need some rest.”

MacCready had a feeling that was not the whole truth, so he held his tongue on. Instead he suggested, “We should head to The Rexford then. See if they have any free rooms.”

“Oh God. I forgot we are going to have to stay here overnight,” Piper burst out, as they left.

He did not really blame her for that, as much as he appreciated Goodneighbor.

Luckily for them The Rexford had two empty rooms for them. MacCready retrieved the keys for the rooms, and he and Flynn wished their new allies goodnight.

When they reached their room Dogmeat immediately curled up at the end of the bed closest to the door. MacCready could not help the small smile that appeared on his face, but it quickly melted quickly when he looked at Flynn. She had discarded her pack at the foot of the other bed. She sat on the edge facing the other. She stared at the wall with a glassy look. It was the same one she had the first two times the vault was brought up with him.

He set his pack on his bed, and then sat next to her.

“You did the right thing today,” he said, trying to comfort her.

“I know I did,” she sighed, “I just wish I could’ve done more then.”

“You can’t think like that. It’s not your fault.”

She did not say anything. She just kept staring.

MacCready stared down at his hands. He thought of the memories he was reminded of. He thought maybe, just maybe, a similar story could comfort her. He took a deep breath and hoped he was not being selfish.

“I know what it’s like to have someone die, and to blame yourself for it,” he confessed, his voice a little shaky, “a few years back my wife and I decided to hole up in a metro station. We didn’t know the thing was filled with ferals.” He could feel his eyes start to sting, and he knew his voice would break, but he continued, “They were on her before I could even fire a shot. They tore her apart, and there was nothing I could do. I blamed myself for her death. I… still do. Don’t do that to yourself.”

He closed his eyes when she rested her head on his shoulder. It had been awhile since someone had touched him that gently other than patching up a physical wound. He did not need to have his eyes open to know she was close to tears too. They had both been through a lot, and everything that had happened that day hurt like a punch to the gut.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly.

“I am too. There’s nothing I can do about what happened, but you can still find the kid… and I’ve got your back the whole way,” he promised. After that day it was more to himself than to her.

He craned his head awkwardly to look at her. He could not get a clear look of her face due to the angle, and her red hair being in the way, but he could see she was exhausted.

“You need to get some sleep,” he suggested, gently nudging her off his shoulder. It felt oddly cold when her head moved away. When she sat up fully he realized she had a light patchwork of freckles on her face. He was not sure if they were new, or if he had just not noticed before. He stood up awkwardly when he realized how close they were.

“Thank you for not running off on me,” she said.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Boss,” he teased.

He fought back a smile when he earned a scoff from her.

They went about their routine for when they didn’t have to take turns keeping watch, which ended with him laying on his back and her laying on her side facing away from him.

MacCready reached his hand into his inner jacket pocket, just above his heart. He produced the small, wooden toy soldier Lucy had given him. He had wanted to mention Duncan, but he was not ready for that. He did not have enough caps to buy a proper team, and he did not think there were enough Minutemen to spare for what needed to be done either. No, that would have to wait a bit longer as much as it pained him.

Thoughts of Kellogg crawled back into his brain, as his thumb ran over the figurine. He wondered how similar they really were. How close…

No, he thought, cutting himself off, I’m going to be a better man. I promise.

Read it on ao3

#fallout #fanfiction #fanfic #fallout 4 #fo4 #piper wright #nick valentine #maccready #sole survivor #claudia flynn #maccready x sole survivor

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yes-i-would-like-to-be-stabbed · 5 years

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Jason, Michael, and Tiffany with an s/o who loves to bake them sweets like cakes and cookies. No special occasion, they just got bored and baked

SLASHERS WITH A BAKE-Y S/O!

Thanks for requesting sweetie! Hopefully, Tumblr doesn’t delete it this time!

I had to make Michael’s a special occasion, I couldn’t think of another scenario ://

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Jason:

This particular night was rather cold. Jason was used to the freezing temperatures the nights around the camp.

He knew people wouldn’t really be around the lake this time of year, but Jason still felt he needed to make his daily and nightly patrols around camp. Just in case.

He couldn’t wait to return to the security and warmth of his cabin and his sweet little s/o.

They were just so cute and sweet to him. He could hardly believe that he had them in his otherwise dark and gloomy life. His own personal life of his life.

As he approached closer to his home, however, a familiar and nostalgic smell washed over him.

Walking a bit faster to his destination, the smell became almost suffocating, in a good way.

Entering his home, the smell engulfed him. In a slight daze, he made his way into the kitchen to see the most adorable sight.

His s/o was gently mixing a bowl of paste as flour and dough covered their body, face, and apron.

