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cloudyswritings · 4 months

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Yes… I am the silksong now!!

My thoughts and headcanons on Hornet. I’ll be real I’ve kinda been ignoring her because I’m terrified of having to tag silksong headcanons, I’ve seen the fucking Reddit. Anyway, enjoy my ramblings.

So I think that a Hornet qualifies as a pale being, she was born to one and has a pale mask of one. More than that she qualifies for being in godhome(a low bar ik, looking at you vengefly king).

She isn’t really a god per-se but definitely is a higher being on par or stronger than the great knights.

She obviously considers herself a spider but overall she inherited very little from Herrah.

Id say she only really got the fangs and dietary needs

Shes absolutely an obligate carnivore, so don’t expect her to be eating plant matter of any type. She does the whole inject her meal with venom to dissolve it and slurp it up deal

this is mostly because even though she’s got the full Wyrms arsenal of teeth and a Wyrms digestive tract her mouth is very small and she only has pedipalps and fangs externally. This means it’s very hard for her to eat any solid food/get it down to where her throat teeth can break it down

So interestingly her body color in combination with the vessels may actually tell us more about the pale kings- see both she and the vessels have black chitin suggesting it may be inherited from the king.

She also has both her fathers number of eyes and limbs, something that infuriates her deeply.

I don’t feel that the hornet we see in canon is her final molt, mostly because it seems like the sealing of THK functionally stopped time in Hallownest. I imagine once they’re free and the Radiance is dead she’ll probably undergo one last molt.

I think her missing limbs(she has 4 that we know of meaning she’d have 4 more as a spider) will actually end up growing into wings with said molt.

She also inherited her aptitude for mechanical stuff from the king. It seems like she makes all of her own stuff. Plus the crafting system and buzz saws in silksong support this.

She likes buzzsaws

I imagine if we could get a better look at the light she casts it’d be a lot like her fathers. She’d be a pale red light that falls far and deep but bears only a subtle influence on the world, like the strumming of gossamer threads.

Shes set down threads all over Hallownest, allowing her to keep track of a ton of things at once by feeling vibrations

She does have spineretes but uses soul to supplement and extend the amount of thread she can make.

She actually really likes the white lady, mostly because of good childhood memories from visiting the palace. She was the cool mom for a while. She’s more conflicted in regards to her towards the events of the game though.

Her favorite food is probably primal aspids, but she’s got a huge soft spot for honey because of her time in the hive. She also likes soups because they’re easier for her to eat(esp the ones Ghost makes)

She has very good eyesight from Herrah, but also has face blindness that she inherited from the king. She makes do, but mostly relies on clothing, scent, and body language to identify people.

As a grub she was the only one of her brood to survive, she was part of a large brood and likely spent her earliest days in a broodsack(that’s just how spiders do shit) but ate all of her potential siblings before hatching-she doesn’t know it but this is a wyrm instinct and her father did exactly the same thing.

She’d absolutely hate that if she found out.

She suspects but isn’t sure about why she’s territorial. Unsurprisingly it’s once again a wyrm thing

Her threads are far stronger and more durable than even those produced by the best weavers, in fact some of her silk may have been used for THKs seals- she probably doesn’t remember this cause she was too young.

Is mad she inherited the kings height. Honestly she’s mad about everything she inherited from him.

She doesn’t know it but she’s fairly resistant to void, especially for someone half mortal.

Sleeps in a giant mess of quilts, pilows, and silk. It’s held slightly off the ground. This is sorta a halfway point between a Wyrms nest and the silk hammocks of the weavers.

Shes a very fidgety and light sleeper, and realistically needs far less sleep than most beings.

Her venom is ridiculously potent, like to the point of being almost unanimously fatal to mortals and weaker higher beings. It would honestly still do a lot of damage to gods too. It’s a symptom of hybrid vigor, wherein the hybrid offspring of two species tends to be stronger, larger, and overall more genetically resilient than either parent.

Hybrids also tend to be sterile.

Hornet probably couldn’t have children if she wasn’t a higher being, even then I’m not really sure she could tbh.

Given enough time and soul she could pull a metamorphosis like her father did, though she doesn’t know how.

What she’d emerge as is unclear, but she’d likely either become a spider goddess in truth. Or even more likely she’d fully become a wyrm and abandon the mortal parts Herrah gave her.

For obvious reasons she won’t do this.

Her favorite color is a toss up between red and purple.

She weaves clothing for her siblings semi-regularly. Kinda gets frustrated at how often Ghost ruins their thought. They’re rough on clothing ig.

She didn’t inherit her fathers ability to burrow, but some of the instincts remain. She’s very frustrated at this.

She’s kinda bad at rembering names too, she gets embarrassed by this and it’s part of why she doesn’t stay anywhere long enough to get to know the bugs there.

Has a charm that was created from Herrahs regrets. It doesn’t do anything but give off the faint sense of a clawed hand on her shoulders and the faint whispers of the lullaby Herrah used to sing to her.

it’s still her single most prized possession

Her needles is a close second and was made of pale ore taken directly from the Pale Wyrms corpse. It’s the one thing her father gave her she loves.

he gave it to her as a gift for her being given a name. He likely used his foresight to figure out how large she’d be as an adult and made it in anticipation of that.

She can go an exceedingly long time without a meal. This was super helpful during the infection when uninflected prey was rare at best.

With age she is becoming more and more powerful as a higher being and will likely eventually become a goddess proper.

She has the lifespan of a Wyrm but doesn’t really know it yet and chalks her remarkable age up to the blurring of time during the infection. Despite this she’s still a child by wyrm standards and has many, many, many years left to live.

Most bugs are absolutely shocked to hear about her actual age.

Lace will be for sure, and she’ll probably live to regret threatening her.

Shes super fast, like almost impossible to track I’m combat at times, this is actually because of her use of both wind and soul magic along with the thread based spells of the weavers.

Her shell is covered with intricate and detailed carvings, this is essentially the weaver version of tattoos.

Im genuinely not too sure if her mask is actually her face like it is for the pale king or just a mask like for Herrah. I lean towards it being her face though.

The bell cult caught her while she was sleeping and that’s the only reseal they survived the encounter.

id say there’s probably a good chance of her ascending to godhood as a possible ending to silksong.

Doesnt really have a sense of humor but does find puns and dad jokes hilarious(they were the only jokes the pale king told when she was little)

Theorectically given enough prep time and motivation she could place webs all over the city of tears(or a similarly sized city) and pull all of the buildings down in one go.

She might also be able to do the whole puppeting corpses thing that happens in the beasts den.

She needs a certain amount of metal in her diet thanks to being part wyrm. It’s really hard for her to find in pieces small enough to fit into her mouth.

Some crack/non-serious headcanons

She’s absolutely a chain smoker on par with Grimm- you know why

When she says Shaw it’s because as a kid she couldn’t say saw, the king would be so damn proud.

She’d be so good at putting up Christmas lights. Like the best even.

secretly loves holidays, could pull of a mean Santa impression by just fucking hustling down peoples chimneys and stealing their cookies. She’d even have a big ass silk bag full of toys.

Maybe she does this for Hallownest once it’s built?

that’s it’s, this is how she ascends to godhood

Hornet is bug Santa.

#hk hornet #hk pale king #silksong #hollow knight #Hornet is bug santa #headcanon #Both cursed and not #speculative biology

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tammyhybrid21 · 4 months

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ALRIGHT!

Who wants some random/dumb headcanon thoughts on iterators?!

Also yes I do view the generations a bit in opposite solution to what MOST of what I’ve seen others do. Instead of each gen been dedicated more to the problem it got less central... which then leads to gen 3 iterators been the generation that took the loss of the ancients the worst.

“None of us miss them” the loss of half of their original purpose. Any wonder they have bad copes.

To be honest most of this is just going to be me noting stuff down for self-reference, but hey-- you folks can take this information for your own use as well. Also notice, this isn’t the specific order I drew things in and you can get the vibes as it goes how I got more solid view over the course of doodling.

But the generations and their purpose, no. These are pretty set in my head.

Bunching these thoughts together, mostly because they’re all on the same/similar topics. Time to talk about the puppets. Because they are what we see the most in the game. Also yes, I am outing myself as an “Off the String is Possible” believer. But I also will thoroughly admit I am a lover of the Iterators are hiveminds headcanon as well... although I view it more like it’s a whole symbiotic ecosystem...

Anycase, notes that didn’t quite make it into any of these pictures because I didn’t know how to draw/explain like that-- the synthetic “skin” of an iterator is either very, very short grass or a kind of moss/lichen covering. The colour variation is kind of random as a result and yes this does mean theoretically an iterator could change colours if ever they felt the need to.

The internal “flesh” parts of an iterator are I imagine similar in consistency to mushroom fibre/flesh. Squishy... Yet still firm enough to keep its shape beneath the jelly like membrane that carries coolant/blood throughout.

I have more thoughts on puppets and eating but drew it more like as a joke page.

These are all possible because an iterator puppet’s moss/grass skin is basically able to absorb what’s around it at any time. Well, as long as it’s willed. So iterators got options from the traditional “smoosh” food into your face to just having the “soup backpack”...

Sunshine is also “yummy”... but I do sidenote that it’s not as effective as a source of power/energy and more like a quick pick me up, the equivalent of eating a single banana and calling it your entire meal for the day.

Also an iterators stomach/filtration system internally is actually biological as well, but that didn’t exactly get drawn here. Mostly because how does that translate to pictures, I’m not good at this stuff.

Side note, don’t know if you folks looked at the page, but with the intake pipe, imagine if that were a map in Rain World... you just saw this pipe sucking in water and hey that’s curious-- only whoops it’s your death, you are food.

Not pictured how the processing strata is the iterator structure equivalent of a mycorrhizal network. Seriously though how would you even draw that?

Anycase this is where the symbiotic hive mind side of things come into play. Without the puppet it’s not like the structure would just-- stop. It would just be a lot more mindless. Working away continuing to go about the same processes just without purpose. It’s an extension, extras on top. Neuron flies been one of the few exceptions but even they can be worked around it’s just... very much a loss.

Also yes this is my headcanon reason why Pebbles is still barely conscious in Saint’s timeline. He’s just also half frozen and plants do not cold well. Or actually they do incredibly well in cold it’s just, he’s half in dormancy.

I should have spoken more about the mechanics of the structure and all, but honestly... It’s all the signals sent out.

Also void stuff... I don’t know if I’ll return on any of these things but eyo...

#Rain World #Rain World Iterators #THybrid Iterates #Headcanons #Iterators are plants pass it on #If you can't read my scribble sorry #I'm not sure I could transcribe it this hour

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gatheringfiki · 4 months

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The following ficlet was written by @i-am-still-bb based on this photoset.

Fili/Kili, Gen

You might also be able to read this story on AO3.

If you’ve enjoyed this story, please leave a comment either in replies or on AO3. :)

Sick Days & Ice Queens

—

Kili patted another fistful of snow into a snowball. He rolled it over in his hands making sure that it was solid and that it fit nicely into his hand. He set the completed snowball onto the pile and promptly scooped up another handful of snow. He was so focused on his task that he failed to notice that the school down the street had let out. This was always accompanied by yelling and laughter, and on today, the final day before Christmas break, it was no different.

