#so. imagine they have a few answers for the doc

[howtonerdoutovereverything]

An Analysis of the Black Parade - ALIVE! Promo Video + Analysis of the Long Live The Black Parade Promotional Material So Far

OK Y'ALL THE SCHOOL YEAR IS DONE AND MCR ARE AT IT AGAIN SO LET'S STRAP IN AND DO SOME THEORIZING

So, if you haven't seen it, MCR announced a show in Mexico City called Black Parade - ALIVE!, an obvious homage to their iconic The Black Parade Is Dead show in the city in 2007 that ended the Black Parade era and marked the last time they played the full album live. The video instantly caught my attention, as it seems to only further solidify that MCR's 2025 tour cycle is hinting at something much greater, perhaps a new story to tell interwoven with the established lore and legend of The Black Parade.

I also realized that I've yet to actually sit down and analyze the rest of the promo material surrounding the 2025 tour (in my defense, the first post was made on the same day my dad had brain surgery). I've been theorizing about MCR5 and all of the tour imagery since 2022 (I have a whole theory doc which I will share here and reference throughout this post), and a lot of this stuff seems to be confirming ideas I had even during the SWARM tour, including this new video.

So without any further ado, let's get into it. We'll go in chronological order, starting with the very first post made.

This post shows us a foggy cityscape with what looks like confetti in the air, with giant red letters that resemble MCR, but don't look quite like English. They seem to resemble Russian, but it has since been confirmed that this language was created by the band itself, although the Russian influence is definitely there.

As for the city, it also seems to resemble Europe or at least somewhere in Eastern Europe, perhaps more specifically in the 20th century. Notice the spires.

We can't ascertain much from just this image, so let's move on to the first video that announced the tour.

Immediately, that Russian/Eastern European vibe returns, with an ornate room and soldiers guarding a door. I tried looking for buildings that this could be and struggled, but then again, I don't think this is supposed to be an actual country. It's meant to just LOOK like a 20th-century Eastern European country run by a dictator.

Speaking of, we see that dictator walking down a hall with two other men.

I assume these men are advisors to the dictator, but am unsure if they are meant to be alluding to anyone in particular. I WILL say that the dude with the mustache sort of makes me think of the guy of the cover of Three Cheers For Sweet Revenge (he's wearing a red flower on his suit, and red flowers were a big part of the Revenge imagery). The flowers can even be seen a few shots later.

To me, the flowers look like red carnations, which symbolize romance, love, and passion. They also stand out amidst the mostly black, white, and brown surroundings. Perhaps this is intentional.

We see this woman with sunglasses and a coat sitting with a dog. Her outfit resembles an outfit Gerard wore on tour in 2023.

In my mind, this woman has a lot of power, perhaps related to war. Her dog seems tough and intimidating, like a guard dog. She also stands out pretty starkly from the others. But she is just sitting there, not involved in what the other men are doing. Perhaps she is pulling strings behind the scenes.

Finally, the dictator steps onto the balcony to address a cheering crowd within the same cityspace we saw in the first post. I know I mentioned buildings before, but this makes me think of the Palazzo Venezia in Italy, where Mussolini famously delivered his speeches from a similar balcony. I imagine this is an intentional homage to emphasize the dictatorship energy.

We see the name of the tour, "Long Live" The Black Parade. Why are the words "Long Live" in quotation marks? I have two answers. One: this could be a potential future song title. Two: It is a lie.

What do I mean? Remember that The Black Parade is a fictional band that supposedly filled in for MCR during the Black Parade tour, until they played their last show in 2007 and apparently died (hence The Black Parade Is Dead). So how could they be alive? Keep this thought in the back of your head; it will be important later.

Let's analyze the video caption.

"It has been seventeen years since The Black Parade was sent to the MOAT. In that time, a great Dictator has risen to power, bringing about "THE CONCRETE AGE"; a glorious time of stability and abundance in the history of DRAAG. His Grand Immortal Dictator wishes to celebrate our rich and storied culture, fine foods, and musical entertainments by welcoming you to these great demonstrations of power and resolve. And lending voice and song for the first time in six thousand two hundred and forty six days, their work privilege ceremoniously reinstated, will be His Grand Immortal Dictator's National Band...The Black Parade,"

There are several things of note here. First of all, the reference to seventeen years connects us back to The Black Parade Is Dead, as there is a seventeen-year gap between The Black Parade Is Dead and this tour being announced. Let's also pay attention to the specific number of days we are given: 6,246. Taking the day this video was posted, November 12th, 2024, and subtracting that number of days gives us October 7, 2007, AKA the day of The Black Parade Is Dead.

Second, what is the MOAT? It seems like an acronym for something, but the only thing I could find that was even tangentially related was "Missile on Aircraft Test". So I think this might be a fictional creation, and given the context, it sounds like a prison, perhaps a concentration camp, given the European dictator vibes. The Black Parade was supposedly sent there, probably because the music they were performing contradicted the growing dictatorship's goals. We then hear about a supposed "concrete age", which explains the barren buildings we see. All color and joy seems sucked out of the city. We get another acronym: DRAAG. I think this is a reference to a lyric in The End: "Here's my resignation, I'll serve it in drag". Perhaps DRAAG is a nation similar to the USSR, and is what The Black Parade was referring to.

The real question here is if The Black Parade were supposedly exiled for not aligning with the dictatorship's goals, then why are they being brought back? Perhaps as propaganda?

The next post shows us a clearer view of the dog we saw before, with the caption saying "Good Boy". It is once again in quotes, making me think that this could be another song title. This also reminds me of one of the drumheads from the reunion tour, which said "Sit. Stay. Beg." That, combined with the way its eyes are shining directly into the camera, makes me think this dog represents a couple of different things.

First, it represents war and violence against the people. Think police dogs being unleashed on protestors. This dog enacts the dictatorship's goals using sheer force, much like an army or large weapons could. This explains the almost evil eyes. However, it could also represent the common people themselves. "Good Boy" and "Sit. Stay. Beg." imply treating people like they are animals and forcing them to comply. This dog is just doing what it's told so it won't get hurt or punished, like any person in that situation would. We've yet to see this dog do anything really bad.

Then we have this post, "Long Live". Four men in different outfits. They could represent several things. Are they stand-ins for the four members of MCR? Are they simply the four currently in power within the dictatorship? Or are they representative of the four horsemen of the apocalypse? In the video that follows this post, "Opera", we see more of the men. One looks nervous, one coughs, one laughs, and one is silent. I could see the one who coughs representing Pestilence (sickness) and the silent one representing death (figures that embody death are typically silent). The woman with the sunglasses is also sitting behind them, further hinting that she's somehow involved (literally "behind this").

We then see an opera singer in an opulent dress walk in front of the men to perform. A piece that sounds a bit like an orchestral arrangement of Welcome To The Black Parade plays on a record player. But when she opens her mouth to sing, all that comes out is horrible screeching and industrial noise. I think I also hear screaming in there.

I think this could represent the dictatorship looking towards entertainment to distract them from the horrors they're enabling, only to have it spat back in their face. It could also represent how they view music: chaotic and uncontrollable. We also heard opera pieces during the reunion tour, particularly Casta Diva, a piece that tends to allude to impending doom and ruin. This could be a way of playing on that notion.

Next is "Feast", where we see a lavish meal being enjoyed by those in power. One crucial detail is that we see the dog being fed by one of the soldiers. If the dog is truly representative of war, this could represent how all of the dictatorship's assets are being invested in war and violence. In general, the feast seems to be highlighting the disparity between those in power and those not in power.

Finally, we have the thing I want to talk about that shook this whole thing up: The Black Parade - ALIVE!

We see what looks like an old news program broadcast from DRAAG, showing a statue of the dictator, a shot of the city, and a field, presumably to mislead the populace into thinking there is no famine or shortage of food, something real dictatorships commonly do. We see what looks like the logo of the news station before a news anchor starts speaking.

A couple of things. First, this footage looks like it comes from quite a few decades ago, when supposedly this is supposed to all be happening in modern times, given the dates (they're even referenced again in the report). Perhaps technology in DRAAG is severely outdated? Second, the news anchor calls the viewers "dragoshkas", confirming that the country is called DRAAG and thus its citizens are known as dragoshkas. Third, the footage is subtitled in Spanish, meaning this is being broadcast internationally and is not exclusive to DRAAG.

The news anchor references the Palace of Sport, a generic term used to refer to indoor sports venues built during the Soviet Union, like the Kyiv Palace of Sports in Ukraine. However, this term is also used in other countries, and in Spanish-speaking countries, the term is translated as Palacio de los Deportes. This is seen in the Spanish subtitles.

He tells us that The Black Parade "never returned" from their concert in Mexico City, as they perished in a fire during what was supposed to be their final performance.

This fire imagery is reminiscent of fire imagery shown during the reunion tour, specifically the "burning man" image on their merch truck, which looked very similar to this image. One of the drumheads also read "muy fuego" (a lot of fire), connecting to the concert being in Mexico. And during a noise jam, Gerard said, "I’m gonna set myself on fire, never mind, I want you to set me on fire".

As you might be realizing, this whole news report directly contradicts what we were told happened to The Black Parade. Weren't they sent to a prison by DRAAG? But obviously, they wouldn't want the public to know that, particularly those who saw them live in Mexico, as they'd be furious. So they made up this tragic story to take the heat off them (no pun intended). Not to mention, they can look like heroes by "discovering" that they're not dead at all.

This is also why I said that “Long Live” could be a lie. Maybe they really DID die and a fake band is being sent to perform. This makes me think that perhaps we’ll be seeing something reminiscent of this on this tour.

We then hear once again that it was the dictator's idea to bring back the band, along with the Cabinet of Operatic Retaliations. Could this be what those old men were a part of? Could "Opera" be a play on "Operatic"?

Finally, we see what looks like the national seal of DRAAG. The text is hard to make out, but we can see a deer holding an arrow while also being pierced by arrows. Deer represent grace, elegance, greatness, and innocence. In other words, everything DRAAG is not, but everything they want people to think they are. This deer clearly also represents prey, with it being hunted, but with the arrow in its mouth, it could also subtly represent how the hunted can become hunters (the people rising up), or conversely, how the hunters can become hunted (the dictatorship being overthrown).

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOK, that was a lot, but I know I still missed stuff. If you have any ideas or theories or details, or if you want to ask me questions, feel free to send me an ask! I'd love to talk more about this!

[wrestlersownmyheart]

"Secret Admirer" - *Mystery Wrestler* X Female Reader (Part 1)

Title: Secret Admirer Summary: When your office's lights go out after weeks of being gifted with flowers and love notes–from a secret admirer, you're freaked out, to say the least. But then a warm mouth claims yours and all fear leaves… Pairing: Mystery Wrestler X Female Reader (Mystery Wrestler will be revealed in part two so stick around. Though this may be obvious enough for you to figure out by reading part one only, lol.) Disclaimers: I own nothing or anyone associated or affiliated with WWE. I own only the original characters. This is just a fictional story that came from my imagination. Content/Trigger Warnings: Some sexual themes but nothing graphic.

Note: It's on the short side but I hope it is enjoyed! Stick around for Part 2 to find out who the admirer is!

Secret Admirer

You walked up to your office door, prepared to treat one of the wrestlers for WWE, Chelsea Green after her match with Zelina Vega at Saturday Night Main Event that night. She needed her nose checked out after a 619 from Zelina. You opened the door to your office and were surprised to find a large bouquet of pink roses–your favorite flower–sitting on your desk.

"Oh, wow, someone has a boyfriend that loves them!" Chelsea chuckled, and then winced slightly, and held her nose.

"Oh, stop it," You smiled, flushing slightly. You left out the bit of info that you'd been getting cards, letters, poems and flowers for weeks now. And you had no idea who was sending them. Nor did you tell her that you'd been answering them. You had to admit, you had a crush on whoever was doing this. As long as it wasn't a creeper. Which, you had a strange undeniable feeling that it wasn't a creeper. It was actually quite romantic. "And be careful. If you have a broken nose you could make it worse. Sit down on the table." You instructed Chelsea. "Are you light headed at all? Did you lose consciousness?"

"No, and no," Chelsea answered as you flashed your pen light across her pupils. They dilated normally.

"I'm not seeing any signs of concussion," you told her. "But are you sure you're feeling all right, other than the nose?"

"Yes, other than the bleeding nose and pain along with it, I'm fine. My husband was sitting in the front row and saw me take the 619. He wanted me to get checked out."

"Ah, yes, the worried husband." You replied with a smile. "I understand his worry. Let me check your nose out." You gently prodded the bridge of her nose and felt for any shifting of bone underneath the skin. "That hurt?"

"Not badly. And the bleeding has stopped. That's got to be good, right?"

"Probably. Can you breathe through your nose without any obstruction?"

Chelsea took a breath through her nose and let it out normally. "Yeah. It's fine. I think it's just a bloodied nose."

You nodded "I think so too. Just be as careful as you can for the next few days, and let me know if you have any issues. Get to the ER for any emergencies."

The brunette nodded and lowered herself to her feet. "Thanks Doc."

"You're welcome."

Chelsea left and you turned your attention to the bouquet of roses. You picked up the card wondering what your admirer had to say now. Tearing open the envelope to the letter. You read:

How was your day today? I hope you had a wonderful, calm one. You deserve it with all the chaos that ensues around here. I've never met someone as caring and devoted to others, as you are. I sadly don't have a lot of time to write a letter today, what with Saturday Night Main Event, but I will leave you with a famous poem that describes how I feel about you.

"How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For the ends of being and ideal grace. I love thee to the level of every day's Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light. I love thee freely, as men strive for right. I love thee purely, as they turn from praise. I love thee with the passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death."

Love,

Guess Who 😉  XXX

Your heart was racing by the time you finished reading the poem. He'd all but admitted to being in love with you.

"Who in the world is this," you wondered aloud.

You quickly bent over your desk and scrawled out a message to your admirer and planned to leave it in the crack of your door so they'd find it.

It read:

Thank you so much for the beautiful roses and the lovely poem. I have to say I have no idea who you are though! Could you give me some hints? I'm totally in the dark. Are you a wrestler? A referee? A security guard? Maybe a fellow trainer? Maybe we should meet. I mean, what's the point in all the romance if I never learn who you are?

Curiously yours,

~Y/N

Quickly, so you could finish up work, you tucked it through the crack in your door and clicked the door shut so it would stay in place.

The main event of the PLE was over and you had a few files to document on. So you began by pulling Chelsea's file up on your computer, and began working. Quickly documenting that you'd checked her for a concussion as well as a broken nose, you then typed in that you were confident no broken nose was evident.

Suddenly, you heard a whoosh!

Your note!

The admirer had taken it!

You rushed to the door and opened it, stepping out into the hallway. You looked both ways of the hall and saw nobody.

Not. A. Soul.

"Okay this is not fair," you muttered to yourself, going back inside the office. You closed the door behind you and continued to gripe. "He has the advantage of knowing who I am, but I have no clue who he is!"

You heard a commotion coming from down the hallway to your left and turned your head to face it.

Drew McIntyre was being escorted to… your office? It appeared that way. He was holding his head and griping the whole way about Damien Priest.

"I'm gonna kill him!" He was saying. "If he gave me a concussion with those chairs, he's DEAD."

"Drew, calm down," you said, stepping aside so the refs and security could help him into your office. "If you do have a concussion, your rage can make things worse."

"Don't tell me to calm down, lass," he sneered. "I-"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," You said, waving him off. "Sit."

Surprisingly, he obeyed. He glared, but he obeyed and sat down at the end of the exam table. The security team and referees all left to give some privacy for him to be examined.

Once again, you took out your penlight and then began checking his pupils. You had him follow your finger with his eyes, and his vision wasn't blurring–to hear him tell it at least.

"I think you're okay, Drew," you replied, putting your penlight away. "No signs of a concussion."

"Good," he said, letting out a breath. "I'd hate to have to-" He looked at the doorway and smirked. "Thanks, Y/N," he said abruptly. "I'll see you soon." He lifted your hand to his lips and kissed the back of it. "Later, lass."

You followed the trail his gaze had made to the doorway, and spotted Damien standing there. Not looking too happy.

But your attention was on how Drew had kissed your hand. Was he the admirer? Part of you felt disappointed. Drew was a handsome guy all right, but he lacked something. Personality? No, he had plenty of that. Compassion for others? Maybe. You couldn't quite put your finger on it.

You turned your attention to Damien then and smiled. "Everything okay?"

He smiled back, and moved a little ways out the door. "Yeah, just coming back here to make sure he didn't terrorize the trainers and take it all out on ya." Then he turned and left.

You nodded as he left, and said "bye" softly. Sitting back down at your desk, you sighed. Yet another file to document on.

You'd just pulled it up when the electricity seemed to go out in your office. All the lights went out and you were left in the almost pitch black darkness since you had no windows in your office.

You groaned. And stood to your feet.

"What now?"

Your laptop let out a slight light, but it blinded you rather than helped you to see, since the light was facing you and not away from you.

You did see the silhouette of a large hand reach down and slam the laptop shut, however.

Now you were in pitch blackness.

"What's going on-"

A hand clapped gently over your mouth, and you were pushed backward against the wall behind you.

You cried out, though the strong hand blocked any sound you made. You began to struggle, growing frightened. This was like something out of a horror movie.

"Shh, shhh… don't be afraid…" came a whisper. Hands held you in place, gently but firmly.

You fought to recognize the voice but you couldn't hear well enough to decipher it.

A hand held you in place by your throat, a thumb stroked over your pulse, lazily.

"Please… don't hurt me," you cried softly, shivering.

"Never." came another whisper. Warm, minty breath brushed across your cheek.

Then…

"How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight…"

Your shivers lessened and you stood listening as the man recited the poem that your admirer had written to you earlier.

"You're… Him," you spoke softly. "Why did you kill the lights? I want to see you."

"I'm not ready to reveal myself to you, but I just had to…" He paused in his speech. You could hear the frustration in his voice. His finger traced lightly over your lips. Your breath came out shaky.

And then his warm mouth was on yours–he tasted of chocolate and mint. Like he'd eaten a box of Junior Mints.

You whimpered as his tongue urged your mouth to open. He broke the kiss just long enough to whisper, "Open for me, sweetheart." Then his mouth was on yours again, his tongue slipped past your parted lips and tasted you fully. He groaned–as if he was a man in the desert, dying of thirst, and he'd been given a drop of water.

The moan that tore from your throat sounded straight up indecent. But you didn't care. He was making you feel things you hadn't felt in a very long time. Maybe ever.

You don't know what possessed you, but you ran your hands up underneath the shirt he wore and over his flat, chiseled stomach. He groaned again, and froze for an instant. But only an instant.

Then his hands were freeing you of the lab coat you wore, and then wandering, all over your body. You felt your skirt being hiked up around your waist. And then you were being carried over to where you assumed the large sofa was. You were laid down and the next thing you knew you were unbuttoning his jeans and unzipping them in the dark.

"What if someone comes in," you asked, more to yourself than him.

"I locked the door," he whispered quickly.

"I'm crazy," you uttered, helping him undress you. "I've got to be losing my mind."

But not crazy enough to stop.

And then you felt him move over you, bracing his hands on either side of your shoulders…

}i{}i{}i{}i{}i{

"Sweetheart, I need to leave now."

You jumped at the sudden sound of his voice in your ear. Had you dozed off?

The sex had been amazing enough to make you pass out for sure, but had you really?

"What time is it?" You asked quickly.

A chuckle.

"It's not been very long since we���finished." He whispered. "I'll make sure your lights come back on and I'll lock the door behind me. So you can dress."

"Wait! You can't do this! We just… we just…"

"Made love?" he supplied.

"Well, yes," you cried. Tears formed in your eyes. "I need to know who you are!"

"You will when the time is right." A soft kiss to your mouth. "I promise." His voice was more distant. He was leaving you.

You heard the door open, the lock click, and then the door shut again.

A sob exploded from you. "How could I have been so stupid? He's probably married and just wanted some fun on the side." You sniffled, and wiped your eyes. "Fine. Lesson learned, jackass."

