#yes i do realize that i fucked up with the placement of injuries

[huevostuff]

This boys are making me cry once again

Inspired by Kinesthetic by @itischeese

[bounty-hunter-cad-bane]

*As @you-have-heard-of-me recounted the tale of Bane’s first run-in with the then practicing hunter along with the rest of Jango's little entourage, Bane recalled the way he felt that day. He was younger than he was now, by years and years. He had curled his lip, liking to be left alone. He had no idea who these people were. Oh, how his life had changed. Some might say for the better. Bane himself might say a job is a job, but deep inside he had been glad for the opportunity to hone his skills. He thought maybe Hondo would disappear, left to his own devices, never to be seen again, but he had been wrong on that front, and Hondo, to this day, was one face that was consistently present whether he was said to like it or not.*

*He compared him to a sun, a thing that was hard to look at, the gunslinger all sharp angles and cobalt planes, injurious to some, and envied by others. He groaned a sound of disapproval deep in his throat as he loomed closer still, the pirate speaking of layers, of his real persona being hidden, and he thought it was the Quacta calling the Stifling slimy, for if Hondo was not a thousand times worse than even he was, then his name was not Cad Bane.*

*He sneered visibly though he did not interrupt, realizing this may be the first time the Weequay had bothered to drop his charade, though Bane was not an idiot. He knew there was more to Ohnaka than meets the eye.* Ye'd fuck anythin' dhat moves; how's I supposed to know de difference.

*Still, he had reached out, he had touched that duplicitous creature, finding that if nothing else, he was fascinated by this display of seeming vulnerability that was like a thing so rare it might as well have been an artifact from a long dead civilization.*

Dhat’s where yer wrong. *Bane had noted the shiver, unable to keep a wicked grin from spreading across his scarred and weathered face.* Don’t play a part like you. *He exhaled, not moving an inch even as Hondo rose to meet so close to his hairline mouth, sucking in the remnants of his smoke.*  What ye’ see is whatcha get. Ain’t got time fer games.

*The Duros tensed as the Weequay surprised him by retaliating in a manner that was not at all expected. He let out a slow breath, eyes falling to half-mast at the first placement of a kiss against his throat.* But yer right about one thing – you are an-annoyin’.  *A soft hiss was emitted as a trail was paved up the length of his neck though covered by his blacks. At the same time, he felt the pat to his belly and those lids drooped lower, the additional ingredients of his cigarra working its magic; the scaley outlaw had allowed himself to be wrangled by his narrow hips.*

“…I’m tu tired tu play et tonight. Aren't you?”

Yessss. *The only response given as the pirate placed his affection so carefully beneath his chin; this time it was bare flesh and nerve endings, the Duros giving in and grumbling out a purr as he dipped his head, hat and all, to line up square with Hondo before he outright bit the scoundrel's lip, albeit gently, with those sharp fangs.*

What are ye’ gonna do, pirate.

[mostthingskenobi]

FAVORITE OBI-WAN KENOBI LIGHTSABER POSES

Obi-Wan Kenobi knows how to strike a pose. He’s nothing if not dramatic.

But when you take a minute to really observe, you realize his fighting style is a mirror of his personality. Elegant, pleasingly fluid and graceful, yet powerful and full of confidence.

It’s delightful to watch.

A thought occurred to me while I was trolling through all of my screenshots, looking for my favorite images of Kenobi with a lightsaber. I started to see a pattern. Yes, sometimes Obi-Wan is absolutely being EXTRA and arrogant and a total drama queen. But sometimes, when he readies himself for combat, he might look like he’s being pompous...but I don’t think it has anything to do with ostentatious boastfulness or vanity. I think the perfection is something he can’t help.

A great example of this is during the Kadavo arc. When Obi-Wan and Anakin are fighting in the slave auction, Kenobi is ridiculously graceful, possibly more so than we’ve ever seen before. Look at the placement of his feet in this shot:

His heels are in alignment, he’s braced forward on his strong leg and stays grounded with a perfectly pointed back toe, while distributing his forward momentum with his arms. He maintains an insane level of physical perfection AFTER being shot, beaten, and whipped. I don’t think he was considering his appearance in a moment like this. I think this was all about precision: they were outnumbered and the best chance for survival was not fucking up.

Granted, we all know that precision wasn’t enough to save them in this scene. But that makes it even more interesting. Should Obi-Wan have used a different fighting form? Was he distracted and sluggish and unable to be one with the Force because of his physical injuries? But this is all another post for another day :)

Either way, all this made me see my favorite Kenobi lightsaber moments with a new perspective. Therefore, I present for your consideration:

OBI-WAN KENOBI: NATURAL SUPERMODEL AND JEDI MASTER, EXPERT IN STRIKING A DRAMATIC POSE

This doesn’t even begin to cover all my favorite moments...I mean...it doesn’t even include moments from the movies! Perhaps I’ll have to do a separate post for that.

I hope you enjoy my collection. Let me know what you think!

[deanwasalwaysbi]

Dean’s Self Acceptance & Chekhov's Grenade Launcher

If you aren’t here for a deeper look at episode 12x22, metaphors, and Dean being bi, keep scrolling because we’re going to get into that holy hand grenade - Supernatural’s Grenade Launcher, the weapon that Dean has loved since season one but always got shamed out of using; shamed out of using UNTIL 12x22; an episode literally titled, ‘Who We Are’.   

After which Dean loses Castiel and goes into the Widower arc ... ok. ... Cool. I’ll just read nothing into any of that shall I?

(cont under the cut)

Okay first- ‘what grenade launcher? I don’t remember a grenade launcher?’

Dean has a grenade launcher in the trunk that we’ve never seen him use. It's been there at least since episode 1x02. He has assigned a gender to the grenade launcher, calling it ‘she’ like his car.  It has appeared multiple times, but one noteworthy time was two episodes ago when Dean was showing his arsenal to Max Barnes, the openly gay witch hunter, in 12x20. Mmmhmm, nothing to see there. Nothing about the slow progression of Dean learning to accept himself. Nothing about Dean opening his trunk up to a canonically gay man.

Dean often wants to use  it  her, but  it’s  she’s impractical,  it’s  she’s not stealthy.  The thing is unsafe, and other characters are constantly telling him no, put it back, don’t bring it, don’t use it. (See 12x05) 

When Dean lost his memory - when he would have seen no reason NOT to use it, one of the other characters reminded him with a post-it note: this thing that you want to do, that’s a natural instinct for you, don’t do it. (See 12x11)

[gif credit to @demondetox​ & ​ @shirtlesssammy​]

Okay, now that we have a bit of primer - let’s talk about 12x22.  There’s a lot to unpack in this episode.

Mary has been brainwashed and the boys have been locked in the bunker to die.  After trying magic and pickaxes (shout out to “goggles? goggles.”), Dean realizes it is time. Time to tear down his big concrete wall with something, "Big, Beautiful, and Dumb" regardless of what the British lady in the bunker says, and he's getting no more resistance from Sam.

"I have had this thing for so long, I have been waiting for the *perfect* moment to use this."

We've been seeing the grenade launcher for 12 seasons, and in how many episodes and they just happen to have Dean finally use it to break OUT by breaking DOWN walls in an episode titled ‘WHO WE ARE’?!  

Having torn down that wall with the grenade launcher, it becomes time to deal with other, less physical ones.  There are British Men of Letters to fight, Mary is still brainwashed, and there is no magical shortcut that is going to cut through. In a display of how far the characters have come, Sam is becoming a leader in a fight he originally wanted no part in [which the show will drop over and over for no reason] and Dean, well this one’s about Dean for me.

Dean fucked up his leg coming out ... of the bunker, I mean. Finally using the grenade launcher, it hurt, but it didn’t kill him.  An earlier Dean would have joined the fight at the men of letters compound anyway, prepared to die in a blaze of glory.  However, Dean has changed.  Instead he recognizes that going into a fight right now would be idiotic and he stays behind to fight with EMOTIONS instead of brawn.  It’s okay to Dean, and even his idea, to not go into the ‘manly’ fight.  Dean has become secure in himself enough to volunteer to go into the battle that requires being open and honest about feelings.  He initiates the hug and feelings talk with Sam, (only undercutting a lil with a classic 'bitch' 'jerk' call response). No chick flick moments indeed. 

So Dean and Sam hug, Sam promises Dean he’ll come back, and we move on to the most important scene in the episode. Dean has broken through mind control with feelings before, with Cas in season 8 episode 17 when we had the infamous ‘We need you. I need you’ moment (though apparently Jensen Dean  was still guarded enough that this was not an ‘I love you’.) but this time Dean goes into Mary’s psyche; Mary who has been a stand in all season for who Dean was emotionally before his character growth.

The viewer is expecting some big declaration of love, that’s how dean broke through last time.  But no. That’s not what we get. 

Dean finally lets out his true feelings. About his childhood. About John. About Mary’s death.  About everything that has ever happened to Sam. The walls are coming down.   Dean is honest with someone about the resentment he feels (which should be directed at John) about the responsibility that was put on him as a child.   In sharp contrast to his reaction to Mary’s guilt at the beginning of the season, of Dean as the perpetual caretaker, now Dean gets to acknowledge his own feelings, that he does blame Mary and her deal for what they went through.  Watch this scene.  He hates her and he loves her. okay. 

Yes, Dean got to use the grenade launcher, but it wasn’t in a climax of some epic battle.  It was in the ramp up - the beginning of an episode.

No, the climax of the episode was Dean comin to terms with feelings the character has had since season one.   We’ve been looking at this grenade launcher for 12 years, but we’ve been witnessing Dean’s feelings here for just as long & Dean takes his emotional predecessor, Mary, along with him. 

I will skip past the fight scene between him and ketch - which is actually impressive given the horse tranquilizer he’d been given.  Instead, I want to get to 12x23, to his reunion with Castiel. 

Dean has used the grenade launcher. Dean has accepted himself and admitted something to himself that you can’t even really see until you look back at this episode’s placement retrospectively.  Dean is no longer trying to fight with Castiel, he just wants to help him.  Castiel heals Dean’s major knee injury and Dean, well we get an interesting jacting joice: 

in fact, the moment continues with a lil half smile and Dean looking down and checking his knee, I’m just having trouble getting a gif or a video to make one from.  Throughout the entire episode Cas routinely addresses Dean specifically despite being in a group at all times. Cas later makes a run at Lucifer and Sam wrestles a yelling concerned Dean away and back through the rift, just as Dean wrestled him away from Jess in the pilot.

At the end of this episode Cas is killed in front of Dean, who for the first time doesn't continue on in the fight, instead dropping to his knees. This all flows right into Dean’s intense season 13 widower arc.   Dean feels Cas’s death in a way we have never seen him grieve before. 

Ho.ly.Shit.

"Who We Are". 

It gets another use later in the series in the same episode where Dean also wears a live action version of the pink sleeping gown he wore in scoobynatural, but we’ll get to that later.

[hopelesshawks]

History of Us Part 12- Your Mother's Daughter

Summary: Once upon a time Todoroki and (y/n) were best friends. Now they haven’t spoken in years. When (y/n) is forced to transfer to UA, will she and Shoto reconnect or will their troubled past keep them apart? A childhood friends to enemies to lovers hybrid fic.

If you don’t want to see History of Us content blacklist #hopelesshou

Warning for canon typical violence

Masterlist Kofi

Bakugo’s text apology, believe it or not, was more eloquent than the one he offers in person but you appreciate the gesture and the brief hug he gives you when he realizes you’ve been crying. “It’s fine dumbass, you made it to the finals now just give it your all,” he huffs. Kirishima also pulls you into a hug, much longer than the one Bakugo had given you, and spends the whole time giving you a motivational speech about how incredibly cool and manly you are and how sure he is that you’ll do even better in the finals. You really are lucky to have the friends that you do. Especially since you anticipate the crowd is about to sour towards you.

All too quickly it’s time to return to the stadium where Principle Nezu is waiting on a raised platform with a box filled with slips of paper with bracket placements on them. The energy in the stadium is electric as the crowd anxiously waits to see what the bracket will be. It’s different than with the first years, where everyone’s an unknown. The crowd recognizes most of the names now from news reports and hero rescues. Dyed hair could only hide you for so long. “We will now call up the finalists one at a time to draw lots for the bracket!” Nezu announces. One by one you hear others around you getting called up. Bakugo, Midoriya, Shoto, Kirishima, Yaoyorozu, Denki, Sero, Hitoshi Shinso, Neito Monoma, Tokoyami, Iida, Uraraka, Jiro, Ibara Shiozaki and Itsuka Kendo all get called to roaring cheers and applause. That’s 15 names. The little fucking rodent had left you for last. Probably likes the idea of the dramatic reveal. “And last but not least, our 16th finalist (y/n) (y/l/n)!” Nezu calls and it’s like the air is sucked from the room as the crowd gets quiet and then starts murmuring to themselves. You keep your head held high as you walk to the stage even as you notice some of your classmates staring at you and the members of class b whispering. You take the last remaining lot with your head held high, throwing a wink at a nearby camera to further show them their displeasure won’t deter you.

You feel the stares of your classmates as you walk back down the stage. It’s them you really care about in all honesty. 3A had been nothing but kind to you since your arrival and it would hurt a little for their friendship to sour (you’re definitely not thinking about someone in particular at that statement) but before anyone can say anything Bakugo and Kirishima are standing next to you protectively. Kirishima links his arm through yours. “Come on, let’s head to the stands while we wait for them to start the first match,” Kiri grins at you. You give him a grateful smile and are pleasantly surprised when the rest of class a seems to fall in line behind you. None of them look at you any differently, there’s no shift in the atmosphere or added tension. Even as you can feel the glares of the crowd on your back, your new friends shield you from it until you’re in the safety of the tunnel and heading up to the stands.

“You and (y/n) stopped talking about 10 years ago right?” Midoriya asks Shoto as they walk at the back of the pack of class A students. “Yes,” Shoto confirms. “So that’s about when Black Storm was-“ “Yes.” “So Endeavor made you stop talking to her so you wouldn’t be associated with Black Storm.” “Basically.” “Jesus.” Midoriya places a reassuring hand on his friend’s shoulder. Shoto briefly acknowledges the gesture but says nothing as everyone settles into their seats. Nezu then begins to explain the rules of the last game. It’s essentially a wrestling match, the whole stadium is fair game and you win if you can pin your opponent for five seconds or completely immobilize them. Injuries are fine but take it too far and Eraserhead and Cementoss will shut it down. You nod along as the bracket is projected onto the monitors. Your first round is with the Neito Monoma kid, you don’t know much about him, just that the mere mention of his name has Bakugo growling “You better beat that fucking extra.” “Like I’d get eliminated in the first round,” you scoff back, confidence starting to build again as your classmates continue to support you.

You feel a tap on your shoulder and turn to see a guy with a large shock of purple hair and bags for days under his eyes leaning down to wave at you. You hear Denki yelp and nearly fall out of his chair nearby but ignore it. “(Y/l/n) huh?” he asks, a slight smile. “Yea. Problem with that?” you ask. “Not at all. Villain quirks gotta stick together right?” he smirks as he offers his hand. “I’m only half villain quirk but sure,” you smirk but then you freeze, eyes glazing over before you can reach to take his hand. He smirks back at you as your hand moves to shake his without your permission. You find yourself reaching for your phone, it unlocking once it recognizes your face, and then going to your contacts before plugging in a new number. You snap back to awareness a little stunned, looking between the new contact in your phone and the baffling boy with the mind control quirk who’s currently walking away. “If you wanted my number you could’ve just asked like a normal person!” you call after him. Unbeknownst to you, Shoto watches the entire interaction with barely concealed jealousy.

It’s not long before it’s finally time for your first match. The others had briefed you on Monoma’s quirk, warning you about his copying ability. “Can he copy a quirk if he doesn’t know you have it?” you ask curiously. “I don’t know actually. Most people don’t have two quirks you know, although I don’t necessarily see how it would help?” Kirishima offers with a shrug, having already made it through his first round and into the table of 8. “Trust me, I have a game plan,” you assure him. “See you guys on the other side,” you tell him as you walk down to the tunnel to wait for them to announce your entrance. “And on our left, here she comes. Ready to blaze her own trail and show the whole world that she is more than her name, it’s (y/n) (y/l/n)!” Present Mic’s voice booms over the loud speaker as you walk into the stadium properly. The crowd boos and you must admit it stings a little but you aren’t entirely unaccustomed to the negative attention. Your eyes wander over to the section where your friends are. Bakugo gives you a nod as Denki, Sero, Kirishima, Mina, and Jiro scream and cheer for you, their bodies half over the railing. They can’t drown out the rest of the stadium but they’re trying to and that warms your heart. You grin at them before locking eyes back on your opponent, stepping up to the start point they’ve indicated. “START!” Present Mic’s voice booms and immediately you lunge forward, drawing shadows into your palm before pushing them forward to race towards Monoma.

You’re not shocked when Monoma counters with shadows of his own, knocking yours away, but you can’t help but grin when you notice he’s producing shadows from both of his palms instead of just one. “I should’ve recognized you had Daddy’s quirk the minute I saw you during the qualifying rounds,” Monoma needles and you know he’s just trying to get a rise out of you but you can’t help how your temper starts to flare. He may be using your quirk but he’s clumsier with it, the result of picking it up for the first time now versus your years and years of experience. You send forward another burst of shadows making sure to get your left hand caught in the blast so it looks like both are doing the work. As Monoma clumsily sends forward his own to redirect yours you close the distance in, sweeping his legs out from underneath him. He quickly rolls before you can try to pin him down and you just barely manage to dodge the kick he’d aimed at you in retaliation. “You were there weren’t you? The day your father went rogue,” he taunts. You suck in a harsh breath allowing him an opportunity to lash out at you again and you wince a little at the sharp sting it leaves on your cheek where he’d managed to cut you with your own quirk. Your first instinct is to heal it but you hold off. Not yet. It’s not time to reveal your hand yet. “How the fuck do you know that?” you grit out before lashing out at him harder and faster. He extends both palms out, shadows flying forward to counter your own and as his hands retract you can see black crawling up his arms. Good. Your plan is working. “Oh the little daddy daughter field trip was all over the news sweetheart, we all know you were there to watch the carnage. Why do you think no one trusts you?” Monoma taunts. He fires off both palms again but this time instead of dispersing the shadows you raise both your hands, again feigning that both are doing the work, you push back against his, the shadowy energy growing and growing as you’re both slowly pushed backwards by the force of it. You hold strong though even as more and more black veins crawl up your right arm and your forearm begins to burn with the pain. You can hear Monoma grunting in pain on the other side so you kick it up a notch, fighting through your own pain until finally he breaks. He releases with a gasp, hunching forward with the pain. He looks up expecting to see you in a similar state but instead he finds you glowing as you stride towards him, the black veins rapidly fading as the light you radiate chases them back. Once you're in front of him he barely has any time to react before you deck him across the face, knocking him to the ground. You put one foot on his chest to keep him down, increasing the strength of your healing quirk just so that you’ll glow a little more brightly as you lean down to look him directly in the eye. “I may be my father’s daughter,” you start as the monitor counts down five seconds, “but I’m also my mother’s.”

The countdown finishes and an airhorn blares to signal your victory. You turn away from him, leaving him gaping at you like a fish on the ground as you walk back to the tunnel. The booing of the crowd that follows you out is music to your ears.

As far as you’re concerned? They can die mad about it.

A/N: Ngl I made Shinso so smooth in this one I was like alternate route? 💀 But n o lmao this is Shoto’s fic. OH ALSO we got even more about what happened when (y/n) was 8! I love mixing in her lore, I've actually had the very basic idea for her backstory and potentially where I’m going to take this fic after the sports festival arc since when I first started watching the show. The fight with Monoma in particular has been plotted out literally since I watched the final exam arc I think back when I was primarily a Todoroki simp oop so it's been really fun for me to get to write it here considering I never thought it would be a concept that left my head.