When his mother had taken his temperature that morning and told him that he was going to be staying home—school rules—he had pouted and hurled himself into his bed. The final day of school before the break never consisted of much work. It was usually just a Christmas party and some “housekeeping” as his teacher called it.

But Kili had a fever of 100.3. So he had to miss all the fun. He didn’t even feel sick. His mother had not listened to his protestations; he had already received his first dose of cold medicine.

Fili had pushed open the door to their bedroom before leaving for school. He was already dressed in his coat and hat and his gloves dangled from the cuffs of his coat. “I’ll bring you some cookies?” he offered.

“It won’t be the same,” Kili huffed, face buried in his pillow.

“I know,” Fili agreed.

Kili rolled over to look at the bottom of the top bunk. Glow in the dark stars were dull against the wooden boards. Some paper snowflakes hung near the foot of the bed. He sighed. “Why aren’t you sick?”

Fili shrugged. “I don’t eat food off the floor,” he teased.

“That was one time!” Kili protested loudly.

Their conversation was interrupted by their mother calling for Fili, saying that he was going to be late.

“I’ll see you after school?” Fili offered before turning the corner.

“Yeah… I guess…”

Kili spent the morning mopping around the house and driving his mother crazy with questions and being a general nuisance. There was nothing on the television worth watching after 9am unless he wanted to watch toddler shows, soap operas, or the news. His GameBoy batteries were dead and he couldn’t find new ones. And he did not want to read a book, thank you very much. When noon rolled around Dis fed him a lunch of vegetable soup with alphabet noodles and grilled cheese. And then she took his temperature again.

99.8

And with that she declared him better and shooed him out the door before his coat was even fully zipped.

Kili stayed outside and that was where Fili found him a couple hours later when the knees of Kili’s snowsuit were soaked through and his cheeks were red from warmth and exertion rather than cold. He had constructed a wall of snow using an old ice cream tub and had dragged the plastic play furniture from the shed into his snow fort.

Fili stopped next to the snow wall. “What’re you doing?”

Kili’s head snapped up. “You’re home!” he exclaimed. “You can help defeat the ice queen!”

Fili dropped his backpack on the snow. “How do we do that?”

“Well we have to be older,” Kili said matter-of-factly. “Like old enough that you have a beard. And then we have to go to the faeries to get their help.”

“Faeries?”

Kili nodded vehemently. “They’re the only ones that know how to defeat the ice queen,” he said, then added as inspiration struck, “Maybe they have a magic potion! Or a sword! Or—”

“A magic spell!” Fili interrupted, already getting sucked into his brother’s imaginative play.

“Yes!” Kili nodded.

“I’m going to get my boots and then I’ll be back,” Fili said. “My toes are already wet.” He lifted a wet sneaker as proof.

“Can you bring Oscar when you come back out?” Kili shouted at Fili’s back before he disappeared inside.

“Yes,” Fili shouted back.

Fili returned a few minutes later with different shoes and his own snow gear and a wooden reindeer clutched in one fist. He set Oscar down on the table.

“So how do we find the faeries?”

Kili spelled out his plan and the two of them traveled through “Mirkwood” to the “Long Lake” their imaginations turning the bushes that were icy and had a few leaves still clinging to their mostly bare branches and the koi pond in their neighbors yard turning into a dense and magical forest that bewitched its visitors and a lake that was visited by a dragon. The air was cold and tasted of snow, but the two boys stayed out until the street lights were coming on.

“Fili! Kili! Dinner time!” Their mother called them away from their play and everything drifted back to reality. Oscar was a wooden toy, not a warm companion that made sure they didn’t fall into the lake or the river. The plastic play furniture was no longer a wooden table laden with rich foods to tempt them away from their quest. But the invisible Ice Queen was still out there, undefeated, as the dense covering of snow was proof.

The boys rushed inside knowing that tomorrow they could build a different world with their imaginations.

#submission #Gathering 12 Days 2023 #Fili/Kili #FiKi #Durincest #the Hobbit

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darsynia · 1 year

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Trust Fall | Ch 22

ARC by Eury Escodero on Unsplash | gif by @elwintersoldado

Story Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Summary: Tony/OC, ‘terrorists made us fall in love;’ IM1 timeline. In this chapter, Emory and Tony both learn how to trust new people in their lives even as they discover awful things about the people they used to trust.

Length: 4,862

Note: An ‘albedo’ is basically the measurement of the sun’s light as reflected from another object. I’m using it here as an allusion to finding out the true nature of people Emory and Tony used to trust. They see evidence of Rory and Obie’s duplicity as reflected by their harmful actions. FINALLY, am I right?

Taglist: @starryeyes2000 @raith-way @arrthurpendragon @themaradaniels @starksbf @chickensarentcheap @tiny-anne

Excerpt:

Emory says, “Honestly, after three solid months of bean soup for every meal, coffee is coffee,” and follows Clint into the kitchen. There’s a towel with one of those crochet button clasps hanging from the stove handle.

“Well, in that case, you’re just going from one bean soup to another.”

She takes his proffered cup and watches him walk over to clean the machine he’d made it with, real barista-level equipment. He shoots a look over his shoulder to catch her first sip. It’s delicious.

“Agent Barton, this is some high class bean soup. Thank you.”

Chapter Twenty-Two: Albedo

It’s one thing to dress in the same clothes as a SHIELD agent pretending to be Tony Stark’s Morning Assignation. It’s something else to picture herself leaving the helicopter on SHIELD grounds and walking into the building dressed like that! Emory chooses anxiety (asking the pilot if she can change clothes in the back of the helicopter) over mortification (having to do a walk of shame across the Triskelion helipad). She ends up having to use the fishnets as a belt to keep Tony’s pants on, but she feels less exposed when she sits back down. Now, she thinks to herself, if only the hollow ache in the pit of my stomach would go away! Emory’s sure it’ll go away once they land and she’s settled, but it almost feels like it feeds off of her anxiety.

“Clint has an extra room,” Nat says, giving her phone back. “We’ll have to finagle some sightings of you, and we’ll have to do the rest of your training there, but Fury said yes.”

“It’s all settled, just like that?” Emory asks, incredulous.

Natasha sees her expression and shrugs. “Sometimes it’s easier to ask forgiveness than permission.”

Voicemail Box, Stark, Anthony E.

2.20 PM

Mr. Stark, the FBI agents are here and I can’t find you or Harry. You aren’t in the bunker, are you? JARVIS won’t answer me, and I’ll feel very foolish if I have to explain that as your PA I don’t actually know whether you’re in your father’s bomb shelter or not! Please answer your phone.

3:10 PM

Tony, if they threaten me with obstruction I’m going to be very upset. The agents are saying they might come back with a warrant, and I know it’s a federal crime to lie to the FBI so I had to tell them I’d met Ms. Autumn. Please, PLEASE come out? I know you can get phone calls from inside there!

10:55 PM

Tony, where are you, it’s after ten! You only have enough fresh food in there for a few days! I’m… Wait, is that you on Channel-- [dial tone]

11:03 PM

You’re at a NIGHTCLUB! It made the NEWS, Tony! What if the FBI doesn't believe me? What if they think I was covering for you!? Do you know how many messages I left on Harry’s phone asking where the two of you were? I thought he was in the bunker with you trying to stop you from drinking yourself half to death! BOTH OF YOU COME HOME RIGHT NOW!!

When Tony returns from partying, he buries himself not in blankets and dreams, but files and memories. Stark Industries needs a new niche that isn’t weaponry, but draws on that expertise. Emory is at SHIELD’s mercy, and he doesn’t have any influence there. Is there something he could do that would solve both problems at once?

Some intrepid assistant in the late 80’s had digitized Howard Stark’s paper files, but they’re all mixed together, probably on purpose. He decides to track down the schematics he’d been so dazzled by when he was six and about to be sent away to boarding school; Tony had spent three glorious days digging through a couple of metal briefcases that had been accidentally left in his bedroom instead of the storage study one room over. At the time, Tony had been convinced they were for a secret government thing his dad was doing, and that was why they were sending him away to school. For his protection.

School had stripped away that sense of wonder, and eventually his father’s cold demeanor taught Tony to keep his questions to himself. Uncovering those memories is an uncomfortable process best done with the veneer of inebriation, but the physical effects mean he’s not very efficient. By dawn, the files are still elusive, and the issues that made him want to go drinking in the first place won’t go away.

He decides to sleep on it.

Tony’s phone rings as he’s carrying the bunker pillows and Emory’s left-behind shirt up to his bedroom. His first instinct when he sees the name on the display is to be glad it’s not the FBI. His second instinct is to wonder if Coulson has learned how to manipulate people from the same place Agent Romanoff did. The man has to know that Tony was out till 3 AM. The agent probably expects to leave a message with a set of instructions he’ll expect to be followed without push-back, or Coulson’s hoping to manipulate him while he’s sleep-deprived and hung over.

As a result, Tony’s barely civil when he answers.

“You better be about to improve my mood, Doctor No.”

“Good morning. I have been asked to take over from Director Fury as your primary contact.”

“Wow,” Tony says. “Tell Boris he was almost the father figure I already had, will you?” Tony needs to yawn, but he holds it back.

“I’m pretty sure that’s exactly the sort of message I was assigned to prevent,” Coulson says. The man’s deadpan delivery doesn’t change a whit. “Something’s come past my desk that I think you can help me clear up: is it true that you snuck out from under your PA’s nose yesterday afternoon to avoid a scheduled FBI interview?”

The rush of relief Tony feels is probably premature, but Coulson is handing him a resolution on a silver platter right now. “Pepper told on me? Look, I deal with a lot of acronyms. I’m pretty sure I’d have remembered if I was supposed to be at a meeting with the CIA.” He pauses for dramatic effect, then adds, “Not that I wouldn’t have still snuck out. Everybody hates those guys.”

“Are you asking me to smooth this over for you, Mr. Stark?”

“Is it illegal for me to say yes?” Tony shoots back. “Because if we’re in the plot of Entrapment, I want my money back unless there will be red lasers and hot women in skin-tight black leotards.”

He can’t help but picture Emory in the iconic outfit, and Tony tightens his hand around the spy shirt she’d left behind. The message he’d gotten from Natasha Romanoff at midnight had been promising, but sharing an apartment with another agent could be worse in the long run. The freedom Emory will gain will be tempered by the possibility of off-hours propaganda and persuasion.

“Sir?”

Oops. Coulson had been talking. Tony gives in to the yawn, making it as loud and obnoxious as possible.

“I was busy picturing that. Go on?”

“I was just saying, if we wanted to trap you, sir? We’d be more subtle. Speaking of which, any word on how long you’ll be staying in New York? I’d love to know if I’ll need to rent something long-term,” Coulson says, still as studiously polite as always, but now with a tiny edge to his tone, sharp as a razorblade.

“I’ll be sticking around for as long as your archer plays house with my girlfriend, Phil.”

Tony doesn’t want to like this guy, mostly because it feels like there are two kinds of people in Phil Coulson’s world: the people he’s manipulating into liking him, and the people he’s screwing over very courteously. Tony’s been trying to manipulate the man right back, but it’s a delicate balance. Right before he’d left for New York, Tony had found a rare part for the guy’s beloved classic car and had it delivered by courier. That had been the carrot, and now, he supposes, comes the stick.

