#which was always going to put her in tension with national security

[moocowmoocow]

[stvrdrops]

Bodyguard shuri x reader ! It’s been on my mind for saurrr long

yess! i love this idea so muchhh. wasn't sure if you wanted it to be like a fame au or anything so i just went for it in my own way :) it's kind of just a tiny imagine, hope that's okay!

princess protection ☆ | bodyguard!shuri x fem!reader

when you begged your mom to lessen your security you never imagined she'd actually do it. even more shocking, to replace them all she brings in your nation's protector. shuri, the black panther, is now in charge of making sure you were safe and protected. maybe in more than one way.

warnings : none

word count : 2.1k+

being the princess of a nation was no small task. you were constantly attending political meetings, beautiful galas, and even doing community service for those around you. you loved being out and about, rather than confined to the palace.

your mother, the queen, often feared for your safety. of course you had quite the entourage of guard ready to protect you wherever you went. you had people trailing you with weapons ever since you were fresh out of the womb. it never scared you, but you never exactly cared for it. it made you stand out even though you loved to be the star in the room. you begged and begged your mother after your eighteenth birthday to lower the amount of guards trailing you. you realized it made you still feel trapped despite being out in the open. besides, wakanda was extremely safe other than the occasional invasion, which was swiftly put to rest by your nation's protector. the black panther.

she constantly refused, saying that you were the future leader of the nation and needed to be protected adequately. you quickly gave up hope and moped around the palace for a solid year or two before your mother finally caved in.

"mother? what was the urgent call about on my kimoyo beads?" you ask her as you step into the throne room. she had her back to you, obviously speaking to somebody else.

"ah, y/n! i have a surprise for you." she quickly turns around, still shielding whoever she had been speaking to. you attempt to look around your mother. she notices this, and steps aside.

your eyes widen when you see the black panther standing before you. her helmet was off, allowing you to see her face. you hardly ever saw shuri without the mask. she was always on missions or you were always out of the palace when she had been home in the lab. your paths never found a way to cross despite running in the same social circles. it had to have been at least an entire year since you were in her presence, considering she had been on a major mission.

"princess." she says, a charming smile spreading across her face.

"um, hi." you say, feeling your mouth go wide. she had gotten much more attractive since the last time you saw her up close. you two were close in age, so it wasn't like this crush you had was new. when you were younger you spent a decent amount of time together, but were never close.

"shuri's missions as the black panther have become less and less high priority. she's doing an amazing job so i'm assigning some of her more easy missions to the dora. while she truly deserves a couple days off, i've decided she will be your personal bodyguard until she is needed. she will be your only bodyguard may i add."

no way.

shuri laughs, "oh trust me, this is will be a good enough vacation for me. after all, i'm sure the princess can't get into too much trouble."

"you underestimate me." you say, with a challenge in your voice.

"noted." she responds back, willing to accept your challenge.

the tension between you two is so thick that not even a vibranium spear could cut through it. shuri kept her eyes squinted as she looked at you, as if she was studying you. to tell the truth, she had been quite excited about this mission. spending time with the princess would be a dream, she thought. also, she presumed it would be fairly easy as well.

you looked at her in the same way, but you were more undressing her with your eyes.

"y/n, do you still need to visit the market today? i know you said something about stopping for some new silks."

your eyes are ripped away from shuri, "oh, yes! thank you mother. shuri, i'll give you time to change out of your suit and then i can take you for a test drive."

shuri laughs, "no need." she presses something on her suit near her wrist. causing the suit to dissipate into a necklace. she wore a tight gray outfit underneath the suit. you couldn't help but feel like an idiot thinking about how she might've been in just her underwear under the suit. "i'm ready whenever you are, princess."

you smirk, walking away from her. you don't bother looking back to see if she's following you. her quick footsteps gave it away. it also helped that she was taller than you, her shadow looming slightly over your body.

"you do know that you don't have to loom over behind me, right?" you say as you look through the many silks at the stall.

"where else am i meant to stand?"

"how about next to me? i don't think i'd kill you."

she scoffs, "you couldn't kill me even if you tried."

a smile spreads across your face, "cocky."

she moves over to the side of you, causing your hands to brush slightly. you contemplate whether or not you want to meet her eyes for a second. ultimately your curiosity gets the better of you. when you look up you see her staring back at you. her eyes were dark brown, but you could see a sparkle in them. you could now also clearly see the tiny scar on her forehead that her hair almost nearly hid.

when she looked at you she noticed how beautiful your own eyes had been when exposed in the sunlight. she studied every beauty mark on your face that the pictures never quite captured. shuri obviously knew you were beautiful, but now that you were up close after all this time it had been impossible to deny your beauty. she had a task to complete though, meaning finding your beauty too blinding would be dangerous. if she was too consumed by you, lost in your chocolate river eyes, she couldn't focus on the task at hand.

"do you like this one?" you ask, picking up a random silk without breaking eye contact. you didn't want to look away from her.

shuri's eyes glance away from you for a second, "i think orange is a beautiful color for you, princess."

you wanted so badly to be a smart ass and tell her you had a name. however, hearing the word princess roll of her tongue did something dangerous to you.

"princess?" a voice calls out to you from the sea of people.

you had never seen someone move so quickly the way that shuri did as she got in front of you. the two of you didn't even know who the supposed threat was, but shuri couldn't help but go into her defense stance.

"princess! hello!" a woman makes her way out of the crowd. you recognize her as the caretaker of the orphanage you often help out at.

"stand down shuri, it's okay." you say, putting a hand on her arm to get her to relax. she looks over her shoulder back at you, giving a swift nod. her body moves back beside you just as fast as it had gotten in front of your own.

"hello mrs. adabashi! how are all the children doing?"

she smiles, "oh, they are just wonderful! they so enjoy the toys you brought for them last week. little kami has not put down the dolls since you handed them to her."

shuri can't help but admire the conversation as you both talk to one another about the children. shuri was not exactly sure what to expect when your mother asked her to watch over you. it had been quite some time since shuri saw you last and she didn't know your personality that well. now she knew that she had made the right choice in choosing to accept the queen's offer.

the whole rest of the time at the market was spent with you in conversation with shuri. you asked her constantly what life was like as wakanda's protector. you even managed to slip in a question about if she had anyone important in her life at the moment. she found that question amusing and answered truthfully, with a swift no. she claimed that she didn't have any time in her strict schedule to fall into any romances. you figured that if she was spending all her time with you, then it wouldn't matter. you had your eyes on her now, and you almost never got turned down.

the more time you spent with her the more you didn't want the day to end. it made you happy to know that every day would be like this. that was, until she was called back to her panther duties. you assumed that if you ever did get caught in a sneaky relationship with the black panther that your mother wouldn't mind. you could arguably do worse. plus, the nation's princess and protector in a relationship together would do wonders for the people's morale.

"you know you don't have to go, right?" you ask her as you both approach the door to your bedroom.

shuri laughs, "am i supposed to guard you while you sleep?"

"i don't plan on sleeping yet. as long as i'm awake i feel as if you should be on guard."

"who do you think plans on attacking you tonight?"

you look up to her, staring into her eyes. "i'm inviting you into my room and here you are questioning me. will you really deny your princess?"

shuri sucks on her teeth as she looks around the hallway, that same charming smile on her face.

"i can't believe you are pulling the princess card on me right now."

"well, is it working, my panther?"

the nickname being used in such a manner sent goosebumps down shuri's spine. she was meant to keep a professional relationship with you. bast knows that the queen would have her powers stripped if she were to hurt her precious baby. she was meant to protect you from the world, not entertain you romantically. however, she licks her lips as she contemplates the enticing question.

"if you really feel you need my protection."

"badly." you whisper out to her.

"fuck it," shuri says, "whatever you say, princess."

you just smile, knowing you have the most dangerous person in wakanda wrapped around your finger. you push the door open, revealing your room to her. it was large and the windows allowed you to see all of the capitol. even shuri was shocked by its beauty, despite living here all her life. for some reason it seemed so much more special from inside of your bedroom.

"do you like being my personal bodyguard?"

shuri watches you as you go to your walk in closet. she can hear you changing as the sound of clothes being thrown around fills her ears. it takes everything in her to not look.

"i can't say it's the worst job in the world."

"and why is that?"

"something tells me you already know the answer to that."

you walk out of your room wearing a large t-shirt that shuri can tell is american vintage. she could also tell you weren't wearing any shorts when you lifted your curly hair up into a messy bun. shuri can't help but stare as you walk over to your bed. it was nice to see you in a normal state, without all the jewels and fancy clothes. however, it wasn't just that. the way you moved commanded attention and it radiated elegance.

"come here." you beckon to her. it was as if she didn't ave a mind of her own as she followed your command. it made you feel in control, and it was pretty damn amazing. "sit down."

"you are very bossy."

"it is in my nature. i am the future queen after all."

shuri laughs, "that's true. i think you'll make a great one."

the compliment makes you smile, "so you'll remain as my personal bodyguard even when i am queen?"

"of course, i serve wakanda and those in it. that includes you."

"i'm sure there are other ways that you can serve me."

her eyebrow raises, "oh really?"

you nod your head, looking at her with lust in your eyes.

shuri suddenly grabs you and sets you onto her lap. it feels so normal as you straddle her, arms around her neck. you felt like you were the perfect piece to her puzzle. she notices how you arch your back in efforts to feel closer to her.

"so, this is your idea of protection?" you can't help but ask.

"do you feel protected?"

"in the arms of the black panther? oh, most definitely."

you kiss her, allowing yourself to fully envelop yourself into her. her lips feel soft as they glide against yours. if this is what having shuri as your bodyguard was like, then you never wanted it to end.

˖⁺｡˚⋆˙✧⋆｡°✩☼⋆｡°✩☽

[emergingmediaculture]

Graphic created by Kiersten W. on Canva.

The speed at which our media landscape is changing is a topic that is always up for discussion, and rightfully so. In a landscape that is rapidly evolving, the topic cannot be brought up enough because there is always something new to adapt to. The Influencing Machine by Brooke Gladstone discusses the subject of our emerging media and its effect on a field that has no doubt seen revolutionary changes, journalism. Gladstone’s use of comic strips and illustrations to walk the reader through her book invites a bit of humor that she, herself, adds despite the discussion of some serious topics. In discussing the history of journalism and the technological advancements that have furthered its limits, I find it especially important to also talk about journalism's “controversial”, and I say that lightly, past with those who have hoped to suppress it. From the moment the American press, and even before that, was no longer under the rule of the British monarchy and able to freely distribute news of their choosing, there has existed hostility between those behind the news and those in power, even more so with the creation of investigative or “muckraking” journalism which set out to expose the corruption of those in positions of power. Something that I often think about when on this topic, something that I consider my Roman Empire, is Thomas Jefferson who vehemently pushed for the freedom of the press, believing it was a right that all American citizens deserved. Then I think of his time as president where he always seemed to be at odds with the press, insisting that nothing in newspapers can be believed anymore. Debates of ethics, truth-telling, and libel arose from such issues. Libel, as Gladstone puts it, is the issue that exists as the main point of tension between the government and the press. Meanwhile, libel, itself, is already pretty muddy water.

Historically during times of war, there have been instances of government attempts to suppress journalist in favor of releasing their own, approved forms of journalism that included various forms of war propaganda. This has been done by invoking the issue of “national security”. This form of abuse of power is a point of importance inGladstone's book. With the rise of television, though, a new visual was introduced to the public which allowed for a greater impact on the journalism front. I think of the Vietnam War, which is sometimes referred to as the “first television war”. For the first time, the public was able to see video from the front lines right from the comfort of their homes. No doubt this hit harder than simply reading about or even seeing pictures of the war.

With the controversy surrounding the Vietnam War, especially at the time, it is safe to say these new visuals allowed the public to see a different side of war, one they were not used to seeing. It further makes sense why this time was a great point of division in America.

Moreover, the point in the book that stuck out to me the most, the point that was filled with a lot of “exactly” and “yep” from me was Gladstone’s discussion on objectivity. The notion of objectivity in journalism is something that if you ask the average person, they would say is needed. But does true objectivity even exist? Despite how it is painted, objectivity is not a black-and-white concept.

“Even the most objective news is made up of subjective decisions”.

I read this quote a few years back in an article written by a reporter discussing objectivity in news. It changed my entire outlook on the concept of objectivity, so let’s break it down.

Let’s say there is a protest happening in your city. The assignment editor to a news station has to make a decision on who to send to cover it. They can decide to send someone who has covered an event like this before and has experience or someone who has not as a chance to give them that experience. That’s one decision that’s going to produce different stories. The reporter chosen goes to the protest and has to decide where to get video from. They decide to shoot from various areas to be able to show as much as they can. That’s decision two, the areas they shoot from. Now who do they interview? Most likely someone who holds some position of power in this protest, as well as those participating in it from both sides. There is only so much time in a news story, so the reporter picks maybe two or three people. Every person is different. What one person says will not be what someone else says. That’s decision three.

I can go on and on with this such as talking about the decision of how much time the reporter is given to cover this story, how many updates to the story will be provided, etc., etc., etc.

Does that still make it fully objective? Maybe as objective as humanly possible for the person covering it, but that also goes back to objectivity not being black and white. Everyone has biases, and a lot of those biases are unknown to the person who have them. How can you work against your biases if you are unaware of them? That’s part of being human. Gladstone discusses how the public sees the media as an entity working against us, when really, I believe that simply underestimates what humans are capable of.

Not to mention what one person sees as objective, another person may not. As Gladstone points out, people only want objectivity when it aligns with their values, otherwise, it's seen as “taking sides”.

[atlabeth]

everything happens for a reason part one - zuko x fem!reader

I am not your concern 

masterlist | part 2 

summary: as a servant in the fire nation, you’ve learned that life is often unfair. but as you venture through a tumultuous relationship with a certain prince, you come to learn a very tricky lesson: everything happens for a reason.

a/n: im so excited about this guys you dont even know. i have so much planned and i hope you all love it as much as i do - just for reference, in this first chapter y/n is 9 and zuko is 10

wc: 2.3k

warning(s): mentions of a raid, reader and zuko both being little shits lmao

chapter title comes from not your concern by the hush sound! 

Y/N sprawled out on the grass and sighed contentedly as the sun shined down on her and her mother. Today was easier than most as they had been given the day off, an occasion that was rare in the royal palace. She closed her eyes and breathed in the fresh scent aerating their surroundings. Her senses were blessed with a mix of sea salt and fire lilies, an ever present reminder of the two worlds she walked in.

“Y/N,” her mother chided as she glanced down at her daughter from her sewing. “You shouldn’t lay in the grass like that. You know how hard those stains are to get out; I don’t need even more work on my plate.”

“Yes, mother,” she sighed as she sat up with mock exasperation. “I just feel like I should take advantage of this! We spend all day inside, and now that we’re out here you’re worried about things like stained clothes.” Y/N pushed herself to her feet and spread her arms out as she spun in a small circle. “Life is short, and I already spend all of it sewing and healing. Don’t you think I deserve some grass stains?”

“Did you find your way into the poetry books again?” she joked. “Of course I think you should have fun, but you know how things are here. I’m just trying to keep you safe.”

She continued to twirl, the soft breeze a welcome sensation on her skin. “I know, I know, but you don’t need to worry! I can—”

“Dear, watch where you’re going!”

Her mother’s warning didn’t reach her in time, a fact that became known to Y/N as she collided into the boy in front of her. A small gasp escaped her as recognition filled her now wide eyes.

“Prince Zuko!” she exclaimed, nervous hands finding their positions as she bowed. “Please forgive me for the accident, I didn’t realize you were there.”

Y/N had never spoken to the young prince directly — she mainly shadowed her mother while she did her work around the palace or honed her healing abilities under the watchful eye of Rika, their most skilled healer — but she knew enough to understand that she was to never disrespect the royal family in any way.

“Don’t worry,” he said with a small smile, alleviating the tension that had built up in her shoulders. “I’m sorry too, I wasn’t paying attention either. I actually came here for some help.” As she straightened her back, she noticed the bundle of fabric he was holding. “Are you Kura?”

“Oh, no. That’s my mother.” She pointed behind her where her mother greeted the prince with a respectful nod and smile of her own. “Did you come to get something fixed? She’s the best seamstress in all of the Four Nations.”

“My daughter flatters me,” Kura chucked. “What is it that you require, Prince Zuko?”

“She’s right, actually.” He held up the bundle of cloth which Y/N now recognized as one of the many outfits he owned. She didn’t consider herself a jealous person, but the prince’s extensive wardrobe was an exception to that rule. She had one set uniform for her work supplied by the Fire Nation, and a threadbare set for everything else that her mother had bought for her after saving up what little copper they had to spare. Y/N didn’t mind it too much as she was able to practice her sewing whenever the seams broke, but she was sure that her handiwork made up more of the outfit than the original by now.

“I tore one of the sleeves while I was training with Azula,” Zuko expressed with a frown. “I showed it to my mother, and she said that Kura would be able to fix it. I had to go through every single servant to find you, so I really hope you can. ”

Kura set her current project down and took the cloth from the prince, examining it with the skillful eye of a seamstress before meeting his eyes with another smile. “Of course, dear. I should have it ready for you by tomorrow; my daughter will deliver it to your quarters around midday.”

“Do it well,” he demanded. “I can’t focus on my training if my clothes are falling apart.”

“Hey!” she spoke up, scowling as she crossed her arms. It was like every shred of sense Y/N had disappeared the moment he talked down to her mother. “This is our day off, so you should be thankful that my mother is taking time out of her day to do this for you. Be nicer to her.”

“Y/N!” her mother scolded, her tone frantically apologetic as she turned back to the prince. “Please, forgive my daughter. She speaks her mind far too often, she doesn’t mean any disrespect.”

“No, you’re right.” A thoughtful expression found its way onto the young boy’s features, his eyes trained on her own displeasure. “My father always talks that way to the servants and I guess it came off on me. I’m sorry. It’s not nice.”

“Apology accepted,” Y/N said reluctantly.

“Thank you for your help. I’ll make sure to tell all my friends about your work.” The young prince smiled and walked off, though not without a curious second glance at the girl who righted his wrong.

As soon as the prince was out of range, Kura began to berate her daughter. “Y/N, by now you have to understand that under no circumstances may you ever speak to a member of the royal family like that! Do you know what kind of punishment you could’ve gotten if anyone else was around to hear that?”

She sighed and settled back on the ground, plucking a blade of grass from the ground. “I know, mother, but he needs to learn manners, prince or not!”

“That’s not how it works here. Our job is to serve the royal family without question. Sometimes they say mean things, but we can’t do anything about it. Apologies are not yours to demand or accept.”

“That’s not fair,” she mumbled as she wrapped the strand of grass around her finger. “Back home I could say whatever I wanted.”

“I know, honey, I know. But we’re not at home anymore, so the rules there don’t apply. We have to follow the rules that are put in place here. Can you promise that you’ll do that for me?”

“Yes, mother.” It was a phrase that seemed to always be at the tip of her tongue now that constant apologies were littered throughout her days, usually accompanied by a sigh.

“I miss home,” The murmured sentiment was almost too soft for Kura to hear and her heart sank. Her daughter’s gaze was trained on the ground, idle fingers tapping against her legs, and she put a momentary pause to her sewing with a sigh.

“Dear, don’t you have a healing session today with Rika?”

“You know I don’t,” she grumbled. “It’s my day off, which no one seems to remember.”

“Y/N.” Kura’s voice was more firm and she now understood that it wasn’t so much a suggestion as a demand. “I think you should pay Rika a visit.”

She heaved an exasperated sigh and stood up in a far more exaggerated gesture than necessary. “Alright. I’ll see you later tonight, mother.” And as Y/N began her walk back to the palace, a sour feeling brewed in her chest.

Kura watched on, unable to prevent the fear that permeated her thoughts. They were fortunate that the young prince was generous, but along with his mother they might’ve been the only two who shared those views in the royal family. She hated having to constantly admonish her daughter — the girl was too young to constantly live in fear, especially having already been through so much — but in the Fire Nation they couldn’t afford to do anything less. A spitfire girl like her daughter was constantly treading on thin ice, and it was all she could do to keep her safe.

Kura feared the day when she wasn’t there to protect her.

-

After a short walk that consisted of muttering things to herself and taking her anger out on the pebbles unfortunate enough to be in her path, Y/N found herself back at the palace. She let herself into a side entrance meant only for servants and set on her way to the infirmary when she collided with someone else — an apology was already on the tip of her tongue when she recognized it was Prince Zuko once more. She truly had rotten luck.

Y/N shot quick glances around to ensure that they were alone, then lowered her voice just for extra security. “My mom says I’m not supposed to talk to you like this, but I don’t care. Just because you’re the prince doesn’t mean you can just go around bumping into people!” she whispered angrily.

“But— you were the one who bumped into me the first time!”

She could feel her face heat up from embarrassment and she crossed her arms. “Just— whatever! Do you want something or do you just like popping up in places you're not supposed to be?”

“I guess I just wanted to talk to you,” Zuko shrugged. “I’ve never really seen you around before, and you’re interesting.”

Y/N scrutinized him trying to find out if he was tricking her somehow, but after staring at him for a solid ten seconds she finally caved. “Fine,” she said, already beginning to walk. “But you’d better make it fast. I have to get to a healing session.”

He took a few quick steps to catch up to her and frowned. “I’m the prince. Technically I could order you to stop and you would have to listen.”

“Yeah, well when it’s just the two of us, you’re just another boy. I don’t have time to talk to boys for hours.”

His brows creased for a moment as he thought about it, then ultimately shrugged once more. “Okay. You said you were going to a healing session- does that mean you’re a waterbender?”

She nodded, and Zuko waited for her to explain further. He heaved a sigh, realizing that he was going to have to carry this conversation. “Well.. what’s a waterbender doing in the Fire Nation?”

She fixed him with a puzzled look. “I’m a servant. That’s why I’m here.”

“I know that,” he frowned. “But most of the servants here are from the Fire Nation, and there are hardly any around your age. I’m just trying to get to know you better.”

Y/N sighed heavily — she now knew that the child prince of the Fire Nation had zero sense of boundaries, and if she wanted to get him off her back she had to answer to his satisfaction. “My mother is a waterbender from the Northern Tribe. She left home when she was young to travel the world and help who she could with her healing, and eventually she fell in love with an earthbender. That was my father — they ended up marrying and settling down in his village where they had me a few years later. Last month, my village was raided by the Fire Nation, and my mother and I were captured after they discovered we were waterbenders. And now I’m here, being annoyed by a prince.”

Zuko frowned once more — it seemed if he continued hanging out with this girl the expression would be stuck permanently on his face — and he suddenly felt ashamed for pushing. “I’m really sorry,” he muttered. “I had no idea.”

She heaved another sigh and shook her head. “Yeah, well they probably keep a lot of the bad things they do from you. It’s easier to send raids to destroy families when your children don’t know.”

“What happened to your father?” he questioned.

Y/N’s body stiffened, and she had never been more thankful to see the infirmary door. “Save your questions for next time,” she grumbled.

Zuko’s eyes lit up, her earlier stumble going unnoticed, and a small smile found its way across his lips. “There’s gonna be a next time?”

She managed to cover up her own growing smile with an ambivalent shrug. “As long as you don’t bump into me again.” Y/N opened the door and gave him a polite parting nod before disappearing inside.

“Good afternoon, Master Rika,” she said with a small bow. “I know this is unexpected, but my mother insisted that I come here to—”

“Let me guess,” the older woman interrupted with a raised brow. “Kura got tired of you and sent you here to annoy me instead?”

Y/N chuckled and rolled her eyes good-naturedly as she pushed the sleeves of her tunic up to her elbows. “When have I ever annoyed you?”

“That’s a question you don’t want me to answer,” she joked as she rummaged through the closet to get supplies. “Besides, what was that smile for? Meet a boy on your day off? A girl?”

Her eyes widened momentarily and she felt the heat rush to her cheeks intensely. “I don’t ask you about your life while we heal, you shouldn’t ask about mine!”

Zuko, who had been eavesdropping by the door in an extremely un-covert fashion, felt an even bigger smile. The girl was prickly as a cactus, but he found himself strangely drawn to her — not in spite of it, but because of it. He was so used to anyone he talked to outside of his immediate family and friends bending at the knee to fulfill his every will, and it was exhausting at times. But this girl — Y/N, as he had learned — was the complete opposite.

He started to walk away, sure that he was late for some kind of session of his own. Zuko found himself thinking of the glimpse of a smile he got, already finding himself scheming up ways to make it return.

And despite her request, he was almost certain he would try to bump into her again.

[messy-buns-and-paint-splatters]

Lovely - Chapter One - Martyr

Summary: Bucky is the head of state for a nation that began as his fathers pack, but has expanded to include other creatures. With tensions rising throughout he neighboring countries, and alliance must be made. 

Pairing: Werewolf!Bucky x Human!OC

CW: Violence, Stressful Situations, Mentions of past abuse, Mentions of Substance (Alcohol, Drugs) Use and Abuse, Smut, Sexual situations, Verbal Abuse, Neglect, Family Abuse

Authors Notes:  I do not own any of the characters, images, script, or any other content associated with or a part of Marvel. I do not own creature concepts. I do own original characters.

Masterlist

Word Count: 2006

Chapter One

Bucky stood at the edge of the boundary with Steve and Natasha. They had other security just behind them, out of sight with the hill. Bucky squinted into the setting sun, hoping it would soon fall behind the stones so that he could see better. 

“Are you sure about this Buck?” Steve asked, still uncomfortable with the idea of Bucky tying himself forever to someone that he doesn’t even know, and who comes from one of their greatest enemies. Bucky let out a sigh before turning to look at this best friend and his second. 

“Yes Steve, it has to be done” he replied, sticking his hands in his coat pockets to ward off the chill. Natasha put a hand on his shoulder, giving him a small smile. 

“We just worry about you, about this” She softly said, giving Steve a glance in agreement to his earlier question. They stood in silence for a few more moments as the sun sank lower in the sky. 

“Hell of a place to pick, the old standing stones? Not everyone can say they were mated in such a significant place” Nat mused, trying to break some of the anxiety she could tell was rising in both guys. 

“It’s where I always wanted to be mated…” Buck trailed off as three figures appeared over the other side of the hill. Two older women flanked a younger woman who was in nothing but a thin white shift, the sunset shining through it to reveal the silhouette of her body. Even from across the hill all three of the creatures could see that she was shaking, either with cold or fear, or perhaps a bit of both. As the three women came to a stop in front of the three creatures, Steve stepped forward to the older woman with a harsh face. 

“Once the deal is complete, reach out when you require assistance. We will be working with you to coordinate.” He said in an official voice, acting as the second in command while Bucky gently looked over the woman who was to be his mate. She was clutching her hands together, her knuckles white, and avoided making eye contact. Natasha surveyed the two older women, both seeming to be in their 50’s. One of them had silent tears rolling down her cheeks as she turned to hug the younger woman goodbye. 

“Her things are in a van down on the road. Keys on the front right tire.” the harsher woman said to Steve. Nat’s eyes flicked over to her, noting just how standoffish and almost repulsed she was by the young woman. Bucky held a hand out to his intended mate, which she hesitantly took. The weeping woman let out a choked sop, but the harsh woman grabbed her by the upper forearm and forcefully started her back down the hill. They weren’t even going to stay. Steve’s eyes found Natasha’s with a confused and angry look. They would just abandon her? Nat met his eyes with a cold anger of her own before she turned to Bucky who had a very similar look in his eyes. It was custom for both families to stay near where the couple completed the bond, to join them in celebration after. This situation was obviously not the norm, but to just leave?

“I’ll get the van, Steve can drive the burban back. I’ll be waiting at the bottom for you” She said gently before turning to retreat to a respectful distance. Steve clapped Bucky on the shoulder and shared a look before following. The young woman watched the interactions silently, her hand still in Bucky’s. He watched his second and third go for a moment, then turned to his mate to be. Their eyes met and he gave her a gentle smile. 

“What’s your name?” he asked

“Juliana” She said with a slightly rasp, her voice thick with emotion. 

“Well, Lady Juliana, I’m James, but you can call me Bucky” he replied with a slight bow. 

“Oh please don’t your majesty. I don’t…I’m only a lower lady…” She rushed out, heat flooding her face. 

“Well Juliana, given our circumstances, I don’t think our titled ranks really mean much do they?” He tried to joke. She simply looked at him nervously. 

“Besides, “Your majesty” isn’t really a title we use. I’m not royalty. Our government works a little differently.” He continued as he led her to the stones. Her blush deepened as she realized her mistake. 

“Oh! I’m so sorry…” but Bucky waved her off with a chuckle while shrugging off his coat. 

“Don’t worry, we’ll teach you all about your new home” he said as he helped her into the coat. She opened her mouth to protest but he gave her a look. 

“You must be freezing in that sheet of a dress, why did you pick that anyway?” He asked, frowning at her choice in attire for a chilly October night. 

“Pick? I…this is what I was told to wear. I thought it was what your women wear for these ceremonies…” Confusion laced her voice as she frowned right back at him. Her eyebrows rose as she saw something like anger flash through his eyes. They stood there in awkward silence as the last rays of sunlight sank below the horizon. 

“Did they tell you what to expect? Did they explain anything to you?” He asked with an edge to his voice, not wanting to believe they would thrust her into this blind with only old folklore to go off of. Juliana looked down at the grass and frowned, unsure if his tone was directed at her or the situation.

“Pain, they told me to expect pain, and then sex” she said, not meeting his eyes. Bucky sighed, then sat crossed legged in the grass, pulling on her hand to get her to do the same. 

“I can’t believe they didn’t tell you. I’m going to walk you through everything okay?” He waited for her to nod before continuing. 

