#there is always hope as long as there is ao3

[her-devils-advocate]

Home, love, family

pairings: Levi Ackerman x reader

genre: fluff

summary: It has been some time since the fighting had ended, the world has started to move on and you find yourself doing the same.

You and Levi decide it is time to start taking the next step towards enjoying the future you fought for.

word count: 1,787

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56315470

After years spent fighting towards a dream, an ideal world without titans and worry, you now find yourself standing within that once unrealistic future. It didn't come without sacrifice, each tally on your heart continues to weigh it down to this day, but you refuse to stop carrying the souls of your friends. Some part of you likes to believe that while you live on while carrying their memory, they get to experience this new life by your side, wherever they may be.

The world isn't as you had hoped, the price paid seems too high for some, yet you are content to try and put it behind you as much as possible. You fought for too long and lost too much to not make the most of the new world. A sentiment you're glad to share with Levi.

You now stand in awe as you survey the large clearing in the forest, the trees forming a new, more natural wall around you. The ancient bark twists towards the sky and erupts into a sea of green above, you were surprised to see such a gorgeous sight had evaded the rumbling at first, already used to the muddy barren land you and many others had found themselves in.

Your eyes widen when they finally fall on the small, cosy cottage sat proudly within. Flowers surround the building, attracting the attention of the perfectly round bumblebees nearby, happily flittering between each bud without a care in the world. You watch them hover with a small smile, maybe you can finally experience a similar life, having been freed of the bonds of duty. Now free to spend your days working to provide a life for you and Levi, rather than the future of mankind.

You're so distracted by your thoughts that you fail to notice Levi slowly approaching you, taking the time to remove the few bags you had brought from the car.

"And just when I thought we had escaped living behind walls." He mutters as you move to take the bags off him, shooting him a glare as he puts up a small fight despite his cane.

"Oh hush, this is different. We have all the privacy in the world here, a quiet place just for you, me and whoever we allow to visit." You cannot help but grimace, that list of people has grown shockingly short. You shake your head, refusing to let that train of thought continue its rampage through your mind, there are always new bonds to be forged alongside flowers to lay against cold stone memorials.

Noticing your falling mood, Levi steps forward to take the bags back one more, only to place them on the stepping stones leading towards your new home. He then lays his cane on top, before carefully making his way towards you.

Before you can ask him what he's doing, he scoops you up with ease. One hand is securely around your back while the other rests under your knees. The action brings a small squeak out from your lips, the surprise rendering you speechless as you wrap your arms around his neck, staring up at him with wide eyes. He rolls his eyes at your darkening cheeks before walking towards the door, giving it a swift kick all while happily ignoring the offended look you give him in return.

“Hey! We haven’t even officially moved in yet and you’re already being rough with the place.” Your expression downplays your words and you find it hard to keep up the stern tone for long.

“Tch, it’s fine. Do you see any damage? No. Anyways, I’d fix it if there was, it’s not like we don’t have the time for that now.”

You don’t bother to reply, letting the back-and-forth drop before it can grow. Instead, you take the time to study his face, carefully following the jagged scars running along one side of his face. You slowly unwrap one of your hands and bring it to gently stroke along the scar, smiling tenderly as he subtly leans into the action. His eyes are tired, something you are well acquainted with, but recently you have noticed a new light shining within the grey of his eyes, a peace that neither of you had experienced bringing new sensations to your life.

“Time… We have all the time we need now.” You echo his sentiment, watching his eyes soften as he looks down at you with a small smile. You will never get tired of seeing that expression on his face, soaking up the rare sight each time while doing your best to lure it out of him whenever you can. You are momentarily brought back to reality when you feel him shift you in his arms, his face betraying nothing despite the way he continues to favour one of his legs and has swapped to leaning against the wall.

“What are you doing?” You question as your hands come up to straighten out his cravat, the silky material having fallen loose during the long journey you had just taken.

“Carrying you.” His voice is monotone, yet you can feel the mix of exasperation and amusement within his words. You give him a look that shows just how unimpressed you are, you fight off a small grin when he rolls his eyes and continues, “If you didn’t want that answer, you should have been more specific.”

“Okay then, why are you carrying me when last time I checked, I’m not the one with the injured leg?”

At that, he scoffs yet makes no move to release you. Instead, his grip on you tightens and you watch as a small blush dusts his cheeks. He avoids your eyes, instead peering into the half-empty cottage awaiting your arrival. 

“Isn’t it a tradition to carry your partner across the threshold of your new home?” His voice is low and his head is held even lower as he does his best to casually hide his expression from your prying eyes. You can’t fight off your blush, now painting your cheeks with a rosy hue to pair with his.

You open your mouth, only to close it, the words escaping you as you try your best to respond, not wanting to leave him squirming. “That’s usually done after a wedding unless you have something to tell me. You didn’t marry me in the night, did you?”

You keep your words as playful as you can with your heart threatening to jump out of your chest and mix itself up in your sentences, the hope you had pushed down over the chaotic months now deciding to slowly crawl back into the front of your mind. The small huff of amusement he gives in reply doesn’t help to push the hope back into its confinements. 

“Can’t say I did, that’s something I would want you to remember and knowing you, you’d also make us have some shitty party, with a cake and those brats to celebrate it with.” Levi’s voice is gentle as he gets caught up in his imagination and you find yourself staring up at him, eyes wide with adoration.

“We would have the biggest party, I would invite everyone that we know. You’d be so fed up by the end of the night, utterly sick of the attention and ready to leave.” You rest your head against his chest with a small chuckle, feeling his quiet laughter gently rock your body. 

“I can see that a little bit too well. You would insist on dancing with everyone from our squad and I would end up glaring at one of them, probably Connie, for being clumsy and standing on your foot.” You can hear the affection he continues to hold for your old squad laced in his words and find yourself slowly nodding against his chest, your fingers playing with the fabric of his shirt.

“Connie would absolutely be the one to do that, he would panic and then step on my foot. Then he would see your face and panic even more, calling you “Captain Levi” on instinct despite us being retired now,” you slightly lower your voice and speed up your words to mimic the boy’s voice, earning a scoff from Levi. “Then Jean would tease the poor boy, making him get embarrassed while Armin or Mikasa would try to gently de-escalate the pair.”

“And then I would snatch you away in the middle of the commotion and we would sneak out to finally get to spend time together, you complaining the entire time about not saying goodbye.” He finishes your joint daydream with a fond smile and despite the future scenario, you can’t help but notice how similar it sounds to your time in the Scouts. Never having enough time to properly spend together and always having the squad to lead, yet you can’t say you regret it and looking back, you’ve always had a small, albeit very odd, family by your side. 

Before you can speak that thought aloud, his voice catches your attention once more and you can feel his body tense up. “Well, we might have done this thing backwards, having just bought a house together already. But I’m not wasting any more time, not again.”

“Levi?” You can’t help the shake in your voice, his words causing a multitude of emotions to swirl in your chest.

“The only logical next step to take is to marry you.”

A small gasp escapes from your lips as his gaze burns into you, neither of you willing to look away and break the moment. You feel your eyes begin to water as your heart overflows with joy, but you blink them away, instead letting out a small chuckle.

“You make it sound like it’s a battle tactic.”

“From the previous conversation, it might as well be.” Levi counters quickly and you can feel him slowly begin to relax as he walks through the door, carrying you into your new life together and gently placing you back onto your feet. Before you can take a moment to savour everything, to let the whirlwind of emotions calm down and be processed, you hear him click his tongue in annoyance. You turn to face him, watching as he drags a slender finger across the dark wood of the stairs handrail, his eyebrows drawn together in disgust.

“This place is covered in dust, before we do anything, it needs to be cleaned. Stay put, I’ll get the bag.”

You can’t help the load groan as you watch him drift back outside. You take the short break to mentally prepare yourself for a long day of scrubbing the floors side by side with the man you love.

[lululandd]

wrong;

pairing: könig x f!reader

wordcount: 2.5k+

warnings: fluff?

note: ngl i had fun making this and i hope yall get a laugh from this or something (also on AO3)

summary: 

of all the kortac members you’ve worked and hung out with, you try to avoid könig the most. the austrian man comes off as normal and even endearing at first, masking his anxiety with comedy, always being thoughtful of people's needs and personal space. but the more you hung out with him the more you realise he might actually have a woman held hostage in his house. he likes to talk about her, mostly innocuous comments about her new hobbies, but from time to time könig lets out insane comments in such a casual tone that rendered you and other kortac operators speechless.

bunny doesn't like men so when my kitchen was renovated i had to put her in the basement..

—sometimes she misbehaves so much i want to hit her but i can't so i had to leash her.

no one dares to talk about his bunny, you notice everyone skirting around the subject and never asking him directly about her even though he’s actively bringing her up in conversations. you don’t mind being around him during assignments, since he’s usually too busy saving people’s lives and covering his teammates backs to think about his ‘bunny’. but outside of combat? at the base? at karaoke or bars? you avoid him as much as possible.

until you slipped up, of course.

you were tired; unwashed, thinking only of the food in front of you and the long luxurious cold shower you’re going to have right after.

hearing the word ‘sick’ somewhere in your vincinity you immediately went into worry mode and asked follow up questions before your brain could determine who was talking.

horangi lets out a cough next to you, and only then you realise who said the word ‘sick’ and about whom.

the usually boisterous man looked so downtrodden, barely eating his dinner, moving his food around his metal tray. 

“it’s bunny..” he whined, his hood blowing forwards for a moment before settling back in place.

“i’m sorry to hear that.” you offered, curtly. you thought of the least offensive thing you could muster that wouldn’t evoke any other bunny related tidbits. “how long until your assignment’s over?”

“two months.”

“i’m sure she’ll be fine.” you assured him, “hope she feels better soon, könig.”

he rested his chin on his open palm, “she can’t take care of herself, i had a friend stay at my house to take care of her.” 

you glance at horangi, hoping he’d steer the conversation away. he halfheartedly shrugged as he dug into his food, unwilling to help. you dug your own grave, the shrug seems to imply.

“your friend is probably doing their best, you just have to trust them.”

horangi raised his brows and smirked at you. you poked him with one of the corners of your metal tray playfully when you two were done eating. laughing as he bumps your hip with his, saying something in korean before answering, “you have to learn to evade the bunny topic yourself. you did good.”

perhaps this is the nicest, or the only thing anyone has ever dared to say about his captive, because he turned up at your shared bunk that night. stiletto immediately fiddled with her butterfly knife when she saw who was at the door.

“may i talk to you?” his gaze jumped from your eyes to something behind you before looking at you again quickly and looking away again.

stiletto snarked at him from her bed, “you can talk over there with the door open.”

thankful for her caution, you see könig doesn’t seem too bothered by it.

“i’m worried about bunny.” he lowered his voice, bending a little so his head was closer to yours.

“oi! three feet apart!” you hear her yell alongside the soft clitter-clatter of her butterfly knife.

könig straightened up immediately, it’s so funny seeing him obey stiletto without question even though he’s her senior in age and rank.