Coulson’s extolling the virtues of a particular apartment building he’s got an eye on when Tony interrupts. “Say, since you’re so good at passing notes, can you ask your boss if he can give me a call? I’ve got a business opportunity for him.”

There’s a moment of silence before Coulson wryly asks, “Should I address this message to ‘Boris?’ Or Director Fury?”

It's a shrewd question, and Tony's too fucking tired to play his usual hard to get. "Go with his official name this time, will you, Junior? Blame the lapse on sleep deprivation. And don't ever call me this early again, or I'll clone your voice with my AI and start releasing shit about Area 51 framing you as the source."

“Point taken, sir. Sleep well.”

Tony turns the phone off completely. “Yeah, I wish,” he says to no one. Thankfully, his head barely hits the pillow that smells faintly of Emory’s hair before he feels oblivion reaching out for him.

Emory wakes up in an actual bedroom.

Not a secure office dressed as one. Not a fancy hotel that reeks of opulent impermanence. Not a barely habitable cave with a truly embarrassing method of relieving oneself. A bedroom. The room Clint had given her even has a lock.

She’d spent so little time at her apartment while working as Rory’s PA that her last ‘home bedroom’ was pre-Rory, the room in her dad’s house. That memory is tainted by the conflict between herself and her parents about Rory’s influence, though. The time she got to spend at Tony’s mansion hadn’t felt like home either. It had passed almost like a daydream, a stolen few hours that, true to form, had ended with her being sent back to reality. When she was with him, Emory had felt like maybe she could belong there, but now, back in the real world, it’s hard not to feel foolish.

Rolling over, she buries her face in Tony’s shirt as she had so often the night before, picturing him across the room about to climb back into bed with her. It’s hard not to wonder how many women have done the same. Most of them were probably tall, glamorous, and rich, better suited to his world than she ever could be. Her rational mind is trying to tell her that Tony Stark is new to the hero business, and she was just a convenient damsel in distress. Her heart’s response is to remember the desperate catch in his voice as he screamed in the desert, angry at her for maybe dying and forcing the words ‘I love you’ from his throat.

Her instinct is to do what she’s always done: endure. This time, though, Emory wants to fight for what she wants, as terrifying as it is, as new as that is. She wants to live. She wants to love. How did everything suddenly become so hard?

Groaning, Emory gets up and makes the bed, tucking Tony's clothes under the pillow like she's burying a secret. As she has for the last few weeks, she also buries her instinct to go with the flow, to not make waves, to hide, safe and invisible. It's too late for that. Tony- or Natasha Romanoff -would find her. And if they didn't, well, thanks to the serum, she basically has an expiration date. The effects of her dependency are going to start manifesting themselves soon.

She dresses and slips on the fuzzy slippers Clint had lent her, unlocks her door, and starts up the hallway toward the kitchen. On the way, she sees that his bedroom door is open, revealing a loft bed with a desk underneath, just like a college dorm. Most of the room is taken up by what looks like a built-in climbing wall that curves up onto the ceiling, anchored with some seriously thick cables.

“I’d offer to let you try it out, but I don’t actually have a rig, just pads for underneath. Not great for newbies,” Clint says from the other side of the hallway. He’s sipping from a mug, which he holds up. “I remember you usually avoided the SHIELD coffee. I approve. Want some of the good stuff, or did your cave detox put you in a good place?”

“Give?” Emory says, walking toward him like a mummy. She’d warmed to Barton during her training sessions, and he’s even more likeable here in his own home, relaxed and welcoming. The contrast between the way he’s treating her after knowing her for a month and the way Rory's treated her for the past nine years is stark, no pun intended.

“Right, what am I talking about? This is probably crap compared to your-- To Stark’s,” Clint says, stumbling over the right way to refer to Tony. Emory can’t blame him. Technically, she’s not supposed to be Stark’s anything.

A stubborn kernel of hope blazes in her chest, as she says, “Honestly, after three solid months of bean soup for every meal, coffee is coffee,” and follows him into the kitchen. There’s a towel with one of those crochet button clasps hanging from the stove handle.

“Well, in that case, you’re just going from one bean soup to another.”

Emory takes his proffered cup and watches him walk over to clean the machine he’d made it with, real barista-level equipment. He shoots a look over his shoulder to catch her first sip. It’s delicious.

“Agent Barton, this is some high class bean soup. Thank you.”

“I made a promise that I would indulge myself every day. This is what I picked,” Clint says.

“You mean your overhanging death wall wasn’t it?” she asks, walking over to rest her hip on the kitchen island and watch him.

He chuckles. “No.”

“Thank you, truly,” she tells him after a few more (indulgent is definitely the word) sips. “I didn’t know how on Earth I was going to balance my association with Tony and my obligations to the mission. Staying here is the perfect compromise.”

“Glad to help,” Clint says gruffly, focused on wiping off the counter. “That can be a delicate thing. Worth it, though, if he is.”

Emory blows out a long sigh, staring at her feet. “Looking at it from the other way around, I sure hope it is.” Across the room, she hears him let out a similar noise and looks over, curious. Clint looks sheepish.

“I wasn’t supposed to mention him in case it got you charged up. Sorry about that.”

“Hah, so my self-doubt saved your apartment? Does that cancel out the whole dive-bomb rescue thing on the day we met?”

"Let's not get too hasty," he teases, jumping his eyebrows at her. A second later, he shifts into 'agent' mode. "We need to make a 'game plan.' The goal is for you to take a walk and get sighted. The building itself is secure; unofficially mostly government workers and domestic violence survivors live here, but there's an unspoken agreement with the local media about that." His smile is full of promise; whether it's for her protection or for a journalist's destruction if they choose to overstep is unclear.

“Guardians and survivors, convenient,” Emory murmurs.

“Exactly.” He pulls his phone from his pocket and starts tapping at it as he speaks. “Nat wants you to get groceries today, a courier will drop off a bank card. Says here yours was--” Clint frowns, squinting at the phone in his hand. As he reads, his jaw firms up into a hard frown. “Your account was closed ten days after the initial attack in Afghanistan. By Rory Fall. She showed them Power of Attorney papers.”

Shock and dismay lock up her muscles and she sways a little. Clint reaches out and grabs her upper arm to steady her. His grip isn’t meant to hurt, she can tell, but right now, everything is heightened, so the skin under his hands burns.

“Look at me,” he says. She does, still reeling, both surprised and (horribly) not surprised. “You okay?”

“I’ve watched her turn on people for years, I just never thought--” Emory shakes her head. Her tear ducts grind to a halt with the dry pain of understanding just how much she’s lost, how different her life is. Tears are premium content now, and she’s just a regular person.

“Did you make her your POA?”

She shakes her head again. “My parents sent me the paperwork for one. It was their last-ditch effort to-- To, crap, to prevent this, to stop Rory from trying to screw me over if we had a falling out. I didn’t sign them, but I didn’t get rid of them either.” Rory must have gone through her things and falsified the documents with her own name instead of Emory’s parents’. After all, everything in Rory Fall’s life was about Rory Fall. In Rory’s mind, Emory’s salary was ‘her money in the first place,’ after she’d been deserted during the most traumatic moment of her life.

Fuck, Emory thinks to herself. Her own ‘most traumatic’ train is heading downhill, adding events as it goes, but she’s still rationalizing, still working to understand Rory’s actions. If only her former friend’s loyalty had run that deep!

Clint guides her toward his small couch, snagging her coffee cup on the way. “So they’re forged?” He sits her down and hands over the mug.

“I would never have given her Power of Attorney over me. In Rory’s twisted mind, she probably thinks it’s her money if I’m not there to spend it, but--”

He walks away from her abruptly. “No excuses.”

She’d been trying to explain Rory’s thought process, but the marksman’s curt comment hits home.

Emory changes tack. “At least this works out perfectly for SHIELD! It proves I have no money,” she says, taking gulping sips of her cooled coffee. He doesn't answer, his head stuck in the fridge, shuffling things around. “What are you doing? Do you have some kind of crazy ‘dormant when refrigerated’ weapon in there?”

“I’m making a grocery list. One thing at a time.”

“That works,” she says, sitting back on the couch. As she lifts the mug to drain the last sip, Emory notices the design. It says, ‘Fix It Yourself.’ The O in ‘yourself’ is a bullseye, and the sideways word ‘it’ is made up of several arrows.

The only way to do that involves crossing half the globe and lying to the person who holds her life in the palm of their hand. Emory turns the cup so the words face away, but she knows she’ll have to follow its advice anyway.

The first thing Tony does when he finally wakes up is check on the status of the palladium shipment he appropriated from SI’s factory. The weapons ordered prior to Tony’s cut-off date of mid-July have been constructed and much of the raw material deliveries have been paused. During their discussions in the limo on the way to New York, Emory had suggested that the company offer a two or three week paid vacation for the factory employees whose jobs are in question. He’d set the thought aside in favor of spending time with her, but now Tony dials up Stane’s number to put that in motion.

“Hey, Tony. I see you were finally back to your old self last night!” Obie says, in greeting.

“Yeah, well, keeping up appearances,” Tony says. A knot forms in his gut, similar to what Emory had described when dealing with Rory. He’s not a fan. “Hey, you still planning to come out this direction next week?”

“Yeah, I have some loose ends to tie up. Why? Did you need something? If you’ve got some new projects I’d be happy to tell the boar--”

“Still percolating in there,” Tony interrupts. “I was looking to get ahold of the palladium we won't be needing. Instead of cancelling it I figured I'd just take the regular shipment. It’s just less hassle if you bring it.”

There’s a sigh on the line. “Tony, I don’t think we have any extra right now. Did you order more on top of the standard delivery for the factory?”

“We’re not using it at the factory.”

“Tony, production doesn’t just halt overnight, we--”

“I was very clear about the deadlines,” Tony says, standing up to pace. The knot has turned into a lead weight. “We’ve satisfied our obligations up to the middle of July, which is why I was about to ask you to give the whole factory staff a two week paid vacation while we shift the production lines over to something more benign.” He can hear frantic typing on Stane’s end. “You didn’t halt the lines, did you?”

“Tony--”

“Did you?”

“I thought you were going to change your mind! It’s not sound business practice to interrupt production at this kind of scale on a whim!”

He’s having trouble swallowing, but it’s not because of the anxiety, it’s because of anger. “Shut it down. All of it. By the end of this week, or I’ll fly out there and give the maintenance guys something to do after I fire a couple of repulsors at every piece of equipment!” Tony slams his hand down on a worktable, knowing Obie will hear the sound through the phone line. “Come on! You knew I wasn’t going to budge on this!”

“I needed to know you were serious, and now I know you’re serious,” Stane says, a hint of the ‘make it right’ businessman tone returning to his voice. “Tell you what: let me boost the palladium order for this next week so there's enough for both. We’ll extend production ‘till the end of July, make it a nice round number, give these workers some warning, okay? August is a better vacation month anyway. First of August they’ll get two weeks paid vacation, everyone but security.”

Tony’s jaw is so tightly clenched he can’t respond right away.

“Tony? Hey, I know you’re passionate about this stuff but we’re still a business. A month is a much better time frame to develop a new plan. You know I’m right.”