“Mating is an ancient bond for creatures, it’s not like human marriage vows. It’s older, stronger, and truly binding. In order for deep magic like that to take root, yes there is some pain involved, among other things. To begin the process, I have to bite you here” He explained, gently tapping the spot where her neck met her shoulders. 

“And that will hurt. I’m really sorry about that. I can’t give you anything for the pain preemptively, as we don’t want to corrupt the magic, but afterwards Nat will have painkillers for you. My saliva should also disinfect and seal the wound, unless you’re part demon” He tried to joke. Juliana just stared back at him blankly. He coughed awkwardly before continuing. 

 “It may be sore for a few days, as the muscle did just experience trauma. Once that is complete, we move on to the other portion…I don’t want you to be uncomfortable, or at least, I want you to be as comfortable as possible. Did you have anything specific in mind?” He asked with a slight blush. Her face reddened as well and she quickly shook her head. 

“I, uh, no…” They sat there for a moment, neither very sure how to go about this moment. Juliana finally sighed, moved her hair back away from the spot he had tapped earlier and leaned her head to the side while squeezing her eyes shut. Bucky’s eyes saddened, this wasn’t how he ever imagined this moment. This was too clinical, too forced. He scooted closer to her and gently took her head in his hands, looking deeply into her eyes. 

“Can I kiss you?” He asked, searching her eyes, wanting to make this more organic. She nodded, swallowing hard. His lips pressed to hers gently, but after a moment he deepened the kiss, pulling her closer to him. Her hands came to rest on his shoulders while her lips moved against his. When he pulled away he rested his forehead against hers. They stayed like that for a moment, simply existing together before he spoke. 

“I’m going to bite you now, okay? Hold on to me, squeeze as tight as you need to, you won’t hurt me” he assured while looking intently at her. She held his gaze then closed her eyes and nodded, leaning her head to the side. Her grip on his shoulders was strong, and she clenched her teeth in anticipation. Bucky nuzzled her neck with his nose for a moment before pressing a kiss to the spot. His fangs slid into place and he bit down. 

Juliana cried out as sharp pain exploded in her neck. She dug her nails into his shoulders and felt tears begin to stream down her face. As he pulled his teeth from her neck and gently licked over the wound the pain shifted from sharp to throbbing, but something else was there too. In the back of her mind Juliana felt the pinprick of something warm, like a sun patch on a winter's day. She reached for it and it bloomed into the most cozy feeling. Bucky’s eyes met hers, and they were shining with shock and something wild. She pulled him into a kiss, not even sure why, and he responded eagerly. He lowered her to the grass and began to loosen his pants. He broke the kiss to reach into the pocket of the coat she was wearing. He pulled out a bottle of lube and used it on himself. He positioned himself at her entrance, barely noticing that she had hiked the shift up for him. Bucky leaned down to whisper in her ear.

“Tell me if it hurts too much, next time will be better sweetheart, I promise”. He looked into her eyes, and waited for her to nod before pushing himself in. 

-

Natasha sighed as she leaned against the van that had been left and looked up to the sky to star gaze. It had been a fair amount of time from when she had left the hill, and there were quite a few constellations beginning to appear. Her eyes traced Aquarius and then the Big Dipper. A crunch of leaves had her head snapping up to see who approached. Buck was coming down the hill with the woman in his arms. Concern painted Nat’s face, why couldn’t she walk? When Bucky reached the van, she saw that the woman seemed slightly dazed but otherwise okay. 

“Everything go okay?” She asked as she glanced from the woman’s face to Bucky’s.

“Yeah, just, um, a bit unexpected” He replied, setting the woman down so that she could stand on her own. Nat frowned at his response. 

“Unexpected?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. Bucky waved her off, not wanting to go into it at the moment. Natasha paused, watching them both climb into the back of the van before heading around to the drivers side. She started the van then pulled out onto the road. A few minutes later they rounded the hill and Steve driving the suburban they arrived in fell in behind them. Nat glanced in the rearview mirror to look at the pair. They both seemed lost in thought. The woman’s neck was red and irritated, and two dried streaks of blood extended down from Bucky’s bite. She reached with one hand into her jacket pocket and pulled out a pill bottle and small pack of wet wipes.

“Ibuprofen” she said, handing it back to Bucky while keeping her eyes on the road. 

“Thanks” he squeezed her hand while taking the pills and wipes. 

“Your bags and boxes are in the back, but I grabbed the backpack from the top and put it back there for you, in case you wanted warmer clothes” Natasha said, glancing back in the mirror and giving the woman a soft smile. 

“This is Natasha Romanoff, my third in command” Bucky said as way of introduction as he tapped out two pills for her. 

“Hello, I’m Juliana Agressi” She said as she met Nat’s eyes in the mirror. 

“It’s nice to meet you Lady Juliana”

[uuujeewriting]

may I request HCs for Albedo, Childe, Kaeya, Diluc and Xiao realizing their fem!darling is a yandere? like how would they feel and react?? ( i hope u don't make it too angst :(( ) - if u don't feel comfortable wrting this, i am deeply apologize, feel free to ignore this :<

stop it [albedo, childe, kaeya, diluc, xiao]

they find out their darling is a yandere! how will they fight to fix them?

tw: UNHEALTHY/TOXIC RELATIONSHIP, gore, violence, cuss words, manipulative behavior, obsessive and possessive behavior, murder

albedo x fem! reader, childe x fem! reader, kaeya x fem! reader, diluc x fem! reader, xiao x fem! reader

a/n: just a note that this behavior should not be romanticized and should not be followed! i believe that the boys would not condone this behavior either. sorry that this took a while nonnie! hope this is to your liking.

i would like to clarify that if any of these scenarios/hc's of mine are similar to other writers' works, it is unintentional and i apologize

not proof read

albedo

it came to him when he started picking up on your possessive behavior

he first found it quite unusual, how defensive you were when people��even his own students–pointed out how much you hogged the man to yourself

it was no secret you loved him, albeit maybe you did a little too much 

for the first few days of this repetitive behavior of yours, he didn’t seem to take it too seriously, he even indulges your fantasies when he found the time to do so

calling him yours alone and how everyone wouldn't matter, just as his queen said

how foolish of him to feed into this obsessive mindset of yours, he now knows

the kreideprinz was a fearless man, never submitting even to the most nerve-wracking of consequences

you should earn an award for making him tremble

face to face with your gruesome figure, albedo hesitates to move

finally, you break the tension

“what’s wrong, my love? is something bothering you?” you ask, taking a step forward

“stay back. don’t you dare touch me- i-..” he grows speechless

you slowly retreated to your space, pouting

“is it this corpse? i’m sorry, but she was getting in the way! always asking about your whereabouts and such, truly a burden-”

“sucrose was my assistant! why the hell wouldn’t she ask about me?!” his heart rate quickened, the blond has never experienced this much terror in his life

you grew silent, taking in the chief alchemist’s words

he feels his heart drop to his feet when he sees you smile slowly

“well, there’s nothing we can do about it now, hm?” you hug albedo after throwing the bat you used to bash open your victim’s skull, tainted with putrid crimson 

you laugh and bury your head in his chest but you notice droplets of water falling to your scalp

you look up at your quivering love and he stares back at you

“i’ll fix you, i’ll do whatever it takes to change those despicable temptations of yours and i’ll get you back, y/n.”

childe

childe was naturally clingy, never letting you out of his sight for more than two minutes. as a result, he didn't pick up on the subtle signs of your toxic behavior

what made him question this was your unreasonably foul attitude towards his family

one night, you and him visited his siblings in snezhnaya to have dinner

he was jubilant to say the least, the love of his life will finaly get the chance to meet the people he loved just as much as her!

"why are you so excited to see your siblings?" your question left him dumbfounded

did you not want to see them?

"well, y/n my dear, if there was anything i loved nore than you; it would be my beloved family!" he chuckles

when you reach his house, he's so excited that he misses how your eyes darken when he knocks at the door

"big brother! you're here!" teucer jumps in joy and hugs his sibling, the brother in question hugs back lovingly

how you hated it, make it end already

"teucer! i've missed you, too. how are sister tonia and the others?" childe smiles

was your presence suddenly not the most important thing anymore to him?

oh no, you're not going to let this happen

you cough and childe looks back at you, apologizing

"sorry, babe. come inside, i'll introduce you to the others." he takes your hand and guides you indoors to the living room

at the sight of their dear big brother, the group of siblings raced and laced their arms around him one way or another

childe laughs and attempts to stretch to hug all of then at the same time, only being able to circle two of his siblings

you felt inadequate again, damn siblings.

as childe introduces you to his family as his girlfriend, you didn't bother to mask your dislike for them

this concerns your beloved to the highest caliber

dinner rolls around and uncharacteristically, you offer to help out with preparing the food

childe was reluctant but overall, he couldn't deny a chance for you to finally change your views on atleast one of his siblings

"thank you for allowing me to help, tonia." you smile, feigningly to clarify

"it's no problem, i should be thanking you for insisting." she laughs and leaves the food on the counter to grab a condiment placed on the opposite side of the kitchen

quickly and silently, you scan the premises for what you needed

you find a container of rubbing alcohol in a compartment

grinning, you took it and spilled half the container into the water jug to be served

discarding of the half-empty bottle and putting the jug's lid back on, tonia returns and continues preparing the food

perfect.

when the food and tampered water was served, you replaced childe's glass of water swiftly

one of the siblings drinks the water and after a few minutes, he excuses himself while coughing

tonia was next and then teucer, childe was going insane and growing more and more concerned

finally having enough, he checks the food and once he smells the strong scent of alcohol in the jug of water, his eyes widen

he turns to you, his heart sinking at your triumphant expression

"y/n, how could you?!" he furrows his eyebrows, what happened to his beloved?

"they were taking you away from me. what was i supposed to do?" you raise an eyebrow

he clenches his fist. when he hears his siblings suffering, he heaves heavily

"we'll talk about this later and i swear to the gods i will change your attitude."

kaeya

kaeya is perceptive, he may have picked up on your despicable views earlier than the rest

how? don't question, it's his responsibility to take care of you

he does nothing at first, finding your obsessive behavior harmless at the present time

however, he draws the line after one particular event

"haha, well- if it weren't for how you sneaked through headquarter grounds, i wouldn't have had to waste my time tracking you down." he peers sarcastically at rosaria, he latter scoffing

"it's none of my business what you find suspicious." she sips on the wine she was holding

kaeya lets out a 'tch' and looks away, clearly upset

he arrives home to you cooking supper, his arms snaking around your waist

you smile, "bad day?" you ask, you know how he gets when he's dim and gloomy

"not particularly, but just had some trouble with sister rosaria."

what?

"what about her?" your grip on the ladle tightens

"nothing, it's really not a big deal." he palms your hand, kissing your neck

"oh, alright. if you say so, love." you state, but he should've watched what he says

you had your mind set and there was no stopping you

around 2-3 am you sneaked out of your shared home with the captain.

grabbing a cloak and satchel which incased your belongings, you head out into the streets

'where could that damn nun be at this time of night?'

you ponder for a good few minutes until-

bingo; clearing camps.

sneaking past the knights is rather easy, distract them with a rabbit and all is good

pulling the hood of the cloak lower to hide your face, you speed into the wilderness in search of rosaria

you find the preoccupied nun vanquishing a camp of hilichurls around the whispering woods, too busy to notice your presence

opening your satchel, you take your mask and secure it to your face

time to go through with the plan you'd devised.

"huh-?" rosaria hadn't reacted fast enough and you managed to tackle her to the ground after the last hilichurl was disposed of

she chokes on your hold and attempts to shove you off, only for her attempt to whiff

grabbing the polearm she had in her dominant hand, you twirl it and use it to replace your hand on her throat, choking her with ger own weapon

"w-who in t-the world..?" rosaria glares and struggles to keep herself conscious

you smirked, putting more pressure on the polearm

she grows more and more panicked, you bask in her expression of utter helplessness

she should have known better than to mess with you

to mess with kaeya

this is what she gets

you are going to have your way

yes, almost there-

"not quite, fiend."

suddenly, you get pulled back by the hood and you gasp in shock

rosaria recovers quickly and stands up, snatching back her weapon from your distracted figure

"though i hate to admit it, you sure can be a helpful comrade, cavalry captain." the nun scoffs

your blood went cold

"now who in the seven nations might this rodent be?" kaeya frowns, you attempt to struggle from his grip but to no avail

he takes off your disguise and you purse your lips

"..y/n?" rosaria questions, much more confused than your lover

"i had a feeling." kaeya remarks, surprising both you and the nun

"kaeya, you understand right? she upset you, she made you go through all that work just for you to find out it was some shady bitch roaming around the fucking city!" the two wince at your vulgar language, clearly not having any of it

"what's done is done." rosaria states and goes ahead to return to mond

kaeya lets you go and crosses his arms, disappointed in you

"you should know better, y/n. i'll have you know that although i love you dearly, this behavior of yours is not what i want from you." he reprimands you and you furrow your brows

"it's just me showing my love for you, i don't see what's wrong."

your statement makes the knight sigh

this is going to be a long night for the both of you

diluc

diluc wouldn't be too busy to spend time with you, but he'd be too busy to take notice of your toxicity

you lived in the manor, because of this, you had access to everything in the site

and when i say everything, i mean everything

yes, he trusted you too much and that's his downfall

not his, but rather a maid's

you were aware of his darknight hero duties and he made sure that you did, kissing you goodbye before leaving to rinse the land of roaming dangers

one night in particular, a certain head maid had made you quite envious

offering diluc a glass of grape juice, fixing his collar before he goes on about his daily stroll, even daring to clean his shared bedroom with you! my, how audacious she is.

after giving you a tender kiss, your lover heads out into the night and leaves you with the maids, giving you the opportunity to continue on your devious ways

calling adelinde into the garden, she comes along with the items you requested

two towels, a fork and a plate

of course she questioned it but who was she to deny her master's sweetheart?

with shaking limbs, she made her way towards the garden

"ah, finally. you're here," you make your way towards adelinde and she gulps

"i-i have the items you requested, miss y/n," she hands you the three objects that will serve a huge purpose tonight

"thank you," you smile at her as she attempts to smile and bow respectfully

"if that is all, i shall take my leave." she retreats into the manor

or atleast, she thoughts she was going to

quickly, you roll the towel and gag adelinde with it, tying the towel together and stabbing it to her nape with the fork with brute force

she screams for a split second and you smile, quickly bashing her head with the plate.

looking down at your doing, you grin impossibly wide

"miss y/n, why couldn't you have simply knocked her out first as to avoid her creating a rather loud shriek?" elzer sighed

"i wanted to hear her in agony, is that odd?" you raise an eyebrow at the chairman

he shakes his head, "no, not at all, master."

the next day, diluc is faced with a rather odd feeling of dread

as he finds adelinde, ironically, nowhere to be found, he immediately asks elzer which in turn is sworn to secrecy by you

it completely drove him mad, and you tried to take his mind off the maid yet he only pushed you aside

this angered you to the core

"what–is that maid more important than me now, after all this work i've done for you?!" you yelled at him and he huffs in annoyance

"what do you mean work?!" he yells back

"what could you have possibly done for me-" "i got rid of that bitch!"

he freezes, what did you just say?

you, there's no way. you aren't serious right? he must've misheard you, there's no fucking possibility that his head maid was de-

"she's gone. i made sure of it."

diluc feels a boiling sensation in his stomach and he takes your wrist to drag you to the outside of his office

"y/n, you better tell me where she is or i swear to barbatos i'm going to-"

he stops himself. what was he going to do? the same thing you had just done?

you smile at his realization, circling him

"see? you were just about to be hypocritical there, love." you chuckle

diluc gritted his teeth and steadies himself

he's going to teach you a lesson one way or another, but never in his life will he come to commit the crime you'd done

xiao

the adeptus neither cared nor disliked the things you do for him, however, when you stepped out of line one day, he began to watch over you like a hawk

it was when the traveler, lumine, visited your adeptus lover

you were excited to see xiao, you had two plates of almond tofu in hand and was stepping up the staira to the balcony

you hummed a little tune to yourself

"first hilichurl got sick, second hilichurl took care, third hilichurl gathers medicine, fourth hilichurl prepares-"

you halt your singing when you hear laughter

laughter from a woman, huffs from a man

an adeptus

your adeptus

"xiao, thanks for meeting up with me today, i really appreciate it." lumine smiles at the yaksha, "we would've been at a loss if it weren't for you."

frowning, you step back and watch them from behind the opening of the balcony

"i am in no need of your reassurance, puny mortal. it was a necessity for rex lapis' sake, do not take it any other way." he says, although the flush of his face was an obvious indicator that he also cared for his friend

"yeah, whatever you say xiao." paimon laughed and lumine soon after

fuck. you felt something break on your foot.

xiao and the traveler snapped their heads to your direction–

only to find nothing there

"i'll go check on it," lumine offers and xiao simply nods, finishing the tofu she brought for him

the blonde traveller walks to the scene and sees a plate of almond tofu in bits and pieces

"eh?... what's all this?" she questions

she crouches down to observe the scene

her fault.

"AH-!" lumine tumbles down the stairs with you on top of her

not giving her time to react, you punch her in the face repeatedly

"don't-" smack in the face

"try-" punch up her chin

"to-" bash her head on the floor

"take-" punch to the left

"him!" punch to the right

verr goldet and paimon cries for you to stop, the former prying you off the bruised blonde

xiao hears the commotion and sees the traveller's nose bleeding and your figure heaving on the ground, fists clenched

if verr goldet hadn't pulled you away, you would've killed the girl

xiao huffs and shakes visibly

"what is all this?" he angrily mumbles, "care to explain yourself, y/n?"

"xiao-" you begin to cry, "why would you spend time with her? i'm hurt of course!"

"you intend to tell me you're the only one i can talk to?" he raises his tone

"yes!" you whimper

unbelievable

"..verr goldet, bring the traveller to a healer, y/n, come with me." he holds a stoic expression

he was beyond angry

following him to the balcony, he keeps a distance from you, about three steps away.

finally coming to a stop, he faces you.

"i don't know what got onto you, but we're going to solve this," he crosses his arms, "right here, right now."

[ambssssssssss]

part 2 

Lena spent the drive to L-Corp trying to remember everything she could about what was going on with her company when she had first moved to National City. She remembered missing the Venture launch, and the explosion at the re-branding ceremony, but only because those events were so closely tied with the beginnings of her friendship with Kara. It was telling, Lena thought, that most of her memories of her first year in National City were intrinsically linked with her relationship with Kara, both as herself and as Supergirl. Still, it should be easy enough to familiar herself with L-Corps current projects and financial standings. Afterall, Lena had already dealt with this one before. 

That reminded her that she should review her personal finances at the first opportunity. The sooner she could get Watchtower up and running, and by extension a lab that she could use to work on the projects that would help keep Kara alive, the better. She would take extra precautions to make sure that the property was not tied to L-Corp in any way, just in case. Even with the benefit of hindsight, Lex was still a genius and Lena would be a fool to underestimate him. 

Jess was waiting for Lena just outside the elevator with a coffee in one hand and the first batch of paperwork for Lena to review in the other. Lena felt a surprising jolt of relief at the sight of her old assistant. Jess had always worked just as hard as Lena did, if not harder, and Lena had missed her greatly when she’d left. Having Jess back as her assistant again provided more comfort that Lena was expecting. 

“Good morning, Ms. Luthor.” Jess greeted as Lena stepped out of the elevator. 

“Good morning, Jess,” Lena accepted the coffee her assistant held out and gestured to the paperwork in Jess’ other hand. “What are we starting with?” 

“Incident report,” Jess handed over the papers. “One of the technicians was working late last night in Lab C and they dropped a beaker. No one was injured and nothing was contaminated.” 

“Good.” Lena began to make her way past Jess towards her office. “Call the technician responsible and have them meet me in the Lab in ten minutes.” 

“Yes, Ms. Luthor, but what about the Venture launch? You need to leave in half an hour to make it to the launch site on time.” 

“I suppose watching the launch on the news will have to do.” Lena offered Jess a kind smile. “Duty calls. Please draft an apology to the Venture Corporation.” 

“Yes, Ms. Luthor.” 

Knowing that Jess would do as Lena requested, the CEO made her way into her office. As the door swung closed behind her, Lena was accosted by her memories. 

There isn’t a part of Lena’s office that doesn’t have a memory of Kara attached to it. Not the couch, where they had shared countless lunches and even a few dinners when Kara joined Lena for her nights working late in the office for no other reason than she wanted to keep Lena company. Many heartfelt conversations had happened on that couch and there had been more than one occasion where Lena was only a breath away from confessing her feelings to Kara only for someone to come in and interrupt them. The desk held similar memories but most of those were more oriented to the work that Lena and Kara would do together. Sometimes it was Kara interviewing Lena for an article, sometimes it was Lena using Kara as a sounding board as she worked through some issue with her latest projects, and sometimes it was both of them doing their own work as they shared Lena’s desk space. 

Standing just inside her office door, Lena let the memories wash over her. For a moment Lena considered reaching for her phone to call Kara and invited her to lunch. Then Lena remembered that she and Kara hadn’t even met yet in this time. It felt exceedingly weird to think that that person Lena loved most in any world was now no more than a stranger to her. 

Shaking her head to pull herself out of her memories, Lena continued on her journey to her desk. She put her purse, and thus the notebook contained therein, in the secured drawer of her desk before settling in to review the incident report. If all went as it had gone before, the next time Lena stepped into her office, it would be in the company of her favorite Kryptonian. With the reassurance that she was only hours away from seeing Kara again, alive and well, Lena left her office to begin her day in earnest. 

Dealing with the incident report and reassuring the technician that they would not be losing their position at L-Corp took up the majority of Lena’s morning. She missed the beginning of the coverage on the Venture launch but tuned in time to see the explosion. Just as she had done that morning, Lena couldn’t help but stare in awe as Kara, Supergirl, swooped in to save the day with the help of Superman. Lena knew intellectually that her mission to travel to the past was a success, she had ample proof of that all around her, but she wouldn’t truly believe that Kara was alright until she saw her in person. 

Which, if Lena remembered correctly, would happen in the next half hour. 

Lena lingered in Lab C for long enough to ensure that the incident report was filed properly and then to help ensure that the technicians involved were back on track with the work they had been doing before she made her way back to her office. Thankfully alone in the elevator, Lena used the time travelling between floors to prepare herself for seeing Kara for the first time. She knows that she won’t be able to completely temper her reaction but as long as she can keep herself from acting like a blind woman seeing the sun for the first time, she figured she would be able to muddle through. 

The elevator door opened with a soft ping and Lena stepped out. Her gaze immediately landed on the cardigan clad form of the woman she loved. Kara stood next to the strong, sure form of Clark Kent. A contrast to Clark’s easy confidence, Kara nervously played with the metal rings that bound her notebook together. Lena’s heart clenched painfully in her chest at the sight of Kara and it took every ounce of her will to keep herself from throwing her arms around Kara never letting go. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Mr. Kent?” With her expression schooled into a carefully neutral yet welcoming smile, Lena stepped the two guests in her office. She caught a whiff of Kara’s perfume as she passed and the familiar scent almost had Lena falling to her knees. Resolutely, she walked on with the two Kryptonians following behind her. 

“Ms. Luthor,” Clark greeted her kindly, though Lena could tell his smile was a bit forced. “We just had a few questions for you about this morning.” 

“The explosion on the Venture, you mean,” Lena poured herself a glass of water from the tumbler on her sidebar. She kept herself from looking at Kara by keeping her back turned to her until she was once again sitting behind her desk. Although she was speaking to Clark, Kara had commanded most of Lena’s attention. “You wouldn’t be asking me about this if my last name was Smith.” 

“But it’s not. It’s Luthor.” Clark’s eyes are somewhat cold as his gaze stays fixed firmly on Lena. Lena spares another glance in Kara’s direction and finds her fiddling with her glasses. Lena conceals a fond smile at the familiar sight. 

“Some steel under that Kansas wheat,” Lena says wryly. “Why don’t you ask me what you really came here to ask?” 

“Why weren’t you on the Venture this morning?” The question was one that Lena would have expected even if she wasn’t having the same conversation for the second time. She sat back against her chair and crossed her legs. 

“There was an accident in one of my labs. You can check the report yourself.” 

“I don’t think that’s necessary.” Kara spoke up for the first time. Lena couldn’t help the way her heartbeat increased at the sound and she wondered if Kara noticed. There was a barely noticeable tilt to Kara’s head and her brow was just barely pinched together, not quite enough for Lena to see the infamous crinkle but enough for her to know that Kara was concentrating on something. Lena fought off another smile at the familiar sight and the burst of warmth that flooded her being. Once again, right from the start, Kara was already jumping to her defense. 

“And you are?” Lena fought to keep her tone even but curious. 

“Kara Danvers,” Kara introduced herself. “I’m with CatCo.” 

“I didn’t think CatCo was known for their hard hitting journalism.” A flush covered Kara’s cheeks as she mumbled an excuse. Lena indulged herself in her the sight for a moment before speaking again before she could do something idiotic, like kiss Kara right then and there. “I came to National City for a fresh start, for me and my company.” 

“You’ll forgive me if I have trouble believing that.” There was that hint of steel in Clark’s voice again. Lena bristled slightly at the tone but refused to let the tension seep into her shoulders. She knew when she started this that she would have to win everyone’s trust again, not just Kara’s, but god she wished the process could be a little faster. 

“I’m just a woman trying to make a name for herself outside of her family.” Lena spoke imploringly.”Can’t you understand that?” 

“Yeah,” Kara’s agreement was followed by a soft smile. It wasn’t Lena’s smile yet, not the one full of unspoken promises, but it was perhaps the beginning of that. 

“Alright then,” Clark said after a moment in which Lena realized she had simply been staring at Kara. “Thank you for your time, Ms. Luthor.” 

“Always a pleasure, Mr. Kent.” Without conscious effort, Lena’s gaze softened as she looked at Kara. “Ms. Danvers.” 

Both Krytponians heard the clear dismissal in Lena’s tone and began to make their way out of her office. Clark walked back to the elevator without pause but Kara hesitated in the doorway. Lena realized that Kara was still there and looked up from the paperwork she had turned her attention to. Their gazes met across the empty space of Lena’s office and, just for a second, Lena felt as though she was looking at her Kara. The Kara who knew all parts of Lena, good and bad, and loved her even so. Kara’s final words to Lena floated through her mind. 

I’m always yours, Lena, even when I’m not.

“Is there something else I can do for you Ms. Danvers?” 

“No, sorry,” Kara blinked twice and looked down to hide the blush coloring her cheeks. “Just...have a good day Ms. Luthor.” 

“You as well, Ms. Danvers.” The smile Lena gave Kara as she bid goodbye was perhaps softer and much more loving that was appropriate for a woman she just met but Lena couldn’t bring herself to worry about that. Kara returned Lena’s smile and then made her way to where her cousin was waiting. 

Once Kara was gone, Lena let herself slump back in her chair with a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob escaping her throat. Lena couldn’t decide if she was more relieved at seeing Kara alive again or if she was more scared that she would fail in the end and all of this would have been for nothing. 

But no, even if Lena did fail, which she was more than sure that she wouldn’t, no time spent with Kara would ever be for nothing. Even if they were only ever friends, Lena would be content as long as Kara was alive to be her friend. She could earn Kara’s friendship back, at least, but could she actually save Kara? Only time would tell and that was the scariest part. 

In the meantime, there was much to do, both to help Kara and to bring L-Corp back up to the levels that Lena knew her company to be capable of achieving. And, Lena thought gladly, her next appointment would aid her with both of those tasks. 

[theclockworkmonk]

Taller

Written for @kataang-week

Day 1: Height Difference

Words: 1,546

Read on AO3

Readon FF.net

******

Despite the ever-present cold, Katara wiped sweat from her brow as she stood back to look proudly at the building made of ice she had just finished. The Southern Water Tribe was swelling faster than anyone had anticipated, and now looked much more like its northern counterpart, with actual streets, canals, and buildings carved with waterbending, instead of the hodgepodge of tents and igloos that Katara had grown up in.

A large part of it had been personally built by Katara herself, and if she was being honest with herself it had long since become unnecessary. A migration of people from the Northern Tribe had come to help rebuilding, swelling the population, and even some Earth Kingdom natives had taken up residence, hoping to establish trade between the two nations for the first time in a hundred years, but they still weren't enough to compare to the population of a proper major city, so large sections of the construction Katara had been working on would remain empty for the foreseeable future.

She knew why she kept going, though. It took her mind off how much she missed Aang.

They had gotten a few months together in peaceful, laugh-filled bliss. But ironically, the same newfound peace that had allowed her to finally slow down and sort out her feelings for Aang, was also what made her finally realize how homesick she was. She had been running all over the world for close to a year, never really having time to think about Gran Gran or all the other people she had left, but as happy as she was in her new daily routine, it still didn't feel like home. Plus, her father had been away from home even longer than she had, and she wanted to make up for lost time. So when he had told Katara and Sokka that he was about to make the journey south, they had both known that they had to join him.

But the world still needed their Avatar, and they needed him in the thick of things, not at the bottom of the world. A hundred years of tension and hostility between the Fire Nation and the Earth Kingdom hadn't vanished overnight, and new fighting threatened to break out every day, even if it wasn't being ordered by the Earth King or Fire Lord, so Aang had his hands full with his duty as peacekeeper and mediator. He couldn't go home with her.

It had broken her heart, and she hadn't known how to tell him she was leaving, but of course she hadn't needed to. With a smile, her sweet boyfriend had been the one to bring it up, insisting that she needed to go with her family, or Sokka would surely cause some kind of catastrophe without her there to look after him, and promised that he would follow her as soon as he could.