“your friend is with bunny, no?” you tried reassuring him.

“ja.” he squares up to his full height, making you step back to even be able to look at his face. “she is taking care of bunny but she is no doctor.”

“neither am i.” you shrugged, turning to look at stiletto for reassurance. 

to your relief she grumbled at the colonel, “get to the point, könig.”

the austrian threw a look at your bunkmate before looking back down at you.“i want you to go see her.”

your heart gave a little jolt, and you’re sure your whole body did too.

what.

blinking slowly, you turn your head to give stiletto a wide-eyed stare before looking back at him. “you want me to go see… your girl?” 

his expression shifted, you could see the twinkle in his eyes hearing you’re not outright rejecting his proposal. “ja, ja, i want you to see bunny. you seem like a nice person. i want you to check up on bunny, and maybe stay with her until i come back.”

“stay?” you repeated. “at your house? where bunny is?”

nodding excitedly, he stepped forwards, “ja, exactly. i’ll pay your tickets.”

you want to look back and make faces at your roommate but out of respect you just look as confused as you could and tell him you would give him an answer tomorrow.

as soon as the door closed and könig’s footsteps can no longer be heard, stiletto hissed from her bed, “ma che cazzo, he is crazy.”

plopping down next to her, “i feel sorry, though.”

she slapped your upper arm, “his crazy is catching. what the fuck?”

“i mean, if he wants me to visit then how bad could the situation be, right?” you try to make sense of his actions. “if bad comes to worse i can always call the police.”

stiletto groaned, “the police could be in on it, idiota.”

she’s right.

but,

he’s your co-worker. if you go missing during your planned trip to austria on könig’s dime, there would definitely be an investigation, right? there’s paper trail and receipts and everything.

you voice your thoughts to your roommate and she sighs in defeat.

“your funeral, bunny number two.”

—

you arrived at könig’s little countryside (remote) house, with its dilapidated (creepy) looking roof and peeling windowsill. a gigantic rabbit greeted you in his lush front garden, happily chewing on a celery stalk and hopping away from the iron gate as you approached.

hop? that thing looks like it could gallop. there must be something in the water here that makes everything grow so large. how far is chernobyl from this place, again?

staring at his front door an embarrassingly long time, you took a quick and deep breath before knocking. his front door felt so foreboding you instinctively step back right after.

the woman greeting you with a smile looks a little bit older than you, with a charming smile that would definitely make you feel safe if you’ve never heard of the way könig talks about his girlfriend.

“hi, im here to see……” your eyes dart around your peripherals to make sure there’s no one that could ambush you, “..bunny?”

she gestured at the rabbit in the patch of sunlight behind you.

the world as you know it crumbled before your eyes. the sun shone brighter, the dilapidated windows look fine, and did you call his cabin creepy earlier? you meant cosy.

you blinked slowly. “that’s.. bunny?” you reiterated, turning halfway back at the rabbit while pointing at it.

“ja, bunny is rabbit in english? yes?” she sounded a little impatient, “are you a vet? she is all better now.” its clear from her tone and the hard stare she gave you that she’s offended of könig’s distrust in her ability to take care of his pet rabbit.

putting your hand up, “no, i’m his friend.” you stared back at the rabbit again for a little longer, making sure its actually a rabbit and not a woman in a realistic rabbit suit. you’ve seen the $15000 collie suit that went viral a few years back, “so…. könig’s girlfriend doesn't live here?”

crossing her arms, it was her turn to blink slowly. “girlfriend? i’ve only seen him bring men home.”

as much as you wanted to laugh out loud at the second big misunderstanding this poor man has in his life, it makes complete sense why she would think that way. “i see.” was all you could muster.

“come in, then.” she offered.

taking note of where the basement is as she points at things while giving you a tour, you opened the door to be immediately greeted by a well lit space, with a little rabbit enclosure at the back, a waist high fence separating the space from the rest of the basement. it had one of those hamster wheels although a much larger size, a pet bed, and neat stack of hay just outside the fence gate. you took careful steps further down in the basement, and you do see a little clasp and a leash hanging off the wall by the pet bed.

the first thing you after your brain process the whole information is run back outside and update the group chat.

stiletto had to personally call you fifteen minutes later because you weren’t active in the group chat. 

könig came home to bunny sitting on what looked like a little trampoline with an umbrella on top of it, munching on some hay with pieces of flowers and fruits strewn about. seeing him, bunny hopped off her little perch. his little fluff of happiness is coming with her ears all perked up to flop on her side by his feet. here are little bows on both her ears and as he crouched down könig could feel all his stress melt away from the sight. picking bunny up, he walked in to find your bags packed and ready by the front door, your socks neatly placed inside each of your shoes.

bunny wiggled as könig roamed his house to look for you, presumably wanting to go back to her feast of hay and flowers and fruits that you set up for her. but when he opened the front door and set her down, she instead hopped further into the home, towards the basement door.

“there’s no man around for you to fear, häschen.” he coos, before looking at the direction bunny is heading.

first thing he saw was you had gathered more hay; könig notes its the expensive one he only gets when he receives his yearly bonus, the old pet bed looks cleaned, and there’s a new even bigger one by the wheel. he spots you in the corner fastening the leash hook.

“you want beer?” he offered in lieu of a greeting. you could hear the smile in his voice.

bunny punched the gate, signalling that she wants to go in the enclosure to possibly use the wheel or be with you. he unlatched the gate and watched with fascination as she hopped over to you, standing on her hind legs to see what you’re doing.

“oh hey könig, i’m just about done.” you pointed at the little sand pit next to the stairs, “careful of the sand pit.”

you heard him shuffle around behind you. the man is lazy and drags his feet when he’s not in combat. “you built this for bunny?” he sounded surprised, the sound of sand being played with grabbed your attention so you opted to stop fiddling with the hook and come see what he’s doing. 

bunny followed you as you walked towards him, “yeah, we pitched in for a lot of the stuff. there’s a card upstairs.” 

the tall man was grabbing some sand visibly stiffened at your reply. könig turned his head slowly towards you, “we?” the casualness dropped off his posture at that moment. “card?”

hearing the scepticism in his voice, you nodded and pointed at the door to usher him upstairs.

he stayed, looks down at the sand as if it was the most interesting thing in the world for him. bunny filled the long pause with her little clucks and chatters as you absentmindedly pet her. “i thought you guys didn’t like bunny..” he said weakly, returning to playing with the sand, slower this time.

oh no.

looking at it from his perspective, you saw how shitty you all must’ve looked. he had mentioned how sick his pet was and no one asked a single question nor seemed to care.

at this point bunny has sensed his distress and made her way towards him to cuddle. she’s really good at that, sensing peoples moods and coming over to offer comfort.

you think you will just rip the bandage off, or maybe at this point it’s more like giving him a surprise brazilian wax. “könig we thought bunny was your girlfriend. and you chain her up in the basement and everything.”

“WAS? WAS MEINST DU???” he turned your head to you so fast you could see little beads of sweat coming off his hair.

you think he’s yelling WHAT DO YOU MEAN??? so you continued on, swallowing thickly. “none of us were ever sure if you were talking about an animal or a person and we just…. yeah…” the look of horror in könig’s eyes was reflected in his overall disposition which prompted bunny to snuggle into his chest deeper. “i’m sorry könig…”

as you can see his world unravelling before him, you decided this would be the perfect time to leave him and his little rabbit alone.

a text in the big group chat popped up later that night.

[fiona-fififi]

Quiet

Rating: G

Fandom: 9-1-1 

Pairing: (pre-relationship) Evan Buckley/Eddie Diaz

Summary: Christopher leaves, and everything is endless quiet.

Notes: angst with a hopeful ending, hurt/comfort, 911 spoilers, canon compliant to 7x10, episode coda, Buckley Diaz family, pre-relationship buddie

—

Ao3 Link

—

It's late when his phone rings. The screen displaying Eddie's name and a photo of a smile Buck feels like he barely remembers.

A desperate pain squeezes at his chest, and Buck thinks he might die for the return of that smile, even though he knows he'll never be able to bring it back on his own.

He answers. Stays quiet for long moments. Then, “Eddie?" he murmurs, and it's a careful plea. One full of misguided hope that it might be something good for once. Knows that’s wishful thinking.

Eddie doesn't answer. Long moments pass with nothing but the sound of his breathing to keep Buck company in the cold of his empty bed.

“It's quiet.”

Eddie's voice finally breaks the silence. It's barely a whisper, but it's broken in ways that slice open every old wound Buck had thought was beginning to heal, and suddenly he's flashing back to Christopher’s cries for help and to the ruined walls of Eddie's bedroom and to the way he'd thought, for too many fearful moments, that he'd find a body instead of the broken gaze of his best friend.

“Eddie?” He asks, a careful, quiet thing of his own. All his vulnerability betraying him as he begs for Eddie to be okay, even when he knows better.

“It's quiet like—like the middle of the night, when he's fast asleep. Except—” Buck hears the break in Eddie's voice, the way the pain he'd been trying to hold back had flooded all at once, leaving his voice so choked it's near unrecognizable, “—except he's just not here .”

Buck swallows hard against the emotion that threatens to spill over in his own voice, tosses the blankets off himself and finds his feet in one smooth motion he's not sure how he manages with the shake of his hands. “Eddie, I'm coming over,” he chokes out with the kind of conviction only Buck can manage through the tears that threaten.

“No,” Eddie begs on the other end of the line. And it's a harsh and broken thing—wet with tears but hard with anger Eddie's trying to use to mask it. “I told you, I don't want you here."

Buck has to bite his lip to keep the whimper of pain from dripping out around his own conviction. Holds his breath until it clears and then hangs up the phone without another word. It feels cruel, to cut Eddie off like that, but he won't argue. 

He'll break down the goddamn door again if he has to.

—

The moment he's in the car, he finds himself taking a deep breath, hands gripping too tight to the wheel as he debates his next move.

He knows he should go. Or maybe stay.

But either way, he knows he needs to make a decision and he knows that decision will always be to go to Eddie.

But there's one more thing he needs to try before he can.

He's calling Christopher before he's even processed the thought. It's late, and he shouldn't, but the line is ringing before he can manage to stop himself, and then Christopher's picking up, sounding somewhere between groggy and irritated, and Buck knows he shouldn't have called. Still can't bring himself to regret it.

“Is everyone alive?” Christopher asks first, through a yawn, and he's trying to hide it, but Buck can hear the legitimate worry there, and a pang of guilt hits him as he cringes in response.

“Yeah! Yeah, bud, of course everyone's alive,” he promises, all false cheer and forced smiles he hopes makes his tone sound just a little more convincing.

Christopher sighs, and Buck can hear him shuffling around a bit. Thinks maybe he's sitting up for what he's worried is going to be an argument. “Then why are you calling, Buck?”

And, okay, that tone cuts deeper than anything Buck's heard from Christopher in the past. He finds himself fiddling idly with his car keys, trying to keep his hands busy as he tries to choose his next words carefully.

He's quiet so long, Christopher has to reset him with an irritated “Buck.”