“Do it, then,” Tony grits out.

“Good man,” Obie says in the fatherly tone Tony’s come to despise. “I’ll bring the palladium in a week. When I get there, you’ll give me some kind of an idea of what we’re transitioning to, and the two of us will get the company back on solid ground. See you then.”

Stane hangs up without a response.

“JARVIS, was there ever a slow-down in production?” Tony asks, the second he sets his phone down.

“All I can find is an internal memo informing workers that there may be a temporary halt sometime in July.”

“Right.”

Tony throws himself in his chair, the momentum carrying it away from his desk, which is just as well. He needs to calm down before he makes any of this worse. He briefly considers going upstairs and getting Emory’s shirt, since it smells like her, but that reminds him too much of what he’d done at seventeen. He’d had the housekeeping staff pack up his dad’s clothes and general belongings to put them in storage right away, but kept his mothers things where they were for months. He’d yo-yo between extremes, partying it up and pretending he didn’t care, then curling up on his mother’s side of the bed hugging one of her dresses, sobbing.

With a sigh, Tony recognizes that this comparison is toxic; Emory is alive and his, a partner who needs Tony’s actions, not his sentimentality. He resolves to work on his secret project for her this evening, as soon as he gets a few things out of the way.

“All right,” he says aloud, walking the chair back to his desk without getting up, Flintstones-style. “Do we have the capability to store palladium at our New York office? There are still research labs there, right JARVIS?”

“Indeed there are.”

“Order some under the name of the most senior employee with a note that they’re to contact me and only me upon receipt, but be diplomatic. I don’t want to signal a rift.”

“Are you certain they’ll believe it was from you, sir?”

“Funny,” Tony says. “Next item: I’d like to use Stane’s Opposition Strategy on SHIELD, with some modifications. Copy over all related files and analyze them for anything that might get Nick Fury’s panties in a bunch if I implement it.”

“Estimate ten minutes for full copy, twenty more for analysis. Do you wish me to erase evidence of the copy?”

“Good catch, make it so.”

He gets up to make a smoothie, patting Dum-E on the way over. It had been JARVIS who’d suggested bringing his ‘pets,’ another point in the AI’s column of knowing Tony better than he knew himself, sometimes. As the blender spun, Tony thought over what he knew about Stane’s Oppo strategy. JARVIS will be more thorough, but there’s only so much intuition one can program in. Tony knows he probably relies too much on intuition, but something about SHIELD feels off, and before he throws in his lot with the agency, he wants to know why. It’s no different than when they run the program on a company they hope to buy out.

The key part of the Strategy is analysis. That’s what Tony wants to use on SHIELD, despite the fact that the data set will be incomplete, given how secret most of their operations are. What he’s hoping for is a glimpse into the vulnerabilities of the agency, as evidenced by what the deep dive comparisons that the Opposition Strategy might reveal. That thought prompts another one.

“Hey, J? Do a quick scan through the Not Nows and Not Yets, in projects. I want to know whether anyone’s done some poking around in the past two weeks.” The blender stops, and Tony adds, “Hell, add the current ones too, note any unusual access.”

After a minute, JARVIS says, “Two files show anomalous access, both by Mr. Stane after hours, approximately eight days ago.”

The knot is back. “Hit me.”

“Multiple copies of the Repulsor technology details and schematics in various places, some encrypted. Single copy of the Sonic Taser, encrypted. Access was from his private residence.”

“Obie, Obie, what are you doing?” Tony says, brows furrowed. “Didn’t the government threaten us with new legislation if we didn’t completely scrap and bury that Taser?”

“Colonel Rhodes likened pursuing the project further to ‘peeing on the third rail in public, within a mile of an elementary school,’ yes, sir.”

“He’s just jealous he didn’t get a working ‘Get Out of Indecent Exposure Charges Free’ card from MIT security,” Tony laughs. “God bless gender quota hiring.” A second later, he freezes in the act of taking a sip of his smoothie. “Son of a bitch. Obie didn’t destroy the prototype, did he?”

“Ascertaining that will be difficult, and likely will require physical interviews, which may create more trouble than you may wish to-- wait, what am I saying?”

“You’re saying trouble is my middle name, JARVIS. Usually you’d be right, but this time I’d like to avoid the consequences if at all--” Tony gulps down the rest of the smoothie over the word ‘possible’ and sets the cup down for his robot to clean. He points at Dum-E. “If that breaks, I’ll let a group of toddlers glue the pieces all over you, wherever they want.” He gestures broadly as he back-walks to the desk.

“Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but parents generally avoid letting their small children anywhere near broken glass,” JARVIS points out.

“Well, that’s boring,” Tony observes. “What was I saying?”

“Ironically, you were discussing your desire to avoid consequences.”

“Personally, yes. I’ll reserve judgement on Stane, though. I want to know what he’s up to, first.”

He sits down at the desk and thinks about the Sonic Taser. Its function is really limited outside of law enforcement and military use, though he had joked about using it to make the board sit still and listen to him. The thing is inherently antagonistic; the only way to avoid total, temporary incapacitation is to already be wearing earplugs before the device is activated.

“Do they make undetectable earplugs?” he muses aloud. He takes threats to his autonomy very seriously, unless they’re hot, wearing spandex, and digging a knee into his lower back.

“You have asked that question a total of three times since my creation, and the answer has been ‘no’ for two of those times,” JARVIS states dryly.

“That’s a yes now, then? Order me a pair.” Murphy’s Law states that if he’s prepared for a threat, it’ll never materialize, but something about Obie’s demeanor lately feels vaguely threatening. He wouldn’t put it past the guy to use the Taser to force Tony to listen to him. After Afghanistan, Tony’s through being forced to do anything. At that thought, a collage of images cross his mind’s eye, all of Emory, and he has to amend his previous assertion to ‘almost’ anything.

“Analysis complete,” JARVIS says, filling Tony’s screen with various windows of information. “Advise not exercising official channels to request mission data from the military, but speaking to Colonel Rhodes, instead. Strongly suggest not revealing any knowledge of statistical data when speaking to Agent Coulson or Director Fury. Further conclusions will require an examination of the program results.” JARVIS pauses, then adds, “In summary, I predict a high chance of panty bunching. Proceed with caution.”

Tony cracks a smile despite himself. “Will do. Run the program, I’ll call Rhodes.”

Next chapter, the effects of serum withdrawal start to hit Emory, meaning that the mission must come soon; Tony seeks to reassure her and himself with a spicy phone call.

#tony stark x oc #tony stark fanfiction #tony stark x original character #tony stark imagine #iron man fanfiction #iron man #iron man x oc #iron man x original character #mcu #mcu fanfiction #mcu fanfic #marvel #marvel fanfic #tony stark #series: autonomy #ocfairygodmother #fyeahsuperverseocs

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autistic-shaiapouf · 1 year

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Hello! It is me, the anxiety man. I can’t find the post so I don’t know how long ago you asked (thanks tumblr.) but for me Gastroparesis is mostly nausea and vomiting. Within an hour of eating I throw up most of my food a solid 80% of the time, prior to throwing up I am exceedingly nauseous; if I don’t throw up I am exceedingly nauseous (this is a lose/lose situation.) sometimes if I don’t throw up I throw up hours later (occasionally the next day ~13+hrs later) undigested food.

This is not everyone’s experience however, there are many with Gastroparesis who do not vomit at all. The best test is a Gastric Emptying Study (though be aware it can (rarely) give a false negative.)

I also have Dx’d hEDS, Orthostatic Hypotension (like PoTS but with a BP drop), and Autism (anecdotally comorbid w/ hEDS)

I hope you get answers (or depending on the age of your post, got answers :)

Hi, thank you so much for the response! Literally any info at all is helpful to me and being able to hear other people's experiences is incredibly useful.

Personal medical/health info under the cut ✌️

I definitely meet at least some of the criteria, but when it comes to the most common symptoms, like the nausea and vomiting you mention, I don't really find it effecting me so much? I also grew up with severe anxiety that made me nauseated, and I wonder if my aversion to actually vomiting for real might be a part of this. I DO get an acid-reflux type of feeling, with no pain or lead up, that consists solely of me throwing up in my mouth a little, and this had even happened on an empty stomach 😞

I technically haven't been medically tested for POTS, but I do exhibit all the symptoms + self tested with both a blood pressure cuff and heart monitor and easily met the criteria (63 bpm difference the first time I tried l m a o); my doc thinks hEDS is a strong possibility and so does my therapist, so I'm honing in on that and everything else associated with it. The anecdotal evidence of autism being comorbid is interesting! While I haven't had any official testing, it does fill in the gaps where my adhd doesn't and I've been genuinely considering that I may be autistic for at least a year or so now.

I've scheduled with my GP for early December and I'm gonna bring all my GI issues to the table; I know I struggle with feeling hungry and have struggled with meals, especially in the mornings, bc I just can't eat more than a few spoonfuls of whatever, with a lot of the issues going away if I'm solely eating liquids like soups or protein drinks U_U I also remember having periods of time where I have stomachaches after most meals, just like a dead weight in my abdomen U_U THOSE seem to coordinate with gastroparesis but it's like, my symptoms aren't violent enough to feel like they're under the diagnosis? Though that's also how I felt about POTS, until I read about people's experiences and then tested my own heart rate.

It's definitely a work in progress at the moment, but this is the most work I've ever been able to do in terms of finding answers for my health; here's hoping I actually do get some answers after all these years 🤞

#thank you again!! idk if i said this in my original (actually quite recent) post but i enjoy crowdfunding knowledge #there is DEFINITELY something wrong with my GI tract; gastroparesis is something my therapist had suggested to me #he has other clients with heds and drew a lot of similarities and I'll admit that i do match up with around 90% or so of the criteria #my doc said i should see an eds clinic within the hour of my establishing session too so. strong possibility!#I'm really hoping my upcoming visit helps me start looking bc i only recently realized how terrible my eating habits actually are #bc of how frequently ive felt sick or just flat out not hungry U_U little steps though 👀 working on it very gradually U_U #but yes thanks again! all info is helpful 💖#asks

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dycefic · 2 years

Text

A Future For Christmas

Note: Like Sir Terry Pratchett, I really hate The Little Match Girl. It’s the worst Christmas story. And the Gentlemen of Night don’t care for it, either.

This is the 4th story set in the Night Gentlemen's universe.

The Night Gentlemen were tasked with a solemn duty. To guide the dead, to comfort and to reassure, to find lost souls and carry those who were too old or too young to understand walking onward.

He had been a Night Gentleman for a long time. Years. Since before the Great War, and that had been a hard time for them all. But he had had time to learn that you couldn’t stop death. Couldn’t save people, even the youngest children. You could only be there for them, when it was over, and take them to their rest.

Well…

Almost always.

There were times, when the veils thinned, and the living and the dead drew closer, when faith was stronger and the Powers, perhaps, a little kinder. Times when death could be held off long enough for a farewell, or one life exchanged for another, or…

Or something.

There were times.

It was Christmas Eve. One of the strongest times. A time when even Death could be persuaded to wink, now and then. Death was blind to good or evil, justice or injustice, but not to kindness. Never to that. Death gave ease, when the pain was too great, and sent the Night Gentlemen to bring comfort and companionship on the journey. And Christmas was a special time for kindness.