Jason stood still looking at the sight, as flashbacks of his youth came back to him.

Imagining his loving mother Pamela in a similar position, greeting him and offering him a taste of whatever goody she was making.

A slight tear fell behind his mask, before he stepped forward, letting his heavy footfalls alert his s/o of his presence.

Slightly startled they held up their whisk defensibly before noticing their large boyfriend.

Going forward to greet him, he wrapped them up in a large embrace and gave them mock kisses with his mask.

They ushered him into the living room before bringing the freshly made apple pie into the room.

And there they sat cuddling in the warmth of the fire and their love for each other, eating and sharing pie.

And Jason couldn’t tell what was sweeter, his little s/o or the pie.

Michael:

A loud crash rang through the house and caused Michael to jolt awake.

Looking around he noticed his s/o wasn’t in bed with him.

The alarm clock read 5:34 am.

Michael’s body tensed before he got up and grabbed his knife and mask, readying himself for whatever was happening.

Creeping down the stairs silently, a single light was on in the kitchen.

Michael could make out a single shadow moving about and could hear the mumbling of curse words emitting from deeper in the kitchen.

Moving slowly, Michael readied his knife and crept slowly into the kitchen.

Instead of finding an intruder, however, he had found his s/o muttering to themselves as they iced a cake in front of them.

Drowsiness was evident in their movements, but a gaze determination was present in their eyes.

He watched them for a moment, they were completely unaware of his presence. He silently cursed their obliviousness. But shook it off as he stared at their cute face as it contorted in concentration.

As they finished, Michael finally made his presence known as he dropped his knife onto the counter.

They jumped in surprise, before shouting to him that he almost gave him a heart attack.

He simply gazed at them in the curiosity of what they were doing, and slight irritation for waking him up.

Flustered they stumbled over their words, before sighing.

They picked up the freshly frosted cake and held it out to him.

“Sorry about waking you up, Michael. I wanted to surprise you…”

He tilted his head in confusion

“Happy Birthday :)” was neatly written on top in orange.

Blink looked at the cake and at them for a moment.

They thought he was upset about it from his silence.

They sat it down, muttering apologies before all of a sudden they were scooped up into his arms.

They blushed heavily as he hugged them before returning the affection.

He moved them into bridal position as they held the cake and took them back to bed

They spent the rest of Michael’s birthday in bed, enjoying each other’s company and the cake.

His s/o only hoped Michael cleaned off his knife before cutting into the cake (he didn’t lololol)

Tiffany:

Tiffany was out and about doing errands (killing hoes ya know the usual)

Pulling into her s/o’s driveway, she could smell smoke

Rushing inside, she could see the smoke drifting in from the kitchen

All of the smoke alarms were going off and here in the middle of the chaos was her small s/o trying to fan the smoke out of the window

Tiffany threw off her heels and ran around the house opening windows and doors trying to clear everything out

It took about 20 minutes to get the smoke out an turn off the smoke alarms

Both of them sat down, trying to calm down.

Noticing her s/o was holding their hand and wincing, Tiffany made them show her their wound

They had a large burn on their hand, and Tiffany grabbed a medkit from under their kitchen sink

Tiffany carefully patched them up and soothed them gently whenever they winced or teared up in pain

After Tiffany was done she asked them what had happened

She held them in her arms, stroking their hair as they explained that they had burned their hand when they checked on the cookies they were making to surprise her. They were trying to take them out, but their hand had hurt too much to grab anything.

The cookies started burning and next thing the alarms were going off and there was smoke all in the house.

They did manage to turn the oven off but the cookies were still inside.

Tiffany got up after covering them up in a blanket.

She grabbed an oven mitt and opened the oven.

Smoke poured out and when it cleared, a pan with charred cookies lay inside

Pulling them out she set them on the stovetop and grabbed a box of cookies from the cupboard.

She came back and at on the couch with her s/o

She shook the box and told them that these were just as good and not burned

Her s/o flushed and got embarrassed as Tiffany teased them

They ended up cuddling on the couch watching cheesy movies as Tiffany kissed their wound every so often

She thanked them for the big surprise she came home to, much to their embarrassment

Hope you enjoyed it!

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Tags:

@trashcanalienist

@a-deadbeat-fucking-valentine

@cantaloupe-pants

@joceymoo

@ratatatattatatatta

@internetgaylord69

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@elfpens

@i-like-to-eat-acrylic-paint

#slasher imagines #slashers #tiffany valentine #michael myers #jason voorheez #jason voorhees #baking

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eponymous-rose · 6 years

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Talks Machina Highlights - Critical Role C2E50 (Feb. 5, 2019)

Are any of us ever, really, on the internet?

This week’s guests are Taliesin Jaffe and Matt Mercer!