}i{}i{}i{}i{}i{

A couple months had passed since that fateful evening. You'd heard from your secret admirer plenty, but you'd chosen to ignore all the messages, due to your hurt and distrust of the man now.

He'd plagued you with flowers, cards, more love letters and poems, but you were just done.

Who makes love to someone without even showing their face, you wondered. Better, yet, how was I so stupid to make love with someone whose identity I didn't know? "It serves me right," you'd muttered to yourself.

Now, you were checking over Lyra Valkyria's shoulder. "I think you need to get to the hospital," you told Lyra. "The pain is bad enough that you nearly passed out, Lyra," you continued as she fought to argue. "There's only so much I can do here."

"Man," Lyra groaned. "If I have injured myself, I'm gonna scream."

"Try not to worry," you assured her. "I'm sure it'll be fine. Just… go get checked out to be safe. Do you want me to arrange for an ambulance, or can someone drive you?"

"I'll have Becky an' Seth drive me. No need for an ambulance."

You nodded, and helped Lyra down from the exam table. "Okay. Take care, Lyra."

"You too, Y/N."

You watched her leave, and trembled as your vision blurred. A sudden bout of dizziness attacked your senses and you held your hand to your forehead.

"Wh-who's n-next?"

You'd had a line of a few wrestlers waiting to see you for some injuries and ailments and the next one in line walked in your door.

Just as you dropped in a dead faint.

When you came to, which seemed like mere seconds later, you were lying on your exam table and one of the other veteran female trainers–Patricia–was checking you over. You tried to sit up, but a hand held you down.

Glancing up, you saw it was Damien Priest. Next to him stood a concerned-looking Jey Uso.

"Stay laid down, cariña," Damien said, his bass voice reverberating in your ears. "You were out cold for about five minutes."

You groaned. "Did I hit my head? Check me for a concussion please," you requested of Patricia.

"You didn't hit your head," she replied comfortingly. "The guys here," she said, indicating Damien and Jey, "moved like lightning and caught you."

"Thank you," you said, glancing up at the large Puerto Rican and Samoan.

"You're welcome," they replied in unison.

"I can't find any reason for you to faint," the older woman said. "Your vitals are fine. Have you eaten today?"

"I threw up, actually." You replied. "I was sick to my stomach and thought eating something would help. But it didn't."

The trainer looked at you for a moment. "Guys," she addressed both Damian and Jey, "I need to talk to her privately."

The two nodded reluctantly, and then quietly left the room.

"What is it," you asked. "What do you know that I don't?"

"Could you be pregnant?"

"No! Absolutely not-"

"Are you sure?"

"Well, yes, I-"

"Can you think of any other reason why you'd be vomiting and fainting?"

You started to answer immediately, but then something stopped and made you really think about it.

We didn't use protection, you realized. It all seemed so surreal, we didn't take the time.

"Could you have an unknown diagnosis you don't know about yet?"

"I don't know!" You burst into tears suddenly, covering your face with your hands.

"Okay…" The trainer said. "Please don't get upset at me, but are you feeling hormonal?"

"I don't know!" You cried again. "You went from suggesting I'm pregnant to something more dire!"

"Calm down, hon," Patricia said, patting your shoulder. "We'll figure this out. FIrst thing's first." She went over to a drawer and pulled out a digital pregnancy test. "Go take this, and we'll go from there."

Nodding and wiping at your tears with the tissue that Patricia handed you, you tucked the test into your purse discreetly and headed for the bathroom. Within minutes you were sitting on a toilet and waiting on the result. It was the longest three minutes of your life.

Beep-Beep-Beep!

You looked down at the test.

PREGNANT

"Oh, my God…"

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[celestetcetera]

Wild Blue Yonder really emphasized the Doctor not knowing the answer, huh? He’s wrong about Donna 3/4 times, he doesn’t speak the alien language, he doesn’t know what the creatures are nor is he very familiar with the space they’ve landed in. Hell, he even has a line admitting he’s wrong often.

But you know what else this episode did? It emphasized Donna’s brilliance. She may think she’s stupid, but she’s sharp as hell. She’s the one who figures out the imposter after giving a Doctor-level tangential speech. She’s the one who’s able to clear her head. She asks the right questions— why are their doubles scaring them?

Her imposter thinks she’s dumb at first, but when no-thing Donna realizes the real one’s actually smart, that’s when she’s able to break through the salt spell. Unfortunately Donna being brilliant means her imposter must be too.

Anyway. Love the role reversal. But for it to come at a time when the Doctor is feeling lost and confused, when they’ve just discovered they don’t even know themselves— it probably stings. Because what are they if not the smart one? When you take away all they’ve learned of this universe, there’s nothing left.

[john-get-the-salt]

Routine (w/ jack abbott)

Imagine: The nightly routine of working in the pitt with your husband

Contains: Jack being a simp for his girl, RN! Reader

Warnings: Cursing, insinuation of future sexy time but no action

AN: I would take Jack and Robby at the same damn time next question

The day may have been winding down for the city of Pittsburgh, but in your car things were just getting heated up.

Jack was driving, and the two of you were crushing red bulls and blasting 90’s music. Night shift in an ED wasn’t for everybody, but it definitely was for you two. This was your nightly routine to get pumped up for the long night ahead. Maybe there would come a day you two tired of night shift….but that day wasn’t today.

Jack parked and let the song finish so you could finish your karaoke before turning the car off.

“Ready for another hopefully fun night Mr. Abbott?”

“Every night with you is fun Mrs. Abbott.”

You winked and then once getting out of the car linked your hand with his.

You two strolled into the ED with a sync that only came from years of working together. After dropping off your bags and clocking in you did your signature hand shake, kissed each other briefly, and then parted ways.

You had the routine down to a T.

-

The night turned out to be pretty busy, so you and Jack only caught each other for few minutes at a time. Still, it was enough to be able to find him across the ER and wave or wink at each other.

Amidst the typical craziness, you got a young woman sent back from triage with a laceration to the forehead.

It was all very routine, you were in the room taking her updated vitals and charting some demographics before one of the docs would be in do the sutures. All normal stuff, other than the visitor who was at the woman’s side. He seemed anxious and aggravated, with his arms crossed. He was shifting all of his weight from foot to foot and kept staring at the woman. But the woman wasn’t looking at him, so he was just staring intensely at the side of her head.

Little alarm bells were going off in your head, but you recognized you needed to tread carefully.

“I apologize I’m sure you’ve gone over this already, but for documentation purposes do you mind telling me how you got the injury?”

The woman opened her mouth but before she could speak the man interrupted.

“Like we told the last person, I was at work and she tripped over some books and caught her head on the coffee table. How many times do we have to repeat ourselves to a nurse before an actual medical profession see’s her and let’s us leave?”

You pressed your lips together to keep any choice words from escaping. There weren’t many things you hated quite as much as being talking down to because of your your credentials.

“I apologize sir, it’s just protocol for me to ask again before the doctor comes in.”

The man grumbled but said nothing else. You typed on your computer for a moment before then asking, “Now ma’am did you have any loss of consciousness after your head hit the table?”

“I-”

“No she didn’t.” Again he interrupted.

“If you wouldn’t mind sir I really need her to answer the questions herself to the best of her ability.”

“No, I was there and I’m telling you she didn’t.”

“I’m sorry, I thought you said you were at work?”

The mans eyes narrowed and his face grew beet red. He lurched forward a few steps to get in your face so you took a step back closer to the door. You thanked your higher power that you’d left the door open and weren’t shut in.

“Listen here you bitch, I said she’s fine. We just need some stitches so we can get the fuck out of here.”

You risked glancing outside the door and made eye contact with another of the RN’s standing just outside in the hall. She made a notion with her hands to show she’d called for backup, which filled you with relief. She then made a move like she was going to come in and you shook your head just slightly. Having another nurse come in would likely just escalate things further.

Sir,” you raised your voice so it would carry out of the room, “you have 5 seconds to back the hell away from me before I call security and have you escorted out.”

But that was enough to set the man off again. He took another step and reached his arm out towards you when-

“Wooooah there.” Jack jogged into the room, putting himself directly in between you and the upset man. You released a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.

“What’s going on in here?”

You looked to the man, eyebrow raised in challenge.

He grit his teeth but stopped fighting. “Nothing, I was just stepping out for a moment.”

“You do that sir.”

The man stomped past the both of you and out of the room, while the pt apologized profusely.

“It’s ok ma’am, someone will be in shortly to finish helping you okay?”

She nodded and you followed Jack back out into the hallway. You both watched as the man was walked back out into the waiting room by security.

“That was hot as fuck.”

You snorted, turning to your husband to find him staring at you with a wicked grin on his face. “What? Me ruining any chance of a good patient satisfaction score?”

“Fuck satisfaction scores. I love seeing you all stern and mean.”

“It was a close one.”

“He’s lucky, I could’ve taken him down like it was nothing.”

You huffed a laugh as your husband puffed his chest out. “Yeah, I know you could have. Thankfully it didn’t come to that….not that I wouldn’t have enjoyed the sight.”

His grin grew even more and instantly regretted your comment. His ego really did not need to be fed anymore.

“I’m gonna go grab the social worker to come talk to her, wanna eat soon?”

“Yeah, as long as you promise to start talking to me the way you talked to that guy.”

“That would be highly inappropriate on the workplace, sir.”

His eyes darkened a shade at that word, and you smirked.

“Huh. I’ll make a mental note of that for later.”

“You’re trouble, you know that?”

You shrugged.

“You knew that when you married me.”

“And I hope you never let me forget it.”

You laughed and he grabbed your hands and pulled you closer to him. He wasn’t big into PDA, but the hall was empty and no one was around. He cupped your chin with one hand and brought your lips to his. He gave you one long kiss, followed by another few quick ones.

You were left breathless, while that bastard just gave you a sly wink before you parted ways. What were you going to do with that man?

-

Jack really wasn’t going to let that incident go. For the rest of the shift, anytime he caught your eye, he would wiggle his eye brows and you just knew he was thinking about how hot he found angry-you to be.

Eventually the shift came to an end and the sun began to rise.

You were just grabbing your stuff from your locker when Jack found you.

“Ready?”

You nodded around a big yawn. He took your hand in his and walked you out to the nurses station where Robby was getting settled in.

“Morning sleeping beauty,” you greeted.

Robby grinned at the nickname. “Good morning. Aren’t you looking bright and perky this fine morning.”

You flipped him off and Jack just watched in amusement. You and Robby acted like siblings with the way you bickered.

Jack gave his fellow senior resident a quick report of the current house, running through anything important that day shift should know. While he yapped you leaned on him, head on his shoulder.

You were juuuuust nearly asleep when he wrapped an arm around your waist and gave you a kiss on the temple.

“Come on sleepy head, we just gotta make it home.”

You groaned but allowed yourself to be led out of the ER and to your car in the parking lot. Once you were both in and settled Jack drove off, leaving the hospital behind. You snuggled into your seat, eyelids heavy.

“I might not make it home, Jackie.” You said around another big yawn. “I might have to be carried in.”

That nickname only came out when you were really sleepy, so Jack would know you meant business and surely agree to carry you inside…..right?

“That’s fine sweetheart. But if you’re asleep I’m not getting you a mcgriddle.”

You shot up in your seat like you’d just been narcaned. You’d forgotten what day it was! After every Friday night shift, you two stopped at McDonald’s on your way home to grab something to eat before you passed out for the day. It was something little, but it gave you both something to look forward to as a reward. It was part of your routine.

“I’m actually more awake now than I’ve ever been!”

“Oh really? Isn’t that funny.”

“If you get me two McGriddles I’ll call you some mean names tonight before work.”

“Make it this morning after we eat.”

“Deal.”

[v1sexual]

another actor au where reader gets injured on set and ofc the others being worried af ☹️ (vi and caitlyn being the most worried 🫶)

sticks and stones ; caitvi x reader

note : omg my first ask yay! anyways, i just wanted to say how much i love this omg. just imagine, caitvi fussing over you, giving you the princess treatment *explodes* this is lowkey poorly written tho, it's my first time writing with two love interests. i mean i could have made it platonic but where's the fun in that.

content warning : blood, minor injuries, swearing,

“cut! get the medics in here right now!”

you had no idea how this happened. a second ago, you were literally in the middle of acting a scene out with ekko in the firelight hideout. next thing you know, you twisted an ankle and fell 10-15 feet to the ground. thankfully, the leaves and branches from the tree (of the firelight hideout) broke your fall, leaving you with a few scrapes, bruises, and possibly a broken ankle.

when vi saw your body hit the cold hard floor she bolted, shouting for someone to get any medical professionals on the set. it took cait a couple of seconds to register what just happened, when it finally dawned on her she immediately followed vi. if people didn’t take notice that something was going on between the three of you, well… they’d probably notice it now. vi kneeled beside you, her hands cupped your cheek gently as she checked your head for any injury. thankfully, you only had a couple of cuts on your cheek and nothing too serious (you also may or may not have a small bump on your head that can be taken care of with some nice cold compress).

“is she okay?” cait exclaimed, she was out of breath and was ready to dial 911. before vi could answer, the medical team finally arrived. they ushered cait, vi, and your cast mates away as they loaded you on the stretcher and into the make-shift clinic tent on set.

it’s been almost an hour since vi and cait camped out of the tent. the two were practically about to explode, they were just so worried about you. the fact that it’s been an hour and still no news about you and how you’re doing concerns them. when the doctor examining you finally exited the tent (and quite literally almost bumped into them), they wasted no time bombarding the doctor about your condition.

“she’s doing fine ladies,” the doctor smiled. “just a couple of scratches, a bruise here and there, and a sprained ankle.”

vi’s face fell and cait was practically chewing nails.

“how long will it take for her to recover?’ cait asked worriedly.

the doctor gave her shoulder a pat, “it’ll take two to three weeks for the ankle to heal. then another week for her to get used to walking on it again.”

“how should we treat the ankle? does it need cold or hard compress?” vi demanded, poor girl was stressing the fuck out.

“use a cold compress for a week or until the swelling has gone down, then hot compress to help with blood flow. elevating the sprained ankle helps minimize the pain as well.” the doctor added before heading out, leaving the two girls to enter the tent.

watching the scene unfold was ekko and powder. they hung out beside a food truck next to the medical tent, fully overhearing the conversation that just unfold. “i sure hope (name)’s doing alright.” powder murmured, resting her head on her boyfriend’s shoulder. ekko nodded in response, “i sure hope so. i imagine dealing with those too will be much more painful than dealing with the sprain.”

powder let’s out a laugh and shook her head. “ekko! that’s so mean.”

“it’s true though,” ekko shrugged then rested his head on powder’s. “i swear, those three have a weird relationship.’

“we listen, we don’t judge ekko.”

when the doctor left the tent to give you some privacy, you almost burst into tears. the cuts didn’t hurt, the bruises didn’t hurt, and the sprain was bearable. it’s the fact that filming will have to be pushed back a bit due to your sprain. you wouldn’t be able to stand on that foot at all until it heals, the doctor already made a note that you need at least a month and a half to fully recover. the director and producers weren’t pleased, but they did understand and didn’t want to push you since you are one of the most hardworking actors on set.

the tent flap rustled open, pulling you away from your thoughts. caitlyn and vi entered the tent, both had worried looks on their faces. they sat on opposite sides of the stretcher where you laid.

"how are you feeling?" cait asked, taking your hand and holding it. you sighed and shrugged. you didn't want to talk, especially to vi and caitlyn. you just know that the moment you open your mouth the dam will break, you already feel sorry for yourself and crying will make it worse.

"cupcake," vi said as she cupped your face in her hand. she tilted your head to look at her. "you know you can tell us anything right?"

you closed your eyes as you leaned into vi's touch, your hand gripping caitlyn's a little bit tighter. "i just- if i talk about it i'll cry and it'll make feel worse." your voice sounded so small and hurt, it made cait and vi's heart ache.

cait pressed a kiss to your hand, "if you don't want to talk we won't force you, but you need to let it all out eventually. bottling your feelings isn't healthy at all." vi nods in agreement, she squeezed your cheeks before bending down to press a kiss on your forehead. "if you need to cry, cry. you have our shoulders to cry on, cupcake."

you closed your eyes and let the tears fall.

caitlyn and vi stayed true to their words, they comforted you and stayed in the tent until they were kicked out by the producers. when you were finally alone, a smile adorned your lips. your girlfriends were right, letting it all out did make you feel ten times better.

after today's shooting was done, caitlyn and vi took you home. cait went ahead and started cooking dinner while vi carried you to your room, making sure your foot was elevated. for the next month and a half, they barely left your side (unless they were needed for filming). they never let you do anything, you were basically confined to your room. as much as you hated being useless, your protests were ignored by cait and vi. it didn't matter though, at least you're ankle is almost healed and being babied by your girlfriends felt good anyways.

note : well that sucked LMAOOOO sorry anon

[marie-swriting]

Normal - Bucky Barnes

Marvel Masterlist

Summary : Following his therapist recommendation, Bucky decides to go to the library where books aren't the only things that interest him.

Warnings : this is just me romanticizing my job lmao, TFATWS!Bucky Barnes, a bit of angst, happy ending, mention of Bucky's traumas and nightmares, Raynor being a bad therapist, maybe some grammatical mistakes as English is not my first languaga, tell me if you see some or if I missed any warnings.

Word count : 4.6k

French version

Sitting on therapist Christina Raynor’s uncomfortable couch, Bucky’s gloved hands are intertwined and rest on his legs. He keeps shifting position, unease like he always is at every therapy session.

It’s a waste of time, that's what he keeps telling himself. He listens to his therapist repeating the same three damn rules and taking her notebook everytime he finally dares to open his mouth. He’s about to scream in frustration, he can feel it. If it was up to him, he would have stopped coming a long time ago.

“Do you ever leave your apartment?” Raynor asks, haughty.

“I come here every week, don’t I? And I go to the restaurant once a week,” Bucky replies, defensive.

“Alone, I imagine.”

“No with someone.”

“Miracles do happen!” she exclaims, ironic. “What else do you do?”

At her question, Bucky stays silent, staring at her. Raynor rolls her eyes and sighs.

“James, if you stay at home brooding, you’re not going to move on. You have to do normal things.”

“I haven’t known ‘normal’ for ninety years now, Doc.”

“You have to go out, have a hobby, see people, answer to Sam when he calls you, for example. Let people in. Believe it or not but not everyone wants to attack you.”

“Weirdly enough I always feel like this, I mean between the brainwashing, running away from the government and Thanos who made me lose another five years of my life, I don’t know why it’s the case,” he retorts before her therapist takes her notebook and starts writing. “Why do you do the notebook thing again? I said nothing wrong.”

“We’re done for today,” Raynor says, putting her pen down. “Do what I said, find yourself a hobby.”

To answer, Bucky sighs loudly which Raynor writes in her blasted notebook. Without glancing at her, Bucky stands up from the couch, just as grumpy as when he arrived, if not more.

On the way to his apartment devoid of any warmth, Bucky thinks back to what his therapist told him. A hobby? What an idea! He hasn’t had a hobby for so long that he doesn’t even know what he liked to do back in the forties, besides keeping Steve out of trouble. He searches for a pastime the whole night yet, nothing seems appealing. At this rate, he’ll end up improvising when she’ll ask him about what he did, it’ll be easier.

As everytime Bucky closes his eyes, he wakes up with a start, even more exhausted than he was before falling asleep. Only the noise and the light coming for the T.V. remind him he’s at home and not in one of his numerous nightmares. He has everything around him to feel safe and yet, his brain is still in fight or flight mode.

With difficulty, he stands from the ground and walks to the bathroom. In the room, he splashes water on his face and takes a moment to breathe. Once his breathing is calmer, Bucky goes back to the living room and sits on his makeshift bed on the floor. His eyes are set on the T.V. as he tries to distract himself, though his brain takes over and thinks a million thoughts at the same time. Bucky can’t keep track of all of them, though he’s used to it by now. He does the exercises Raynor taught him, it’s one of the few useful things he’s learned from therapy.