Taglist: @sorrythatspussynal @miss-bakugo-writes @pixelwisp @larkspyrr @sokkaandzukosimp @akkaso @sunaispretty @mindofess @todoplusultra @oliviasslut

[dragonblobz]

INJURIES PT 3

After a billion years HERE IT IS...... another non smutty installment of the request made by @lilfriezatyrant 🤣 I swear there will eventually be smut. I'm just enjoying this too much. Wrote this to Battle Cry by Imagine Dragons

The cot creaks and shifts as you try to lay next to him as gently as possible on your side facing him. He’s not that large, but the cot isn’t either, and as you relax, the middle of the thing sinks, causing your body to drift along the side of him.

His leg is very cool on your leg. His tail flicks the cover over you sloppily. You shiver and reach down to adjust this blanket more smoothly, trying to be discreet about moving your leg away from his. But your movement just makes the cot sag more and you slide even closer. He chuckles amiably.

“I’ll not scald you, (Y/N). In fact…..” His tail slips between the cover and your shirt to press you into his body. It’s cold enough to be felt even thru the fabric of your shirt. “…… Get over here. Your body heat is pleasant.”

You place your palms together and slip your hands under your cheek, just looking at his darkened profile. His hands are still behind his head. Your face is practically in his armpit. If he were a sweaty human, you’d probably be able to smell it. As it is, you can smell him, but it’s not body odor. At least, not human body odor. The smell reminds you of that time your biology instructor had allowed you to hold the boa from the classroom terrarium. Reptilian. Only sweeter. Almost too sweet.

His eyes are closed. There’s just enough dim firelight that you can see the side of his mouth twisted in a smirk.

Your eyes wander up to look at the crystal that seems to just be his cranium. And it’s really pretty right now, the firelight casts orange fairy like flashes in it’s amethyst depths. Like angels among galaxies. Very beautiful.

These little flecks shift as his face turns and those burning red pupils are exposed as his large eyes open. The smirk is still affixed to his mouth and it belies the irritation in his voice.

“Are you going to sleep? Or just look at me all night?”

“Both.” Your own voice is tart and you blush at being had.

His smirk morphs into a full on closed lipped grin as one of his smooth brows raises.

“Oh? And here I was, assuming that you were cold and tired. Shame on me.” The sarcasm is thick.

You don’t say anything. Just squeeze your eyes shut and try to sleep.

Eventually, your body heat pools under the blanket. And it’s the undoing of your consciousness as you gradually fall into dreams.

………………………………………..

It’s some bird that wakes you up this morning. A gentle rhythmic tweeting that is just harsh enough to gradually rouse you from slumber.

The first thing you register as your eyes open is his sleeping face. Pointed skyward, his face looks as innocent as when you’d scraped him off the charred remains of the forest floor 2 days ago.

The low cool toned light of pre dawn thru the walls of your tent casts blue flickers on that purple cranium. He’s really very pretty.

You’ve got a fairly silly sleepy smile on your face as you realize the exact nature of your body placement.

You can feel the cold hardness of that purple spot on his shoulder upon your cheek. You’re so fucking close that when your gaze travels down, you can see the definition of the musculature and venous structures of his neck.

Your arm is draped over his chest, your fingertips pressed into that purple stone like spot on his chest. And, most shameful of all, your leg is across his body, the flesh of your thigh almost directly over his groin.

You are literal stone. Cannot move. Cannot even breathe.

Fuckshitfuckshit.

You’re pretty sure that, should you try to extricate yourself from him, you’ll wake him. So you just lay like this.

He hasn’t moved one iota. Is still in the exact position as the previous evening. Arms still crossed behind his head. The only notable difference is that his tail is completely wrapped around your abdomen. Twice. And absolutely under your shirt. The strange texture of it doesn’t feel as cold as it had the night before. Perhaps your body heat really DOES help.

After a time, you finally move. But just your head. You look down at the hand on his chest. You watch your own fingertips curl and press into that icy purple spot.

“Just touch me, (Y/N). I grow weary of your hesitation.”

You nearly jump entirely out of your skin.

His eyes remain closed. Face relaxed, save a the barest hints of a smirk, which you can barely see out of the corner of your eye.

“No…… no that’s okay. Really, I should get up and check your wounds.”

You sit up, remove your hand from him. But you don’t get far.

His tail constricts slightly underneath your shirt. An uncomfortable warning. He still hasn’t moved. But his mouth twists into a sneer.

“My injuries will wait. I’m getting rather tired of your impulsive tendency to ignore my good will.”

One hand leaves his cranium and, upon the movement, you notice that the wound upon his head has completely vanished. Geez…… this guy heals FAST. And his eyes are still closed.

This hand slowly reaches for your arm. The movement is easy to predict. Purposeful. You know just what he’s going to do. And you do nothing to stop him.

His cool fingers wrap around your wrist and pull your hand, just as slowly……. Almost inexorably……… grip as firm as a vice, back to that icy purple spot on his chest. And he holds it there.

His eyes finally open, and he gazes at you. His face is unreadable for a moment before he grins at you impishly.

“There. Look at that! Your hand is still intact.” Mirthful chuckles. You blush and scowl at him. But his eyes almost twinkle with his merriment at your discomfort before he continues.

“Now. Satisfy your infernal curiosity so that we can get along with this day.” His fingers gradually loosen their grip. As if he’s waiting for you to yank your hand from him.

You don’t. And so his hand returns to its twin to cradle his head.

It is strange. Such unmitigated access to an alien being. You simply rest your hand upon him. It’s not like you haven’t touched him. You’d cleaned him up that very first day. But, other than a curious touch to his face, that had been very business like. Just cleaning up an injured beast.

But this beast is very much conscious now. Very much awake. And very much aware of every movement you’re making.

You sit up straighter and place your other hand upon his belly. It quivers slightly under your touch before relaxing. Instinctive. But he remains motionless.

You run your palms along his abdomen. His skin is cool along his belly, but warm where your leg had been laying a few minutes ago. You notice his large toes flexing at the bottom of the makeshift brace sticking out of the cover.

Your hands reach the blanket, bunched at his hips. You blush and run them quickly back up to his chest. He chuckles again but doesn’t speak.

You can feel the delicate texture of his skin. Can see the luminescence even in the low light, shifting around your fingers as you prod now into his pectorals around that amethyst splotch. He’s really very muscular for such a slender thing. You can feel the firm flesh underneath that skin.

Your focusing so hard on this as your fingertips trail up to his neck that you don’t notice how intense his gaze is upon you. At least, not until you think about touching his face, until you look. You hesitate. He says nothing.

You pull your hands away and, so fast that you never actually SEE him move, his fingers are, once again, wrapped around your wrist. But, oddly enough, you’re not startled at all.

You hand is frozen mid air, his grip a pale manacle. You look at it. Notice how glossy his nails are. Like obsidian. And bring your other hand up to trace the delicate looking bone structure of this hand around your wrist.

He then pulls again, just as slowly. But this time he does not pull your hand to his chest. It is the same as before. You know exactly what he’s going to do. And just as the last time, you do not resist as he presses your palm to his jaw. His crimson eyes study you. Your mind conjures a momentary hysterical image of a child patting a dragon. You suppose that this is just what you are.

His hand continues to hold yours to his face. And you bring your other hand up to match this touch on the other side. And there you are. Cupping the face of an alien. His lips are a thin line as he speaks.

“Your hands are warm. Your touch is pleasant. You have the hands of a true healer.”

You rub your thumbs along the corners of his dark lips. You can feel the tendons of his face move as he speaks again.

“I cannot recall, but I feel as if this is something I would not normally allow anyone to do.” He smirks again. “Do you feel honored, (Y/N)? You SHOULD feel so.”

Your face is relaxed and smooth with awe. This is all just so surreal. Maybe you’re still asleep? Well….. if this is a dream…..

“Yes. I think I am.” Your words are a dry croak. His smirk deepens.

“Well, if that curiosity is quite satisfied, I think I am ready to allow you to examine…….”

He doesn’t get a chance to finish as you throw caution to the wind, lean forward, and kiss him.

[nebraska-is-a-myth]

Mourn the living, raise the dead - Part 8

Sorry for such a long wait for this chapter, please don't kill me

Masterlist

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Tommy has had to do a lot of mourning in his short time on earth. For years he mourned the loss of a mother he never met, and the normal life he never had. After that he mourned the loss of friends and family when his father took him halfway across the world to live in some shitty American apartment, which eventually led to the mourning of his dad. Killed in a car accident and leaving Tommy orphaned at the age of 11. He mourned every single failed foster placement until he eventually found solace in the shadow of Technoblades power and willingness to let scrawny little 15 year old Tommy into his life. But good things don't like Tommy. They let him think that maybe this time it will be better, and then everything crumbles before him and he's back to square one. Alone. Another piece of his heart breaking from the hurt. So when he was forced to mourn Technoblade, Tommy had given up any hope that happiness would find him again. Even when Dream took him in and proved to him time and time and again that he wouldn't leave him, Tommy never really let himself be happy in fear of losing everything all over again. But something inside him changed when he met Tubbo. Tubbo was sweet and kind and chose Tommy over everyone else and he never could quite comprehend why someone like Tubbo would choose someone like him. Countless times Tommy had kept on trying to distance himself from the other boy, but every time Tommy was in a bad mood or tried to push him away, Tubbo always seemed to find him with a hug and a smile (and all the proper tools to cause some chaos, weather that be hotwiring a car or setting an abandoned house on fire, where there was a Tubbo, there was a crime) Tubbo forced himself into Tommy's life and chained himself to Tommy. Physically and metaphorically. So over time, Tommy learnt that maybe letting people in wasn't so bad after all. Wilbur, Fundy and Eret came into his life all at once and one by one they all became his family. Something Tommy never thought he would have in this life. He felt loved for the first time since he moved out of his home town, and maybe he would be okay with everything that had happened in his life if it meant it would lead him to this point. 

Mourning Eret seemed different. 

Tommy felt empty and hollow, like a piece of him had drowned with his friend. Parts of what happened are still blurry to him, but he remembers the pain he felt when he realized Eret would never hold him again. He wouldn't be able to tell him to shut up when he told nonsense stories or chase him around town after stealing something when they were supposed to be out grocery shopping. He wouldn't be able to comfort Tommy after a nightmare or play silly games with him in Wilbur's living room. All he could feel was the pain in his chest and the rasp in his throat after crying into the night. Funnily enough, all his physical injuries were gone. His leg had healed past the need for his crutches almost as if there was never any damage there at all. (“Are you sure you're not in any pain Tommy.” “Yes Will I'm bloody sure now stop poking me”) Mourning Eret felt like a punch to the guy or a black eye, he almost wishes someone would punch him just so he could feel something other than the overwhelming sadness that's taken over him.

Wilbur became his rock in the hours after it happened. First Tommy was mad at the older man after dragging him out of the water, but then Tommy just cried into Wilbur's shoulder and he hasn't really left his side since. He doesn't know whether it's because he doesn't want to be alone, or if he’s afraid that he’s going to lose Wilbur too.

They don't get much time to process everything before everyone is thrown back into the reality that they are still going to war in less than a day. (Tommy barely has time to search the smoldering rubble of Wilbur's office for Erets spare glasses before they’re all called back into training and preparations. The glasses are scratched and a little damaged but Tommy just slips a chain around his neck and wears them proudly around his chest) There isn't time for a proper funeral, not yet. Tommy doesn't really like the idea of having to bury an empty coffin either, so for now the remaining four pay their respects by setting Erets car ablaze. Fundy came up with the idea, sort of reminiscent of a Viking funeral. None of them could bear to sit in it any longer without bursting into tears, so after making the final preparation for their confrontation with dream smp the following day, they all ride out to the beach and park the car on the cool sand. Nobody's left in the city to stop them. Once the sun has set and the stars have come out, Wilbur lights the match and the car goes up in flames before them, along with memories of one of their closest friends. 

They all lie in the sand together for a while, looking up at the night sky and reminiscing about the good times when everything was so much simpler. When Eret was alive. 

“Do you remember Fundys birthday, when we all went bowling and Tommy almost got us arrested?”

“I did not almost get us arrested Tubbo.”

Tommy has his resting against Wilbur's midsection as the older man strokes his fingers through the blonds hair, he feels Wilbur chuckle and he thinks he can almost hear him smile.

“You absolutely almost got us arrested, we practically had to sprint out of that bowling alley.”

“Okay so maybe I shouldn't have thrown myself down one of the lanes, but I needed that strike and Fundy was cheating!”

“I was not cheating, if anyone was cheating it was Eret!”

They don't mean for it to go silent, but the wind steals their conversation every time their friend's name is mentioned. But this time, Tubbo doesn't let it get carried away into the night.

“Do you think he’s up there, looking down on us?”

Wilbur doesn't know how to answer, he continues to stroke his hand through tommy's hair and thinks for a moment. He never really believed in heaven or hell, or the afterlife, just a big vast void of nothingness. But as he stares up at one of the brightest stars in the sky, he sees the way it sparkles at him, almost as if it's looking down onto his little family of four, protecting them from what's to come. In that moment, every thought about the afterlife leaves him, and all he can focus on, is the way the star looks at him.

“I think, in some way, yeah, he is. He’s also probably shouting at us for destroying his car.”

He hears the other three chuckle and he smiles up at the star.

Wilbur was never any good at science when he was a kid, but he knows that stars don't just disappear. He knows that stars can fizzle out, and they can burn for over hundreds of years, but they're always there. He finds comfort in knowing that if he ever misses his friend, he can just look up at the stars and everything will be alright.

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The next day the remainder of L’manburg stands tall against the leaders of the dream smp on the outskirts of the city. Sapnap is standing with a gun already in his hands to greet them and Tommy can hear Tubbo swallow his fear. Tommy can feel Dreams eyes on him the second he comes into eyeshot, but Tommy's face remains impartial to the older man. George sniggers when he sees Tommy wearing the ugliest looking sunglasses and almost makes a joke about the boy stealing his brand, but Dream beats him to it.

“Gentlemen, have you made your choice.”

Dream hopes with all his heart that they choose defeat. He doesn't want to fight l’manburg for power or land or money, he wants to run away with his tail between his legs if it means he doesn't have to raise his gun at any of them. But George and sapnap are twisting his arm behind his back, if he doesn't do this then he’ll be kicked from the top spot in the food chain. And even though he doesn't care for social hierarchy, if George or sapnap were in charge, chaos and death would flood through the city. He doesn't want to fight Tommy, or Wilbur, or anyone for that matter, but if it means sapnap or George wont gun them down without a second though, he will pretend that fighting them is what he wants.

“You have taken everything from us dream, even when we thought we had nothing left you took our oxygen and you left us to suffocate. If it means laying down our lives today for independence, then so be it. But that blood will be on your hands.”

Dream wants to stop this, to stop everything now before it's too late. But he sees the fire burning in sapnaps eyes and his throat goes dry.

“How does it feel by the way, does Erets death feel good on your conscious Dream.”

George lets out a high pitch laugh and even sapnap seems to crack a smile.

“Its not fucking funny you-”

“Not now Tommy.”

Wilbur silences Tommy and turns back to the masked man.

“Independence, or death. You chose dream.”

Sapnap steps forwards and points his gun at fundys face.

“Well if you insist.”

Dream raises his hand and sapnap lowers his weapon, disappointment clearly hung across his face.

“Before all that nonsense, do you mind if we call in one more person, wouldn't want it to be an unfair fight now would we.”

As George finishes speaking a red sports car comes revving into view from behind the dream team, Wilbur wants to vomit at how George looks excited by it all. When the car stops just behind the trio, the team watches the driver's side open and sees Punz step out of the car. Wilbur finds it strange how he doesn't seem to be carrying any weapon, and he clearly lacks the same body armor as the rest of his team.

That is until the passenger door opens.

And Eret steps out of the car.

[purkinje-effect]

Asking for Trouble

Cait gets a terrible first impression of Melancholy, my Sole.

This blurb has sat in my drafts for a few years now, and I decided to polish it up and finish the thought. Not sure if the encounter will be canon to Anatomy, but it’s here nonetheless. (For those curious to timeline placement, we’ll say this is roughly after the Park Street Station stuff in Fourth Instar, and sometime after his falling out with Mac.)

TWs: Heavy angst, injury and death, drug use and alcohol, explicit description of drug side effects, and violence-baiting.

Cross-posted on AO3 here if you’d rather. Likes, comments, kudos, etc. are all greatly, greatly appreciated.

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Someone at the Dugout Inn had mentioned this place. ‘Choly had come here with a vague recollection that the Combat Zone had once paraded skin. It only served to live up to its name now without any innuendo. Observing a little violence could be cathartic, too, and damn, if he couldn’t use some catharsis after his myriad missteps in Goodneighbor. All his life a spectator, vicarious in every regard.

He belonged here far before Goodneighbor or Diamond City, regardless of looking the part. Who could say a quavering, grey little man wearing a white three piece suit over head-to-toe leather orthotic braces didn’t fit right in among these earthly, physical misfits? He certainly couldn’t see any hackneyed political messes or territory wars erupting here: only people blowing off steam any way they could find it.

He couldn’t entirely say he minded that Angel’s compulsive cleaning habits almost always nettled the Hister Handy into picking up after social locations like this burlesque theater which now showcased cage fights. The possibility any of these raiders might hack it almost avoided him altogether, since he seemed like the only one with a Pip-Boy with which to do so. Such a worry would stick with him long-term after what he’d seen the Rust Devils do to Lowell.

His mind sang praises that Angel had allowed him to resume adding alkaloids to his meal replacement beverage, the Melancholia. Hubeine gave him negligible trouble compared to other options.

The fight unfolding before him was the billed spectacle for the night: for one hour, plus implicit encores, Cait would take down any body foolish enough to step foot into the cage to fistfight her unarmed. He swirled at some bourbon in a shot glass, from his bar seat to one side of the stage. His cataract eyes raised as he watched her continue through the athletic redhead’s performance. Somehow she managed restraint just shy of lethal blows, despite her precision and brute force. Any composure belied the depth of her murderous and bottomless rage. Glassy and lugubrious, he followed her bared teeth and retracted lips, her unblinking eyes, her adrenaline-wired and overworked musculature, her leaden instinctual footwork.

Despite having knocked out seven opponents in twenty minutes already, she wore more of their blood than they did.

In every mannerism, he recognized his enlisted in her. He stopped sipping at his liquor and threw the glass back, only to refill it.

Cait danced with the eighth opponent for about a minute before things escalated. The burly, hairy man pulled a switchblade on her, and managed to gouge her in the arm. In the physical sense, it didn’t faze her. In the mental sense, it had shattered the sanctity of her performance. She roared at him and lunged to sink her teeth into his face.

The crowd exploded. Her ghoul manager stepped in and attempted to stop the match-up, but he knew better than to get between her and the fool. She refused first aid, intent to fuck the guy up. The man kept his distance from her, knife still drawn, clutching at his gushing cheek. she voiced her displeasure to her manager, and he seemed to walk away and leave her again to her opponent... Only to bring her a baseball bat. A bloodied grin ripped across her face as she choked up on it like a familiar friend.

‘Choly smiled quaintly, head askew. The ghoul knew that the crowd demanded results--and more importantly, he knew that the crowd needed to see the consequences of forsaking what little honor they agreed upon in this dive.

She slugged him in the head. As he fell over, she proceeded to beat the shit out of him. The resultant din deafened much how ‘Choly might imagine Fenway Park during the World Series. Not that baseball had been his druthers. God, he wished that had been him on the receiving end. Between her hair, her leather corset, and the carnage, red was so very much her color. Head to toe, she was rage incarnate.

No one wanted to challenge her after that, especially not if they had to step around the bloody mess she’d splattered across the stage.

Time blurred a bit in ‘Choly’s shot glass. The next he looked up, he realized the champion sat beside him to drown herself in a fifth of vodka straight from the bottle. He straightened as coolly as he could, shifting to watch her. He adjusted his half-moon glasses, but could otherwise not obfuscate his alarm. He couldn’t leave alone the familiarity of the untethered ferocity with which she carried herself.

“Forgive me if this is forward of me, but I will get you any chems you want, if you will swear off cyclomorphine. The Psycho.”