That had been seven months ago, and while the pain of missing Aang wasn't as sharp anymore, there were still multiple times a day when she thought about looking down into his gray eyes, or how nicely he fit curled up against her as they lounged on sofas or grassy hillsides.

And her inability to get Aang off her mind certainly wasn't helped by the fact that everyone in the tribe was constantly teasing her about being the Avatar's girlfriend. Every time she would walk past a group of younger girls, they would giggle loudly with each other and, if they were feeling bold, ask if the Avatar was a good kisser. Even Sokka was still coming up with new immature jokes every day; one would think he would get tired of it by now.

So here she was, enjoying her rare piece of solitude on the outskirts of the ever-growing ice city, making it even bigger.

"You know, the basic idea of going home to your family is to actually spend time with your family." Sokka's voice from behind her made her jump.

"Only if Gran Gran stops making wedding plans for both of us," she answered over her shoulder with a laugh.

"You're in luck, it's actually far worse than that," Sokka sighed, putting an arm around his sister's shoulder. "Her target has shifted, now she's of the opinion that it's time for Dad to find another wife."

Katara spun away from him to face him and her mouth gaped open. "WHAT!?" she shrieked so loudly it echoed off of the surrounding ice.

"Yeah, so stop being a loner and come back with me, we need a united front to squash this," said Sokka, and Katara was more than willing to start following him back towards the center of the settlement.

They were approaching their family's hut, right near the edge of the ice shelf where most of the villagers were still clustered, when something made both of them stop dead in their tracks.

To the north, across the water, she heard the distant sound of a loud, low roar. The unique sound of the roar of a sky bison.

Katara and Sokka looked at each other and their faces split into wide grins. They forgot their current familial crisis and ran towards the edge of the ice, waving frantically at the dark dot growing bigger in the distance. Katara was jumping up and down by the time Appa came in for a landing and she could make out Aang's beaming face. The bison's feet hadn't even touched snow yet when Aang leapt off his head and landed in front of Katara, and they both threw their arms around each other and shared a passionate kiss, trying to pour seven months worth of affection into it.

Katara felt like she was floating. She couldn't stop a very girly giggle rising up from her throat as she pulled Aang's face down to kiss him harder—

Wait. Down?

Her eyes snapped open and she suddenly pushed him away to arm's length.

Her eyes narrowed dangerously as she looked up and down at her boyfriend. No, she hadn't imagined it. He now had a few inches on her. He had shot up so far so fast that he looked like he had been stretched like taffy, his build skinnier than ever and lanky.

Aang frowned in confusion at her reaction. "What's wrong?"

"You're taller," said Katara, like this was a grave betrayal on his part.

"Than what?"

"Than me."

"I've always been taller than you!"

She put her hands on her hips and raised an eyebrow at him to say, Really? But Aang maintained his completely straight face. "Aang, everyone knows, I'm the tall, intimidating waterbending master, you're my tiny, adorable squirrelmunk of a boyfriend."

"What? NO!" Sokka's voice called from Appa's side.

Katara and Aang turned to see Sokka's look of despair. He had finally noticed Aang's change after helping a very grumpy and now-actually-blind Toph down from Appa's back and onto the ice.

"Ugh, I know, right?" grumbled Toph. "I've had to switch from short jokes to skinny jokes, which aren't nearly as fun."

"But I've got seven months worth of short jokes I've been sitting on!" Sokka whined pitifully. He, Toph, and Zuko had greatly enjoyed making fun of Aang for being shorter than his girlfriend.

Katara looked triumphantly back at Aang, daring him to keep the charade up, but he couldn't keep it in anymore and his face broke out into a mischievous grin, and soon he was laughing heartily, which Katara joined him in, despite her best efforts.

"Okay, you got me," said Aang. "But in my defense, I never expected you to get this….upset about it? I actually thought you'd be impressed, and maybe more than a little attracted. Is it really a bad thing that I'm taller than you?"

"Well I don't know….maybe," she said with a pout she hoped looked cute. "You were the perfect height for me to kiss you on the forehead. Now I have to pull you down." She did exactly that and planted a kiss in the center of his arrow. "See? Far too much effort."

"You're right, I'll miss that," admitted Aang. "However, if I may make a counterpoint," he pulled her close and easily planted a kiss on her forehead.

"Hmmm," Katara hummed in contentment, closing her eyes and smiling. "I suppose we can make due with that."

Their romantic moment was interrupted by Sokka and Toph doing a loud duet of simulated vomiting noises.

"Oh, like you wouldn't be doing the same thing if Suki were here!" said Katara nastily.

"Yeah, sorry Sokka, but the Kyoshi Warriors are providing additional security for Zuko," said Aang more kindly.

Sokka's face fell, and he sighed. But then, his face lit up and he gave a wicked smile that Katara didn't like at all. "Well, there is one upside to that. That means all the attention will be on you two."

"What attention?" asked Aang.

Leading Toph with one hand, Sokka placed his other one on Katara's shoulder and started leading her back to their family hut.

"Come on, sister, with the Tribe's biggest golden couple reunited again, it won't be Dad's love life that Gran Gran is sticking her nose into."

Katara groaned and considered jumping into the ocean.

[fandom-imagines-stories]

Black Umbrellas

Josh Lyman x Reader

Words: 2277

Part One

Summary: The funeral arrives and everything seems to fall apart. Josh tries to keep his temper in check with Celia, but soon the reason behind their ongoing feud is revealed. 

Notes: Josh is definitely one of my favorite fictional characters and it seems like more of you are liking his imagines. As always, comments are always welcome!- Side note: I know that it’s been forever since I posted part one to this, and I’m very sorry. I hope to be writing for more West Wing, including more characters. 

-

It was just like he would have wanted. The morning was bright and sunny and began with laughter. Josh was standing in the kitchen with your mother and something he had said made her laugh, making the rest of you feel a little lighter on a day that would leave a great deal of weight on your hearts. It’s how your dad would have wanted his funeral to start. Not with sorrow, but with the sense of being together. 

Your mother made blueberry pancakes for breakfast using your dad’s famous recipe and  the three of you had coffee on the porch. Celia and Thomas were still asleep, so there was no danger of an argument breaking out for now. 

“It’s a beautiful day.” Marissa hummed, taking a sip of her coffee. Josh nodded in agreement, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, drinking in the morning sun as it rose over the trees. 

“How are you feeling?” He whispered as you rested your head on his shoulder. You shrugged. 

“Best that I can be, I guess.” He nodded in understanding and sweetly kissed the top of your head. 

“I’ll be here the whole time.” You placed a hand on his leg, drawing circles on the denim. You loved it when he wore jeans. It made him feel like he was yours for the day and not rushing off to assist in a national crisis. But even now, he was still the Deputy Chief of Staff. 

You probably noticed his pager buzzing before he did. He looked at you mournfully, his tone apologetic. “I’ve got a call from Leo.” 

You gave him a small smile and a node. “You better take it.” 

He moved out onto the lawn for some privacy and your mother gave your hand a gentle pat. 

“You picked a good one.” She smiled. You both watched as he ran a hand down his face, his expression morphing from saddened to angered to calm in a matter of seconds. 

“Is he seriously working right now?” Your sister’s shrill criticizing voice emerged from inside the house. 

“He’s the Deputy Chief of Staff for the President,” You scoffed, “the world didn’t stop just because he’s here.” 

“Sorry, I forgot. Not all of us are lowly small town journalists like me and dad.” 

“Are you serious, right now?” 

“No, you’re right, I’m sure it’s a matter of national security.” She spat and you stood up from the swing. 

“It very well could be!” You shouted. You wanted to slap her. Who was she to criticize Josh? 

“Girls!” Your mother finally interjected. You both turned your heads towards her and you immediately felt guilty, seeing the tears welling up in her eyes. “Don’t do this today. Please.” 

“Sorry mom.” You both said, hanging your heads. While you could feel everything start to burn up in your chest, you pushed it down. You had to be strong today. Luckily, your own pager went off before any more arguing could occur. 

“Hey Sam.” You sighed in greeting, grateful for a distraction. 

“Hey, how are you doing?” His voice was sympathetic and sweet. Typical Sam. 

“Okay, all things considered.” You laughed lightly, hoping to keep the conversation from getting too emotional. “How are things there?”

“Crazy as usual.” He chuckled. “I just wanted to call and check in.” There was something in his tone that told you there was more. 

“Sam… something is wrong with the speech, isn’t there?” 

“Well,” He blew out a breath, “Since you pushed it back, we’re speaking after Congress is handing us our asses which means that Toby needed to make some changes so we don’t sound like-”

“Kids trying to start a fight on the playground?” You finished. Josh had said the same thing. 

“Yeah…” 

You thought for a moment, but couldn’t focus on any one thing. “Just make sure that he sounds like we’re still coming out on top.” It was the only thing you could do. 

“We’ll try.” He paused, but you already knew what he was going to say. “And Y/N-”

“I know.” You smiled slightly to yourself. “Thanks Sam.” 

You strolled along the wrap-around porch, hoping to avoid Celia for at least a few more minutes, telling yourself it was the stress of the day. She would cool off eventually. 

“I hope everything is doing okay.” Your mother’s comforting tone helped to calm you down. You shrugged. 

“As okay as it ever is.” She nodded with understanding. She knew how messy the political world was. It didn’t stop because someone died. 

Josh came back, the stress clear on his face. When he locked eyes with you, he tried to brighten up, but you could tell that there was something weighing down on his shoulders. You implored him with a look, but he shrugged it off. 

“The usual.” He whispered, draping his arm around you again. “Don’t worry about it.” He turned to your mother with a sad smile. “Leo McGarry and The President send their deepest sympathies.” 

“I appreciate that.” She nodded and looked out over the orchards. How was she so strong through all of this? You felt ready to fall apart at the seams, but your mother was the picture of grace. She always did everything for everyone else and now she wasn’t giving herself the chance to grieve. 

Celia had gone inside to make calls to the funeral home and Thomas was in town picking up groceries. He wanted there to be one less thing for all of you to worry about. 

With a few hours until the funeral, all you wanted was to make it through the day without any more arguments. Josh had a few more calls with Leo and did his best to hide it from your judgmental sister but there was still that tension between them. You took a few sympathy calls from Donna and C.J.- both of whom were very kind in expressing their regrets in not being able to make it to the funeral. 

It was about noon when the President called. Your mother must have spent an hour talking to him in her office before she came back into the living room, passing off the phone to you. 

“Good afternoon, Mr. President.” You started, forcing yourself to keep it together. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t catch you the other day before you and Josh left.” He sighed. “I wanted to give my condolences in person.” 

“My family and I appreciate it nonetheless, sir.” 

“I am truly sorry for your loss, Y/N.” His fatherly tone made you want to cry. Truthfully, you’d always seen President Bartlet as your work-father more than your boss. “Bill was a good man and a good friend.” 

“He would have been honored to hear you say that, sir.” There was a long moment of silence between the two of you as you both let those words sink in before he concluded. 

“He was always very proud of you, Y/N. I hope you know that.” 

Your breathing hitched as you held back a cry. “Thank you, Mr. President.” As you hung up, you tried to keep the tears from falling. Your quiet moment to yourself was interrupted by the sounds of whispers growing into shouts on the front porch. Celia and Josh. 

As you approached, their words became more and more clear. 

“When are you going to stop treating her like a child?”

“I’m sorry, but I figured I would let her go on thinking that her sister is a crazy lunatic!” 

“Keep your voice down! She’ll hear you.” 

“Let her hear, Celia.” Josh’s voice became a growl. “Let her hear that after all these years, you’ve just been jealous of everything that she’s been able to accomplish and you couldn’t.”

“I don’t know why we’re even having this conversation.” Celia scoffed. You opened the door a crack and watched her step closer to him. “I’m not jealous, Josh. I’m right. Y/N has had everything handed to her since the day she was born. She doesn’t deserve her job.. And she doesn’t deserve you.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.” Josh ran a hand down his face and turned away, but she was persistent.

“We met first, Josh. We started seeing each other and then you fell for her little charms just like everybody else.” 

“You two were seeing each other?” You gasped, finally stepping out from behind the door. Josh let out a frustrated groan. 

“No, honey, we weren’t-”

“Is that why you two are at each other’s throats all the time? Because you were together?”

“We were never together!” He exclaimed. He reached to put his hands on your shoulders, but you stepped away, staring down your older sister. 

“You really think I don’t deserve my job… my husband… my life?” 

She said nothing. Her mouth formed a thin line as she gave you a silent, hard stare. You wanted to slap her. You wanted to scream. Instead, the sky let out a low, tumbling growl of thunder that served as the final straw. You looked up at the darkened clouds as the first raindrop landed on your cheek. 

“No no no no no. This isn’t what he would have wanted.” You cried, holding out a hand as more water fell. “It’s supposed to be sunny and beautiful and… and…” 

“Y/N,” Josh started, but you didn’t hear him. 

“I can’t deal with this right now.” Was all you said as you took off down the steps and towards the road. You didn’t know what to think, but the rain hitting your skin was enough to fuel your fury to hide your sadness. 

“Where is she going?” Marissa asked, feeling the tension in every thunder roll. Josh slammed his hand against the porch railing. 

“I don’t know. But I’ll take care of it.” He gave Celia a glare that could halt an army before running after you.

-

You ended up in an old tool shed somewhere in the orchard, your cries drowned out by the rain pounding against the wooden walls. Your clothes were soaked but you didn’t care. There was just an hour until the funeral and the storm didn’t show any sign of stopping. This was all wrong. 

Your dad was the only one who could have fixed this mess. Whenever either you or your husband fought with Celia, he was the one that could settle everyone down and make you all laugh until your sides hurt. What if you never laughed like that again? 

The rain turned into a soft- but consistent- drizzle and you were sure you heard the sound of a car approaching the shed. You heard your husband calling your name before you even opened the door. 

“How did you know I’d be here?”

He gave you a long, sad look. “When you ran off, your mother said it’d be best if I took a car so we’d have someplace warm to sit and talk. She said you’d probably come here.” He opened the passenger door of his car and just waited. 

Instead of running into the warm heat of the car, you ran into his arms. While you felt like you had no more tears to shed, your body just shook with silent sobs. After a while, he picked you up and put you in the car, quickly going over the driverseat so he could take you in his embrace again. 

“I feel so stupid.” You sniffed. “We’re supposed to be mourning dad and I’m running off like a child.” 

“Don’t beat yourself up.” He muttered into your hair. “Grief does something to our heads… everyone has to deal with it.” He pulled away to look at you. “I shouldn’t have argued with Celia.” 

“No.” You shook your head. “No, I’m glad I know what she really thinks of me. Of us.” 

He pushed a hair behind your ear and gave you a small smile. “You have to know that I would never hide something like that from you unless I thought it didn’t matter. Celia and I got drinks one time before I met you and now she likes to hold it over my head.” He sighed. “And don’t beat yourself up about what she said. You’re one of the hardest working, badass women that I know. You deserve everything that you’ve built.”

He kissed your forehead and you fell into silence again. Without any words, he knew that you believed him about Celia and that the whole thing was blown out of proportions by your sister’s need for attention. He just hoped that you and Celia could start over. As much as he despised her most of the time, he knew what it was like to lose a sister. 

“Why don’t we head back to the house and try and dry off before the funeral?” He suggested softly. You just nodded, laying your head on his shoulder as he drove back to your childhood home. 

-

It wasn’t the sunny day that you wanted it to be. Everyone stood with black umbrellas and somber faces and you did your best to keep it together. Josh held your hand the whole way through, his support not faltering for a single second. You knew this couldn’t be easy for him either and yet he was your rock through all of it. 

The clouds blocked the sun for the rest of the day but you told yourself that it was okay. They were the cloud-kingdoms your father always talked about. The ones he wrote in those little books tucked away in the house. And you took comfort in the fact that you knew, now, that he was up there with them. 

[oumaheroes]

Character Study P.2

Summary:

A character study of the softer moments between England and France. Part 2: France is followed home by an overworked England.     

Word Count: 4589

Characters: France, England, (FrUK)

Previous part can be found here.

.......

Despite the busy crowds and how tired he was, it did not take France long to realise that he was being followed home.

It was early evening. He had just left the hotel they were using as a location (battleground) for the latest UN meetings and was hoping to catch his favourite farmers’ market before they packed up and closed for the day. There were some things he’d been eyeing up for dinner that, now he’d set his mind on it, he knew he would be loath to change and if there was something France would never compromise on, it was ingredients. So, as soon as the last meeting of the day had ended, he packed up his things, bade his assistant and president a tired farewell, and hurried out of the door before anyone could grab him and ask him for something.

The meetings themselves were nothing fancy, just long national security and trade talks with government officials and other such persons, but which were thankfully being hosted in Paris. France did not like travelling about much these days, he’d done quite enough of that in previous centuries and he wasn’t afraid to admit that he was happy to enjoy a more relaxed lifestyle at a polite distance from politics. England might call it lazy, but France knew that his northern neighbour was just as old and content to stay at home in his own lands, left to his own devices and away from the angry, irritating buzz of politicians.

‘It’s not the same!’ England had lamented to him once only a decade ago, too drunk on good wine that was wasted on him for how quickly he drank it, ‘We don’t even really get to give our opinion anymore; we just sit there and then help do all the bloody admin whilst they argue about this that and the other. What’s the point? If they don’t want to listen to our advice or let us make decisions, leave us the fuck out of it.’

France had sighed at him and shook his head; not because he disagreed, but because when England felt like he was being patronised he’d puff up in a ruffled indignation that France found too funny not to risk his person provoking. England had sworn at him, as France knew he would, and the evening had ended up with them sprawled on top of each other at the bottom of France’s vineyards.

Thinking with a bitter happiness that there was only one more day of this tedium to go, France made great strides in removing himself from the premise, ducking and weaving his way through the pedestrian traffic and losing himself in the flow and thrum of his people as they made their way across town.

He hadn’t got very far, only managed to cross a road and turn down a right-hand street, when he noticed that he had acquired a shadow.

Many centuries of existence had given him a sixth sense for this sort of thing- a keen awareness of people who followed for too long, a feeling for eyes watching the back of his head. Even in peacetime his mind was sharp, alert for tiny movements that could indicate a potential threat and hooking his attention to make him zero in on certain behaviours, regardless of whether he wanted this additional mental fatigue or not. Such things were second nature to their kind. He hadn’t survived for this long by relaxing and blindly trusting those around him, after all. Nations could be brutal things, humans just as much, and the complacent among them never remained for long.

But this presence was familiar, a known gait and step that France had learnt to recognise the fastest, out of necessity as much as from repeated encounters.

France smiled to himself and slowed his pace.

England wasn’t trying to hide himself; Lord knew that when the man wanted to, he could simply disappear into a crowd and never been seen again. If England wanted to follow someone without them knowing, they simply wouldn’t know about it. MI6 didn’t have the reputation it did for nothing and England enjoyed, with a smug superiority that France often couldn’t stand, putting whatever talents and skills he’d worked out with them to use when the mood took him; presence undetected, footsteps light and soft, manner and bearing disguised and changed as quickly as if he were shedding clothes.

No, England wasn’t hiding himself or trying to remain unseen, but that didn’t mean that he would appreciate France drawing attention to the fact that he’d noticed him so soon. Let him think France was frequently oblivious, it always made for fun later.

Besides, France didn’t think now was the best time to push him.

He’d noticed that England had grown quieter the last few days, withdrawing more and more into tense silence as the week went on. There was something happening at home, he’d heard through his own ministers, something brewing that kept England working later and later, pushing himself more and more. He hadn’t had the chance to talk to England about it himself, hadn’t had the chance to talk to Arthur at all, but France had seen him grow steadily more stressed and taut, like a tightly wound string.

An impatient man anyway, England grew snappy when stressed, biting and prickly and quick to shout and vent his temper at whatever poor unsuspecting victim fumbled the small task he’d given them. After this though, if nothing changed, England would turn into a muted white noise, all tension wrapped and bound and condensed until you could feel it pulsating from him in palpable waves. All of his energy would go towards surviving what was happening and finishing whatever it was, and he’d go and go and go until either the source of the stress went away, or he’d collapse somewhere- a boneless puppet with cut strings.

The way things had been going, France wouldn’t be surprised if he were nearing the latter of the two and he’d been expecting England to seek him out eventually, for one reason or another.

France stopped at a crossing just as the light for pedestrians turned red, and he felt, rather than saw, England close the distance and approach him from behind. ‘You’ve left earlier than I expected.’ He said to him over his shoulder, keeping his eyes on the cars. ‘I wouldn’t have thought you’d be out for another few hours at least, the way you’ve been working these last couple of days.’

England grunted but said nothing further, shuffling to stand closer to France to avoid an old lady and her grandchildren when they stepped too near to him.

France turned to look at him and, up this close, noticed the slight flush to his cheeks and the paleness to his face, eyes tired and drawn as they regardless the traffic. The day was not a terribly cold one, but England had burrowed himself deep into his coat, collar turned up high to cover his neck and hands tucked into his pockets.

France hmm’d and hooked an arm through England’s, pulling him closer. He didn’t shrug it off. ‘I’m going to the market before I go home.’ France informed him, because he knew that that was what England was planning on doing- follow France home and expect to be fed. (He would be, he always was).

He felt England shrug, a slight upward twitch to his shoulder. ‘That’s fine.’

The lights changed and the crowd around them moved forward, taking France and England with it. They followed the rush along for a while before France tugged them down an alleyway to break onto another street, smaller with cars parked on the pavements and less people around. They stuck to the side streets from then on, winding their way through the back alleys of Paris in a comfortable silence with France leading the way.

The market itself, when they eventually arrived, was a small one, tucked in a small cluster on the cobbles of a square, but the produce was fantastic and it was a local secret. France, as a local to all in his lands, adored it. ‘I was thinking of cassoulet for dinner’ he told England as he slipped his arm free to approach a stall for vegetables and other farm produce, eyeing up the selection of carrots. ‘You like that, yes?’ There was no answer, and France turned around to find him staring vacantly off at the next display. ‘Arthur.’

England blinked, coming back to himself, and turned to him. ‘What? Sorry…’ he frowned, ‘did you ask me something?’

France tutted at him. ‘Yes, but no matter, you weren’t going to get a choice anyway.’

England said nothing but turned away to stare at the table display again, a selection of cheeses France could tell he wasn’t really paying any attention to. France pursed his lips but let him go, purchasing the necessary onions, carrots, and tomatoes that he needed before hurrying England off to the next vendor, handing him the bag of vegetables to carry which he accepted without complaint.

After the butchers for sausages and mutton, France handed England the purchases and taking out his notebook from his pocket, checking that there was nothing else he needed whilst he was here. ‘Do you need anything?’ He asked, turning to England.

England shook his head and shivered, rearranging the bags on his arm. ‘No, thank you.’

France reached to take one from him, freeing up an arm, and drifted his hand down England’s coat to hold England’s own, buried in his pocket. He was displeased at how cold he found it and squeezed it tightly, pressing the pad of his thumb over England’s knuckles. There was a slight squeeze back, the smallest increase in pressure, but there was something, at least, and France let it go.

‘Come on then, before you lose one of my bags somewhere.’

.......

Back at home, France unlocked the door and pushed England inside first, closing the door behind them. ‘Go and take a shower, I’ll start dinner.’

England frowned at him, confused. ‘I don’t need a shower.’ He turned to make his way to the kitchen, bags in hand, but France caught him by the elbow and took them from him before stepping forwards and pressing a kiss to his temple. His skin there was just a touch too warm, but the rest of him felt chilled. ‘Go, you’re cold and it’ll help you relax.’

‘I don’t need to relax.’

France looked at him, unimpressed. ‘You need to relax; you’ve overworked yourself stupid again.’ He nudged him with his elbow. ‘I’ll not start cooking until you do.’

England managed a weak scowl at him but didn’t protest and shrugged off his coat before hanging it by the door. ‘Fine. If it makes you feel better.’

‘It will.’ France slipped his shoes off and rolled his eyes when England nudged them with his foot so that they sat straighter against the wall. ‘Go.’

After England had safely moved away in the direction of the bathroom and France could hear the comforting sound of his shower in use, he walked through his flat to the kitchen and set about getting things ready for dinner, collecting his knives (always the best quality, always sharp) and washing the vegetables before chopping them as needed. Before too long, he heard the hot water turn off and the bathroom door open, the one to his bedroom closing shortly after that. A while later, England emerged in the kitchen, slightly damp and dressed in some of France’s old clothes: baggy, large things that France couldn’t bear to throw away, even though he hardly ever wore them. Kept for times like this, maybe. For either one of them when they were needed.

Evidently, the shower had revived enough of England’s energy to allow him to dig about in the depths France’s wardrobe and drawers; he’d pulled on an old woollen jumper that he’d left behind the last time he’d visited France’s Paris flat, a frumpy looking thing with bobbled thread and stretched sleeves that fell past his hands to graze his fingertips.

‘What state have you left my bedroom in?’ France asked. He uncovered the white beans that he had left soaking the day before and regarded them seriously. They looked ready.

England moved past him to sit at the table, slow and sluggish, before leaning forward to bury his head in his arms, cheek cradled in the crook of his elbow. He sighed and shut his eyes. ‘It’s fine.’

‘I’m sure it is not, I tried to bury that hideous thing at the very bottom so it couldn’t be seen; every time I opened my wardrobe it quite ruined the overall look when I caught sight of it.’

England didn’t answer him. France filled the kettle up with water and flicked it on before grabbing a mug- a bulbous, large bottomed monstrosity that England had got him a few years ago to spite him for something or other. It was incredibly tacky but France found that it was growing on him most annoyingly.

He didn’t need to ask if England wanted tea, this would have been a pointless, silly question, and nor did he ask if England wanted the honey instead of sugar that he put in it. His voice had sounded ever so slightly hoarse, maybe from talking all week for hours on end, maybe not. Either way, England would not ask for anything that hinted or implied that he had some sort of physical weakness and France had learnt, over many frustrating years, that the best way to handle England like this was to simply not say anything and give him what he needed anyway. Asking whether he was feeling well would imply that you had noticed signs he was not, and would, for reasons France still did not even try to understand, make him more stubborn in pretending that there was nothing wrong at all.

Roundabout methods for a roundabout man.

‘I don’t know how you can possibly believe you have the right to insult Wales on his clothes when you own something like that; you’re lucky I didn’t mistake it for rags and throw it away.’

England made a sound that could have been a laugh. ‘This one is Scotland’s, actually.’ (1)

‘Well, all the more reason to be lucky, then. You should be grateful that I didn’t throw you to his ire.’

‘Yes, I do plenty enough of that myself without your assistance.’

England sounded almost fond and France allowed a smile, keeping his head turned away to focus on cubing the mutton. England’s relationship with his brothers has always been much like his own with England: stormy, rough, and quick to change but long lasting and durable, nonetheless. Some bonds do not need frequent, pretty words and kind acts to keep them strong. Sometimes, seeing someone fester at their ugly worst and choosing to keep them your life anyway was a greater sign of affection than anything else. What are sweet words and acts, to ones who live as long as they? Fleeting things, whispers that fade quickly into the long yawn of time. Years do not remember the small niceties; after centuries and millennia, you remembered who stayed, who came back, who didn’t take the shot that would have hurt the most. The ones who did take it, and then helped put you back together.

Sometimes, that was enough.

The kettle clicked itself off and France put the knife down, washing and drying his hands quickly before pouring the water in the mug and leaving the tea to steep. He glanced at the table. England was still hunched over, a curl of bent elbows and downturned eyes, and was wearing a slight frown as he squinted into his forearm. France couldn’t tell whether he was falling asleep or not, but he was very aware that England would not appreciate staying there if he was.

‘Your hair is still wet.’ He told him, pointedly.

England made an unhappy noise.

‘I won’t be looking after you, if you make yourself worse.’

‘I’m fine.’

‘I’m sure you think so.’ France stirred the tea, squeezing the tea bag against the side of the mug with a spoon before removing it. Adding the milk, he stirred it again and took it to the table, setting it down in front of England who looked up, finally. ‘But like I said, I’ll be leaving you here to die of the consequences regardless.’

‘Leave it.’ England’s voice was firm but his eyes were soft; a foolish contradiction.

He sat up and reached out to cup the terrible mug in both hands, letting the warmth bleed into them. He took a sip and, very briefly, his face opened to show small, innocent pleasure. France always loved to catch the fleeting instances England let softer emotions shine through- a bark of laughter when a joke caught him off guard, the times he looked at his younger family members when they were turned the other way, the mornings he sang to himself when he thought no one could hear.

England was often pointy lines and sharp smiles, hard looks and careful study; cold emotions cut into him with intentional strokes and built there as a wall to hide whatever was bubbling underneath. There were few occasions, few people, that could peel him away so completely that nationhood and age would melt away and that for a second, just one second, he could be anyone at all.

France tucked this moment away carefully in his mind, committing it to memory, and clicked on the stove.

.....

Dinner was mostly a one-sided affair. France watched England pick at the food, pushing bits of it around his plate and taking small, tentative bites.

France kept up the conversation the whole time, happy to fill the noise. Regardless of what he said to contrary, England enjoyed the sounds of something happening, of life continuing, just as much as he enjoyed silence and solitude. France had always felt that, when England was in less-than-ideal moods, maybe noise and distraction allowed his mind to finally switch off and tune out, to fade away in the buzz.

Maybe the silence prompted him to think too much.

After they’d finished eating, (or, France had finished eating and it became apparent that England had given up), France permitted England to pack up the leftovers into Tupperware before prodding him to the living room, where he pushed him down on the sofa and ignored his protests about how the dishes needed soaking.

‘Leave it for tonight, they’ll be fine.’