Bucky reminisces about Steve and the way he had managed to adapt to the future. Instinctively, Bucky’s eyes go to his jacket near the door where Steve’s notebook is. Although he uses it for a different purpose, Bucky tells himself maybe he should do like Steve and try to catch up with all the culture he’s missed. Before the war, he loved reading, maybe this could be his hobby again? Reading. But how can he do it? He doesn’t know what books have come out in the past decades and besides, reading won’t make him more social. He has to find a spot where he can read and meet people. Suddenly, he remembers the day his mother had made him and his sisters library cards in the neighbourhood library. He can still picture the way the place was arranged which reassures him - every memory he has in mind is a victory. The library seems obvious now, he has to go there, that might help him and Raynor will finally get off his back.

The next day, Bucky walks to the library closer to his place. Reluctantly, he enters the building. He just has the time to walk through the door when he hears your voice greeting him. Bucky nervously smiles before walking closer to you.

“May I help you, Sir?” you ask with a warming smile.

“Yes, I’d like to make a library card, please.”

“Sure, do you know how our library works?”

Considering last time he ever set foot in a library everything was done by hand, it’s as if Bucky knew nothing about it so he shakes his head.

“Not really.”

“First thing first, the card is free for every New York resident and to make the card, I’ll only need an ID and a proof of address. You can borrow fifty items at once and the loan lasts three weeks, except for magazines, it’s only one. If needed, you can renew your loan on the website, the app or you can ask us to do it. If you’re fourteen days late, you’ll be charged. You can also put items on hold in case they’re not available at a given moment and you’ll have seven days to come pick them up. Do you have any questions?” you question and Bucky needs a second to take in everything you said. “I know it’s a lot of information at once so don’t hesitate if you need any clarification.”

“I think I got it.”

“Perfect,” you say while he hands you the documents you need. “Thank you.”

On your computer, you start creating his file. You write down his full name first then you ask him if he has a preferred name he’d like to be included in his file to which he tells you his nickname. After hearing his answer, you can’t help but think these pieces of information sound familiar. You don’t know where you heard them yet his name and face aren’t unknown to you. You keep completing the information and as soon as you have to write down his birth date, everything makes sense. People born in 1917 and who look like your age aren’t something you see on a daily basis. You understand he’s Captain America’s best friend, you vaguely remember your history class about World War Two. However, even if you’re taken aback by the identity of the man in front of you, you don’t show anything so as to not make him uncomfortable.

Once you’re done, you hand him his library card with a big smile. Bucky’s right gloved hand brushes past yours and he quickly puts the card in his back pocket.

“Would you like me to give you a tour?” you propose.

“You probably have better things to do,” Bucky replies, shifting from one foot to the other.

“That’s what I’m here for, I don’t mind at all.”

Bucky is still hesitating, yet the minute he glances on his left and sees the size of the place, he feels overwhelmed. He’s about to refuse when he remembers he has to learn how to have an ordinary life again and being social is a part of it.

“If it’s not too much, then I’d love to, please.”

“Follow me.”

You leave your chair and stand in front of Bucky, enthusiasm written all over your face. You start talking about the first shelves in front of you and then walk through the library as if it was your home. Although Bucky struggles retaining what every corner is about, he has to admit he loves seeing your radiant face while you’re talking. 

As opposed to him, you’re full of life and your passion for your work can be felt a thousand miles away. He listens to your every word, completely captivated by your voice. Once you’ve shown him the most important places, you turn to him.

“That’s it! Are you searching for something in particular? Or do you want to wander on your own?”

“Well, actually, I was told Tolkien published several books after The Hobbit and I would love to read them,” he says, scratching behind his neck.

“I’m going to show you where his books are,” you inform, walking toward the correct shelf. “So, I recommend you read The Lord Of The Rings trilogy which goes hand in hand with The Hobbit. The first book is this one, The Fellowship Of The Ring,” you explain, taking the item out. “The second must be currently unavailable but if you want, we can put it on hold for you or you can do it on the app at home.”

“I haven’t read in a long time, I don’t know how long it’ll take me to read. I think I’m just going to focus on this one first and I’ll see later.”

“As you wish,” you affirm, giving him the book.

This time, Bucky is careful not to brush your fingers, still struggling to feel comfortable with people touching him.

“I’m going to leave you alone now, you’ll probably want to look around for next time. When you’re done, come to me or one of my colleagues for the loan. Once again, if you have any question, don’t hesitate,” you finish.

“Thanks, for everything.”

“Don’t mention it. Enjoy your book.”

You give him one last smile before turning around and you go back to your desk. Bucky watches you leave, enthralled by your every movement. The minute you’re out of his sight, he quickly shakes his head and gazes at the books in front of him, searching for something else interesting to read for later.

Surprisingly, Bucky reads Tolkien’s novel in less than a week. He thought he’d need more time to get back to reading and Bucky can’t deny he’s pleased to see he fall back to one of his habits easily.

During his therapy session, Bucky talks about his trip to the library with a smug smile when Raynor starts to imply he surely didn’t listen to her. She has her eyes wide open before asking him about his outing. Without any surprise, Bucky goes straight to the point. He doesn't even mention you, the beautiful librarian who has slowly found his way into his mind.

At the end of his session, Bucky doesn’t go home right away, wanting to give back the book. He expects to see you, sitting behind the computer with a welcoming smile on your face, however it’s a woman in her fifties who greets him. Your colleague might be nice, Bucky would have preferred to see your face and as surprising as it may seem, he would have loved to tell you about his reading. Unfortunately for him, besides not seeing you, the last two Lord Of The Rings books aren’t available so he simply puts them on hold thanks to your colleague before going home, empty-handed. 

As soon as Bucky gets the notification the books have arrived, he doesn’t waste a second before leaving his apartment. He can’t wait to keep reading, the last two weeks went by slowly.

As he arrives, he finds you at your usual spot behind your screen. You give him a big smile before going on the shelf behind you where all the items on hold are - when you saw the two books were for Bucky, you hoped to be here when he’d get them. Bucky doesn’t even have to show you his library card that you’re already doing the loan.

“I have to admit, I was disappointed to see the first book back, I was hoping to have your opinion on it when you were done,” you inform.

“Well, just like the first time I read Tolkien, he knows how to keep me on tenterhooks. Your recommendation was perfect,” Bucky answers, happy to know you’re curious to know what he thinks.

“The Lord Of The Rings is always a safe choice. So you want to read the last two books in a row?” you question, referencing the novel you still have in hand.

“Yeah, I have a lot of free time, so better to make the most of it.”

“You’re absolutely right. Here you go,” you add, giving them to him.

This time, Bucky doesn’t stop your hands from touching his, he even lingers for a second before taking the novels out of your hands, making this moment last which you don’t seem to mind. No matter if he can’t feel the softness of your skin through his gloves, he appreciates this closeness.

“I’d love to read them for the first time again,” you exclaim with nostalgia.

“Are they your favorite books?”

“They’re my childhood so yeah, they are. Everytime I read them, I just want to live an adventure just like them.”

“I get it,” Bucky genuinely smiles before looking at the clock behind you. “I have to go.”

“Oh, sure. Enjoy your books.”

“Thank you.”

Bucky awkwardly smiles one last time before leaving the place, his two books in his hands. Bucky is happy he saw you.

Even though your conversations don’t last, when he talks to you, he feels normal. With you, he’s just another person going to the library, not the ex-soldier who was turned into a weapon against his will. You bring him a sense of normalcy he never thought he could have and a part of him doesn’t know how to react to this. 

Bucky hadn’t read this much in a long time. First of all, because he absolutely wanted to finish The Lord Of The Rings, but also because he wanted an excuse to go back to the library. 

That day, Bucky has to go to therapy first. As always, he doesn’t feel like Raynor is helping him that much. Other than telling about the rules and making him feel guilty for not moving on, she doesn’t say anything new. Even telling her he’s making an effort by seeing people at the library isn’t enough for her anymore. She affirms he should go somewhere where he could exchange with people like a book club. No matter what he does, it’s never enough.

Consequently, he goes to your workplace, irritated. He keeps brooding at every step he takes, telling himself everything he wishes to say if this therapy had no consequence on his future. His annoyance increases the second he doesn’t see you at your desk. Maybe you took the day off? Or maybe you’re working in the backroom today? No matter the reason, your absence ruins his day.

At that moment, he realises your presence might be more important to him than he previously thought. His mood definitively depends on if he sees you or not. He finds himself pathetic. After all, you’re only friendly because it’s your job to be nice to the people who come talking to you. He’s not your friend or your acquaintance, he’s just another person coming to the library among others. Besides, even if you were friends, who says you’d be as attached to him as he is to you? You have a normal life, you have better things to do rather than hanging out with someone as broken as him. Bucky can’t even open up to his therapist so he doesn’t deserve your attention and he wouldn’t want it anyway. Bucky thinks he doesn’t deserve someone who cares about him and he wouldn’t want to drag them to the fight he always finds himself dragged into. You’re too full of joy to see only one percent of the horrors he has witnessed. 

Bucky loudly sighs before walking toward the novels sections. There, he lazily searches for a title that could intrigue him. Though, nothing catches his eye. He’s too focused on his irritation and his self-deprecation to be interested in something else. Bucky keeps wandering until he hears a voice coming from behind him. 

“Good afternoon, Sergeant Barnes. How are you today?”

“Oh, hi,” Bucky states, turning to you, his bad mood leaving his body in an instant. “No need to call me Sergeant, Bucky is enough. I mean, if you don’t mind. Sorry, it probably was inappropriate what I just said,” he adds, embarrassed.

“Don’t worry, Bucky,” you reassure him. “So,” you resume, enthusiastically, “you’re done with Tolkien?”

“Yeah, I finished it last night.”

Bucky nonchalantly gives you this information; however, he didn’t finish the book because he couldn’t put it down, but because his nightmares prevented him from feeling safe enough to sleep. Notwithstanding, you don’t need to know that. After all, you’re only the librarian. 

“You’re searching for something new to read?”

“Yeah, but I have no idea what.”

“Oh, I can help, if you want to. And don’t say you don’t want to bother me, it’s literally my job.”

“I’d love your help, please,” Bucky accepts with joy.

“Do you want to keep reading Fantasy or do you want to try a new genre?”

“I’d like to try a new genre. Maybe Science-Fiction? I have always been fascinated by technologie we would develop in the future. I mean, I’m so fascinated by it it became my life,” he darkly jokes, before becoming serious again. “Anyway, what do you suggest?”

“I think you should start with the basics. I suppose you’ve already read some H. G. Wells?”

“Yes, I read some of his books but there were others I kept telling myself I should read and never did.”

“Like any self-respecting reader would. I recommend you should try The Dream or The First Men In The Moon.”

At the same time you say the titles, you take the books out of the shelves. You hand them to Bucky and he’s disappointed once he realizes your hand didn’t touch his like last time. However, he quickly focuses back on what you’re saying, not wanting to be more unsettled.

“I haven’t read them in quite some time but I remember I loved them! I couldn’t stop talking to my loved ones about these books for months. My poor mom was tired of me by the end. If you want to discover a whole new author, I suggest Stephen King and his novel Firestarter. King is one of the most famous authors nowadays and he has a long list of books. He writes a lot of horror so if you want to try this genre, you can look for him.”

“I’m going to start with Wells, I know him so it’ll be easier, I think,” he says, showing the books he’s holding.

“We have other books of his that aren’t currently available, don’t hesitate to tell me if you want to put them on hold.”

“I will, thanks a lot.”

“Don’t mention it,” you exclaim with enthusiasm. 

“Y/N, can you come?” one of your colleagues asks. “I need your help for tomorrow's activity.”

“I’m coming,” you reply to her before turning to Bucky. “You’ll tell me what you think about it, will you?”

“I will,” he affirms, feeling his heart missing a heartbeat in his chest, realizing you’re genuinely interested in his opinion.

“Enjoy your book.”

On those words, you walk away from Bucky before listening to your colleague. Bucky gazes at the books you suggested and he reads the back covers. Convinced by The Dream, Bucky puts the other one down before borrowing the novel.

In his apartment, Bucky thinks back to your interaction. He could have listened to you talk about books for hours. Though, the more he thinks about you, the less he’s sure it’s a good idea to be this close to you. Despite yourself, you bring him comfort and according to him, he doesn’t deserve it. His demons are too present to let the light come in his life. Bucky keeps overthinking and he ends up closing himself off.

The small effort he did when he created his library card is shattered. He still has a lot of improvement to do before getting closer to you. He began having feelings for you quicker than he thought and he has to stop this. As a consequence, Bucky decides to not see you again and for this, he tells himself that after this book, he will bring it back the day he knows you’re not here and he won’t step foot on your workplace ever again. He’s better off alone.

Nevertheless, Bucky’s isolation was interrupted by the arrival of John Walker as the new Captain America and the Flag Smashers. With Sam and after a few snags in this new collaboration, they found a way to calm down the tensions and Bucky finally made peace with his past. 

Now, he accepts he has the right to comfort, to be okay. He hates to admit it nevertheless his therapist was right, opening up to people he trusts is beneficial and he’s lucky that, despite his grumpiness, Sam didn’t give up on him.

Bucky is in Louisiana at the Wilsons' residence. He manages to meet other people and his smiles are more genuine than ever.

One afternoon, while Sam and Bucky are fixing the Wilsons’ boat, Bucky brings up his outing at the library and your name comes up several times which instantly grabs Sam’s attention. With a malicious look, Sam mentions the topic again.

“Looks like you get along well with the librarian.”

“She’s nice. She has good recommendations and she’s full of energy. Thanks to her, I felt like I was having an ordinary life once more,” Bucky confesses with a loving gaze.

“‘Was’? What do you mean?” Sam asks, frowning.

“I haven’t gone to the library in a long time.”

“Why?”

“In case you forgot, we were a bit busy.”

“Oh, I know, but I feel like there’s something else.”

“Maybe…,” Bucky starts, avoiding his eyes, “Maybe I closed myself off when I realised I started having feelings for her.”

Following his confession, Sam stops what he’s doing and stares at his friend, desperate. Bucky sighs before resuming.

“Look, it’s not that easy, okay? Sure, I’m feeling better now, but the fact is I know a part of the Winter Soldier will never leave me. I still have my nightmares. I can’t have someone else drag into all of this,” he admits, his heart tightening in his chest. “I don’t even know why I’m making such a big deal out of it. She probably wasn’t interested in me like I am.”

“You’ll never know if you keep ignoring her.”

“I’m not ignoring her.”

“It sure looks like it,” Sam retorts with a pointed look. “You should talk to her. With what you told me, I can tell she has a good influence on you and besides, Mr-With-A-Staring-Problem has heart eyes for her.”

“I don’t need you to throw me into another woman’s arms so I won’t flirt with your sister,” Bucky jokes, hoping to aggravate Sam so he’ll change the subject.

“You better not flirt with her, period. Anyway, that’s not my point, you clearly have feelings for her and maybe it’s time you date someone and someone who has a normal life might not be such a bad idea,” Sam states and Bucky ponders his words for a second.

“I don’t know, Sam.”

“Ask her out. What do you gotta lose? She might be a good friend, if it doesn’t work romantically.”

“The last date I went to wasn’t my biggest achievement,” he reminds him.

“You weren’t in the right state of mind. You should try. At least, like this, I’ll be sure you won’t get close to Sarah.”

“I wanted to ask her something by the way,” Bucky adds, pretending to walk away.

“Fix the boat and shut up.”

Bucky laughs at Sam’s desperation and focuses back on his work. While they’re fixing the boat, Bucky thinks back about what Sam told him. He’s not going to lie, he thought about seeing you again, however the shame of coming back after being away for so long holds him back. The last time he saw you, you were so happy, telling he’d have to tell you what he thought of Wells’ novel and yet, he avoided you like the plague. He doesn’t really know how to come back. You won’t chase him away from the library, he hasn’t violated any rules, but surely, you’ll be cold with him. He ruined everything. 

However, Bucky ends up being convinced by Sam’s words and decides to go back to the library the day he comes back from Louisiana. He thinks about what he’s going to tell you nevertheless nothing seems good enough so he decides he’ll improvise. 

As soon as he’s arrived, he sees your colleagues at the front desk; he greets them and then walks around the shelves, hoping to find you which he does. From afar, he sees you putting kitchen books on a shelf. He takes a deep breath and walks to you. Once he’s near you, he clears his throat to catch your attention which startles you and you turn around. With just one glance, you discover Bucky without his jacket and his gloves for the first time, allowing you to see his vibranium arm.

“Oh, hi.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s okay. It’s been a long time! You didn’t even tell me what you thought about The Dream,” you say with a disappointed face. 

“I loved it. I forgot how much I enjoy H. G. Wells’ books.”

“I’m glad to hear this. Do you want me to recommend something else?” you ask, excited.

“Yes, please.”

“Another genre or still Sci-Fi?”

“I thought about trying romance,” Bucky states, looking you straight in the eyes.

“Oh, well, we have a bit of everything,” you start, nervous, ignoring if you should read in between the lines. “Stories with sad endings, happy ones, relationships full of tensions and a lot of plot twists.”

“I was thinking about a story where the guy desperately tries to find a way to ask the beautiful librarian out,” Bucky adds with a charming smile.

“That’s a very specific story,” you reply with butterflies in your stomach.

“What do you say? Would you like to go on a date with me?”

“I’ve been waiting for this for a long time,” you confess, taking a step forward.

“Really?”

“Really. And I have to admit when I didn’t see you again, I thought maybe I had scared you off because I was too clingy. I thought you were ignoring me.”

“I was ignoring you, but not for this reason,” Bucky admits, looking down for an instant. “I had a lot of things to handle and I didn’t know how to act around you. You made me feel normal and it scared me. It’s better now, I’m better now, though some days are still harder than others. I think I’m on the right path.”

“Do you feel ready to let me in your life now?” you ask, wanting to make sure it’s what he wants.

“I am, yes.”

“Then, we can meet Saturday afternoon at the café down the block. They have the best pastries in the neighbourhood.”

“Works for me,” Bucky confirms with a radiant grin. “In the meantime, do you have any book recommendations? I need something to talk to for a date I have at the end of the week.”

“I have just the novel you need.”

Marvel Masterlist

[velvetchrry]

━━━━ IT REMAINS

pairing: johnny “soap” mactavish x psychiatrist!reader

4.3k. after being shot in the head, johnny works with a psychiatrist to get his life back. **contains dark themes - read at your own risk.

It’s a tick.

Nine. That’s how many hash marks make up the upper margin of your notes. That’s how many times Sergeant MacTavish has rubbed the spot on his forehead where he was shot months ago. If you listen closely you can hear the pad of his thumb race along the grown out hairs of his mohawk.

It’s how he gives himself quiet comfort. When you ask him a question that makes him feel squeamish, he absentmindedly runs his finger along it. You’d have more hash marks if you deigned to keep track at the beginning of your session but this is only the first time you’re meeting him. You’ve also gotten farther than any of his other psychiatrists thus far. 32 minutes in.

His first psychiatrist, Dr. Williams is great. Phenomenal, actually. Old school, nearing his late fifties — he showed you the ropes when you started here. You thought for sure his calm demeanor would be just what MacTavish needed. He made it approximately 17 minutes into the session.

You’re not even sure Dr. Williams was able to get an answer out of him that day. You were here; heard the raised voice of Sergeant MacTavish. Watched as one of the Lieutenants who accompanied him dragged him out. Dr. Williams left his office a few minutes after that, pink-faced and flustered. The only time you’ve ever seen him like that.

MacTavish went through two other psychiatrists before landing in your lap. Why me? you couldn’t help but think. What could I possibly have that they don’t? You’re the youngest psychiatrist here by a mile. Fresh meat. A larva who has yet to transform, metamorphose.

He’s been staring at the same speck on your carpet for a few minutes now. You saw this faraway look in his eyes at the beginning of the session. Those piercing blues fogged over, mist on the lake. Pupils pinpricked.

His leg bounces slightly. Sweat glistens on his upper lip. Talking about what happened, bringing up that day is what has set him off in other sessions before. You weren’t ready to breach the subject until a few minutes ago.