Brian shames Taliesin and Matt for (to be fair, accidentally) pouring coke in with their 22-year-old scotch. I am also physically pained by this. I may need a minute to compose myself. (@loquaciousquark: “I like how you’re Brian in this and I’m Matt.”)

Announcements: MAME drop airs three hours before Talks every week! Next week’s Between the Sheets will feature Will Friedle, and last night’s episode featured Quyen Tran! Critical Role will be taking this coming Thursday off, and Talks Machina will be taking next Tuesday off, but the show returns on Valentine’s Day!

But for now, let’s jump into Episode 50: The Endless Burrows

Stats for this week’s ep: Fjord got the 50th HDYWTDT in the 50th episode! The Roper’s crit on Caleb would have one-shotted him had Caduceus not reduced it by negating the crit. Spurt is the first on-screen guest player character death in the history of the show. Chris Perkins was at the table for 22 minutes and 15 seconds. Taliesin: “That’s an episode of network television right there.”

Chris was in town unexpectedly, and asked if he could come watch the show. Matt had written Spurt as an NPC character, just to see how the M9 would react to him. As he was driving to the studio, he realized it could be a lot of fun to let Chris play the character instead. Chris was on board, and Matt told him “You’ll know when to jump in,” and that was that. Nobody else had any idea he was going to be playing.

Caduceus is “in his element but out of his element” underground. “He’s looking for things to be excited about. Not a lot of things to be excited about here. It’s kind of awful.” Taliesin is trying to let him be a little more tactical, to just take care of things and do what needs to be done. “He’s on edge, but it’s a healthy edge.”

Matt clarifies that the party haven’t really emerged into the Underdark---they’re just skimming the edges of it. After spending a lot of time there in the last campaign, Matt didn’t necessarily want to bring it back there again.

Caduceus doesn’t see the group as being deceitful so much as just people who haven’t had the option of being open before. “He’s trying to make that option available.” Part of his training at the temple involved talking to people, helping them feel better, and helping them open up, so this is nothing new to him. Matt: “The solitary therapist.” Taliesin: “He really, really likes them.”

Spurt was originally intended to be a potential hindrance to keep the group from getting past the fire giants stealthily, if he wound up coming along with them. Turned out he... sort of removed himself from that equation.

On the parade of tragic backstories: “I don’t think Clay fully comprehends how bad this all is. I don’t know if he can comprehend art film horror. ‘That’s rough, man.’“ Matt: “He’s the Fred Tatasciore of the group.” Everyone is delighted by that comparison.

Matt was looking for opportunities to bring tragic backstories together. Taliesin calls it a “car crash” approach.

Why are D&D characters often so tragic? Taliesin: “It’s harder to make an interesting happy person.” Matt: “That’s true, but it’s not impossible.” He talks about how it’s natural to try to build something into a character’s backstory to propel them into the dangers of adventure. It’s also the opportunity for a player to work through something they’re going through out-of-game in a safe, cathartic way.

Caduceus is “still a little lanky”. Taliesin points out that this is to be expected because he’s a “vegan on the road”. There’s a long discussion about how the food he makes is “basically semi-firm tofu”.

Matt freaks out a bit about the unintentional callback... VM also being a mid-level party descending into the Underdark in search of a halfling and almost losing a rogue’s foot to lava. A lot of things had to go a particular way for that to happen, and he definitely wasn’t expecting it, especially since he was consciously trying to avoid familiar territory with the Underdark this time around.

Brian: “Which is funny, because the writers never even saw the first campaign.”

Taliesin points out that a trickster cleric is meant to be more of a toolkit, whereas a grave cleric build is more of a medkit.

Taliesin: “I’ve learned my lesson, and I have like three new character ideas ready to go, for this campaign or the next.”

There’s a lot of debate about where the hell Spurt got a skunk, which leads to the creation of the magical item Skunk Jug, which produces a skunk.

Caduceus enjoyed the romance novel, but it hadn’t “entirely clicked”. “He’s aware that: ‘Ah, they’re doing the hanky-panky stuff.’ It’s not really in his wheelhouse.”

Matt was very proud of the group coming up with their plan to get past the giant, and he felt a bit bad that Nott rolled so low (although he also loves the “magnificent clusterfuck” moments that are the hallmark of D&D). Brian: “That’s just a testament to how bad Sam is as a player.”

Caduceus took Warcaster as his next feat. “This seems to be in-character and useful.”

Fan art of the week: Nott running across the lava! Taliesin: “I want to play that game. That’s an 8-bit game I want to play.”