‘But-‘

France sat on one end of the sofa against the armrest and reached out to grab England around the waist, causing him to stop speaking in surprise. France pulled and twisted him close to sit flush against his chest, head coming to rest by France’s collarbone. ‘You are being a very bad guest, my dear, to not listen to the wishes of your host.’

England muttered something about France being a terrible host who didn’t deserve to be listened to in the first place, but stopped struggling to escape and leant against him, heavy. If anything, this quick concession to something France wanted him to do, especially when that something involved leaving a job half finished, was more alarming than comforting, and France reached up to bring a hand to feel his forehead, pushing back his fringe.

‘Look what you’ve done to yourself.’ He chided him, feeling stronger heat than before. Pushing England upright again, France felt under his sofa for the blanket he had thrown there the other day and grabbed it, before straightening back up to lay it across England and pull him down again. One he was settled, France tucked it up around his neck, making sure that he was fully covered, and burrowed his arms underneath to join him.

England rearranged himself slightly to fit more comfortably, slightly on his side with his head turned to rest on a cheek and nudging one of France’s knees to fit better against him, and let out a deep breath through his nose, slipping his eyes shut. Under the blanket, France felt him begin to run a cold hand over one of France’s arms that was resting on his middle, fingers brushing gently over his skin. ‘Thank you for dinner.’

France hmm’d, burying his nose in England’s now dry hair. He could smell his own shampoo that England had stolen but, underneath that, the familiar smell of England himself- an unnameable mix of things that could belong to no one else. ‘How strange to hear gratitude from your lips.’

England stopped stroking his arm to pinch it and France chuckled into his hair. ‘And now abuse of the host; my, how terrible.’ England huffed at him but resumed the less violent ministrations to his arm. France extracted the one currently at liberty to bring up to England’s head and card his fingers through his hair, tugging gently at the roots.

‘So, what has caused all of this?’

‘Caused all of what?’

‘You know full well what I’m talking about.’ The long hours, the bags under his eyes, the compressed strain that radiated from him in the way he held himself.

England was silent for a moment and France wondered, briefly, whether he shouldn’t have asked. But there were few things England was shy to talk about and few instances when talking about something didn’t help him, whether he was consciously aware of it or not.

England opened his eyes. ‘Nothing too disastrous, initially. Fraudulent claims have recently been made against a standing MP, but he’s involved in a lot of charity organisations and political campaigns.’ He shuffled to rest himself higher against France, tucking his forehead to lay more into the hollow of his neck. ‘The other day it all came to light at once and now things are quickly unravelling; everyone’s digging about to see how deep it all goes and how big the fall out is going to be.’

France made a sympathetic noise. ‘The joys of damage control.’

England hmm’d and brought out a hand to rub at his eyes and pinch the bridge of his nose. ‘Of course, I know the most about all of them, so I’m being hounded from all sides for information: contact names, dates, expense amounts, sources of income. Who else was involved, what else he’d been involved in, how many sectors are affected…’ He trailed off, weary, and France felt him shake his head. ‘And slap bang in the middle of UN talks about national security.’

‘You do have impeccable timing, as always.’

England tutted and fell silent. France avoided thinking about the specifics of what he’d said too much and instead forced himself to keep quiet. It was all too easy for his ears to prick up at that sort of thing and apply it to himself with cold, analytical detachment. How will this affect my economy? Was this man involved in anything that could influence French interests and policies? Will this fallout affect me? It was all too easy to demand a name from England and begin research into this himself. The urge to sift through French banking and trade agreements, international policies and French government ministers was strong- very strong. The numbers were right there behind his eyes, words caught on the tip of his tongue whilst national agreements bubbled in his chest. But he swallowed them back.

France liked to think of himself as very capable of detaching that part of himself, choosing to think of it as a job he could turn off and on, a choice he could make. He was always France, would always be France first and foremost, regardless of anything else. But also wanted to be Francis, just Francis, sometimes.

England ducked his head down to stifle a sneeze into his elbow.

France blessed him. ‘I cannot let you go to work tomorrow, you know, now that you’ve got to this point.’

England lifted his head up and put it once more against France, who resumed playing with his hair. ‘I’ve got to worse points.’

‘Just because you’re previously done something foolish, does not mean that you need to continue to do so.’ France countered.

‘There is only one day left.’

‘Ah yes, but it is the worst one. Russia is speaking, and you know full well how that’ll go.’

England, presumably thinking of how America would no doubt behave, groaned and twisted to lay more on his front. France rearranged the blanket around him. ‘I can’t leave my Prime Minister there to deal with it all, they need me to be there.’

‘They’re all grown-ups, they can handle themselves. Come on,’ France cajoled, lifting a hand to pick at a particularly large loose thread on Scotland’s missing jumper, upturned against England’s neck, ‘you’ve skipped meetings before. If I remember correctly, in the 1600’s you didn’t turn up to a single one that you were supposed to have with me.’

‘I was at sea.’ England replied, a smile in his voice.

‘You were, and if I remember more correctly, you were requested to return many times.’

England snorted and lifted his head up a little before letting it fall back on France’s chest with a soft thud. ‘That’s different.’

France continued as if he hadn’t spoken. ‘You missed so many meetings with me and my Kings that it was very hard to convince them that it wasn’t an intentional slight against them.’

‘It wasn’t, it was a slight against you.’

‘Well then,’ France bent forwards to kiss his forehead, ‘as you have already demonstrated that you have no qualms about missing meetings with me, that means you are quite capable of missing a meeting that I am hosting.’

England frowned, caught by his own logic. ‘I can’t do that.’

‘Who says so? I, who is the host, might I remind you, is actively encouraging your bad behaviour.’

England lifted his head to better look at him, shifting his weight onto a pointy elbow that was thankfully not pressing into France’s sternum. ‘So, you admit that it’s bad behaviour?’

‘Do you think it’s good behaviour to go to a meeting feverish?’ France countered easily.

‘I am hardly feverish.’

France reached out to press the back of his free hand against England’s too warm cheek and made only an unconvinced noise in response.

England moved his head and brought an arm out from under the blanket to bat France’s away from him. ‘I am hardly bedridden.’ He corrected, sounding somewhat petulant.

‘Is bedridden your standard for when to finally look after yourself?’

England ducked his head again and stifled another sneeze in reply.

‘Arthur.’

‘No, Francis.’

France pursed his lips. ‘Very well. I cannot stop you from making a stupid decision. As host, however, I am duty bound to inform the other attendees of your condition to ensure that they remain healthy.’

England sat up properly and turned to scowl at him, worst nightmare being threatened. People knowing. ‘You wouldn’t.’

France merely raised an eyebrow and gave a sly smile. They looked at each other for a moment, England searching for a bluff. Finding none, he shook his head and lay down again, arms coming to wind around and behind France’s back. ‘I’ll decide in the morning.’ He said, muffled against France’s chest.

France, extremely content that he’d won, tightened his arms around him. ‘Of course.’

....

AN:

I feel like I’m gonna be a busy bee for a while, so have something I wrote a while ago to tide me over whilst I potter about doing real life things.

The first part is a mirror to this second part, so to get the full effect I recommend going to read part one!

You all know I like my FrUK bitter and snarky and full of domestic banter, but I also really adore moments like this when they’re soft and let themselves show how they truly feel about each other. Theirs is a relationship that often needs no words and I love exploring about showing that quiet, consistent side to them, something hidden and tucked away behind a pat on the back or the brush of a hand.

I could go on and on and ON about my love for this pairing and these characters, but for now I shall leave it as this, my sappy ode to them both.

(1) I have the personal headcanon that England has quite an impressive collection of large jumpers that are not actually his. He has one of France’s too, an ugly thing that he bought in the 60’s and thought he threw away. It’s bright yellow.

Thanks for reading!

[marvelsswansong]

kind gestures

summary: simple exchanges of kind gestures go a long way- in saving lives, healing and leading two enemies to eventual love. 

tags: enemies to lovers, violence, slow burn-ish, second chances, starts with angst but ends with fluff ✨

word count: 5.8K

a/n: this was written as part of the Marvel fic writers x BLM Request campaign (check masterlist for more info). This fic was one of the hardest for me to write and took 2 months to finalize so a bit nervous about posting this one. 

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

The edge of the cup clunked awkwardly with the wooden tray she was carrying as May carefully parted Peter’s door, revealing a very stressed out Peter. He was staring blankly at his textbook with his head in his hands, eyes wide yet unblinking. Carefully setting down the cup of coffee onto his desk (she normally didn’t let him indulge in caffeine but considering all the late nights he’d been pulling lately, she figured she could give him a pass this week) May held the tray close to her chest and watched her nephew’s response, which was a whispered thank you without even looking up. She sighed- she’d seen stress and exam cramming, but it was never this bad. 

“Alright, what’s going on?” May pressed, forcing Peter to look up at his aunt. His whole face was now more visible under the lights, allowing her to clearly see the dark circles underneath his eyes and his unkempt curls sticking out in odd directions from the countless times he’d run his fingers through his hair. 

“What’d you mean?” he asked lowly, causing May to raise an eyebrow.

“You’re eating half the amount you used to. You’re getting basically no sleep these days, you’re moody, you’re quiet… What’s going on, Pete?” she questioned, genuinely concerned as she lay a hand on his shoulder. Peter had to bite his lip from wincing as she was lightly squeezing a fresh bruise he’d gotten last night while chasing a robber, and forced out a smile, one as realistic as he could muster.

“Just stressed, May. Senior year is no joke.” his half attempted humor caused May to purse her lips but she didn’t want to push her nephew any further if he didn’t want to share, so she just smiled, squeezing his shoulder comfortingly. 

“Alright. And you know you can talk to me about anything, right?” 

Peter nodded, almost reflexively. 

“Of course.” 

She smiled and gave him a soft kiss on his forehead.

“Alright. Love you loads. Try to sleep soon, okay?.” 

Peter let out a heavy sigh as soon as May closed the door behind her, the tension leaving his body. Squeezing his eyes shut and leaning back on his chair, he pondered on how he was going to be able to keep this up for another month or two. Normally balancing his schoolwork, social life and his superhero identity wasn’t so draining. Definitely not the easiest, but he wasn’t relying on three cups of coffee a day and for Ned to trade him notes as Peter could barely keep an eye open during class. 

He’d already had to beg two different teachers to not send May a concerned email or give her a call as he’d been caught sleeping in class five different times now. He couldn’t help it, he was just so exhausted and… angry. 

Spiderman had been falling in the public eye’s favour for the past few months. He was no longer the unanimously loved friendly neighbourhood superhero, rather he was now seen as a failure, unable to keep the villains of New York in check. It’d all started three months ago, when a string of robberies occurred across several big banks on the upper east side of Queens. It made headlines and left officials scratching their heads, but Peter wasn’t too concerned- robberies weren’t uncommon in New York and usually the criminals got caught a few weeks later and never attempted to rob again.

But then it came out that a note had been left at the scene of the crime. Drawn in red lipstick, a picture of a crescent moon was painted onto a high security vault which had been drained of all its gold. The media went into a frenzy and Peter recalled watching the NYPD press conference on his phone during lunch time, the head officer describing this behavior as of “possibly a serial robber” and warning the public of any suspicious behaviour.

But it was all speculation back then.

Then a week after that string of robberies came a gruesome murder where the mayor of New York City was gutted like a pig in his million dollar mansion, his bloodied and mutilated body bleeding out onto the rich white marble floors. The killer left an identical lipstick moon at the crime scene, this time painted onto the mirror in his living room under the word written hastily: “PIG.” 

The police was careful to say these two crimes were connected, as it could be a copycat trying to masquerade as the robber. 

Only for three days after the mayor was killed, the killer went after the head of a property investment firm located in west Queens, the corpse found with both of his hands caught off. Another lipstick moon was left at the scene, written under the word: “ROBBER.” A jewelry store was then stolen from the night after, followed by a string of killings of rich politicians and businessmen as the weeks went by- each time they were mutilated differently, but their murders were always accompanied by the lipstick moon. 

Once it became clear that there was a serial killer on the loose, pure panic descended the city. The police began to heighten security measures around the business sectors of New York and put out a reward for any information on the killer, all the while the public began to fear who this unknown master assassin was. 

Peter, as both a citizen of New York and a superhero, felt a moral obligation to capture this villain and put them in their place. He began to map where these crimes were happening and found a few connections: the crimes only occurred in New York and always during the night. Upon asking Karen to hack into the police force database, he read that the choice of weapon was always a carving knife, though varying in size each time. 

He started amping up his nightly patrols, commanding Karen to immediately notify him if any distress calls about murders or robberies in the New York City area were being passed through the police station. He was determined to catch this killer, who later became nicknamed as Moonshine, named after the deadly and illegal alcohol brand, but every time he got close he was always somehow too late. And with every robbery and murder Peter failed to stop, the terror felt by citizens began to morph into anger and blame for Spiderman. 

He’d never faced such slander before. Comments under articles reporting more of Moonshine’s crimes were littered with people questioning why Spiderman had yet to catch the villain, what exactly he was doing to try and even stop it. The public scrutiny paired with the increased pressure by the police for the superhero to help them out was so intense that Tony eventually stepped in, going off on a press conference about how Spiderman was still a young person and how unfair it was to put the burden all on this one boy. 

“Don’t worry about it, okay, Peter? Fury’s agreed to let us work on this case, now that it’s been dialed up to a kill count of almost 30 and the entire nation is in panic over it. You go home and sleep, focus on school, okay? And EAT! You look blue.” Tony had chastised, pushing Peter to go back home after he’d spent the whole night at the lab trying to connect more of the killings for any clues. 

But sleep wouldn’t come to him.

The pit in his stomach was unbearable. He felt useless, powerless and frustrated. 

The only progress he managed to make since he started working on the case happened a week ago, when he was the first one to respond to a distress call made by the wife of a prominent politician. 

Peter immediately swung to the affluent neighborhood and stepped into the bedroom, where the politician was cowering in the corner as the criminal had their hands outstretched in the air, the knife glimmering in the moonlight.

“Stop.” 

You turned around and his eyes widened- you were a girl. It was obvious by the way that the suit was hugging your body and the way you spoke, though your voice was slightly lower pitched due to the voice modulator installed in your suit. 

“Spiderboy? Never thought you’d show up, considering everyone hates you now. Now leave.” you pointed to the exit with your knife, the tip glittering threateningly with a drop of blood. Peter pursed his lips, gritting his teeth angrily.

“Not a chance. You’ve been terrorizing the entire state of New York with your unnecessary killings and robberies.” 

You just smirked, amusement seeping through your tone. 

“Unnecessary? Is that what you view that as?”

“More than that. You’re a villain. You’re immoral. You’re sick.” 

The man behind you then yelled and lunged forward, trying to tackle you onto the floor. You stepped backwards but the force at which he moved cause you to accidentally cut yourself a few inches below your hand, a gash appearing on your wrist. Your gaze turned murderous under your mask and you swore, gripping the metal blade even tighter.

Before Peter could web you down you moved at lightning speed, slitting the man’s throat before rounding around Peter and kicking him down. The pure speed and unadulterated strength with which you kicked caused him to clumsily fall onto the floor, his body colliding with the wooden drawer in the corner. Then within a blink of an eye you’d sped off somewhere else, and by the time he ran into the living room you’d already left your message on the pristine white sofa, the lipstick moon sigma smiling at him mockingly. This time you’d written the word “cheater” under the drawing, the letters messy and sticking out in odd directions.

Peter cursed.

He was so fucking close. 

The walk back home was hard, his heart feeling low and the sweeping sensation of guilt punching him in the stomach with every step he took. He asked Karen to pass on the new information to the NYPD and Tony (“she’s a girl and she has super speed and super strength”) before turning off all his electronics and closing all the curtains in his room, enclosing the space in darkness.

He needed to get away from all the scrutiny and responsibilities for a while. 

That was a whole week ago. 

And nothing had changed. Peter was still stressed, still being scrutinized, still feeling the intense backlash from the public. If it wasn’t for his natural intellect he was sure he would’ve failed the past three exams he took, considering he was falling asleep in almost every class and getting by on intense cramming sessions and copious amounts of redbull. He’d been barred by Tony and even Fury himself from looking further into this case, both of them arguing that it wasn’t “good for a teen” and that Peter needed to “get more food and sleep.”

But how could they say that when this was all Peter could think about?

Once he heard the lights go out in May’s room, his stomach growled in hunger and he was suddenly craving some ice cream. Figuring that there was a 7/11 open just down the block from his apartment, Peter quickly pulled on a spare pair of jeans and a Stark Tower hoodie (even packing his web shooters underneath his sleeves- he never knew) and headed out the door. 

The walk was quiet and brisk, the night wind whipping past his face as his footsteps rang out in the dark. Stepping into the convenient store he accidentally bumped into someone, stepping on their feet in haste.

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” a feminine voice rang out, paired with a laugh. He looked up, his cheeks flushing red when his first thought was that you were very, very pretty. Wearing a breezy floral tank top and a tight pair of jeans, you were giving him the brightest smile he’d ever seen on a girl, one that made his breath stop in his throat.

“No, it’s fine. It’s my-” his words trailed off when his eyes fell onto your arm. 

There was a gash on your left arm, right underneath your hand, right where he had sliced Moonshine a week ago. 

“It’s my fault.” Peter finished, smiling awkwardly. Thankfully, you didn’t question it, simply amused at the cute boy blushing in front of you. Then as soon as you turned around to walk up to the cashier, he rolled his sleeves back and webbed you to the counter. Your eyes widened in shock, a couple of swear words passing by your lips before your eyes narrowed at him, finally recognizing him.

“Spiderboy.” 

He ignored the string of curses and angry comments that left your mouth and immediately called Tony. 

“Mr.Stark? I’m sending you my location right now. I’ve caught Moonshine.”

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

Winter break came two weeks later, along with the fury of the freezing cold and layers of snow covering every inch of the city. Bundled up under three layers of fur and fuzz, Peter wrapped the red scarf around the lower portion of his face several times before stepping out into the street, the paper bag filled with books heavy in his left hand. 

Things had gone back to somewhat normal following your capture, the whirlwind of media sensationalism and public anxiety bubbling down to a silence. Tony had clapped Peter on the back and congratulated him, telling him that “the adults will take it from here.” Though now that it was winter break, Peter was visiting Stark Tower more than ever, the unlimited amount of books and scientific resources an attractive excuse to not be stuck in his apartment for weeks on end. After all, he even had an entire floor to himself after being dubbed an honorary avenger, and it was his recluse, away from any stress or responsibilities. 

Greeting the receptionist, Peter passed through the sliding glass doors and hummed as he stepped into the elevator. The elevator stopped on its ascent and he could hear some of the adults in midst of a heated argument as an exasperated Sam entered the elevator, shaking his head. 

“Is… everything okay?” Peter questioned, not wanting to overstep any boundaries. Sam sighed, crossing his arms.

“Ms public enemy won’t talk. She’s just been sarcastic and rude and driving Tony up the wall. The latter I actually appreciate. Everything else I don’t.”

Peter nodded, letting out a quiet “oh” and reverting his gaze to the floor.

“Is there… is there anything I can do to help?” 

Sam just smiled and waved it off.

“Nah. Thanks though kid, if it wasn’t for you, we wouldn’t have her in our custody.” 

As the doors slowly slid shut Peter leaned on his right foot to look out, seeing a small figure hunched on a metal chair in a glass box while the rest of the Avengers argued amongst themselves outside. You made direct eye contact with him and smirked and he quickly looked away, troubled thoughts filling his head.

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

No lesser than three hours when he saw you in that cell, you were walking free (well, semi-free with a GPS tracking bracelet on your right wrist) around the tower as if you’d lived there all along. Peter had immediately reached for his web shooters, fearing that you’d escaped, when Steve stopped him, putting a firm hand on Peter’s wrist.

“C-captain, I don’t understand, why-” 

Steve sighed, his eyebrows furrowing in deep thought.

“Fury and her talked and apparently she holds a lot of dirt on criminals and high ranking illegal activity by politicians that both the US government and SHIELD wants. In exchange for information she’s been granted limited freedom.” 

Peter wanted to talk back, argue about how ridiculously unfair and dangerous that decision was, but before he even had a chance to open his mouth Steve was pulled away by Bruce, some quiet murmurings about a meeting being exchanged that Peter didn’t have the brainpower to absorb. If Peter would’ve had the luxury to not know who you were, he probably would have been fine with seeing you walk around the kitchen. 

Especially because he wasn’t blind- you were stunning. 

But all he could feel right now was rage and hatred, the twisting of his gut intensifying as he toyed with the idea in his head. His enemy was walking around freely and happily even after all she’d done, all the people she’d scared and killed-

The lights went out at the moment, plunging the room into darkness. His senses forced him forwards and to corner you immediately, causing your eyebrow to raise in the dark.

“Can I help you, spiderboy?” 

“Don’t call me that.” he scowled. “I’m just trying to make sure a villain isn’t going to get away. You’re not responsible for this, are you?” 

You rolled your eyes.

“Are you serious? I’ve been in prison for the past three hours and had this big bracelet cuffed to my wrist that I literally can’t even saw it off if I wanted to. It’s made of vibranium or some shit and I need a code to be able to unlock it.” 

“Stop talking, I’m trying to think.” Peter snapped, his senses on high alert. He was waiting for a notification on his phone or some kind of announcement from FRIDAY but the floor was completely silent, the only sounds in the room being the labored breathing from him and you. 

The sound of glass breaking filled the air and you both tensed, your arm already reaching for the knife on the counter behind you as Peter began to walk towards the noise.

He never got to, however, when you pushed him behind you and swung your arm at the intruder, the blade pointing directly at the intruder’s neck. Under the veil of darkness it was hard to make out what was happening, but he could hear the slap on skin from where you were attacking the assailant and the heavy grunts from when you flipped the intruder over to the floor, the body smacking right against the concrete floor. A shout and you had pinned the unknown man to the floor, your legs right on his neck and causing him to pass out. 

Peter spoke quietly into the dark, not being able to see who had won the fight.

“Uh… you okay, Moonshine?”

Soft footsteps pattered against floor as you came into view, wiping the bloodied knife from where it had grazed the intruder’s skin on your shirt.

“(Y/n).”

He paused.

“What?”

“Don’t call me Moonshine. I’ve always hated that name. My name’s (Y/n).” 

Fuck, he thought the name was kind of pretty. Shifting nervously, he bit his lip before speaking.

“Well, (Y/n) thanks for… saving my life.” 

“You’re welcome.”

An awkward and tense atmosphere filled the air as Peter pondered over what to say next, before it hit him.

“Wait… why did you save my life? I thought your whole deal was that you killed people for no reason? Politicians, businessmen, robbing banks…”

You licked your lips, your eyes falling to the floor as you let out a humorless chuckle. 

“The banks I robbed were scamming citizens below the poverty line to bypass tax policies. The mayor sexually assaulted all his female staff. The property investment firm’s CEO was stealing money from the firm’s deals while cutting pay for his workers. The lawyer was contaminating evidence so his client would win, the politician was cheating on his wife, the last guy I killed was a convicted rapist.”

The lights flickered back on and two guards with the SHIELD symbol marched in, motioning for you to follow them. You sighed, dropping the knife into the sink and looking at Peter’s shocked face with amusement.

“I’d never kill someone who wasn’t guilty. I’m not a villain, Spiderboy. I’m the equalizer.” 

The man to your right grabbed your arm roughly, almost pulling you forward towards the entrance as Peter watched you walk off. His mouth felt weirdly dry and his brain was foggy, not sure of how to process all the information you’d just given him.

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

You were starting to get comfortable in the prison cell they’d allocated you to, the harsh cement floor feeling softer and softer every minute. You supposed it was a good thing that you were captured by the Avengers and not their sinister counterparts, considering you were still being served warm food and given time to sleep. Even if they gave you the bare minimum or glared at you while giving you food, it was better than nothing. 

Each day was blending into the next, though you were allowed to wander out of your cell at certain points throughout the day given that you were wearing your bracelet and under the constant surveillance of FRIDAY. But those times where you weren’t outside, you were either being interrogated by an Avenger or forced to watch the Avengers argue amongst themselves outside of your cell. 

It was all miserable and isolating, to say the least. But you supposed…

Perhaps you did deserve all this. 

The night settled in and something must’ve broken in your cell, because it was suddenly much colder than it was an hour ago. The superheroes had decided to call it a night, each of them going back to their floors and living you all alone in your cell. Shivering slightly, you pushed yourself against the wall and rubbed your hands together, trying to brace the cold. To your surprise, you soon heard the door opening and a hand reaching out to you, holding a thick blanket in their hands. 

“Here.” 

Your eyes trailed upwards and stopped at Peter’s face, a slight blush dusting his cheeks as he coughed awkwardly and extended the material towards you. Taken back by the kind gesture, you didn’t take it, afraid of this being some kind of a twisted joke or a test. But he just kept on holding it out towards you, his eyes basically begging you to take it. 

“Thanks.” you whispered, wrapping yourself with the thick blanket. He nodded, a small smile gracing his lips. “Where uh… where’ve you been the past few days?”  

“What do you mean?” 

You shrugged. 

“You used to pass by my cell almost every day, Spiderboy. Well, every day since that day of the failed invasion. Then I stopped seeing you for a whole three days till… well, today. What’s up with that?” 

His eyes widened then he awkwardly scratched his neck, as if almost embarrassed about telling you this.

“Right, about that…. Well, after what you told me, uh, that night, I… I went to talk to Director Fury by myself. He was pretty wary about my idea and it took me a few days to convince him but I think he’s going to agree with me now.” he said lowly, slowly sitting down on your bed as you shifted over and gestured for him to sit down. 

“What’s the idea?” 

“Well… basically, you leave this cell and the bracelet behind. In exchange, you work with the Avengers for the next two years. Kind of like a superhero internship, so you can help people the right way. Because that’s ultimately what you’re trying to do, just… maybe your methods are wrong.” he was speaking to you softly, and you were frozen, touched by his kindness.

“You… you really did all that for me?” 

He nodded shyly, not meeting your gaze.

“Yeah.” 

A beat of silence passed.

“W-why?” it was your turn to stutter as you shifted towards him, searching his eyes for any sign of deceit or manipulation. But there was none. Just pure sincerity as he smiled. 

“Because I was wrong about you, (Y/n). And the world deserves to know that they were wrong about you, too.” 

You opened your mouth to respond then closed it, when words failed you.

“Well…. Thanks, Spidey.”

“Peter. That’s my real name. Peter Parker.” he cut you off and you smiled, tugging the blanket closer towards yourself.

“Peter. I like that name a lot.” 

You had a feeling you and Peter were going to get along from now on.

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

Peter was staring at you. Again. 

Had you noticed? He wouldn’t know, you’d never brought it up to him. Weeks had flown by since the ice had broken and you’d slowly started to let him in and he was starting to see who you really were as he managed to take down your walls brick by brick. Between late night talks, walks in the park after training and secret sleepovers filled with sugar, he’d slipped into a dangerous crack of infatuation. 

It started out with fascination. Fascination with someone so morally different from him, a fascination with the layers of secrecy wrapped around yourself, a fascination with the unknown. Then somewhere along the way it turned into a friendship, a quiet compliment leaving your lips out of nowhere, a small smile, your unapologetic laugh muffled behind your arm as Peter tried (and failed, miserably) to drag in a six foot teddy bear into your room after winning it at a county fair. The bruise he had on his lower back was a testament to the fall.

The seasons melted from fall to winter eventually, meaning it was time for him to switch jackets for sweaters and blankets to fluffy multi-layered ones. He still remembered the time he caught you wrapped up in all three of his blankets in his room when he’d returned late from training one day, and the adorably panicked look on your face. 

And the others had caught onto his infatuation, apparently. It was all too clear from the snide remarks and gentle shoves from Sam and Bucky, the incredibly awkward love advice given from Steve (which was promptly followed by Natasha rolling her eyes and telling Peter not to follow it), and the outright questions from Tony over cups of coffee.

“You like her, don’t you? Miss public enemy number one.” Tony mentioned casually one day, accepting the hot cup of coffee Peter had brought in for him from the kitchen.

Peter almost dropped the other cup of coffee he was holding in his hands, the stumble obvious and eliciting a soft chuckle from his mentor’s mouth.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Peter replied quickly, averting his gaze. Tony rolled his eyes.

“You know who I’m talking about. Hey-” 

Peter looked up at Tony, worried about what he was going to say about you.

“I know we were all harsh on her at the beginning but we all like her now. Besides, I think you two would be good for each other.”

“Peter-” 

The call of his name forced him to snap out of his daze, your hand being waved in front of Peter’s face repeatedly. When he looked up at you, his eyes glazed over, you laughed.

“Too much soda?” 

He shook his head sideways, brushing off your comment.

“No. Not enough, actually. But I think there should be more in the fridge-” he walked over and opened it, only to find it void of any soda. “Huh. Guess not.”

“We could go out for one. There’s a 7/11 just down the street.” you spoke up from your seat from the floor, carefully separating your legs underneath the thick blanket. He agreed and the two of you snuck out the tower after grabbing a thick coat and sneakers, almost forgetting to bring the credit card that Tony had lended you and Peter for “emergencies only.” 

The walk was silent, the only sound being the snow being crushed under your feet, given that it was well past 10pm on a Wednesday. A few cars passed by but it was a mostly deserted street, albeit it well lit and seemingly safe. A few giggles and a light shove was exchanged in the store (to which the store clerk glared at you and Peter for) and the two of you left with two large bottles of soda. 

“Damn it, I forgot something.” Peter swore after the store door closed behind you. You smiled.

“It’s fine, go inside. I’ll just be waiting outside here for you.”