“Bull shit,” came a potent Irish twang. She slammed down the bottle. Beneath the indignity in her glower, a tinge of fear felt more like the pressure of desperation. “You suggestin’ I couldn’t possibly fight as well as I do, weren’t I doped up? Your stupid mug hasn’t been here before. I’d remember. Who the hell do you think you are, to go around insultin’ the talent?”

His heart begged hot for her to retaliate. His gloved fingers tapped gingerly at the barely varnished countertop.

“I mean it. Name it. Med-X. Calmex. Anything but Psycho. I’ll even get dirty and brew you the most potent Jet you’ve ever had, if what you really need is escapism and not a low. CM isn’t a chem. It’s a death sentence. And... even if that’s the desired end result, that’s just about as gruesome and painful as it gets.”

She swiveled on the bar stool, resting both hands squarely on her spread knees. Her dead gaze bored through him.

“The fuck do you care so much about this wild theory of yours? You go around cold readin’ everybody’s vices tryin’ to hock your snake oil? Some salesman you are. You’ve got the Charisma of a Mirelurk egg that’s been in the sun.”

He raised his hands in defense, and then said what he meant sooner than meaning what he said.

“I’m not trying to sell you anything. I keep trying to offer solutions to the people I’ve hurt with my life choices, fix the damage rather than enterprise on it. Please let me get you chasing a different devil. Anything but that.”

“You’ve never met me in your life, and I don’t know your name or face from a Molerat in the floorboards. Don’t you try and bullshit me into believing you’re capable of fixing what ails me--and don’t you dare try to take credit for anyone that’s wronged me.”

“I’m the reason Psycho exists in the quantities it does in the Commonwealth. So yes, your pain IS my fault, at least part--”

His jaw seared. ‘Choly found himself sprawled in the floor. He felt around for his glasses, and as they returned to his face, he smiled up at her imploringly from where she stood over him. She cracked her knuckles sourly.

“I don’t have time for this nonsense. Tryin’ t’say I’m the one’s got a chem problem. What color is the sky for you? Forget you.”

Her hard exterior began to show signs of crumblign, in a series of stifled tics, most noticeably a corner of her mouth and the same ear. He could only begin to speculate to what exactly it was she’d taken exception, but he had to keep her attention, hold her contempt. Charm had never come naturally to him, so instead he had to sound the part of insisting at all costs that he was right.

“--Fine, you don’t want to quit. That’s a choice, too. I’ll make however much Psycho you want. You want to go out like that, I can help you with that. But I want you to know just exactly what that death looks like. Abscessed injection sites. Your gums and cuticles bleed. Your tear ducts bleed. It weakens all your capillaries, the tiniest blood vessels in your body. Internal bleeding. Organ deterioration. The numbness doesn’t turn off the pain--it only makes it so you don’t care. Is the anger easier than the hurt? If that’s how you want to go out, I’m not in any position to question it. But you might as well have an expert supplying you with it.”

Rather than help him up, she bore a heel down on his right hand. With an anxious chuckle, he winced, but welcomed being pinned in place. She glared down at him, seething. She didn’t want to hear another word from him, but she had to. Something about him surely sounded more deranged than intoxicated, and it threatened to haunt her.

“Do you know why cyclomorphine exists?” he continued, breath stuttering all the while. “Do you know what it is? Of course not. It was a prewar chemical--I can’t even comfortably endear it a chem--that the military developed so its soldiers no longer felt injury or fatigue. They endeavored to engineer soldiers who wouldn’t quit when hurt, even fatally. And it was only one of a dozen projects of its kind, to exploit the different aspects of human limits. Nothing human came from refining Psycho. It destroys something fundamental to a sense of humanity. The perfect formula didn’t concern itself with whether the patient came back in one piece, or alive at all. The Deenwood Project wasn’t poetic, wasn’t artistic, didn’t make a single beautiful thing. The fact that CM fell into paramilitary use after my tenure ended with the Army... and the fact it now as a result flows freely throughout the country as holdovers from... from the police attempting to keep the peace through intense and consistent violence... The fact is, I’m one of the chemists responsible for cyclomorphine’s end product. Responsible for it being one of the devices of America’s victory at Anchorage... So yes, yes I am. Responsible for what ails you. You’re civilian collateral of the United States Army.”

Her posture shifted slowly from anger to bitterness. She ground her heel into his palm. He pretended the token of her grief got through the reinforced officer’s glove.

“It’s not my place to question the source of your pain, and it’s not my place to insist that I be the one to take it away. I simply know that no matter how great the pain you’re in... Psycho dissolves parts of you, every time you use it to numb you. It begins physically, then advances to spiritually. It robs you of who you are.”

“That’s just the thing. I can’t handle bein’ me. This is the only part I’m fit to play. Besides, Tommy only cares if his juggernaut brings in the caps. I’m beholden to a contract. And the way I see it, you’re tryin’ to come between a man and his money, pokin’ around where your nose doesn’t belong! You’re lucky we’re out here and not in the cage, creep. Either I’m paid to beat your arse, or you’re askin’ to get blackballed.”

He sighed dreamily up at her, almost regretting that she let up on his hand. She drew her fists when his hand went to the lining pocket of his vest, but he chuckled producing a sack of caps.

“I thought you’d never ask. I admire one who rests their agency in someone else’s hands--or pockets, as it were. Surely, this is to the tune of you doing the honors. Add a black eye to the busted jaw. Tack on whatever you like. Ladies’ choice.”

She snatched the sack from him, frowning incredulously.

“What kind of sick flirting game is this? You tryin’ to buy me into bed? I know I’m easy on the eyes, but this isn’t a brothel these days, in case your damaged brain can’t tell the difference.”

He knew he wouldn’t be getting back the sack, but at least he’d tricked her into accepting some fleck of reparations from him.

“How many caps would it take to break your contract? To get you out of here?”

A broken sarcastic laugh crackled out of her. He’d long since surpassed overstepping, having moved on to stepping on toes.

“You’re insane if you think I’d ever want to leave the Combat Zone, especially not on the arm of the likes of you. I’ve got everything I could want here--except right now, not a place without you. You’re the one who needs to lay off the chems. Get your stupid brain-damaged arse out of here before I ask Tommy what I can do with you.”

He whistled for Angel, then retrieved his cane to stand.

“I suppose if you won’t let me help you, obliging you is the least I can do.”

With his Handy by his side, the two left without further question.

On his walk back to Hotel Rexford, he accepted that he’d probably never know the answer, but still he wondered if he had the same or opposite trouble as Cait: Were the two chasing a perpetual numbness, or were they chasing the futility of trying to feel anything again, at any cost?

[atomosphericnonsense]

Just another thought to prevent sleep tonight but let’s consider polynein platonic/romantic soulmate au where you feel a shadow of your soulmates pain just for the drama of it all. All that pain being shared just a fraction between all of them. Like little Veth feeling Yeza’s bruises but one day she get feels a scrape on her knee and goes to bring him flowers or something and he’s not injured??? And the two of them growing into love together with the knowledge that Veth has at least one other soulmate out there. All the phantom pains from Beau and Yashas training The day they all woke up with their fingers aching because Molly spent the night digging himself out of his own grave. For most of them they were really young when Caleb broke, and they all just wept from the emotion of it all and then had nothing else from him until he broke out of the hospital. Caleb barely even recognizing his soulmates’ pains while he was messed up. All the little unfortunate scrapes and hunger pains that fjord had growin up- all those fights he got in. Cad has his fair share of small injuries growing up but once his family left all his soulmates feel his hunger pains. All of the Nein waking up clawing at their throats when Veth is drowned. All the Nein waking up when happens again but to fjord. Jester growing up sheltered in her home coming up with stories for every pang. All of the little cuts that molly had from his class just worrying the rest of them. Yasha and Zuala sharing the pains from their nomadic life and getting married, when Zuala died Yasha felt it bro, and Yashas pain is also the neins. I’d imagine Yasha didn’t think much about the pains she would feel that were neither hers or Zualas. But her and molly figured out fast they were soulmates. With the rest of the Nein it took some time and a bit of denial on all of their parts. During those first few fights there’s so much going on it’s a bit hard to tell who’s pain is who’s. I’d say that both Caleb and nott figured out they were soulmates rather quickly but didn’t talk about it (in classic widobrave lack of communication). They all realize molly is a soulmate rather quickly considering he causes a good portion of his own pain. It basically becomes a trail of “really you too???” Dominos as one by one they see someone get hurt and feel it themselves. I would think it takes them a bit to talk about it, except for Jester- she’d probably be so excited to finally have names for all the scrapes. She’s the first one to go “you guys, who drowned???” During a truth circle or something all excited to finally know about her soulmates. How they all react to the soulmates thing would defo just follow how they reacted to each other. Most of them mistrusting and then becoming protective. I think Molly would have been a bit weird about it. I imagine him squinting at the other members of the Nein like are these my soulmates or whoever was buirieds soulmates?? But he comes around to them all, escpecially with the circus gone and Yasha yashing off. Oh Lordy Yasha alone chasing stroms feeling the battles the Nein are going through and knowing who they are. Knowing that pang in her side was one of them and she wasn’t there. Fuck I am not even going to think of how they all felt when Molly died. Fuck that noise. Especially how Jester and fjord would have felt it from inside the caravan but that Yasha wouldn’t have because she was unconscious. Instead I’m gonna think about how when nott shot beau and Cad felt it in his side he suddenly realized that he had found his soulmates and they’re dumb as heck. He probably wouldn’t tell them about it, wanting to let them realize on their own that they had come to their soulmate for help. Them realizing it during the rescue mission and having no time to process. Jester definitely cried a little when she realized Cad was another soulmate- like she had just lost one only for another to turn up to help save them. Then al trading late night stories behind injuries and Cad asking who was always getting cut everywhere and just silence falling on the group.

Enthusiastic stories about Mollymauk following as they all loop him in to what he was like. Everyone feeling nott take that last hit from the dragon to save Jester. When nott starts going through withdrawals they all get whispers of the headache. The pain and hurt and shared nausea during the revelations at Felderwin when they first arrived. Them all having to deal with the fact that their soulmates and people who keep lots of secrets and people who aren’t necessarily trusting. Having to figure out what their relationships are- oh holy shit them al feeling it everytime someone is knocked unconscious or killed. Them all understanding Notts aversion to the water a bit better because they all felt her drown. Just all of it. Man all of it. It’s like two am and I’ve been awake for so long but I keep thinking of all the implications of soulmate pain. Oh goodness fjord feeling jester start to drown in that temple and not wanting her to know what it actually feels like being apart of his kiss of life. Them all feeling the stab through the chest of molly and then beau and then fjord all identical im placement and just how much it hurts. Them fighting Yasha when she’s under obanns control and feeling it as they do it. When Caleb was charmed and he threw that fireball he felt the flames. When nott shot Yasha. All of the times they’ve been turned against each other. The blood pact between fjord and Caleb being felt across everyone’s hands. The moments where jester was alone that first time in the happy fun ball being absolute torture for the rest as they wait to feel her being hurt. Oh man I need to go to bed. Imagine first though when they rescue Yeza that whole time Jester managed not to tell him that she was one of Veth’s soulmates through sending. She also manages to keep it to herself when first talking to him because she is good at keeping secrets when they really matter. And then when Veth goes in, after a good part of their canonical conversation she goes “honey, you know how we figured I had one other really injury prone soulmate wandering into trees and stuff somewhere out there?” And he’s like “yes of course did you find them?” And she smiles awkwardly and is like “it’s actually seven really injury prone soulmates and most of them are standing in the hall” and he’s just like “ohkay” like that whole exchange would get so much funnier. Just all of Notts secret family would become even more of a bomb drop because of the added wait a mintue you have another soulmate that your married to and have a child with and you’re not actually a goblin??!??! The whole complexity of no one knowing what to do with the information or with Yeza once they rescue him would just intensify.

[dawnrider]

Continuation of Reunion Prompt story for @inukag-week Modern AU

CW: Major character is Deaf, Discussion/descriptions of an assault, Recall/memory/flashbacks

Part 1 | Part 2 |

A shower and a cup of coffee had done wonders for his mood.  Inuyasha felt lighter on his feet, the flowers in his hand bouncing as he made his way down the hall.  To an empty room.  His heart nearly stopped.  She had been there that morning when he left.  She had been fine.  No one had said anything about releasing her...  Grabbing the nearest nurse, he questioned her immediately.  “Where is Kagome Higurashi?”  The woman looked startled, then calmed and gave him an annoyed look.

“They moved her into a private room.  You should have checked with the desk before you came in here,” she scolded him, leading him over to the nurses station so she could give him her new room number.  Fighting down his panic response was more difficult than he'd thought it would be.  Inuyasha huffed out a thanks to the nurse and made his way back to the elevators and pushed the up button, waiting for the doors to open.  When they did, he was shocked to see his brother inside.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded, stepping in beside him and seeing that the floor he needed had already been pressed.

The older youkai eyed his sibling with mild distaste.  “I am here to see Miss Higurashi.”  Inuyasha glowered at him.  He'd been afraid of that.  “Your territory will remain untouched brother.  I simply wish to see for myself the damage done so that my office can properly prosecute the human who dared touch her.”

While he appreciated that Sesshomaru felt as strongly as he did about going after the bastard, he wasn't sure why that merited a visit from the head partner of the firm.  “Isn't that a conflict of interest or something?”

Sesshomaru shot him a dry look.  “If I were to defend the vile creature when I am acquainted with Miss Higurashi, yes.  However,” he waited as a pair of nurses stepped off of the elevator,  “my goal is to protect her rights in case the district attorney is unable.”

“How could he actually get off?  She can identify him.  Hell, her whole office can identify him!”  He barely managed not to crush the flower stems in his hand in his rising frustration.  Sesshomaru tossed his brother a disgusted look.

“I am sure the defense will try a number of ploys, from saying she encouraged his advances to implying she attacked him first.”

“Kagome wouldn't hurt a fly!”

“The jury would not know that.  I have chosen to investigate on my own and offer my assistance to the DA so that nothing is missed.”  The closest thing to an angry growl Inuyasha had heard come out of his stone-cold brother rolled in the inuyoukai's chest.  “I will not allow that filth to get off on a lesser charge.  He will get the full sentence.”

“For once, we can agree.”  The elevator dinged and the brothers just barely managed not to have a childish struggle to get through the doorway at the same time.  Sesshomaru cleared his throat and adjusted his suit while Inuyasha ran his fingers through his hair in an attempt at nonchalance.  They both turned down the hallway and made their way toward Kagome's new room.  Neither one of them noticed the appreciative glances being thrown their way by many of the medical staff, female and male.   'Kagome,' Inuyasha greeted her when he entered her room first.  She smiled at him a little lopsidedly, the part of her mouth which was bruised or split too painful to move.  He held out the flowers for her to see before putting them aside. Inuyasha saw her one good eye widen when his brother followed him in, her gaze flitting to his questioningly.  Her hesitation to greet his brother made him smile.  Her name sign for Sesshomaru - an ‘s’ in the placement and movement of a raised eyebrow - was not exactly polite, but it made them laugh.  His brother wouldn’t appreciate the joke, however.  Since she rarely, if ever, saw Sesshomaru in person and he didn’t know how to sign anyway, she usually tried to speak to him with Inuyasha’s assistance.

“Sesso'aru,” she murmured, her accent on top of the restricted movement of her mouth making it difficult for her to pronounce.  The taller youkai bowed his head slightly.

“I came to assess your injuries and get your story so there are no questions about what happened.”  He pulled a digital camera from his briefcase and a printed sheet of questions.  He was smart to keep an interpreter out of the equation, making sure there were no misinterpretations of the questions being asked of her.  Once the video of her testimony was analyzed, likely by several interpreters at once, they would be able to solidly state her answers to the questions.  

Sesshomaru started with still shots of her face and hands, showing the progression from the initial photos taken when she arrived in the hospital.  Inuyasha didn’t miss the faint rumble of disapproval from his brother when she showed him the bruises on her neck, collarbones and upper arms where the bastard had grabbed her.  He got close-ups of her lip and her eye, where the outlines of knuckles were visible.  “Tank 'ou, fo comin',” Kagome whispered.  Inuyasha murmured what she’d said when his brother couldn’t understand.

“We will make sure this bastard pays for what he has done to you.”  Kagome glanced at Inuyasha for interpretation.  When he was able to convey his brother’s message, she smiled a little.

‘I only want to make sure he can’t hurt anyone else,’ she explained.  Inuyasha hesitated before interpreting, knowing it was in Kagome’s nature, but wanting so desperately to tell his brother something more vengeful.  But distorting what she was saying was unfair to her, and he knew that. A curt nod to her preceded his brother taking his leave. “Yasha,” she sighed. His ears flicked as he turned to her, his shoulders relaxing before he slid into the chair at her bedside. ‘You ok?’ Her nod said yes but her scent and body language said not even close.  ‘I hate that you have to keep reliving it.’

Her mouth twitched in an attempt at a smile. ‘It could have been much worse. Lucky that Ayame and Kouga left the office when they did.’  Inuyasha closed his eyes and swallowed against the bile that rose in his throat at what she wasn’t saying.  Her shirt had been torn in the assault, the waistband of her pants too.  It was obvious what the monster had been trying to get at.  Her strong will to live, how hard she fought him, had kept him at bay long enough that he’d been caught in the act and Kouga had torn him off of her.  Her hand on his let him know she had more to say. ‘They came by this morning.  It was nice to be able to thank them in person.’  He only nodded in response.  Part of him hated that the wolf had been level-headed enough not to kill the bastard outright.  Inuyasha knew, had he been the one there, there would be nothing identifiable left of Bankotsu. Taking her hands in his, he leaned down without thought and kissed her knuckles gently.  Her soft shuddering intake of air perked his ears in her direction, lifting his eyes to hers a moment later.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured, knowing she could read his speech.  She shook her head, squeezing his hands in return.  That she didn’t blame him was so obvious in that simple gesture and it nearly brought tears to his eyes.  If only he could forgive himself so easily.

He sat with her until she fell asleep again, keeping the connection of their hands to help both of them calm down.  Inuyasha watched the morning light on her face, the way it highlighted the bruises just now beginning to turn from red and purple toward yellow and green.  There was little he could do to help her other than be there with her, which frustrated him.  He wanted to solve everything, to heal her immediately, to take her home and hold her.  As it was, he had yet to hug her.  Her injuries, the bruised collarbones and ribs most notably, made it painful for her to accept an embrace like that.  Just holding her hands was a delicate thing.  Inuyasha exercised every iota of restraint in himself to make sure he did not cause her further pain by not being gentle enough. For now, it was enough. Those light, gentle, touches were more than he'd had for months and he would treasure every single one.

***

The room was darker without the light of the moon.  Inuyasha didn’t relish being out tonight, but he didn’t want Kagome to be alone either.  He had come in when it was busy and stuck around until no one was looking.  The nurses wouldn’t be by to check her for another four hours.  He sat at her bedside as she slept, his indigo eyes troubled.  The arraignment had been earlier in the day and the monster who attacked her had friends who posted his bond.  He was under house arrest, but there was no telling what he would do.  Bankotsu wasn’t a top fighter in the local MMA ring for no reason.

“Fucking human night,” he growled to himself.  He turned his clawless hands in the faint light from the monitor at Kagome’s bedside.  If Bankotsu made it here, he might not be able to stop him. Hanyou, he was more than strong enough to protect her.  Human?  “Keh.”

A screech nearly made him leap out of his skin, Inuyasha jumping to his feet and looking around for the source of the noise before he realized it had been Kagome.  Her dark eyes were clouded, terrified, and she was clutching the sheets to her chest.  “No,” she gasped. “‘Eave me a’one.”

With a pang of horror, he understood.  She had woken to a black-haired man in her room in the dark and had instantly been brought back to her attack.  He had put that fear in her eyes. He flicked the light on and raised his hands slowly.  He signed his name sign to her several times until her eyes cleared and she stopped panting in fear.  “Kagome, Kagome.  I’m so sorry,” he whispered, kneeling down to her level and submitting to her.  ‘I didn’t mean to scare you,’ he signed.