Brian asks Matt if the game’s about where he thought it would be at episode 50. Matt: “We’re charging into Xhorhas earlier than I was expecting. We need to get Ashley back soon.” (They’ll get her back in a couple months.) He also points out that some story beats have happened in the world in the group’s absence. He didn’t want to tailor the story’s trajectory to manufacture a big moment in episode 50. The group’s involvement in the Empire has been less than expected, but the direction they’re taking is much more direct than he was expecting. Taliesin points out that if the group had been Vox Machina, they would’ve involved themselves in the politics of the war instantly. Matt reiterates that he loves DMing in a reactionary way when the players push in an unexpected direction.

All Taliesin wants to do right now is fix that sword. He’s expecting it to be, like, a +1 cursed sword that just sings constantly and can’t ever be put down.

Taliesin: “I’m enjoying corralling all the kids.” Matt points out that he’s a much-needed influence on the group. Beau is the one that Cad considers to be his best friend. Dani: “You two can’t not be best friends in this show.” Cad thinks of Fjord as an angsty teen. He thinks Caleb is occasionally up his own butt a bit. He hasn’t figured out that Jester’s an adult yet. “’Oh, she’s happy and fine. Thank goodness someone is.’ And obviously she’s not, but he hasn’t figured that out yet.” He’s disappointed in Nott for the amount of drinking, although he hasn’t said it out loud.

Taliesin: “Cad thinks dangerous things have wisdom. Sometimes just walking up to something and asking is very useful. Sometimes you can avoid getting arrested in front of a coffee shop by offering the officer a hot pocket.”

Matt talks about how getting players to avoid combat is a teaching process that involves incentivizing out-of-the-box approaches. That’s in direct contrast to the more traditional grind-through-fights approach to D&D that was prevalent in the early editions, so it can be a process. He points out that you can talk to players out-of-game, or you can change your own plans to allow players a non-combat win even if it’s a bit of a stretch.

Taliesin and Matt both own a pair of chaps. As you do.

Taliesin’s personal inspiration for Cad’s staff was very Dark Crystal-driven. The crystal comes from the land he lives on. He dug up the crystal and made the staff himself; the beetles crawl into and out of the stick continuously.

Talks Machina: After Dog

Brian: "Are you relaxed right now?” Taliesin: “Yeah, there’s something in this Coke that’s really...”

Taliesin got started with eyeliner in high school with Vampire LARPing. He had a (mumblemumble)”furk idee” that got him into goth clubs early. Matt first learned to apply eyeliner for cosplay, then wore it for the first time outside of cosplay clubbing with Taliesin (they also had an industrial goth karaoke night).

Dumbest way they’ve managed to injure themselves? Matt was editing There Will Be Brawl’s final episode, which was a bit too overambitious and he was the only editor, and he didn’t sleep for 72 hours and threw his back out horribly from sitting too long. Taliesin was doing a student film as a teenager, and was asked to do a stunt that involved holding someone up to a moving train (Matt: “What the fuck, Taliesin?”). He had really long goth nails at the time and managed to break all ten of his nails off entirely doing that stunt. “I didn’t drop him into the moving train!” Matt: “That’s why unions are good.”

Brian: “I lit myself on fire with a molotov cocktail.” Yes, really, but he wasn’t badly burned. Taliesin: “Did you at least hit the man? Did it stick to him?” Brian: “It was not a man. It was a porta-potty.” Matt reiterates how grateful he was not to have grown up with cellphone video.

Matt: “So you’re saying...” Taliesin: “I was Emperor Norton, yeah.” Matt: “Aw. I’m proud of you!”

We all learned... a lot today. See you in two weeks for episode 100 of Talks Machina!

#critical role #critical role spoilers #talks machina #talks machina spoilers #long text post

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ask-katmckennadbd · 3 years

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(OOC: I know I only have a few followers, but for Valentines you're welcome to interact! I don't have a fancy premade question set for you, but yall can ask/say whatever! Please bear blog rules in mind, which includes nothing explicitly sexual that would make Kat or I uncomfortable, and general things like that. Kat's kinda shy and so am I!)

(If you'd like to keep it simple, here's a few keywords you can send (though it's not necessarily limited to these), which correspond to the following actions:)

ROSES: to give Kat a flower (or flowers)

SWEETS: to give candy or similar

SUPPLIES: to gift a tool, like a flashlight, medkit, etc

(Nobody's required to interact!!! I just saw everyone else doing this rn and thought I could, too, is all. ty ty! ♡ )

#dbd #dead by daylight #dbd event #blog event #dbd kat #dbd kat mckenna #dbd oc #dbd oc ask blog #dbd ask blog

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itsdmod · 7 years

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[[ What do you do when you’re alone on Valentine’s day? You deliver love for other people.