You hummed quietly to yourself to fill the empty space, your slow breaths coming out in white clouds and dissipating into the cold air. The sound of a scream and two bodies struggling caught your attention, the distressed noises coming from the alley around the corner. Spurring into action, you gave it little thought before running towards the noise.

It was dark, darker than usual, not a single street lamp to light the way. Carefully stepping forwards, you brushed past some bushes and a dumpster, before walking right into a heavy figure. Before you could do anything, the figure knocked you against the brick wall, your head colliding with the unforgiving cement and a cold blade pressed against your neck.

“Give me all your money.” the clearly male voice growled into your ear. 

“Who’s she?” another male voice spoke out in the dark, a smaller figure thrashing in his hold. From the moonlight passing over ahead you saw it was a girl, a large bruise on her left cheek and terror evident in her eyes as her irises stared into yours.

“No clue. But might as well get someone outta her too, huh?” the man holding you chuckled, the blade now actually pinching your skin. Dropping your groceries onto the floor, you slowly nodded, your left hand reaching for your wallet inside your pocket. The man lowered his blade for a millisecond, relaxing under the guise of your compliance, and in that momentary relief you kicked your heel out and hit his knees, causing him to groan and drop his blade. 

Swiftly kicking his face, you reached for the blade, only to be tackled by the other man behind you onto the floor. He attempted to hit you in the face, a blow you managed to dodge last second by twisting your head to the side, before you shifted your body upwards and pulled yourself out of his hold. 

The first man was knocked out cold, apparently, his body unmoving except for the slowed breaths leaving his lips. You acknowledged this for a few seconds before another swung at your face came from the other man, this time landing it on your left cheek. Stumbling from the impact, you stopped his hand, now holding the blade, a few inches away from your neck, the tip glistening menacingly in the moonlight. 

Twisting his arm to the side, he cried out in pain and this time you were the one to push him against the wall, your blade against his neck. Out of breath, pumped full of adrenaline and anger, the terrified look of the female victim burned into your mind, the thought of killing entered your mind for the first time in a year.

“(Y/n)-” 

Peter’s voice cut through your hazed mind, distracting you for a brief moment, but before the man could retaliate Peter webbed the criminal’s hands to the walls. 

“Karen, please send the police my location.”

The girl was still shaking, half from fear and half from the freezing cold, and you shrugged off your own coat and wrapped her around in it. She thanked you over and over again until the police arrived, carefully taking her in and shoving the criminals into a police car and slamming it shut. Once the red and blue lights faded away Peter’s cold hand reached out for your cheek in the dark, and you twisted yourself away from it.

“What’s wrong?” 

“Don’t touch me, Parker.” 

Peter recoiled in shock, the venom in your tone obvious and distasteful.

“(Y/n), you’re scaring me.”

“I should scare you. I’m- I’m a fucking monster, Peter.” 

Peter’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion as you shivered from the cold, causing Peter to immediately take off his own coat and try to wrap you in it.

“DON’T touch me.” you shouted, trying to escape his hands. He sighed, looking like a kicked puppy, and holding out his coat.

“I promise I won’t touch you. But you’re freezing. Take my coat. Please?” 

You stared at him for a few moments, unmoving, before snatching the warm coat from his hands and begrudgingly wrapping yourself with it. 

“If you don’t want to talk, that’s fine. But-” Peter sighed, wrapping his arms around himself. “It’s freezing out here and we should start getting back to the tower.” 

Silence.

“Fine.” 

Carefully picking up the discarded grocery bags, the two of you walked back to Stark Tower, Peter ever so slightly walking closer to you as a result of his protective streak flaring up. The bruise starting to form underneath your left eye was becoming prominent under the street lights, causing Peter to stare at your face worriedly as you simultaneously tried to avoid your gaze. 

You didn’t speak until the two of you ended back up in Peter’s living room, collapsing onto the inflatable sofa with a sob.

“Hey, hey-” he was quick to soothe, wrapping his arms around you and letting you cry into his shoulder. 

“I-I almost killed him.” you admitted. You expected him to shrug you off, disgusted or shocked, but all he did was stroke your hair, pressing a shaky kiss onto your forehead. “I’m a horrible person, Peter. I’m forever going to be a bad person, I-I’m unable to be fixed-” 

“Stop saying that.” he cut you off, taking your face into his hands and forcing you to look at him. His eyes were just soft and sincere, not even a hint of disgust or fear in his irises. “You’re not perfect, sure. But no one is. And you’ve come so far from the first time I ran into you a year ago. Don’t throw all that progress away just because of a momentary thought.” 

“Why do you even bother with me?” you asked quietly, wiping away a stray tear with your sleeve. Peter smiled.

“Why wouldn’t I? You’re worth it.” 

The kiss was natural and swift, you leaning in but Peter being the one to close the gap. When Peter pulled away, his cheeks tinted pink and a wide smile on his lips, you chuckled and crossed your arms.

“We still have one more problem.” 

“And what’s that?” he asked, teasing. 

“The soda’s all frozen because we were out for too long.” 

Peter laughed, his shoulders relaxing and his hand brushing away a stray strand of hair falling from your face.

“Is that what you’re worried about?” 

You smacked him lightly on the chest, playfully.

“It’s a valid concern!”

He licked his lips, slowly nodding and then staring at you wistfully.

“Hopefully it’s the biggest of our problems.” 

“Hopefully.” 

And it was.

Until seven years later, when Peter had to plan the proposal.

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a/n: AHHHH that’s it! I’m not the most confident about this one so please leave a like/reblog/comment if you liked it! it takes five seconds but makes my whole day <3

[hornime]

hq as my discovery weekly | part one

warnings: this is completely sfw, combo of fluff and angst

characters included: kenma, akaashi, oikawa, suna, koganegawa, ushijima, bokuto, kuroo, hinata, kita, terushima, iwaizumi, osamu, kageyama, sakusa

a/n: this was a random idea i thought of but i think it’ll be really cute haha. maybe you guys’ll find some new songs in the process! totally encourage anyone to use this idea if they want cus this was super fun to write!

playing... one through fifteen / sixteen through thirty

↪ “cotton candy lemonade" by blu detiger: kenma kozume

i've been up too long, something's wrong / watch the rising sun / turning all my nights to days

i've been on my own, come find me now / i'm lonely to the bone / but I don't feel so low when you're around / let's run away from home

you'll bе my kaleidoscope, my color in this life / watching thе world fade away

kenma is not the most extroverted and he’s in his head a lot, so he’s someone that might not always see the ‘color’ in things that exist around him. but when it comes to you, well, you’re someone that makes him look up from his screen a little longer than usual.

↪ “love affair” by umi: akaashi keiji

don't overthink this is love / maybe it's just a crush

i hope what I feel is enough / maybe this is just lies

i wanna know how to feel, what to feel, what's right / i never know / 'cause when it gets real, I just run away / and hide from you

akaashi gets anxiety. he used to be certain about a lot of things—his intelligence, his skill, his happiness, but most important to him was his feelings for you. he’s overthinking again, he knows it, but he’s getting an uncontrollable itch that maybe this is all in his head; he doesn’t love you, he just think he does. but when you’re in his arms, breathing even and eyes fluttered shut, he remembers what you always told him: it doesn’t matter what he knows, it matters what he feels. and he feels like the luckiest man alive.

↪ “coke” by iii addicts, danice: oikawa tooru

come closer, i been eyeing you from way over / so it's time i come for some closure

had to let her know that you could lick this / shake it up, it's gonna probably gon' bust

why, tell me why / why am i not satisfied / every time i cross that line / i feel it, i feel it

oikawa feels like tantalus: a man constantly reaching for a goal just out of reach, straining his muscles and screaming his voice hoarse just for a glimpse of an unattainable destiny. he’s desperate to get ahead, and while he may be running at top speed at all times, the finish line doesn’t seem to be getting any closer. his worst fear is that, some time he’ll slow his pace and look back and realize he hasn’t gotten very far at all.

↪ “baby powder” by jenevieve: suna rintaro

i'll put up with you babe / there's somethings I won't take / baby don't feel me false / yeah that turns me off

you're making me so high now / you're everything I'd ever want / you're keeping me so dry now / you're everything I'd never want uh

plastic on the floor but it ain't for me / ima go up to the place that i'd rather be

suna is straightforward. he won’t deal with your bullshit, and he learns that you won’t deal with his either, which makes you so appealing. when he starts letting more and more of you in, he feels you slipping through his fingers. you wanted to be friends, so you treat him as one. he doesn’t remember when he started wanting more.

↪ “chandelier (instrumental version)” by paquin: koganegawa kanji

instrumental so no lyrics lol

koganegawa is bubbly. he’s a bouncer: he bounces between social circles, bounces colors behind his eyes, and bounces back after adversity. he’s an amiable guy, and it’s landed him plenty of friends and opportunities, but best of all, it’s landed him you.

↪ “l-over” by u.s. girls: ushijima wakatoshi

my lover has no heart / magic moving blood around that body / he's cool to the touch / i don't see him much / but when I do, he does nothing for me

can you imagine trying to get / some satisfaction out of a stone?

spare me any talk of your future life / i don't know what I'll do without you

ushijima is stubborn. he’s deadset on achieving his goals for the future, and if you can’t work with them, you better work around them. you’re tired of how he grounds you; you thought it was a blessing at first, having a guy that knew what he wanted and would always act as a constant in your life, but you’ve started to see that he’s not a lighthouse anymore, he’s an anchor. he’s an anchor that’s chaining you to the ocean floor and will drown you if you, even for a second, stop kicking your legs to stay afloat.

↪ “magic!” by リアムMAZE1981: bokuto koutarou

and when you smile at me that way / well you can warm the coldest day / it's magic

and all i have to do is think of you / to make the music start to play / then i dance down the street / and the people I meet stop and say hey hey

and when you want me you just clap your hands / and I'll be with you right away / then we'll float on a breeze / while the leaves in the trees softly say hey hey / magic ways, my friend / you love the girl with magic ways and it's true / i might as well give in

bokuto is bright. he tramps around the world with the light of the sun illuminating his face. there is nothing in the universe that could ever drag him down, especially not with you around. you’ve cast some kind of spell on him, he’s sure of it, because your very presence makes him certain that he’s immortal. he must be, because when he’s with you, he’s withstanding the heat of a thousand suns that erases the darkness in every shadow, corner, and crevice of his life. 

↪ “i hope that u think of me” by pity party (girls club): kuroo tetsuro

i hope that you dream of me baby / nightmares are what dreams are baby i-i-i / i think I'm fallin' out of love

you tell me that it's easy to be / you tell me that it's easy to be with me but you lie-i-i / why do you lie all the time?

kuroo is focused. he takes note of everything when he’s working on a task, down to dotting the ‘i’s and crossing the ‘t’s. he often finds himself with tunnel vision, unable to think of anything but the current responsibility at the top of his every-growing to-do list. somewhere along the way, he lost track of you—must’ve loosened his grip on your hand and your fingers fell through empty space. he’d look for you, back in the void, but he’s busy. he keeps moving, unaware that you’ve turned back, walking in the opposite direction as him to find the life before him that you barely remember.

↪ “the leanover” by life without buildings: hinata shoyo

kiss me, break my mind, close the door / black steel, break my mind, close the door

if i lose you in the street / i say, i say, i say, i say, i say, i say / wassup, wassup with you? / wassup with your friends?

hinata is unfazed. he knows that, when things go bad, there’ll always be something there to right them. so when your paths diverge—maybe your schedules don’t work out, your dates get canceled, your nights home become more and more sparse—he’s not worried. not one bit. because at the end of the night, he knows that you’ll always find your way back to one another, and you’ll always greet him with open arms. and he’ll always do the same.

↪ “ladyfingers - edit” by funding secured: kita shinsuke

instrumental so no lyrics lol

kita is polished. he works hard during the day to be with you at night, dancing in little circles in the small kitchen of your shared home. he looks at you with fondness and appreciation, thanking his stars a million times over for granting him with someone like you. he’s a tree, stable in the harshest of gales, but even trees like to sway with the wind sometimes.

↪ “black madonna” by cage the elephant: terushima yuuji

makes no difference here, so let's be real / black madonna, my black flower / nowhere left to run, nowhere left to hide / you're not havin' fun, i think that you should ride

climb so high, don't hear a sound / don't you forget what goes around, comes around / climb so high, tell me how to feel

call me when you're ready to be real / black madonna, my hallelujah

terushima is hedonistic. he’s never concerned himself with thoughts of the future, or of the past, or of anything, really. all he can think about is making each moment as willing to be lived as possible. you, on the other hand, are practical, too practical in his opinion, and he wants you to let loose, lighten up a little bit. maybe in the long run, it won’t be the best idea to let him take you by the hand and on a midnight adventure, but you haven’t thought that far ahead yet. guess he’s already rubbing off on you.

↪ “mother nature’s bitch” by okay kaya: iwaizumi hajime

everybody / please give a warm welcome to / to this current mood

here i am / easy to please / here i am / okay with it

here i am / desperate for attention / here i am / being mother nature's bitch

iwaizumi is hardworking. he does the best he can with everything he tries; sometimes that amounts to something and sometimes it doesn’t. most times it doesn’t fulfill his expectations, as high as they are. when you’re around, his borderline hatred for himself disappears. when you’re there to tell him how great he’s doing, the tension in his shoulders dissipates. 

↪ “smithereens” by rasharn powell, ab001: miya osamu

found my power / and my brethren / in a tussle with the world itself

see if I’m david, you’re goliath / there’s some power in defiance / put my heart in a slingshot / we been cycling away for days

searching for freedom always / likeness of an orgasm been had / empty with a peace that just don’t last / petite mort, then born again

osamu is pioneering. he opened a small business and eventually branched out, managing chains of his restaurant across the nation. it may not be a flashy job, but it’s a solid one, and a draining one. there are days of back-to-back shifts, afternoons overwhelming catering orders, and nights spent sleeping over on a cot near the kitchen. when he dreams, curled up with the smell of onigri still lingering in the air, he can only think of ‘what if’ he’d chosen another path, a path with a more obvious end, a more obvious definition of glory. but he still wakes up at dawn, conquering his own corner of the sky, knowing that his life, while it may be small, is not insignificant.

↪ “must be” by lou phelps: kageyama tobio

must be the henny on the ice / must be the diamonds that I buy / might be the shit that I write / whatever a n**** do and say, that's what I like

i'm on the cloud as i walk the front door / that's a boost, that's true, that's loo

yeah, um, i'mma need my space / 'cause you's a bum-bum, can't be standing next to me, uh / forgive me for my sins / don't tell me this is wrong if it feels right

kageyama is cocky. he’s good at what he does, amazing, actually, and he sure as hell knows it. he’s surrounded by people that make him better, people that he makes better, and he can’t think of a place he’d rather be. he’s on his way to carve his way into the moon and he’s not going to tolerate anyone that wants to keep him on earth.

↪ “jealous” by eyedress: sakusa kiyoomi

you could have anyone you want / why would you want to be with me? / you know, I'm nothing special

don't tell me about your problems / if you're not trying to solve them / don't ask me for my help

sakusa is independent. he’s not one to see himself as part of someone else’s orbit, opting to act like a random rock, floating in space with no origin and no destination. he’s worried that, if he gets too close to you, he’ll end up getting drawn in by your gravity and either crash land or burn up. neither seems appealing, and the idea of a safe encounter hasn’t even crossed his mind, so he’s going to keep moving on an endless trek towards the stars.

[alivefm]

( megan fox / 35 / she/her ) – ( jolene ‘jo’ munroe ) has been spotted in ravenswood. they said to originally be from ( salem, oregon ) and used to work as ( coroner ). They’ve been in the compound for ( three months ), working as ( fisherwoman ) to earn their keep and since then, others have seen their ( irritable ) but seemingly ( meticulous ) nature.

GENERAL

FULL NAME.    jolene bianca munroe.

NICKNAMES.    jo.

AGE & BIRTHDATE.    35 years old ; june 5.

GENDER & PRONOUNS.    cis female ; she/her.

ORIENTATION.    lesbian.

MARITAL STATUS.    single.

RELIGION.    agnostic.

OCCUPATION.    fisherwoman ( former coroner ).

PHYSICAL

HAIR COLOUR.    dark brown.

EYE COLOUR.    baby blue.

BUILD.    athletic.

MARKS.     faint dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose, a beauty mark on her right hip & left index finger.

TATTOOS.     small black rose behind right ear, faded mc logo on right shoulder blade, dad’s year of birth & year of death written in roman numerals along left side of collarbone, skeleton ribcage intertwined with thorny roses on inner left forearm, zodiac sign on inner right wrist .

PIERCINGS.     lobes ( x3 ), left helix, both nipples.

HEIGHT.    5'4".

FACECLAIM.    megan fox.

PERSONALITY

ZODIAC.    gemini.

ALIGNMENT.    chaotic neutral.

HOGWARTS.    ravenclaw or slytherin.

LABEL.    the facade.

POSITIVE TRAITS.     fervent, incisive, intuitive, meticulous, valiant.

NEGATIVE TRAITS.     evasive, headstrong, inquisitive, irritable, uninhibited.

HOBBIES.    fishing, pitching in her two cents worth with the medics (whether it’s asked for or not), more tba.

BACKGROUND

PLACE OF BIRTH.    salem, oregon.

CURRENT RESIDENCE.    ravenswood, washington.

NATIONALITY.    american.

ETHNICITY.    white.

PARENTS.   randall ’randy’ munroe ( father ) ; was extremely close to her dad, one of the few people she completely trusted and idolized. biological mom unknown.

SIBLINGS.     tucker munroe ( half brother ) ; same dad, different moms. indifferent to each other growing up, keith’s death brought them together & they shared a close bond. currently mia.

BIRTH ORDER.    eldest.

CHILDREN.    none.

LANGUAGES.    english, broken spanish.

HISTORY

EARLY STAGES.         she was born and raised in salem, oregon without knowing her mother ( who’d abandoned her and her father when jo was just a baby ). her dad, randy, and his family did their absolute best to raise jolene with what resources they had. the munroe’s were engaged in criminal activities, which she adamantly refused to participate in, wanting to separate herself from the stigma attached to the family name by studying and working hard. as family, though, jo felt an obligation to always be loyal, and as a coroner, she would cover up the real cause of death with a fabrication of her own if the truth ever directly linked to anyone in her family.

HELLISH OUTBREAK.    the first interaction she had with the undead was while she was on the clock. a john doe had been brought in, no identification, and it was just her that night, other than the lone security guard. after finishing a routine autopsy and then hearing banging coming from the refrigerated storage, jo’s curiosity lead her into a scuffle with the formerly, entirely deceased. fortunately, the security guard broke it up and saved jo from a lethal mauling. unfortunately, said guard ended up receiving the same mauling he had pried her from. escaping out into the chaos that had been unfolding on the streets, she linked up with her brother and together they abandoned everything they knew in order to survive. 

                                      they would meet up with other survivors for short periods of time, usually just to help each other out if needed, before going their separate ways again. it was the two of them against the world, until it wasn’t. while scavenging for supplies in an abandoned town, a horde of the undead caught them off guard and they were forced to separate, evidently losing each other. jo tried for days to track him down, to find any sort of hint or clue to his whereabouts, but always came up with nothing.

                                      it was while she was on the hunt that she stumbled across a damsel in distress ( @rubydelgado​ ), quick reflexes saving the other woman from a fate worse than death with a shot clean through the infected’s head. while jo had instinctively learned not to trust anyone other than her brother, she didn’t have the heart to abandon ruby, especially considering she was also on her own. with time, jo taught the other how to defend herself, and they stuck together through thick and thin, developing an unbreakable bound by the time they reached ravenswood.

COMPOUND LIFE.      despite the hardships the new world has delivered, jo has softened a great deal, finally understanding that being able to trust good people is the key to strength in a community. she’s very much a team player, and wants whatever’s best for the people she’s grown attached to in ravenswood, but she still holds certain reservations, especially in regards to oversharing the specifics of her family. 

                                        while she has firsthand experience with the deceased, the former coroner doesn’t want anything to do with the animated version, unless she’s putting it to rest. so, instead of volunteering to hop into the medical branch of their community, jo settled on a different way to pitch in; fishing. it was something she learned and mastered as a means of survival since the initial outbreak, and the job itself was a lot less stressful in comparison to what some others were enlisted to do. but that doesn’t mean jo isn’t on standby - when the going gets tough, she’s always ready to jump into action.

CONNECTIONS

HALF BROTHER.    this is definitely not needed, but it would def spice things up and rock jo’s carefully sculpted world. they were distant growing up, but linked up to mourn over their dad and had been close ever since. they were forced to split up and evidently lost each other while escaping a zombie horde, so for all jo knows, he could be dead. or ..... maybe he’s still alive.

FISHING BUDDY.    two pals catching fish, shooting the shit; a wholesome bubble created to escape the insanity around them, if only for a couple hours. this should be a very carefree friendship, relaxed & silly at times. they probably reminisce over the old world and all the simple pleasures they took for granted, maybe they partake in a little harmless gossiping / ‘neighborhood watch’?? anything dumb to keep themselves entertained while waiting for a bite.

ENTANGLEMENT.    a means of relieving high stress is always needed while surviving a zombie apocalypse, which is how this whole mess started. the idea was having something like a booty call, intimacy without the strings because it’s too wild of a life out here to build something solid. they’ve foolishly gotten attached overtime, though neither will admit it, so they’ve never had the “what are we” conversation and, so far, they’re content with that. obv more detail, etc. can be discussed.

FRICTION.    obviously not everything is gonna be peaches and cream all the time, every single person isn’t going to see eye to eye with the next person, and jo isn’t exactly the easiest person to handle. so give me the Tension. whether it’s subtle jabs & 'if looks could kill’, or full blown arguments & destruction, or somewhere in between.

ANYTHING.    literally anything. i blame my groggy state of mind on my lack of creativity rn so please, i’m beggin. if jolene can enrich your characters’ lives in any way, shape, or form, hit me up and we’ll hatch a plan.

[boxoftheskyking]

Pick Up Every Piece, Part Five

In which we have a scene at the bar

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four

--

Early November 2000

When Jiang Cheng comes to the bar on his own, he lets Wei Ying watch his back. Which is to say, he sits at the bar and doesn’t spend the whole time half-turned to keep an eye on the door. When Jin Zixuan joins them, he hangs by the corner of the bar by the weird old poker machine that hasn’t worked in years, and he mostly avoids eye contact.

“Hey Zixuan,” Wei Ying says, grinning. “How’s your cousin?”

“Hm?” He’s so polite, always, in a snobby kind of way. Like he knows he’s better than you, but he’s far too well-bred to admit it. Wei Ying sometimes wonders if he got that from his mother. Wei Ying has never really spoken to Mrs. Jin outside of an awkward few minutes at the wedding, but what he knows of the rest of the family is far more in the “knows they’re better than you and will tell you to your face” camp.

“Your cousin, you know.” He winks at Jiang Cheng. “It’s the liiiiiife of the Jin!”

Jiang Cheng joins in, “What’s going down in Lanling—”

“Cut it out!” Zixuan reaches out like he’s going to cover Jiang Cheng’s mouth, but he doesn’t. 

“It’s catchy!” Jiang Cheng giggles. It’s a gratifying sight.

“That show should be outlawed,” Zixuan says darkly.

“It’s genius,” Wei Ying argues, drinking in the two of them there, together. “Nie Huaisang is a visionary.”

“I’m going to have him imprisoned. He’s a curse.”

“He’s a genius. It’s a totally new art form.”

Jiang Cheng snorts. “Art form. It’s boring. I like seeing Jin Zixun humiliated as much as anyone, but it’s just rich people sitting around being stupid and rich.”

“It’s reality, but also pure escapism. It’s brilliant.”

“It’s a threat to national security,” Zixuan says. Wei Ying cackles.

Jiang Cheng makes a face. “There’s no story! There’s no, like, script.”

“There is a story! It’s all how Huaisang edits it.” Wei Ying hasn’t actually talked to Nie Huaisang in years, so he’s not that personally invested, but he can’t resist the chance to disagree with both Jiang Cheng and Jin Zixuan at the same time.

Zixuan slides his glass over for a refill. “Zixun is never going to get a real job. He has no skills, he can’t do anything useful, so he sits around and has cameras follow him? It’s a disgrace.”

“It’s the most watched show in the country. I watch it every week.”

Jiang Cheng intercepts Zixuan’s glass to steal a sip. “That’s because you also don’t have a real job.”

“Serve yourself then, asshole.”

“We don’t watch reality TV, we work. We’re civil servants.”

“I’ve written six columns on The Life of Jin, I’ll have you know. So it is my job. And I’m more of a civil servant than you, I barely make any money.” It earns him a pair of eyerolls, but they won’t insult the paper to his face. Not anymore. “I can’t believe they made you both work today.” It’s the wrong thing to say, and Wei Ying covers his wince to fill a row of pints.

“Yeah, well.” Zixuan scratches the back of his neck. He keeps his hair a bit long, like Jiang Cheng does, but on him it feels like a memorial. “Five years. I guess I can’t keep getting time off forever.”

Jiang Cheng is drumming his fingers on the bar, looking away.

“Five years to the day, though,” Wei Ying offers. He leans in, almost wanting to touch . . . something, then twirls away to ring someone up. He feels like a bird, a swallow, dipping and soaring and coming in close for a moment before getting scared back up to a tree top.

When he comes back the tension has receded.

“Dad wants me to move over to the business side of things,” Zixuan is saying.

“Leave intelligence?” Jiang Cheng’s brow furrows, clearly already imagining following his brother-in-law over to the corporate hellhole of Jin Industries.

“Yeah. He keeps talking about the CEO gig, as if I’m qualified.”

“No offense,” Wei Ying says, “but your dad has never been big on qualified.”

“What about Guangyao?” Jiang Cheng asks.

“He’s not the face Dad wants for the company. I don’t know, it’s like during the war, he’s staying back in his lab and his back office, tinkering with stuff. Dad wants a stupid— A face. You know, dynasty bullshit.”

“Like those propaganda posters.” Wei Ying grins at him. “That noble profile. I had one on my bedroom wall.”

“Don’t be creepy.” Jiang Cheng goes to smack him, but he ducks away. “You did not.”

“It wasn’t propaganda.” Zixuan sighs, having lost this argument before.

“It was good propaganda,” Jiang Cheng argues.

Wei Ying keeps his thoughts to himself, for once. He doesn’t comment on Jin Guangyao, either, though he could. A drunk girl yells at him from the other side of the bar, which helps.

“But like—” Zixuan takes a long gulp, spinning his fingers in frustration, looking for the words. “This is what I trained for. I joined the army at eighteen. I was in the army when it was just prison security and diplomatic escorts. My degree is decoration, and he knows that. It’s an art piece on the office wall, it doesn’t mean anything. I don’t know how I’m supposed to just become this business guy. It’s like— He doesn’t actually know me, who I am, what I’m good at. He just expects me to work wherever he plugs me in, to just be the best at whatever he thinks I should be the best at. I’m already the best at something. Right? I’m too old to be the best at something else.”

Wei Ying shrugs in sympathy. “Welcome to your thirties, eh?”

Jiang Cheng drains his glass, his third already. “He wants you to be a liquid.”

“What?”

“He thinks you’re a liquid. Your dad. Fit the shape of your container.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m not a fucking liquid.”

Jiang Cheng points at him. “That’s right. You’re not a fucking liquid.”

“I’m a solid.”

“You’re solid as shit, man.” Jiang Cheng pounds on Zixuan’s chest, and he winces slightly.

It’s nine o’clock, so Wei Ying decides he gets to pour himself a whiskey. He puts an orange slice in it, for vitamins.

Jin Zixuan looks into his own glass, thoughtfully. “Although, I mean. What’s a liquid without a container? Just a puddle, right?”

“Or a river,” Jiang Cheng says. They pause to contemplate rivers.

“What kind of liquid would you be?” Wei Ying asks, watching the gold of his liquor swirl around the melting ice cubes and the orange peel.

Zixuan huffs a laugh. “I don’t know. What do you think?”

“Vegetable soup,” Wei Ying says, then winces again.

“Soup,” Jiang Cheng agrees, quietly.

“Yeah,” Zixuan says. “Soup.”

They stare down into their glasses, drink.

“That reminds me,” Zixuan says, rallying after a long moment and pulling his fancy silver business card holder out of his breast pocket. “I got a new number.”

He hands Wei Ying a classy white card. It’s not his government one, just his phone number and his new email. Of course Jin Zixuan would have a personal business card, printed up by a printing company somewhere.

“Did you get rid of the old phone?” Wei Ying asks, carefully. Jiang Cheng looks between them, also careful, saying nothing.

“No, I just had to— I moved it to the basement. I can’t keep . . . The answering machine is still hooked up to the old one. I’ll still wipe the tape, so you can call—”

“Thanks.” We don’t talk about it. Let’s keep not talking about it. Wei Ying rinses a glass that’s already clean.

“If you want. It’s not a problem. I just can’t keep—”

“Yeah.” He wipes the glass, too quickly, the damp microfiber squeaks a little.

“A-Ling gets confused. He hears you say her name, you say ‘Jiejie,’ and he—”

“Yeah, I get it, no problem.” Wei Ying rinses the glass again.

“You can call me, though.” Jin Zixuan is looking at him, which he rarely actually does right in the face, horribly earnest. “You know that. You can call the new number and talk to him, or to me.”

“I know. I will.” He probably won’t. He looks over at Jiang Cheng, who’s chewing on his lip. Yanli would scold him for that, say that’s why it keeps chapping, worse now that it’s getting colder. He doesn’t leave her messages, Wei Ying doesn’t think. He doesn’t need crutches like that, he straps the anger onto himself like steel braces and gets on with things, limping.