Even so…

He could not give life to one who was dying, where no exchange was offered. He had himself passed beyond the veil, and the dead could not give life.

But comfort, surely, was permissible, on this night of all nights.

It took all his strength, all his will. But he pushed through the veils, through into the mortal world - not all the way, but enough to be seen, and to be solid. He walked over to the child huddled in a doorway, shaking, and sat down on the step beside her. “Would you like some of my dinner?” he asked, and his voice sounded strange in his own ears, without the ringing distance of Death echoing in it.

The child cowered, but she was too cold and too hungry to refuse when he offered her the small thermos flask of hot soup. “It’s good,” she whispered, after her first sip, and smiled a little.

“It’s very good. A kind lady at a boarding-house makes our dinners for us. She’s a very good cook.”

They sat and ate together, not talking very much, but enjoying the good food. Then the child looked up at him, and she was close enough now to Death to see more than most people would. “Are you an angel?” she asked quietly.

“No.” He rested his elbows on his knees. “When a person dies with… with things on their conscience, debts owed or sins unredeemed, they get a chance to make it right. To help, and show kindness to others. Some of us, like me, come to people when they die. It’s…” He hesitated, looking down at her, but she was a street waif, who knew all too much about death, and knew it was coming for her. “It’s frightening for people, when they die. It helps them to have someone with them to explain, and help them go on to where they belong.”

“And you came to help me.” It wasn’t a question. Her shivering had stopped now, and her eyelids were beginning to droop. The soup had bought her a few minutes, but… it was so cold. “I’m glad you came. Where am I going to go? I’ve.. I’ve done bad things. Stealing, and such. Will I go to the bad place?”

“No,” he said gently, and it was always a relief to be able to take away that fear, at least. “Children never go to the bad place. But… if you had a choice, what would you want to do? To go on to the next world, or stay longer in this one? This one is harder, much harder. But you can… grow, here.”

Tears froze into sparkling eyes on her lashes. “I don’t want to die,” she whispered. “Even if I go to heaven. I don’t want to… to just die on the street, like rubbish. Like I wasn’t ever here.”

For some, heaven was all the relief they needed. He’d needed to know which kind she was. It was hard, but he pushed himself to his feet, and held out his hand. “Then come with me,” he said quietly. “I can’t give you more life than you have. But the living can help the living.”

It wasn’t far to the boarding-house. He took her in through the tiny side-yard, supporting her stumbling steps, and knocked on the kitchen door. When Annie opened it, he didn’t have to say a word.

I’ve never known one of the Night Gentlemen to come back to the boarding-house once he’s taken his dinner-pail and gone. What Door they go back through I don’t know, but it’s not this one. They usually leave the pails by the kitchen door in the morning, without coming in, and I take them in and wash them for the evening. Then there’s the pails for the ones who work from midday until midnight. I make those too, now - there was a lady in a diner who did them, a few blocks away, but she passed on and the Power asked if I’d mind. I don’t, though since Mrs Hallow passed it’s a lot of work for one person.

I was about three in the morning. I was finished clearing up and preparing the kitchen for the boarder’s breakfast and about to go to bed for an hour or two - I find I don’t need much rest these days - when the knock came on the kitchen door.

I couldn’t think who it might be - almost all my boarders were in bed, and the ones who work nights have their own keys. But I opened the door, all the same. There isn’t one of the Ladies who would ever leave someone standing out in the snow, especially not at Christmas!

Well, I recognized the Gentleman right away. They all look alike to some people, but those of us who can ‘see through’, as Mrs Hallow used to call it, can see a bit of who they were, as well as what they are. He’d been coming through my kitchen for about five years, and was as polite and pleasant as they all are. But this time he looked just as guilty as if he’d done something bad - and there was a child standing beside him, wrapped in rags and at least three quarters dead of the cold.

Well. I don’t know about you, but I just can’t stand that story about the little matchgirl. There’s nothing uplifting about a story where a little child dies for want of a bit of kindness. Oh, I know children all go somewhere nice, but it’s still a shame for them to die, and I know the Gentlemen feel it as much as I do. It breaks their hearts to carry some little soul that doesn’t even know how to walk yet on to what comes next. And a little child like this one freezing to death on Christmas Eve? Not while I’m alive. Not in *my* place.

“Come right in,” I told both of them, opening the door wide. “And let me make you something hot.”

“I shared my dinner with her,” the Gentleman said sheepishly. They know they’re not supposed to - though I always put in a few extra cookies or something, just in case they do anyway. “She’s had something to eat, but…”

“Tea, then.” The girl was so cold she couldn’t shake anymore, and I know what a bad sign that is. I put a kettle on the range, while the Gentleman helped her out of her half-frozen rags, and then I took off my shawl and wrapped her up in it. “Now, you come and sit by the heater, love. Don’t touch it or you’ll burn yourself, chilled as you are.”

It didn’t take me long to make the tea - a gas range is wonderful for boiling water quickly - and in a few minutes the poor mite had a cup of tea with lots of milk and sugar in it in her hands, and her feet in a pan of hot water and mustard, and the rest of her on my lap with my arms around her. We were both close to the radiator, but body-heat is the best for those who are chilled through. The Gentleman had some tea too, and sat at the table, sipping it slowly.

I made sure the child didn’t go to sleep until she’d finished her tea, and was warm to the touch. Then I pulled out the cot I sleep on on really busy nights, and tucked her up in it beside the radiator. She’d sleep warm, and wake up the next morning, if the Powers permitted. And if they didn’t, well, the poor mite had been warm and happy at least.

“Can you do this?” I asked the Gentleman, pouring him another cup of tea.

“By the rules, no.” His voice was hollow and echoing, as they always were, but I thought there was an edge of worry to it. “But… at this time…”

At this time. Christmas. It’s a time for miracles… and for kindness. It’s a busy time for the Ladies. There’s more need for kindness, but it’s easier to draw out, too, and between opening ways for others to do good, and doing it ourselves, we’ve got our hands full.

And while the Gentleman, who are dead, cannot give life, we Ladies can and do. It’s part of our job.

The Power we serve is often called Death, though it oversees more than the passage between life and death. It is the Power of passage, and transitions, and change, and gifts. It is a power that does not understand justice, or mercy But it does understand kindness. That which is given, freely, to another who needs. In kindness, it sends the Gentlemen to guide the dead.

Among the living, at least in this time and place, it says, kindness from a woman is more readily accepted, and I can see its point about that. I know that most women would rather take help from another woman, and children too. So many men might… want something in return.

So the Power chooses Ladies to guard its doorways, and its places of power, and carry its messages, and make the mortal food that keeps the Gentlemen anchored on both sides of the veil, and to be kind. We serve only as long as we wish to, but most don’t leave once we take up the task. It’s nice to know that you’re making the world better. And taking a homeless child in at Christmas *would* make the world better.

On the other hand, this might be going too far. There *are* rules.

“You’d better let me explain.” I patted his hand. “You finish your tea, then go back to your rounds. I’ll take care of it, don’t you worry.”

I don’t know how the other Ladies communicate with the Power, but I use the willow-patterned telephone on the third-floor landing. It’s answered quickly, as always, and I am sure I hear amusement in the voice that is neither male nor female, but sounds like cool shadow and water sparkling in the sun. “There are rules,” it reminds me.

“Yes, but it’s Christmas.” I thought about it on the way up, and I let myself pout a bit. “And I do think you owe me this much.”

“Why?” It really sounds curious.

“When I took this post, I accepted the rule that said I couldn’t marry.” That truly is a rule, though many a widow has joined after her husband passed. There’s simply no way to hide what we Ladies are from a husband, and we can’t have children. Carrying a child unborn between worlds is just too dangerous.

“You never wanted to marry.”

“Well, no, not specially,” I admitted, for I’m not such a fool as to try to lie to one of the great Powers. “But I did want children, you know I did. That was a wrench.”

It doesn’t answer, but I know from the way it… oh, I suppose ‘feels’ is the best word, though it’s not quite right… that it knows I have a point. “So you think you are owed this child?”

“Well, I understood why it was dangerous, when you put it to me, and I did agree to the bargain when I took over from Mrs Hallow, but when a child nobody even wants turns up on my doorstep, I think expecting me to give it back is just plain unreasonable.” I set one hand on my hip, knowing it knows what I do even if you shouldn’t be able to ‘see’ through a telephone. “Besides, now that I’ve took over from Miss Cole, I could certainly use another pair of hands around here.”

“The child seems too small to be much help.”

“She’ll grow fast enough. Besides, if she starts young she’ll get used to the strangeness all the faster. Did you see the soul of her? That’s one with a lot of sunshine in her. She’ll be kind.”

The Power doesn’t laugh, exactly, but I felt the rippling feeling that seems to be as close as it gets. “Very well,” it said, after a long moment. “After all, I allowed Mrs Hallow to keep you. And I don’t care for that story, either.”

That took me a moment to catch up to. “The one about the Little Match Girl?”

“Yes.” That is about as cross as I’ve ever heard the Power sound, and I can’t say I cared for it. I can’t imagine there’s anyone would want any Power mad at them, but especially not that One. “That is a story that humans tell each other to excuse themselves from helping their own kind. As if my kindness to the dead absolves them of duty to the living. As if it is better for a child to die than to live.”

“Well, I don’t like it either,” I admitted. “I want to smack every single person who walked past that poor child and I don’t mind saying it.”

“So,” the Power said darkly, and I shivered, “do I.”

The Power loves kindness, and does much to create more kindness in the world, but it doesn’t like being expected to do all the work. We’ve got our part to do too, which is only fair.

The little girl’s name is Maria. She’s an orphan, and happy as a clam to find herself living in a nice warm house, with an ‘aunt’ who takes good care of her and a good future ahead. She likes the Gentlemen, too, and there’s nothing she takes more pleasure in than handing them their pails and giving them their smile and kind word, for what they do is terrible hard. She’s got the spark in her, the giving heart that makes kindness natural to her. She’ll be one of us, when she’s old enough to choose.

Until then, she’s mine, and I’ll love her as much as any mother could.

Her own Gentleman is moving on, soon, we’ve heard. Going to a better place, having earned his reward. We’ll miss him, but we’re glad for him too. We’ll go to the station to see him off, I’ve told Maria, when the time comes. And we’ll make him a good dinner for the journey.

#christmas #hogfather #the little match girl #kindness gives freely to those who need it #and asks nothing in return #unless the asking is in itself a kindness #the gift of a future

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suguruverse · 3 years

Note

ohkay hi! may i just say, that i've just encountered your blog and i am already LOVING IT period. i just love it. it's amazing.

alright, i was thinking maybe you could do something like first meeting headcanons. and hopefully for the manager of karasuno 👀 (i was mainly thinking of the manager being a second year but ig it's not that important) it could be something like meeting at a training camp, or at a game, or at nationals, something like that. and i was thinking kuroo, oikawa and atsumu i love that man so much fml

that would be it ly! 💘

— FIRST MEETINGS WITH THE HAIKYUU BOYS AS KARASUNO’S MANAGER

includes - kuroo tetsurou, oikawa tooru and miya atsumu

a/n - hi bub!! hehe thank you for your support i love you <33 i loved this req lmao hope you like it!