“Right, uh,” Buck begins, squeezing his eyes shut and scrubbing a hand over his face. “Buddy, your dad's not doing well.”

“No."

“Christopher,” Buck pleads, voice betraying all his frustration and pain because he understands, he does—he knows why Chris is angry and why he's not ready to talk. But he also knows how much Eddie is hurting and how little of it had actually been Eddie's fault. And it doesn't change the hurt it caused, but Buck needs Christopher and Eddie to be okay, and right now, he's not sure Eddie's going to be. “Look, I know you don't want to talk to him. And I know it's unfair of me to ask. But Christopher, he needs to at least hear from you. Just. you don't even have to call. Just—just text him. Tell him you love him.”

“Buck—"

“Please, Chris.” 

Christopher's silent for long moments. They stretch through the darkness. So long Buck thinks he's hung up the phone. In the end, though, a tiny voice breaks the silence—one full of a softness Buck hasn't heard in far too long. “Are you with him?”

Buck sucks in a shaky breath. Guilt flooding him at the question. “I'm going to him now.”

Buck thinks he hears Christopher breathe a sigh of relief. “Okay,” he says, sure in a way Buck knows neither of them feel. “Stay with him?”

Buck swallows hard. Fights back the tears. “Until you come home,” he promises.

And he means every word.

It's quiet for long moments again. Buck swears he can hear Christopher thinking. “I do still love him, you know,” Christopher promises. And there's that guilt that just keeps circling between the three of them.

Buck feels a sad smile tilt his lips. “I know you do, Chris. He knows, too. But I think he needs to hear it right now. From you.”

Quiet again. Buck thinks for a moment he's pushed too hard.

“I gotta go,” Christopher says, then. Sad, but sure, and Buck feels like his heart has been crushed. “Bye, Buck.”

“Bye, bud,” Buck chokes out. He thinks Christopher's already gone before he says it.

Tears cling to the corners of his eyes as he wills himself not to let them fall. Doesn't want to put anymore hurt on Eddie when he gets there. Tries to prepare himself for all the pain he knows he'll always take on to support the weight of Eddie's own because he knows he can't add to it now.

So with a heavy heart and a little extra hurt, Buck turns the key in the Jeep's ignition, buckles himself in, and wipes harshly at the tears blurring his eyes. 

Eddie needs him, and he won't wait another moment.

Before he can go, though, his phone dings with a text message, and when he checks it, it's Christopher. 

Tell dad I love him.

When Buck sees it, a harsh breath of relief catches in his throat, and a couple of stray tears manage to sneak out the corners of his eyes as he huffs a laugh devoid of any real humor.

Still, there's relief there. A huge, heavy weight lifting just the slightest as he snaps a screenshot and sends it to Eddie with a message that reads I'll be home in 20. Leave the door unlocked.  

And then he waits.

Stares at the phone in his hand, even when he knows he should already be on his way. But he doesn't have to wait long.

It's only seconds before the word okay comes through, bright as daylight. An invitation and a surrender Buck won't take for granted.

Instead, he swallows the sob that threatens to choke him and points himself in the direction of home.

—

[burntheedges]

good

Clint (Freaky Tales) x gn!reader | 18+ | 2.4k words | masterlist | ao3

summary: Clint only comes to see you when he can’t stay away any longer.

a/n: this is for @iamasaddie’s (kinky) writing challenge 3.0 (prompt: Clint, choking). so from what we know about the movie so far, Clint is trying to get out of the business and be with his (new) family. This is set earlier, before he has those aspirations (and before he has that girlfriend, from what we know – or maybe you are the girlfriend 🤷🏻‍♀️).

When I got this prompt, I was a little intimidated, I won’t lie. And then @katareyoudrilling said ‘what if Clint is the one being choked’ and here we are.

tags/warnings: gn!reader, reader has no description, enforcer/debt collector behavior, reader watches Clint threaten someone, established d/s relationship, kink negotiation and discussion, choking (muscle, not airway), dom!reader, sub!Clint, pet names (sweetheart, sugar), there's no smut here

...

Everyone in the neighborhood knew who the man was, even if they had never spoken to him. It was safer that way. Safer to be able to recognize him, to know the slope of his shoulders, the angle of his brow, even from a distance. Safer to stay out of his line of sight and hope he wasn’t there for you.

It didn’t always go the same way, but there were some things that happened every time like clockwork. From your window you could see how they moved out of his way on the sidewalks and the way they turned their faces down when he passed. You’d noticed a long time ago that no one ever dared to meet his gaze. And when he slowly came to a stop next to his target, whoever it was that day, you could always feel how the entire room hushed and seemed to look away even as they turned their full attention to the show. 

It was getting late, already early evening, when the man came around the corner at the end of the street. You were sitting at your desk in the window that gave you the best view, just for moments like this. You recognized him instantly – plaid shirt, dark jeans, face drawn down in a scowl. 

He was an imposing figure in the twilight. He stalked forward down the road, every movement telegraphing danger and stay away, if you know what’s good for you. A few teenagers scattered out of his path and regrouped behind him, whispering. A couple of guys on the stoop of the building next door turned inward towards each other, avoiding his gaze as he passed. One teenager coming up the road from the other end of the block crossed the street to avoid him, and then crossed it back again when the man crossed it, too. They needn’t have worried, though – the man barely spared the teen a second glance as he yanked open the door to the diner across the street and stepped inside.

You could see everything that happened next through the panel windows. The man looked right, scanning the crowd, and then left. He must have found what he was looking for, as he continued to the left without even a glance towards the host. Every table he passed ducked their heads, avoiding his gaze. Everyone else in the diner ducked their heads, too, pretending they weren’t watching his every move, just in case.

The man came to a stop next to the third booth from the door. There were two men sitting in it, facing each other, and both shrunk back from him as he leaned forward, pressing the tips of two fingers into the table top. The man’s shoulders were loose, posture open and unassuming, but you knew it didn’t fool anyone in the diner. It definitely didn’t fool you. The violence was still there, lurking under the surface.

You could tell that he was speaking to the guy on the right side of the booth, who had shrunk back so far he was leaning against the wall of windows. There was no way you would be able to hear them from your apartment, of course, but when you saw the man lean in just the slightest bit, you leaned in, too. You imagined it wasn’t going well. 

What the man did next confirmed your guess. He moved, suddenly, lightning quick, snapping his left hand out to haul the target up by his shirt front. The man lifted the guy bodily from the booth and shook him, just once, before dropping him back down on the cushioned seat. He bounced and curled back in on himself. 

The man’s right fingers were still pressed into the table top. He finally removed them to pull a piece of paper from his back pocket. He held it up between two fingers, right in the target’s face. 

It was at this point that the target started to cry. 

The rest of the diner turned away, but you kept watching. You watched as the man held his hand out, watched as the target dug in his pockets and produced his wallet. Watched as the man snatched it, pulled out some cash, and tossed it back on the table. Watched as he counted it, shook his head, and said something that made the target shake his head violently. 

The man sighed, looking weary. He said something else, just one last thing, and turned on his heel and left. 

Something in the way he moved caught your eye.

You tilted your head back against your window and started to smile. You gave it 45 minutes, maybe an hour, before you knew you would hear the knock on your door. 

…

You were right. The knock came 49 minutes later and you opened the door to find him standing there in the same outfit you’d just seen through your window. Broad shoulders tugging at his plaid shirt, dark jeans, hair slicked back. Frown and furrowed brow firmly in place. 

“Clint,” you greeted, tone even. “Done terrorizing the neighborhood?”

Somehow he frowned harder. “Let me in.” His voice was gruff, low and strained. 

You tilted your head as you crossed your arms and leaned against the door frame of your small apartment. “That was quite a show, in the diner,” you replied, ignoring his request. “Big tough guy, huh?”

He sighed and closed his eyes, suddenly looking exhausted. He shook his head. “Just a job, sweetheart. You know how it is.” His tone was closed off, cold. 

You regarded him for a moment in silence. You knew what you were looking for, but he wasn’t always in the mood to give it to you. Wasn’t always able to give it to you, even though it was what he came here for. Even though it was what he wanted. You watched as he fought with himself, jaw tight, hands clenched into fists.

But then he shook his head and made a noise low in his throat. Some of the tension went out of his shoulders and you saw something familiar start to appear in his posture. You smiled.

“Please,” he murmured, ducking his head and running his palms up and down his thighs. “Please, can I come in?” His voice was still low and gruff, but the tone had shifted. He was settling into it. He needed something, and he needed it from you. 

You were more than happy to provide. 

“Come in, then.” You pulled the door open the rest of the way and turned to walk back towards your bedroom. You knew he would follow and you smiled to yourself, small and hidden, when you heard him lock the door and slip his boots off in your entryway.

“You know what to do.” You turned when you reached your bed and settled on the end of it. Without another word he came to kneel in front of you. As he settled into position, a low moan rumbled from his throat and you fought a smile. “Look at you. How long has it been? Two weeks? Three?” You clicked your tongue. “Too long, I think.” 

Clint hummed and closed his eyes when you reached out to touch his hair. You took that as confirmation. 

“Why do you make yourself wait like that, sugar?” You murmured and watched the way he shivered at the pet name. “Why do you do that to yourself, when you know I’m here for you? Knowing just what you need?” You slid your hand down the side of his face until it came to rest on his jaw. When he didn’t answer, you tapped him sharply on the cheek. 

“Answer me, sugar.” Your voice was firm, but warm, and you knew it was a struggle for him to let himself sink into it the way he wanted to. The way he needed to. You could see the struggle playing out across his face. 

“I…” he cleared his throat. “I don’t…” he trailed off and you tapped his cheek again. His eyes flew open and you bit back whatever sound you almost made at the sheer exhaustion, sheer loathing you saw in his gaze. You knew none of it was directed at you. 

“You don’t what?” You prompted, fingers dancing down the side of his throat. 

He sucked in a sharp breath. “I’m a piece of shit. You know it, I know it.” He shook his head. “I don’t deserve it,” he muttered, voice low. 

Quick, but not as quick as he’d moved back in the diner, you dug your fingers into his hair and tugged. His head tilted back and his mouth opened around a rough gasp. 

“Sugar. You know how I feel about it, when you say things like that.” Your voice was still warm but your grip was hard and you could see the tension leaving his shoulders. We’re getting there. “Tell me.”

Clint cleared his throat and leaned into your hand where it gripped his hair. “I–” he cut himself off abruptly and tried again. “I deserve it.” He was breathing hard, suddenly, like he’d run a long distance before falling at your feet.

“Deserve what, sugar?” You lifted your free hand to cup his cheek even as you kept your firm grip in his hair with the other. You knew he didn’t want to say it, but you knew he also needed it. Craved it. He’d get it out, even if it felt like pulling the words through a throat made of glass shards and a million regrets.

“I deserve to be…” he trailed off and you tugged at his hair again. His eyes were closed and you could see him fighting it. He took a haggard breath and said, by rote, “I deserve to be cared for. I, hmm, deserve warmth.” You tugged again. “And peace.” 