Wei Ying would like to be angry, especially today on the five year anniversary. Five full years without her. That would be a comfort, such a relief, to be angry. But he doesn’t get to be angry when Jiang Cheng is around.

Jiang Cheng clears his throat. “I can’t believe your dad allows Zixun to do that show.”

Zixuan draws himself up, sucking in a breath like he’s coming out of water. “He must get something from it. Like some kind of PR or something.”

Wei Ying goes into the back and carries out a case of wine and a case of cider, loads them into the cooler. It takes a while, he has to pull things out so the warm bottles go in the back. He can vaguely hear his brothers insulting Jin Zixun and the state of modern television, keeping it light. He stares at the label on a bottle of cider—it’s an apple with a face, one of those unnerving cartoon faces where all the teeth are the same size and shape. No one’s teeth look like that.

He shuts the cooler and returns.

“If Zixun looks like a fool,” Wei Ying says thoughtfully, interrupting them like he’s supposed to, “then he’s mostly harmless. He’s a goofball. It must be useful for the great and powerful Jin to have a goofball side. It makes you look less, I don’t know . . .” He could say a lot of things. He could say things like tyrannical or despotic or calculating or morally questionable. He doesn’t say any of it, just waves his hands around.

Zixuan looks like he hears the words anyway, and as usual, he stares out across the bar. “He’s a sacrifice, I suppose. Zixun. He’s always been the spare.”

“Do you think he knows he’s being played?” Jiang Cheng asks. “Would he keep doing it if he knew?”

“My dad,” Zixuan says slowly. “Doesn’t play Go. Metaphorically speaking. Not like A-Yao does. But he does play poker. Zixun—” he spins the glass between his hands. “Zixun plays hopscotch. Badly.”

Wei Ying snorts, and it feels nice.

“I guess I don’t like the show so much anymore,” he says, pouting.

“Good,” Jiang Cheng reaches out and flicks his ear. Wei Ying lets him.

“Why does everything have to be nefarious?” Wei Ying whines, meaning reality TV but also Jiang Cheng and his mean fingers “Can’t we have something that’s just dumb? Aren’t we there, as a country, where we can just have stupid shit that’s stupid and doesn’t mean anything?”

“You mean besides you, and also your face?” Jiang Cheng asks. Zixuan sighs at them in a judgmental way.

Wei Ying taps his chin. “Although, there’s a column there. The insidious political machinations of so-called reality.” He hits the button to roll out some receipt paper and makes a few notes.

“I just don’t get why he does it,” Jiang Cheng muses. “He has to know he looks bad. Right? Like, he has to.” As if everyone is as pathologically obsessed with their public appearance as you are, which is something Wei Ying does not say. “It’s not like he needs the money.”

As always, that’s its own flavor of uncomfortable. Zixuan makes more money than Jiang Cheng, and has a trust fund on top of it. He keeps trying to make it up by buying expensive presents and starting a tab wherever they go, but Jiang Cheng won’t take it. He used to, back when Zixuan was just their shitty rich brother-in-law, or Yanli’s shitty rich boyfriend. He used to call it “Yanli’s dowry” when he’d leave his birthday dinner with a new stereo or a nice watch. Now that they’re friends, though, he gets pissed off. He’ll get mad if Zixuan buys him a hardcover instead of a paperback, now that they’re friends. He’s a complicated man. So is Zixuan, in his way.

That’s probably why they get along so well, and why Wei Ying is always a half a step off of their weird masculine choreography. Wei Ying fancies himself a complicated man, but it’s different. He’s in control in a way they don’t seem to be, not of his life but of his face and his voice and his sentence structure. It makes him a good reporter.

They, on the other hand, have always been good soldiers.

Wei Ying had cried when Jiang Cheng enlisted, mid-’93. 

“You watch too many war movies,” he’d said, looking down at this lap, twisting his hands together, face hot and heart racing. “It won’t be like that, A-Cheng, there’s not any glory in it, it’ll just be horrible—”

“It’s the right thing to do.” Jiang Cheng had been stubborn as always, chin jutting out. “Wen Chao’s last attack—I can’t just sit here.”

Yanli hadn’t cried at all, she’d just looked between them, silent.

“Why don’t you come too?”Jian Cheng had asked him, eyes like a six-year-old. “You’d be good at it. We could do it together.”

“No, I gotta— Someone’s gotta report on all your heroics, right?” Wei Ying had been sweating, panicked, chills running down his arms, blowing his nose again and again. “Maybe I’ll get an assignment so I can follow you around and sing about your adventures. Like something out of those ancient poems, right?”

He’d been wrong about his role in the war, but more right than he’d be able to guess about ancient poetry. Because cultivation was real. Magic was real, and his brother was somehow mixed up in it.

He got drunk with Yanli the week after the first cultivator battle. The first battle with the new cultivator corps. Zixuan, Jiang Cheng, Lan Zhan, Mianmian, and the others.

“You husband is a wizard,” Wei Ying had said, slurring.

“Your brother is a wizard.” Yanli had flicked a sunflower seed into his lap. 

That was her secret: when Yanli got drunk she could go through two bags of sunflower seeds by herself. She got the cheap ones from the gas station on the corner and split them with her teeth, scattering shells everywhere like a little disaster zone. She’d clean up all the evidence in the morning, before anyone woke up. She was almost never hungover. 

Wei Ying loved that about her, the evidence she left, her secret messiness. He’d catch a stray shell in the corner, behind a potted plant or caught in the fringe of an area rug, and he’d get so rocked with love—violent, breathless love for her—that his vision would go spotty. 

Or maybe that’s just how he remembers it, now that she’s gone.

“Actually, he’s your brother too,” Wei Ying had said at the time, poking her nose. “Your husband and your brother are both wizards. So what does that make you?”

“Well, there’s Lan Zhan. You’re blushing, see, you’re blushing. And Mianmian. They’re your—”

“Friends.”

“Yeah, but you kissed both of them.”

Wei Ying had stuck out his tongue at her, or done something equally childish.

She’d cracked a sunflower seed and popped it into her mouth. “We could be wizards if we wanted to.”

“Oh, yeah, definitely”

“We just aren’t.”

“We’re busy.”

“We are busy people.”

Wei Ying is shaken out of the memory by a pint glass slamming down on the bar, just missing Jiang Cheng’s elbow. It’s Li Wangcheng, youngest son of his usual source, Li Riseung.

“Fill ‘er up, asshole,” Li Wangcheng says, listing into his buddies on either side. Jiang Cheng and Jin Zixuan are both looking at him with equally disdainful nose wrinkles. “Chop chop.”

Wei Ying sighs. “Sorry, Wangcheng, you’re cut off. I already over-served you, and I promised your dad and your brother I wouldn’t.”

“Fuck you.”

“Your liver can’t take it. Here, have some water and go sit down.”

“Fuck you, Wei Ying. Fuck you.” He’s pushing off his friends, leaning over the bar with his tobacco-stained teeth and his mix-of-alcohol breath.

“Yeah, yeah,” Wei Ying moves away, wiping down the counter, and Wangcheng follows.

“I’ll fucking kill you. You watch your back, bitch, I’ll fucking find you, and I’ll kill you.”

Wei Ying puts up his hands. “Okay, man, take it easy.”

“I know where you live. I know where you park your bike. Your stupid little fucking— Your stupid bike.”

His two biggest friends start pulling at his elbow, pulling him away. He shakes them off.

“Don’t think I won’t. Don’t think I won’t find you, motherfucker.”

Jiang Cheng is off his stool, now, and Zixuan is moving around behind him, coming in to engage. Wei Ying waves them off, desperately. Wen Ning is leaving his spot by the door.

“When you leave tonight, you better—”

“The fuck did you say?” Jiang Cheng is up in his face, now, and Wei Ying has to come out from behind the bar. He hates leaving the bar, it’s his comfortable place to be.

“Leave it. A-Cheng, A-Xuan, leave it, leave it.” He gets himself between them all, holding his brother back. Wen Ning has a good hold on Wangcheng’s shoulders.

“Fuck you.” That sprays a bit in his face, the plosive. “Everything was fine before you came here. Yiling was fine before you came here, and then everything went to shit.”

“That’s not—” Jiang Cheng tries to butt in, but Wei Ying sticks an elbow in his gut.

“I said, leave it.”

“Fucking worthless,” Wangcheng spits at him, and Wen Ning and his friends haul him back towards the door. “Fucking demon. You’re a fucking demon, Wei Ying! Fucking cursed!”

Wen Ning throws them out, and the silence following is awkward, no one looking at each other. Wei Ying wipes his face, straightens Jiang Cheng’s shirt collar, and goes back to work. There’s a short woman standing there, frozen, holding out her empty glass. He gets her another gin and cranberry, pleased that he remembered, and she gives him a pitying kind of smile. He hides his hands down by his sides, but he knows she’s seen them. Everyone can see them; he doesn’t cover them.

“Holy shit,” Jiang Cheng says, still staring back at the door.

“Yeah. Never mind.” Wei Ying readjusts his t-shirt.

“Never mind? That was a death threat. For what, cutting him off?”

“Forget about it.”

“For cutting him off? What the fuck?”

“A-Cheng, forget it.”

“I’m not gonna forget it, that guy knows where you live.”

“It’s fine, it happens. Leave it. Please? Leave it.”

Jiang Cheng sits down. Zixuan says nothing, looking between Jaing Cheng and the door.

“Does it happen a lot?” Jiang Cheng is interrogating, intelligence-mode.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Wei Ying, does it happen a lot?”

“I mean, a bit. Okay?”

“For cutting—?”

“It’s not about cutting him off. It’s not about that. It’s not about me. Calm down.”

“Sure sounded like it’s about you. ‘Demon,’ really—”

“If it wasn’t me it would be someone else. Wen Ning. His friends. His dad.” Wei Ying chops more limes than he needs to, calmed by the sharpness of the knife. “He’s dying. Actually dying, everyone knows it. His liver is shot. He’s been laid off for months, and he can’t pay for any more treatment. His dad’s broke, mom died in the war. He’s lashing out.”

“But that’s not your—”

“You can’t swing at the clouds forever. Right? He’s not the only one. People feel good here, they feel comfortable here, and so they can hit someone here if they need to. You get beaten down and beaten down for year after year, eventually you have to fight back. Right? Otherwise what are you?” What am I? he doesn’t ask.

Zixuan clears his throat, still not looking at him. “What’s the use of fighting you? You’re not—”

Wei Ying laughs at him, mean. “What’s he gonna do, fight your dad? The whole fucking government? Who can he hit? After a while, you have to hit something or you’ll go mad. You have to make contact. Right?” He chops another lime. “You have to have an effect on something. You have to hit someone and see the bruise, or yell at someone and see them flinch. Otherwise it’s like you don’t exist at all. You’re already dead.”

“Wei Ying,” Zixuan says it, which is a surprise. He almost never says his name.

“Somewhere like this, somewhere like Yiling, all you can reach is the guy next to you. Once they put the crabs in the bucket, they put the lid on.”

The chatter in the bar is back, which is nice since there’s an awkward silence between the three of them. Wei Ying puts the chopped limes into the cooler and washes the cutting board, washes the knife. He replaces a drink at the other end of the bar earlier than he normally would—the guy is only halfway through, but he nods a thanks.

“What about—” Zixuan starts, hesitant. “Wei Ying, what about police?”

“Ha!” Wei Ying snaps it at him, not a laugh, not at all. “Don’t you— You don’t come here, into my bar, talking about police.”

“I didn’t come in talking about police, I’m just saying—”

“No cops in Yiling.” He shuts a cooler with his heel, a satisfying slam. “Cops are military, and the military hates Yiling.”

Zixuan bristles. “No, we don’t.”

He always does this. It’s one of the things Wei Ying can’t process about him, and one of the reasons they’ve never been close and probably never will be. It’s always “we.” The Jins, the government, the military. Wei Ying can like him if he doesn’t see Jin Guangshan, if he doesn’t see Jin Guangyao, if he doesn’t see the war when he looks at him. But then he comes in with the “we.”

It’s probably sad, actually, how long he’s been a soldier. How much of him is wrapped up in being his dad’s perfect soldier.

Wei Ying bites his tongue, takes a breath. “Of course you do. Everyone in charge hates Yiling.”

“I don’t hate Yiling.” Zixuan is getting stubborn. He looks like A-Ling, almost a pout. “It’s where you live, and you’re my family.”

Wei Ying blinks at him. “I don’t know how to talk to you when you get like this.”

“Like what?”

“Sincere. All, you know—” he waves an empty bottle around in Zixuan’s face. “Sincere.”

The pout becomes more of a pout. “I’m always sincere.

“Yeah, that’s why we don’t talk.”

Jiang Cheng leans across the bar and snags the rail whiskey bottle to top off his own glass.

“I can beat you up later, if you like,” Zixuan offers.

“Yeah.” Wei Ying doesn’t want to smile, but he does anyway. “Maybe.”

The silence isn’t awkward this time. Wei Ying takes the whiskey bottle back from Jiang Cheng and makes a show of wiping it off with the bleach rag. Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes.

After a while, Jiang Cheng asks, “Is there something happening here this month? For the five years? Like a memorial or something?” He’s looking away, all careful again.

“Is Lanling doing something?” They look at Zixuan, only slightly accusing on Wei Ying’s part.

“No. I mean December 3 there will be a whole . . . Armistice anniversary.”

“But nothing for Sunshot. Nothing for the massacre I mean,” Wei Ying says.

“I mean, not specifically.” Zixuan licks his lips. “I’m sure it’ll be mentioned.”

“Nothing here, though?” Jiang Cheng asks again.

“Trust me, people around here aren’t the ones that need reminding what you’re— what Lanling is capable of.” 

“That’s not fair,” Zixuan says.

Wei Ying looks down at his hands, the mottled brown of them. Flies, flies and dirt and flies and chemicals and flies. “Don’t talk about fair. Not about this.”

Zixuan opens his mouth, but Jiang Cheng shakes his head, violently.

“A-Cheng, it’s not—”

“Stop it.” Jiang Cheng is glaring at him now, the kind of look Wei Ying gets all the time, but Zixuan doesn’t see so much. It makes him stop.

Wei Ying goes to the back and grabs the broom. Jiang Cheng reaches over for the gin bottle and tops off Zixuan’s glass. Wei Ying pretends he doesn’t see it and starts at the far end of the bar. It’s getting slower, people heading out for the night to more exciting places.

A song comes on, something from his college days. He remembers recording it onto a cassette tape from the radio, keeping it in his backpack. Lan Zhan didn’t really like it, but he let Wei Ying play it all the time on his cheap little dorm room stereo.

Wei Ying sings along under his breath as he sweeps. “And if I lied, would you forgive me. Whoa-oh-oh. Fit to be tied, but you still live with me. Oh, whoa-oh-oh.”

“This song,” Zixuan says, smiling a little. “We used to— We used to fight a lot. A-Li and I. Stupid stuff. I was late for dinner. My mom would get so overbearing and we’d fight about that. Her mom would— Well, you know. We’d fight about that. Baby stuff. We didn’t know what to do about baby stuff, so she bought out the whole section of the book store and said we’d divide and conquer. But every book was different, so we’d argue. Dr. Po says this. Well, Dr. Wen says that. She could be so— You’re all so stubborn. Stupid stuff. And we’d be so pissed off we stopped speaking to each other. But I bought her this CD once, not for a birthday or anything, just because. She loved them from way back. And she’d put it on, and we’d dance, and we wouldn’t be mad anymore.”

“Yeah,” Jiang Cheng said, clearing his throat. “She liked that sappy shit.”

“Do you play it for A-Ling?” Wei Ying asks.

Zixuan shakes his head. “It makes me sad to hear it. I spend most of my time trying not to be sad around A-Ling.”

Jiang Cheng moves like he’s going to touch him, his arm, his shoulder. He aborts the move and grabs his glass instead, slides it over to tap against Zixuan’s. 

“You’re doing good,” he says.

Zixuan looks down, blinking seriously.

“You are,” Wei Ying agrees. “You’re doing good. And you know it pains me to say it.”

Zixuan gives him an echo of a laugh.

“A-Ling is lucky.”

“He’d be luckier if his uncles would visit. Both of them.”

“Yeah,” Jiang Cheng and Wei Ying say in unison.

“You want me to change the song?” Wei Ying asks.

“No, leave it. It’s good. It’s a nice song.”

An old woman leans on the bar—she’s familiar but Wei Ying can’t remember her name. “Hey, hey, Wei Ying!”

“Yeah, auntie?” he smiles charmingly at her.

“You know my daughter’s coming home soon. December 21.”

“Cheers to that!” he gives her a half-salute.

“I’ll set you up, once she’s home. Just you wait, she’s the prettiest, even now.”

“I’m sure she is.”

“She makes that jumpsuit look like runway fashion. Still has her figure, even with the prison food.”

“Can’t wait,” Wei Ying says politely.

“December 21,” the old woman waves her finger at him and heads for the door. 

“Invite me to the wedding,” Jiang Cheng teases.

“December 21,” Wei Ying rolls it around in his mouth. “The Wens are coming home.”

Zixuan straightens up. “Really?”

“That’s what we’re celebrating. We don’t celebrate the Massacre, but innocent people coming home? That’s worth it.”

“Innocent is—”

“Zixuan, think about where you are.”

Zixuan nods.

All of the Wens who’d been scooped up post-Sunshot, post-war, those related to rebels or in the wrong place at the wrong time, they’d all been sentenced to five years in prison. “Just to be safe.” The majority came from Yiling, Dafan, other small towns in the West. People who couldn’t afford to run to Lanling, to Gusu, somewhere safe during the worst of the fighting. People who wouldn’t turn their backs on brothers and aunts and cousins in Nightless City. 

But five years have almost passed, and the Wens are coming home.

“It’ll be weird, won’t it?” Jiang Cheng asks, diplomatic in his insensitivity.

“A hundred and forty-three people,” Wei Ying says. “At least, that’s how many went in. I’m sure a couple fucked up inside, got their sentences extended.”

“But still.”

“But still,” he agrees.

“Are you going to do something for it? In December?” Jiang Cheng asks him.

“Dunno. I should stock up though, shouldn’t I? I’ll make a note.”

Later, after Jiang Cheng and Zixuan leave for Jiang Cheng’s Yiling sublet—a two bedroom so Zixuan doesn’t have to get his own place in town—Wei Ying sweeps up while Wen Ning flips chairs up on the tables.  

“Have you ever gotten over something?” Wei Ying asks him.

“Like what?” Wen Ning stops working and looks at him. He always does that—Wei Ying has always wondered if he had hearing loss as a kid. If he’s talking to you, he always has to stop whatever he’s doing and look at you right in the face.

“I don’t know. But have you ever stood there a second and realized you were over something? Or through something. You know, on the other side?”

Wen Ning thinks for a while, and Wei Ying sweeps around his feet. “School, I guess.”

“Yeah, that makes sense.”

“What about you?”

Wei Ying leans down with the dust pan. “I don’t think I’ve ever come out the other side of anything. I think maybe if you stay in something long enough you adapt. Grow gills or whatever, so you can breathe. So you can survive when the world turns unlivable around you. And maybe you aren’t living at all, maybe you’re a stone, or you’re a dead fish with rotten eyes, washed up on the bank of a river that dried up years and years ago.” 

Wen Ning still looks at him, eyebrows furrowed, but he doesn’t ask Wei Ying to make sense. It’s what Wei Ying appreciates the most about him. 

“So maybe you’re dead, or maybe you’re evolving. Like, maybe that’s just what the world is now, and what you would have previously defined as dead, what you’d look at ten years ago and say that’s a dead thing, maybe that’s just what life looks like now. Evolution.” 

Wen Ning nods and picks up a chair. “I think . . . I might be remembering wrong, but I think evolution takes a long time. Like many generations. So maybe you should look at the kids.”

“The kids?” 

“Yeah, see if the kids have gills. Or whatever. Whatever you said.”

Wei Ying leans his chin on his broom and watches Wen Ning go table by table, strong and methodical. He sets the chairs so gently on the tabletops that it doesn’t make any noise. He flips them with complete control and lines up the seats.

“Maybe,” Wei Ying says. He goes back behind the bar and turns up the music. There’s work to do before heading home

[inevitably-johnlocked]

You've probably seen me and my asks/reposts/reblogs a few times and if not I mean- Anyways! I'm craving some BAMF! John content bc who wouldn't want that in their life? Also- I really love all that you do for the fandom and your followers. (I was an old Nonny who spoke about being asexual. I was wrong and I mean it happens-) But yeah you are super duper amazing and I hope one day I can do the same for others

Hey Lovely! <3

Aww, it’s okay to change your labels when figure out who you are (I certainly have)! I have a lot of asks from ace nonnies, so I’m not sure which one is yours, hahah. That said, don’t feel bad for identifying as one thing until recently... it’s normal. <3

Ah, yes, we all love a badass mother-fuckin’ John!! I’ve only done one list related to it, so I’ll link to it below :) As always, I encourage everyone to add their own fics to the list below!

Thank you for your kind words, and I hope you enjoy what I’ve got for you! <3

BAMF and/or SOLDIER JOHN

See also: BAMF! But Insecure John

Idiot by Anesthesiologist (T, 1,229 w., 1 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, TGG AU, BAMF John, Sherlock Whump, Inner Monologue, John Saves Sherlock, POV Sherlock) – What the heck happened? He remembered the pool and Moriarty, but then what? Had he been dying?

Shooter by Amputation (K+, 1,406 w. || Post-TRF, Suspense, BAMF!John) – The men were trying to rile the other into acting first, it seemed. How boringly predictable and dull this was!

The 3x John Carried Sherlock, and Once ViceVersa by ShinkonoKokoro (K+, 1,673 w., 1 Ch. || Fluff, Friendship, Three and One, BAMF John, Sherlock Whump, Worried Sherlock, John Gets Shot) – It happens more than he suspects.

In Which John is a BAMFy MoFo, OMG! by Kantayra (T, 1,835 w., 1 Ch. || Humour) – John's BAMFness and Sherlock's damsel-in-distress act are caught forever on camera. So Scotland Yard can mock. A lot.

Coming Full Circle by KCS (K+, 2,358 w., 1 Ch. || Alternate TGG, Friendship, Drama, Violence/Death References, Drugging/Poisoning, Kidnapping, BAMF John, Moriarty POV, Introspection) – Moriarty had John for almost six hours between his abduction and the showdown at the pool - more than enough time to implement a Plan B for his escape should Sherlock call his bluff with the fake bomb vest.

Butterfly, Pinned Under Glass by billiethepoet (E, 4,648 w., 1 Ch. || Possessive Sherlock, Jealousy, Barebacking, BAMF!John) – It started as a desire to keep John safe and whole, and ended up as just desire.

Stranded by BeautifulFiction (T, 5,798 w., 1 Ch. || First Kiss, Communication / Relationship Discussion, Pining Sherlock, Sherlock POV, BAMF John, Doctor John, Case Fic, Drinking, Huddling For Warmth, Friends to More) –  When stranded on a derelict barge at high tide, John and Sherlock reconsider their friendship.

The Death of Doubt by Gingerhermit (E, 6,584 w., 1 Ch. || Alternate Canon, BAMF John, POV Sherlock, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Hurt/Comfort, Angst/Drama, Meddling Mycroft) – Mycroft asks for John’s help in rescuing Sherlock from his Serbian captors.

High and Tight, Soft and Loose by cwb (E, 7,429 w., 1 Ch. || Jealous John, Miscommunications / Misunderstandings, First Kiss / Time, BAMF John, Insecure Sherlock, Clueless Sherlock, POV John, Embarrassed John, Adorable Sherlock, Junk Size, UST / RST) – John pressed the knuckle of his index finger against his mouth and sighed. “So, you're coiled like a spring and ready to be ... sprung?” “If you want to be pedestrian about it, yes.” “Like I said, you should do something about that.” “And like I said, pedestrian. What would you have me do? Take up jogging? Yoga? Oh! Unless you mean –” “I don't mean anything. Let’s drop it.”

I'm Pretty Sure This Changes Shit by cwb (E, 7,672 w., 1 Ch. || Fluff, Cudding, Doctor/Patient, Accidents, Pining Sherlock, Blow Jobs, Oral / Anal, BAMF John, Minor Injuries, Dev. Rel.) – Sherlock finds increasingly ridiculous ways to get John to patch him up after hurting himself.

Every Night I Look for You by destinationtoast (E, 8,377 w., 1 Ch. || POV John, Post-TRF, Angst, Mystery, Unsafe Sex, BAMF John) – Every night, John looks for familiar hints of Sherlock in the men he meets in bars, and he does with them all the things he wishes he’d done before. Eventually, he stumbles into a situation that Sherlock would know how to handle, and John must decide whether he can handle it without him.

Made for You by Raxicoricofallapatorious (K, 8,440 w., 1 Ch. || Friendship, Sci-Fi, Androids) – When John was shot in the shoulder he was decommissioned and his memory and personality was wiped. Sherlock was given the blank droid and he quickly learns that this droid is more than it seems. John just so happened to come back and no one can fathom how or why. Johnlock if you squint.

Matters of National Security by mistyzeo (E, 8,465 w., 1 Ch. || BAMF John, Doctor John, Jealous Sherlock, Dating, Bisexuality, Arguing, Stupidity, Teasing, First Kiss/Time, Hand Jobs, Frottage, RST, Idiots in Love) – John starts dating a male client of Sherlock's, and Sherlock can't figure out why he's so incensed about it.

Stay Awake by pandoras_chaos (E, 9,325 w., 1 Ch. || BAMF!John, First Time, Angst, Pining Sherlock, Rimming, Oral/Anal) – Sherlock can feel the tenuous threads of this conversation shuddering under the strain of all the unspoken words. His eyes narrow as he gazes up at John, noting the residual tension in his shoulders, the dark circles under his lower lids, and the way he is avoiding Sherlock’s eyes like a bi-polarized magnet. He knows John Watson inside and out, like the perfectly balanced coils and gears of a beautifully balanced grandfather clock, and yet John keeps surprising him. It’s uncanny, the way he keeps on being so utterly and wonderfully unpredictable.

John Watson’s Moon by patternofdefiance (E, 11,314 w., 1 Ch. || Werewolf John, First Time, BAMF John, First Time, Anal, Fleeting Depictions of Violence) – Sherlock finds out John is a werewolf and wants to see the transformation. It, uh, gets really kinky.

The Red Dianthus by kinklock (T, 11,382 w., 3 Ch. || Supernatural Elements, BAMF!John, Misunderstandings, Fluff, Romance, Halloween, Dev. Rel., Case Fic) – The boys investigate a mysterious disappearance in a supposedly haunted house, and get much more than they bargained for.

The Hand You're Dealt by Lady Sam Mallory (T, 12,092 w., 1 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Light Violence, BAMF John, Doctor John, Injury, Friendship) – Sherlock, John and several others are trapped in a building when an explosion disrupts the crime scene they are working.

Fear Itself by KCS (K+, 12,289 w., 3 Ch. || Suspense, Friendship) – John is accustomed to being kidnapped by now, but he never expected a criminal to adopt Mycroft's method of doing so, to ensure he comes along without a fight.

To be loved by Strange_johnlock (E, 12,436 w., 8 Ch. || Post S3, Established Relationship, First Person POV Sherlock, Pet Names, Soft Sherlock, Mild ADHD, Protective John, Captain Watson, Body Appreciation, Bottomlock, Rough Sex, Travelling for Holidays, Introspection, Sherlock Loves John So Much It Hurts) – John is so deeply integrated into the work, both as my conductor of light, and as a great shot with a vicious right hook who tackles men -and women- no matter their size all in my defense. He protects me with all he can without question, and this loyalty is surely more than I deserve. Or: Sherlock is counting his blessings.

On The Fence by BeautifulFiction (T, 13,770 w., 1 Ch. || Fencing, Case Fic, First Kiss, Insecure John, Pining John, Hug, Greg Finds Out) – The murder of the King's College fencing champion leads to revelations about Sherlock's past. Will it be the point that tips them from friends to lovers, or will they remain on the fence?

The Acronym by DancingGrimm (T, 15,057 w. || Humour) – "'Bee Ay Em Eff'. Hm, that's a new one on me. Do you know what it means, Sherlock?" John might not know what it means, but there are many little ways in which he proves the acronym suits him.

I Will Take Care Of You by SailorChibi (T, 16,664 w., 15 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Sick Sherlock, BAMF John, BAMF Lestrade, Reunion Fic) – Two years after Sherlock's death, John comes to find him on the sofa. Wounded and ill, Sherlock is convinced he's hallucinating and refuses to share any details about Moran or the fact that Mycroft has been compromised. That doesn't stop John from stepping up and taking care of the last of Moriarty's web, BAMF-style.

Hope for Heroes by Richefic (K+, 16,887 w., 5 Ch. || Post-TGG Fic, Introspection / Flashbacks, Friendship/Epic Bromance, Hurt/Comfort, Worried/Anxious Sherlock, Sherlock Admires John, BAMF John, John Deduces, Fancy Party, John’s Self Esteem, Domestics) – In the final moments of "The Great Game" Holmes hopes he will have the chance to tell his flatmate that he was wrong. Heroes do exist after all and the one in front of him is called Dr John Watson.

Traitor's Gate by roane (E, 17,714 w., 6 Ch. || Post-TRF, Case Fic, Mystery, Bets and Wagers, Undercover for a Case, BAMF John, Scientist Sherlock, Teasing, Established Relationship, Military Base, Sexting/Texting, Military/Uniform Kink, Frottage, Dirty Sex, Anal, Bottomlock) – John and Sherlock go undercover at a top secret government lab to find out who is selling research. John is back in uniform and Sherlock is back in a laboratory, but they have to pose as strangers. Sherlock thinks he'll have an easy time of it, but John has his doubts. It's up to them to find out who is responsible for putting a dangerous weapon in the wrong hands, and try to keep their hands off each other at the same time.