‘Human night.  I forgot.’ She touched his head to acknowledge his apology.

They were abruptly interrupted when the nurse came barreling in.  “Who are you?  What are you...”

“It’s ok,” Kagome managed to get out.  “‘E start'ed me.”  The nurse was clearly still suspicious.  Kagome looked at him a second, a clear blush on her cheeks before murmuring, “Thih ih my f’ance.”  Inuyasha fought his immediate reaction to be shocked.  She was obviously trying to get the nurse to let him stay, but having her call him that…

“Are you sure?”  She was searching for any sign that there was anything wrong, that she was under duress.  Kagome nodded and smiled softly.  The nurse left slowly, reminding Kagome she could buzz if she needed anything.

‘Fiance?’ Inuyasha signed with a teasing raised eyebrow.  Kagome flushed hotly and sunk down into her pillows.  ‘I know you just didn’t want her to force me out.’  The half shrug and the intense but fearful look he got in response made him wonder.  Did… was she trying to tell him something?

‘If you don’t want it to be pretend,’ she started, trailing off as if not sure if she should finish.

Inuyasha felt his heart skip a beat.  ‘Really?’

Kagome’s eyes fluttered as she opened her mouth in an unsure gesture.  ‘If you still want me after…’ she looked around the room in frustration.  She jumped when his finger hooked her chin, bringing her eyes to his.

‘Nothing could make me stop wanting you. Least of all, this.’  He waited for the tremulous smile on her lips before gently touching them with his own.  It could barely be called a kiss, but her mouth was still healing. ‘Marry me?’ he pleaded. She sucked in a sharp breath in response, tears coming to her eyes. ‘Be with me. My Mate.’ Her fingertips trailed his mouth, his nose.

‘You will still want this in the morning?’ A fair question.  They both knew how much easier it was for his emotions to get the best of him when he was human, to make statements he might not otherwise make. Not that he didn’t feel those things, just that as a hanyou he was less inclined to share.

‘Yes.  I know you weren’t sure when I asked you before, but my feelings have not changed.  Not at all.’  Her face glowed with her smile, despite the bruises and split lip.  Inuyasha felt tears well in his eyes, mirroring hers.  ‘I love you.’ His hand stayed in the sign for some time to ensure she understood and saw his sincerity.  ‘I’m in love with you,’ he emphasized, ‘that will never change.’

‘I have been in love with you a very long time.’ She sniffed, giggling awkwardly as she had to wipe her nose. 'I love you too, Inuyasha.'

***

Getting her home felt like a huge weight off of his chest.  Until he remembered how poor the security in her building was, how small her actual apartment was.  ‘We can’t stay here,’ he told her decisively.  Kagome only raised an eyebrow at him and walked around him to set her purse down on the cafe table that equated to the dining room in her studio.  He tapped her shoulder to get her attention and gave her a serious look.

‘This is my home, Inuyasha.’

He huffed.  “I know that.  It’s not safe!”  Kagome blinked at him for a moment before a sly smile lit her lips.  Lips which were still healing from the attack.  ‘What?’ he signed with a scowl.

‘You want to protect me.  That’s sweet,’ she told him before tracing a fingertip down the middle of his chest.  He pulled in a shuddering breath, cheeks flushing slightly.

‘There is not enough room either,’ he reminded her, pointedly looking at her full sized bed barely hidden behind a partition opposite the kitchen.  He was no giant, and Kagome was petite, but there was no comfortable way to fit both of them in a full.  Especially when Kagome tended to sleep sprawled on her stomach.

‘I need the alarm.  I won’t make it to work on time…’

“Kagome, you’re not going anywhere near that office for…”  Her scowl gave him pause. He signed what he’d said only to be interrupted by her shaking her head at him. ‘Please. I need you to be safe. I can’t lose you.’  The sincerity in his face, the droop of his ears seemed to be enough to sway her.

“Fi’e!” she huffed. ‘But only for a while. Sango will like the extra help with the kids.’

Inuyasha blinked for a moment as he processed what she was conceding.  ‘No, Kagome,’ he waved her name sign at her.  ‘I want you to stay with me. Not Sango and the pervert.’

“Yasha…” she sighed. It was becoming clear that he wasn't going to budge on this. ‘Fine. I'll get some of my things.’

‘I'll unhook your alarm and you can bring it.’ They parted to attend to their separate tasks in silence. Inuyasha struggled with the under mattress vibrating alarm which was just one of several adaptations she used so she could live on her own. He was familiar with most of them, but he knew that there was still a lot he would need to learn if they were going to be living together. Lessons he was lucky to get the chance to learn. He paused to watch Kagome through the doorway of the bathroom, gathering her toiletries from the medicine cabinet.

He froze when she did, closing the cabinet revealing the mirror. Inuyasha realized that it was the first time she'd really looked at herself in a mirror since being going to the hospital. She had very strictly avoided the one in her hospital room her whole stay. The bruises were just beginning to fade to yellow, the swelling having mostly gone down before they left the hospital. Her dark eyes were wide in her face, taking in the remnants of the damage done. Inuyasha was in motion before his brain registered the need to move. He caught her against him as she trembled, silent tears leaking down her cheeks and soaking into his t-shirt. Softly, he pressed his hands to her back to anchor her until the trembling subsided and she stopped taking such desperate breaths. "Inu… Inu…" she murmured into his shoulder.

He rumbled softly, then more assertively when he noticed the vibration helped calm her scent. She couldn't hear him, but she could feel how he wanted to cocoon her, to protect her from everything. When she finally calmed enough, he loosened his hold. His fingers went to her eyes, gently wiping the stray tears away. 'They will go away,' he reminded her. 'You are beautiful, no matter what, and I am going to make sure that no one ever hurts you again.'

It was a steep promise, but one she knew Inuyasha would die trying to uphold. 'Thank you.' She sighed out the last of her upset. 'I am happy you came back. That we can be together. I… I missed you.'

'I missed you too, Kagome. You have no idea how much.' She flashed him a smile. 'Ok, maybe you do have an idea.' Her laughter lightened the weight on his chest, filled his heart. He couldn't resist capturing that laughter within himself, leaning down to catch her lips with his and softly pulling her up against him. She hummed a laugh while accepting his kiss and Inuyasha grinned before letting his own chuckle escape. That easy laughter, the way she made him smile… out of anything, that's what he had missed the most. 'You're never getting rid of me,' he told her with a serious look.

Kagome laughed again. 'Don't want to,' she signed before tapping the end of his nose with her finger.  He shook his head, chuckling softly as he followed her out of her bathroom and helped collect all her things.  They would have room to spread out in his apartment.  Though he didn’t plan for them to be very far from each other any time soon...

@lemonlushff , @fantastiqueparfait , @heavenin--hell, @clearwillow , @mamabearcat , @thunderpo , @keichanz , @meggz0rz , @disgruntledbeast , @sarah-writes-stories , @zelink-inukag , @cammysansstuff , @mcornilliac , @redflamesofpassion , @superpixie42 , @underwater0phelia , @cstorm86 , @noviceotakus-blog , @lavendertwilight89 , @hinezumi , @wenchster , @hnnwnchstr , @lady-dark-69 , @itzatakahashi , @juliatheanimelover7 , @kazeinori , @theinuyashareader , @inupotter , @eternalnight8806-3 , @smmahamazing , @willowandfog , @gaysonthefloor , @sistasecbhere , @jennybean91 , @alerialblu, @laurenintheskyy

[nocteverbascio]

We’re not just friends and you fucking know it.” Prompt Alex to Lucy???

Lucy heads back to her office to sign off on more reports when she gets a surprise waiting for her.

“When are we getting married?” Alex’s disembodied voice comes from her chair. She pauses midstep briefly as Alex swivels her chair around like a Bond villain. Her hands on are clasped in front of her and Lucy takes a second to realize she’s playing with her engagement ring.

Lucy chuckles as she makes her way over to add to her never ending pile of files. “Hello to you too,” she greets instead of responding to Alex’s loaded question. She presses a gentle kiss on Alex’s forehead. “I’m surprised you knew it was me.”

Alex frowns glancing around Lucy’s office. “You don’t have windows in your office but the framed photo of us was reflective enough.”

Lucy smiles to herself. The placement of that important picture was intentional after all. She appreciates that her girlfr--fiancee can figure that out all on her own. She moves herself around Alex to turn on her monitor and go about her work. “As much as I love seeing you, it is still work hours. I heard you guys just caught one of Central City’s villains lurking around here. Why aren’t you leading the interrogation?”

Alex narrows her eyes as she swivels the chair to meet Lucy. “J’onn is handling it. I wanted to come see you.”

Lucy stops checking her emails and looks at Alex. “Is everything okay?” she asks with concern. She eyes Alex carefully to check for any injury.

Alex purses her lips and looks at Lucy seriously. “We haven’t set a wedding date yet. We’ve been engaged for over six months.”

Lucy furrows her brow. “You came all the way here because you wanted to set a wedding date?”

“Yes, because every time I bring it up, you avoid it like you’re about to do now.”

Lucy scoffs incredulously. It wasn’t like she’s avoiding it per se. “Alex you know how much I love you and how much I care about you. You’re my best friend--”

“We’re not just friends and you fucking know it,” Alex pouts even harder, crossing her arms. Lucy can’t help but smile affectionately because she’s sure Alex has been picking up more younger sibling habits between herself and Kara. 

“You’re my best friend and the love of my life,” Lucy clarifies. “Getting married isn’t such a big deal because we’re going to be together forever anyway.”

“But it definitely sounds like you’ve been avoiding it.”

“I’m not.”

“Are too.”

“Am not.”

“You’re doing it right now.”

Lucy rolls her eyes. She really hates the bad habits Alex’s picked up from her when it’s being used against her. “Alex--”

“Do you not want to get married anymore?” Alex asks seriously. There’s a look of fear in her eyes as she asks.

Lucy’s heart melts at the way Alex looks. The insecurity hasn’t been there in ages and Lucy’s done a good job of making sure Alex never feels insecure in their relationship. She takes a deep breath and reaches for Alex’s hands. “It’s not that I don’t want to get married, Alex.”

“But?” Alex takes a deep breath.

Lucy shakes her head just a bit because she knows it’s going to sound ridiculous when she says it. “Weddings are bad luck.” Alex looks at her in massive  confusion. “We know a lot of superheroes that have gotten married Alex and when was there ever a wedding where some massive alien takeover or stupid alternate universe Neo-Nazi freaks didn’t come and ruin it?”

Alex nods in agreement, unfortunately. “I mean those are isolated incidents.”

“Once is a happenstance. Twice is a coincidence. Three times is enemy action.” Alex rolls her eyes but Lucy forges on to explain her thought process. “I’m serious Alex. Just because we aren’t superheroes doesn’t mean that we wouldn’t been inviting half of the Justice League for a champagne toast at our wedding. If we do that, who’s to say there won’t be some nano-bots from Brainiac infesting our bubbly to possess us?”

Alex’s eyes widen because it’s farcry but still... “Your imagination is something else, baby.”

Lucy narrows her eyes. “You say that, but you know I’m right. Our circle of friends has bad luck with big marriages. Don’t get me wrong. I want to be with you forever, but I don’t want that day to be ruined by Riddler stopping by poisoning our fortune cookies and holding the antidote hostage while we try to solve the stupid fortune cookie meanings.”

Alex lets out a laugh and shakes her head. “Your mind, Lucy. I swear to god...it’s next level right now.”

“Yeah, yeah, but this is what you get for introducing me to the multiverse. The possibilities are endless,” Lucy argues. 

Alex agrees, “You’re right. You’re definitely right. I guess there’s always a crisis on Earth when someone gets married.” Lucy’s face clearly says I told you so. “But like you said, those are big weddings. So let’s skip the big weddings. Let’s just go to City Hall and get married.”

“What?”

"We can just get the papers signed. Be wife and wife. Go home and have sex until Monday.”

Lucy’s jaw drops in shock. “Alex--”

“I love you, Lucy. We don’t have to have the pomp and circumstance for everyone else. I just want to be with you. As your wife.”

“Are you sure? But your family--”

“You’re my family,” Alex reaffirms. “All I want is you. Forever.”

Lucy feels her cheeks finally hurting from the smile on her face. “Okay then. Let’s get married.”

Alex smiles just as hard as Lucy. “Let’s get married.”

“But if something happens at City Hall, I’m going to say I told you so.”

Alex laughs. “You can say that for the rest of our lives.”

[cassiopeiassky]

When Everything’s Made to be Broken (I Just Want You to Know Who I Am) Part 51

It’s heeeeeere!  I finally connected all the dots.  Special thanks to @the-chubby-persimmon for beta-ing and giving me the encouragement I needed to finish the chapter - you’re the absolute best.  Oh, and although the chapter wraps nicely, this isn’t the end.  I’ll let you all know when we get there ;)

Also I need love and affirmation please send love and affirmation

Plot:  When you inadvertently become a witness to a murder and are suddenly a target for death, it takes a specially skilled soldier and his team to keep you and your family safe.

This will eventually be a is a reader x Bucky fic. The reader, by the way, is a civilian. No super powers, no fighting skills, and by no means perfect.  

Word count: 5808

Warnings:

For the entire work:  Language (I have a potty mouth), violence, and angst.  This will probably get pretty dark later on, and there will be smut.  If that’s not your thing, you may want to avoid this story.

Additional warnings specific to this part: Mentions/descriptions of anxiety, panic attack, injuries, and blood.  Oh...here there be smut (say it with me in a piratey accent...it’s fun).  I’m not doing an edited version this time because the first and last time I did that it was a raging dumpster fire.

***I do not own any of the lyrics/music in this story, so please don’t sue me for using them***

Tags moved to the end.

WEMtbB Masterlist

Previously on WEMtbB:

“Absolutely.  FRIDAY, please show any Disney animated movie except Snow White and Pinocchio.”  

Honestly, this man is too good to be true.

“Yes, Sargent Barnes.”  The tv lights up and just a few moments later the opening for the Emperor’s New Groove starts playing.  “I hope you don’t mind – I took the liberty of downloading your preferences from SUNDAY.”

“That’s perfect FRIDAY, thanks.”

“My pleasure.”

“I never thought I’d get used to and actually miss an AI presence, but here we are,” you mutter.

Bucky puts his arm around your shoulders as he snickers.  “I’m right there with you, Sweetheart.”  

He waits until you finish eating before he cocoons you both into the blanket, content to watch your favorite movies until the jet lands safely in New York.

You begin to wake, but you fight it with everything you have because this dream is so much better than your current reality.  The strong arm around your waist holding you snug against a warm, solid chest is a memory you don’t want to lose to consciousness.  The smell of Bucky surrounding you as his slow and even breaths cause your hair to gently tickle your ear is such a welcome and familiar comfort, but you can’t help but notice that something is off.  Has your memory already begun to fray?

His scent is mixed with something…an unfamiliar detergent, maybe?  Not at all unpleasant, just different.

You’re lying on your left side.  Bucky is behind you, and the arm around you is his natural arm.

Wait.

That’s not right…

Bucky has a thing when he sleeps - he needs to be between you and the door.  If you’re lying on your left side, you’re facing the door.  He should be in front of you, not behind you...he wouldn’t be able to fall asleep like this.  You know this, even in your dreams.  Yet, with all this thinking bringing you further into the realm of wakefulness, you still feel him.  You finally concede defeat and crack open an eye.

A window?  Or a door to a balcony, maybe?  Certainly not the window of your prison, and not a window at home – well, the safehouse – either.  There’s a sharp ache in your right thigh as you move, causing you to finally shake completely free of slumber’s hold and realize that this isn’t a dream.  This is real, you’re really in Bucky’s arms.

Fully awake and mind now crystal clear, you remember the hours on the jet and watching out the window as you flew into New York.  You remember being swarmed by medical personnel almost immediately upon landing, and having a panic attack when someone with good intentions injected morphine into the port still in the back of your hand without letting you know beforehand.  That guy now has an accidentally broken hand, courtesy of Steve, and a completely intentionally broken nose, courtesy of Nat.  

Bruce was there, and he explained the plan they had in place to fix your leg:  First, surgery to remove the lead coated bullet from your thigh, then they were going to apply some sort of self-regenerating tissue patch that would allow your leg to almost fully heal within 96 hours…apparently it had been shipped in from a Dr. Cho as a special favor.  You consented to the treatment, but you’d wanted local anesthetic instead of general.  Bruce, Bucky, and Tony teamed up to persuade you to accept the general anesthesia because it would be safer for you and better for the tissue patch, which you were told would cause significant pain for the first hour or so.  They also wanted you under because they wanted to transport you – preferably unconscious to avoid any unnecessary discomfort – to another facility for safety and privacy almost immediately after the surgery. When you’d finally consented, Tony thrust a clipboard full of papers into your hand; he said that he needed your formal, signed consent to treat since you’d be cared for under his policies.  You looked for the bright pink signature flags and signed them all as quickly as you could while Bucky rubbed your shoulders; he knew you were afraid you’d chicken out and change your mind about the anesthesia.  

You didn’t.  Somehow, your trust in these people overcame your anxiety.  Bucky was holding your hand when you succumbed to unconsciousness.

Your memories after that are quite a bit shiftier, thanks to the anesthesia.  Still, there are bits and pieces for you to put together.  After you started coming out of the anesthesia, they cleared you to leave the infirmary.  The patch you’d been given sped the healing process up so significantly that just a few hours post-surgery was more like a day.  There’s a choppy recollection being transported to another area, a helicopter ride, and hearing voices – even more intangible is the vague memory of hearing good-natured laughter after you told someone to kindly fuck off and leave you the hell alone because you were tired and wanted to go back to sleep, and oh, where was your unicorn – the sparkly one with purple hair?  Maybe that was a dream?

That’s the last you can remember, and now you’re here.  The gaps in your memory scare you a bit, but you remind yourself that you’re no longer in the hands of people that wish to do you harm; you’re here, curled up with Bucky.  Safe.  Barely containing the laugh that tries to bubble out of you, you shift to look around in the dim light.  What time is it?  It’s dark, but it’s also late January so considering how short the days are that doesn’t tell you much.  Well, you think it’s still January, but you’ll have to ask someone to make sure February didn’t come around while you were still stuck in hell.

There’s a gentle, pale blue glow coming through the window from the almost full moon and the plethora of stars twinkling in the clear velvet sky.  If you crane your neck just a little more, you can see the snow blanketing surrounding area and reflecting the starlight.  It’s extraordinarily peaceful, and you’re grateful that Bucky left the blinds open.  You’re pretty sure he did it for your benefit, so you wouldn’t wake up in the pitch-black darkness of an unfamiliar room.

There’s a nightstand next to your side of the bed with a lamp and pile of books.   Directly across from the bed there’s a dresser with another pile of books stacked on top, and there are doors on either side.  Given the placement of the doors, you can only assume that one leads to a bathroom and the other to a closet.  At least, you hope so.

Moving slowly, you carefully disengage from Bucky’s embrace.  It’s not that you want to move, but damn you have to pee.  Testing the range of motion in your leg, you find that the ache feels less like an injury and more like the stiff disuse of waking up the second day after a car accident or really intense workout.  It easily holds your weight as you stand and even seems to loosen slightly as you carefully stretch.  There aren’t any crutches or a cane nearby, and you think you remember someone telling you that by the time you awoke you’d be sore but healed enough to get around. There are bandages on your arm and hand from the IVs, but those seems to be the only other lasting reminders of the fact that you went through actual surgery.

You take a step, but then turn back to watch Bucky for a few heartbeats.  God, you fucking missed him.  You can clearly see the toll these past few weeks have taken from him – even in the semi-darkness you can see the dark bags of exhaustion under his eyes, the longer than usual facial hair, the way his cheeks almost seem gaunt.  The lines on his forehead seem just a bit deeper, and his lips are chapped.  It might just be a trick of the moonlight, but you could swear that you see some sparse spots of silver in his scruff.  It’s obvious that he hasn’t been taking care of himself, and you feel a now familiar stab of guilt because you know damn well that it’s because of you.