You hummed and loosened your grip. “Good.” He sighed, tension leaking out of his form, eyes still closed.

You’d agreed on the words early on, when you’d negotiated what would happen between you. There were things he wanted, things he needed, things he wouldn’t let himself have. Things he didn’t think he deserved.

You wanted to show him that he did. It was all you’d wanted, from the first time you’d done this for him. With him.

“Very good, sugar,” you repeated. He moaned, quietly. You smiled. “Can you tell me what you need?”

Clint shook his head, brow furrowed again.

You nodded. “Alright. I’ll give you some options, ok?” He nodded quickly and you smiled again. “Good.” You trailed your hands through his hair and down his arms until your hands circled each of his wrists. “Do you want to be tied down?”

He shook his head again and made a low noise of disagreement.

“Thank you, sugar.” You skimmed your hands back up his arms to his throat, where you wrapped them loosely with no pressure. You murmured, voice low, “is this what you want, then?”

You felt his pulse pick up beneath your fingers before he nodded. 

“Mmm, good.” You leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. “It’s been a while, so we’ll go slow. Just three times. I’ll count it out and you’ll tell me how it feels, after. Right away, each time.” He nodded and you traced your eyes over his features. His expression was already bordering on bliss when you tapped his cheek again sharply. “Yes?”

His eyes fluttered open and you saw the mingling of his hope and desire and fear and need behind his gaze. “Yes, please. I will.” His words fell out around a moan and you smiled.

“Good.”

You moved your hands into position slowly, steadily, watching his expression as you did. His hands moved to rest on your ankles as he shuffled forward between your knees.

Your left hand tangled in his hair and your right slipped around until you were cupping the back of his neck in your hand, finding a firm grip with your fingers on one side and your thumb on the other. You pressed down just enough to find the column of muscles along his lovely throat and smiled. 

“Be good for me, sugar.” 

He nodded sharply.

You pressed down with your fingers into the muscle of his neck, tightening your hold. You felt him tense and then almost slump into the hold, all tension leaving his body at last. 

Quietly, you counted to five, and then slowly released your grip on his neck. When your fingers slid loosely from their positions, he cleared his throat. “I feel–” he hummed. “I feel good.”

“Very good, sugar,” you praised, running your fingertips up and down his neck. You saw the corner of his mouth twitch towards a smile. “Here we go.”

You moved your fingers back into position and squeezed again, grip firm on the muscle of his neck. He moaned, this time, clutching at your calf muscles to hold himself up. You counted to five and when you released your grip he moaned again, low and soft. 

“I–” he trailed off and shook himself. “I feel so good.” His voice was low and gravelly and you could hear the wonder in it. The wonder at how well you took care of him, every time.

“Thank you, sugar.” You combed through his hair with your left hand and hummed. “One more. Yes?”

He nodded. “Please,” he begged, barely a whisper. 

“Ok. Last time.” You moved your left hand to rest gently on the front of his throat, just so he knew it was there. With your right gripping firmly around the back of his neck, you squeezed again, just a little bit firmer this time. The way you knew he liked. You counted slowly to five.

Clint was silent. You could see him falling into himself, into your hold, even with his eyes closed. When you released his neck he sank onto the floor and to the side, sitting instead of kneeling. He sucked in a sharp breath. “I feel–” he stopped, nothing else forthcoming, and you gripped his face firmly in both palms. 

He blinked his eyes open. His gaze was hazy but full of only wonder and desire, all fear and loathing chased away under your firm hand. “I feel so fucking good,” he whispered roughly. 

You smiled at him, holding his face between your palms. “You are so fucking good, sugar.”

He whined, eyes falling shut again, and leaned forward until his forehead came to rest on your thigh. You ran your hands through his hair again and ghosted your fingertips over his neck where you’d just held him.

You leaned forward until your lips brushed his ear as you murmured, “thank you for being so good for me.”

...

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[imabeautifulbutterfly]

Hey there! May I just say that I love your celebration ideas? I love this jukebox concept so much!

I'd love to request one. I remember loving the fic you wrote for my request during your previous event, and I love linking music to writing. My current favorite song is ceilings by Lizzy McAlpine, and I'd love to request it with Crosshair (surprise!). The song gives me very romantic but also melancholic vibes, and to me it means loving a place/situation/person so much that you just want the moment to last forever.

But of course, you may work your magic for this. I love your writing, and I'll be happy with whatever you choose to write 🩵 thank you so much in advance!

Thank you so much love. It means a lot that you like my crazy ideas. Love oo.

Now, your request had me stumped for a few minutes, and then the idea just flowed. I hope you like my interpretation of this song, because you're right, it has very melancholic vibes.

Love oo.

Ceilings

Warnings: Injury, AU of S2E16, tears, dream, kissing, implied coitus, promises, declarations of feelings, sacrifice, saving others, angst. I think that's it. If I missed anything please let me know.

Main Master List   | Star Wars Jukebox Roulette |   AO3 Link

Your eyes blinked as you saw the raindrops falling down on top of you. You don’t remember exactly what happened, but you see the railcars moving. They’re safe. You smile to yourself as your body screams in pain, you want to move, to get up but everything is telling you that wouldn’t be a good idea.

For some reason your eyelids feel heavy, you want to close them, to fall asleep for just a little while, but in the back of your mind you know that’s not a good idea. 

You know you need to stay away, but … something doesn’t seem right. Your mind must be playing tricks on you because you see Crosshair kneeling down beside you, smiling.

Gods, how you missed that smile. You close your eyes fighting back tears, as you feel his hand on your cheek. 

“Hey mesh’la”

“Crosshair?”

“Who else?”

“Wha … what are you doing here?”

“What do you mean? It’s date night.”

You blinked as you were no longer lying on the floor of the valley on Eriadu, you were now in your living room. You looked down at your dress, it was the one Crosshair loved on you, the yellow one with white flowers on the bottom half of your skirt. You slowly sat up, shaking your head.

“I just had the craziest dream.”

“Really?” He smiled leaning in closer, “Anything you wanna recreate?” He smirked as he wiggled his eyebrows.

You giggled, shaking your head slightly as you rolled your eyes at him, “Not that kind of dream, anyways what took you so long?”

“Sorry, Hunter was being impossible, but I’m here now” he leaned forward, pressing his lips to yours, claiming your mouth the way he always used to. Used to, no that’s not right. Does. The way he always does. 

You pulled back, shaking your head.

“You okay, mesh’la?”

“Yeah, just … Crosshair where are we?”

He looked around and smirked, “If I’m not mistaken mesh’la, your apartment on Coruscant,” he answered, his eyebrow arching amused with his own answer. You simply shook your head, fighting the amused look on your face. 

As you looked into his eyes, you reached your hand up and caressed his cheek. You missed touching his cheek like this, trying to comfort him as much as you could … missed? He was right here, why would you be missing touching his cheek. 

“Well shall we?” You tilted your head smiling.

“By all means,” he took your hand in his, guiding you out of the apartment, towards 79’s. 

The night progressed, with a lot of dancing, a lot of touching, and a lot of drinking. 

You remembered how he started to kiss you in the taxi, how it continued as you got on the lift to your apartment, you remembered how quickly you both got undressed. How you held him so tight afraid it would’ve been the last time. 

The next morning you watched as he got dressed, and sat beside you on the bed, “I had fun last night, mesh’la.”

“So did I, Cross.” You smiled as you held his hand, “How long are you going to be away this time?”

“Not sure, they brought us back to help with some mission to find a spy or something; doesn’t matter one mission is the same as the next. I’ll be back.” He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“You promise?”

“Nothing could keep me away from you.”

You smirked as you looked into his eyes, “Liar.”

“Nope.” He held up his right hand, “I swear, if I’m not back it’s because I’m dead. Then you’ll have to deal with my brothers on your own.”

You let out a laugh, shaking your head, “Your brothers aren’t that bad.”

He let out a huff, “Yes, they are, but you’re too kind-hearted to know the difference. Anyway that’s always been the deal, if anything happens to me, Hunter will look after you. Alright? But nothing’s going to happen, so you’re stuck with me.”

You pulled him in one last time, kissing him with all the passion and love you felt for him, “I love you, Crosshair.”

“I love you, mesh’la. I gotta go. I’ll comm you when I can.”

With that he was gone.

A pain entered your head, as memories after that moment flashed through your mind, Hunter appearing at your door, telling you they had to run. Meeting Omega. Fighting for Crosshair all that time.

Your feet felt cold, as though the rain had filled your boots. You blinked and you were back on Eriadu, still on the floor of the valley. The rain was still coming down … was that rain? You touched your cheeks slowly, painfully, no… that was rain. It was tears. 

You glanced around hoping you’d see Crosshair one more time, but it wasn’t real… he wasn’t there. You breathed out one last time, unable to recall if that was really the last time you kissed Crosshair. 

Despite how hard you tried, your eyes closed as your world went dark. 

Main Master List   | Star Wars Jukebox Roulette |   AO3 Link

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[defectivevillain]

until it doesn't hurt

pairing: Bruce Banner/Reader

the reader's race and gender are ambiguous; no pronouns or physical descriptors are used.

summary: “I could’ve caused you irreversible harm,” Bruce says. It’s almost a practiced recitation at this point, and you have to wonder if he truly believes that—or if he’s just been conditioned by everyone around him to believe he is only capable of inflicting pain. “You didn’t,” you maintain, for what feels like the thousandth time. Bruce is so caught up in the hypotheticals that he refuses to see the success right in front of him: the fact that he didn’t so much as lay a finger on you.

word count: 2.9k | ao3 version

warnings: canon-typical violence

Being an Avenger means you have to be ready for anything at all times. That spontaneity is difficult to adjust to at first, but as time passes, you grow used to it. You grow used to sleeping lightly; to stashing weapons just about anywhere you can keep them; to having few restful days and many restless ones. The moment your powers manifested, you knew you would be a hero: not because you wanted to be one, but because it would be your responsibility to protect those who needed protecting. 

You weren’t always an Avenger. At first, you were just a rogue—kind of a vigilante. But then the attack on New York happened—Loki happened—and everything flew out the window. Suddenly, you were out on the street in broad daylight, trying your best to keep the civilians safe. That was how you crashed into Iron Man of all people. You exchanged banter and insults, but when it came down to it, you protected him, and he protected you. And Tony is extremely persistent—it didn’t take long for him to sink his claws into you and drag you back to the Avengers Tower. 

From there, you gradually get to know the other Avengers. Steve and Clint are relatively friendly right off the bat. Natasha is a bit more difficult—you have to earn her trust before she starts to open up to you. But eventually, somehow, you manage to bond with all of the other occupants of the Tower. At least, all of them except Bruce Banner. 