♕ KUROO TETSUROU

- bro lets be completely honest, he is an absolute stuttering mess when he first meets you

- he doesn't even realise that you can see him just staring at you for a solid five minutes

- this man has 0 experience with picking up girls so he will just be saying the worst pick up lines ever or some random fact that no one cares about

- it was the first day of the tokyo training camp with karasuno, nekoma and fukurodani and you and some of the other manager's were in charge of making lunch and dinner

- since you were in the kitchen basically for the entire day, you never really had the change to meet any other the other players

- once dinner arrives, they all flood into the cafeteria looking a little bit... dead?

- you serve them their food, only receiving a toneless "thank you"

- until kuroo walked in, as rowdy and loud as he is

- when he arrived in front of you to get his rice and soup, he just stopped and looked at you

"good work today! here's your food"

kuroo: o-o

"um is there something on my face?"

"p...pretty"

"im sorry"

"YOU'RE REALLY PRETTY"

- when i tell you the silence that just filled up the room

*bokuto in the background* "BRO ASK HER OUT LATER, YOU'RE HOLDING UP THE LINE, I'M HUNGRY"

- and then he just awkwardly runs away to his table where kenma was and just plopped on the table, his face hiding in his arms while kenma is just very uncomfortably patting kuroo's back in comfort

- the next day at breakfast, you sneaked your number onto his food tray (that was on a piece of paper) and he didn't even notice it was there until he nearly ate it

- from that day on, you'll just see him awkwardly trying to make conversation with you

- when you switched with yachi to help out the boys during the day like filling up water bottles and shit, kuroo is trying to impress you but is also doing incredibly shitty at the same time

- he pulled a hinata a couple times and got hit straight in the face by bokuto

- but to his surprise, you were already in the nurse's office because tanaka starting waving his shirt around and accidentally hit nishinoya right in the nose

- kuroo acts like he had a broken arm or something just so you can baby him

- he genuinely believes in love at first sight and asks you out at the end of the training camp lol he has no patience

♕ OIKAWA TOORU

- it was at the spring high preliminaries and both teams were warming up

- it was his turn to spike when boom bam he hits you straight in the face

oikawas brain: oh no i hit pretty girl. i should ask pretty girl if she's okay. pretty girl really pretty

- while daichi is trying to stop noya and tanaka from ripping oikawas hair out, he was already running towards you, asking if you were okay

- you insisted you were okay as you were kind of embarrassed with the crowd watching you, and soon after, the game had began

- oikawa was already thinking of 12 ways he could apologise to you but for now, he had to focus on the game

- whenever there was a timeout or break, he noticed the small twitches in your eye and the bruises that were faint, but still there

- although the game had resulted in karasuno's win, oikawa couldn't help but feel worse when he saw you wince in pain when hinata excitedly pulled you into his chest for a hug

- kiyoko recommended you go to the nurse's office but there was no point since you were about to leave anyways

- like kuroo, this man acts as if no one can see him staring at you like a creep for afar

- you rolled your eyes for the 30th time that day when oikawa approached you again as you were about to get on the bus

"hey you! are you sure you're okay?"

"im fine, thanks"

"are you sure? is there something you want me to do for you?"

- he doesn't really know how to continue this conversation so he just stands there, waiting for you to say something

"you seem a little desperate oikawa-san"

- he turns into a blushing mess when you tease him and you cannot tell me otherwise

"what about a date then? as an apology. i don't think i can sleep at night if i don't at least try to make it up to you"

"sorry not interested"

"OH right.. sorry i just thou-"

"i was just joking oikawa-san, tomorrow at 5?"

"YES"

- on the date he keeps mentioning how nervous he was because of how pretty he thought you were and how he couldn't sleep

- love sick bitch

- he also tries to be so damn smooth as well and he thinks that it's working but it really isn't

- pls for the love of god just boost his ego he needs it

- i swear you could be celebrating your 3 year anniversary but he will still be mentioning that day, telling everyone how it was fate or whatever

- and you could be on the side like what mf my face hurt for like 3 weeks shut up

♕ MIYA ATSUMU

- yay we're at nationals

- anyways the venue was fucking massive so you'll end up getting lost right?

- well yes, but you didn't really expect it to be when you were trying to escort hinata to the fucking toilets

- it was only 20 minutes until their match against inarizaki was gonna start and that mf was still in the bathroom

- and you can't exactly enter the men's bathroom so you just started pacing in front of the door like a psycho

- conveniently atsumu and suna were walking to the bathroom and saw you just muttering to yourself

- he honestly thought you were some time of perv and hella weird

"OI CREEP, what the hell a ya doing?" says the man with piss hair and reeks of axe

- and like a movie, you turn around, hair flipping in the wind and he can hear angels singing and a bright light surrounds you

- mans is on the flooring crying because wtf he just saw the most beautiful person he's ever seen

- pls snap him out of it, ur friend is probably shitting his pants in the toilets behind you and you need to see if he's okay

- he cannot keep eye contact for the life of him

- you could just be like "i'm really sorry but im the mangager for karasuno and one of my friends are in there, so can you just check on him pls"

- and he'll just smile and nod at whatever you say like "mhm yeah totally karasuno? mhm thats hot, wanna go out with me?"

- atsumu is like a demon possessed him and suna out here watching him like tf i just need to take a piss man shut up

- yeah you left with atsumu's number and left hinata all alone

- he left the bathroom and almost cried when he realised he got ditched for dick

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pigeonflavouredcake · 3 years

Text

I'm an adult now take my advice

(or don't i'm not your dad)

Idk how old my followers are overall but i want to make this post in case any of you are actually teens... I am Officially 20 now. I am no longer a teenager so here are some things I learned as a poor teenager that helped me as a poor adult. Some are witchy, some are just about life, most are food related. Buckle up this will get pretty long.

Write as much down as you can bc puberty can really fuck with your memory.

Staying up late because you simply can't sleep is not something to be worried about unless you want to change that. It's pretty much all your natural body clock.

Get a big folder. Like a massive accordion folder and put all your personal documents in, birth/adoption certificates, bank statements, prescription receipts, diplomas, etc. So if you're ever in a dangerous situation at home you can make your escape a lot easier.

Now is a good time to learn new things that aren't school related. Practice cooking your favourite meals, learn how to properly clean a bathroom, if cleaning is overwhelming there are methods online that can help with that. Like playing a spot the difference game.

NO, tarot is not a closed practice, tarot is a tool for everyone and NO, tarot decks do not have to be gifted to you, you can buy one for yourself. I don't even know where that came from but it's complete bs.

Save the little gift baggies you get when you buy jewellery and use them as spell bags.

Stay away from any woman who calls her vag a yoni. it's weird.

You may want to be seen as smart and mature because it's better than being treated like a kid but you are still a kid. Your safety matters more than how mature and responsible you are. An older person should NOT be talking to you in a romantic/flirtatious setting and if they say it's because you're mature for your age or they can't wait until you're legal fucking bully the living shit out of them then block them and warn your friends. that attitude is creepy as hell bc they want someone they have power over. Same with any friends that brag about their partner being 15/16/17 when they're 18. BULLY THEM THEY'RE GROSS AND THEY DESERVE IT.

If you're in a country with the NHS USE IT NOW WHILE IT'S FREE. The first 6-8 weeks of therapy is free from the NHS. Eye tests and dentist check ups and medication are free untill you're 19 GET THEM NOW.

You can make your own oat milk by blending up oats and water. You don't need to cook with oil, there's enough of it in processed food and fresh veg have enough water in them to cook straight in a pan. You don't need the seasoning packet in ramen you can make your own. Tamari sauce has less sodium than soy sauce. Food always tastes better when it's in season. Try to find space for two food wastes, one for processed/cooked food one for raw. The raw food can be composted and given back to the earth

Best healthiest dinner option I can think of is steamed veggies. Here's my recipe: Heat up a pan on high, pour a bit of water in and then your veggies, stir frequently until all the water is gone. Turn heat down to low. Coat with something like balsamic vinegar and add any seasoning you like. Cover and steam for 10 minutes ish and you're good. You can serve that with a grain or some noodles.

Locally sourced meat and fish is WAY better for the environment than supermarket because there's less preservatives and they're more resourceful with their products.

A standard pie dough is one of the easiest things you can make and the trick is in the amount. Half the flour equals the fat, half the fat equals the sugar. so if you have 200g of flour you need 100g of fat and 50g of sugar. Just throw them in a bowl and mix together and add some cold water to bind together into a dough. It should be solid and little sticky, if it's crumbling add more water, if it's not holding it's shape add more flour. then just fridge it for a few hours to set and you're good.

You made your own soup/stew/pot thingy and you got left overs for the next day? Put it back on the cooker and bring to the boil on high, once it's bubbling take the heat down to low and simmer for 10 minutes (keep stirring if it keeps bubbling). This will help kill any bacteria that developed overnight that might make you sick.

Foraging is good but wear gloves, don't take all from one place and don't eat anything you pick until it's been thoroughly washed. Don't be afraid to go hog wild on things like blackberries, dandelions, or nettles. those things are an invasive species.

Deer are bigger than you think they are.

Air drying takes longer but it will help your clothes last. You can also hand wash with a bowl of hot water and about a teaspoon of washing up powder. Air drying also goes for your hair too.

Stock up on your favourite scented candles any size is ok and use them for spells and rituals.

You got a ghost in your house? Leave them be they're usually just passing through.

If you can't focus on work without music but it needs to be specifically wordless and needs to be easy to fill your brain so you don't focus on every noise other people make listen to animal crossing music that shit got me through two years worth of academic reading.

Bus is late or can't find your keys? Stop looking and start complaining. They'll turn up as soon as you give up.

Piercings are a medical procedure and are safer when they're done with a needle because they're hollow, so they're carving out the skin and cartilage instead of just pushing jewellery through like a gun does. Go to a tattoo parlour that also does piercings bc they're likely to be a lot stricter with rules and customer care.

Life is gonna kick us all in the but so we gotta be there to help eachother out however we can. It definitely feels like it's everyone for themselves but it doesn't have to be.