“Johnny?” you try again, gingerly. He didn’t like when you called him Sergeant MacTavish earlier.

“Doc?” he says calmly, as if you haven’t been waiting in silence for him to answer your question.

“Would you like me to repeat the question?”

He sucks his teeth. Ponders. You let him. If there’s anything you’ve observed about his behavior thus far is that he does not like to be pushed, likely due to the fact that he simply needs more time than before. With a TBI like his, it’s not shocking. Memory loss and concentration issues are almost a guarantee. Along with the other symptoms he’s been experiencing — mood changes, difficulty sleeping, sensitivity to sound — and that’s only what you’ve been able to gather so far from his own admissions this session and the notes from those very brief prior ones.

“I dinnae want ta talk about it,” he finally says.

“Alright,” you answer simply. Calmly.

His shoulders visibly slacken at that.

You wonder if he expected you to push him. And, had this not been your first session, you may have. But not this time. He’s not ready for that yet.

He does surprise you, however. When Sergeant MacTavish makes it the full hour, you award him with an honest smile.

“This is a great step forward, Johnny. I’m proud of you.”

You look down at your slightly smudged notes, the air still heavy with the scent of fresh ink. Notes on Johnny’s sisters, parents, home. How he imagines his life in the future — back home to the Highlands, maybe a little cottage in the woods, walking distance to his relatives. Surrounded by family — a wife, children. Animals. Fending for himself and his family. Providing.

It’s… sweet. His fantasy of the future. You imagine in different circumstances he might have been an ideal husband. He has a protective instinct that drives him in everything he does. A wolf defending his pack. Maw dripping with the blood of those who would stand to hurt anyone he loves.

“Thanks, Doc.”

He scratches the scar again as he stands up. It’s still raised — pink flesh that draws your eye in. He waits for you, maybe the most awkward you’ve seen him thus far. You stand and offer your hand. His engulfs yours. He holds it tight, like letting go of you will make him slip out of reality again.

“Next week, same time?” You hate the phrase as soon as it comes out, making you sound like every movie shrink ever, but routine is important for him right now.

He swallows thickly and nods his head, finally letting go of your hand. You walk him to the exit, to the waiting Lieutenant. He goes without a fuss.

You don’t run into any problems until a few sessions later.

He’s agitated, but hasn’t told you why yet. You give him time, give him space. Let him work out what he wants to tell you. The Newton’s cradle that usually occupies your desktop is shoved in a drawer. Silence envelops the two of you, other than his ragged breathing as he tries to get ahold of his emotions.

You’re not sure how long you’ve been holding your own breath but you allow some oxygen into your lungs. You feel like you’re standing at the door of an airplane and he’s the one strapping your parachute. Checking for rips and tears. Making sure the deployment handle is secure.

“Johnny?” you murmur. Wait.

He rubs his scar.

“Lonely,” he blurts out.

“That’s to be expected,” you hum as your finger absentmindedly brushes across the large CONFIDENTIAL in red ink that runs across his folder. He hasn’t been allowed to talk to any family or friends. They all think he’s dead until the man who killed him is in custody and — while you have your disagreements on whether or not that is the best course of action for him — you don’t outrank the military men who made this decision.

“Yer the only friend I get ta see.”

You hesitate and realize that was your error as soon as his face drops.

“We’re friends, no?”

You give him a genuine smile. “I’m your psychiatrist, Johnny.”

“Said ya wanted what’s best for me. Said ya cared.” He’s agitated, fist clenched and shaking against his thigh. He strokes his scar in quick succession with his other hand. His usually serene, handsome face is contorted, as if what he’s hearing is causing him physical pain. He is seconds away from another episode.

“That is true and I meant it when I said it.”

He unfurls his fist but his fingertip never leaves his head. “So we’re friends then?”

You shouldn’t placate him with confirmation. If it were any other patient, you wouldn’t. You would stop this in its tracks, before anything has time to bloom. Cut out the dead root before it rots the rest of the plant. But it’s him — and you can’t be another in a long list of people who have failed him.

“Yes Johnny. We’re… friends.”

He beams at you and you think you see a piece of Johnny from before the accident. The golden retriever energy you suspect made up his personality. The finger on the scar stills.

“I knew you were the right one for me, Doc.”

You make it through three months with him.

“Bonnie flowers,” he nods towards the vase on your desk.

Lily of the valley, baby’s breath and red roses encompassed in a simple glass vase with a lilac satin bow. No note, but it was your birthday week and you figured one of your friends or parents just forgot to add one. You’ll figure out who sent it later.

“Mmm, they are.”

You level him with a look.

“You’re avoiding my question, Johnny,” you remark. He’s had enough sessions with you, become comfortable enough for you to be able to challenge him a bit. He sinks further into the couch and you sit up straighter, closer to the edge of your seat, not letting him run away from the question with physical distance. “Can we talk about this?” you ask his permission.

There’s a tick in his jaw as he mulls it over, eyes never leaving the flowers. You wait, unsure what his reaction will be.

“Can I say no?”

You nod. “You can always say no to me, Johnny. Though, it’s easier for me to help you if you say yes.”

He looks down at his lap, hands folded neatly. The hair on his arms escapes from his long sleeve a little bit. He rubs a knuckle.

“Ya ken I trust ya, Doc, it’s just…” he pinches his brow together, eyes shut as he brings a hand to his head. He hunches over slightly.

“Johnny?” his name lingers in the air. The physical distress he shows gives you heartburn, acid creeping up your throat. He groans, and pushes his fingertips so hard against his forehead you’re sure it’ll bruise.

The bottle of water is in your hands before you realize what you’re doing — standing from your seat and sitting next to him on the couch in your office. You offer it and he lets his hand idle on yours for a second before removing the lid and taking a long sip.

He sighs in relief and lets his muscles relax, leaning backwards into the sofa. A warm, massive hand settles on your knee and you startle but don’t recoil. It would set him back if you pulled away.

“I’m not ready, Doc,” he croaks, and the crack in his voice breaks your heart.

“Alright, Johnny,” you soothe. You grab the back of the hand resting on your knee and squeeze before standing up to return to your chair. “That’s alright. Take your time.”

A knock on your office surprises you a few nights later.

It’s late on a Friday night — you should have been home by now, but you had few things to wrap up before your week off. Notes to finish, information to chart. You were only slightly worried about Johnny, hoping one week off wouldn’t regress him any. At the end of his last session, you made sure to spend some time telling him that you wouldn’t see him next week. You emphasized that you’d be back the following week and would resume as normal.

There’s nothing you hate more than disrupting his routine. It’s been paramount to his recovery thus far. Last week his physician requested an MRI to update his brain imaging, since there hasn’t been any since the incident and it set him off. He only calmed down once you were paged and arrived — stripped yourself of any metal, put on two different pairs of ear plugs and sat vigil next to him on the scanner — your hand brushing against his exposed leg in a soothing motion as his head was inside the tube.

You wonder who could possibly be here at this time of night. As far as you know, you were the last one, but someone else could have easily had a late patient that you weren’t aware of.

The doorknob turns before you can reach it.

Johnny stands in the opening to your office. He is visibly distressed, sweat glistening on his brow. His fingers flex and squeeze as he walks in and closes your office door behind him, hard enough that you jump where you stand.

“Hello, Johnny. What brings you here so late? Where’s your escort?”

He’s still looking off in the distance as he approaches you. You hold your ground, tilting your chin up slightly to look at him. Now that he’s in front of you it’s easier to see how ragged his breathing is, how hard he’s fighting for control over his emotions.

“Do you want to sit?” you try again.

He doesn’t respond, simply holds his ground as you talk. His eyes flicker back and forth as he ponders something. Is he trying to use the calming techniques you’ve taught him?

Your fingers twitch, almost reaching out on instinct to grab his wrist. He sucks in a large breath, his chest nearly brushing against yours as he does. The hairs on your scalp tickle as you feel his exhale caress your face. Patiently, you wait for him. You’re used to this. Sometimes he needs a moment.

“Ye cannae just…” he starts then stops, pinching his eyes shut as he gets his thoughts together. He inhales deeply again before continuing, his voice more desperate. “Why’re ye leaving me, Doc?”

“I’m not leaving you, Johnny. I’ll be back the week after next.”

The line of his jaw sharpens as he clenches his teeth. His fingers continue to flex and contract, half moons indenting the skin of his palm as he does. The thin wire holding him together is about to break and you’re standing in the middle of the debris field.

“I’ll tell ye about it,” he pleads. He brings his hand up to cup your jaw and you hold your ground. Johnny has never frightened you, no matter how many times you’ve seen him agitated. You know, down to your core, he would never hurt you — so you stay still, let him make physical contact. “I’ll tell ye everything.” He dangles the bait over you like you’re a starving animal. The thing you’ve been waiting for all these sessions. A thumb traces the slope of your cheek.

“Okay,” you agree, bringing your hand up to lightly hold against the one stroking you. You wrap your fingers around his and pull his hand off your face. “We’ll talk about it when I return, alright?”

Wrong move.

He snaps.

Before you can react, Johnny grips the back of your neck and pulls you firmly to his chest. His other arm locks itself around your waist. You gasp, breathing in the scent of him as your face is pressed tightly to his body. Your hands fly up to push yourself away but it’s no use. Johnny is carved from stone, immovable, statuesque. He doesn’t crush you, only holds you as his arms lock in place. Your stiffened frame moves with his chest, his rapid breathing competing over the sound of your own.

Panic creeps into your throat, tightening the noose. You know Johnny would never harm you, but you’re not quite certain the lengths he would go when he’s feeling threatened — and right now he’s feeling very threatened.

Fingers wrap around the hair at your nape as he pulls your head back. He kisses you hard and it’s a battle of teeth and tongue as you try to back away from it, remove yourself from the situation. You whine in protest and Johnny groans.

Finally his mouth releases yours. Panting, you gasp for air.

“Johnny… this is… highly inappropriate,” you wheeze.

He looks into your eyes lovingly, as if his stare could keep you in place forever.

“Kept the flowers I gave ye,” he breathes.

Your eyes widen in realization. “You? You’re the one who sent those to me?”

A wide grin splits his face. “My girl’s birthday. ‘Course I did.”

You try not to focus on the fact that he knew when your birthday was — something you definitely did not share with him. “Johnny… I’m your psychiatrist.”

“Yer my friend. Said it yerself. Said a lot of things, hen. ‘We’re in this together’, ‘I’ll do whatever it takes to help ye’, ‘Rely on me, even on bad days’,” he leans in, nose pressed to your hair and taking a whiff. “Cannae let you go… no’ now.”

You try pushing yourself off him again to no avail. “Johnny…”

With both arms now wrapped around your middle, he lifts you with ease, setting your ass down gently on top of your desk. He brushes a stray hair out of your face. “Said I can ‘always say no’ to ye. I’m saying it now. Cannae let you go, hen,” he repeats.

“Johnny,” you echo, strained as you attempt to wiggle out of his hold. You try to keep your voice strong and even but it’s becoming more and more difficult the longer you’re stuck in his hold.

He shushes you before you can continue talking, a massive palm covering your mouth. “Know ye want it too, pretty girl.” His large knee forces your legs apart, bumping it against your clothed center. You startle and he chubs up — your jump barely moving you in the strong grip of his arm. “Take such good care of me. Let me return the favor,” he murmurs, pupils blown out wide as he replaces his hand with his mouth.

You try to push him away again as he kisses you, but it’s no use. You’d have better luck tipping over a skyscraper with your bare hands. Defeated, you submit — not by kissing him back but no longer fighting him either.

“Tha’s it,” he coos when he decides to back away. He takes you with him, sliding your bottom across the desk and supporting your body weight until your legs are firmly underneath you. Suddenly you’re turning around and he’s forcing your face down to the cool wood. The action causes you to screech and he lays his body against yours and shushes your cries, smoothing a hand along the exposed skin of your cheek.

“S’alright, pretty girl. S’alright. Nobody’ll ever touch ye again. Safe with me, always.”

A shiver races down your spine. Johnny hums in delight, his hips crushed firmly to your ass. His thick length is pressed against you and he shudders. Impossibly, he pulls you by the waist against him even more and wraps a massive paw around your middle to tear your pants down your body. Your panties come with it and you can’t help the moan that escapes at the sensation and sudden coolness.

“Johnny…” you start again, knowing that kissing him is beyond innappropriate but fucking him on your desk is a different monster entirely.

A few thick digits in your mouth quiet you and you gargle at the sudden intrusion. “Shh, bonnie,” he pacifies you, before wrapping his arm around your front and swiping a long stripe up your core with his spit-moistened fingers.

He braces your squirming body down with his large forearm. You yelp as he continues to swirl around your sensitive nub, the motion getting his fingers wetter and wetter as your body responds to his touch. He continues his ministrations with deft and experienced fingers that have your legs trembling underneath you. Eyes closed, you cry out in pleasure — and then come back to reality when you realize you’re about to be fucked by your vulnerable head trauma patient.

“Johnny! We can’t do this,” you plead.

“Why no’ hen? We both want it.” You can’t see him with how you’re positioned but you just know he’s doing that little head tilt thing he does when he’s genuinely confused.

“It’s not right, I’ll lose my job,” you whisper.

He huffs. “Don’t need it. I’ll take care of ye.”

A bulky finger slides into you and your knees knock together. “You’re my patient,” you reply, breathless.

“Gonna help me at home from now on,” he responds effortlessly, stretching you with another finger, continuing his slow, lazy pumps.

Home?

“W… what do you mean by ‘home’, Johnny?” your psychiatrist brain asks, waiting for your patient to define his train of thought like you would in any other session. As if you were across the couch from one another — instead of his fingers spreading you wide as your body is splayed on your desk.

“Home,” he replies simply, like the word should explain itself. A third finger enters you and you suck in a breath at the slight burn. You whimper.

“Pretty baby,” he coos, accent thicker than you’ve ever heard it.

Your nipples pebble but you attempt to resist giving him anymore physical responses. “We can’t do this Johnny,” you tremble — from his fingers or the situation you currently find yourself in, you’re not sure.

“This beautiful body is telling me otherwise, Doc,” he practically purrs, his fingers picking up speed.

“Please Johnny… I…” you gasp.

He rips his hand out and you bite down hard on your cheek to prevent yourself from crying at the loss of contact.

“Want more, baby?!” he beams, the sound of his zipper your only warning before his thick, warm cock rubs lengthwise against the entrance to your cunt, hard length massaging your clit as he pumps.

‘No,’ your mind thinks, but your traitorous body says ‘yes, yes, yes,’ as you draw in a sharp breath, legs pushing your ass back without asking your brain.

Johnny makes a pleased grunt as he continues, lubing his cock with your wet, pulsing pussy. You can’t help it — you moan. A sharp slap on your ass pushes you further into the wood and Johnny soothes the sting by hitting your reddening cheek with his sticky cock a few times in a row.

His hand wraps around the back of your neck, keeping you in place but he’s surprisingly gentle. “Meant to be mine,” he declares as he enters you slowly. You suck in a large breath. “Only good thing that came outta this,” and you know he’s tapping the side of his head with his other hand without looking back at him. You whine and he groans when he enters you to the hilt, squeezing the flesh of your hip with the hand not securing your neck.

That’s it.

You’re fucked.

In more ways than one.

Johnny’s fingertips dig into your skin as he picks up the pace slightly. You grip the side of your desk, not bothering to stop him now. It’s too late for that. Arguments die on your tongue as Johnny pounds into you from behind, the bony protuberance of your pelvis hitting bruisingly against the hardwood with every thrust.

You resort to holding on as best you can as Johnny slams against you, like his anger is seeping out of his skin by doing it. The slapping of flesh and your combined pants sucking the air from the room. Johnny bucks into you until his pace gets sloppy and then he stills, pulling himself out with frustrated groan.

His hands leave you and you lay there, boneless, but watch as he drags your chair around the desk, cock bobbing and glistening in the light as he walks. He supports your weight effortlessly as he places you in your chair, like a delicate piece of china. He grunts as he drops to his knees in front of you, and you watch with hooded eyes as his arms come up underneath your knees and pull you to the edge of the seat — right to his waiting mouth.

Johnny swirls and curls his tongue around the sensitive flesh of your pussy, wrapping a strong arm across your lap to keep your bucking hips down. It stings a little, his solid arm pressing into the bruises forming on your hip. You pant and whine, unable to control the noises spilling out of you.

He doesn’t stop, licking and sucking until that little bundle of nerves can’t take it anymore. With all your strength you try to back away from his mouth but the effort is fruitless. Tears stream down your cheek, the sensitivity making you plead with him. “I can’t… Johnny please… please…”

He hums, the vibration sending a shockwave up your spinal column. He slows down but only slightly and you see stars, head floating as you cum on his tongue. He hums again and you shiver violently in reaction. Pulling back now, he smiles drunkenly at you and kisses your pussy before standing and lining himself back up with you.

Your legs are firmly secured and he throws your calves onto his broad shoulders. He teases your entrance before he lets out a sputtered groan. “Bonnie little thing,” he sighs before spearing you on his cock. You're contorted at an impossible angle, one you’re definitely going to feel later, as Johnny relentlessly drives himself into you.

Voice cracking, you can’t stop the sounds of pleasure that escape from between your lips. Sweat drips down Johnny’s brow as he concentrates. One of your hands grips the arm of your chair and the other finds your lower stomach, feeling Johnny’s cock push into you. The thick hair covering his muscular body tickles but it’s barely noticeable over the pleasure coursing through your system.

Your toes curl as another orgasm rips through you, and you bite down hard on the forearm braced beside your head. Johnny whines in pleasure, hips stuttering before resuming their normal brutal rhythm.

“‘M close, bonnie,” he pants. His motions become more flustered as he approaches his climax. The hand gripping onto the arm of your chair now curls around his forearm as you hold tight to him.

He releases, his spend coating your walls in thick spurts and he drops his body on top of yours. You can feel him twitching inside of you as you wrap your arms around his shoulders.

After a few moments, Johnny catches his breath and snakes his arms under you. He lifts you out of the chair and brings you to the couch he’s sat on countless times before, letting your limp form curl against his. He pets your head lovingly as you lay against him, humming softly to himself.

When you fall asleep, Johnny whispers his plans of the future to you. The house he’d purchased in the Highlands a couple of weeks ago is ready to move into. You won’t have to worry your pretty little head about a thing. The plane is chartered, and you’ll both be on it. He’ll be able to last longer next time, and you’re going to give him the most beautiful family — together you’ve already started to.

[anemhoez]

Otherworldly…

Boothill/AFAB Reader

tags: @bokukenmakuroo

WARNINGS: unprotected sex I GUESS?? he doesn’t ejaculate and its made of fine grade silicone sooo????

A/N: in where Boothill gets a check-up 🤭 ok ok so the recent quest let us know more about him and this has been in the drafts for a while so there will be inaccuracies hehe and alot left to my imagination, yes im a robot fucker HEHE! also please imagine my man with the prettiest most perfect robot dick you’ve ever seen, lord i just know its big…oh also im not a robotics or programming expert but they’re in space and stuff im sure tech like this exists in their world SOMEHOW loll

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

“Hold still, it should only take a few seconds.” you said to Boothill as he fidgeted under your touch. “I’m ticklish doc,” he said with a sharp toothed smile as you replaced one of the many sensory devices on the metal skin at his shoulder.

“The famous interstellar galaxy ranger being subdued by a bit of tickling? Don’t let your enemies find out.” Once finished, you reattached the cover and made sure it was flush with the other metal parts of his body. He truly was a technological marvel, sleek and efficient with not one line of code or piece of hardware going to waste. You considered yourself lucky to be his technician, a job offer you were pleasantly surprised by.

“You think I’ve got enemies?” he asked with sincerity, not believing that there were people out there who actually didn’t like him, or even targeted him. “I’ve seen the reports Boot.” you quickly pulled up a program on the screen in front of you to begin configuring the new sensor.

“Thats all…alternative facts, darlin.” you simply rolled your eyes and input some commands, ignoring his silly statement. “You say your synesthesia beacon was hacked?” you asked for reassurance, not once looking away from the screen and you heard as he sucked his teeth behind you.