Holding back a sigh, you turn and walk to the door to the left of the dresser.  When you step through the threshold you are delighted to find that you have, in fact, found the bathroom.  At least now you won’t have to wake up Bucky to find out where it is. Before turning on the light, you close the door with a quiet click, thinking to spare Bucky the sudden brightness, and are pleasantly surprised to find that the bathroom light must be on both a sensor and a dimmer because the room is now gently lit but not so much so that your eyes have to struggle to adjust.  

Glancing in the mirror gives you a start – for all your concern for Bucky, you’re not exactly looking like a prize yourself, not that you ever really do.  A good washing will fix your hair, but your complexion has an unhealthy waxiness to it, your eyes are sunken and dull, and although they are slowly beginning to fade, the bruises from your assaults are still on your face and body.  You’re either going to have to get someone to pick up some makeup for you or you’ll have to forgo FaceTiming the boys tomorrow and call instead.  They shouldn’t see you like this.

After relieving yourself and washing your hands, you start pulling off your bandages.  The IV sites on your hand and in the crook of your arm look exactly as you would expect – you rinse off the little bit of dried blood that’s left behind and double check to make sure the tiny wounds don’t start bleeding.  You do the same for the bandage on your leg except, when you wipe away the blood, the skin underneath isn’t a stitched incision like you’d expected but rather a shiny red scar.  

Holy shit, it looks like you’ve already been healing for over a week.  There isn’t even a scab.  “Well color me impressed,” you mutter in surprise.  This is incredible, so why the hell isn’t this type of technology mainstream? It’s something you’ll have to ask about later.

But for now, it’s time to get back to Bucky.  You don’t fight the smile that comes to your face – back to Bucky, because he’s just on the other side of the door, sleeping peacefully.  When you turn to leave, you find a plastic bag hanging from the door handle of what you assume is the linen closet.  It’s hanging by just one side, so as you walk by you can clearly see into the bag.  It’s…your bodywash?  You find yourself almost beaming as you start sifting through the bag.  There’s the bodywash you’d used for years, the only shampoo and conditioner that have ever truly come close to managing your curls, your favorite body lotion, and even your preferred skin care.  Tears fill your eyes at the simple gesture; you’d have been perfectly fine using whatever Bucky had on hand, but he’d wanted you to feel like yourself again.  

“I don’t deserve you, Buck. You sweet, sweet man,” you hum as you snap open the bodywash cap and lift it to your nose.  The smell is…it smells like you.  Like you. It smells like early mornings before you went to work.  It smells like the middle of the night right after the boys were born, washing off the endless spit up during the only 10 minutes a day you could get to yourself. It smells like showering before bed because it was the only time you could fit it in, and then bringing one of the boys to bed with you because he’s sick and can’t sleep without your cuddles.  It smells like lazy mornings at the safehouse when everyone was awake and tangled together under the comforter as cartoons played in the background.  It smells like Bucky nuzzling into your neck from behind, then leaving a soft kiss before telling you that you smell amazing.  

Then the memory of Jimmy trying to use your bodywash instead of the tear free formula you buy for them comes to mind – he told you he wanted to smell like Momma.  Like you.

And with that, you finally break from the weight of what you went through.  

For the first few moments it’s a little hard to breathe.  Five and a half jagged breaths later the sobs start, and you somehow end up on your knees desperately clawing at the floor to feel something, anything, other than the suffocating torment that’s been waiting for the right moment to descend upon you.  Then your hands are in your hair, clutching fistfuls near your scalp because it’s the only thing your fingers can find, and because the dull pain from pulling your hair offers just the slightest distraction from the debilitating agony in your psyche.

The sound you make when you feel something warm on one wrist and cool on the other is almost inhuman; a mix of a wail and a howl, the very essence of devastating grief marrying incomprehensible suffering.  The gentle but insistent tugs finally succeed in getting you to straighten up enough for Bucky to pull you into his arms.  Your hands go from your hair to around his neck, holding on in a frantic attempt to keep from being swept away by this brutal tsunami.

“I’ve got you, Sweetheart.  Go ahead, it’s okay.  I’ve got you.”  Bucky repeats these words like a favorite song on a loop as he holds you close and rubs your back.  Your entire body shakes with your bawling sobs, but he somehow manages to keep you from breaking apart completely despite the pain, anger, humiliation, guilt, shame, and fear trying to pull you in different directions.

There’s no sense of time in this abyss – it would be inconsequential even if it did exist – but even the fiercest, most destructive storms don’t last forever.  Eventually, it will sap the atmosphere of fuel and die down.  When your wracking sobs finally subside to gasping shudders, your head is pounding, your lungs ache, and your face has grown hot and itchy from the tears.

But despite your physical discomfort, you feel considerably lighter.  Exhausted but relieved.  It feels like you lanced a festering would – it was an ugly process and it still hurts, but it’s a different kind of hurt.  It’s a hurt that feels like it might finally begin to give way to healing because the poison has been let out.

Bucky’s gentle humming gives you something else to focus on as you close your swollen eyes and allow him to shift you slightly.  He’s sitting on the floor with his back to the wall, and you’re sitting between his legs and leaning against him, more or less cradled in his arms with your legs draped over one of his thighs.  He’s so solid and steady; the immoveable rock in the unreliable landscape of your shifting emotions.

Without loosening his grip on you, he reaches for something – the bottle of bodywash – and clicks open the top to smell it before setting it to the side.  “I get it, Sweetheart.  I get it, the significance of this smell.  When I was first free, I didn’t know what to do with myself.  I didn’t know who I was after everything I’d done, and everything that was done to me – I didn’t feel the same, I sure as hell didn’t look the same, and the whole damn world had changed – and I just wanted something comfortable.  Familiar. So I thought,” he twirls a lock of your hair around his finger, “that if I could maybe just smell like myself, that it might be enough to hold on to, to remind myself that I wasn’t HYDRA’s puppet anymore.”  Bucky chuckles, “It was a good idea, in theory.  Not so much in practice.  Most men, myself included, just smelled like armpit and cigarette smoke a few hours after bathing.  While I definitely appreciate cologne and deodorant now, it really wasn’t a thing for men back in the 30s and 40s – that stuff was considered to be for women only.”

Bucky presses a kiss to your forehead.  “It got to the point where I couldn’t stand myself, and it didn’t exactly help me blend in or get jobs for cash, especially since I couldn’t always afford to wash my clothes regularly.  Then one day I stopped by a drugstore to pick up some razorblades.  There was an open jar on the counter for people to try, and I caught a whiff of it as I walked by.  It…it smelled just like my ma.  It surprised me so much that I started crying in the middle of the store, which of course really, really concerned some of the other customers.  It was only a few months after I got free, so I was still pretty rough and crusty looking. Some lady approached me and I panicked – I swiped the jar and ran out.  I spent the next two days just intermittently sniffing the stuff.  Turned out to be cold cream – I don’t know if it was the same brand my ma used, but I didn’t care.  It smelled just like her.”

A warmth blossoms in your chest – that’s probably one of the sweetest things you’ve ever heard.   “Did it help?”

“Mmm hmm.  Gave me something good to remember, instead of all the bad.  It reminded me of who I was before – before HYDRA, hell, who I was before the war.  My ma was…she was my safe place.  I got along with my dad just fine, but deep down I was always a mama’s boy.”

“Do you still have it?” You don’t remember seeing it, but that doesn’t mean anything.

“Yeah, but I don’t need it anymore.”  Bucky tightens his hold on you.  “You’re my safe place now.”  The two of you sit in silence for a while, just holding each other.  Just before you begin to drift off, he murmurs, “Do you want to take a shower?  Smell like you again?”

You nod wordlessly as you untangle yourself and clumsily rise.  Because yes.  Yes, you do.

He swiftly puts your toiletries where they belong as you stare at yourself in the mirror.

Yikes.  

“You’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.”  He steps past you and into the shower to start the water while you begin to get out of your…what the hell are these things, anyway?  Hospital issue shorts that snap at the waist and a top that ties at the neck and sides.  Not exactly the pinnacle of comfort, but much better than one of those drafty ass-baring gowns.

There’s no mistaking his hesitation when he speaks, “Alright, Sweetheart.  You should be good to go.  I’ll be nearby, so just call if you need anything.”

It hadn’t occurred to you that he would leave.  Panic tries to rise but you grab his hand as he walks by and the contact immediately soothes you; and if the relief in his eyes is anything to go by, the simple touch does the same for him.  “Stay with me.”  Your mouth is dry as you swallow against the lump in your throat, and you wonder if you’re crossing a line.  Is it too familiar?  Too soon after what you’ve been through?  You just know that you don’t want to be alone.   “Please.”

Will anything ever be the same?

His eyes seem just a bit bluer when he looks to you in surprise.  “Really?  Are – are you sure?”  Bucky stares as you slowly nod.  “I thought…I didn’t want to assume –“

There’s a comfort in knowing that you both seem to be on the same page.  “I’m sure.  Please…stay.”

Bucky nods and begins to undress as you finish slowly.  He keeps his eyes averted as he steps into the shower.

Suddenly feeling inexplicably shy, you follow him through the frosted door.  The shower is huge - more than big enough for two and is actually quite lovely.  Two of the walls are made of glass, and oversized beige tiles line the other two walls up to the ceiling, with coves intermittently placed for holding whatever would be needed for bathing.  Along the far wall is a built-in seat, also tiled – it makes sense, considering who this shower was built for.  Even an Avenger might not have the energy for standing in a shower after a mission.

Bucky takes your hand and leads you under the generous spray, letting the hot water rinse over you both. His hands lightly trail up and down your arms as you both stand, silently facing the other.  After the space has become thoroughly steamy and you’ve begun to relax, he pulls you out just enough so he can start shampooing your hair, and good lord you’d forgotten how wonderful his hands feel massaging your scalp.  He doesn’t stop, even when rinsing.

“Mmm…Buck, you missed your calling as a hair washer.”

“Yes, I think you might have mentioned that before,” he chuckles as he smooths in the conditioner, then twists your hair to rest atop your head to give the conditioner a chance to do its thing.  He squeezes some bodywash onto a poof and begins washing your shoulders and back, arms, and legs as you remain still, taking in the familiar scent and touch.

You take his hands in yours when he circles around to your front.  “I missed you so much, Bucky.”

“My god, Sweetheart,” his voice is so tight you almost can’t understand him, “I missed you so fucking much, and I was so scared, I couldn’t breathe without you.”

You brush the wet hair out of his eyes, and before you can overthink it you pull him into a kiss, attempting to say everything you can’t manage to express with words into it.  You keep your arms around his neck, breaking the kiss only to whisper, “I love you so much, Bucky.  I love you so, so much.  I…Thank you.  Thank you for going back into hell to get me.”

Bucky whispers your name, just as lost for words as you.  “I…always,” he finally manages.  “I’ll always come for you.”

Then he kisses you deeply, thoroughly.  This kiss is emotion, but it’s also fire.  You tighten your arms in the impossible effort of getting closer to him, as though the immeasurably thin sheet of water separating you two was too much.  

There’s nothing to hide it when Bucky hardens against you, and a tension you didn’t realize you were carrying fades away.

He still wants you.

When he pulls back to look at you there’s a desperate, hungry glint in his eyes that you’re sure mirrors your own.  He kisses you again, slower this time, pushing you back slightly so the back of your head is under the spray.  Bucky continues kissing you as he rinses the conditioner from your hair, turning what was just moments ago a comforting, soothing gesture into something completely different.

Even with the hot water streaming over your skin, goosebumps rise at his needy touches.

Bucky’s hands are everywhere as he again guides you backwards; when the back of your legs hit the shower seat you lose your balance, but of course he doesn’t let you fall. Two hands grip your hips, steadying you before pushing you down gently until you’re perched on the bench and he’s kneeling in front of you. You wrap your legs around his torso, trying to pull him closer as he kisses your neck, your shoulders, your breasts, your lips.  For the briefest of moments you can feel his cock nudging at your entrance, but then Bucky grips your thighs, loosening himself from their grip and sits back on his heels before lifting your injured leg over his shoulder.

He scooches you forward to the edge of the bench and dives in.  There’s no teasing, no waiting.  He begins licking and sucking like a starving man, periodically growling quietly, pausing only to gently but firmly push your thighs further apart.  Your left hand goes back to support you, while your right hand goes into his hair.  You don’t need to guide him – he knows damn well what he’s doing and he’s fucking good at it – but you need as much contact with him as possible.

Staring at the sight of the man before you, you watch, mesmerized, at the powerful muscles in his shoulder and back pull and stretch under smooth and scarred skin as he feasts.  Bucky chases you mercilessly into an orgasm, not giving you a chance to come down from one before he’s working on another.  

“Bucky…fuck…Buck please…I can’t...oh my fuck please stop…”  You’re just about cross-eyed from bliss, but if he doesn’t stop there’s a good chance your brain will short-circuit if you come for a fourth time without a break.

At first you’re not sure if he hears you, but finally, reluctantly, he pulls himself away, gently guiding your right leg off his shoulder as he straightens from a position that would have been uncomfortable had he cared.  Kisses are planted on your thighs and belly as his hands roam, giving you some time to catch your breath before his mouth is on yours once again.

“I love you so much, Sweetheart, so fucking much,” he mumbles against your mouth, as if pulling away any farther would cause you to disappear on him again.  A wickedly satisfied grin graces his lips, “And I fucking missed that.  Now hold on.”

You throw your arms around his neck as he grabs you by the ass to pull you to him, standing while he does so.

“Show off.”

Your breathless smirk just makes him chuckle darkly.  “Oh Doll, I happen to know you like this.”  His irises have almost completely disappeared, and it seems impossible but your heart beats even faster in anticipation.  He’s not wrong.

Secure in his hold on you, you pull him in for another searing kiss as he carefully exits the shower and brings you back into the bedroom.  Not caring that both of you are still dripping wet, he tenderly lays you on the bed.

The mood shifts with his gentle actions.  Bucky cradles himself within your thighs, nuzzling your neck and planting soft kisses as he goes.  The next time his lips meet yours it’s sweet and unhurried.  His right hand takes yours, holding it firmly just above your head as your need for him explodes.  There are tears in his eyes when he slowly pushes in; he fills you, and for the first time in weeks you feel complete.  His strokes are slow and languorous, deep and deeply satisfying, allowing you to feel every inch of his movements while he feels every inch of you.

Bucky’s eyes meet yours, and neither of you can look away.  He’s giving you everything he is, everything he has been or will be, and trusting you to do with him what you will.  You do the same; offering anything less would be an insult to the way you feel about him. You surrender completely, knowing and accepting that you’re safe and that he can and will handle whatever your future holds; he’s not going to give up on you any more than you’d give up on him.

You’ve never felt so secure.

“I love you.”  The words are spoken at the same time, and you can feel his pieces filling the cracks left by your ordeal.  In this moment you feel whole, almost as if you’d never been broken.  Bucky stares into your eyes with an expression of wonder, and you know damn well that your own face reflects the awe you feel at the enormity of the bond you share.

It almost seems against his volition when he begins to thrust faster.  Your body betrays you, too, movements matching Bucky’s and encouraging him to move even faster, harder, deeper.  He obliges, rolling his hips into yours as your free hand roams at his back and shoulder and ass, desperate to touch as much of him as you can.  He tightens his grip on your hand and presses it more firmly into the mattress to keep you from sliding back and hitting the headboard.

Bucky’s getting close – you can hear it in his uneven breathing and feel it in the way his rhythm occasionally falters.  You are, too, and of course he knows this.  He hasn’t forgotten how to play your body, how to get you to respond in any way he pleases.  And right now he wants to you to come.  With his eyes, he demands it.  

You couldn’t deny him if you tried.  Stars explode and you clutch him to you as tightly as possible; he keeps going as long as he can, but your release soon sets off his own.  Hand in hand you ride the violent waves of bliss and pleasure, knowing nothing but each other in this timeless moment.

When the aftershocks subside, you pull your hand from his and begin to softly run your hands up and down his back as Bucky trembles in your arms.  Neither of you pulls away – this is where you want to be – and a smile grows as you catch your breath.

This man.

“What’s goin’ through that pretty head of yours?”  Bucky’s voice is quiet but rough.

“Huh?”  

He kisses the tip of your nose.  “You’ve got a goofy grin on your face.  Just wondering what you’re thinking.”

You huff a laugh as you come clean.  “Just thinking about how lucky I am.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Yeah?  How’s that?”

“I got the trifecta. Didn’t think it even existed, but it does.”

“The trifecta,” he repeats, waiting for your explanation.

“Mmm hmm.  I found a man that loves me.”  You begin tracing the lines of his face with your fingertips.

He turns his head to press a quick kiss to your palm.  “You’re damn right you did.”

“He’s hot.”

Bucky smirks.

You run your finger along his lower lip.  “And…he knows how to fuck.”

Bucky ducks his head as he lets out a gentle laugh.  His lips meet your neck, then your ear.  He takes his time, but between kisses and nibbles he whispers, “Then I guess we both got the trifecta.  And don’t you dare roll your eyes, cause it’s true – you love me, hell, you trust me which is so fucking incredible to me, you’re gorgeous, and I will freely admit that I can’t get enough of this…I’m insatiable for you and what you do.”

The hot whispers at your ear send a chill through your body, defeating any chance you’d have of successfully rolling your eyes, especially considering that they’re currently busy rolling back into your head with bliss.  His hands start to wander again, and your breath begins to quicken when you feel his softened length still inside you begin to twitch.

Supersoldier, indeed.

“How is your thigh feeling,” Bucky murmurs between dropping hot, open mouthed kisses on your neck and shoulders.

“My what? Oh…yeah…it’s good.  I’m good.”  He’s doing a fine job of distracting you from any lingering discomfort…or rational thinking. Not that you’re complaining. “Everything’s, uh, everything’s good.”

“Mmm…” is the only acknowledgement you get as he continues moving his mouth against you, tasting whatever his lips and tongue can find.  

It’s clear where this is going…until your stomach growls.  Loudly.

Traitor.

Bucky pulls away slightly, obviously biting back his laughter.  “So…I guess it’s time for a break.”

“What?  No,” you plead, pulling his lips to yours.  You’re pretty sure you have him convinced, until another rumble comes from your tummy.  “Dammit.”

“Sweetheart, you need to eat.”  Suddenly he’s all business, pressing one last kiss to your forehead before gingerly pulling out of you, causing you both to wince at the sticky feeling.  “And get dried off.  The last thing you need is to catch a cold.”

Well, he’s not wrong. Now that he isn’t covering you with his body, your damp skin is definitely feeling the chill, especially where the comforter is wet.  In hindsight, maybe the thirty seconds it would’ve taken to dry off wouldn’t have been too much.

Then again…nope. Totally worth it.

“I think I need another shower,” you mutter while you shift to sit at the side of the bed.  

“Sweetheart.”  There’s no mistaking his tone as he drapes a dry blanket over your shoulders; Protective Bucky has been activated.

“Yeah, yeah, I know I need to eat,” you grumble, “and I am hungry.  But I’m also unmoisturized and frizzy.  I need lotion, leave in conditioner, and my face cream, or I’m going to uncomfortable and itchy until my next shower.  And I’ll look like I just stuck my finger in an electric socket.”

Bucky barks out a laugh as he helps you to your feet.  “You’re not that frizzy.”

“Yet,” you counter.  “Friction is not a curly-haired girl’s best friend. You remember what happened the first time we did this, right?”

Bucky’s eyes drift and his lips curl into a ridiculous smile as he thinks back to the day you’re referencing.  It was the second time you’d showered together – he insisted he needed a do-over and you sure as hell weren’t going to complain – and you hadn’t had time to finish your routine afterward because the boys woke up from their nap.  Bucky would have covered you, but he got a call from Steve. All you could do was toss your hair into a bun and go with it.

It took Bucky over an hour that night to detangle your hair before bed.