#I'm 20 #please help #advice #life advice #witchy advice #witch #witchblr #witchcraft #pagan witch #pagan #hellenic pagan #paganism #hellenic witch #kitchen witchcraft #kitchen witch

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wank127 · 3 years

Note

sorry in advance if i’m spamming your notifications /gen!

i just remembered that denki existed and i’m craving [neurodivergent] headcanons and your blog kinda has a lot of good reblogs n posts of that so-

you’re not spamming at all, in fact i didn’t even see this till now since i don’t normally get any asks ! (thanks for the ask btw <3) i hope you enjoy !!

neurodivergent denki headcannons !

disclaimer: i, myself, am currently in the process of getting diagnosed with adhd/autism/whatever it is (i’m not self diagnosing but i did get 8/10 on an autism assessment given to me by a doctor so that must say something) so this is a wee bit of me projecting. my intentions for this post are not to offend anyone in the nd community nor spread any miss information. please correct me if i make any mistakes ! and apologies for it being so long i’m still trying to figure out the ‘read more’ thing !! now ! onto the head cannons !!

he has MAJOR sensory issues and issues with bad textures

his main ones are foods that are a mix between solid or liquid, like a soup that’s meant to be smooth but isn’t or like very wet bread, anything sticky and that one inside of a hoodie feel, like the one wear it’s like fleece but it feels like plastic and somehow creamy and just BLUGNXJSK y’know?

he has that not right kind of thing(iykyk) where he has to say a word/phrase again till it feels right, or touch the desk again, or hit the back of foot again to make it right

it gets really frustrating sometimes

he surprisingly likes velvet, fun to play with, cool to drag your finger around on

he has very bad memory problems

like really bad

they cause him to breakdown every time he has a test cause everything he tried to study was just,, gone,, no where to be found

he opens up to present mic about it and he’s a big help, gives him extra time for testing, helps him with study techniques, gives him more reminders, etc etc

mic and him are like that student-english teacher duo

(no bc they’re the same person just different sizes please)

he struggles with reading a lot too, he knows there’s words but his brain just won’t recognize what they are

word soup

his main special interests/hyperfixations are old english literature, true crime/psychology/criminal stuff, literally anything to do with art and physics(electricity stuff)

he has other ones like cars and how to annoy bakugo to the brink of tears

his most common stims are happy flappy hands, putting his hand into a thumbs up and squeezing, rocking back and forth and swinging his legs about

his like calm down stim is humming, having some form of pressure(weighted blanket !!) and rocking a little bit

he gets overwhelmed by questions a lot

like if he’s not prepared to answer one and he gets asked TWO he’ll just go ‘nope’

he’s nonverbal sometimes, especially when he gets overwhelmed

he zones out and daydreams for like,,, 70% of the day

his favorite texture for food is something like mash potatoes, like a doughy texture, one that just sits right in the mouth

(potato waffles are his go to food (british thing but they’re so good))

just enough chew but not too much, not too wet not too dry

speaking of dry food,, he hates it. dry biscuits(cookies) are a no go if he doesn’t have a bunch of water/juice with him, he also just doesn’t like hot drinks

he’s god fuckinh amazing at art, like painting, drawing, sketching, everything

he’s so good at it

he ‘doodles’ in all of his school work and books, most of the time it’s of aizawa or present mic (or,, *cough*his crush*cough*) and they’re super accurate

when he goes to sleep he has to have a small tea light candle lit, his over the ear headphones on and playing asmr and a hoodie (comfort hoodie, gifted to him by kiri) with the hood up and pressure on his feet(like just his blanket covering them is fine)

no other set up is allowed

he uses fidget (simple dimple pop) and sensory toys

they got taken away from him in class one time, he almost cried it was so sad

RAGE

so much rage

god

when he was younger he used to scream bloody murder when he had to put on sunscreen (same boo)

refused to wear it until his parents got him a spray on sunscreen (it was just like an oil/water based sunscreen that just,, wasn’t sticky, it was perfect) he still uses it to this day

he loves music, so much

it’s so cool

so many playlists

has like ten different ones that he made just for long car drives

like all the sounds and noises just make his brain so happy

he likes bo burnham cause he has very good lyrics and sounds that make him wanna share them with everyone so they can be happy too (especially ‘sexting’ , ‘oh bo’,’ words words words’, ’rant’, the kanye one, ‘we think we know you’, ‘channel 5 news: the musical’ and ‘bezos’ 1&2)

(omg channel 5 news is so good)

his number is 5

he’s kinda scared to do good in school bc his rank in class will go up and what if it lands on an ugly number??

he’s quite unintentionally restrictive with his food

he just forgets to eat or that he’s hungry

he’s working on it tho dw !

his accents are like typical british/english, australian and southern american

pop out at random times

like he’ll ask present mic to repeat the page number as a southern bell little lady

had a vocal stim that was opra singing “milly rock pick it up”

lil jon vocal stim

(YEAH)

his room is very messy and cluttered from all the failed hobbies and things he just forgot about

expect him to cook but DO NOT expect him to clean up afterwards

like iida will walk into the dorm kitchen in the morning and find this huge mess thinking someone broke in

and kiri is like: oh ig denki was hungry i wonder if he has leftovers

okay i think i’m gonna end this one here lol it’s getting kinda long ! i hope you liked it ! <3

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captaincravatthecapricious · 3 years

Text

After the Circus- Part 3

@janekfan

cw: strained friendships, arguing, fainting, dizziness, trauma, references to Jon's getting covered in lotion, disassociation, food mention, mentions of panic attacks (none in the story), canon typical season three Tim headspace (although he's being less mean!)

After his kidnapping, Jon continues to have a rough time

The next time Jon wakes up, he is actually able to sit up. He’s alone on the cot. For a moment, he almost panics, looking for Martin in the darkened room.

It’s hard to see. The only light is from the hallway, oozing in because the door isn’t entirely closed. He doesn’t have his glasses on. He doesn’t know where those are.

Does he just have to resign himself blurry vision and the headaches? Not as if he doesn’t get enough of those. He sighs. He can’t even remember when he last had them. Did he have them when he was kidnapped? Did he have them when he got back?

He makes out Martin’s blurry form sitting slumped in front of the cot. Leaning against it and the wall. Asleep.

Guilt pools in the bottom of Jon’s empty stomach. He doesn’t know what time it is. But Martin has, presumably, been here for hours. Jon doesn’t know how many, sliping in and out of lucidity too quickly to get a firm sense on space and time. Martin should be at home, forgetting all this supernatural shit as often as he can, for as long as he can. Not worrying about Jon. Christ, certainly not worrying about Jon constantly since Prentiss.

All those times Martin dragged him to lunch, or provided tea when he still treated Martin like shit.

Jon can’t look at him.

He wishes he could get Martin onto the cot and let him get some proper rest, but even in top health, he couldn’t lift Martin, let alone do it without waking him. Best to just drape a blanket over him and let him rest.

Jon… well he needs to get up. Get to the loo, get a jumper, get some water or food if he can manage it. He isn’t sure. There’s still a good chance he’ll just end up on the floor again. Especially without his cane.

At least he doesn’t have to worry about Georgie. He was leaving her place anyhow. She wouldn’t have expected a call. Probably.

Standing isn’t great, but he manages his first two tasks. Leaning on the wall is the best he can manage, but he makes the way to the break room, drowning in an oversized hoodie. And finds Tim.

Tim is on his phone. He looks… tired. He’s still wearing that familiar scowl, but it’s softer. If Jon didn’t know better, he’d say Tim was looking worried. If Jon didn’t know better, he’d think Tim might be worried about him.

He’d think about that more, if his vision wasn’t starting to darken. He takes a rather abrupt seat on the floor, in hopes of staving off another faint.

Jon, essentially slamming into the floor makes Tim look up. There is a long moment where he is caught between sitting still and rushing over. (See if he’s still awake, if he’s hurt himself, if he’s hit his head, get him some salt and a sports drink. The routine still ingrained.) But. He doesn’t know.

He finds himself half standing, phone halfway on the table, screen still on, game chirping at him angrily as he loses.

He finds himself hesitating for a long moment, before he walks over to Jon. Slowly.

Jon’s conscious, but looks he’s contemplating if he’s going to stay that way.

Does Tim want to help?

Does Jon even want his help?

If he touches Jon, will he scream again?

If Jon screams, will Martin wake up?

He does care if Martin wakes up. Martin hasn’t gotten much sleep… in months, but especially not in the last couple days looking after Jon, and making sure Jon got enough water, and any meager amount of sustenance that he can manage.

Tim wouldn’t stay for Jon, but he is staying for Martin.

He stands there, looming over Jon. Jon shrinks away. Instead of making Tim feel vindicated, he just feels empty.

He should help Jon. So Martin doesn’t lose even more sleep making sure Tim doesn’t follow the impulse to yell and kick and argue, or simply run away. That won’t help anything. He’s been fighting the impulse to hurt Jon for a while. But… but he can’t muster that anger, not now.

Not when Jon’s wearing a jumper that Tim left at Jon’s flat back in Research.

Not when Jon looks small and tired and sick and beaten.

And, Tim knows, he’s had his place in this. Much as he wants to blame the circus…

And that’s another thing, isn’t it?

This should bind them together, right? Even more so than the years of friendship before everything went to shit. This shared trauma. Even more so than the worms? That was a one-and-done day, and yeah, there was stuff leading up to it. Yeah, it left a hell of a mark. But it didn’t really change Tim’s life the same way the Circus had. Yeah, there was pain and pt and permanent scars, but the worms didn’t take Jon for a month, they didn’t kill Sasha and Danny.

Fuck, he doesn’t know. It all sucks.

The Worm trauma should have brought the three of them together (four, if Sasha had made it out, but that wasn’t the worms, now was it? Well, if not for the worms, maybe she wouldn’t have been taken. HE DOESN’T KNOW.) The more Tim thinks about this, the more half finished, nonsense bullshit he thinks up for himself.

None of what he’s trying to tell himself makes sense, and the confusion and anger sit heavily in his gut as he just stands there, like a moron.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

He drags his hands through his hair. Greasy and coated in days old gel. He needs some sleep. He needs a shower.

He should get Jon something to eat.

“I’m going to touch you, ‘kay?”

Jon looks too tired to argue. Good. He doesn’t think he can deal with Jon’s waffling or guilt or any of that bullshit. The ‘oh no I’m just grand why am I on the floor? no reason, let me just stalk you it’s fine.’

Not now, Tim.

Too tired for proper anger, and even if he wasn’t… Jon looks just pitiful, and the fight that he’s itching for won’t be satisfying if Jon passes out or cries on him.

Jon mumbles out, “‘kay.”

Good.

Tim scoops him up, just about effortlessly. And Tim doesn’t know if that’s the months of pt and vigorous workouts, or that Jon has dropped maybe 5 kilos that he didn’t have to spare. Or both.

Tim’s gotten his muscle mass back, maybe even more than he had to start with… all that extra rage funneled into gym time. Not particularly healthy, but better than drinking himself into a stupor every morning. Just… you know, most mornings. As you do.

The change of position is enough to knock Jon out the rest of the way. Head lolling against Tim’s chest.

Something flickers deep in Tim’s chest. His first impulse is to crush the feeling, but… he doesn’t. Jon isn’t okay. Tim isn’t okay.

He wants his friend from Research back.

Which… He doesn’t know if that’s possible. Not with broken trust and hair-trigger tempers. But, he’s just so tired.

He dumps Jon on the couch. Not too gently, but he props his feet up and goes to get him some lucozade and heat up a can of soup.

Jon’s starting to come around again by the time he gets back. The soup is… lukewarm at best. They ought to harass Elias into getting them a better microwave… In any case, it’s full of salt and it isn’t cold. So… that’s something. A little more substance than water and lucozade. So. It’s better than nothing. Try to get Jon up to eating an actual meal, but Martin had pointed out that he isn’t sure when Jon last ate solid food, since he was kidnapped by plastic bastards who apparently don’t really know how humans-or vaguely nonhuman monster bosses work and how often to water or feed them, so they should take it easy on Jon’s system for now. Which will make it easier on all of them.

Jon struggles to sit up, and Tim doesn’t know if he wants to help. Instead he holds the food and drink and …looms. Jon sits up and tucks his feet up, so the blood doesn’t pool, Tim’s memory supplies. Not particularly monstrous. …It’s painfully familiar.