“It sure forkin’ was, you think you can fix it?” You knew you were a great technician, fantastic even. But taking down an IPC virus? That was something you’d need a few days to crack. “I can try,” you cocked your head to the side, your statement causing him to jump up off the examination table in excitement.

“But aside from that and the sensor malfunction, is there anything else you need looking at?” you asked as you typed quickly. “You might as well get everything looked at before you head back out.” He stayed quiet though, not answering your question but instead turning away from you.

“Boothill?” you asked turning to him, realizing he was awfully quiet for someone who just jumped up for joy. He rubbed the back of his neck, “We have, doctor and patient confidentiality right?” he asked in a low gravely voice, as if someone would be able to hear him outside of your workshop.

“Dammit boothill! I’m a mechanic not a doctor!” you exclaimed absolutely sick of him calling you by a title you didn’t have credentials for. “So no we don’t but,” you stood up and walked over to him, turning his body around in a circle looking him over to see if it was something visible on him you could fix right away. “I’m not going to go around and talk about it if that’s what you mean.”

You placed a hand on your hip, “I may not look it cause I’m usually covered in grease and keep my workshop a mess, but I do consider myself a professional you know.” he sighed and looked at you, “Of course you are! You’re one of the best machinists I’ve ever had, it’s just. Aw fudge how do I even say this?!”

He resigned himself to feeling foolish for the worries he had. “I’m uh, having trouble with…intimacy.” he finally said, meeting your eyes. “Well, I’m also not a match maker so…” you looked at him with an eyebrow raised. He sighed and held his head in his hands, “Finding a partner isn’t the issue, it’s when I’m with someone. I can’t really feel it, you understand?”

You tried to picture it in your mind. Could cyborgs even achieve an orgasm? And even if they could, could they ejaculate? The scholar in you was fascinated, but the friend and professional in you was ready to help in any way you could.

You grabbed a tool from your bench quickly and headed back towards him. “Drop ‘em.” you said matter of factly pointing to his pants and he clutched his groin in reaction to you. “You fudgin’ joking? Wait, come on now-“ he stuttered through his words as a blush formed on his face. “Boot, do you want me to help you or not?” you crossed your arms, “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before, you can trust me.”

He had never had someone besides the technician who affixed his broken body to metal even look down there. He hesitated but given just how important this was to him, he sighed and dropped his trousers after undoing his belt. His cock was…to say the least…impressive. It even bobbed and twitched in a way similar to that of a person made of flesh and bone. Upon seeing it through the eyes of a machinist however, you started to notice just how intricately crafted it was.

“Aeons, just what exactly were they thinking with detail like this?” you asked with a small giggle before taking his appendage in your hand and detaching it from his body. “I’m not a love machine, if that’s what you’re insinuating sweetheart.” He explained almost immediately, as if it’s something that needed defending. He shuffled back into his pants, “This iron body of mine was made for combat, and revenge.” You shrugged playfully and raised an eyebrow, “So you didn’t ask them for this cock then?” you joked, holding it in your hand and testing its weight. “Alright, alright just…see what you can do?” He huffed and pulled his hat down over his eyes in embarrassment.

You began disassembling the object, looking for any visible damage. “You keeping it clean and oiled?” you ask and he just sighs, “This is so embarrassing but yes. I perform regular maintenance on myself weekly.”

“Only weekly?” you teased and he rolled his eyes, “Okay okay, I’ll stop.” you reassembled everything and took the device over to your computer, plugging a wire into the hidden port you found

“Let’s see what…oh wow!” you yelped as you examined the device’s programming. “What an interesting piece of tech!” you said with a smile. Now you were the one blushing. “What?” he said and came over to examine the code with you, only seeing an unfamiliar mess of text. “Is it broken?!”

You input a commend into the terminal and the appendage began thrusting on its own. “Quite the opposite actually, did you know it had this many modes?” You typed away and the device now vibrated so violently it rolled off of the desk and onto the floor. “I should’ve guessed what extreme vibration meant.” you picked it up and held it with both hands.

For some reason, seeing you holding it like you were about to jerk it off made him stare. “No I didn’t, but that’s not the issue I’m having. I’m having trouble really feeling, if you catch my drift?” he said and looked away again while coughing awkwardly.

“You mean having an orgasm?” You placed the metallic phallus on the desk with a loud thud. “I can check if you have any software updates, and maybe come up with something of my own.” you turned to him, “If you don’t mind leaving it here with me to tinker with it.” you said with a playful smirk. That was all he needed to hear as he turned to head out, “I’ve never been without it for long so, just be gentle okay?” he said as he headed out. You immediately turned towards him, “Hey! Just what do you think I’m gonna do with it?!”

************

You had stayed up late the past couple of nights, modding the mechanical cock. If your professor had told you all those years ago in university that you’d be working on an interstellar cowboy’s robotic dick, you probably would’ve screamed. But here you were, losing sleep to help a client yet again. You had reviewed so many lines of code that you were even seeing it whenever you closed your eyes.

“Warming mode?” you whispered to yourself and looked over at the cock half expecting it to shoot off into the ceiling, but nothing happened. You reached out and grabbed it, feeling a light warmth to it. “Oh!” you said out loud as you held it with both hands, the warm appendage oddly soothing in your grip. You rubbed the smooth artificial skin, gunmetal gray in color and detailed with thick veins. The smoothness of it was thanks to the layer of silicone skin that felt so much like the real thing it almost scared you. Not to heavy, but not too light either, almost the perfect weight and girth. A devious fleeting thought flashed in your mind, of how it could possibly feel inside of you.

You shook the thoughts from your head immediately and put it down, finally turning off your computer and heading to bed to get the rest you so desperately needed.

************

Boothill arrived a few days later in much better spirits. “Well? How’s my pecker?” he said loudly with his arms out as he walked over to you. You shook your head and grabbed a tool to reattach it to him. “This thing’s a monster.” you said tiredly and helped him with his pants once the device was back on his body. You observed how he adjusted himself in his pants, he was no different from someone with an actual dick in that regard either. Another one of those debaucherous thoughts came to your mind as you looked him up an down. Thats when you realized just how fucking attractive he was.

“Anyway, I adjusted some things so you don’t accidentally kill anyone.” You explained the various functions and modes, telling him the restrictions you put on certain settings so no one would get seriously hurt while fucking him. “Yeah I’d hate to burn someone’s uh, insides.”

“I also wanna see if I can get your beacon working again.” You handed him a wire and he connected it to a port on his neck. You started the download and waited for the hack to work. You looked at the cowboy who was currently smiling at you.

“I can’t thank you enough doc- uh Y/n.,” You smiled back and waved him off, “It was nothing, I’m happy to help.” you started re-organizing your tools as his software updated. “Bet you’re just dying to see if it worked, I don’t mind testing it out right now.” he suggested and took his hat off, placing it on your desk gently. Of course you’d want to know if your tinkering actually worked, but you knew the only way to test it was for him to…well…pleasure himself.

“Sure, you can use the bathroom and test it out. Let me know how it felt, in detail.” you said as a slight heat crept up your body. He looked in the direction of the bathroom, a smile spreading on his lips. “Actually, I was hoping you’d want to test it out, with me?”

His words shot straight to your core, your stomach jumping with sudden anticipation. Your cheeks went flush and you hoped you didn’t look as flustered as you felt. “Are you sure? Wouldn’t that be a little uh, inappropriate?” you put down your tools and turned to look at him. You inched closer and closer, knowing you weren’t about to pass up the offer. After all, it was your duty as a scientist wasn’t it?

He chuckled and started moving closer as well, “What’s so inappropriate about making sure your hard work pays off?” He was but a breath away and reached out to grab your hand and you let him intertwine his fingers with yours, his robotic hand surprisingly gentle. “In all honesty, I thought about it while I was working on…it.” He moaned out loudly, “That’s so fucking hot.” he said, stopping when he realized he finally cursed properly.

“Looks like your beacon is fixed,” you pulled the wire from his neck gently, “Don’t go getting hacked again.” you teased and his hands came to rest on your waist. “You’ll fix me though? Won’t ya?” he leaned in, closing the small gap between you two. You moved to wrap your arms around his neck and mumbled a soft “Yes.” into the kiss as he lifted you up.

He walked the both of you to the workbench that was high enough so that you were perfectly fitted in his embrace. His strong yet gentle hands trailed up your back and under your shirt, his mouth hot on yours as the two of you shared an intense kiss.

You allowed him to pull your shirt off of you, briefly interrupting the kiss. “You’ve got such great control of your mobility module.” you said in praise and he moved in to kiss at the exposed flesh now available to him. His tongue licked a trail along your collar bones to your neck, “Can you, taste? “ He chuckled against your skin as he sucked, parting your legs before pulling away. “Sure can.” he whispered gruffly in your ear before bending down and slotting between your legs.

You hesitated a bit when you saw his sharp teeth, worried about your sensitive skin down there. But as soon as he buried himself into your cunt you threw your head back, letting the pleasure take over and the worries fade.

He moaned, the highly sensitive sensors on his tongue allowing him to fully enjoy your taste. You tugged at his hair, moving it out of his face to get a better look at him. He met your gaze and pulled away, his elongated tongue shrinking down to its regular size impressively.

“And you say you’re not a love machine,” you teased and wrapped your legs around his neck. You wiped at the corner of his mouth and he opened it to suck on your thumb, “Mmh, I can be your love machine,” he said before moving back to work his tongue along your folds. You watched it extend in real time as he dove in deeper inside of you, spreading your legs widers to get his artificial tongue as deep as he could. You felt him so deep inside, an unfamiliar but delicious feeling, making you let out a loud whimper at the intensity of it all.

He snaked his arms around your thighs, pulling you even closer while he pulled up on the skin above your pussy. “Ahh!,” you moaned out and dug your nails into his scalp desperately. The cowboy groaned deeply, lapping up what poured out of you and soon introducing his fingers to fuck you while his mouth sucked hard at your clit.

You could feel yourself coming undone as his nimble fingers curved to find your spot, fingering you hard. You soon cried out as you climaxed, writhing under his touch and clenching down on his fingers as he stood to face you.

You immediately pulled him into a kiss, pulling your bra down to finally expose your breasts to him. His hands came to squeeze the soft flesh and he pulled away, staring at them lovingly as he chuckled. “What’s so funny?” you asked looking at him while you held onto the backs of his mechanical hands as he squeezed. “I’ve just…been wanting to do this for a very, very long time.”

He pulled himself from his pants and began sliding his thick metallic shaft against your wet folds. “Fuck, I can feel how wet you are? I can’t believe it.” You patted yourself on the back mentally for your ingenuity. You moved to take him by the back of his head for another feverish kiss. He held you close, his metal abs and chest surprisingly warm against your skin. The two of you pulled away from each other with a huff after making out for a few minutes.

“You’re a fucking genius.” he praised and held your face in his hands, your face heating up at the compliment. “Thank you,” you breathed deeply and looked down at his cock that was still teasing you, desperately wanting him inside of you. “I’d love to see what else I’ve improved upon,” you said as you laid back down, opening your legs wide for him. Your hands went to your folds where you collected your slick and moved to tease your bud, “And if you’re any better than something I can manufacture on my own.”

You saw a glint in his eyes as he smiled wickedly. He took your hand from your cunt and along with your other hand, he pinned them over your head. He grunted as he finally entered you, his long hair cascading down on either side of his face as he moved in closer to kiss you.

Those thick eight inches of his robotic cock finally plunged into you, deep. You whined, the sensation feeling so familiar to the “real” thing but so much better. He growled and nipped at your bottom lip, all the while pushing in and out of you slowly.

“You curious about the modes? Or do you just want me at default?” he asked as he let go of your hands. “Surprise me.” You pulled him back to your lips and he kissed you roughly before leaning back up and pulling you towards the edge of the bench.

You watched as he lolled his head back, his body fully reacting to being inside of you. “This what I’ve been missing?” he asked rhetorically, as you propped yourself up on your elbows. “How is it?” you asked, wanting to know if your improvements worked. “Amazing, It’s so warm and tight darlin’.” he hissed as he moved his hands to grab your ankles.

“I mean- ahh!” you were cut off by a particularly hard thrust, “What are you feeling?” you asked and kissed him briefly before letting him speak again. “It feels like every one of my sensors is activating at once, an overall good feeling? I don’t really know how to-” You cut him off to kiss him again, running your tongue over his sharp teeth before pulling away. “That’s okay, it seems like the program is working, fuck!” you exclaimed as his dick brushed over that oh so sweet and toe curling spot inside of you. You looked at him with pleading eyes, “You’re fucking me so good Boothill.”

Lost in the moment and moaning against his lips, you suddenly felt his cock getting warmer inside of you. The sensation filling you with new feelings of pleasure you’d never felt before. “Risky but, fuck that feels so good.” Your words caught in your throat as he thrust into you harder. “Got somethin else for ya.” He practically growled as his cock started to vibrate inside of you.

“Oh fuck!” his pistoning inside of you sped up as you came hard, clenching down on him and causing him to moan out loudly. The cry that fell from his lips was desperate, “Fuck how did you-?!” he couldn’t stop himself as he fucked into you faster and harder, “Get tighter?!” the vibrations along with the almost brutal pounding he was giving you brought you over the edge again and this time your juices squirted all over him.

He slowed down and pulled out of you, your essence slick on his shaft and spilling out of you onto the bench. You whimpered as he pumped his fingers into you, your cunt still extremely sensitive. “And you think what I’ve got between my legs is dangerous.” He said with a smile before bringing you to stand on your wobbly legs, re-entering you from behind and meeting your lips as you turned to look back at him.

Boothill gained that sane speed from before within seconds, his cock at default as he chased whatever high he could find. “You doin ok doll?” His voice seemed so sweet and gentle against the lewd and messy sounds of his harsh backshots into you. He then pulled you further onto him by grabbing a fistful of your hair. “Yessshmmmmmuhh, its- hmmssofuckiggood.” You babbled gibberish as your response to him, just scratching at the the cold slab below you. He fucked into you faster and faster, your pussy clenching down on him as you lost yourself in the full body euphoria that overtook you.

Boothill chuckled darkly and pumped into you harder, moaning as his peak neared with every thrust. He let out an almost howl, feeling your tightness around him bringing him over into a sweet, delicious bliss that he could really feel for the first time. “Fuuuck!” he sighed and stuttered against you, leaning over and biting down your neck gently as he “came”.

“Your hard work payed off gorgeous, that was incredible.” He praised as he slowly leaned back and pulled out of you. You turned to him seeing his very satisfied and flushed face, “Incredible is an understatement,” you sighed and reached down to grab your pants, “That was, fucking otherworldly.”

You were about to put your pants back on but he stopped you. “What the hell you doin’ darlin? I’ve only fucked one hole so far,” he looked at you with intense eyes as he moved in closer. “For fuck’s sake Boothill, you’re gonna ruin me for other people!” He smiled that signature pointy smile of his and gave you a kiss on the cheek.“Thats the point.” His voice was alot lower than it usually was, a sultry and sensual tone laced within it.

“Now, on your knees.” You obliged quickly, finally taking off your bra so that you were completely bare before him. You took his cock in your mouth eagerly, looking up at him through your lashes as you took him in fully. You were proud of your work, there was truly no technician out more brilliant and luckier than you in this moment.

Now, if only you could manufacture and program a way to have him ejaculate inside of you…

A/N: i think i blacked out writing this………hes sooooooo…..i will never be normal about him thank you so much hoyo for this rootin tootin hottie 🥴 GODDDDD SAVE A HORSEEEEE!!! 🤧 i also think itd be cute to have other scenarios with him like….him learning how to love someone again and- 😭 idk i just want some angssst and like, a life with him?!?!

[shepscapades]

SORRY IF THIS HAS BEEN ANSWERED BEFORE! BUT! do the androids ever need to charge? or do they purely run on thirium? like are they solar powered? do they have wireless charging pads they sleep under? like how does this work /gq

NO THATS A VALID QUESTION!! Honestly the actual dbh wiki is an unprecedented amount of unhelpful so I have to make everything up myself /silly

Afaik, thirium is only ever described as the fluid required to power the androids’ “biocomponents,” aka organs, aka individual modules that each power, like... A function. For example, there’s an audio biocomponent, the eyes are biocomponents, the thirium pump and thirium pump regulator are both biocomponents, etc etc etc. So technically, as long as an android has thirium, their biocomponents should be able to work just fine? But it seems improbable to me that an android could just work and work and work and never get “tired” (less effective, worn down over time, fried, etc). So in dbhc, the way the androids were first designed by Xisuma meant that they could only work for so long before they needed to go into a Low Power Mode of some sort, aka to rest (so their circuits and insides don’t fry from overuse).

Later, sometime late s8 or early s9, xisuma and doc tweak the androids’ OS so that Low Power Mode works more or less like sleeping (as an option to androids who want more of a human experience). Instead of the androids needing to sit/stand somewhere and be sort of inoperable/limited capability for a few hours, an android will start getting “sleepy” or low-inefficiency/sluggish/etc after a certain amount of time and then require proper rest (I’m sure that x and doc time it so that androids are running on a clock similar to human bodies—aka, active for about 12-16 hours a day, needing rest for 6-8 hours, etc). While they can’t necessarily control the when the “sleepiness” comes on (such as when they’ve been working harder/running hotter one day and need rest sooner), I think I imagine that the androids do decide when to trigger or start sleep procedure/sleep mode/low power mode or whatever.

So, they don’t need to “charge” per se, but they definitely need rest! Giving them a rest period also makes Impulse’s specialty more meaningful, since he was designed to be able to work for longer periods of time without rest/carry heavier loads :]

[avalordream]

Part 2: Imagine you get isekaied in Our Life. Only thing is that you wake up as a child and remember everything. You can only save at this point but you can still access the save and load menu and see your previous runs.

Meanwhile your precious neighbor is slowly becoming self aware, getting deja vu with every passing second- as if this has all happened before...

A/N: This took way longer than I thought it would but I hope you enjoy!

Nothing was without consequence

Noelani knew something was off with MC…

For all she knew, something was wrong with her child and she didn’t know what to do

True, MC looked and acted mostly the same

But the look in their eyes…

No kid suddenly just looked so…lost 

They visibly looked hopeless and upset…

She didn’t know what to do..

Noelani went on numerous doctor’s visits with Pam but they all said the same thing- 

Her kid was just going through an episode or a mood shift and that it was completely normal. 

To every single one, they ran standard procedures and MC acted… completely after the second or third. 

The first appointment they went to, MC was confused but they were honest about their answers. 

After that? Noelani had a feeling they either caught on or didn’t want to bother anyone - smart as that was for an eight year old

She saw through each front, painstakingly held up by the impression they set on that first initial appointment

It was fake. 

But you wouldn’t know that unless you spent 24 hours a day with the kid.

Noelani didn’t know what to do…

She already tried asking MC if they were ok but she wasn’t blind. 

She loved MC and Elizabeth fiercely - attuned to their little habits - and as was Pam.

So she knew as well as Pam that they tended to share some blunt wisdom / tell a few white lies / spin quite the tall tales.

Yet they giggled, saying “Ma! You’re so funny! But I’m ok! Really!” / pat her arm, thinking for a moment before saying “I’m ok Ma. I just… feel a lil’ different. That’s all.” / paused before wrapping their arms around her middle with a small nuzzle. “I’m… not feeling too good. But I’ll get better soon. Promise.”

The exact opposite than usual…

No matter how comforting they tried to be, MC’s words were oddly unsettling… 

It was so… out of character for them.

The doctors had assured both of them that kids tend to have some mood swings now and then and that it was completely normal. Perfect even.

Even so, she could see it affecting Elizabeth as well.

She would often come barrelling down to herself or Pam whenever MC would shut themselves in their room…

“Ma!! MC doesn’t want to play with me! They said they’re too tired!”

“Mooms!! MC said that they don’t want to play dolls with me and that dolls are for babies! We played dolls YESTERDAY!!”

“Mooom! MC’s not leaving their room! And-! And!! They said they don’t feel like playing with me and Shiloh at the park!”