“Okay fine.”  He starts stripping the wet bedding from the bed and smirks.  “You’ve got 5 minutes, and then it’s off to the kitchen to eat.”

“No,” you scoff, and immediately counter, “20 minutes.  I need to rinse off, too.  You’re messy.”

Bucky straightens indignantly, but you see the teasing light in his eyes.  “I’m messy?  I might be the cause, but you’re the reason.  It takes two to tango, Doll.”

Your laughter echoes through the room; the normalcy you’re feeling right now is almost making you giddy, and the lightness is clearly reflected in Bucky’s entire being.  “Yeah, I guess it does.  I wasn’t complaining, by the way.  Just stating a fact.”

He rolls his eyes before disappearing into the bathroom, returning a moment later with fresh blankets and a grin.  “Ten minutes.”

Shaking your head, you watch his still naked form begin to make the bed while you head to the bathroom. God, he is a thing of beauty. “Fifteen,” you call through the open door.  He doesn’t reply, he just laughs.

Bucky joins you in the bathroom a few minutes later with a pile of clothes for you both.  “Take as long as you need, Sweetheart,” he presses a kiss to the back of your neck as he wraps his arms around you.  “Just keep in mind that every time your stomach growls, I’m gonna think you’re ready to pass out.  You’ve had IV fluids but haven’t eaten since we were on the jet.”

You smile at his reflection in the mirror as you lean into him, intensely grateful for how much he cares for you and for getting back these little moments with him.   “I won’t take too long, I promise.  I just want to get comfortable.”

Eyes soft, he nods.

You both exhale.

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[grigsby-writes]

I Didn’t Sign Up For This

Who knew that kissing one angel would get me into this load of trouble. I slump against the wall beside the door to Lucifer’s office. Then again, perhaps it was kicking an angel that made him call me to his office. Maybe they should just stop letting angels down here in the first place! Yeah... yeah, that’s a good argument. I cross my arms and turn my mouth into a scowl in preparation for the door opening.

The door opens.

“Enter,” Lucifer waves me into his office and I take a seat in one of the crappy swivel chairs. It surprises me that his tone isn’t angry, just sort of… quiet. My knee bounces up and down nervously, I place a hand on it to cover up the movement.

“Satan…” I say his formal name, hoping to get on my boss’s good side.

“I go by Lucifer with my colleagues, as you know. Lore, what you did wasn’t acceptable. You know that demons- any beings of the underworld for that matter -cannot… interact with angels in any way.”

“Sir, at the time we were working together, and technically I didn’t attempt to bring her over to our side, nor did I do anything to publically soil the name of Light, so I didn’t do anything agains-”

“This was not the first time you’ve gone against your contract!” Lucifer’s voice raises, eyes flashing with cold aggression, then he settles back down. He laces his fingers together and lays them on the desk, “I’m afraid you’ll no longer be a demon.”

“You’re firing me?” My voice breaks, despite my facade of calm.

“Not quite, I’ve talked it over with the Light, and thought it’s not very common, we’re making an exception for you.” He pauses, pondering his next words. “If we simply fired you from your position, you’d go die with the other hell-residents. You could still cause trouble; violate your housing regulations, try to escape punishment, etc. Another thing we took into consideration is that our murderer section is very overpopulated and, unfortunately, you wouldn't get a spot there for a while. But more than those two things, you just don’t fit here.”

I cock my head to the side in disbelief, “I’m going to be transferred to Heaven?”

“No,” He lets out a short, relieved laugh, “No, you’d never make your way up there.”

“Then what do you mean by I ‘don’t fit here’. There isn’t exactly another place to fit, and considering what I did to get here, I think I fit just fine!” My tail whips back and forth angrily.

“You aren’t supposed to be here, or there. Lore, you died younger than most do. You didn’t die how you were supposed to, you instead took it into your own hands and changed fate. That makes your entire story muddy. It ruined the way Fate foresaw the future. You aren’t supposed to be dead, not really.” The Devil leans back in his chair casually, “You decided to change it all, making our jobs harder.”

My mouth opens and closes silently, brows furrowing, “So what you’re saying is…”

“You’re being reincarnated.” He finishes with a small smirk.

“I’d like to opt out.”

“Not an option, sorry.”

“I’ll file a complaint then.”

“Also not an option, this decision is final,” His gaze is stony.

I let my mouth hang open, not caring that I look stupid. I can’t go back there. I push away from the desk, jumping to my feet. My leathery wings spread behind me in anger. “You can’t do that!”

“Ah, but I can.”

I take a harsh breath in and kick the desk. “Don’t send me back there!” I slam my hand against the wall, cracking the drywall. “If I go back there it’ll only mean trouble. If I’m sent there the same thing will happen. I hate it. I hate the mortal realm. I hate people. I hate the Light.” I hate the Devil and how he’s just sitting there with his legs crossed and an amused look on his face. My body shakes with emotion, what emotion it is, I can’t tell for sure. Fear, anger, excitement, it doesn’t matter. “If you-if you send me there, I’ll just come right back! You can’t twist the system that much, not even a fallen angel like yourself can.”

“Sit down, for fuck’s sake. And believe me, it’s much harder to kill yourself now. Times have changed, it’s no longer as simple as jumping from a bridge as an angry mob chases after you. You can’t just disappear, humans have finally figured out how to keep track of kids.”

“Why me? Why do you have to send me? You know that I hate humans and the mortal world!” My voice raises, trying to hide the growl building in my throat.

Lucifer fixes the papers that I messed up in my outburst, “Consider it probation. A temporary punishment.” He stifles a laugh, “It’s like old times again, when we gave everyone a personal punishment. This is yours.”

I stare at him incredulously, he’s actually going to go through with it. “Please, no,” I whisper.

“Please, yes. I’m giving you a second chance at life! Most dead people would jump at that. You’d get to live out your life, die, and then come back here. Because let’s be honest, even with a second life you’ll never get yourself to Heaven.”

I stare at him longer, trying to let my thoughts settle. “But,” I say slowly, “But I’ve been dead for ages, I’ll never fit in with the new society. And what about my physical form, what’ll I even look like?” My mind flashes with fear again, bright, hot fear. I cannot deal with a human body. “Not to mention the fact that if they do keep track of people as much as you say they do, there’s no way a new one turning up won’t alert everyone!”

“Don’t worry too much, it’ll work out. And as for your form, we’re just going to get rid of the bright hair, wings, horns, tail, and grey skin. I’m not that cruel.” He chuckles, “If you’re good, we could even give you a certain guardian angel.”

“Wait, really?” I don’t sit down, but I do relax a bit at the idea of having someone watching my back.

Lucifer nods and turns his chair around, facing away from me. “Yes, really. Go, do whatever you have to do before you’re reincarnated. Life will be here to collect you shortly.”

I stand there in silence for a moment. Breathing hard despite not much physical exertion. Finally, I turn on my heel and let my feet carry me out of the office. The door slams behind me.

I gulp, leaning against the wall once more. I can feel my heart thud against my chest, a single sound that I focus in on. I bite my lip, sliding down the wall and burying my face in my knees. I’m going to be alive again. I’m going to have to leave the underworld. I just lost everything.

╳∴∗∵✕✦♡✦✕∵∗∴╳

Life doesn’t ‘collect me’ per say. Instead, she plucks me from the underworld, teleporting me with no warning into her own office. Within the blink of an eye, I’m out of the heat and darkness of Hell and into a cozy office. There are cream colored couches and a white desk to match the white walls. Life herself has dark hair and caramel skin, her eyes are a bright green. She is dressed in a sky blue skirt, a floral patterned shawl draped over her thin shoulders. Sort of elegant and natural.

I realize that I’ve been staring and look away quickly. Life doesn’t seem to notice, she simply stares out her window into what looks like a very bright light. “Heaven’s very pretty, isn’t it?”

“Oh, uh,” I look out the window more carefully, “I guess it is.”

“Hmm,” Life finally turns to me, I stand a bit straighter. Her bright eyes tear into my own. “Are you ready to be alive?” I’m not sure if the question is rhetorical or not, but the truth is I’m not ready. Still, I brighten my eyes a bit and tell that I am, in fact, ready. Her face remains neutral. Life stands from the chair where she was seated and walks over to her desk. She flicks through a couple of manila folders, frowning twice. I fidget uncomfortably, anxiety bobbing in my stomach. Finally, she looks up at me. “Okay, you’re all good to go! Everything seems to be in order, here,” She holds out one of the files. “That’s the information you’ll need, your mortal identity. Memorize the information as best as you can.”

I take the folder, opening it in my lap. There are two papers, one appears to be my current file.

Hell Being

Name: Lore

Age(at death): 15

Cause of Death: Suicide

Reason For Placement in Hell: Small Genocide (4 deaths, multiple injuries), Suicide, Resistance, Pride

Status: Demon

Resides: In The Demon Sector

Punishment: N/A

Comments:

~Unsettling number of defiances, but I expect nothing less from my demons.

~Preference for they/them pronouns, nonbinary.

~Offers diversity to our group of demons, which is good for how the public view my work environment.

The second paper, my new mortal identity, doesn’t have just the handwriting from before, which I believe to be my boss, Lucifer’s. This new handwriting is clearer, from obvious practice. The form seems to be a collaboration.

Mortal Identity (Reincarnation)

Afterlife Name: Lore

Mortal Name(current, not former): James Holston

Mortal Age: 15

Sex: Unspecified

Life(up to this point): Orphan being driven to their foster home in Charlotte, North Carolina. Will be attending Mallard Creek High school. Traumatizing past, prefers not to talk about it. Family died in car crash. Moving from the countryside.

I look up uncertainly at Life, she gives me a small smile in return, “Sorry, we had to rush to place you somewhere, so your backstory is pretty boring.”

“Could I, uh, keep my name?” I dig my nails into the paper, in crinkles and dents.

“The one you’ve down here?”

“Yeah,” I nod, release the paper.

“It’s not a common name in the mortal realm, you do know that, don’t you?” Life quirks her eyebrows, leaning forward on the desk, still standing. It makes me uncomfortable how she towers over me, like a mother scolding her child.

“I’m aware, you can keep the last name if you want.” I hold out the folder, Life grudgingly takes it and quickly changes the name to Lore Holston.

“Well then, any other questions?” I shake my head in response. Life sets down my files and approaches me. She places one hand on each of my temples. “It’ll be like waking up, but when you do, you’ll be alive.” I nod, breathless. “We’ve assigned you a guardian angel to help you adjust to the new world. However, you still must be careful, the next time you die… you won’t be coming back.”

“Got it,” My voice is just above a whisper, anticipation and anxiousness mixing in my stomach. Life closes her eyes and concentrates. I find my own eyes drooping closed, then black.

╳∴∗∵✕✦♡✦✕∵∗∴╳

Life wasn’t lying. When my eyes open I feel as if I’ve been asleep all my life and only just woken up.  I take in a deep, gasping breath, once I do that I can feel my heartbeat. I can feel hot and cold. I can feel my brain buzz in the groggy just-woke-up kind of way. My eyes go wide, adjusting to the bright light. I start to make out the voice of a man in front of me.

“Hello?” I call out quietly, mostly just testing if my voice functions.

“Well, look who woke up!” The man sits in a leather chair in from of me, he holds on to what looks like a wheel. “You’ve been asleep for most of the ride. I was surprised, most people have trouble sleeping in cars when they go over gravel.”

That’s when I start to panic. I’m moving, fast, across a large, grey, stone road in a cushioned box. The man continues to chatter, spitting out strange terms, words I’ve never heard before. I’m strapped in my seat by a cloth belt. I try to rip it off me. If I can escape, then I can fly away from this place and- I don’t have wings. Or a tail. My head is free of horns and my hair lies flat. I pull harder on my restraints, but they only tighten.

“Hey, you doing alright? You’re kinda quiet.” The man asks calmly from his seat. I don’t respond, just pull harder. “Lore, what are you doing?” I grunt, tears brimming my eyes. Why am I here? I should be dead, not alive! I don’t belong, and I’m trapped and I can’t do anything. “Stop that! You’re going to break your seat belt!”

“I’m going to vomit,” I mutter, still panicked. The man’s eyes go wide, and he turns the wheel rapidly. The box swerves to the side of the road and the wall opens up. I fight against my ‘seat belt’ and lean out of the box. Somehow, despite not having eaten anything real in ages, I vomit. And then I’m breathing hard, bile still stinging the back of my throat. Tears stream down my face, clouding my vision.

Suddenly, there’s a new voice.

“I can’t say that I envy you.” It’s familiar, and looking up, I see the translucent face of that angel. That angel who I was assigned to show the underworld. That angel who I worked with for over a mortal year. That angel who I risked everything for and loved.

“Anael?” I croak. She touches my shoulder lightly.

“You okay?” The man is turned in his seat, concern just surfacing in his eyes.

I stare at Anael. Her hair is shoulder length, auburn and curly. Freckles are splattered over her nose, the kind that only spring up during the summer months. She just how I remember her, almost. Her eyes are no longer a rich brown, but have turned solid black, even the whites. It’s a common style among demons in the underworld. I decide not to ask her about it.

“What are you doing here?” I whisper.

The man must see my mouth move, “What did you say?”

“Think your words, he’ll hear you otherwise.” Anael pulls me back into the box. “Tell him you didn’t say anything.”

“Nothing,” I tell him, wiping my mouth. The door closes and the box begins to move once more. “Wha-” Anael looks at me with frustration, putting a finger to her lips. Oh, right, thinking.

What is this thing? Who is he? Where am I going? I ask Anael frantically, Why are you here?

“Honestly, did you read anything they told you to?” She sighs, settling in the seat next to my own. “This is a car, like a carriage that moves on it’s own, only the man is controlling it. If someone asks you anything else about cars, tell them you don’t know much about them. The man is a child’s service worker. They make sure kids are okay and being treated right. His name is Horus Helmigan, he’s driving you to your foster home, where you’ll live until adopted, or you’re too old to stay.”

Why are you here? I repeat myself, hoping my thinking-tone isn’t too harsh. I’m truly very glad to have her here. My heart swells at the thought of having her around.

Anael smiles, “I’m your guardian angel.”

My mouth opens in a silent ‘oh’. I turn and face the front of the ‘car’. This is a seat belt? I I gesture to the fabric strapping me back.

“Yes, it makes cars safer.” Anael explain, I nod in response.

We ride in silence for the most part. Occasionally, Helmigan pierces my quiet with a comment on how beautiful the roadside is, or if I’m ‘doing okay back there’. Finally, after what could be minutes, could be hours, I’m not quite sure, we pull up into a what Anael tells me is a ‘driveway’. In front of the driveway is a good sized house made of a red brick. It’s at least two levels, lights are one in every window.

Helmigan exits the car and my door opens automatically. However, I can’t see how I’m supposed to get out of this seat belt. I struggle for a moment before Anael instructs me to click the little button in the seat. I step out of the car, stumbling until I find my balance. I feel dizzy, the edges of my vision going black before clearing. Helmigan is taking what I assume to be my bag from the back compartment. Anael appears behind me, I jump, startled.

He leads us up the front path to the door, dragging my bag behind him. He knocks twice on the door, it opens to the round face of a middle-aged woman. She smiles at us.

“Hello! Are you Mr. Helmigan?”

“I am, I am!” He steps back so that I’m the only thing in front of the door. “This is Lore Holston, you’ll be fostering him- er- them.”

“Pleasure to meet you, please, come in.” The woman steps back to let us in. The front room has a carpet leading up stairs and a door to my left. To my right is the living room, it has leather couches and worn coffee tables. The women gestures for us to sit on the couch and we obey.

Helmigan and the woman discuss a few final things about my arrangement, then Mr. Helmigan leaves. I sit awkwardly for a few seconds before the woman stands. I don’t pay attention as she walks away from the couches. I lean my elbows on my knees, twiddling my thumbs. This house is where’ll live, these people I will have to talk to regularly. What I’m I going to say?

“Are you coming?” She interrupts.

“Oh, y-yeah,” I stand quickly and walk over to her, unsure of what we’re doing exactly.

“I don’t think I ever introduced myself to you properly,” She holds out her hand, “My name’s Patricia Walter, though our previous foster kids call me Patty.”

“Lore, but you should already know that.” I shake her hand, gripping tightly. “They/them, not he or she.”

“Yes, yes, I was told that.” Patty starts up the stairs. “Come, I can show you your room.”

I glance behind me, Anael has disappeared again. I’m not surprised, Angels and Demon flicker between the mortal realm and the afterlife. Jumping in when needed and then leaving. However, a small part of me wishes for someone else at my shoulder, then at least I wouldn’t be alone with this stranger. I walk up the stairs, holding onto the railing this my bag slung over my shoulder. Three doors downs on the right, Patty opens the door. Light spills into the dark hallway. I step into the room, Patty standing behind me. There’s a bed against the far wall, covered in a plain blue quilt. The walls are a cream, bare but for a few photos of flowers. There is a birch dresser and matching desk with a swivel chair much like those found in the offices in hell.

I look back at Patty, she smiles again and says, “Okay, well, you get settled. My husband will be home soon, we’ll eat then.”

“I’m not hungry,” I snap, though I don’t mean to.

“Oh,” Patty’s face flashes with anger, before relaxing. She looks like she understood something just said, like she’s analysing me. “I’ll call you down later, just in case you’re hungry then.”

She turns on her heel and leaves, closing the door behind her softly. I stare at the plain door for a moment. It’s not fair. I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be in this human house, in some kid’s old bedroom. I shouldn’t Be without my guardian angel. I should be in Hell. I should be torturing some cruel soul. “Agh!” I yell in frustration, hitting my fist against the wall. It hurts. A feeling demons can’t feel, pain. There is a hole in the wall from my hand, but my hand is in worse shape. It comes back slightly bloodied and with my knuckles starting to bruise. I exhale, annoyed. I punch the wall again.

Patty yells something from downstairs, I don’t respond to whatever she says. I shake my hand, ignoring the pain like I learned to do all those years ago. To the right of the door, there is a mirror. I look at myself, a bit surprised that I actually appear. My skin is no longer grey and dead, but a tanned white. My eyes are very dark brown, almost black, but you can’t see them very well through the mop of dark red hair on my head. Lucifer could’ve done better, I’m sure if it were up to him, he’d give me my demon form just to mess with people. I smile, but it quickly disappears. I walk to the bed, laying down. I just hope that sleep takes me quickly.

╳∴∗∵✕✦♡✦✕∵∗∴╳

“Dinner!” Patty hollers upstairs. I jolt awake, forgetting for a moment that I’m mortal now. Demons sleep, sure, but we don’t do it for anything but to pass the time. When we wake, we jump right up, no trouble. I’m not used to this groggy feeling of consciousness. Slowly, I make my way downstairs, stomach aching despite not feeling hungry earlier.

Patty meets me at the bottom of the stairs and leads me through the kitchen into the dining room. She has a smile on her face, but instead of being warm, this one is sickeningly sweet. I take a seat at the table, uncomfortable with how formal it seems. Patty clears her throat, taking a seat next to the head. I look up quickly. Sitting at the head of the table is a dark looking man. He has as defined jaw, and cheekbones that cast shadows on his face.

“Oh, hey,” I glance at him a second longer before looking down at my plate. It has carrots and potatoes to one side, a porkchop on the other. There is so smell, but perhap I simply don’t remember food well enough to know it.

“My name is Matthew Walter, you shall address me as ‘Sir’.” When I don’t look up, he repeats himself.  I still don’t look up. I want to, but I can’t. Something is keeping my head down. My eyes dart around, nervously searching for something, but I don’t know what. Then the table is upturned, food spilling down the side. Patty yelps, leaping from her seat. Finally, I can move again. Mr.Walter stands, seething with anger. He shouts something, I don’t know what exactly, but he’s mad. He lunges at me, going for the throat. Patty charges into him, pushing him away from me. He grabs her arm and throws her against the wall. I hear her neck snap, blood dribbles from her mouth as she goes limp.