Bruce is an interesting case. He almost immediately dismissed you when Tony first introduced you, instead deigning to focus on his experiments. You hadn’t taken offense to Bruce’s reclusive behavior, nor had you taken the hint that he didn’t want to get to know you. Instead, you had all but forced him to acknowledge you. This manifested in a multitude of ways: from going out of your way to talk to him to offering to help with his research. Bruce is extremely protective of his laboratory, but somehow he deemed you capable enough to serve as his laboratory assistant. You were more than content to hand him capsules and adjust minor things, while he did the brunt of the work. You took the gifted opportunities to attempt to get to know him better. At first, it was like speaking to a brick wall. But somewhere along the way, his cold and uncaring façade began to crack. You slowly worked your way up to meaningless small talk—and, later, casual conversation.

Truthfully, you really enjoy spending time with Bruce. But he’s rather unpredictable—sometimes he’ll push you away, and other times he’ll play along. You know that he has a lot of baggage—what with his childhood and his alter-ego. You’ve been trying to convince him that you care about him—that you’re not going to abandon him or villainize him—but he doesn’t ever seem to believe you. He always conducts himself with some semblance of suspicion and doubt; it almost seems like he’s waiting for you to wake up to reality and run away screaming.

Still, progress is progress—no matter how slow. You’re happy with how you’ve slowly bonded with him, and you can only hope that there’s more on the horizon for the both of you. 

…You never consider the possibility that something could happen to make things worse—to destroy your progress and send you right back to the start. 

“We need you for something.”

You’re brutally torn from your reverie, forced to slowly come back to yourself. You’re sitting in the living room, staring ahead at the blank wall. How long have you been sitting here? All you know is that it’s no longer light outside, and that Natasha is standing in front of you with a firm expression. 

“I- what?” You stammer, still processing what’s happening. “Nat-”

“It’s important,” she says. You get to your feet before she can continue speaking. “Trust me.” You do trust her. Natasha isn’t one for over-exaggeration or dramatics; when she says something is important, she means it. And the grave expression on her face is only worrying you more. You follow after her as she walks down the hall and towards the elevators. The two of you step into the space and she presses a button, before the elevator slowly rises. 

In hindsight, perhaps you should’ve been a bit more suspicious. Why would she be taking you to another floor in the Tower? Typically, when there’s a new development or an imminent threat, you’ll be directed to another location—either to combat the threat or to strategize. Furthermore, there’s a strained silence in the air between Natasha and you. Nat’s shoulders are drawn tight and she’s staring ahead pointedly, as if avoiding your eyes. 

The elevator dings and you breathe an internal sigh of relief, hoping to get rid of this needless tension. But before you can begin to take a step, you’re being roughly shoved out of the elevator and into the hallway. It takes you several moments to get your bearings—at which point you recognize the telltale sounds of the doors behind you closing, and the elevator dropping back down to where you came. You stare at the closed doors in disbelief, before turning to look back down the hall. One of the recreational rooms is straight ahead, and you hear yelling. 

Once you’re standing in the doorway, you’re able to place the inexplicable noises you were hearing. Bruce is in his Hulk form, green and raging as he throws anything within his grasp at the walls around him. You’re willing to bet Natasha brought you here to do something about this. Why she thinks you’re the best person to calm Bruce down, you’re not sure. 

“Bruce,” you say slowly. Bruce promptly freezes, an exercise machine lifted over his head. He stares down at you; you stare up at him. He’s momentarily distracted by you. “It’s okay.” He’s silent. You hold your hands out at your sides in mock surrender. “I’m not here to hurt you,” you continue. “You’re safe.”

Silence. You take a slow breath. The machine he’s holding over his head drops a fraction of an inch. 

“It’s okay, Bruce.” You repeat, pushing as much conviction into your voice as you can. Your effort seems to work, as his eyebrows furrow. For a moment, there’s nothing but silence as the two of you stare at each other. Then, his visage shifts and you’re suddenly looking at Bruce Banner—disheveled and exhausted.

“Are you alright-?” You’re compelled to ask. The scientist is back in human form, wearing nothing but a tattered pair of pants; bruises and scratches litter his skin; and there’s a distant expression on his face. He seems to snap out of his trance when he hears your voice.

“What the hell are you doing?” Bruce then spits. You immediately flinch at the unexpected anger. “Seriously, what the fuck are you doing here?” His gaze is flitting about the room quickly, before settling on you with fevered intensity. You’ve never seen Bruce look so irate before. He’s a remarkably composed man (although you suspect he bottles up anger and rage and lets it out in bursts as the Hulk). Indeed, this kind of fury is typical for the Hulk, but exceedingly rare for Bruce. 

“I didn’t-” You choke out helplessly, glancing back at the hall and, by extension, the elevator. “They-” It’s inexplicably difficult for you to get the words out. 

“That was our doing.” A voice confesses from behind you. You turn around to find Nat and Tony standing behind you. The two of them approach and come to a stop at your side. 

Bruce’s gaze locks on them with fiery focus. He brings a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. His glasses are nowhere to be seen—he must’ve dropped them somewhere as he transformed. “I expected better from both of you.”

“Bruce-” Tony tries to say, an apologetic expression on his face. 

“What on earth made you think that throwing them out as bait was a good idea?” Bruce interjects furiously, motioning towards you. “You could’ve gotten them seriously injured!” He exclaims. Tony has the good grace to look embarrassed; Nat is staring ahead with a flat expression and her arms crossed over her chest.

“Bruce, I’m fine-” You try to say, quickly growing uncomfortable with the tension settling in the air. 

“I could’ve harmed you,” Bruce is quick to assert. “Easily.” His voice is cold. 

“But you didn’t,” you maintain. He’s not giving himself enough credit. More troubling is the idea that he has faith in his own cruelty—that he only sees himself as capable of harming someone. You don’t know what else to say, don’t know what could possibly be said to repair the evident years of damage done to this man’s psyche. The entire world has treated him as a weapon at best and an uncontrollable, irredeemable monster at worst.

“That doesn’t matter,” Bruce says with unshakeable certainty. He retreats from the room, leaving you to stare after him in confusion and shock. You turn to face Natasha and Tony, who are both staring at the doorway with complex looks. 

You want to tell them off, but the words that leave your lips are far different than you intend them to be. “Should I go after him?” You ask instead. Bruce is the primary concern right now—you can chew Tony and Nat out later. You’ve known him for a bit now, and have grown to interpret his expressions fairly easily. You’ve seen Bruce express a lot of emotions… but the look on his face just now is completely foreign to you. 

“Probably,” Tony admits. 

“I don’t think we should,” Natasha says, motioning towards Tony and herself. “He’s mad at us. And… rightfully so.” She exchanges a glance with Tony, whose lips are pressed in a thin line. It’s clear they didn’t give enough thought to their whole plan. 

“You’ll be fine, though,” Tony says with unfounded conviction. Nat places a hand on your shoulder and grips it reassuringly. You take a deep breath and come to a decision, walking down the hall and towards the elevator doors. 

Moments later, you’re walking out of the lift and down the dim hallway leading to Bruce’s bedroom. He’s entirely alone on this floor of the tower. You pause in front of his door for a few seconds, wondering if you should walk away. But you can’t. Instead, you knock on the door four times. “Bruce?” You ask. Despite the clear sturdiness of the door, he’s able to hear you. 

“Go away.” Bruce responds. His voice is a little muffled, and you have to strain to hear him. 

You’re hurt for the briefest of moments. Then you shelf the feeling and resolve yourself to tackling it later. “I’m coming in,” you announce, placing your hand against the scanner at the edge of the doorway. The scanner flashes green and the door slides open, revealing Bruce’s bedroom. You’ve never been here before. It’s modestly decorated, with mostly monotone shades. Nothing particularly strikes you, save for the giant desk in the corner of the room. Papers litter the entire surface of the desk, and a few are covered by Bruce’s arms. 

The man doesn’t look up as you approach. “I don’t want to see you,” Bruce says. His back is turned and you’re unable to see his expression. 

“I don’t care,” you respond, taking a few steps into the space until you’re a short (yet seemingly insurmountable) distance from Bruce. He’s sitting at his desk, rubbing his hands over his eyes roughly. It doesn’t take long for you to remember your guilt. “Bruce, I don’t want you to torture yourself over this.” Maybe you shouldn’t have interfered in the first place. 

“I could’ve caused you irreversible harm,” Bruce says. It’s almost a practiced recitation at this point, and you have to wonder if he truly believes that—or if he’s just been conditioned by everyone around him to believe he is only capable of inflicting pain. 

“You didn’t,” you maintain, for what feels like the thousandth time. Bruce is so caught up in the hypotheticals that he refuses to see the success right in front of him: the fact that he didn’t so much as lay a finger on you. 

“No, I don’t think you understand,” Bruce says with a shake of his head. He pushes himself out of his chair and gets to his feet, turning around to face you. Your eyes widen as you notice the torn expression on his face, the dark circles under his eyes, and the determination written in every line of his form. “My eyes locked onto you and, for a split second, I envisioned harming you. Deliberately.” The confession clings to the air like a vice. 

“But you didn’t act on that impulse,” you assert. “You suppressed it.” 

“So?” Bruce argues. “I still had the urge. You should be disgusted, afraid-” 

“I’m not afraid of you, Bruce,” you interrupt. The statement lingers heavily in the air between the two of you. For a long moment, there’s nothing but the faint hum you’ve grown to associate with the Tower itself.  

“You should be,” Bruce then mutters. And suddenly he’s standing in front of you, staring at you with a dark gaze. His fists are clenched at his sides and you see his skin flicker with shades of green, before it returns to normal. The man maneuvers you to the side and shoves you, until you’re hitting the wall behind you. Bruce’s hands move up to your shirt collar and he clenches at it, his fingers almost spasming as he tightens his grip. You just stare at him. “I could ruin you.” He murmurs, so quietly that you have to strain to hear it. 

You want to argue with him so badly, but that strategy hasn’t been working so far. For some reason, Bruce has convinced himself that he not only has the capacity to hurt you, but that he wants to. You know that can’t be true, but how can you convince him? If he thinks he can ruin you… “Then do it,” you challenge him. He meets your eyes once more and you stare back unflinchingly, trying to convey how much you trust him. 

If you thought the tension was suffocating before, it’s practically ripping the breath from your lungs now. Everything around you seems to fade into obscurity. All you can see is Bruce; all you can feel is Bruce. His fingers twitch and his grip falls from your collar. For an awful moment, you think he’s going to walk away—turn his back on you as he has done so many times before. But he doesn’t. Instead, he leans closer. If he’s trying to get you to back down, then it isn’t working. 

At first, you want to think that Bruce is testing you. But the way he’s regarding you right now—with glittering desire in his eyes—makes you think otherwise. His hands move from the wall to your shoulders, back to the nape of your neck, until he gently tugs you forward. It’s hardly a strong pull, and you understand the choice he’s giving you. 

But, you think fondly, there was never much of a choice. From the moment you locked eyes with him, you knew he would dominate your thoughts. And indeed, he has. You think about the hard-won look of approval in his eyes when you make an astute observation; the way he almost frantically looks across the battlefield, his posture instantly relaxing once he sees you; the contradictions written all over his skin; the rare smiles you felt privileged to see. 