5 Times John Got the Girl (and lost her) and 1 Time John Got the Guy (and kept him) by LiviKate (M, 21,695 w., 6 Ch. || 5 and Ones, Kissing, Oblivious / Awkward Sherlock, BAMF / Sexy / Stud John, Embarrassed John, John’s Scar, Hurt/Comfort, Jealous Sherlock) – John has always had good luck with the ladies. He's charming, friendly and funny, not to mention great in bed. However, his usual skill with the opposite sex is constantly being thwarted by Sherlock and his outbursts. How will John ever get a leg over when Sherlock is always cockblocking him?

Knotted by naughtyspirit (E, 23,166 w., 4 Ch. || UST/URT, Cuddling, Sharing Body Heat, Confessions, Kissing, Mastrubation, Frustration, BAMF!John) – John has to cancel a date because of Sherlock's case, which leads them to be tied up in a basement from which they have to escape. They get wet, get tied up close and John has to step up and save them. Because he's pretty. And hot. And just a little bit of a BAMF.

Maintaining A Personal Life by Gingerhermit (E, 24,284 w., 6 Ch. || Alternating POV’s, Bisexuality, BAMF!John, Jealous Sherlock, Romance / Drama, Sort-of Case Fic, Peril & Angst, Love Confessions, Toplock, Soft Idiots in Love, Post S3) – Sherlock and John discover some interesting revelations about each other’s sexuality, which lead them both to question the assumptions they've made about one another for years. In the midst of their mutual discoveries, a dangerous psychopath looms on the side-lines who threatens to destroy their new beginning.

Invisible by chappysmom (K+, 25,947 w., 11 Ch. || No Slash, semi-canon compliant) – John had had the knack for as long as he could remember. It wasn’t that he could become invisible, exactly. The laws of physics worked quite well in his vicinity, thank you very much. It was just that people tended … not to see him. {{This was one of the first AU’s I read, and I still love it to this day}}. SEQUELS: Still Invisible (ASiB) || Too Visible (THoB) || Invisible Once More (TRF)

And A Doctor by StillWaters1 (T, 27,393 w., 6 Ch. || Friendship, Doctor John, Whump, Soldier / Doctor Dichotomy, Five and One) – It was only when people actually saw John working as a physician that they began to understand: that it wasn't just about bullets and IEDs and trauma care under fire. That "doctor" actually covered a pretty wide field. And that John was bloody good at covering ground. 5 times Dr. Watson treated others and 1 time he treated himself.

26 Pieces by Lanning (E, 28,236 w., 1 Ch. || H/C, Torture, First Time, Happy Ending, Schmoop, Past Abuse) – Mycroft gives Sherlock the apparently simple task of solving a puzzle box containing a stolen microchip. It isn't simple.

Hellfire by testosterone_tea (E, 28,596 w., 9 Ch. || Fantasy / Magic / Mages / Elementals AU || Mage Sherlock, Elemental John, Developing Relationship, Torture, Powerful / BAMF John, POV Alternating, Dark / Blood Magic, UST, First Kiss) – Sherlock is a Mage that gets involved with a case involving Dark Summoning rituals, leading him to John Watson, a man with Berserker blood. The only thing is, Berserkers have been extinct for centuries. And of course, nothing involving Mycroft and his interfering ways is ever simple. This time, even Sherlock may have bitten off more than he can chew.

To Mend Icarus by AlessNox (T, 29,186 w., 14 Ch. || Post-TRF, Friendship, Drama, BAMF!John, Emotional Turmoil, Introspection, Harry is in this Fic, Angry John, Happy Ending, Queerplatonic Relationship) – After a case lands John Watson in court, he tells Sherlock that he is leaving. Not understanding why, Sherlock decides that the only way to learn the truth is to investigate his flatmate, Dr. John Watson. A revision of the story Mending Icarus.

A Study In Auto-Signatures, Sniper Dolphins, and Sex Holidays by cwb (E, 32,689 w., 8 Ch. || Case Fic, Post S3, Evil Mary, Dev. Rel., Beach Holidays, Confused Sherlock, Friends to Lovers, Honeymoon, Epistolary, Bottomlock, First Kiss / Time, Fluff, Secret Agents, BAMF!John) – John and Mary go on their sex holiday, and Sherlock is grumpy and pining about it. Part 1 of HOT DOLPHIN SEX

The Wrong Wagon by DancingGrimm (E, 35,663 w., 20 Ch. || Alternating POV, Molly/  John [Molly pines for John], Public Sex, Casual Sex, Obliviousness, BAMF!John, Awkwardness, Angst & Humour, First Time, Virgin Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock) – Molly sees John in a new light and realises that she may have hitched her horse to the wrong wagon...or something like that. John pines for Sherlock and worries what he will think if he ever finds out. And Sherlock doesn't know what Molly's up to...but he knows he doesn't like it.

we have never seen a greater day than this by Lediona (T, 36,420 w., 7 Ch. || A Royal Night Out AU || WWII / VE Day, Prince Sherlock, Soldier John, Alternating POV, First Kiss, Bittersweet Ending, Homophobia, Dancing) – Peace. At long last. It’s VE Day and Prince William desires to join the celebrations. It is a night of excitement, danger and the first flutters of romance.

A Week is Just Seven Days Isn't It? by scifigrl47 (T, 39,906 w., 4 Ch. || Humour, Friendship/Bromance, Stroppy/Bored Sherlock, Undercover/Army John, Texting, Pining-ish Sherlock, John Whump) – When John heads overseas for a week, Sherlock's forced to fend for himself. It goes about as well as anyone could have anticipated. Which is to say, very, very poorly. Don't worry, things'll be fine in just seven days.

Right Hand Man by SilentAuror (E, 42,031 w., 4 Ch. ||  H/C, Injury, Slow Burn) – When John's left arm becomes paralysed after a car accident, Mary asks Sherlock to take him back to Baker Street to recuperate, as she's about to give birth. Despite the fact that the search for Moriarty is ongoing, Sherlock takes John in and takes responsibility for overseeing his rehabilitation as he adjusts to the loss of his arm.

Guidelines by WithLoweredVoices (M, 43,018 w., 15 Ch. || Winglock || Angels, Fantasy, Angst, BAMF! John, War, Jealous Sherlock, Possessive Sherlock, Jealous John, Falling in Various Ways, Needy Sherlock, Wings) – The Good Soldier, one of the oldest and strongest of the fallen, is offered a bargain: to live as John Watson and to Guide a fledgling archangel so that he will stay on the path of good. Of course, Sherlock Holmes has different ideas about his destiny. Fantasy AU. Warnings for violence, occasional gore, and a whole load of hurt and angst.

Left by lifeonmars (M, 45,153 w., 9 Ch. || Magical Realism, BAMF!John, Slow Burn) – John Watson is left-handed. He’s tried not to let it affect his life, but as any Lefty knows, that’s almost impossible.

Impossible to Feign by achray (M, 49,204 w., 12 Ch. || TRF Rewrite / Reverse Reichenbach, Suicidal Ideations / Discussions, Drug Use/Abuse, Mutual Pining, Friends With Benefits, John Accepts his Sexuality, Anxious Sherlock, Meddling Mycroft, Depression, Hallucinations, Secret Agent John, BAMF John, Reunion, Make-Up Sex, Ambiguous Ending) – Sherlock leant forward, his long fingers curving round to grip John’s.“I won’t let him win,” he said, eyes hard. “I will do whatever it takes to get you out.”

Coventry by standbygo (E, 52,020 w., 26 Ch. || Dollhouse AU || Case Fic, Slow Burn, Sci-Fi / Fantasy, First Kiss / Time, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, BAMF John, Falling in Love) – “Let me get this straight,” John said, wondering when his life had become a science fiction film. “Some guy orders up a personality, a person, to his specifications, and they program this into a real live person, who has consented to do this, and she goes to this person and acts as his wife, or lawyer, or Royal Marine, or Navy Seal or what have you, and she has all the skills, all the knowledge, everything? Then you say the magic words, and she follows you back to The House, and they erase it all until her next appointment?”

Albion and the Woodsman by Glenmore (NR [E], 54,437 w., 50 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post S3, Parentlock, Pining Sherlock, Angst, Family, Drug Use, Depression, Sherlock POV, Light Humour, Reconnecting, Declarations of Love) – Sherlock and John are devastated after Mary Morstan makes her final moves. Sherlock relapses at the crack house, John walks around the world … and a lot happens in between. Parentlock, in the good way.

Wars We Fought, Things We're Not by blueink3 (M, 55,204 w., 10 Ch. || Post S3 / Post TAB, Parentlock, Fluff & Angst, Kidnapping, Whump, Post-TAB, UST/URT, 3G, Mild Peril, Slow Burn, Couple for a Case, Protective Mycroft, Infant Death Pre-Story, Friends to Lovers) –  Five months after John's world has fallen apart, Mycroft sends the consulting detective and his doctor on a case that neither is prepared for.

A Hundred Crimson Sols by elldotsee (E, 55,536 w., 16 Ch. || Astronauts AU || Mars Exploration / Space Travel, Slow Burn, Shy Sherlock, Scientist Sherlock / Biomed Engineer John, Alternating POV, Mutual Pining, UST, Angst with Happy Ending, Domestic Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Injuries, Suicidal Ideation, Zero-G Sex) – Will Holmes is a chemical researcher recognized widely for his contributions to the new Mars exploration program. Thanks to his ground-breaking developments, the IMMC (International Mars Mission Corporation) is one step closer to Martian colonization. Will and his team of scientists are headed out on the first of three manned missions before the first group of settlers arrive. Three days before launch, one of the crew has to be replaced. Will panics because...new people. The replacement is of course one John Watson, biomedical engineer and space hottie who was pretty sure he had retired from actual space exploration and was now content to work in the nice, quiet research lab. Can the crew survive this TOTALLY ROUTINE trip? Will they be able to endure each other for the looooooong trip in close quarters? Gonna be a wild ride... prepare for blast off. Part 1 of SpaceBois go to Space

The Thing Is by TSylvestris (E, 56,743 w., 21 Ch. || Case Fic, Dev. Rel., Anal/Oral, Blow Jobs, Meddling Mycroft, Drama, Romance, Humour, Casual Encounters, Pining Idiots, Possessive Sherlock, Orgasm Delay, Rough / Alley Sex, Public Sex, John Whump, Drugged John, Emotional Love Making, Awkward Relationship, Marriage of Convenience, Switchlock, BAMF John) – The problem with living with Sherlock, John thought, was that you never, never, ever knew the significance of anything. Like your flatmate's nose buried in your hair. Whilst you're in bed. Part 1 of Nitroglycerine

The Burning by SrebrnaFH (M, 60,658 w., 24 Ch. || Reverse Reichenbach, Suicide, Depression, Hurt Sherlock / John, Separation, BAMF John, Good Big Brother Mycroft, Angst, Implied/Referenced Torture, Fake Character Death, Rescue Mission, Reconciliation / Reunion, Hospitalization, Marriage Proposal, Illnesses, Physical Therapy, Happily Ever After) – Something went very, very wrong. John had seemed, if not happy, then reasonably content with his life. Sherlock had never predicted something like THIS might have happened. Not in his worst nightmares. He was the lousiest friend ever, apparently. At least Mycroft found him something to occupy his mind with, so that he didn't have to go back to 221B and stare at the walls and the chair, where John Watson would never sit again.

Perdition's Flames by i_ship_an_armada (E, 63,435 w., 21 Ch. || Treklock AU, Est. Rel, Genetic Engineering, Angst & Fluff, BAMF!John) – Sherlock would do anything to save him. Risk anything. Give anything. His money, his life. His soul. What he does, though, is change both of their destinies forever. Genetic re-engineering is the only option left. It turns out researchers underestimated the life expectancy and potential abilities of genetically re-engineered subjects. The British government and what would eventually become the United Federation of Planets, however, had not. Part 1 of PF Universe

Hell Sent, Heaven Bound by ConsultingHound (M, 64,381 w, 16 Ch. || Angels / Demons AU ||  Fallen Angel Sherlock / Angel Cop John, Alternate First Meeting, Slow Burn, Case Fic, John & Lestrade are Friends Before Sherlock, BAMF John, Mind Palace John, Friends to Lovers, John in Denial, Sherlock Picks Out John’s Clothing, Clubbing / Dancing, Mildly Jealous John, Awkwardness, Kidnapping, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Sacrifice, Worried / Anxious Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Immortal to Mortal) – Ex-War healer and current angelic guard John Watson is not having the best day. He overslept, he’s underpaid, and now there’s someone tagging the Council’s building walls. However things may be about to get interesting: there’s an unusual stranger hanging around (the definition of tall, dark, and handsome), a literal underground cult is brewing, and rumblings are coming from hell. Can he keep his neighbourhood safe, how and why is he being connected to all this, and who the hell is Sherlock Holmes?

Watches 'Verse by bendingsignpost (E, 66,905 w. across 2 works || Magical Realism, Reality Distortion, Angst, Partial MCD, BAMF John) – First, he is shot in Afghanistan. Second, he wakes to a phone call in Chelmsford, Essex. Third is pain, fourth is normalcy, fifth is agony and sixth is confusion. By the eighth, he's lost track. (John-centric AU) Part 1 of Watches 'Verse

Being John Watson-ish by elwinglyre (E, 69,902 w., 17 Ch. || Bodysnatcher AU || Author John, Cranky Sherlock, Angst, Sexual Tension, First Kiss / Time, Falling in Love, BAMF John, Past Soldier John, Feelings, Inside Someone’s Brain, Shy Sherlock, Sherlock Loves John, POV Sherlock, Switchlock, Slow Burn, Internal Dialogue, Mental Turmoil) – When consulting detective Sherlock Holmes steps on one toe too many at a crime scene, he's consigned to a desk job in an archaic office on the seventh-and-a-half floor of the New Scotland Yard. It’s in this bleak office that Sherlock discovers a portal into the mind of renowned author John Watson. Grander than his mind palace, this new wonderland affords Sherlock new vistas of experimentation. To learn more about the mystery behind the portal, Sherlock seeks out and befriends Watson. But then it all goes wrong when others find the secret portal door—including the man whose brain he visits.

The Green Blade by verityburns (T, 72,929 w., 15 Ch. || Casefic, Bromance) – As a serial killer hits the headlines, the police are out of their depth and the next victim is out of time. With faith in Sherlock Holmes at an all time low, this is a case which will push loyalties to the limit...

Darkling, I Listen by You_Light_The_Sky (T, 73,254 w., 8 Ch. || Fairy Tale AU || Loosely Based on Beauty and the Beast, Magical Realism, Suicidal Themes, Romance, Creepiness, Adventure) – No one who enters old London ever comes out. They say that the beast devours them. When his sister disappears, John ventures into the dead zone beyond the wall, and finds a brilliant madman under a terrible curse... Part 1 of Darkling I Listen + Extras, Deleted Scenes

Summit Fever by J_Baillier (M, 78,802 w., 18 Ch. || Mountain Climber AU || POV John, Angst, Tragedy, Suicidal Ideation, The Himalayas, Mountain Guide / Doctor John, Mount Climber Sherlock, Loneliness, Drama, Suspense, Slow Burn, Injured Sherlock / Sherlock Whump, Pining John) – After graduating from medical school, John Watson followed his heart to the Himalayas. Ten years later, he's a haunted cynic working for his ex-lover's trekking and mountaineering company. Will leading an expedition to Annapurna I—the most lethal of all the world's highest mountains—shake John out of his reverie, and who is the mystery client added to the group at the last minute?

The Monument of Memory by J_Baillier (M, 79,663 w., 14 Ch. || Post S4 Fix It Fic / S4 is Canon, Angst, Family Drama, Guilt, Case Fic, John Loves Sherlock, Complicated Feelings, Mentalism / Hypnosis, Murder, Grieving John, Sherlock is a Bit Not Good, Team Work, Trust Issues, BAMF John, Psychological Trauma, Protective John, Autistic-Spectrum Sherlock, Parentlock, John POV) –  A genius traumatised by a past he's only beginning to recall. The psychopath sister that time forgot. A missing woman and a mentalist who may or may not be a murderer. And, in the middle of it all, stands John Watson.

Secrets and Revelations by Hisstah (E, 83,535 w., 9 Ch. || Sentinel / Guides Omegaverse AU || Adventure, Violence, Anal / Oral, Omega!John / Alpha!Sherlock, Case Fic, Politics, Mild DubCon) – Dr John Watson has some major secrets that he's kept from his flatmate, Alpha Sentinel Sherlock Holmes. Now the Sentinel Tower is after him. Can John stay out of their hands until he can reveal his secrets to Sherlock? Part 1 of Secrets and Revelations

Thermocline by J_Baillier (M, 83,557 w., 14 Ch. || Scuba Diving AU || Adventure, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Marine Archaeology, Asexual Sherlock, Horny John, Relationship Drama, Technical/Scuba/Wreck Diving, Slow Burn, Underwater /  Medical Peril, Doctor John, Hurt Sherlock, Anxious Sherlock, John POV, Protective John, Body Appreciation) – John "Five Oceans" Watson — technical dive instructor, dive accident analyst and weapon of mass seduction — meets recluse professor of maritime archaeology Holmes. As they head out to a remote archipelago off the coast of Guatemala to study and film its shipwrecks for a documentary, will sparks fly or fizzle out?

Northwest Passage by Kryptaria (E, 95,157 w., 27 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Canadian AU ||  BAMF!John, Canadian John, PTSD, Anal / Oral Sex, Rimming, Emotional Hurt / Comfort, Drug Rehab, Falling in Love, Pining Sherlock, Love Confessions, Sherlock’s Violin, Panic Attacks, Switching, Anxious / Protective Sherlock, Hugs for Comfort, Suicide Mentions, Healing Each Other) – Seven years ago, Captain John Watson of the Canadian Forces Medical Service withdrew from society, seeking a simple, isolated life in the distant northern wilderness of Canada. Though he survives from one day to the next, he doesn't truly live until someone from his dark past calls in a favor and turns his world upside-down with the introduction of Sherlock Holmes." Part 1 of Tales from the Northwest

Given In Evidence by verityburns (M, 97,884 w., 19 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-TRF, Angst, Drama, Case Fic, Romance, BAMF!John, Submissive Sherlock, First Kiss, Humour) – Coming back from the dead can be a complicated business. With a new case on the horizon, rebuilding a life is one thing... rebuilding a friendship quite another. For Sherlock and John, things may never be just the same...

Maintenance and Repair by patternofdefiance (E, 106,650 w., 71 Ch. || Future AU, Augmentation || Augmented John, Depression, Body Modification, Slow Burn, Worldbuilding, Sci-Fi, Self-Care, Body Dysmorphia) – John wants to explain the rush of sensation and data, which is just another form of sensation (or is it the other way around?). John wants to say: Augmentation circuits report temperature, pressure, various forms of quantitative input. Sudden changes are reported as pain, since sudden changes are dangerous, and pain is the quickest way to encourage reflexive extraction. But all John can manage is, “Nng.” Because this sudden touch is not reporting as pain. Part 2 of STATIC

Shatter the Darkness (Let the Light In) by MojoFlower (E, 109,683 w., 23 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Genie/Djinn AU || Magical Realism, Kidnapping, Genie Sherlock, First Kiss / Time, Case Fic, H/C, Angst, Clubs, John Whump, Mild DubCon, Hand / Blow Jobs, Torture) – Fairy tales are for those who remember how to dream; not John Watson, broken and hiding from his bleak future in a beige bedsit. But then he discovers a lamp and finds himself in the dangerous riptide of an enigmatic man whose very existence is unbelievable, murder charges against his sister, and the growing pains of feeling alive once more.

Two Two One Bravo Baker by abundantlyqueer (E, 114,574 w., 27 Ch. || Military AU || Afghanistan, War Story, Thriller, Switchlock, Rimming, Emotional Lovemaking, Lots of Sex, HJ/BJ’s) – Captain John Watson of 40 Commando, the Royal Marines, is assigned to protect and assist Sherlock Holmes as he investigates what appears to be a simple war atrocity in Afghanistan. An intense attraction ignites between the two men as they uncover a conspiracy that threatens everything they’ve ever known, but Sherlock is as much hunted as hunter, and everyone close to him is in deadly danger. Can he solve the case in time to save himself and John? Part 1 of Two Two One Bravo Baker Universe

Breakable by MissDavis (E, 117,627 w., 34 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE, WiP || Established Relationship, Major Character Injury, Fluff/Angst, Depression, Paralysis/Disabilities, Hurt/Comfort, POV Sherlock, Mental Health Issues, Drug Use, Happy-ish Ending) – After John is seriously injured, Sherlock struggles to figure out how to help him, keep himself sane, and maybe, just maybe, get their life back to the way it's supposed to be. Part 1 of Breakable Not Broken

The Burning Heart by May_Shepard (M, 119,150 w., 21 Ch. || Canon Divergence, Post-TRF, John’s Sexuality, S3 Rewrite, Pining, Angst with a Happy Ending, POV John Watson, John’s Gay) – When Sherlock dies, John Watson feels like his life is over too. He’s completely shut down, until Mark Morstan, a new nurse at John’s medical clinic, catches his attention, and helps him uncover the long buried truth of his attraction to men. Although he’s certain he’ll never get over Sherlock, John plans to move on, and build a new life with Mark, unaware that Sherlock is not quite as dead as he appears, and that Mark is hiding secrets of his own.

Against the Rest of the World by SilentAuror (E, 151,714 w., 20 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-TRF, Hiatus Fic, POV First Person Sherlock, Present Tense, First Kiss/Time, Big Brother Mycroft, Escaping from Capture, Soft Sherlock, Toplock, Insecurity, Infidelity, Travelling, Introspection, Pining Sherlock, Depression, Fantasies, Yearning for the Past, PTSD Sherlock, Suicidal Ideation) – Sherlock has been away from London for nine hundred and twelve days and counting, and has no idea what sort of reception to expect when he finally returns.

[grantcontrol]

Heartless, Swarmless ◈ Anton ⁺ Eilidh

Timing: Some time last week Location: White Crest National Park Parties: @braindeacl & @grantcontrol Summary: Anton and Eilidh meet for the first time and end up going on a trip because of some overgrown spiders. Now they know how a hairball feels. Content: Insect, spiders, vomit (not theirs), a lot of cursing

“This better not be one of those prank calls.” With an annoyed groan and a mildly disinterested sigh, Anton begrudgingly parked the white van with his company’s name in bold letters on its side into the otherwise empty designated parking space of the White Crest National Park. He faintly remembered his late grandfather taking him to this place when he was just a tiny tot, though for the life of him, he could no longer recall anything else about that visit. Park’s big, that about sums up all he knows of the place now. 

Bug Busters Pest Control Solutions received the call while he was about to Netflix and chill, and while their so-called employer insisted on staying anonymous on the other end of the line, the Girl verified that whoever they were, they had already paid in full. Online. Anton wasn’t too savvy about how that whole thing worked but he trusts the Girl in these matters. Why would she lie? She was getting her pay from the same account, and as much as she doesn’t respect him, at least not on the surface, she can’t deny that they both need the money. Besides, he had already seen the same zombie movie at least three times.

Dragging himself out of the vehicle, he took his time making his way to the back of it where his tools waited for him. Most of it was standard exterminator gear. The rest? Just a few contingencies from his less public career as a pest hunter. Also a jar of peanut butter, but that’s not for him. “Where do I even fucking start?” He wasn’t even inside the park yet when he started complaining. Overgrown spiders. That’s what the caller said they were. The size of a dog? Anton already knew what they actually were. His late grandfather hated the damned things, and there was no doubt he’d hate them, too. If he even gets to find them.

It started with a deer. A family had been perusing about one of the main trails. One of the supposedly safe trails. They had stopped to gaze upon a grazing doe. The child had begged and begged and begged to be placed on their father’s shoulders, and they got their wish just as the deer began to move. The small group watched in awed silence as she inspected the forest floor, searching for her next meal. But before she could find it, the forest floor made a meal of her. It opened up wide, gripped her tight, and pulled her below. Similar instances followed, and the Park was sent into a frenzy. Eilidh, naturally, made herself involved.

Talks of eradication filled the office. But they were too afraid to state anything plainly, too afraid to even admit that they knew what truly lurked within the nearby wood. Eilidh was more direct. “Fuck no.” These creatures, these carachs, only crime was existing in view of humans. It was clear her perspective was not the majority. The carachs posed a threat, and while it had yet to be acted on, they would not wait until it was too late. Eilidh offered a solution. Let her try. The Park was full of restricted areas away from any wandering pedestrian. Away from this potential threat. They could be relocated there. Let her try.

So, she would try. Alone.

Whatever. Less eyes meant she could utilize all of her abilities. After taking a moment to secure some supplies, which became nestled within her backpack, she headed off onto her task. And was immediately struck with the sight of Bug Busters Pest Control Solutions glaring back at her. “Those cunts!” Someone must’ve called while she was distracted, because no one had made any clear moves to dissuade whoever the vehicle belonged to, for it sat undisturbed. “This is a National Park, you don’t call a fucking exterminator!” She yelled at one of her coworkers who made the mistake of walking by. They simply stared with frightened eyes, having no clue what she was talking about. With a frustrated shout, she ran over to the car. When a man, supposedly the owner, came into view, she pointed threateningly. “No! No! Fuck off! We don’t need your kind of help!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! That’s not a very warm welcome.” On any other day, Anton would’ve smirked at the sight of a tiny angry person screaming at her, what the much taller man definitely finds hilarious. For some reason. But today was not one of those days. Anton was tired. Anton was exhausted. Anton just wanted to get this job done. “What seems to be the problem, ma’am? We’re just responding to a call.”

Yes, he was, but no, he already knew what the problem was. The damn carachs, of course. He should’ve expected they’d find their way to a place like this, a place big enough where they could hide somewhere and eat something without the prying eyes of the more mundane humans. Unfortunately, the eight-legged freaks must’ve messed up, one of those mundane creatures saw them do something, and now Anton and his need for money was caught in the middle of the overgrown spiders and whatever the heck this small but pretty attractive woman’s problem was.

“I’m Anton. Anton Grant.” He thought introducing himself would make any difference, offering her one of his patented charming smiles that didn’t actually have that much of a success rate, if only serving to catch others off-guard for a brief moment or two. He doubled down with an extended hand, his dark brown eyes moving from her towards the other park personnel whose own curiosities lured them to this less than pleasant encounter. 

“Bug Busters Pest Control Solutions, the best pest control service in town, by the way, is here to help. Someone called about…” He looked around them before leaning in for a whisper. “...a spider problem…” He then moved back to resume the normal volume of his voice. Just in case one of those other personnel would end up a potential customer. “We’re here to take care of it. Professionally.”

Out of a misguided attempt to sound professional, he emphasized the pronoun we throughout his spiel, even though it was clear as day that he was alone.

Eilidh rolled her eyes, not feeling any guilt for her outburst. “Respond to another call.” She wasn’t even given a second of trust before she was undermined by this outsourced ‘help.’ While she truly loved her job and the opportunities it presented to her, sometimes she hated the other people involved. Even though most were relatively sympathetic, there was still a clear bias against the supernatural. Even with visitors outwardly acknowledging the dangers, if someone cried monster too many times, the monster must be dealt with. Often cruelly. Always have to keep up pretenses. Even here.

As ‘Anton’ flashed a smile, she only blinked in response, already trying to forget the name. His hand extended forward, perhaps in an attempt at peace. Eilidh chose the opposite. Her own palms placed firmly on her hips with no want of moving. The effect was lost as another took his offered hand, whether from genuine interest or to alleviate some of the tension set ablaze by her passions. Didn’t matter either way. Angry eyes locked onto them and fearing they too would get caught in the flame, they yielded, taking a step back. The two of them still had an audience, but a ring of emptiness encircled them. A distinction between onlooker and participant.  

A spider problem. The way it was spoken, as if a secret, like so many that filled this town, showed her he was probably aware of what truly lurked out there. An actual professional. Or an overconfident fool. So, either someone who could actually do damage, or someone whose death would add more fuel to the fear. Neither alternative would be beneficial. “Look, I ‘ave the ‘spider problem’ handled. So, get the fuck out of-”

She was interrupted by a voice from behind. A superior. They informed her that the Park was exploring all the options given to them. And that if her idea worked, the exterminator wouldn’t need to do his job anyway. Said in a way that was clear they wanted to scream fuck just as Eilidh had and will again, but professionalism prevented such a thing. Pretenses, pretenses. So, her options were clear. Work fast, and maybe, maybe be able to save some of the carachs… Fuck, she didn’t even have a clear plan! But the other conclusion was all the carachs dead, for she wasn’t fast enough.

She looked at Anton. Then bolted into the woods. 

There is no other call. Anton wanted to just dryly tell her the truth, that his line of work wasn’t as stable as hers, and because of that, he needs to respond to every call he gets. Otherwise, his late grandfather might start haunting him, too, for letting his business go down the drain. Like his body. The past few weeks were pretty good for Bug Busters Pest Control Solutions, though, which was a little odd to think and smile about right then and there, considering he technically should thank all the bugs and rodents he had to put down for always keeping him warm and fed.

“Okay…” The lady was as rude as she was cute confirmed. Fortunately, she wasn’t the only park personnel around, and he gave the more courteous one a nod and the most charming smile he could ever muster. A stolen glimpse of the still infuriated rude woman, however, slowly chased that smile off of his face. Like she chased the other employee off. Without even moving. Damn, she’s good. He’d almost believed that she did have everything under control, too, because despite her size and her rudeness, her fire reminded her of someone else’s, someone who proved him wrong and handled herself beyond his misinformed expectations. But then someone else stepped forward and corrected her. Oof.