If you want my Dwight to deliver a lovely medkit to someone you love -romantic or platonic-, request him to. Nothing tells how much you appreciate someone than wishing for them to be safe and healthy. You can add a note in there and tell the other person who you are... or be completely anonymous.

Just send me a message about it and an url and he’ll deliver!

#other dwight blogs must NOT tag as their muse #dwight fairfield #dead by daylight #valentines day dwight #!#yes you can actually request it

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gripefroot · 4 years

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Revelations

A single, piercingly bright lightbulb is swinging eerily above your head. It blurs, and turns into two. How very odd. You turn on your side and vomit.

The stink clears your head just a little; you can feel the cold ground through your tactical gear, the slime and damp common in underground bunkers. Though there’s a swollen feeling in your ears, distant pops of gunfire make you groan. That action, combined with your stomach still cramping, makes a spot in your side throb. Waves of pain start to cloud your vision, but you bite your lip to stay conscious. You press your shaking fingers into the worst spot, and your glove comes away sticky and shiny.

Well, lovely.

More waves of nausea cause clenching and pulsing in your midsection; not just nausea, but the ‘just been shot’ pain that makes you want to reconsider your career choices. But now’s really not the time.

You try to roll onto your uninjured side, taking your time to hoist yourself on your knees as you keep a hand pressed into your wound. It does not feel good. Biting your lip, you taste blood as more dizziness makes your head pound. The dizziness wins this time - you crumble back onto the ground, giving a moan as you curl up into a ball in some desperate sense of self-preservation.

How long you lie there, you don’t know. It seems like everything is fuzzy and tinged with red, unable to complete a thought or even wonder what’s going to happen to you. The spreading heat of your wound is overtaking your entire body in wracking flames, and you begin to shake.

Eventually a cold hand presses into your neck, and you try to force your eyes open. No luck. Then hands are gently guiding you onto your back, and pull away your hand to view the damage at your side. There’s a hiss of breath from somewhere nearby. You barely hear it through the sound of your own pounding heart.

“We need to get you on the jet. Are you with me?”

The voice is familiar. Of course it is. Right? You must be a little loopy, because a smile curls your lips even though you still lack the will to open your eyes.

“Bucky,” you murmur.

“I’m here. I’ve got you. There’s a first aid kit waiting on the jet; we can - ”

“Bucky,” you say again, this time weakly.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Would you be against just killing me instead?”

A pause. Then, you can hear Bucky’s exasperation in his voice. “If you’re making jokes, you must be okay. Come on.” And his arm slides under your neck, the other underneath your knees. You whimper as the streaks of pain intensify at this treatment, and you sling an arm behind his neck to cling to him. Bucky lifts you with no effort, and his sweaty, spicy scent fills your nostrils as you bury your face into his neck.

He takes off at a brisk stride. The rifle on his back bounces with his walk, and bonks you in the head.

“Ow,” you snivel.

“Sorry.” Bucky gentles his steps.

A rush of fresh air hits you like a wave. Out of the bunker already. You consider peeking open your eyes to see where you even are - it’s hard to remember where this mission is, since you hadn’t paid very much attention to the briefing anyway. Something about Bucky’s hand stroking your leg under the table in the conference room. Of course, you hadn’t known you were in danger of dying.

“Where are we?” you ask, as you hear Bucky’s boots clomp onto the jet.

“Argentina.”

“Oh.”

“And you and I are going home. There’s already another jet on the way for the rest of the time when they’re done with the mission.”

Your eyes fly open. You’re lying on a row of seats, with Bucky hovering as he yanks open a box of medical supplies. He turns his head to stare at you.

“The mission isn’t finished?” you demand.

“Er - not yet.”

“And you think you can just leave?”

Bucky’s jaw ticks. “Well, I can go back. And then you can die right here.”

“The mission is - ”

“Not as important as your life. Don’t even try that on me.”

“If you leave like this the team might find out that we’re - ”

“They won’t.” With a scowl Bucky leaves the medkit on your legs (his experience with field medicine is, of course, a little haphazard), and he leans over to rip open your tac vest. Haphazard, and not subtle.

The shreds of vest are thrown to the floor, and slightly more gently Bucky starts to peel away your sticky, black t-shirt. You hiss at the fresh pain emanating as air tickles the exposed nerve ends, and you look down to see a bloody, pulpy mess. Bucky’s fingertips are stained red.

You look up to the ceiling of the jet again, bile rising.

“Is your skin supposed to be turning purple?” Bucky asks after a moment.

“Don’t think so. Unless Hydra has some new weird weapon.”