More frustratingly, at least for a time, was when Pamela tried to console her, seemingly taking on the side of the doctors, insisting she relax

“Kids go through mood swings! It’s normal! Don’t worry ‘Lani!”

“The docs said they were ok, right? Then it’s settled!”

“Don’t fret, Noelani! The kid’ll go back to normal in no time!” 

Sometimes it felt like Pam was just saying those things to comfort her…as if she didn’t believe her.

In retrospect, she knew her wife meant well but in the moment? 

It felt like the world had pitted her favorite person against her.

It felt personal. 

For some time, it caused some friction between the pair.

Friction that didn’t go unnoticed by neither Elizabeth, nor MC. 

Elizabeth was more outspoken on her worry, although she acted like nothing was wrong on the outside.

MC…acted as if nothing was wrong but…she saw the worried glances and sneaky looks of concern from them when they thought nobody was looking

If she wasn’t…as…observant as she was…she would’ve assumed they were just acting aloof.

Slowly, she began to see herself against the world- beginning to question her very position

Why was not a single person helping her?

Didn’t they see how startlingly different her kid had become?

Even their college friends didn’t see a difference….

Surely, there was a reason everyone but her was noticing…

Was she really… overreacting?

Eventually, she stopped bringing it up altogether, although the underlying tension remained for some time.

“Noelaniiii! You still here with us?”

Her head jerked up as she registered the faces of college friends in front of her, unfocused for a moment as her vision cleared to check in the finer details.

“Ah- No, I apologize- What were we talking about?”

Their college friends were nearing the end of their trip and this was the last of many hangouts. At least for the time being. 

After this, it was time for their flight back home so Pam decided to hire a babysitter to watch the kids so they could come.

“Well, it’s alright. We just noticed the house in front has just been sold!”

“Oooh! That’s right! Apparently, it was previously owned by a family a state away! Their home away from home!”

“Aww! That must be nice!”, Noelani hummed, envying this mystery family for a moment. How nice would that be? If she could have a home away from home, she’d have one in Hawaii… The kids’ grandparents just moved back too… 

“Right?? I wonder who’s moving in though?”

“Ditto! Guess we’ll just have to see!”, Pam chuckled, smile bright as their friends gave their opinions on what the new neighbor would be like.

Recently, the couple had reached a truce.

Truthfully, they both wanted the best for their children.

Noelani agreed to try to not worry herself into stressing about them- if this was how she worried about them now, how was she going to live when they were teenagers?, Pam reasoned.

Meanwhile, Pam agreed to be a bit more mindful if any worries were brought up and not to be as dismissive.

Easy to say but...she was glad they were talking again, smile brighter as she felt Pam's fingers intertwine with her own.

Their voices drifted in and out of Noelani’s ears as she sipped on her lemonade with a giggle of her own.

Life ebbs and flows like the sea…That’s the beautiful thing about it…

It changes just a little everyday. 

The best we can do, Lani thought to herself, is adapt and go with the flow.

Only time will tell...

And just like that… summer started.

-> Next... <-

-> Previous... <-

-> Extras <-

⊹ ‧₊˚ Isekai Self Aware Taglist: @lilqi @annoying-mary @mellozhi @mymelody58 ˚₊‧ ⊹

A/N.2: And just like that, we're finally starting this properly! Just letting ya'll know now, I am in college and thus, future updates might be delayed! I don't have a set schedule to write and stuff and I tend to do it when motivation hits. I liked trying to see what Noelani's thought process would be in this scenario and by GOD- It was HARD. But! I did my best! Aaaand, I don't think it turned out too bad! Again, I hope you enjoyed! :D

[just-jordie-things]

I’m in love with the idea of yuuta being with a reader that has healing abilities

Imagine him coming back from missions with such MINOR injuries and having to go to shoko’s clinic for it, and always asking for you to be the one to look after him 😂

“Yuuta I don’t think you need to have this checked… and don’t you know how to use reversed curse energy too?”

“….no”

Or one time he shows up without any injuries so he has to fake a migraine or something lmaooo that simp would use any chance he could get just to see you

obsessed. lovesick yuuta is so stupid and i love him sm for it <3

yuuta only ever saw shoko in passing, and always away from the infirmary. he admired shoko well enough, and the feeling was mutual (or as mutual as shoko was capable of feeling) but he simply never had a need to visit her for her abilities. having mastered rct not long into his first year as a student yuuta was capable of taking care of his own injuries.

but after a few years, shoko began to notice an uptick in the younger sorcerer's presence in her infirmary. and it was no secret what it was that brought him around.

"okkotsu, back again so soon?" your voice is a sweet coo- it always is when he comes staggering in to present you with yet another injury. you tilt your head and pout t him with worry. meanwhile shoko has to excuse herself for a smoke so she won't vomit from the sickening sweetness.

yuuta never questions shoko's disappearance when he comes around. he's too grateful to have you all to himself.

he's cradling his broken wrist poorly, letting his hand flop outwards at an angle it wasn't meant to be bent. its gruesome, the bone showing and blood staining his white jacket. but the difficult part isn't managing the pain. the difficult part is holding back the natural instinct to fix it himself.

"this looks nasty," you tut, replacing his hand holding the ugly injury with both of your own. you barely examine it for a minute before you're using own technique, and like magic his wrist repaired and his hand is facing the right direction again. "there we go" you give the fix a smile, squeezing his wrist first and then reaching for his hand and prodding your fingers around that too. you tell yourself you're only double checking to be sure everything healed properly.

it takes all of yuuta's efforts not to snatch your hand in his own and hold on tight. he can feel every muscle in his body relaxing as he gazes at you.

"thanks, doc" he says, and just like the last hundred or maybe thousand times he's said it, you smile just a little bit.

"anytime, okkotsu," you tell him, and you mean it, but something about this visit has you questioning him for once. your fingers finally still on his hand, a few wrapped around his own fingers, others pressed into his palm. your pinky stretches out to the inside of his healed yet bloody wrist, hovering against his pulse point. "but... it must be tiring, coming 'round here to get fixed up..." you trail off, catching his eyes even though he was clearly trying to avoid yours. "...when you could just heal yourself"

yuuta's face begins to flush with color and you can't help but squeeze his hand with your delight. did you think he was an idiot for pulling this stunt over and over again for the last few months? maybe... but were you the idiot that watched him waltz in here with every excuse under the sun- from his organs nearly spilling out to a minor headache- who was more than happy to sit and heal him anyways? perhaps...

"...suppose it can be"

yuuta's answer comes closely, and without much explanation to you at all. you only smile at him, dropping one of your hands from his so that when you leaned in closer to him, you could swipe his messy bangs away from his eyes.

"if i didn't know any better, i'd think you were looking for an excuse to come see me" your voice is a whisper, and also the sweetest thing yuuta's ever heard in his life.

"maybe every once in a while..." he admits, and in his mind, your giggle outranks your whispered voice.

"so you think using up all my band-aids for your nicks and paper cuts was necessary?" you tease, tilting your head at him ever so slightly.

"i mean... i'd say mission accomplished" he replies with a grin that could only be described as shit eating.

you roll your eyes at him, but your own smile is nothing short of fond.

"okkotsu yuuta, the next time i see you in here, it better be because you're coming to ask me out properly, and not while you're bleeding all over my floor"

his grin softens as he melts before you.

"noted"

[staycalmandhugaclone]

Fool's Errand Pt 13

Part (13) of Fool's Errand, the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

If I ever say there'll only be one more chapter in an arc... just... ignore that. Very similar to a wedding photographer saying "just one more picture." Lies. It's all lies.

Warnings: Reference to child being injured, standard guilt and regret, mild injury description and medical procedure, panic, profanity, mild brotherly teasing

WC: 4,461

“Any dizziness or problems with your vision?” The routine words left with little thought toward either the question itself or the dismissive answer given, and the man before me clearly resonated that disinterest, bright green eyes never turning from the girl tucked firmly into his side. I hadn’t seen their reunion, but the depth of their love for each other, the relief in finally finding themselves together once more lay plainly in how inseparable they’d been since he’d boarded, flanked by Wrecker and Echo, as Tech darted past to get the Marauder airborne before anyone had even begun reaching for the crash seats.

“Your… um, your man – the clone – the… with the glasses…” He muttered, hand motioning vaguely toward the cockpit, “he already asked me all this.” I had to steal a short breath to bite back the rush of annoyance at his generalized labels.

“I imagine he did.” I responded in a pointedly professional tone. “Tech is extremely capable in several fields, including medical, but you know how it is, Senator: we all have our own paperwork.” He let out an absent hum, hand coming back up to slide gently down his daughter’s hair.

“To the best of your knowledge, did you lose consciousness at any point?” I continued, but he didn’t turn back to me.

“Was she hurt?” The sudden quiet of his question caught me off guard, attention lifting to find him nearly curled around the dozing child. “Areeya… was she hurt?” He pressed, fighting back the tears clawing up his throat. I didn’t answer for a moment, unsure if he was the type to lash out and blame anyone but himself for what happened; stomach churning over the danger such a man might pose… but I remembered the Senator from Alderaan… how kind he’d been…

“Yes.” I whispered, gaze studying him carefully for some sign of warning, but he didn’t lash out; didn’t turn toward me with rage in those eyes he’d clearly passed on to her. “A ship she was on crashed… but she was lucky – my squad secured her well enough to prevent all but some minor injuries – small burns on her legs, a few bruises.” His eyes instantly travelled over the tiny form in search of any signs of such trauma. “I’ve already treated it – she probably won’t even scar.” He was still for a moment, and then a tremor stole through him. It was so slight, I nearly missed it, but then another seized his shoulders. And another.

I lingered for only a moment as he began to break. There were questions I still needed to ask, tests I was required to run… but not now. The man before me was a politician. He’d likely sent countless to their deaths from the comfort of some mansion absent a moment’s thought toward what widows they left behind. Maybe he’d been responsible for withholding resources desperately needed by the army. Maybe he’d spoken out against increasing provisions, or refused to entertain thought toward measures of caring for the soldiers once the war was over. Maybe not. Maybe he was one of the good ones – someone who recognized clones for the very real, very human people they were and acknowledged the horrors “leaders" like him subjected them to…

Regardless, in that moment, his career didn’t matter. He was a father. And he was mourning his failures in protecting the child who still sought nothing more than the safety of his embrace. And that was a moment not meant for the eyes of a stranger.

I gently rested my hand on his shoulder, fingers briefly tightening for what glimmer of comfort that silent gesture might offer before standing and treading toward the fore of the ship, footsteps echoing quietly about the otherwise empty cabin.

In the cockpit, Wrecker lounged across the pair of chairs behind the copilot’s seat, surprisingly soft snores just catching on slow, deep breaths, clearly having fallen asleep mid-conversation with his brother. Tech glanced only briefly toward me as I sat beside him before letting his gaze return to the datapad balanced on his thighs, jaw taut with annoyance from, I could only imagine, his inability to hold the device with the hand still strapped to his chest.

I watched the light trails of hyperspace gleaming against the soft yellow shielding eyes narrowed above a tense frown, and I didn’t need to look at the small screen to know what he was reading.

“Hunter…” He started, but, in a rare moment of hesitation, let the following words remain unspoken.

“Yeah.” It was barely a whisper, legs pulling up to tuck against my chest as I watched him. He didn’t look at me, but his attention shifted away from the hastily written medical report I’d typed out while waiting for them to return, and I briefly wondered if he’d blame me for everything Echo had been so eager to dismiss. Part of me hoped he would, that someone else might justify the guilt still raging in my chest.

“There’s no record of brain damage from the most recent scan.” My arms tightened around my knees at the façade of hope forced into his words.

“Nothing serious, no.” I confirmed before continuing quietly, reluctantly, “Field scanners are pretty limited for fine detail, though.” He knew that, and I hated how effortlessly that simple fact robbed him of whatever denial he’d so briefly clung to. “I’ll know more after we rendezvous with the Vigilance. Unless he wakes up before then.” I added, and my teeth worried absently at my lip from the silence that followed.

“How’s your arm?” He didn’t respond for several seconds, his gaze finally shifting almost disdainfully toward the restrained limb.

“Unusable.” He replied with more than a touch of impatience before forcing out a small sigh and continuing, “but I believe your stitches are holding.” A tiny huff of laughter caught in my throat that made his lips bunch slightly.

“Mind if I take a look?” Some of that tension eased from his shoulders, attention shifting back to me as the screen to his datapad went dark.

“If you believe it would be beneficial.” He yielded, leaning back slightly against his seat.

“I believe the last thing we need right now is for one of you guys to get an infection.” I responded, pushing myself to my feet, and the look of offense that instantly pulled at his face drew a barely restrained chuckle from me.

“I would recognize the signs of infection long before it became dire.” I flashed him a smile at the chastising words, settling lightly onto my knees beside him.

“You focus on getting us back to the GAR.” I replied warmly. “I’ll make sure your arm doesn’t fall off.” He merely hummed dryly in response, and I couldn’t help but be struck by the stillness around us, by the violent juxta of that quiet against the chaos I’d found myself in the center of mere hours prior, and I savored it in the way I carefully freed him of the brace, movements just shy of reverent as I began stripping him of what armor he’d been able to slip on around the thick bandages.

“I didn’t think you’d still be able to rescue the Senator after we had to blow the walls early.” I murmured, words hushed.

“It… wasn’t easy.” He admitted, voice catching slightly at even the tiny strain of supporting the weight of his forearm, and I quickly guided him forward to rest the limb on his thigh. “Echo and I were forced to crash the speeder into his transport to prevent them from taking off.” I paused, taken aback by the lengths they’d had to go to.

“If you keep crashing things, the GAR’s not going to let you fly anymore.” I teased. His brow hitched as he glanced toward me from the corner of his eyes, but his expression softened slightly at the little smirk warming the mockery of accusation narrowing my gaze.

“I believe this maneuver would more appropriately be referred to as tactical misuse of an appropriated transport.” I didn’t try to hide the way my face contorted around a barely muffled laughter, and thrilled in the almost shy smile just managing to toy with his lips.

“Wouldn’t’a had to ‘tactically misuse’ anything if yuh’d just let me blow that last charge.” Wrecker mumbled, appearing to all the worlds as though he were still asleep save for his good eye peaking groggily at us.

“Had you detonated the final charge, there was a non-zero likelihood of the Senator being caught in the explosion.” Tech retorted, and it was clearly not the first time he’d had to voice that argument.

“Ahh, he’d’ve been fine.” Wreck dismissed with a lazy wave of his hand. “The clanker’s had ‘im way in the back. Maybe a couple ‘a bruises, but then we wouldn’t’ve had to run all the way up here!” I had to fight the wince at the thought of him running up the steep hill, knee only just beginning to heal.

“Your way likely would have resulted in our primary objective being injured or rendered unconscious, in which case we likely would have needed to carry him to the Marauder as that transport was a large enough target for even the B1’s to accurately hit.” I let out a small sigh as Wrecker drew a breath to respond, clearly more amused by the ease with which he could pester his brother than any desire to actually prove his point.

“Not if we blew them up, too!”

“The amount of explosives needed to terminate the entirety of the Separatist forces would most certainly have resulted in our own deaths, as well…”

It wasn’t a clean line. The metal that had torn into his arm was jagged and hot, and the scar would clearly proclaim just how frightful the wound had been. He didn’t look down as I checked the severity of the swelling, inspecting the countless stitches for signs of tearing, and I realized that Wrecker’s bickering was far more intentional than I’d initially assumed. He was offering a distraction. Even after all the time I’d spent with them, the effort I’d put into earning their trust and easing their fears, I knew what horrors haunted their youth, knew how ingrained their terror was of allowing anyone beyond their own brothers to care for them.

Maybe that knowledge should have hurt. Maybe I should have been insulted or annoyed, but I felt only gratitude. Despite that fear, Tech made no effort to pull away from my touch, and Wrecker’s laughter felt so effortless as he continued prodding his brother with senseless taunts and jests. I wondered if Tech knew, if he was intentionally allowing himself to be bated. Probably. The thought made me smile, though I knew there was a sorrow behind it I couldn’t quite hide.

“How’s the pain?” I asked softly as I finished securing a fresh bandage. His eyes flashed only briefly from me to the crisp linen before darting pointedly to the unlit screen of his datapad.

“Tolerable.” He answered, and I rolled my eyes with a short huff.

“Tech.” I pressed, and his shoulders dropped slightly.

“In so long as I do not attempt to use it, the pain is nominal.” He reassured me, voice lowering into something near a whisper. I don’t think I’d ever heard him talk like that before. There was an unspoken apology and gratitude and warmth, and something about it sent a wave of static dancing through my chest. I hadn’t expected it, couldn’t recover in time to even grant myself a shred of denial that he didn’t notice, eyes catching his for just a moment before quickly looking away.

“If that changes,” I murmured as though there was no threat of heat creeping up my neck, “let me know.�� Stealing a quick breath, I forced aside that lingering thrill and fell back into rote phrases and warnings. “It’s not just about pain management. That wound was severe. If there’s any sign of infection, we need to catch it early.” His hesitation had nothing to do with his injury, but he belatedly nodded in response.

“Speaking of pain management,” I continued, voice rising as I turned to look at Wrecker, and I tried not to calculate how much he’d been able to see around the broad backrest of the pilot’s chair, “how bad did that hike mess with your knee?” Something between a grin and a wince flashed across his scarred face.

“Already got one ‘a them ice packs on it.” He offered with a note of remorse, and I didn’t hide the way my brows rose in surprised approval. “It’s helpin’ some, but…” His cheeks warmed slightly, jaw shifting with an almost abashed nervousness, “it’s still pretty stiff… Think you’ll have time to…” His hand swept toward it with a shrug, and my expression warmed.

“I want to scan it again – make sure nothing got damaged, but, yeah, I think another massage is a great idea.” He instantly relaxed at the reassuring murmur. “Are you okay to wait a few minutes, though? I want to run back to check on Cross and Hunter first.”

“‘Course!” He replied without hesitation, and my heart ached for how quickly he answered, how ready he was to put his brothers before himself… but nearly an hour had passed since I’d left the medbay, since I’d watched that damn, wonderful line dance across the monitor. It didn’t matter that several alarms would blare through the entire ship should that change… I needed to see it, to feel it once more before that anxiety might ease.

The Senator had shifted just enough about the crash couch to cradle his daughter, Areeya, against his chest, and both appeared to be asleep. Echo wasn’t in the cabin with them, nor was he in the kitchenette or fresher. I’d just resolved to search for him after checking on the others when I finally reached the medbay.

“Dammit, Crosshair!” I nearly shouted, body already surging forward before the door finished opening. He’d forced his legs beneath him, body trembling as he leaned heavily against the wall. Blood slid toward his wrist where he’d ripped the IV from his arm, and his shoulders jerked with each harsh breath. “What the hell are you doing? You shouldn’t be-” My words fell short as I reached him, hand darting to his chest to steady him, but he jerked away with a violent scowl, and I couldn’t help but freeze.

“I’m fine!” He growled through clenched teeth. “I’m not staying in this kriffing medbay!” I was so taken aback by not only that venom I’d nearly forgotten the taste of, but also by the strange frenzy in his hoarse voice.

“You didn’t give a damn about that last night.” I retorted, and I could hear the confusion simmering beneath my annoyance, the insult gnawing through my chest that I had to fight to suppress in order to slip back into some semblance of gentleness in the face of his outburst. “Cross, it’s alright. Just talk to-”

“Talking isn’t going to give me my damn eyes back!” He snarled, teeth bared, and his head jerked to the side at the distant sound of the air cyclers kicking on. I barely noticed that quiet hum anymore, but he flinched as though someone was screaming mere inches from his ear.

“Crosshair, your eyes are healing. They aren’t-”

“Just shut up!” He roared, and I instantly fell silent, something cold and wrong coiling about my chest at the sound of fractured gasps catching between ground teeth, at the sight of his chest bucking with each panicked flinch as he fought to regain some sliver of control over his shaking legs, the limbs stealing tiny, rushed steps as he felt for the edge of Hunter’s cot. “…damn it…” He growled, but whatever remorse twisted through him quickly vanished beneath the safety of his rage as he cursed again. “Damn it!”