A scream escapes my lips as I scramble away from him. He chases me out of the dining room, into the kitchen, and up the stairs. I take a picture from the wall and throw it at him as he storms up the stairs. My mind is slow and foggy, but a searing memory of fear and pain immobilizes me. Mr. Walter’s image becomes larger, morphing into the familiar face of my father. I yell for help, begging that whatever God there is saves me from this fate. But it does nothing. His hands wrap around my neck, lifting my into the air. I struggle for breath as he crushes my windpipe.

“That’ll teach you,” He slams me against the wall, “To disrespect me.” My vision is getting fuzzy around the edges. “You useless,” Slam, “Idiotic,” Slam, “Freak.”

He releases me, dropping me body to the ground. I don’t have the strength to get up. Mr. Walter hits me, he kicks me again and again and again.

Again and again and again.

Again! And again! And again!

Because that’s what I deserve and what does it matter if-

╳∴∗∵✕✦♡✦✕∵∗∴╳

I wake up screaming. I jump off of my bed like it’s on fire. My chest rises and falls quickly as I take in short, scared breaths. I can’t find my rhythm. I can’t move, but this time it’s because of panic, not because of a stupid dream. I didn’t realize I was in a dream, I should’ve. I’ve haunted so many dreams, but for the first time in centuries, I have my own and figure that it’s real. And now look where I am. Useless, weak, insane.

I run my hands through my hair, pulling the strands bit, hoping to find solace in the pain, but I don’t. I have to get out of here. I have to leave, right now.

I scramble for the window, try to pry it open. Nothing, it’s stuck. I hit it with my fist, but it only shudders. I find a book and hit it, nothing but a loud noise. Patty and her husband must hear it by now, they’re going to come looking for me, fuck.

I hit the window harder, finally, it cracks. Just a bit, but I know that it won’t be long until it’s shattered now. I raise the book, but a hand holds me back.

“Let go,” I growl, not quite knowing who it is. I only know that they’re stopping me. The person’s hands only grip tighter. “Let go!”

I can’t move the book, this is not a human. No mortal could hold me back. I stop trying to hurl it towards the window and slam it back into their face. The person yelps in surprise, letting go of the book. I twist around to see Anael.

“Nice of you to show up,” I spit. She could’ve stopped the dream. Or had me not sleep. She could’ve done something. But she didn’t.

“Don’t.”

One word, that’s what I get? One word?

I pick up the book and quickly smash the window. The web of cracks expands, nearly covering the whole window now. Anael rushes to stop  me, but not before I can deliver one more blow. The glass shatters. She grasps my arm, turning me to face her. I peer into to her jet black eyes.

“Please, don’t.”

“Let me go,” I beg, tears falling from my eyes.

“No,” Anael pulls me closer, preventing me from reaching the window. “No, Lore you can’t.”

“I need to!”

“It won’t help, I promise you that.”

“Let go of me! You don’t understand, I have to go back.” I claw at her arms, but, of course, she isn’t affected by it. “Why are you doing this?”

“I’m your guardian angel, I have-I have to protect you!”

“I’m not safe here!” I break through her grip and run towards the window. I climb onto the edge, looking out into the night sky.

“Just tell me why. What happened?” I know she’s stalling, but I give in regardless.

“You know what happened!” I turn to face her, back to the sky. “You could see it, I know you could!”

“I didn-”

“Don’t lie to me Anael.” I cut her off before she can even start.

“I couldn’t stop it, I’m sorry.”

“Why couldn’t you? You’re supposed to protect me!” I scream, not caring the someone could hear me.

“Someone could hear you…”

“He was so much like him, Anael. That man in my dreams was so much like him.” Anael looks like she’s about to comment, but I quickly continue. “Do you understand what that’s like? I can’t even remember my name in my past life, but I remember him. I remember the fear, and pain, and suffering, and sadness that he caused me. I remember how it felt to hold the knife above his heart, as he had threatened to do to me so many times before!”

“This isn’t the solution, you don’t want to go back there.”

“But I do! I want to because that happened last time. Last time when I died I was so happy. I was excited to stop feeling pain.” I take a deep breath, “I just don’t want to feel pain.”

“I understand that, but Lore, this won’t work. Trust me, please.”

“You don’t understand, though! This is a punishment for me!”

“Oh, so getting to live again is a punishment?” She retorts.

“How would you know, you didn’t get punished!”

“I didn't get punished?” She takes a shuddering breath, almost a laugh. Anael points to her eyes, “I got punished alright.”

“Practically every demon chooses eyes like those, it’s no punishment.”

“Every demon, I’m not a demon, I’m an angel!”

Oh.

“No one will even talk to me! Do you understand that? I’m completely alone and dead.” Tears brim her eyes, “At least you’re not alone.”

I step down from the window sill.

“It won’t be any better here, so I might as well be there.”

“It’ll get better.”

“But what if it doesn’t?” I ask quietly. Anael hugs my tightly.

“It will,” She pulls me closer, “It will because I’m here and you’re here. And we’re not alone.”

[crimsonlyre]

Vampdoc: 5/19/2018 Prompt

Today’s prompt was provided by @adeptussquid!

Prompt #5: A vampire is learning how to be a doctor in modern times, and must deal with performing surgery.  Hilarity ensues.

As always, don’t hesitate to leave critique in my asks or my notes!

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The bustle of the ER was especially intense today. A gas explosion down the block had resulted in a number of casualties- numbering well into the thirties by the final tally. Doctors and assistants ran about in a blur, medical jargon flying around the space as those patients who were quite a great deal luckier than the others in terms of injury questioned- selfishly- as to when they would be seen. One such particular doctor was a woman by the name of Luna Beauregard- an accomplished surgeon and holder of multiple prestigious rewards.

At least, officially.

The truth of the matter was that Luna Beauregard had died a very long time ago. Then known as Lanette Boudreaux, she had gone through a number of different lives since her official death. Now, one might think it strange that someone like her was employed at a hospital... Much less as a surgeon, considering the nasty case of hemophilia that the condition intends to imply. Luna, as she was calling herself, was a well trained and seasoned vampire. Yes, vampire. The method through which she  subsisted was by hypnotizing the staff in charge of the on-site blood bank, and taking what she needed through those means... Of course, with hypnotism now on the narrative table, it should hopefully be quite easy to guess why she held the position she held.

Supernatural bullshit.

Luna had been an employee of St. John's Memorial Hospital for a touch under two weeks. With no real credentials and no real experience- it was a miracle that she had even lasted this long. With fast talking and fast application of her feminine and supernatural wiles, she was able to scrape by one day at a time... Though a piece of her couldn't help but think that this was- quite possibly- the worst decision that she had ever made in terms of 'work placement', as she had begun to call it. Today was a prime example of how woefully underprepared she was... Seated in her office as the rest of the staff zoomed about the building with urgency, she sat with her feet kicked up on the desk reading through the latest edition of 'Vogue' with a phone and her wallet nearby.

The office, of course, actually belonged to the woman whose place she had taken. The original Luna had indeed been a successful surgeon with a list of accomplishments one hundred miles long, but she could not have accounted for the sudden life change of becoming a vampire's dinner. In her absence, this false Luna had taken her place... Even moved in with the late Beauregard's husband! Of course, with the fact that she had taken this woman's office, titles, and accomplishments? It meant that the very same expectations were placed upon her than had been upon the real thing. Which meant that it should not have surprised her nearly so much when third year surgical intern Renee Wilson slammed her palms down on her desk- having entered without drawing Luna's notice.

"You BITCH!" She exclaimed, her gaze withering as Luna casually looked up from her book.

"Oh, me? A bitch? Darling I save LIVES! What kind of bitch does that, huh? That's right. Not one." The 'doctor' huffed, turning her attention back to her magazine. That is, until a full cup of pencils was thrown directly at her face- falling all over the floor and her lap. There was little more she could do than sit in stunned silence- else risk the possibility of baring her fangs and hissing... So she sat, giving the thousand yard stare to the folded down pages of her magazine as she processed what had just happened.

"Okay. Alright. So you're serious, fine. Why are all you interns so freakin' hormonal? What, did I sleep with you some night and not call you back? D'you wanna' go have hate sex in the elevator or something? This is how that usually goes, right?" If Renee had been red in the face before, now she was practically on the verge of exploding. There was a reason that Luna jumped to that conclusion of course... A great deal of research had gone into her decision to take up this position, and she wasn't about to let it go to waste. Not after everything that poor Meredith Grey had gone through!

"Un fucking believable. Doctor Beauregard, we have a situation in the ER that needs all hands on deck. That includes you. So what the Hell are you doing in this office reading fashion magazines!" Renee reached across the desktop, snatching the magazine from the stunned Luna's hands with a harsh whip of paper before it was handedly discarded into the trash bin beside the door. "Now get out here and pick your interns. You're performing a thoracic aortic dissection repair in OR one in NOW." Renee stormed out of the room without another word, as Luna launched herself out of her chair in a bid to quickly follow after her to ask what she had just said. A thoraxic what? That sounded complicated!

Nervously, Luna tugged at her collar as she made her way out after Renee... Where the hell was OR one again? This was usually the part where the show cut right to the action. She was never told that hospitals were such ridiculous labyrinths! Map... Map map map. The woman's eyes feverishly searched about for some manner of navigational assistance, eventually settling on a large map of the hospital's fire escape routes in the hall. From the looks of it, OR one was all the way on the top floor of the four story hospital... On the farthest side of the bloody building.

Because of course it was.

So she ran. Full tilt, her laniard with name badge swinging to and fro so intensely that it quite literally slapped a passing Nurse right on the bridge of the nose. Luna didn't stop when the woman gasped and clutched at her wound- however... Heedless of the fact that her plastic card had, somehow, ripped open the woman's flesh. It was taking a great deal of restraint to keep her pace measured. After all, she was a creature of the night! AND a certified medical professional! There was a very specific art to running in these situations according to the hospital shows, so she had to honor tradition!

By the time she arrived at the OR, she was plenty able to fake being out of breath; in truth it was likely no small part due to the fact that she was a VERY un-athletic bloodsucker. Un-athletic, and unb-coordinated. She opened the door to the prep room with an impressively stoney face despite her exhaustion, moving to the sinks and beginning to scrub in with surprising efficiency. As she did, one of the doctors assisting entered and spoke with a dreamily warm- yet extremely condescending voice, "Doctor Beauregard... Have you chosen your interns? You aren't planning on going in there without them, are you?" Luna lifted her gaze, affixing him with the withering gaze of a professional actress feigning intense disapproval.

"With all due respect, Doctor... D-doctor. I don't need interns to scrub in on a surgery I know better than my own right hand. If anything, they would only get in the way. A... An uh... A Thoraxic Reduction Distection is textbook. Step by step. If anything I'm insulted that you think so little of me as to suggest I need interns."

Doctor Doctor lifted a brow at her, running a rag over his hands with an 'are you serious?' stare on his face clear as day. But soon enough, and much to Luna's surprise? He chuckled... Shooting her a devilish smirk as those dreamy, dreamy eyes drank her in. "That's the attitude I like... Alright then, Doctor. The stress is getting to you, I can tell... But, we'll get this done." Luna's response came as a haughty huff as she finished scrubbing in, holding her hands out towards him as she innocently tilted her head.

"Gloves?" "Yeah, I'll be your intern for the next fifteen seconds." As he began to slide the surgical gloves over her hands, her own expression twisted into a visage equally as devilish. "If you're my intern, then what do you think about meeting me in the break room in ward C after we save this man's life?" The gloves on, he gave her a roguish wink.

"Save her life, and I'll think about it." Well, these mistakes happen when you don't read your patients charts.

This patient was a woman. That was what the expression on Luna's face said, and it was one that earned a tremendous laugh from the surgeon assisting. A laugh that continued even as she pressed her back to the door, rolling her eyes as she entered the OR without even putting a face mask on. The faux-doctor strode towards the woman on the table, humming all the way there as she finally arrived tableside... Her eyes wandered up to the observation room- where she noticed at least a dozen people sitting in to watch. A quite "Yes" slipped between Luna's lips as she looked back to her patient, and realized quite quickly...

She hadn't a single clue on how to go about cutting a person open for surgical purposes. Sure, she had some knowledge of old world medicine... But leeches weren't going to fix a thoraxic whatever the fuck. Her eyes widened as the other three surgeons filed into the room to assist- watching her expectantly as she acted like a mannequin. One minute passed... Two. Three. Four. Five minutes passed in complete and utter silence, before finally, one of the other surgeons in the room suggested in a biting tone- "Doctor Beauregard! The longer you delay, the further this patient declines! You need to start the procedure now!" With that goading, the vampiress was roused from her stupor.

"Doctor Acula, the longer you scream at me like a little baby, the longer this patient goes without care. God... Shouldn't you be more in awe of me or something? I mean, I'm the Meredith!" Despite the childish nature of the retort, the hypnotic nature of her voice seemed well beyond capable of quelling his well founded scrutiny.  Now that the rude one had been dealt with? It was time to do a Thalatonic Hysterectomy.

Luna would have known what to do, for certain. Yet Lanette was none the wiser. Instinct was something with which a vampiress was exceedingly close... But this time, it was going to betray her. Her right hand grasped a ten blade from the instrument tray beside her, staring at it with a completely deadpan look in her eyes before she decided to begin the procedure—

And made the first cut. Expert work being put in to the incision- and not even a flinch as the blood made itself visible. "Suction." She commanded dryly, placing the ten blade down and picking up a pair of clamps. She shoved these into the incision- forcing it apart in a grotesque sloshing of bone and meat. "Hold it. I'm going to begin the Thoraxaholic Disgenuation." The grip on the clamps was taken by the attending who had spoken against her just earlier- now stoneface calm as she began to work. It was all textbook. Professional as all Hell. At least it would have been, if it was even the proper procedure. At least it wouyld've been if it weren't for one glaring fact.

Everyone in the room, and everyone in the observation room, was staring straight ahead with a dead emptiness in their eyes. Lanette, however, was still staring blankly at the instrument in her hand. She looked between it and the doctors across from her, humming thoughtfully before lifting the scalpel in hand- and jamming it into the patient's chest cavity. "There. Thorakoxic whatever is now done! Uh..." The others would be trapped in that illusion for quite a while. She hadn't had a chance to study the actual procedure- but all that she needed to keep consistent with reality in her little illusion was that the procedure took at least 48 hours. She had glimpsed the board, so it was a simple matter to make it last that long in dreamland.

Speaking of dreamland, her own was over before it even had a chance to begin. That realization became apparent as she let out a harsh sigh and a shake of her head.

"Well uhm... I shouldn't waste this. In the name of professionalism and... Whatever." Vampires had uses for freshly expired individuals, after all. After she snuck out of here and left the name of Luna Beauregard behind, she could use a ghoul to stand in as her assistant for her next undertaking...

The judicial system was full of bullshit, right? She could make a killing as a defense lawyer! Lord save them all.

[justcallmeasmodeus]

I’m not usually a political blog but...

I have to get this off of my chest.

The horrendous crime that took place in the beginning of this week is not about gun control.

Yes, he did commit the crime with guns. Illegal guns. Everyone who talks like you can just go pick up an automatic weapon next to the lactose free milk has clearly never tried to legally buy a gun. There are permits, and tests, and background checks that you have to pass. I know, I’m a legal carrier. (I don’t carry, but I can. Many members of my family do carry, and we all own various weapons)

Yes, America does have the highest rate of gun death when you compare it to other countries. But lets talk about some things for a minute. An illegal crime was committed with illegal weapons. If we had stricter gun laws, maybe he wouldn’t have been able to get his hands on the guns that he had. Maybe he wouldn’t have been able to illegally alter the semiautomatic assault rifles and turn them into automatic killing machines.

But have you ever stopped to think that this man went through the trouble of buy illegal weapons, then further learning how to alter them and buying the equipment he needed to illegally alter them, just so he could bring harm to innocent people? If he couldn’t get his hands on a gun, what was stopping him from making pipe bombs and hiding them? Did you know it’s easier to make a bomb in this country than it is to buy an illegal fire arm? With the right placement and timing you could bring more harm to a greater number of people with bombs rather than firearms. Not to mention the fact that you have a greater get away window with bombs than you do with firearms. Just ask Manchester. Oh wait, that wasn’t America.

Maybe we should move away from how this man killed and injured so many people, and move on to why. 

Clearly this man was one sick individual. Maybe if he had gotten the help that he so clearly needed, he wouldn’t have completed this act. Which brings me back to the gun death statistics. Do you know what else those countries have besides lower gun death rates? Affordable, better health care. So affordable in fact, many of them have free health care. Free. Sure, it might come out somewhere down the line, but let me break down an average single person middle class american health care plan for you.

I pay $50 each week for basic medical and dental coverage. I will admit I have the top plan my company offers, but that’s because it was a $10 per week difference. Now let’s do some math. $50 per week means each year I’m pay roughly $2,600 for health care even if I don’t use it. That’s almost 10% of my income, automatically gone. But wait, it gets worse. At that rate, you would think that I should be able to walk in anywhere and get treated right? I mean I’m already giving you 10% of my yearly earnings after all. Wrong. I have a copay. So if i need to visit the doctor or chose to actually go to my yearly checkups to maintain a healthy body (which should just be a basic civilian right in any civilized world imo) that means I have to pay more on top of my weekly health insurance. $30 for a regular visit, $50 for a specialist (I have 3), $60 for urgent care (don’t get sick if your doctor doesn’t have any appointments) and $300 for an ER visit, because God forbid I trip and impale myself or severely dislocate a joint (it’s happened before. I have EDS). And that’s just to walk in the door. Need a prescription to help you function like a normal human? We’re going to need you to pay half of that. Need X-ray’s to see how badly you fucked up this time? We’re going to need you to cover 20%. Need surgery to repair that injury? We’re going to need you to cover 20% until you hit $2,000, then we’ll cover 90% but we max out at $10,000. After that it’s all you buddy. Which, for those who don’t feel like doing math in your head, means that on a $60,000 surgery, I would end up paying over $50,000, and end up paying every other visit for the rest of the year in full, on top of also continuing to pay for my $50 per week health insurance. Fun huh?

But you know what sucks even more? I have to have health insurance or I get fined. So my wonderful government is forcing me to pay all that money just to exist. Don’t even get me started on Trumpcare because if his health ‘care’ act ever gets passed, all my premiums at least double.

So maybe if we didn’t have to lay around nursing our dying bodies wondering if we have the flu or ebola because we can’t fucking afford to go to the doctor thanks to the cost of our health insurance and praying that the end just comes swiftly, or trying to self medicate our depression and anxiety issues because we can’t afford to go see a therapist let alone the cost of the appropriate medication to actually help with our diseases, we wouldn’t have as much gun violence. Maybe we wouldn’t have such high suicide rates. Maybe, if our government actually cared about us as people and not as slaves working to pay for them to sit in an office and make decisions that are literally killing us. Wouldn’t want to put a wrench in the budget though, just ask Puerto Rico It’s time to wake the fuck up America, and realize what this country is doing to you. Oh, and another thing that I’ve noticed recently that seriously pisses me off? It’s NOT Trump’s America. It’s not any one person’s America. This is our America, and it’s time we changed things for the better. Starting with who we rally behind.

[roseymoseyberry]

Knocked Out (3/?)

Heyo and here we go with chapter 3! Featuring very slowly trying to dismantle the language barrier, cooperation, and more snarky commentary from the friends.

Hope you enjoy! As usual, you can also read this over on ao3 if that’s more your jam.

Title: Knocked Out

Series: Transformers: Prime with the constructicons shoved right in there, and just a sprinkle of ideas pulled from tfidw

Pairing/Characters: Breakdown/Knockout, joined by Bulkhead and the Constructicons

Warnings: Robot injuries (nothing super gory), sexual jokes, language barriers, and fluff. Oh the fluff. Also slow burn I guess depending on your definition of slow haha.

Fic Summary:

And so there Breakdown found himself, with an injured barbarian in his arms who turned those dazzling crimson optics towards him, and for a split second Breakdown felt as if it was his knees that were injured because boy did they feel weak.

Barbarian AU where the citymech unwittingly does the kidnapping.