You wait for Bucky’s response - he’s pretty good at the bantering thing - but he doesn’t say anything. Oh no. Hydra has some new weird weapon. No wonder you’re so incapacitated. You’ve carried on with gunshot wounds before, but you’d been in too much pain to give it a second thought of why there was so much pain. Lovely, lovely.

“FRIDAY, please take us back to the compound. Alert Dr. Banner that there’s an unknown virus to worry about.”

“Yes, Sergeant Barnes.”

Gnawing your lip, you drag your gaze to Bucky. He’s standing frozen, his eyes still on your wound. He glances at you, noticing your scrutiny.

“I don’t dare do anything,” he confesses. “I might mess you up worse.”

“What’s worse than missing half my waistline and turning purple?”

“Dying.”

“Right. Well, none of my organs were hit, right?”

“No. I don’t like them being exposed this long though.”

“How about a blanket,” you joke. “Umbrella? Cloche?”

“Not funny.”

“Very funny. Will you still love me now, Bucky? That I’m half the woman I was? You may have to start calling me Agent 14.”

“I’ve about had it with you,” Bucky huffs, his brows creasing in annoyance. “Can’t even take a life-threatening wound seriously.”

“I take plenty of things seriously,” you say in retort. “Pudding. Folding clothes correctly. Bowling league nights - ”

“You know,” he interrupts. He sits beside you, his irritated gaze still on your face as he laces his fingers together. “Hydra tested a drug on me that numbs vocal cords. Couldn’t talk for weeks sometimes. Even when they let me. Now I wonder why they couldn’t use that one on you.”

“Bucky! How rude.”

“How well-deserved. FRIDAY, call Dr. Banner.”

“Right away, Sergeant Barnes.”

“I’m not treating you until he tells me what I should do,” Bucky explains to you. He ignores your pouting lips. You’re a bit miffed at his comment, or at least you think you are - your mind isn’t feeling quite right. But at least the pain from the wound is tapering off. Or you’re used to it. Or you’re dying. But probably you wouldn’t be in the mood to tease Bucky so much if you were dying. Or would you?

Bucky has picked up your limp hand, tracing little circles on your knuckles. His lips are moving, but you aren’t making sense of it - white spots prickle where his face is, and your head lolls.

Voices weave in and out, and you aren’t sure how conscious you are. One minute you’re seeing Dr. Banner bending over you, but then his face is on a screen, growing and growing and growing, and Bucky pricks it with a knife like a balloon and Dr. Banner crumples to pieces. Then there’s a cat on your face - no, not a cat. Bucky’s hand. You think.

“We’re almost home,” he says. Or maybe it was, “Ear is most chrome.”

You whimper. The pain from the wound is growing.

Your hair is being raked through by a fork. No, Bucky’s fingers. Snagging painfully. But it clears your mind for a millisecond. Is there a record on? Is that Frank Sinatra you’re hearing? Since when was he on the jet?

Is your figure less than Greek? Is your mouth a little weak? When you open it to speak, are you smart? But, don't change a hair for me. Not if you care for me. Stay little valentine, please stay...

You dream of Bernini statues and Victorian cameras and chocolate.

When you wake, you’re lying in a soft bed, surrounded by gentle beeps and whooshes and uninvasive footsteps. You moan, against your will, and you sense someone bending over you.

“Agent 28? How are you feeling?”

That’s not Bucky’s voice. Your eyes shoot open, and you stare at Dr. Banner, who jolts back in surprise.

“You’re back in New York,” he says hastily as your heartbeat picks up. “We got that Hydra stuff out of your system, and grafted some skin in place where the shot, um, tore you up. How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” you say after about a second of consideration. “What day is it?”

“Tuesday.”

The mission had been on Saturday. When you shift slightly in the hospital bed, you only feel a twinge of discomfort from your side. Not bad.

“Where - ” you start to ask Dr. Banner, but a noise draws both of your attention towards the door - Bucky, wearing jeans and a t-shirt, strides in with two cups of coffee. He glances over, and nearly stops in his tracks at the sight of you.

“You woke up!” he says in surprise. “While I was gone. Of course. You said she’d still be out for a while, doc,” he adds to Dr. Banner, who clears his throat and steps away. Bucky hands him one of the cups of coffee, though his eyes never leave you as he strides to your side with a smile.

“Morning,” Bucky tells you fondly. “Glad you decided to rejoin the living.”

“Please. I wasn’t dead.”

“You were for a few minutes,” Dr. Banner chimes in, gathering together a few things into his pocket. His phone, a pen.

“Well, I didn’t see any white light, so clearly it wasn’t too serious,” you point out.

“And you aren’t taking this seriously at all,” Bucky says, mocking a scolding as he sits in a chair by your side. “Tony had to cancel an order of sympathy flowers for your parents.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Dr. Banner is on his way out; he pauses only to call back this final confirmation before disappearing, “It’s true!”