Without another word, he pushed himself harshly forward, hand stretched out to maintain some bit of contact against the wall as he all but darted for the door, and I didn’t have time to move before his shoulder rammed into me with enough force to knock me back several steps with a quiet “oof”. I heard the sudden intake of breath, the way his lips parted around what he’d never admit to being a sob as a desperate apology strained to leap from his tongue, but, in the same instant, he was moving again, head tucked toward his chest as he threw himself from the room.

“Cross!” I called, my own sob shamelessly ripping the air from my lungs. It hurt not to go after him, not to sprint through the hall and lock him in an embrace until he stopped shaking, but I knew that would only make it worse. Trapped. How could he not feel trapped when he could see nothing but darkness around him? As worried as I was, as desperately as I longed to help him, I knew that he’d find more comfort in a few minutes alone, in stealing himself away of his own strength and volition than in what honeyed words or gentle touches I might offer… A few minutes… then I’d grant myself some excuse to seek him out…

My eyes dropped to Hunter, to that blessed monitor that I knew was cursed to haunt my dreams for years to come as I studied the display. Steady. Strong. Stronger than I had any right to hope for, and I felt myself wilt beneath a shaking sigh at the color just beginning to return to what meager patches of skin were free of the deep purples and sickly yellows of bruises that were finally beginning to fade.

I tried not to rush, fingers reaching out to feel his pulse before turning my attention to the tube still piercing his side. It wasn’t dripping anymore, but I couldn’t bring myself to remove it. Not yet. Another scan. A fresh IV bag. A stolen moment to rest my hand lightly atop his chest as I tried to ignore the palm-shaped outline over his sternum, an echo of that near-grief just threatening to overcome me before forcing myself to move; to clean up the liquid already beginning to soak into both cots from Crosshair’s crudely detached saline bag.

“Everything’s looking good.” I told him. It didn’t matter that he was unconscious. I wanted him to know. “You’re going to be in a world of pain when you wake up, but you’ll be okay.” Feeling those words on my tongue, hearing them and knowing there was no hint of deceit or deception amidst the syllables offered a far greater comfort than I’d expected, and I granted myself just a moment longer to grasp his hand tightly in mine, to savor the warmth of him before finally pushing myself to stand once more. “I’ll come back to check on you again soon – need to figure out a way to deal with that damn brother of yours, first…”

I didn’t have to look far. He didn’t like being down low. I didn’t know if it was an innate drive or something drilled into him through a lifetime of training, but he gravitated toward high places; trees, rocks, even something as simple as claiming the upper bunk.

“Cross?” I called gently as I entered the bunkroom. He didn’t move, body curled tightly atop his bed, that familiar, scratchy blanket wrapped awkwardly around him where the fabric had clearly folded but he’d been unable to straighten it. “You’re going to bleed all over your sheets… Can I at least put a bandaid on your arm?” My voice was barely louder than a whisper, words slowed, unrushed and void of the guilt churning through my stomach. Shouldn’t have left him… I should have made sure someone was with him so he wouldn’t wake up alone…

Several seconds passed in a tense silence, before, almost begrudgingly, he tried to offer me his arm, but that tangled fabric snagged around his wrist, instantly earning a strangled growl as he tried to wrench the limb free, and I could see how badly he was still shaking.

“Hold on – hold on. I’ve got it.” I murmured quickly, already hopping onto the now empty frame of Hunter’s bed to reach him, but he’d already managed to fling the coiled blanket away, and I had to bite back a sigh at the mess of crimson already smeared about the crook of his elbow. Balancing awkwardly atop the metal tubing underfoot, I gently slipped my fingers beneath his arm, pointedly ignoring the flinch he couldn’t quite fight back, and began dabbing at the stained skin.

“I know you probably want to be alone,” I started, voice hushed, lazy, as though I wasn’t pouring the entirety of my focus toward willing some measure of calm into him, as though I was somehow more concerned with the miniscule prick from the torn IV site than I was the crippling display of shear terror from the man I’d so readily found myself viewing as impervious to such things, invulnerable…

I’d seen the others break; seen Hunter ruined at the threat of losing one of us, Wrecker crushed beneath the fear of a child, Tech robbed of his brilliant mind and left floundering, and Echo… I remembered holding him through nightmares, remembered how readily he held me in turn, and I felt my heart stutter with a dread that only grew the longer he somehow managed to hide from me… but Crosshair…

I’d seen his rage. I’d felt the biting edge of his indifference. And I’d grown to love them with the same fervor that now filled me upon finding him watching me with far kinder emotions; amusement when my own stubbornness led to fights, grief when reality seemed bound to tear us apart, and something far sweeter when no one else was there to bear witness, when stolen moments allowed for a softness forbidden amidst the harshness of what stations happenstance had forced upon us. This, however… This was raw in a way I’d never wanted to see. This was cruel and wrong and wrought with a hopelessness no whispered reassurances could touch.

“But I still have some work to do with Wrecker’s knee, and I’d prefer to do that with him laying down.” I continued speaking with that same, unconcerned, almost mumbled cadence, casually securing a small bandage over the tiny hole before guiding his arm back over his chest, hand lingering for just a moment longer. “Is it okay if I bring him in here with you?” Again he paused, belatedly reaching out to wrench the blanket back over him. I knew that blanket had nothing to do with the cold, needing, instead, some cover to hide the way he trembled.

“… fine.” He muttered, mouth taut with a harsh frown.

“Okay.” I whispered, finally allowing a sliver of worry to just bleed through, and I stepped down before he had the chance to lash out at the sound of it, pointedly letting my footsteps tap loudly against the metal floors so he could hear me.

“Wreck.” I called upon returning to cockpit. The way his posture instantly changed, shoulders pulling back as he sat up straighter, attention quickly locking on me left me no uncertainty that he heard every ounce of unspoken pleas yet to leave my lips. “Mind if we do this in the bunkroom?” He was quiet for a moment. I tried to think of how to explain what I was really asking, how to warn him about the state Crosshair’s temporary blindness had rendered him into but he didn’t need me to voice it.

“Yeah.” He replied with that understanding and patience I’d forever love him for.

Tech shift just enough to meet my gaze, studying me for a moment before speaking.

“Crosshair…?” I offered a tense smile.

“He’s not handling it well.” I admitted, barely breathing the words. Tech’s eyes turned back to watch Wrecker carefully begin climbing up the ladder before returning to me, head bobbing in a small nod. Without another word, he turned back to the viewport, but I could see the tension in his shoulders, the delay before actually taking in any of the data flashing across the control panel. Later, if he allowed, I resolved to bring Crosshair in here, to allow the brothers a moment of their own to recover from the maelstrom of emotions this cursed mission had brought.

“I said I was sorry!” Wrecker’s voice reverberated through the ship without even the faintest hint of that stillness he’d regarded me with barely a minute prior, and I quickly trailed after him, unsurprised to see the alarm in the Senator’s eyes as I passed through the cabin, reaching the bunkroom just in time to catch Crosshair’s seething retort.

“Sorry doesn’t get the kriffing dents out of my muzzle!”

“Well, we’ll jus’ get yuh another one at the Vigilance.” His response wavered between an apology and a dismissal.

“I don’t use regulation parts.” He scowled.

“I’m not letting a single one of you behind a gun again for at least a month, anyway.” I interrupted with an impatience of my own that carried the grief and guilt and regret we all suffered beneath in some way.

Wrecker lounged comfortably across his cot while Crosshair still lay curled tightly atop his, though he’d pushed himself up as though to glare at the man through the thick bandages about his eyes.

“Plenty ‘a time to get a replacement!” Wrecker beamed, and neither of us drew attention to the flash of gratitude I sent him. It felt like years had passed since that terrifying moment – since forcing myself back into the burning carcass of the wrecked transport to save Tech only to find Wrecker leaning hazardously on the Firepuncher with that tiny girl over his shoulder.

“I brought you in here to deal with that knee, not so you could start a fight.” The feigned reprimand only earned a knowing smile from the gentle man.

“Not my fault he’s so picky about that hunk of metal.”

“Hunk of-!"

“Enough.” My voice rose just enough to echo slightly, and I had to bite back a chuckle at Wrecker's little smirk as he began tugging at the waist of his blacks.

“If it makes you feel any better, him using your rifle like that was probably the only reason he was able to save Areeya.” I murmured up to the seething sniper.

“It doesn’t.” He responded curtly. I didn't try to silence that bout of laughter, and thrilled in the subtle way his shoulders relaxed at the sound.

Next Chapter

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[bleedingcoffee42]

Updates on Lewis Nixon's personal information.

Irene Nixon died Feb 2, 1969 in Princeton, NJ. (Source: New Jersey Death Index and Death Index Code)

Lewis Nixon and Grace Umezawa got married in Nevada March 19, 1969. (Source Clark County, Nevada)

Lewis Nixon sold his house in Princeton, with Irene Nixon Estate on deed, May 8, 1969. (Scource: Mercer Co. New Jersey)

(And please do not repost to reddit or other sites, if I wanted the research there I'd put it there myself. This is preliminary research and in a few weeks I will have more to add.)

I honestly have not looked into this until this Stanhope and friends fiasco, but needed an idea when Nix got involved date wise. I've read the Hester Blue Boar update post a handful of times without it making an impact that Irene died in the 60's until the last time I read it. And I remembered I pulled that Princeton house deed info when looking for Nixon houses and noted the 'Estate' beside Irene's name, but tossed it in a folder for later.

Speculation ahead-----

After a year of stalking/researching this man and his family, I got a feel for him. Lewis Nixon III makes things happen. He doesn't have time for a wedding when he wants to get married. He's gone to the courthouse in NYC twice. Gotten divorced in Vegas once. New Jersey and California are not fast enough for him. So I looked in NYC first, then Las Vegas records and found him.

Next, Irene. Clearly from the customs paperwork we have Grace and Lew have been together for a while. He would not wait if he was divorced, he would have married her already. So, Irene. Considering the fast marriage, I felt pretty good he waited until Irene passed to get remarried and started manually going through the NJ Death Indexes in starting with the year he got remarried, and there she was.

Reference again his divorce from Kathy as he scratched out 'incompatible' and wrote in 'drunkeness' which goes in her favor since she is divorcing him. That legally covers Michael a little more as it puts Lew at fault for the marriage dissolution. (Even if Kathy's next husband was waiting over the state line) Which could have helped when he was suing Stanhope's estate for Michael's share.

My point?

Lewis Nixon is loyal, do not confuse that with faithful. He is loyal to those who have been good to him (Dick and Hester) and Irene was good to him. She was there for him during the war, through the death of his parents, was there when his sister killed herself. There when Dick left for Korea and more permanently- Pennsylvania. I feel he waited because he didn't want to hurt her, or her family who he has been apart of since WW2 and taken her away from; I feel she was probably sick and they knew it. He waits until she dies and then married Grace? I feel this one month window is a statement that he didn't divorce her. (again, please give me some time for the docs to work through this theory. But there is no waiting period on marriage in Nevada -even back then.) Once again, a demonstration of loyalty in my eyes.

We the have the case of Lew and Grace and her name as "Nixon" on the customs card in 1962. I don't know how to explain it. I do know that passengers wrote their own address on there as I recognize Lew's chaotic handwriting anywhere. Did they fill out their own forms? I imagine the customs folks wrote it off passports but I can't answer this. If I cycle through the entire planeload the handwriting changes. Could this have been a cover for going to the same address? It's 1962, people were being arrested for cohabitating twenty years earlier, I have no idea what the environment was at the time. The free and hippie sixties were the later half of the decade, early 60s are the back end of the McCarthy era and Jello Abominations. Could it be two people in love testing the waters, maybe filling out each other's cards? (examples below for handwriting comparison.) Feels like it. But the official records point to them being married in 1969 and that's all I got.

I realize this means Dick Winters was wrong about the date, and believe me, he's haunting my phone over saying that. I am trying to track sources for the 1956 marriage and most seem to be Dick's book. Even My Heritage had the date, but looking into it the information came from AI scraping of wikipedia. Wikipedia in turn -Winters & Kingseed. However I do feel he was right about Nix being in love with Grace and never having known that feeling before. Marriage was a civil union until her, then he married the love of his life. She was also close to 50 at the time and sure as hell didn't need a man as she was one hell of a lady, so she was in love with him and the fact he was married didn't matter.

Documents under the cut

[caldwellwrites]

Things to Consider When Writing Setting

As a writer who has been coming up with a specific story concept for the past nine and a half years, I have a lot of trouble when it comes to writing and, oftentimes, imagining the setting of particular scenes. I almost always one detail in my head, but struggle to come up with any other features. Anyone can think, "Okay, my character is in a parking lot". But we, need to think beyond that.

Okay, first things first, decide a few things before we start consulting the big(ish) list.

-Where does this scene take place? (Pt. 1) That means the type of location. Are they in a forest? At home? In a Starbucks? There are a near-endless list of places for your character to be, but it's crucial to make sure you know where this person is before building from there. In my opinion, this is probably the most important aspect to know before attempting to write about the setting. Know. Where. They. Are.

-Where does this scene take place? (Pt. 2) This means the country or province. Consider every aspect of this place (I'll be making a post about world-building soon for those who need it). What are the geographical, cultural, and climate-related features. Think about how would these features impact the way your character experiences their environment.

-When does this scene take place? I'm talking about the time period, time of day, and time of the year. All of these factors will change what your character sees, hears, smells, everything.

Now that you've (hopefully) answered the three questions above, let's look at the big list of ideas. These are just some ideas I thought of while writing and editing this list, there are so many more ideas that are not on here. Try not do get overwhelmed by the list, and just look at it one section at a time. Play with some of these ideas in your head, on paper, a doc, whatever, and decide what feels write (get it?) for your project!

Sky, Weather, and Temperature

Sky Objects: Sun, Moon, Planets, Stars (Constellations), Meteors, Clouds (look up the different types), Rainbow, Flying Craft (Planes, Blimps, Drones, Helicopters), Balloons, Confetti, Kites, Bubbles

Weather: Sunny, Cloudy, Rainy, Stormy, Snowy, Hail, Foggy, Windy

Temperature: Sweltering, Hot, Warm, Comfortable, Chilly, Cold, Freezing

Nature and Natural Elements

Plants: Trees, Flowers, Grasses, Herbs, Mushrooms, Weeds, Bushes

Domestic Animals: Dogs, Cats, Horses

Wild Animals: Wolves, Coyotes, Bears, Wild Cats, Raccoons

Water Sources: Unmoving, Slow / Gentle, Rapid, Rough

Objects and People

Vehicles

Houses

Shops, Kiosks, Stalls

Schools & Other Buildings

Garbage

Fences, Walls, and Other Barricades

Parades, Parties, Festivals

Random Citizens / Passerby's

Higher-Ups (Royalty, Government Officials, etc)

Workers (Gardeners, Dog Walkers, Street Performers, etc.)

Furniture or Decor

Smells

Urine or Feces

Death / Blood

Cigarette / Cigar / Marijuana Smoke

Car Smog

Flowers

Fresh Cut Grass

Garbage

Food and Drink

Rain

Smoke / Fire

Pine

Sounds

Animal Sounds (Birds, Dogs, Insects, Frogs, etc. )

People Being Loud (Screaming, Playing, Cheering, Laughing, etc.)

Wind (Wind Chimes, Howling Wind, Blowing through plants, etc.)

Water

Machinery (Lawn Mower, Leaf Blower, etc.)

Transport (Carriages, Cars, Buses, Boats, Trains, Emergency Vehicles)

Weather Sounds (Rain, Thunder, Hail)

Fire Crackling

Music

[cas-readsandwrites]

Lavender: Interludes

Set in Jackson post TLOU S1 in the Lavender universe by @justagalwhowrites, a few little scenes of Joel, Doc, and the fam in Jackson. Listen I am not pregnant, I have no desire to be pregnant, so I don't know WHERE this came from, but I love soft Joel healing from his trauma and finding love and joy in his family! Content: Reader is described as pregnant. There is smut. And fluff. And love. Grab some ice cream and your heating pads if you're in the same time of the month as me. Minors DNI. 3.6k words