Chapter Summary:

“Whoa whoa whoa,” he stammered out, looking from Knockout to Hook and back. “You probably shouldn’t do that, right? He shouldn’t do that?”

|Chapter 1|Chapter 2|Chapter 3|Chapter 4|Chapter 5|

"Don't say anything negative. He'll start all over again if you do."

Breakdown face pinched as he rebooted his optics to clear the blurriness of recharge. The first thing he noticed was that Knockout was not only still online, but he was busy moving things. A couple long bars, some small little things Breakdown couldn't quite make out, and a jar of some sort.

The second thing that Breakdown noticed is that it was still dark. The fire lit up enough that he could see the rest of the crew recharging, could see the way Knockout's ridges furrowed and he pursed his lips as he poked at his knee, and saw where Hook was perched on a boulder nearby, no doubt the one on watch duty and who had spoken to him.

It wasn't until Knockout blinked back at him, noticing the glow of Breakdown’s optics, that Knockout stilled.

Primus, he was too fucking tired for this.

"He'll start what over again?" Breakdown asked quietly, trying to keep his voice neutral.

Knockout was watching him very closely now, as if waiting for Breakdown to turn on him.

"I'm not totally sure yet. He didn't get very far when Mixmaster and I switched off. He must have made your barbarian nervous when he started asking question because he shoved all those supplies back in his subspace. But judging from how focused he is on his wound and what all he has, I would guess he's decided to taking care of the injury himself."

Breakdown had to fight back a frown.

"But what if he frags it up?"

"It's already pretty bad. Can't imagine his barbarian first aid techniques would hurt it much more."

"Breakdown?" Knockout questioned, his expression still wary, his lips pressed in a tight line. "Yes? No?"

"Uh. Yes, I guess," Breakdown murmured. That was clearly the right answer so far as Knockout was concerned as the barbarian relaxed and returned to his supplies. He grabbed the handful of small things -- they looked like screws now that Breakdown's optics were better calibrated to the dim light -- and placed them in a small pan of sorts. Next he picked up a small metal slab which he shoved into the fire bowl, quick to remove his servo before the fire could more than lick at his digits.

"He doesn't mind that you're watching though?"

"No. I'm curious what he's up to, so I didn't stop him. After enough time passed, he seemed to understand that and ignored me." Hook's face was mostly in shadows since he was looking out into the wilds, but Breakdown could still make out a small smirk. "I ignore him, he ignores me. Works well enough."

Knockout shifted forward, moving his frame further from the metal formation at his back until he could lean back a ways and then twisted his torso. At first Breakdown just watched, puzzled, as Knockout tugged his makeshift skirt up and pulled aside some of the fabric that further covered his pelvis beneath it.

And then Knockout shoved his long, clawed digits into the gap his frame position had opened up in his hip.

Breakdown’s optics went wide and bright as he jerked up right.

“Whoa whoa whoa,” he stammered out, looking from Knockout to Hook and back. “You probably shouldn’t do that, right? He shouldn’t do that?”

Knockout looked unimpressed, and when Breakdown didn’t actually reach out towards him, he just went back to whatever his digit was doing that deep in his hip. His optics dimmed and he absently licked his lips, face pinched with concentration.

“It’s probably fine,” Hook commented, his helm now fully turned to consider Knockout, watching with interest. “He knew exactly how to get at his wiring, so I’d guess he knows what he’s looking for.”

“What could he be looking for?”

Knockout’s optics brightened and he retracted his claws from his hip.

“If my suspicion about him is right?”

Knockout flicked his finger at his leg plating harshly and didn’t so much as twitch.

“I think you have a barbarian doctor on your servos, and he just clipped his pain reception wiring.”

"What?" Breakdown asked dumbly, even as he watched Knockout proceed to shift his injured leg. He straightened it out and turned it until the shin lined up perfectly with his upper leg.

"He's a doctor," Hook repeated again. "I had my suspicions given all the supplies he has, but he's obviously got a pretty good knowledge of the cybertronian frame."

"Right." With the leg straightened, Knockout picked up one of the rods and held it against the outside of his leg, lining it up so that his knee was at about the halfway point on it. That was when Breakdown noticed the little holes in it which Knockout was twisting his torso to look at.

Breakdown felt a trickle of shame in his spark at the fact that he was so surprised. Just because Knockout didn't speak common didn't mean he was an idiot.

In fact, he was starting to realize that Knockout was probably smarter than he was.

"Is it ok for him to do that to his wires though? I mean, those are important."

"For feeling pain, sure," Hook commented. "That's usually important for making sure you know when you're doing something your frame doesn't like. But if his leg's already fragged? Cutting it off before it can bother your processor is easier than reapply numbing agents and pain killers. I would guess he probably just nicked it so it doesn't function now, but given enough time his repair nanites will fix it up."

Seemingly happy with the placement, Knockout carefully pressed his claw into the small divots of the rod. He grimaced to himself as the slightest of scraping noises could be heard, which was odd considering his pain receptors shouldn’t have been working anymore. Knockout didn't go digging around in his hip again though, instead moving to make another scrape in his armor where the lower divot sat on his shin, grimacing again.

"So he's just making it stop hurting?"

"I mean, that's usually the first step before screwing a brace into your plating."

Breakdown's spark stalled for a moment.

He was marking spots for screws.

"But--"

"Relax already would ya?" Hook interrupted tiredly. "It's a simple procedure, and exactly what I would have done if he had let me."

Breakdown still frowned but nodded.

Done with the one side, Knockout put the rod on the ground and placed the other on the inside of his leg to repeat the process. And Breakdown just sat there and watched, transfixed by the precision that Knockout showed.

"Knockout?"

The barbarian glanced up and Breakdown swallowed down his nervousness.

"Did you want help?"

Hook snorted a harsh ex-vent, but he didn’t comment.

"Help?" Knockout asked as he stared at him, optics dimming as his processor worked.

"Yeah. With your leg?" Breakdown said, pointing at the injury. Knockout still looked confused and Breakdown ex-vented with disappointment. "I guess that's a harder word to explain with just charades, huh?"

Knockout continued to watch him, as if waiting for more.

“Here,” Breakdown said, shifting himself over to sit right next to Knockout. The barbarian’s plating twitched, prepared to flare, and but Breakdown kept his voice quiet – both to keep from waking the rest of the still recharging team, and also to keep from appearing at all forceful. “I’m not gonna stop you or anything. I just want to help. If you want help.”

“Help?” Knockout repeated, optics narrowed.

Breakdown nodded and reached out towards the rod laying by Knockout’s leg. Knockout was quick to grab it, his optics flaring as he scowled. But still, Breakdown reached, grasping the other end of it.

“Yeah. I want to help you.”

Then Breakdown pushed the rod back towards Knockout's leg, holding it where the barbarian had previously. "Help."

Knockout still frowned, and replied in his own language, gesturing with his free hand at himself, at his supplies, at his leg.

"Yeah, no, I know. You’re gonna fix yourself. You fix," he stated, pointing at Knockout and then at the leg, and then turned his digit on himself, "and I help." Breakdown finally pointed to where his servo merely held the rod in place.

And, slowly, Knockout's optics cycled.

They were so focused on Breakdown.

"Knockout fix."

"Yeah."

"Breakdown help."

"If you want."

And, still slowly, Knockout's lips curled.

“Yes.”

While Breakdown still didn’t feel fully comfortable, his fear eased in knowing that he could at least help, holding the rod as he watched Knockout work. The barbarian slipped his servo into his subspace again to pull out a thick mitt which he immediately donned. With it on, Knockout reached back into the fire to grab the metal slab he had placed there, now glowing with heat.

Breakdown winced when Knockout placed the red-hot metal onto his leg plating, though Knockout didn’t look at all concerned or pained.

“He’s just softening it to make it easier to twist the screws in,” Hook reassured, unbidden but very much appreciated.

Breakdown nodded absently, enraptured by how Knockout’s hold curled the malleable metal around the curve of his thigh, pressing the heat into his frame. A few minutes went by, interrupted by Knockout occasionally lifting the slab to poke at the armor with his bare servo to test his plating, until finally the check was satisfactory. The slab was placed back in the fire while Knockout gestured Breakdown closer.

“Stay here,” he ordered, pointing at the rod in Breakdown’s servos and then at his leg. Breakdown followed quickly, lining the divot with the small mark he could still see in the hot thigh plating.

“Here?”

“Yes,” Knockout said, and it sounded an awful lot like praise.

Then, fast as he could, Knockout plucked up one of the screws, pressed it through the divot and twisted it into his plating. Breakdown winced but stayed firm, keeping his hold steady as he watched the screw slowly, bit by bit, twist and sink into Knockout’s leg.

As soon as the screw was all the way in, Knockout repeated the process on his shin, completely at ease as he heated his armor. Getting his lower leg to lay at the right angle and stay there was more difficult since Knockout couldn’t control it, so Breakdown shifted until he was sat by Knockout’s pede, holding the rod with one servo and Knockout’s leg with the other.

By the time they were attaching the second rod to the inside of Knockout’s leg, Breakdown’s anxiety had slipped away completely. Knockout knew what he was doing, and Breakdown was able to help make that go easier, and before he knew it, Knockout’s leg was completely braced.

"Not bad I suppose," Hook commented haughtily and Breakdown just snorted.

Knockout's smile managed to be more distracting than Hook's ego though.

He murmured something to Breakdown as he reached out to pat his shoulder. It certainly sounded like praise so Breakdown smiled back.

"Not a problem, Knockout."

That brilliant smile broadened before Knockout looked away, picking up the jar that still sat at his side. The mixture inside was mildly yellow in color and viscous as Knockout dipped his digits in. With enough of the goop on his digits, he turned his leg to one side to make the inside of his knee face himself, the bracing moving his shin along with his thigh. He dipped his helm down and started to poke around in the wound. His optics narrowed and he leaned closer still.

"Did you need light?"

"Light?" Knockout replied distractedly, his optics never straying from his work as he picked at something and moved his servo, a soft clanking of metal hitting metal rising from the opening.

"Yeah. Here, hold on, let me just--" Breakdown pulled a small flashlight from his subspace turned it on. "See? Light. Do you need it?"

Knockout's optics lit up and he immediately pointed at the flashlight and then at his leg, saying, "Light here."

"You got it, boss," Breakdown replied, shifting to his knees to shuffle over to Knockout's other side. Lighting up the injury reignited some of the panic though because scrap, it was a mess in there. Struts and cylinders all knocked out of place, and the ones that hung on were dented to the pits and back. And that wasn’t mentioning the wiring. It was bad. And worse still was how much of it was still loose; the second that Knockout got the light in there, he was poking at all the bits that hung or clunked against the others. "Scrap. That's really bad, Knockout."

Knockout shrugged and casually replied as he dipped one of his digits into the goop the other servo held. He applied it to the end of a cylinder and then, carefully, moved the cylinder until the sticky end met where it had originally attached. Knockout held it there for a while, even bending down further to blow on it, until he let go and the cylinder stayed.

"Oh. It's glue."

Knockout nodded as if he had understood Breakdown, even as he scooped up more and picked at a strut that hung uselessly. Breakdown was starting to think that Knockout was just humoring him, only paying him half a processor -- if even that -- but he found that he didn't really mind so much. He did the same when he was focused. And, truthfully, Breakdown much preferred that Knockout focus on his injury instead of trying to understand what sounded like nonsense to him.

So Breakdown quieted and just watched, finding some form of morbid fascination with how precisely Knockout worked. Whatever the glue was, it held well, and bit by bit, Knockout made sure that all of his parts were set in place. When he rotated his leg this way and that, nothing so much as shifted. Knockout then pulled a last vial from his subspace, uncorking it to pour what looked to be just simple water onto his glue-covered servo. Where the substance had started to stiffen, it melted under the liquid, and it only took some vigorous scrubbing and another rinse for Knockout to clean his servos.

Knockout was grinning as he said something with relief and no little self-satisfaction. And then he turned his focus to Breakdown, optic ridges raised, and yes, while Breakdown had no way of understanding the words, he knew bragging when he heard it.

“Gotta admit, you’re pretty fragging smart,” Breakdown complimented, smiling back at Knockout and chuckling softly. “I mean, a pretty face and a doctor? I’m starting to think you might find me pretty boring in comparison once you understand me.”

Knockout practically preened despite not understanding a word. No doubt assuming – correctly – that he was being praised.

“Careful. Looks like that one’s got an ego,” Hook commented.

“I think that’s just something all docs have,” Breakdown replied, snickering when Hook huffed and looked back out towards the wilds.

There still wasn’t even a hint of the sun, and a quick check of his chronometer told Breakdown there were a few hours still before sunrise.

“Well, now that that’s settled, you should get some recharge.”

Knockout just stared at him, watching as Breakdown laid back down on the ground. When he didn’t move, Breakdown tried patting the ground next to him, saying, “Come on. Recharge.”

The barbarian’s optics flickered back to the rest of the crew before returning.

“No.”

Breakdown ex-vented tiredly but let it go. Knockout couldn’t go forever without recharge. And if he had learned anything, it was that things did go smoother when he let Knockout make his own decisions.

“Alright. Well, goodnight.”

His optics had barely offlined for a minute at most before he felt a servo nudging his shoulder. Breakdown only needed to online one of them to see Knockout gazing down at him.

“Did you need something?”

Knockout’s ridges were furrowed.

“You help,” Knockout said, speaking slowly, as if trying to piece together a puzzle as he did. “I say—” The barbarian stopped, grimacing, and then gestured towards his face as he said, “suamna.”

Breakdown’s other optic onlined as he blinked up at Knockout.

“Suamna? What’s that?”

Knockout deflated some before in-venting deeply, steeling himself for another attempt.

“You help.”

“Yeah. I helped you.”

That strengthened Knockout’s resolve and he pushed, “I say--” and gestured as if something else came from his mouth. Another word maybe?

“You say… suamna?”

Knockout’s shoulders slumped.

“No.” He grimaced and corrected, “Yes. No yes?”

With Breakdown just staring in confusion, Knockout pointed at his mouth. “Suamna,” he said before then pointing at Breakdown’s mouth. And waiting.

“Are… are asking me what that means in common?”

Breakdown’s confusion just butted with Knockout’s confusion. With an annoyed growl, Knockout’s helm tilted back, as if looking at the stars for how to ask for what he wanted.

“Sorry, I’m not as good at this as you are.”

But immediately Knockout was looking at him again. “No. No sorry,” he insisted with a pointed finger. “You help Knockout. I say--”

“He’s trying to say thank you for helping him, dipstick,” Longhaul grumbled from nearby, his voice edged with static from recharge. “So just let him say thanks so we can all recharge again.”

Breakdown felt his face heat up as Knockout’s optics cycled.

“Thank?”

“Uh, yeah, I guess so,” Breakdown said, chuckling softly. “I helped you, so you want to say thank you?”

Knockout’s optics brightened.

“Yes. Thank.”

Breakdown had to fight back a snort.

“You’re welcome.”

For all the crazy events of the last day, the next morning was relatively peaceful. The constructicons all woke and started moving around as a unit, waking Bulkhead and Breakdown and leaving them to grumble about gestalts and how they never do anything by halves.

But when Breakdown finally onlined his optics to see beautiful red optics staring back at him, it all came back. And instead of the concerns and anxieties he thought would come with it, Breakdown just smiled.

“Good morning, Knockout.”

Knockout grinned.

“Good morning, Breakdown.”

“Fragging Primus,” Bonecrusher grumbled, “please tell me you’re not gonna keep up this mushy scrap the whole way to Praxis.”

“I’m being polite, aft,” Breakdown replied without any real venom as he sat up and stretched out his arms. “And it’s a teaching opportunity. Unless you’d rather Knockout just shout barbarian at us the whole time.”

“Better than that mushy stuff.”

“I think it’s cute,” Bulkhead insisted as he clapped Breakdown on the shoulder and used it to push himself up to his pedes. “It’s been forever since I’ve seen ol’ Breaky sweet on somebody.”

“I’m not being sweet! I’m being nice!”

“Is there a difference?” Scrapper asked to the amusement of all the other constructicons.

Breakdown glowered before moving to stand. “Very funny. I hope you’re all getting a good laugh out of me trying to be a decent mech.”

“If we were really making fun of you, we’d do it behind your back.”

“Speak for yourself, Bulkhead.” Mixmaster laughed when Bulkhead playfully punched him in the shoulder.

A servo tapped at Breakdown’s leg, and as soon as Breakdown looked down, Knockout reached it out towards him. “Up,” he insisted, obviously eager to get off the ground. And, once Breakdown grasped his servo and pulled him to his pede, Knockout was quick to test out his brace. He held Breakdown’s servo and arm as he tried shifting his weight. There was no wobbling and Knockout didn’t wince.

With a smug look on his face, Knockout let go of Breakdown’s arm and tried to pull his servo from Breakdown’s, taking a stilted step. Instead of letting go though, Breakdown followed, keeping a hold on Knockout’s servo in case the barbarian was overexerting himself.

Knockout didn’t show any signs of minding as he took a few more steps before looking up at Breakdown, gesturing at his leg as he spoke.

“Did you fix him up last night, Hook?” Scrapper asked, only to have the medic snort.

“No. He decided to do it himself.”

Breakdown had to hold back a snicker at how the entire crew fell into stunned silence.

And Knockout just looked up at them all looking exceedingly pleased with himself.

“Well frag me running,” Bulkhead finally said. “You managed to bag yourself a doctor, Breakdown.”

Half an hour and dozens of teasing jibes about Breakdown’s situation passed before they were ready hit the road again.

There was some discussion at that point though about how to travel. With Bonecrusher’s arm fixed up, he was fine to transform. While their speed was practically the same walking or not – the constructicons alt-modes were far from fast – it was easier on their frames and energon consumption to drive.

The fact was though that Knockout absolutely could not.

Breakdown considered carrying him again in his root mode, but the soft ache that still echoed in his frame from carrying Knockout for a few hours the day before reminded him that was not likely to go well. He had a strong frame and great endurance, but Knockout was still a large enough mech that it would likely end in hydraulics giving out by the end of the day, if he even made it that long.

“Maybe have him ride your vehicle mode?” Scrapper suggested.

“Maybe if you’re lucky he’ll ride your--”

Longhaul groaned with exasperation as he elbowed Scavenger hard in the chest.

“Too much.”

Scavenger stuck his glossa out at him.

Breakdown refused to let them see the way his face heated as he turned to Knockout, placing his servos on his hips as he considered the medic. It wouldn’t be exactly comfortable, but it would be easier to carry his weight as a vehicle, and his roof was relatively flat. Knockout could sit up there even with his leg in the brace.

Knockout stared up at him, optic ridges quirked as he asked Breakdown a question. Probably why he was staring.

They raised higher though when Breakdown took a step back and then transformed.

"Can you climb up?"

"Up?" Knockout asked distractedly as, instead of approaching Breakdown, he started to walk around him, his optics tracing the lines and corners of his alt-mode. The walk was stilted because of his braced leg, but he still managed a slight swing to his hips as he went. Breakdown was thankful that he had no face to give away the fact that he was starting to heat up again. His alt-mode wasn't the prettiest by any means -- large and boxy, meant for traversing rough terrain instead of aesthetic appeal.

Yet Knockout's optics glowed brightly, and once he was back at the front of Breakdown's chassis, his placed his servo on Breakdown's fender and purred something. His touch was firm.

"Does he need help getting up?" Bulkhead called as he made his way over, and Breakdown silently thanked Primus to have those piercing optics off him for a moment as Knockout looked at Bulkhead approaching.

"To be honest, I'm not sure he actually understands what I'm saying about it."

Bulkhead nodded and slowed his steps as he got closer. He casually knocked on Breakdown's roof.

"Breakdown wants you to get up there," Bulkhead explained, pointing at Knockout and then up at Breakdown's roof.

The warmth left Knockout's gaze as he looked at Breakdown again with a purely analytic intent.

Something slipped from his mouth that sounded a lot like a quick prayer before nodding.

"Up," Knockout repeated reluctantly, resigned to his fate.