You lean forward and press your lips to his. Bruce is quick to reciprocate, his hands lingering at the nape of your neck before slipping down to your waist. You lock your arms around his shoulders, practically trapping him in your embrace. But from the strength of his grip, you can ascertain that the gesture is more than welcome. 

Later, when you break apart, Bruce has a disbelieving expression on his face. He looks slightly dazed, as if suspicious of the reality he now finds himself in. You grasp his wrist gently. 

“You can’t get rid of me, Bruce,” You murmur insistently, “...no matter how hard you try.”

He stares at you for another long moment. “And I have tried,” Bruce admits through a dry huff. You want to be offended by the comment, but you know it’s true. Bruce is stupidly self-sacrificing—he purposefully keeps his distance from people to protect them. But the reality of the situation is that people will come to harm regardless of his presence. “But you’re too stubborn.” That statement is spoken with a significant amount of fondness, and his hand comes up to cradle your cheek. You bring your hand up to rest on top of his. 

“I’ll always be here, even when you don’t want me to be.” You promise. And maybe that promise isn’t yours to make, because one can never truly predict what will come next. But somehow, deep down, you know it to be true. 

Bruce brings you close once more, an uncharacteristic note of boldness in the fluid movement. When you step back moments later, you find that he has a hint of a smile on his face. “I know,” Bruce says, the traces of apprehension on his face breaking and cracking to reveal a rare sight: unrestrained affection.

thanks for reading! <3

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[bs2sjh]

My first @flashfictionfridayofficial! Thanks for the great prompt!

Fandom: Sherlock (Johnlock, Mystrade)

I'm also posting it on Ao3. It's over 1000 words, so feel free to go here to read it!

cw: implied drug use, implied suicide attempt, implied torture

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

There had been a number of times where Mycroft Holmes had been made very aware that he did, in fact, have a heart beating in his chest after all.

The first was when a small, red-faced infant had been brought home. As Mycroft looked down at the crying, screaming thing, he didn't expect the sudden jolt in his chest. A stab of sudden overwhelming emotion. What was equally unexpected was that when he stroked his new baby brother's face and told him to quieten, that everything was going to be okay, that he would always be protected by his big brother, the infant had listened. William Sherlock Scott Holmes simply looked at his older brother, and Mycroft felt that deeply. 

The second time was sheer pain at finding his younger brother in a drug den, surrounded by needles, barely breathing. It wasn't the first time he'd found him in a place like this. But on this occasion, it felt different. Mycroft knew that this time, Sherlock had not meant to survive the encounter. Scooping up the younger man in his arms, his heart ached at how thin the boy was, at how little life remained in him. He took him straight to the nearest hospital, where they whisked him away, leaving Mycroft with his aching heart to sit and wait. It wasn't until many days later that Sherlock opened his eyes to see the concerned expressions of his family around him. In his heart, Mycroft knew that this wouldn't be the last time his brother would be in this situation. The pain was indescribable. 

The third time was seeing Sherlock chained up in a filthy cell in Serbia. His brother had spent two years moving around the globe, destroying pockets of Moriarty's empire single-handedly. That the criminal mastermind hadn't targeted Sherlock's family should have hurt, but strangely it didn't. Knowing that Sherlock had people he cared about enough to keep them safe meant that he valued at least some people in his life to prevent their suffering. It was a pity that John Watson didn't know the lengths to which Sherlock would go to protect him. It might have saved his heart some of the ache he was currently feeling. But seeing Sherlock beaten, tortured, at the edge of his sanity. Anger filled his heart this time. That someone could do this to his baby brother. Infiltration successful, Sherlock finally cut down from his bonds, too weak to stand, bleeding and barely conscious. Mycroft hardened his heart and made sure no one who had laid a hand on his brother was left to tell the tale. 

The fourth time was the hardest to bear. To know that Sherlock had once again sacrificed his life for a love that would never be acknowledged. By now, Mycroft was angry at John Watson. He had Sherlock's undying love but was so blindingly stupid not to realise that fact. So here they were, in a prison cell, Sherlock about to be sent away on a one-way mission to the place he had been rescued from not long before. All so that John Watson could be happy. And there was nothing Mycroft could do. His heart ached at how easily Sherlock would throw his life away for someone who merely considered him a friend. But nothing Mycroft could say would make Sherlock change his mind; he refused to tell John the truth, and that was that. The relief when Moriarty appeared on the screen, the phone call that followed, the pardon that he had hoped for arriving almost too late. His heart skipped with happiness only to sink again when he realised his brother had fallen back on old habits. No one who had seen that list could think otherwise. Sherlock had not meant to land in Serbia alive. Telling John Watson to look after his brother was the hardest thing he had ever done, but at that point, Mycroft knew he had to let go. His heart couldn't take any more. One day, Sherlock would succeed, and his heart would break. 

The fifth was a surprise. As Mycroft stood blinking at his brother, who was sitting at the kitchen table in Baker Street bouncing a three-year-old Rosie Watson on his knee, his heart gave the biggest lurch he'd ever felt. He felt for the chair he knew must be there and sank into it like his strings had been cut. 

"Best man?" His brother rolled his eyes and set Rosie on the floor, watching as she toddled off into the living room.

"Yes."

"But..."

"But what? You've been there every day, meddling, since I was born. For once, and once only, I'm asking you to be there. With me." Mycroft's heartfelt three sizes bigger; a lump appeared in his throat, and his eyes started to fill. Choking down the emotion, Mycroft coughed and turned away. 

"Don't tell me it broke him too. You two are ridiculous." John laughed as he walked into the kitchen. So a few weeks later, Mycroft stood next to his brother as he married his best friend, finally. 

If the fifth was a surprise, nothing shook Mycroft more than the sixth. He was standing on the edge of the dancefloor as he watched Sherlock waltz with his new husband, besotted expressions on their faces. It happened when the other best man approached. 

"So, normally, I guess I would be asking the maid of honour to dance. But seeing as that would either be you or me in this case, would you do me the honour of this dance?" Gregory Lestrade held out his hand for Mycroft, and at once, something like a bolt hit him straight in the heart. 

"I'd be delighted, Gregory." He accepted the proffered hand, and they waltzed onto the dancefloor. As they moved in time to the music, Mycroft felt his heart change. He continued to feel its presence long after the dance, the night, the week. Mycroft spent the rest of his life knowing full well he had a heart. It was a joyful feeling most of the time, and, on occasion, it ached. It got larger as their families grew and settled. And he never once said again that caring was not an advantage. Because he had learned that it most definitely was. 

@totallysilvergirl @lisbeth-kk @helloliriels @dapetty @calaisreno

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[villainofmyownstory]

Blindsided

For @the-californicationist's “Cali’s Nameless Challenge” writing challenge!

summary: You can't get over the breakup and the fact that you were left alone. You keep coming to the place where you last saw him. To, perhaps, finally get some kind of answer. Some solace.

tags: afab reader, hurt, angst, ex lovers, recollection of death, ambiguous/open ending??

520 words

author's note: Cali, congratulations on reaching 500k on ao3! I wish you many, many more hundreds of words written, you are doing a great job! I hope you enjoy it <3

Inspired by the song Blindsided by Bilmuri, the lyrics are italicized and indented

Don't forget to leave a comment guessing who the nameless one might be!

================================================

You're standing on a flat, dark ground. With evenly trimmed grass. You stare at a straight row of stone, light-granite memorials. You spend another autumn afternoon in the same way. Standing huddled, already on the beaten ground. In front of, it would seem, the same headstone as the hundreds here. A row of letters and numbers blending together. Actually meaning nothing. Fake names, made-up dates. Maybe it wasn't the first time.

Was it even ever real?

There were never tears in your eyes. Not even before. Long before. Because, how could you ever cry for someone who didn't exist.

Were you always a liar?

No flowers, no lit candle. No personal item. Emptiness. Simplicity. All in all, such as his life was. Or maybe he was just pretending.

''It's nothing personal. Shit was never real, babe''

Rubbing your tired eyes, you pay no attention to your surroundings. In this foreign country, in no man's land. Among the slowly falling colorful leaves. Another miserable day. Sacrificing everything for one big lie.

I'm not saying I was perfect Why do I deserve this?

Finally, in a fit of another wave of anger at this figure seemingly lying a few feet below your feet, you seize in rage, to remove the gold adorning your finger. Maybe by the cold, or maybe by months of drowning sorrows. The ring refuses to move an inch on your finger. Another blow of cold wind. Shivers appearing on your body. The same ones that probably appeared that April night, when you opened your eyes and he slept by your side as if nothing ever happened. And finally looking at his face, tired after another mission, on which, with each return, more wrinkles and scars appeared. You were beginning to understand this farce, this game he was playing with you, probably from the very beginning.

Did your heart get colder? Did I ever make you feel when your head was on my shoulder?

You should then ask him, pestering him with questions, about telling the truth. When you finally, after many weeks, noticed the absence of that symbol of the vow you both made on his finger.

Make it clear when you forgot that ring Did it weigh down on your hand?

Standing in the cemetery, once again. With so many unanswered questions. He wasn't even buried in his homeland. None of his relatives showed up, except his teammates and a few friends. And you. It was so strange. Nothing made sense about it. That feeling you gave him was buried in that grave. Maybe his body wasn't there. But your heart was there. Definitely.

You left without a word Just to make it hurt

If you hadn't been so immersed in your thoughts, in asking him unspoken questions and shouting resentments in your head. Maybe you would have noticed sooner, that tall and broad figure that stood a dozen steps away, behind one of the old leaning trees. His eyes, darkened from longing, gazed intently at your sad and miserable figure. He was watching you and keeping an eye on you. As always.

"Yours forever, remember, babe?"

[rose-of-the-grave]

First Day of School

Pairing: Lily x James

This was requested by @jake26786, hope you enjoy! As always I'm the author (please don't repost).

Masterlist. Read on Ao3

Warnings: fluff, nerves, Lily and James live, idk

Word Count: 583

Description: It's Harry's first day of kindergarten and he's nervous. Luckily he has an amazing mom.

Taglist: @sylveryfire, @jake26786

Lily stood in the kitchen, eating breakfast while she watched James play with Harry. He was zooming around on the small broom that Sirius had sent, making James try to catch him. It was his first day of kindergarten today which was hard to believe. Her baby boy was growing up so fast.

It felt like only yesterday she had found out she was pregnant and now here they were, a happy little family. She smiled softly, watching the two people that she loved most in the world goof around. It was at times like these that she thanked Merlin that they were all alive to see this, Lily couldn’t imagine Harry growing up without his parents. She couldn’t fathom it.

James looked over at her from where he was currently holding their cat who was wriggling around, not wanting to be held. He smiled at her and she remembered. After they were both sorted into Gryffindor she had watched how closely he had bonded with his friends, their matching grins of mischief. The same grin of his that she had started to fall for once they became friends. And now he’s her husband and they have a kid. The girl she used to be would never have believed it. But they had both grown up and changed.

Harry came flying back into the living room, distracting James long enough for their new cat to jump out of his arms. She watched fondly as James gave chase again.