I am not quiet about the fact that Lavender is one of my favorite fanfics, in my two decades popping in and out of various fandoms. Doc and Joel are my distraction and angst and comfort when I need it. Sometimes my imagination runs a little wild.... many many thanks to Kit for creating these characters and being totally cool with the fact that I wrote a little fanfic of her fanfic :D So here we go!

~~~

Joel had walked into the house late one evening, after patrol had gone long and he had to wait to give report to the next crew going out. He was extra antsy and wanted to get home, now more than ever. This was his last patrol for the next several months, as he would not need to leave the walls of the town during the last month of your pregnancy and hopefully not for a month or two afterwards. He would be put on extra shifts on guard duty or with the carpenter crew, but as long as he was within a quick run down the street or an ear-shot of someone yelling for him with news of you, he was fine with that. 

Anyway, when he had come home, you had been standing in the middle of the living room, seemingly all the sheets and blankets from the house around you and stacked in a laundry basket at the bottom of the stairs. All of the glasses and mugs were sitting out drying on the counter, as well as the few baby bottles you had brought home from the clinic (just in case you had said, hopeful that you would be able to breastfeed). All of the lights were still on upstairs. 

“Baby,” he said, matter-of-factly, “what the hell are you doin’?”

You spun around, holding a fitted sheet in your hands, fresh from the laundry line outside. The town was encouraged to use the communal laundry whenever possible, to limit wear and tear on the machines in the houses, but understandably many families had middle-of-the-night unexpected messes or heavy loads that they would do at home if the mechanicals still worked. The dryer in their house was still inconsistent, as much as Joel took it apart and banged on it and put it back together, it gave them a few good spins before shuddering to a halt again. Thankfully Tommy and Maria’s across the street was still functional, adding to the growing list of ways that he felt like he was in… well, a commune, with his brother as their lives and households continually overlapped, something he suspected would only increase after the baby was born.

“I think I’m nesting,” you answered back, looking around at the piles of fabric and wiggling your fingers in the sheets. “It seemed like a good idea to have all the linens clean, and then I was hand-washing some things in the kitchen, so it seemed like a good idea to clean off some of the dishes and things we haven’t really used, they were kind of dusty and I didn’t want it getting in the bottles…” you trailed off and sighed. “Ok, it looks ridiculous, but trust me, it needed to be done!” 

Joel wasn’t about to fight you on that, as much as he worried about your health and safety in what he viewed as an extra-fragile state, it seemed like you had come even more alive with an extra vivacity throughout your pregnancy. Even when you were throwing up, or cranky with hormones, you were even more feisty. Which was saying something, considering all the times you had verbally sparred back in Boston, along the road to Jackson, even back when you were taking care of yourself and your grandmother all alone. “Ok, well… can I help you?” he asked. “Seems like you got it in hand, but please don’t tell me you’ve been carrying laundry around all day.” 

You waved your hands again, corners of the sheet scrunching around your fingers. “Ellie put up with me for a while and did the heavy lifting with the wet things. She wanted to go out for the evening, though, so it’s just been me and the folded piles tonight.” You looked around as you tucked the corners across and into each other, neatly snapping the sheet and folding the edges in. “I guess if you can take these all back up into the closet upstairs, then it will be mostly done.” 

You looked around at the folded pile in the basket, mentally cataloguing your task, before seeming to snap out of it and look back at him. “But you just got home! I’m so sorry, blame my brain for being wired towards this.” You waded through the piles and threw yourself into his arms, even with your stomach grown with his baby, still fitting in just right where he could wrap around your shoulders and your back and you could lean into that space against his chest. Joel ran his hand up and down your back, around your side, warm palm against the place where your child grew. You hummed as he kissed the top of your head, centering himself as he always did when coming home on your scent and the warm gravity of you in his arms. 

“Why don’t you go up to bed?” he murmured against your temple. “I’ll get the rest of this. You’ve been on your feet a lot. Please go lay down? I’d love to just… be with you tonight.” You nodded, tipping your head back to kiss him. He anchored himself to you, the press of your lips against his. 

“I’m glad you’re home,” you said, squeezing him again before stepping away and looking around at the living room before walking upstairs.

They had been in this house for several months, well-established in Jackson, but he couldn’t shake the nighttime routines yet, circling the first floor of the house, checking that the exits were clear, locked, lights off, locking his rifle in the downstairs closet, keeping his sidearm in the nightstand next to his side of the bed. He heard you moving around the bathroom and treading the hallway into the bedroom. Thankfully, Ellie came home not too soon after as he was finished folding. She shrugged and tilted her head with an eyebrow raised in a nonverbal I don’t know, man, it wasn’t my idea. He handed her the basket and wordlessly gestured up the stairs. She just as silently tilted her forehead against his arm as she passed in a greeting and good-night, and they trooped up the stairs together. “Good night, Ellie!” he heard you call across the hall.

He showered, washing off the road and sweat, before climbing in bed behind you, already nested in your structure of pillows. “Mmmf,” you murmured, nestling back into his chest. He traced the line of the back of your neck with one hand and looped his arm around your front, resting on your stomach. You traced the back of his hand with your fingers in the dark. It didn’t seem to take much, even at this stage in your pregnancy, and soon you were bringing his hand below the slope of your stomach to that place between your legs that seemed so much more sensitive nowadays. 

“Baby,” he murmured in your ear, “you gonna be ok? Don’t want to hurt you…”

You moaned quietly as his fingertips traced your clit, leading down to your center, tracing your entrance and just dipping inside. You gasped and tilted your hips, moving your leg to open that space for him. “Please, Joel,” you breathed, trying to be quiet, mindful of Ellie down the hall. “I trust you, I know you won’t hurt me, I want to feel you, please…”

He kissed the space below your ear, the scratch of his beard tickling the back of your shoulder. “Don’t gotta beg for me, sweetheart, always gonna give you what you need.”

Urged by your own hand, he felt the wetness from your entrance already, dipping his fingers in to coat them, coming back to your clit, warm and aching. It didn’t take long for the pressure from his fingers, alternating between circling and lightly pressing on your sensitive areas, before he felt you throbbing, heard your tiny gasps as you tugged on the corner of your pillow, thrusting your hips back into his as he brought you to your edge. Even after months of your reassurance that you knew he wouldn’t hurt you, had never done so, and you still obviously wanted him, he waited for your cues. He tried to ignore his hardening cock, but your thrust backwards had nestled him into the soft flesh of your ass, so warm and delightfully more from pregnancy, and he couldn't help as he rocked against you. Even as you came down, you pushed his hand back towards your center, hitching your top leg up to rest on his, reaching behind for his hip, holding him close.

He ran his hand down your leg, gripping your thigh against him as he moved to push himself against you, the heat and wetness from your center drawing him in. He lined the tip of him with your center, your body grasping to pull him in, as if promises over decades and the proof of your love growing inside you weren’t enough. He stopped only long enough to ask, “this ok, baby? You feel alright?” 

You whimpered, tilting your head back towards him, and he ran his nose along what he could reach of your jaw, kissing the side of your neck, breathing against the edge of your ear. “Feels so good, please, don’t stop,” you whispered, rocking just so the tip of him slid in. He closed his eyes, focusing on the feel of you around him, pressed against him, as he slid inside you from behind. You bit your lip to stop from crying out, rocking back into him with abandon. He had to focus to stop from coming immediately - how could he not, the softness of the most round, plush parts of you pressed against his body and in his hands, your warmth even more enveloping. He focused instead on the lines of your body, kissing your shoulder, gripping your hip as he thrust in and out, syncing with the rocking of your hips. His hand slipped around your front to the top of your legs again, circling and rubbing against your clit. You were so lost in your pleasure, grasping at the blanket in front of you, and he wanted this to last as long as you needed. Unable to see your face or kiss you, giving himself into your body wherever you would take him, he used his words instead, punctuated by his own groans and pleasure. Words of praise and promise, your beauty, the sensation of your body, goddess that you were, holding both himself and your child together deep inside yourself. 

-finally, “oh, fuck, there you go baby, I can feel you, so ready, come on-” and you turned your face down into your pillow, breathing heavily, as your body fairly shook with your orgasm, clenching and rippling around him, and he held on tight and rode it out with you, thrusting up once, twice, one more time until he felt himself come apart deeply and at home in your body. 

The two of you lay together in the tangle of blankets and blankets, now kicked down around your legs and askew around you, his chest heaving with deep breaths against yours. He felt you melt into the mattress. After a moment he checked himself, not wanting you to need to move, and cautiously lifted an arm to brace himself against the mattress. You made a little noise and tilted your head back against him again. He reach in front of you and sat partway up, leaning over you to kiss you at an angle, reassuring you, and himself that you were still alright, that he hadn’t hurt you or pushed you too much in some way that he would have no way of knowing about, his memories of the only other pregnant woman in his life so far distant and embroiled in its own tinge of sadness and self-doubt that none of it was to be trusted. Only you, here, your daughter for all intents and purposes down the hall, the solidity of this house, was what he could count on. 

He kissed you again and nuzzled against your forehead. “Lay down, baby, I got you. Need anything?” he felt you shake your head and settled against your pillow. He smiled. You often had a hard time falling asleep and staying asleep as you advanced in your pregnancy, but something about the release of sex would turn you into goo and put you to sleep afterwards almost right away. 

He carefully sat all the way up, leaning over you to reset your pillows where you liked them, against the pressure of your knees, hips and belly supported against the mattress, under your arm, one against the small of your back. When you were tucked in and covered, he quietly stepped down the hall to fill your glass of water and set it down next to you, checking again the lights outside and the door to Ellie’s room, before sliding carefully back in behind you. Not able to get as close through your fortress of pillows, he rested an arm along your hip, breathing in the scent of your hair that always seemed to end up draped across his pillow.

He heard you sigh and shuffle, and was about to ask what else you needed, before you spoke quietly, through the cloud of sleep he knew was almost ready to carry you off. “I love you,” you murmured into the soft darkness of the bedroom. He leaned his head forward, resting his forehead on the space between your shoulderblades, just behind your heart. “Love you so much, baby,” he whispered, squeezing your hip, before sleep claimed you both. 

~~~

Joel and Tommy watched as you and Maria talked in the living room of Tommy and Maria’s house after dinner, while they stood in the doorway of the kitchen drinking whiskey, judiciously keeping the scent of alcohol away from your pregnant self and Maria’s breastfeeding. Well, Tommy was watching Joel as Joel watched you shuffle on the couch, gently positioning yourself to rest your lower back. “She doin’ ok?” Tommy asked, trying to catch Joel’s eye. 

Joel glanced over at his brother like he was unaware they were even in a conversation together. “Oh- yeah. She said her legs and back are starting to get real tired. Tried telling her to rest more, but you know her, says moving is actually better and she doesn’t want to leave the clinic yet.”

Tommy nodded, knowing this brand of his sister-in-law’s stubbornness and resilient streak. “You ever try doin’ the thing where you stand behind her and lift up her stomach?”

Now Joel was really looking at his brother. “What?” he asked. They didn’t really… talk girls. Joel did his best when Tommy was growing up to have The Talk (that went pretty well, living embodiment of the consequences of Joel’s actions usually screaming in her high chair in the background of those conversations when Tommy would be headed out the door to pick up yet another date) as well as trying to make sure his brother was generally a respectful and polite person to a partner, but other than that, they didn’t really talk about the ins and outs of each other’s relationships. Until you. Even way back when, yours and Joel’s relationship had been more real, more recognized, tangible, than most other things in his life.

“Yeah,” Tommy said, “you know, like you’re gonna hug her from behind or somethin?” He demonstrated in the air in front of him. “Get your arms around her and under her stomach, towards the bottom, where Maria always said was the most sore because it was heavy, stretching out some muscles, and just-” he linked his fingers together, glass carefully balanced in one bear-paw of a hand- “hup.” He demonstrated gently lifting a beach ball in front of him.

Joel watched his brother looking like he was trying to hula hoop in the middle of his kitchen. “Sure it doesn’t hurt her?” Tommy laughed and patted his brother on his arm. “Be gentle, man. Naw, Maria loved it. Would have walked around behind her for the whole last month for her if I could’ve.” Joel nodded, regretting already the time he missed in his brother’s life, refusing to accept his new marriage to Maria, blocking out the thoughts of his brother becoming a father, when all his brother had done for him was to step into Joel’s own life and take on Joel’s burdens as his own. By the time Joel and his girls had made it back to Jackson, several months had passed and Maria had already given birth. 

Tommy patted his arm again. “She knows you’d do anything for her. Maria and I will, too. Need a babysitter or an extra hand when it’s time, just holler.” He gestured with his glass towards their window that overlooked the street, across which your home with Joel was softly illuminated by the front door light, waiting for you to come home. You caught Tommy’s movement out of the corner of your eye, looking up and smiling at your husband and your brother-in-law together again, as they should be.

The next day, you were walking slowly around the house while getting ready for a shift at the clinic. You were still the only doctor in town, though they had gained a few additional staff that, while not quite trained as well as you’d hoped nurses would be, were improving as medical assistants and able to triage and take histories and help with physical exams. One of the more senior nurses who had been in town for a while had taken on the heavier medical work before you had arrived. She had taken to your education and you had recently “graduated” her from your unofficial training and dubbed her a nurse practitioner, only needing to sign off with you on certain types of cases. The extra help meant that at least you could sit more and slow your pace to see a few less patients, but for now you said your brain and your energy were fine, and you weren’t going to let a few bodyaches get in the way of being present for the people who needed the knowledge that only you had. 

Joel watched as you stood in front of your dresser, choosing which top to go over your precious few pairs of pants they had found to be modified with a maternity band. You sighed and rested your hands on the small of your back, leaning just so, trying to stretch - well, everything. 

Joel begrudgingly remembered his brother’s words, knowing he was going to be eating shit for a while, Tommy being more of an expert in the “pregnancy and infancy caregiver in the apocalypse” duties. Joel still had him beat in the teenager department at least. For now, though, he walked up behind you to kiss your temple, slipping his arms around you as he often did to trace the contours of your body, holding your hips or placing a palm to feel the baby.

“Wish you would call it at the clinic, baby, I really do,” he murmured. 

“I know,” you sighed, “not yet, though. My mind feels fine. I’m taking it as easy as I can there, I promise, and you know I’m in the right place if I need anything.” You looked down at his hands gently circling your stomach. “I know by now it’s useless to ask you to not worry, but please, take it easy on yourself, too,” you said, placing your hand on his.

Joel wanted to bury his face in your hair, carry you to bed, hold on to you and rub your feet and bring you tea for the next four weeks. He didn’t deserve you, mindful as you were towards his worries and the health of the entire town. “You’re askin’ for the impossible, babe, you know that.” 

You laughed lightly. “I know. I can try. At least I didn’t leverage doctor’s orders this time.” You tilted your head back, resting on his chest. “I’ll take a few more days, keep making some plans with the staff, and see how I feel later this week. ‘kay?”

“ ‘kay,” he echoed. You moved to step forward and reach for a dresser drawer again, but Joel followed and gently tugged you back against him. You opened your mouth to softly protest - you did need to get moving, after all - but Joel slid his hands firmly under your stomach, warm and sturdy, and without even realizing what was happening, you felt the pressure in his hands increase and a blessed lightness spread across the top of your hips and your pelvic muscles. 

Joel leaned back just slightly, the weight of your belly in his hands, and he heard you make a noise he had never even heard you make in bed. “Oh God,” you groaned, drawing it out in a soft sigh. “I didn't even realize how much that- please don't move, I just want to stay-” you let your arms drop, thoughts of a shirt vanishing as you let yourself be cradled in this temporary, bodily gravity defying relief. 

Joel wanted to chuckle at your words, but the deep instinct to simultaneously protect you while bringing you so close, around him, be inside you, kicked up again. He could only rest his forehead on the crown of your head, remind himself that you were here and whole and healthy, and marvel at your innate strength and abundant spirit to allow your body to be changed for him and for your family. He would always strive to be worthy of you, he knew that now. For now, that meant standing quietly in your home together, swaying gently, holding you and your child, your whole universe in his hands.

[bellewintersroe]

I DO HAVE A BOB REQ👀 it's heavy angst mixed with a comforting ending, but how would they react (whenever u want but in my faves are Liebgott and Roe) to them thinking their s/o (nurse maybe?) somehow died while saving someone or similar, but actually she managed to escape and run and she reconnects with the battalion a few days later? all battered and bruised but still alive EVEN BETTER IF SHE TAKES TO SAFETY THE PERSON SHE WAS HELPING because imagining them seeing their girl that they thought was dead coming back quite literally from hell alive is AGH💘

I LOVEEEE THIS!!! Thank you Anon I’m excited to write this <3 <3

Warning: mentions of death, grief, war, wounds, etc.

Easy Boys x EasyNurse! Reader - How They React To You Going MIA.

Gene Roe:

- Gene knew (thinks) you were in the church as soon as he watched the bomb explode.

- He kinda freezes and he literally feels his insides running cold and a sickness go through him.

- Can’t be real, I can’t express the level of trauma, pure horror and devastation he feels in that moment. It doesn’t end, the whole time he fully thinks you’re gone. It doesn’t help that the rest of the company are questioning him and going through their own grief for your loss.

- He wants to escape it as much as possible but he knows he can’t. He feels like a statue, completely glued to his foxhole, he runs on autopilot and Winters is about to send him off the line.

- I feel like Gene would have a pretty bad breakdown (understandable) when he’s by himself so he’s not showing the full affects of what he believes is your loss.

- doesn’t help he has absolutely NO answers. He plays the moment over and over again, torturing himself by picturing your last moments, imagining himself being just an hour earlier and getting you out of that church.

- Gene even wished he was with you when that damn bomb went off.

- 3 days pass and Gene’s sat in his foxhole, alone, staring at the enemy line. He’s near enough given up, no gloves, no blanket, he can’t eat, cant sleep.

- “Doc, Captain Winters needs you, pronto.”

- He literally feels like a zombie walking to where he’s needed. All he can think of is you, it’s painful, he can literally feel his chest yearning and breaking and his grief is too much.

- “Yeah we found her running around with the I-company boys, got a little lost, didn’t ya’ nurse?” A man’s words cause Gene’s ears to prick. He can’t see anything but a taller man facing Winters and Nixon with a smaller figure, blanket huddled over- you.

- Ugh- feels like his hearts about to explode. Literally freezes and thinks he’s going to be sick. His heart accelerates and when he hears your voice he quite literally feels faint. 

- “got caught up with a patient there!” You turn around, sending a presence and both of you feel the intense hit of shock to be confronted with one another again. “Excuse me a minute…”

- All of a sudden you’re limping towards Gene. Your forehead is covered with 2 butterfly plasters and you have a nasty bruise under your right eye. Gene thinks he’s seen a ghost.

- Probably hesitates for a moment before you pull him aside, away from where the other men can see. “Gene.” You’d soothe and he’d let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding.

- Crashes into you. Literally grips you so tightly, he feels like he can’t breathe, his eyes are teary and it’s not until you let out a small yelp that he pulls back.

- “It’s okay, it’s fine Gene, it’s just a bruise.” Hearing your voice sends him into a spiral and he’s even more careful now to pull you close.

- Holds a hand to the back of your head, practically cradles you with wide eyes.

- “I thought- I thought you was dead.” He admitted.

- “No, I got caught up with a patient. After the church got bombed I managed to pull a patient out, Billy from I company- got lost on their lines for a few days, they took me in.”

- Soon enough he’s stammering with quivering hands, checking over you, asking if you’re okay. Winters had called a medic after all.

- Can’t stop looking at you, questioning if it’s all a dream, you’d catch him pinching himself. “Don’t do that Gene, I’m right here.” With a small hand on his cheek he can breathe again.

- Holds your hands tightly, the most affection he can show you in front of all the superiors. He’s still extremely tense, in shock from the close call, but he promises to keep an extra close eye on you, and he keeps that promise.

- Kisses your cuts and bruises when nobody’s looking, probably runs his hand over his face in surprise quite a few times, but honestly he’s sooo fucking relieved, like he actually cried when he saw you.

- “I love you so much, ya can’t do that to me again, evuh’.” With his little accent and a serious tone, ugh he’s a sweetie pie.

Joseph Liebgott:

- It happens in Eindhoven out of all the places.

- One minute you’re both celebrating together, with the rest of the company and the whole town and the next you’re not stationed with the rest of the nurses?

- The town gets bombed and barraged by the Germans that evening and he’s watching in pure horror. Recounts of nurses being KIA during the bombing spread real fast, and he refuses to believe what Battalion HQ are telling him.

- He’s shaking his head real fucking fast, denying and denying to all of them and himself.

- Throws a fucking riot- until he has to practically run off to be alone, wrenching and shaking at the idea that have could’ve happened to you.

- His anger and violence stems out of control, Winters removes him off the line real fucking fast, like he becomes a runner or something just for a break.

- Fraternisation is banned under all conditions, but relationships and affairs still take place, even the most superior of officers know that. So sometimes eyes are averted and now is one of those times that people choose to do that and help Liebgott through his grief.

- But 2 days have passed and it’s so raw, everybody’s in shock and disbelief at your lack of presence, for Joe he’s bottling up a painfully bitter feeling and he’s ready to explode.

- He never thought it would happen to you, you’re a nurse for Christ sake! Genuinely has to pause sometimes to just stop- like he can’t take it. Becomes so close to being sent to the aid station until one today he’s attempting to run a letter back to Battallion HQ when he see’s the back of a young woman wrapped in a blazer, overalls looking very familiar to your own.

- His heart genuinely gets shooting pains and he has to swallow the urge to cry as he watches this woman who painfully resembles you. Her khaki headscarf is bloody and he watches as another officer (he assumed from Dog) guides you inside the building.

- In fact he’s about to look away, until this girls head tilt to the side. He only catches a brief glimpse of her profile, Joe has to squint real hard when he feels his stomach drop.

- His mind has to be playing tricks on him so he turns away as the nurse rushes to aid a man on a stretcher.

- Slams the jeep door, literally kicks a dint into it as he storms his way through town. He just wants to deliver these fucking letters as fast as possible.

- “No, no, he’s German. He helped me out of Eindhoven, you must take care of him!”

- Joe’s head snaps just as he’s shoving the letters into some poor guys arms. He freezes, head lifting at the sound of your voice.

- “What the fuck?” He mutters, stepping a little closer. His breathing and heart speeds when he hears your voice again.

- “Sister. Make sure he gets to the infirmary, please… thank you.”

- He’d recognise that voice from anywhere.

- Literally feels like he’s choking when he stomps over, lost for words and breath and grabs hold of your arm.

- With a gasp, you stand there, bloody and bruised and protecting some Kraut soldier.

- You’re about to protest again until you come face to face with Joe, and suddenly your voice gets hitched in your throat, a loud gasp escaping your lips.

- “Joe!” It’s you that jumps into hug him first.

- Joe grips you tightly, “what the hell are you- what the hell are you doin’ here? Baby- y/n, I thought you were dead.”

- He has to pull back and hold your face to take a look at you and make sure it’s actually you.

- You can feel him shaking, and suddenly your attention is just on Joe and Joe only. He’s practically smothering you, not sure where to put his hands as he lets out a shaky breath.

- “Holy fuck I thought I lost you. They said you were gone. I knew you wouldn’t, I knew you wouldn’t leave me.” He gets super emotional so you two have to take a break somewhere real quick.

- By that I mean in the aid station where you’re supposed to be being patched up but Joe does that for the medic.

- “God dammit you are so stupid, you idiot, I thought I lost you.”

- “The German officer saved me Joe, he pulled me outta the rubble.”

- “he what?! Did he touch you, are you ok?”

- “He’s a nice man, Joe. I wouldn’t be here without him. He’s hurt so I got a little lost taking him back to the infirmary.”

- “nice guy? Baby d��ya got a concussion?”

- you scold him a little and soon he’s back to stroking your face and pulling you onto his lap, taking in as much as you as he possibly can.

- “Never leave me baby. Never leave me like that again.”