The doors are shut again. Now alone, Bucky picks up your hand in his warm one, squeezing tightly as his smile fades. You frown, noticing dark purple circles around his eyes.

“Surely you’ve been resting,” you say.

“Um - yeah, a bit.” Bucky looks down at his coffee, taking a prolonged sip as the tips of his ears turn red.

You decide not to fight that one. “Well, thank you for bringing me here, then. I guess you saved my life.”

“I guess I did.” That typical, Bucky Barnes smirk twists his lips as he adds, “Now you owe me.”

“Oh, please. You would’ve done it for anyone.”

“Speaking of...um, anyone…” Bucky winces slightly, ignoring your comment. “They, um, want to see you.”

“Sure. I’m feeling up to visitors,” you say after a moment. “Not that you even asked before waltzing in here to pester me…”

“Don’t you even start that,” he warns, lifting a finger from around his cup to point at your face.

“Oh, I’ll start it,” you sass. “And I’ll finish it.”

“Where did Dr. Banner go?” Bucky asks, looking around. “I wonder if he has more sedation for you.”

“Har, har.”

“Glad you’re feeling normal.” There’s a warm smile on his face as he turns back to you. Before you can do anything besides grin sillily in return, he stands and drops a kiss on your forehead. “Buzz if you need anything. I promised the team I’d tell them as soon as you woke up.”

“Okay.”

“Your phone’s on the table. I’ve been keeping it charged.”

“Oh….kay.”

“Don’t get out of bed.”

“Yes, mom.”

“I mean it.” Bucky throws a glare back over his shoulder as he leaves the room. There’s a level of threat in his eyes, but you don’t take it the least bit seriously. Of course, you’ll do as he says anyway - you are not feeling up to standing up yet.

The team arrives for their visit after supper; you’re upright in the bed now, feeling loads better after eating a full meal (relatively full; it's a liquid-only diet, unfortunately). No one is looking as if your funeral arrangements had nearly been planned; they smile as they enter, Bucky most of all (the prideful little prick he was), and Natasha expertly slips you your favorite chocolate bar.

“Thank you,” you mouth to her. She winks.

“How was the mission?” you say to the group, sticking a used napkin into your empty pudding cup. Dr. Banner is looking daggers at you - you slip the chocolate under the blankets. Hopefully it doesn’t melt.

“It went perfectly, except for um, you,” Tony says. He’s looking down at his phone. “But thanks for getting a sample of Hydra’s new biological weapon. That was convenient. Dr. Banner has been working on a vaccine so we don’t have to worry about it again.”

You knew that already - Dr. Banner had spent an hour with you that afternoon as you patiently and in detail described every symptom of the virus you’d been shot with.

“Might have been just as useful if you had died though,” Tony continues. He must not be thinking - he sometimes zones out and...says stupid things. It’s funny, except with Bucky clenches his fist, smile gone. “You know…” Tony adds, finally noticing the palpable change in the room. “Seen the full effects of the virus…”

“We can find that out without losing one of SHIELD’s best agents,” Steve points out, clearly having sensed Bucky’s ire. “Buck - er, Nick would have your head.”

“We’re glad she didn’t die,” Bucky says stonily.

“Sure we are,” Tony says hastily, swinging his legs over from where he was sitting to stand. “And we sure are glad you were so willing to abort your duties on the mission to rush her back.”

Uh oh. In the tense silence that follows this, you push away the tray table from your lap, the wheels extra squeaky. Bucky is glaring down Tony (really, it hadn’t been that obnoxious a comment), Tony is looking way too defensive, and Natasha...Natasha appears to be about a half-second from bursting into laughter. Baffled, you stare at her and she turns her head to meet your eyes.

“What’s going on?” Clint asks. His arms are folded in front of his chest, leaning against the wall.

“Yes, what is going on?” Natasha repeats dryly.

Bucky lets out a long breath, deflating his anger as quickly as it had risen. Now rueful, his eyes flicker to you with a question in them. You shrug.

“Am I missing something?” Clint asks again.

Bucky walks to your side, picking up your hand as he glares dangerously around. “We’re together,” he says without preamble. “Have been for over a year. No rules against it - and pardon me for being concerned for her life while the rest of you could complete the mission just as well without me.”

Whatever reaction Bucky was expecting, this probably isn’t it.

“I know,” Natasha says, and Bucky’s fingers tighten on yours in surprise as she adds, “Anyone with eyes would notice. Or a nose. She uses a very unique perfume. Very distinctive from your usual deodorant, Barnes.”