“Well then, I guess if there’s nothing else…” He almost gulped when she looked back at him, his mind already wincing even though it was just one look. The last thing he needed was to get slapped, punched, or even kicked between the legs. He’s suffered all three before, in public, so he was always wary of those possibilities. Still, he had a job to do, especially now that the rest of the park seems to be on his side more than hers. “I’ll just—” He cut himself off when she bolted into the woods. Okay… I guess she really hates my guts. Turning to the rest of the personnel, he just offered them a shrug before calmly walking behind her, as another quickly briefed him on their spider problem. 

She ran. And ran. Eilidh wasn’t even sure what she was going to do when she got to her destination. But she knew how to run. So, run she did.

A patch of dirt caught her attention. Small circle of brown contrasting the great expanse of green. It hadn’t been there the day before. Odd. Curiosity compelled her forward, and curiosity paid off. As a foot just barely pressed upon the transitional point between grass and ‘dirt,’ the ground stirred, revealing it wasn’t ground at all. The carach was only the size of a football, but it attacked her with the ferocity of a lion. Fangs pierced her leg, injecting it with a paralyzing agent. But as it worked its way through her body, it couldn’t take hold. She knelt down, the carach still clinging to her leg, as if waiting for its toxins to strip her of all movement. She simply held it in her unaffected hands. It lurched forward, and after a moment of struggle, it escaped from her. It returned to its burrow. She fished out a tarp from her bag. Repeating the previous steps, the carach was once again in her grasp, but before it could escape her, she wrapped the tarp around its body, securing the ends in tight fists.

It fought. Desperately. Holes formed in the tarp as its eight legs went haywire. But not enough to fully rip. After a tense moment of struggle, on both the carach’s and Eilidh’s part, all motion ceased. Acceptance. She picked up the makeshift carach carrier. The contents gave one last struggle before calming again. But this all wasn’t a victory yet. She started running again, but slower, taking care not to jostle her unwilling companion. After a satisfying amount of distance was achieved between her last and current position, she opened the tarp. The carach sprung forward. When it landed, it immediately took off. Time to see if this would work. She watched as the creature scurried for a minute, before settling into the ground just as it had been when she first found it. Success!

She should probably get more tarps. Bigger tarps.

Turning back to where she came, she headed back for more supplies.

Into the Woods was a movie Anton enjoyed, though not everyone shared the notion. As he made his way through the park’s main trails, where the supposed tragedy had happened, Anton couldn’t help but hum along to the titular song that he was playing through his phone. Once he was where he thought he needed to be, the exact spot where the carachs consumed their hapless victims, he warily took out his spear and started prodding the forest floor. Since the eight-legged freaks were fond of burrowing into the ground, with their abdomens mimicking  piles of leaves, or even rocks, it was the best option he had to draw them out. If his spear made contact with any part of them, especially their abdomens, then they’d spring up, almost instinctively, but instead of pinning him to the ground, they’d be wrapping their long, spindly legs over his spear, and that would expose them, ripe for the slaying. “I’m such a freaking genius.”

Except, geniuses should have expected that there would be more than enough carachs to deal with, and some of those would be bigger than a mouse. It took Anton a couple of pokes on the ground but he managed to draw one out, a small carach, and immediately pierced it in its stomach. Carachs were venomous creatures, after all, and in this case, it was either them or him. He's been paralyzed by their bite before. Fortunately, he's never experienced the second type of carach venom. Until now.

At first, he thought it was just adrenaline rushing through his veins, the excitement of surviving an otherwise dangerous encounter. But then his heart beat continued to race, and faster it did so. "What the hell?" Taking a step back, he tried to force his eyes closed before opening them in a misguided attempt to "see better". He could feel his pulse now, his very heart breaking, as a vision of his daughter being taken away from him while he was utterly helpless, locked behind bars, trapped in a cage like some animal, haunted him in daylight. Looking around him, he realized his vision was also starting to blur. Panic was setting in. “Fucking spiders.” He uttered, cursing them, before dropping to the ground face-first, clutching his chest, struggling to reach something, someone, but he was alone. “Can’t believe... I’m gonna die... To these smug assholes…”

The two intercepted as she was on her way back to the main building. Barely crawling around on the ground, Eilidh almost missed him. She considered pretending she did. No one else was around. The forest was so, so, so big. And she was so, so, so busy. Who would fault her? But as a large carach made its move towards the easy meal, something inside her pushed her to act.

Skin crashed against exoskeleton, the force from her lunge sending both her and the carach falling into a nearby bush. As she tried to get her composure, she was met with long, sharp legs beating down on her. Enough to break skin, muscle. Enough to pierce through a chest. She punched one of those legs, enough to contort her wrist into a weird angle. She snapped it back into place. In a brief opening, she sent a kick into the hard abdomen hovering above, with enough force to shatter bone if she were human. The carach shivered and leapt back, unnerved by the attack on its vulnerable spot. Eilidh was free.

She rolled from the bush, using the propulsion to end the motion in a kneel. She unsheathed the dagger from her thigh. While she wanted to help the carachs, like hell she was going to let herself be a punching bag. The two watched each other, neither wanting to make the first move. The carach was the first to bow out, choosing to save its energy for easier prey. It disappeared behind the trees. For now.

She inspected the damages. Tears and rips littered her clothes, some even threatening to make her ‘indecent.’ Hidden within those tears were gashes and cuts that had already shown signs of healing. Could’ve been better, but not bad. She turned to the downed man. “See? I have it handled.” Part of her wondered if he could even hear her in his current state.

Even as he writhed on the damp ground of the national park, the feeling of death’s cold, icy grip tight around his panicked heart, Anton could not rein in a playful smirk, his dark brown eyes delighted at the sight of Eilidh, especially the ‘aftermath’ of the battle. 

“O-oh, hey!” He twitched under her feet, jaws and hands clenching as he tried to fight the carach’s venom. “You came looking for m-me? I was definitely wrong: ...you do c-care.” He tried to flash her his most charming smile yet but could only muster a weak one, barely a smile, more a wince or a grimace than anything else. “What are you?”

The “fractoxin” that was coursing through Anton’s veins might be dangerous in large doses, but the exterminator, despite how things appeared at the moment, was still a pest hunter, born and trained to deal with such monsters. As such, his body was a little more resistant to these things compared to that of regular humans, still not as resistant as what Eilidh was apparently, and he healed a bit faster, too. It helped that the predator only injected him with a small dose, enough for the sensation that tricked him into believing he was already at Death’s door when once again Death dared not have him anywhere close. Probably preferred a warm meal to a cold one.

It took his body some time to fully heal, though a sense of disorientation, dizziness, and a modicum of weakness still remained over him. Most hunters, at the realization that a small angry woman just saved them from a hungry carach, especially a pest hunter, would have been much warier at their presence, if not a little more apprehensive. Anton was not like most hunters, however, and he was more excited, if not simply interested, at the unexpected turn of events. 

Dragging himself to a nearby tree for a much-needed rest, gasping for air every now and then as he clutched his arm throughout, he gestured to where the dog-sized carach disappeared into with a smile. “That thing can’t roam free in the park... You know that, right? Unless you find a place for it, for them, more innocent, stupid people will die.” 

Her eyes squinted at the question. What are you? Eilidh could tell he was still fighting off the effects of the toxins. Perhaps he was even in a state of mind to not remember her words. But she refrained from the truth, or any type of answer. She went back to inspecting her clothes, trying to see what could and couldn’t be salvaged.

Hunger crept up inside her. Forming in the gut, then working its way until it resided deep in the mind. Not enough to make her lose control. But enough to be a constant thought in the back of her head. While the attack was brief, and she would walk away with no scars, the exertion still had a price. She stared off into the trees, thinking about what her next meal would be, when Anton’s words brought her back.

She thought about the tarp idea, then gave her body one last look over. The idea might work for all the little ones, but the one she just faced? No. It would tear anything she could find in short notice into confetti. Fuck. She wracked her brain for another idea. But her knowledge on the creature was limited, her experience even less so. So, nothing immediately came to mind. She couldn’t just tuck her tail in and give up, though. Not yet. Think, think! A scene from earlier replayed in her mind. One of her coworkers had described one of the gruesome deaths. A missing heart was one of the details. Hearts. That might work.

“Wait here.” She turned to leave but stopped halfway. While he seemed to be in better shape than before, it was clear Anton was in no shape to defend himself. One more departing thought. “Try not to die.” Into the treeline. She was gone.

Several minutes passed, and when she returned, she seemed in much higher spirits. Her clothes, on the other hand, had a new layer of dirt on them. One hand was red, stained in blood. Cradled in the hand was a heart that had recently lost its beat. “Don’t ask.” She lifted her hand. “They like hearts, yeah?” Without a word of explanation, she headed in the direction of where the carach had disappeared into, eyes intently facing the ground.

“Yes... Carachs eat hearts, and will often lay their eggs in empty chest cavities... Where did you get that?” Anton squinted at the bloody muscle she held when she returned. He had followed her when she disappeared, dark brown eyes on her like a moth to flame but made no effort to move, taking instead the opportunity to rest a while. He was already back on his feet, stretching his limbs and massaging his joints, when Eilidh came back.

“You know, it’s actually quite the theme since one of their two types of venom, fractoxin, gives their victim this feeling of heartbreak, and in large doses, that feeling becomes more of the actual thing.” With his hand rhythmically but softly tapping his chest, he mimics the sound of a heartbeat, once, twice, thrice, slowing down as he goes, before making the final one more of an explosion, a heart exploding, the complete opposite of what happens when the heart stops. “Some people actually farm the tiny ones. For the fractoxin. Sells good money in the…” He cuts himself off, finally realizing that he’s been explaining too much, especially to someone he wasn’t sure yet was of the same community. ...supernatural community.

“Wait!” Anton instinctively followed her when she started to leave, grabbing his spear along the way. He didn’t even get to tell her of their proportions and exoskeleton, how injuring them without a sharp weapon like his would be tough. Those legs, not unlike hers, were pretty damn dangerous, too. Is she also a climber? “We need to strike them in the stomach, where they’re vulnerable! Or toss them into the sea or at least a nearby lake!”

When he caught up with her, his eyes grew wide in horror. Well, more of surprise than actual fear. Anton didn’t fear a lot of things. Or at least he tells himself that every time he goes to sleep. Some glowing rift in time and space, an interdimensional portal of sorts, from which a slime-covered overgrown spider, most likely the same one that tried to eat him earlier, was struggling with its two free legs to pull itself away? Anton didn’t fear that. Definitely not. He gulped. “...or that. That looks like a good place to leave them in.”

Eilidh took note of the information he freely offered. Fractoxin. Nice to put a name to what she assumed the smaller carach had shot into her leg. Seeing an example of the effects, she wasn’t surprised they farmed for it. Just concerned about how it was given… or taken. Concern for another time. The mention of a freshwater body was interesting. She had been under the—misguided it seemed—impression that only salt water affected carachs. Looks like she had some reading to do. 

He seemed to know a lot about carachs. Was it a result of having to adjust to White Crest, or were supernatural creatures his real targets? Either way, she stored the knowledge for future use. But the context it was given brought her eyebrows down, scowl forming. “There’s no we. I’m trying to relocate them. Or did that fractoxin fuck with your head?” She flicked her hand at him, meant to emphasize her point. But the motion caused a few drops of blood to be flung out. An apology wasn’t given.

The sight before her made all sourness inside her crumble away. A giant, glowing gash hovered just a few feet away. It was like the very universe had been wounded. Or perhaps it was more like a mouth. A mouth that was in the middle of a meal. Ensnared in slime, a poor carach tried to free itself from its great maw. Its remaining legs scurried desperately against the ground. Puncture marks littered the soil before it, yet it did not, could not, move forward. Only enough strength to keep it in that same, desperate spot. But that strength was waning, and it started to slip. Slip. Slip. In one last attempt, it stabbed the earth with all limbs, keeping it in that desperate spot. A second passed. Strength failed it once more. It was sucked into the wound. Gone.  

Eilidh blinked. Turning to Anton in the brief calm, she broke it with, “Do you think-” Something shot out at her. It gripped her tight, trapping her in that very same slime. Before she could even attempt to free herself, the world around her became a blur. It exploded into lights as she met the same fate as the carach. By the time she could process what had happened, she found herself tumbling, tumbling, tumbling down a wet tunnel. She grabbed a knife. Made it pierce into her new surroundings. The descent abruptly stopped. But she would not find peace. Just as the knife struck, a loud rumble shook the tunnel, carrying Eilidh along for the ride. It almost caused her to lose grip as moisture perforated everything. But her hands managed to hold firm. While the sound was all encompassing, based on the vibrations on her legs, she could tell it came adjacent to her. She looked up. Light shined down from her. But it came and went. Almost flashing, but not quite. She stared harder. Something disrupted the light on the edges. Something pointed.

Teeth.

“Oooooh, ya think you’re gonna eat me, huh?” Pulling out her other knife, she stabbed it just above where the first was struck. Her world shook again as the great sound pierced into everything. But still, she managed to hold. And so, she started to climb up. 

Anton has had blood splattered all over his face before but not like this. Never like this. Eilidh was not a gentle “first time”, he frowned, heaving a sigh as she continued to be rude at him. If he had the time to think, maybe in a few hours after this hellish encounter should he survive, he would realize that her reactions were perfectly normal. From the way things have developed, she did not seem like she was, well, normal. His late grandfather had told him stories about certain “weirdness” in White Crest, though for his part, Anton has had encounters with sentient creatures other than humans and hunters, creatures that pretended to be normal but weren’t, with some of those encounters even...intimate.

Shaking his head vigorously, he tried to shake those thoughts off, away. Now was not the time to go down “sexy memory lane”, Anton, he cursed himself in his head. Half-expecting Eilidh to lecture him yet again, he was caught surprised when she cut herself off, and in a split-second of panic, he found his hands dropping his spear, instead instinctively trying to grab at the strange woman, trying to pull her back to safety. There were no other thoughts that cluttered his mind. In that moment, he was focused on doing one thing and one thing alone: Not let the angry woman get taken by the interdimensional reproductive organ, as if she were a baby about to get reabsorbed by Mother Space-Time. “Fuck!”

Alas, Anton was ill-equipped to do that one thing. He found his hands slipping, the blood on hers not helping one bit. He managed to stand his ground, however, keep himself from falling back, to the ground on his ass. In one fluid motion, he gritted his teeth, furious at his own failure, before grabbing his spear and chucking himself into the portal. If the Girl was here, she would’ve described it as yeeting. 

Through the tunnel, he flew, though his eyes were closed as he tried his hardest to keep himself from screaming, barely succeeding. When it was all said and done, he landed with a sloppy thud a few steps behind Eilidh, a few seconds after her, like something just spat him out, his flavor a little too much for the universe's palate. “Well, that was a trip.” He quipped as he grabbed his spear tightly, having done the same as her, pierced what he could of the so-called tunnel to keep himself from getting swallowed by wherever, or whatever, he had been spat out into. Eyes adjusting to the blinking light from up above, he found the familiar form he had tried to save but failed, following right after her, using one of the many small knives he always had on his person whenever he was on a job. “I fucking hate this town.”

It took them some time, not helped by the fact that they were going against the grain, or something resembling that in wherever they were, but they managed to find solid respite from all the chaos and confusion. At least what resembled respite in wherever they were. Anton had learned not too long ago to abandon what he knew of mundane physics, which wasn't much to even begin with, when things like this were concerned. The exterminator may be one step above the mundane, but he was not a magic man, a spellcaster, and with the exception of the gifts he had received as a hunter, some he was born with, others he was trained for, he wasn't that far from being mundane himself. “Where the hell are we?”

Right as he asked that, the entirety of the tunnel shook again, as if an entire world was breaking in of itself. Anton turned behind him, his instincts telling him that something was about to happen from that very direction. “Uhh… Macleod? You might want to grab hold of some—” And just like that he was spat out again. Like a fish bone caught in a massive velvet worm’s throat. “I really fucking hate this town.”

While her ascent had started strong, the progress was… lacking. It was hard to climb a mountain when it was covered in slime and tried to buck you off like an angry horse. To make matters worse, the flesh wasn’t always so firm against her weight. Sometimes a puncture accidentally became a slash as it gave and she slid. Eliminating much needed progress. And further accelerating the bucking. Every motion had a consequence. The biggest would be found in letting go. “Fuck!” Again, she stabbed the flesh. “Fuck!” Again, she tensed as everything around shook violently. “Fuck this!” Again, she pulled herself up.

There was commotion from above, something that disturbed the light that was her destination. It rapidly grew until it became a man tumbling toward her, which she narrowly dodged. The whatever-the-hell the two were stuck in gave another shake, this time not caused by her. Once motion ceased, she dared a glance down. Anton looked up at her. Not knowing the noble origins of his arrival, she assumed he got taken off guard, same as her. “Really? I’d love to be in town right now, to be honest. Not this shit.” Especially since she had plans. Oh fuck, right! She had plans! Hopefully she wouldn’t keep Milo waiting too long.

With a small burst of determination, she continued upward. But her arms started to shake under the stress. Moisture punctured through her hands, her clothes, everything. It was suffocating. All encompassing. Like the cave. No, no, no, no, no, no. She needed to get out soon, wherever this was. “We’re on our way to be dinner, is what.” Her previous fire was starting to die. She was trapped. She was trapped again. Again. Trapped. Again. She needed her bliss. She needed her bliss. An unsteady hand searched desperately for it. “Fuck you, cunt!” She barked up at the taunting light.

The use of her name triggered something within her, her lost bite. “Who the hell told you-” She looked down, but Anton did not hold her attention for long. The same mucus that coated the walls of their prison was bubbling below them. Closer. And closer. One second it enveloped Anton. The next, herself. And finally, the two were flung onto solid ground.

Ground! Precious ground! She started kissing it passionately. But something was off. Pulling back, she stared down at the grass. Except, it wasn’t really grass. Deep inside, something told her what lay before lacked life. Lacked a soul. She looked around. Everything was like that. Trees covered the area, but she felt no comfort with them. Clearly distressed, she rapidly flung her head around, searching for something, anything. But her, Anton, and that thing, they were the only creatures to be seen. No buzz of an insect, song of a bird, or rustle of leaves. Just hollow trees.

Small hope was found when that same glowing gash came into view. Except it looked like it had been reflected into a mirror. Reversed, like a door. It must be a gateway! “Look!” She pointed it out to Anton. “Let’s get the fuck out-” The massive creature spewed its inner contents all over the ground again, and Eilidh had the misfortune of being covered in another layer of muck and gunk. It seemed like her torment would be coming to end as the flow slowed when thunk —something came crashing into her head. She fell onto her back with a squelch, the projectile landing right beside her. A key. Something seemingly small and inconsequential, but as she stared, her pupils dilated. Inner voice told her to take it, take it, take it! Following her impulses, she snatched the thing and struggled to get back on her feet.

The moment he felt something gross begin to swallow him up from beneath him, Anton immediately closed his eyes and held his breath. He knew that whatever would follow would be nothing he would enjoy, and he has enjoyed a plethora of questionable things, both morally and legally. He was right, for once in his life, and although it was technically not the worst thing he’s bathed himself in, he was relieved to find himself on solid ground once more, trying his best to get the gunk off of him properly. For fuck’s sake. 

It didn’t take him long to notice that something wasn’t right. Because it never really is. Shaking as much of the disgusting muck off of him, off of his clothes, he squinted as he wiped his eyes off of them as well, only to be greeted by not even a buzzing bee. Wasn’t it bee season? From everything bee-related that has happened to him in the past few weeks, his train of thought would be understandably logical. Yet nothing else was logical about where they were. At least the Girl isn’t here. That must be why it’s so quiet, so peaceful, so bliss— His train of thought was derailed when he laid eyes on the fucking thing that ate them. “What the hell is that thing? Jabba the LSD Hutt? That better not be a bug, I swear to god.”

Anton wouldn’t even have noticed the portal if Eilidh hadn’t screamed at him, his entire attention on their would-have-been predator. At the very least, he saw it coming, the creature puking yet again, allowing him to avoid most of the vomit that unfortunately Eilidh could not. Oh, man, my shoes. He whined in his head when a splatter of gunk from Eilidh flew on his shoes, which were already covered in more muck not too long ago. Then he realized something: His hands were not holding anything. Ah, fuck. His dark brown eyes wandered from them to the giant worm thing. It’s fucking stuck in its throat, isn’t it? That would explain its continual vomiting. That and the many stabbings Eilidh did on its insides.

Turning towards Eilidh when something hit her on her head, Anton finally caught a glimpse of the portal, that interdimensional moo-moo. Fuck it, we’re out of here. Not even hesitating to leave Eilidh behind, the exterminator wrapped his hands around her waist and just freaking hightailed it out of there, using his newfound adrenaline to yeet them both out of the gloomy hellhole like a pair of slippers his mother used to aim at his head whenever he became too annoying to deal with. 

Unfortunately, Anton was never a trained wrestler and both of them were more or less slippery from the giant creature’s vomit, so he struggled to keep his hands and arms around her, exerting more effort than was necessary, his face contorted in pain. “We’re gonna live past forty!” He screamed to keep his mind on something else.

The next thing he knew, he was lying down on his back, his vision a little blurry. He could almost take a nap then and there, his body exhausted. But then he remembered what just happened, the absolute grossness of it all, and did otherwise. Wiping more of the puke from his face, he just laid there, dark brown eyes staring at the sky, wondering if this was all worth anything. “Being alive takes so much effort.” He groaned. Oh, man, my spear.

Before she could fully rise, Eilidh felt hands on her. Instincts taking over, she struggled against their hold: fists struck against his back, legs kicked at his thighs. A scream rumbled in her chest, ready for release. But as Anton headed for the gateway, slipping and sliding along the unsteady ground but onward all the same, she realized what was going on. Oh. Confusion froze her, and amusement at his shitty attempt to navigate against all odds made her unsure how to react. The scream died before it began, and her limbs calmed: acceptance.

Facing opposite their retreat, she was able to fully focus on the creature for the first time. Under different circumstances, she would’ve been fascinated by the size, the beautiful colors, the entrancing eyes. Instead, she just looked at it with mild curiosity, dampened by frustration. It looked, no, glared back. It still quivered and rumbled from the ordeal, but it was quickly gaining composure. And was prepared to dish out some much needed punishment. From a protrusion on its head, the slime from before shot out, meant for them but it missed its mark. Instead, a tree a few meters from them became engulfed. The ooze shifting into a crystal prison was the last sight she saw before entering the gateway. Then everything blurred. And then became blinding.

Despite being able to focus this time, the second go-around was still as disorienting. She closed her eyes against the onslaught of lights. Crashing into the ground snapped them back open. She flopped on the hard surface like a dead fish; the impacts sounding just the same. She came to an ungraceful stop. Eyes quickly inspected her surroundings. A moth flew above nose. Life! The sight made her almost cry. She looked on further, up to the lively trees dancing in the wind, to the beautiful stars twinkling at her. Wait, stars? When did it become night time? Who cares, they were back. “Fuck whatever that was,” she grunted. “And don’t grab me like that again. That was terrible.” Despite her words, there was a hint of a chuckle on her lips.

The two enjoyed the well-earned peace, just laying there.

Which was the perfect position to avoid the slime projectile. It sped pass from above, missing them by a few inches. A bitter whisper hissed out of her, “Chan e seo a-rithist…” She turned her head just in time to see another mass of slime shoot out of the gateway. When that also failed to make contact with either of them, a third rocketed by. “Looks like someone’s pissed.” After the fourth slime also missed its target, the attempts ceased. But she doubted the creature gave up so quickly. She swatted at the closest thing of Anton’s she could, his shoes, in order to get his attention. “Get behind it.” She pointed at the gateway. With no idea how long this standstill would last, there was no time for explanations. Rolling onto her stomach, she quickly crawled, like a competitive baby, until the quieted rift was behind her. Supposedly safe—as long as the gateway only worked one-way—she finally rose to resting on her knees.

The motion jostled the mysterious key in her pocket. She suddenly remembered its presence. Right. That. A chill ran up her spine at the thought of it. With a shake of her head, it passed. For now. 

For a moment or two, Anton felt relieved at the sound of Eilidh’s voice, so relieved in fact that a short-lived chuckle escaped from his lips. Then he made the mistake of running his gunk-ridden hand over his mouth. Fucking hell. At least he still had the wits to NOT accidentally taste the damned thing. Gross. His brain was too distracted by the combined effort of what the fuck just happened and what the hell was still on him to realize the day had abandoned him, throwing him to the mercy of the dark night sky with only a spattering of stars to keep it all appropriately beautiful. 

Catching a glimpse of Eilidh’s hand, Anton turned towards her, wary about getting slapped for all his trouble. Then he found himself immediately surprised when he noticed more of the slime flying through the air. Oh, for fuck’s sake. Monkey see, monkey do, and Anton was on his belly before he knew it, crawling behind the portal. “Your park is super weird, lady.” Although he didn’t remember outright Eilidh’s suspiciously defensiveness towards her name, his subconscious helped him make the better decision to go with something else than his mispronounced rendition of what her parents had given her.  

Once behind enemy lines, or at least the enemy’s line of sight, he helped himself off the ground, though only sitting to catch his breath for a few seconds, a much-needed respite from everything else that had happened. His dark brown eyes wandered over Eilidh, his ears catching the brief jostling in her pocket. For another moment or two, he just stared at her before breaking out in laughter as the portal started slowly collapsing in on itself, as if it was never there, as if it never tried to be their grave. 

“Well,” He groaned as he forced himself back on his feet, battered and bruised. “I guess that’s that. Client only made mention of a single overgrown spider, and from the looks of things, that’s been taken care of.” He offered her a hand to help her back on her feet as well, more out of instinct than anything. As a pest hunter, Anton knew full well how it was better to fight together when there were more than one of him instead of doing otherwise, and both of them on their feet could prevent more surprises. “All’s well that ends well…”

By far, this was ostensibly the weirdest shit that has ever happened to Anton since he moved into town. The insect monsters were a given, considering his family’s history, but an interdimensional portal to god knows where and that freakishly massive monster? Now those would make for a great story. Now, however, he needed a bath and maybe dinner. He wondered if the Girl, the receptionist he inherited from his late grandfather, had already closed the office. She probably did, considering how she never liked to wait for him. Besides, she probably had more homework to worry about. Guess it’s dinner alone again. Beer and something that’s definitely not soup. He’s had enough soupy shit for the day.

Eyes locked. Body motionless. Eilidh’s fingers curled around the remaining dagger. Eyes focused. Body tensing. A predator ready to pounce. The gateway shifted; movement at last. But she was ready this time. Lifting her dagger, she—

The gateway disappeared.

Ah.

Laughter filled the air. In that moment of bewilderment and relief, Eilidh couldn’t help but offer her own. Everything was funnier when you were tired and a touch delirious. But it died in her throat when she remembered who she was laughing with. A cough replaced it. Her hand went to the ground. It played with the soil which had previously been bathed in otherworldly light. Otherwordly. The dirt rested on her fingers, unaware and uncaring of what had played above it. It sprinkled back to the rest of its brethren.

Gateways didn’t just appear. And there was no guarantee it wouldn’t happen again. There must’ve been something that caused it, right? Nothing seemed out of the ordinary; if there were secrets she would have to dig, perhaps literally. Maybe this was a special place, where the separation of this world and not was thin, easy to bend. Or tear. Her back straightened, searching hands retreating back to herself. An apology to the area lay on her tongue. But, wait, shouldn’t the Park know about something like that? Well, there were a lot of shoulds the Park refused to do. In fact, Anton just alluded to one of them. Despite her efforts, the carach died anyway. But a sense of defeat failed to find her. There was a silver lining. Its death provided nutrients for that massive creature on the other side of the door. Maybe they were connected. Like that fallen carach, maybe it used the gateway as its trapdoor. Hidden, until unsuspecting prey stumbled by. Maybe it sealed the gateway when the prey started biting back. Maybe, maybe.

Ignoring the offered hand, she stood, a dull ache pulsing through her limbs, but it was ultimately fatigue that wanted to pull her back down. “Are you gonna mention the giant caterpillar, or just claim all their hard work?” A twinkle of mirth lay in her eyes, but buried in exhaustion. Not really caring for an answer, she shooed him away with a flick of her wrist. “Bye now.” Hopefully he’d actually leave this time, his ‘duty’ fulfilled. She returned to surveying her surroundings. But gravity wanted to return her to the ground. And hunger told her to run, to hunt. She debated if it was worth looking for answers, or to just go back to her place, since she wasn’t in the mood for—Dance Macabre! Fuck! She fished out her phone. Her newly broken phone. Gunk seeped into every crevice, leaving nothing untouched. No matter how many times her thumb smashed on a button, no light came. Milo would just have to have fun without her. She stuffed it back where she found it with a huff.

Camel’s back officially broken, and curiosity no longer able to fuel her, she decided to leave the questions for another day. Let the Park fence off the area for some bullshit reason, and she’ll sneak in with the darkness of night to keep her secret. Either to find answers or wait and see if anything unfolds. But for now, as crickets chirped, and foxes chittered, and the breeze whistled by, reminding her she was alive, surrounded by life. It was time to return to her roots.

Retrieving her bag, she took off. Muscles cried at the strain, but teeth chattered in excitement. The thrill of the hunt. After a distance, her tattered clothes proved too restricting, the coat of slime stiffening, as if it too wished to turn crystal. So, she removed the garments. Naked under the starlight. And kept running. Running. Searching for prey.

[END]