Her heart felt like it was about to burst with happiness watching them all together. She wished that they could just stay here in this moment forever. Harry zooming around on his broom away from James while giggling with glee.

Looking over at the clock she realized that they were running late.

“Harry, we need to go!”

Ten minutes later Harry was in the backseat and Lily was kissing James goodbye.

“Love you, Lils.” He said, tucking a stray hair behind her ear.

“Love you too!” Walking over to the car, she got in. As she backed out of the driveway she yelled, “See you later!”

He waved until they were out of eyesight.

Harry’s excitement and upbeat attitude slowly disappeared the closer they got to the school and Lily got worried. It was just nerves she told herself. He was going to be fine.

She got out of the car and walked around to open Harry’s door for him. He jumped out but immediately wrapped his arm around her legs.

“Mummy… I don't want to go.” Harry said, hugging her tightly.

She brushed his hair out of his face, attempting to reassure him, “Harry my sweetheart. I know it's scary, starting kindergarten. I was scared too, but I soon got used to it.”

“Y-You’ll be here to pick me up?” Harry asked timidly. His green eyes looked up into hers.

“Of course.” Lily promised. “I’ll be here waiting right when school ends and we’ll go for ice cream or something.”

That pulled a smile out of him, showing off his newly lost tooth. He had been so proud. Lily was glad that it had been painless, she remembered when she lost her first tooth. It had hurt so bad and she had been crying so much. Her older sister had comforted her like she was doing now for Harry. She walked with him to the door and watched as he found another kid to sit next to. He was going to be just fine.

[pinkrose787]

Amnesia! Branch AU Chapter 2

AO3: Link Part 1: Here

Summary: Branch wakes up in a world that he doesn't fully understand, and finds that everything has changed.

Chapter 2:

The hospital is so bright and loud. The fluorescent lighting that illuminates the ICU hurts his eyes. And these machines won’t stop beeping. Each beep is like a knife into his brain.  A far cry from Branch’s dark and quiet bunker. He can feel the IV digging into his skin, shifting every time he so much as breathes.

But even with this sensory hell, all he can think about is Poppy. Dr. Moonbloom referred to her as queen, a title that Branch dreaded Poppy getting for years. And the way that she acted. Hugging him, holding his hand, being there by his side.  It’s a way that Branch had dreamed of her acting for a long time. Did they start dating? No. That’s impossible. There’s no way Poppy would ever be with someone like him. Besides she likes Creek. Not him. Never him.

Then his mind wanders over to his brothers. Are they really beyond those white doors waiting for him? Have they really cared enough to reconnect with him? And what of Spruce? Poppy mentioned John Dory, Floyd, and Clay, but didn’t mention Spruce. Maybe he really died like he always assumed his brothers did. Damn. He hopes not. Even if he’s been angry at them for almost his entire life, he never wished for death on any of them.

Dr. Moonbloom checks up on him. “How have you been feeling?”

“Confused, mostly.” Branch says. “I don’t understand what’s going on.”

She writes that down in her clipboard. “Well, that stands to reason. You’ve lost the last four years of your memory. Now, I would catch you up on what you have missed, but I have a feeling that Queen Poppy would prefer to do that herself.”

It’s so strange to her Poppy referred to as Queen Poppy. He guesses that it’s just something that he is going to have to get used to. But he still doesn’t fully understand why Poppy is so insistent on helping him. As much as he wants to spend all his time with Poppy, he isn’t sure if could handle it. He looks up at Dr. Moonbloom who stands there with her trademark indifferent expression. “When am I going to be able to go home?”

Dr. Moonbloom looks back down at her clipboard. “Well, given the injuries you sustained we want to keep you here for a few days for observation. After that, you’ll be able to go back to your bunker.”

His bunker! If he’s not there who’s going to maintain it! He’s never been away from his bunker for more than a few hours. Being here in the open, injured, and surrounded by strangers, makes him want to get up and hide in his bunker. But these damn IV lines in his arm won’t let him. “I’ll be here for a couple more days?” He asks. The thought of being in this overstimulating hospital ward for another few days makes him wish he’d have died out there.

“Yes and no. Given your stable condition you’ll be moved to your own personal hospital room at the request of Queen Poppy. Now, I have other patients to attend to. A nurse will be here to move you shortly.” Dr. Moonbloom leaves Branch lying alone in the hospital bed.

There it is again. Poppy is referred to as queen. It was something he knew would happen someday, since she’s King Peppy’s only child. But he never expected it to happen so soon. Does that mean King Peppy is dead? He hopes that Peppy simply stepped down. He’d hate for Poppy to have to feel the pain of losing someone close to her. 

It isn’t long until Dr. Moonbloom’s words come true. A couple of nurses come and help Branch into a wheelchair. Apparently, they don’t trust him enough to walk. There’s something strange about one of the nurses helping. She looks just like Cooper except different.  In fact, as they wheel him to the room where he’s staying, he notices a lot of different trolls. Some are like Cooper and the nurse, others are small and gold, a few are fish-like, some are half-horse, and there are multiple trolls that have more muted colors like him but have much sharper features. He wonders if he doesn’t have memory loss but was rather knocked into some sort of warped nonsense dimension.

The hospital room he was moved to is incredibly nice. It’s so spacious, even though Branch isn’t going to be moving around much. A nightstand next to the bed with a lamp on it. There’s a small couch and an armchair meant for visitors.

Normally, Branch would assume that he won’t have any, But with Poppy and his brothers, he might actually have someone come visit him. That’s such a foreign thought to him. Frankly, he isn’t sure he welcomes it. He’s gotten so used to going through everything alone that the mere thought of someone being there for him when he’s at his weakest makes him anxious.

What really catches his eye in the hotel room is the window. It’s large and lets sunlight stream into the room. And it has an amazing view of Troll Village. Looking through it he can see all the different pods hung up on the branches. There’s all sorts of trolls going about their daily lives. It’s a world that Branch feels like he can never truly be a part of.

It isn’t long before there’s a knock at his hospital door. The door opens to reveal Poppy standing in the doorway. She’s holding a tote that’s so heavy; it’s causing her to lean. “Hey Branch!” She says. Her voice is excited and perky as it always is. She’s smiling so wide. If it weren’t for her eyes Branch would assume that she was happy.  They are red and puffy. The mascara and eyeliner around them is smudged.

“Have you been crying?” Branch asks. Never in the entire time of Branch knowing her has he ever seen her cry. She’s always been so happy and upbeat. The thought of her being sad enough to cry is unnerving.

“What? No. I’m fine,” Poppy says. Her smile falters a little.

“Okay…” Branch doesn’t believe her. But he doesn’t want to push the issue. He knows how much it sucks for people to try and get you to tell you what’s wrong when you do not want to. He glances down at the tote. “What’s with the bag?”

Poppy perks up again. “I brought scrapbooks of everything that’s happened!” She pulls the armchair to Branch’s bedside. It makes a low groan as it scrapes against the floor.

He looks at the tote again. It’s almost ripping at the seams from the weight of all the scrapbooks. “Looks like there’s a lot,” Branch remarks.

“There is!” Poppy sits down in the chair next to Branch. “We’ve done so much over the last four years.” She pulls out a couple of scrapbooks and shows them to Branch. “These are the three really big ones where our lives changed the most.” The scrapbooks are labeled “Befriending the Bergens”, “Troll Tribe Togetherness”, and “BroZone: Here we Bro-again”.

“Befriending the Bergens?” Branch repeats the title of the first scrapbook. He looks up at Poppy with a skeptical expression. “There’s no way we befriended the Bergens. Did you forget that they used to eat us every year?”

“No, I didn’t. Besides they all agreed to stop eating us two years ago! And ever since then we’ve all been friends!”

“There’s no way that I would ever be friends with a Bergen.” He crosses his arms.

“Well…” Poppy chuckles. “You did.” She opens up the third scrapbook. On the first page is Branch in a suit standing next to a Bergen. Poppy points to the picture. “That’s you and King Gristle at his wedding! You were his best man!”

Branch cannot look away from the image. There he is. Next to the Bergen king. Someone he swore would always be his enemy. “There is no way that’s real.”

“It is.” Poppy puts down the scrapbook. “I know that us befriending the Bergens is going to be hard for you to understand without your memories, because I know that what happened with your grandma deeply affected you.”

Branch’s blood runs cold. Poppy knows his most deeply held traumas. All the years and all the effort of hiding himself from her were undone in just four years.  “I told you about my grandma?”

“Yeah, in a pretty dramatic way actually.” She grabs the first scrapbook. “I detailed it in here. If you read it, you’ll see that it happened in the past. Things have changed. You’ve changed.” Her voice is soft.

For a second, Branch doesn’t respond. He doesn’t know how. His gaze goes to the wall across from him. A flurry of thoughts fly through his head. He’s felt more emotions in the couple of hours since waking up than he has in years. Was that good? Was that bad? He isn’t sure. What he does know is that he doesn’t like it.

Poppy gently takes Branch’s hand. “Hey, we don’t have to go through this all right now. That’s why I brought the scrapbooks. So, you can read through them at your own pace.” Branch looks up at Poppy. She has a soft smile on her face. “Though if you want, I can go through them with you. Fill you in on all the little details the scrapbooks miss.”

“I… I.. guess I do have some questions,” Branch says.

“Ask away!” Poppy says.

Branch takes a second to think. There’s a million questions buzzing about in his brain. There is one that keeps showing up in his mind. One that he’s been having trouble getting used to. “When did you become queen?” he asks.

“A couple of years ago. Right after we befriended the Bergens, my dad abdicated and gave the crown to me!” Poppy says. She opens up the first scrap book to an image of her and Branch holding hands and standing on top of a toadstool. “You were actually right there beside me at my coronation.”

Poppy smiles gently as she brushes the picture. “Actually, you’ve been by my side for pretty much my entire reign as queen,” she says. A lone tear falls down her face.

There’s a bit of pain in Branch’s heart. He’s happy that Poppy didn’t have to lose her dad. But she lost him. Or at least she lost the troll that he was before he lost his memory. It’s strange to the see the woman you love mourn you while you’re still alive “I wish I could remember it.” Branch says.

“I wish you could too.” Poppy wipes away the tear. “But we’ll work on getting those memories back!”

There’s that typical Poppy optimism that has pestered Branch for years. The optimism that made Branch fall for her in the first place. Though Branch doesn’t feel as optimistic about him getting his memories back. “Something else that’s been on my mind.”

“Yeah?” Poppy asks.

“What were we? Before I lost my memory, I mean.” Branch takes a deep breath. “Because it seems like we were more than friends.” Though Branch doesn’t really hold hope that she ever returned his feelings.

Poppy pauses at that question. Her eyes start to well up with tears. “We are… well…” She takes a deep breath in and blinks away the tears in her eyes. “We were dating.”

Branch’s heart almost stops at Poppy saying that. They were together. And he doesn’t remember a damn thing about it. This feels like another joke that the universe has played on him. “We were dating?” he repeats lightly. “How? And since when?”