“I knew,” Steve confesses. “Our rooms are right next to each other, Buck - you think I wouldn’t notice you sneaking out at night? Wasn’t hard to figure out where you were going when I started piecing things together.”

“I knew,” Tony chimes in. “FRIDAY sent me some security footage when an alarm accidently got triggered in, um, a supply closet a few months ago.” He has the grace to blush. “There were, um, limbs everywhere.”

“I knew,” Sam says casually, twirling his phone in his hand. “Natasha told me.”

“I knew,” Dr. Banner adds awkwardly. “Bucky, um, talked to her a lot while she was under.”

“Did you really?” you ask, turning to Bucky in surprise. “What did you say?”

“Never you mind,” he replies gruffly. “What’s more important is that we’re apparently terrible at keeping secrets.”

“Yes, you are,” Natasha says.

“Well I didn’t know!” Clint bursts out, standing up straight as he glances around, askance. “Why didn’t anyone tell me, if you all already knew?”

“Because you’d probably never shut up about it, and it was fun pretending like we didn’t know,” Sam explains.

“This isn’t fun,” Bucky deadpans.

“Sure it is. Listening to Barnes lie himself in circles when he’s sneaking around is hilarious,” Tony says with a scoff of laughter.

“I think we’ve had enough fun for tonight,” Steve interrupts, standing from the windowsill. He strolls over to you, bending to plant a friendly kiss on your cheek. “Glad to see you’re doing well, 28. Hope you’re back to your feet soon.” And he stands to look pointedly around the room, and everyone else hurries forward, too.

“Bye - bye - thank you for coming,” you barely have a chance to say as everyone says goodbye. This show of affection is a little strange. Natasha had once mentioned how untouchable you were - she had meant it as a compliment - but now it seems, agent or not, you're on your way to being officially adopted into a rather dysfunctional family.

When the door closes, Bucky’s the only one left. He lets out a long, slow breath, in such a dramatic way that you start to laugh. And then you wince at the discomfort that twinges in your side.

“I don’t know what to say,” he says dully, dropping your hand to drag the chair Sam had been sitting in to your side.

“Stop,” you command. Bucky pauses, glancing up at you in bafflement. You shift your weight to the side - rescuing your now-soft chocolate bar, and pat the bed beside you. It’ll be a tight squeeze, but you don’t care. Bucky lifts a brow in skepticism, and obeys. He stretches out long, pressed close to you with his warmth and spicy scent so familiar. Instead of draping his arm around your waist, he settles for holding one of your hands on the pillow between your heads. A slow grin creeps up his face.

“Well,” he says. “I guess these last months have been a waste of effort.”

“In our relationship?”

“No, in keeping it a secret.”

“Oh, well,” you say. You’re over it. You tear away the wrapper of the chocolate with your teeth, breathing in a satisfied moan. “Thank you, Nat,” you murmur, and take an enormous bite. Ahh...now that is medicine.

“Don’t I get a bite?” Bucky asks plaintively.

“No. You haven’t been living off an IV for four days.”

“Meanie.”

“You know it.” You take another bite, unrepentant.

“So now what?” Bucky asks after a moment.

“Now I’m going to finish my chocolate.”

“I mean, what do we do now?”

“Well - I’m hooked to wires so we can’t exactly - ”

“I mean, what do we do now that we aren’t a secret?” he interrupts. There’s a flicker of irritation in Bucky’s lovely blue eyes, and you bite back a smile.

“I suppose that instead of sneaking off into supply closets, we can just use the kitchen. Or common area. Or - ”

“Babe, you are ridiculous,” Bucky laughs aloud. “You’re never going to be serious, are you?”

“Maybe when I grow up.” You wad up the wrapper, and toss it towards the trash receptacle on the other side of the room...and miss, by several feet. You sigh. “FRIDAY, dim the lights, please.”

“Yes, Agent 28.”

“But for now,” you murmur, snuggling closer to Bucky. “I am going to sleep.”

“Without brushing your teeth?”

“I’m an invalid. I can lay off the personal hygiene for a bit.”

Bucky’s face contorts into disgusted horror, and he leans slightly back from you. You start to laugh, following his trajectory to try to kiss his lips. He squirms - but you manage a peck on the corner of his mouth as he groans.

“Ewwwww.”

“You love it.”

“I love you,” he says, suddenly serious. Flippancy gone, you smile as you drink in the sight of Bucky’s shadowed face. The only light in the room is from the monitors beeping your brisk heart rate.

“I know.”

“Can I...stay with you tonight?”

“Well, since everyone already knows we’re an item…”

“Good.” Bucky rests his forehead against yours, letting out a sigh that fans his warm breath across your face and seeps comfort into your limbs. You close your eyes at last, and the wound is forgotten.

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