Poppy picks up the “Troll Tribe Togetherness” scrapbook. She turns to the very end. On that page there’s Poppy, Branch, and a bunch of other trolls that Branch doesn’t know standing in a coliseum. The little Branch and Poppy scrapbook characters are holding hands. “It was right after Barb tried to steal all the strings. After I smashed her guitar and temporarily destroyed all music, we sang a song that brought music back to the world. And there on that stage is when you said, ‘I love you’ for the very first time and that’s when I said it back to you. After that we were always together.”

Branch is quiet. He wants to say something, but what? What could he possibly say to that? That sounds like such an amazing moment, like something out of Branch’s wildest dreams. And he doesn’t remember it.

Rage wells up inside him. He’s had so much stolen from him over his life. His parents, his brothers, his grandma. And now he’s had four years of memories stolen from him. Memories where he lived a happy life. A life that he thought would never be possible. He wants to rage against everything. He wants to tear everything apart. He wants to scream and scream and scream. But he can’t. He doesn’t want to say anything to hurt Poppy.  

“Do you want to see my favorite scrapbook?” Poppy says.

This snaps Branch out of his own mind. He looks at her. She has a soft smile on her face, though her eyes are still misty. “Sure,” Branch says.

Poppy pulls out a brown scrapbook. It’s unlike all the other scrapbooks Branch has seen. The construction is shoddy. On the front there’s a poorly drawn image of Branch and Poppy inside a heart and written in abysmal handwriting is “Branch and Poppy’s Great Adventure”.

He stares at it for a second. “This is your favorite scrapbook? Why?” Branch asks.

“Because it’s the one you made for me,” Poppy says softly. She caresses the cover with a smile on her face.

“I made that for you?” Branch asks. Truthfully, he should have figured that out. He might know how to make traps that can catch anything and build a functional survival bunker, but crafts have never been his strong suit. It’s hard to focus on gluing paper together when you feel like any moment a Bergen is going to pick you up and eat you.

“Yeah, you did.” She hands the scrapbook to Branch. “I think maybe it’s best if you see what happened from your own perspective. Maybe that’ll wake up your memories!”

Branch opens the scrapbook. The construction of it is not any better on the inside. There’s so many little drawings of them, going on adventures, being with each other. The page that strikes Branch the most is near the beginning of the scrapbook. Him and Poppy are standing on top of a mushroom and holding hands. Written above them “You make me happy.”

Such as simple statement. But it feels like a stab in the heart. It’s a sentiment that he’s never expressed out loud, at least not that he can remember. Poppy makes him about as happy as he can be, which usually isn’t very much. But it seems like Poppy managed to break through every barrier he had set up over his life.

But without his memories, all those barriers are back-up. It feels like Poppy teleported behind them, and Branch doesn’t like that. As much as he loves her, as much as he wants to be close with her, having her be behind all his walls makes him feel panicked.

Branch looks over at Poppy. Her face has such a soft smile, one that Branch would hate to see go away. But they have to face reality. The one she’s smiling thinking about isn’t him. He looks away from her. “I know you want me to say that I remember everything now, but I don’t. Nothing in this scrapbook is familiar.”

For a millisecond, the smile on Poppy’s face fades. But she forces it back up. “Well, that’s okay! No one expects you to remember everything right away!” She takes Branch’s hand. “And while you get your memories back, your brothers and I will be here every step of the way.”

Oh, that’s right. He’d been so distracted by his forgotten past with Poppy; he forgot that his brother’s came back. “I can’t believe it. I thought I’d never see any of my brothers again.” Branch looks at Poppy. “It’s not some prank right? They’re really here?”

Pranks have been pulled on him in the past. A lot of them were cruel and meant to stir up his paranoia about the Bergens returning. But Poppy never pulled them on him. Usually, she would get on the case of whoever was pranking Branch.  “It’s not a prank. They are really back. If you want to, you can see them. They’re actually in the waiting room right now.” Poppy says.

Truthfully, he still doesn’t know if he wants to see his brothers again. It seems like past him did. But from what he’s seen past him had a whole better life. All the anger at his brothers is still so fresh. He glances down away from Poppy. “I don’t want to see them.” His voice is angrier than he expected it to be.

“That’s alright. You can see them when you’re ready.” Poppy says. She gently smiles at him. “Meanwhile, I’ll be here for you.”

Branch looks at her. Even though she’s smiling, he can tell that she’s struggling to keep up this façade. “Is anyone going to be there for you?”

Immediately after asking Branch feels a little dumb. Of course, there are going to be people there for her. She’s the most beloved troll in all of Troll Village. If she so much as sneezes, the entire village loses their minds.

Poppy puts her hand on Branch’s. “Don’t worry about me. Viva hasn’t really left my side, since you were hospitalized.”

“Who’s Viva?” Branch asks.

“Oh? Yeah!” Poppy perks up. “I forgot to tell you! She’s my long-lost big sister!”

“Wow.” Branch really cannot think of anything to say to that. “You have an older sister?”

“Yeah, I know. And my dad never mentioned her...” Poppy starts to go into a speedy talk about her sister. Branch is barely catching any of it. He’s hearing Clay’s name mentioned a couple times. But he isn’t sure in what context it’s being mentioned.

A sharp pain shoots through Branch’s head. “Augh!” he exclaims.

Poppy stops mid-sentence. “Oh my goodness? Are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Branch presses his hand against his head. “My head just hurts.” It could solely be from his head injury, but the insane amount of information and emotions that he’s had to process in the last hour definitely have not helped.

“I should probably let you rest.” She gets up to leave, but leaves the tote bag filled with scrapbooks behind. Before she turns the door handle, she looks back towards Branch and smiles. “Don’t worry, I’ll be back tomorrow!”

With that statement, she leaves Branch alone in the hospital room. While Branch is sad to see Poppy go, he’s also relieved. Now, he can sit and process every thing without worrying if what he says is going to hurt Poppy.

____

Closing the door, Poppy feels a wave of exhaustion wash over her. She knows that she should have expected Branch to figure some things out. Nothing prepared her for the conversation about what the two of them were. Reminiscing on her and Branch’s relationship with Branch was one of the most painful things she’s ever experienced.

Right now, she just wants to go home and collapse. Well, what she really wants to do is collapse in Branch’s arms, tell him all about the day she’s had, and let her exhaustion melt away. But that’s not possible. She needs to be strong for Branch. Just as long as it takes for him to get back to how he used to be. Hopefully, that won’t be too long.

Helping Branch catch up isn’t the only tough job Poppy has to do. Now, she has to be the one to tell Branch’s brothers that he doesn’t want to see them. It’ll break their hearts, but it needs to be done.

Poppy takes a deep breathe to compose herself, and heads towards the waiting room.

[cosmiado]

who had "Scermie is canon" on their Wrong Tuesday bingo card because i certainly fucking didn't

[calicos-clones]

I don’t think people realize how freaked out fanfic readers get when their favorite author(s) doesn’t update their ongoing schedule ON TIME.

And it’s not cause we want the chapter…it’s cause we’re so fucking worried about the Author.

Like— OMG ARE YOU OKAY? YOU’VE BEEN GIVING US THE TRAGIC UPDATES OF YOUR LIFE IN THE NOTES THE PAST 10 CHAPTERS?! WHY STOP? ARE YOU DEAD? DID YOU GET STUCK IN THE WALL LIKE YOUR CAT?? HAVE YOU EATEN?? HAS YOUR BRAIN EXPLODED??

Readers no longer care about the story when they don’t get their usual update. We panic and flag S.O.S as we track down our wayward author who has been both blessed by the universe with a creative mind and cursed all the same with the worst luck.

So any authors who are reading this please understand— when we comment “hey are you okay?” in your comments. No, we are not asking about the chapter.

We are legitimately concerned for your wellbeing. Do not force yourself to shit out a chapter just to appease other ppl when you yourself are not in the mental state to enjoy it or even write it to begin with.

TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF DAMMIT

[twilights-stuff]

Currently working on a Gravity Falls au rn but life got in the way and it's gonna take some time to finish. But, I couldn't wait on showing it so here's a little sneak peak.

Introducing my Gravity Falls! Celestial Au in which Stan is a sun god and goes by Phoebus (epithet of Apollo in mythology) and Ford is a moon god and goes by Mene (epithet of Selene in mythology).

This is only a small fraction of this au for I have a whole plot and art planned for this that I had been and still working on for quite some time. (Though I am not sure time and my lack of resources would allow it but regardless I'll still go for it.)

Sidenote: I would like to thank @elishevart for listening to my ramblings for this au. Your support helped and encouraged me so much and I am very much grateful to you.

[tennessoui]

kit's january ko-fi fic: Anakitty AU

ugh i am so excited to be posting this on my kofi, i had such a blast writing this that i literally wrote 3k yesterday for it and 3k today in like. 3 hours. she's the definition of a silly little au becoming a fic!!

in this fic/au, anakin becomes a cat; meanwhile, obi-wan just happens to find a cat outside his doors that he decides to take in to care for, as he's a lonely old man now that his padawan has left the nest. good thing this cat is really affectionate and just melts when obi-wan gives it pets!

meanwhile anakin thinks it's a pretty sweet deal to be a cat forever if it means he has obi-wan's affection and attention and love and attention and pets and attention and, etc etc

here's a little snippet!:

“So you haven’t heard from Anakin in a few days,” Obi-Wan says carefully, brushing each slightly curly strand of the cat’s fur flat as he examines his grand padawan. “Are you worried about him?” Obi-Wan hasn’t heard from Anakin lately either, but the boy has been pulling slowly and carefully away from him for ages. For the most part, Obi-Wan has stopped reaching out, and their virtual communications have dried up. “Not anymore,” Ahsoka says, picking up her tea with an angry look at the cat. “How long has it been since he’s been like thi—I mean, since you last heard from him?” “Well, I couldn’t quite say!” Eleven days. “Though, if I’m being honest, the Council is close to drawing him up on charges for abandoning his troops without leave to take a holiday. I’m sure he will slip back into the Temple sooner or later.” “Wow!” Ahsoka’s voice is pitched much too loud and much too pointed to be natural. “Did you hear that, Anakin? You’re going to be tried for abandoning your troops if you don’t tell the Council you’re experiencing a bit of a setback soon!” The cat rolls onto its back with a loud purr, paws folded upward to allow Obi-Wan the maximum of tummy to scratch. Obi-Wan, knowing it's his due, scratches its tummy obligingly.

as a reminder for how these kofi fics work: i've uploaded the google document link into my gallery on ko-fi. to view the image and get the link that's in the image description, you have to be a monthly subscriber. it's $4 a month, and once you become a subscriber, you can read the 5 other ficlets i've uploaded! if you want to donate to get access, make sure the donation bar is set to "monthly" instead of "one time".

[passthroughtime]

i hope you don’t mind me not participating in sunday six for so long and not updating my fic... i’m having a bit rough time handling my life irl right now

[enden-k]

refraining from drawing now to force myself to play through the genshin event until im done, so i can freely browse through my dashboard/tl/ao3/tumblr inbox/my fridge again without untagged spoilers