“Small sips, then a little bit of soup.”

Jon nods, squinting up at him.

Probably not a good sign that Jon, apparently, couldn’t find the glasses folded on the box next to the cot with another glass of water. One Martin instructed Tim to keep constantly full. Should he be worried that Jon is still so out of it? Maybe?

But he’s heard what the Circus can do to people, and he doesn’t have any clue what they did to Jon. All he knows is, Jon is even more shy about touch than he has been. Not that Tim really noticed. But… he isn’t blind. Jon’s been waking up screaming more often than not when someone touches him. He seems okay when you go slow, or wakes up with Martin holding him, but an unexpected, or sudden, or moving at all hand, starts him into a panic attack.

How much does Jon even remember of those? How many has Martin talked him through? How many did Jon lose consciousness during? A lot of the last variety. But he doesn’t know the numbers.

Jon’s looking dizzy again by the time Martin rushes in. Tim had just helped ease Jon back down. Martin is trailing the blanket that Tim had been pretty sure Jon had been draped in last time Tim had actually been in the room and not playing on his phone. That besotted fool, Jon, must have put it over Martin before getting up.

“Where is he, Tim!”

“Martin, Martin. Stay calm, would you? Keep your voice down.” Tim is not used to being the one trying to deescalate. But Jon looks about half asleep. Barely registers the shouting. “Relax. I didn’t hurt him. Think he got up for the loo or for something, nearly fainted in here. Got him some soup and everything.”

Martin drops heavily into the nearest chair, with what Tim figures must be a hell of an adrenaline crash.

“He’s okay, Martin. Didn’t hurt him. I… I don’t think I want to hurt him. Not sure if I did in the past…I sure wasn’t helping. But I don’t think I do now.”

Martin doesn’t respond.

“He… he looks so… fragile. I… miss him. And I miss you.”

Tim looks down at Jon, and almost wants to tuck his hair back. That frizzy and tangled hair that Jon usually keeps… well not neat. But clean. It’s been scrubbed within an inch of its life. It’s dry and sad, and Tim almost …almost wants to fix it. But he isn’t ready for that.

Christ, he’s tired.

He joins Martin at the table, not quite ready to meet Martin’s eye. Not ready to see what Martin might say in return.

“I miss you too.”

#the magnus archives #tma #jonathan sims #tim stoker #timothy stoker #martin blackwood #whump #hurt/ comfort #jon has pots #cane user jon #cw strained friendships #cw arguing #cw fainting #cw suicidal ideation #cw ptsd #cw dissociation

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nct-lian · 3 years

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nct 127’s relation to lian

TAEIL + LIAN: IL-LI

taeil used to wake her up for school when she was still a teenager :((

such a soft but overlooked duo

will appreciate each other forever and ever

lian teaches him roasts in english that he can say to johnny

remain each other’s hype man and woman

taeil was the first to suggest he and the other nct members react to the trailers of her dramas on video so they can boost them in popularity

promotes the HELL out of lian’s solo career over twitter

lian loves coming up behind him and just giving him hugs because he’s soft (ᗒᗣᗕ)՞

they watch movies together a lot! but taeil has to come down to the fifth floor because lian hates it up on the tenth one

he was once able to grab her hand in an airport and they held hands the entire time :(( a few pictures went a little viral

they share hoodies NSHDHSHCJA

lian keeps bugging him to get an instagram

taeil will ALWAYS take her side in silly arguments she and the other members have sometimes

he makes fun of her height because she’s shorter than him-

he also used to help her with her homework :(

cried when lian went on her first date

“my child is growing up (´∩｀。)”

had to do a background check on the guy before he even allowed him to come in contact with her again, though

JOHNNY + LIAN: JOANN

johnny is her dad, period

no questions asked he is her father

will give her piggyback rides all the time

he was once woken up by her jumping on his bed and asking if they could go shopping

at 6:00 am

he actually got up, got ready and took her shopping but since it was so early, the stores were all closed

he took her out for japanese fluffy pancakes, though!

whenever lian is sick, johnny makes her his mom’s homemade chicken noodle soup recipe :((

speaking of johnny’s mom, she loves lian to death and always asks johnny if he’s taking good care of her

if they’re not being asked any questions or having to translate anything during interviews, they always whisper jokes in each other’s ears to try and make the other one laugh

because of how lian dies during the trailer of her new drama, johnny cried in front of twenty-two other men while they reacted to it

he was NOT embarrassed

“how are you guys not crying? this is so sad. what a cruel world we live in ໒( ˵ •̀ □ •́ ˵ )७”

kept screaming at lian’s “dream of you” performance video

“WHY ARE YOU ON THE GROUND DANCING LIKE THAT?!” “JISUNG COVER YOUR EYES-“

he once effortlessly picked up lian and moved her somewhere else because she wasn’t standing where she was supposed to be

everyone says that their ship name is something a white, suburban mom would be named. now nctzens pronounce joann like “joanne” ･x･

it was said on the zach sang show that johnny used to measure her height every month to see if she grows or not, and that’s the only reason why he has her height memorized

TAEYONG + LIAN: LIYONG

has lost lian in so many airports it’s not even funny

“hyung, what happened to lian?” “oh, you have GOT to be kidding me-“

whenever he doesn’t see her he goes into panic mode and starts asking if anyone has seen his little sister

“about this tall with really shiny hair? her cheekbones are insane, i swear. OH OH OH SHE WAS WEARING JOHNNY’S HOODIE- you don’t know what johnny’s hoodie looks like.. okay, well thank you for your help.”

one of the first members that she was comfortable with

lian said that he was her role model :’(

as the leader, he’s always taking care of her and will not sleep until he knows for sure she’s eaten

because of how lian never participated in any of nct’s first bit of promotions due to being too uncomfortable around them, she was allowed to skip out on the viewings of their relay video letters

but she was still required to make one for somebody and that somebody was taeyong ˵ ຈ ︿ ຈ ˵

she said that she was glad he was her leader and that she hoped to become closer one day

he cried

declares that he will take care of lian till the day he dies

taeyong had yelled at lian’s former manager until he voluntarily quit working for her- he had found out that lian was being overworked to the point where she collapsed during their dance practice and he wasn’t okay with it

always cheering her on backstage when she performs solo

he always tries to include her in guiding the members for their dances because he knows how happy it makes her

instead of having her carry her glasses around with her, he does it instead :D

“nana, do you have to wear your glasses now?”

taeyong tucks her into bed every night he can ᕕ( ཀ ʖ̯ ཀ)ᕗ

YUTA + LIAN: YUN

totally doesn’t have feeling for her, yeah

yuta is obsessed and when i tell you he’s obsessed, he’s obsessed

did i mention obsessed?

he’s jealous of everyone :(

yun stans insist that the only reason yuta is so touchy with winwin and mark is because he’s trying to cover up his feelings for lian

bye if that’s true-

hyuck wanted to give her a hug (a rare occurrence) and yuta straight up just said,

“mine. go away”

i have proof guys :// johnny recorded it and literally posted it on instagram

lian died internally when yuta cut his long hair because she couldn’t put it into ponytails anymore :((

but his hair is growing back now so she’s able to do it again :)

yuta teaches her japanese every tuesday and thursday!

we don’t bring this up because it’s pretty embarrassing but,, when nct 127 were backstage before performing kick it, yuta asked doyoung (who was in a direction where he could get a clear view of lian’s face) if lian was staring at him

how do we know this, you may ask?

it was caught on camera and everyone made fun of him for a solid week straight

he’s caught staring at her from afar way too often for comfort

lian says that he’s very pretty

much like the other memebers that have instagram, he makes story countdowns that he posts about a week before lian plans to release her solo music

DOYOUNG + LIAN: LIDO

another member of the lian protection squad

doyoung was the first to start calling her cupcake

it all started when doyoung was sick and lian made him cupcakes to make him feel better

will slap anyone who makes a flirty remark towards lian

was embarrassed for yuta when he asked if she was staring at him

said “no” and walked away

lian is the only one who ever shows him any mercy :’)

they have very similar taste in decor so they often go shopping together for things to put around the dorm

doyoung said that he spends the most time in lian’s room because it smells like vanilla all the time

he spoils her SO MUCH

like so much

half the plushies she owns at the moment were gifts from doyoung

has a tendency to watch over her and make sure she’s content at all times

“cupcake, are you hungry? i can make you some food if you’d like” “oppa, it’s 3:00am-“ “and?”

they take such pretty instagram pictures :((

at one point in time, doyoung was jealous of his older brother because lian used to crush on him a tiny bit :0

not because doyoung likes her or anything, she just couldn’t stop talking about how nice he looked in revolutionary love

disapproves of the staff giving lian such short clothing sometimes

“um, excuse me, she can’t wear that. are you crazy? go get her a new outfit, please”

JAEHYUN + LIAN: JAELI

not many people bring this up because we know it’s honestly a sensitive topic :|

but he lowkey has deep feelings for her (he makes it so obvious sometimes it’s kinda disappointing to see how oblivious lian really is to it)

jaeli + yun love triangle anyways

jokes aside, though, jaehyun loves lian so so much

once cried to johnny about how he doesn’t know what to do and that he didn’t want to make anything awkward by confessing to her

makes sure to be near her as often as possible

once scared away a whole kim taehyung from talking to her during isac ╰[ ⁰﹏⁰ ]╯ (let’s pretend bts were there for 2019 pls)

“jungkook, keep your friend away, please :D”

didn’t work, though, because they ended up having a conversation later in the day either way

*in the 97’ liner groupchat* “HYUNG IM SORRY HE RAN AWAY I DIDNT KNOW WHAT TO DOl

it was uncalled for but what can you do amirite ┐(´～｀)┌

lian pokes his dimples a lot and squishes his cheeks

just randomly hugs him but he’s not complaining

johnny isn’t picking sides but he became team jaeli after jaehyun broke into tears in front of him for the first time since they were trainees about how much he loves lian

sad,, i know

lian judges jaehyun for not sleeping with sheets

continues to believe he is not a human being, but a robot created in a lab

jaehyun smiles at her for no reason

JUNGWOO + LIAN: LIWOO

an instant bond formed between them when they first met!

jungwoo learned a lot about her and has developed so many ways to deal with her anxiety :(

gave the staff a guide on how to keep her calm when he went on hiatus because he couldn’t be there with her

buys her colouring books because he knows that they calm her down well!

liwoo went viral and become a popular ship when lian accidentally changed the nct 127 instagram profile picture to a jungwoo icon

she got scolded but it was iconic orange haired jungwoo with a chain-

an untouchable duo when they do double aegyo

nctzens think jungwoo is her favourite member

maybe because lian said he was

“ “who’s your favourite member?” hmm i’ll have to say woo-oppa!”

*cue jungwoo laughing at yuta’s face because he was that shocked*

they share secrets with each other so now they probably know the other like the palm of their hand

even though he’s off his hiatus, he still has to guide the staff members through lian’s little moments because sm staff suck at their job sometimes

they’re the two members who go grocery shopping together

more like jungwoo dragging lian to the grocery store with him but okay

jungwoo loves kissing her cheeks (〃▽〃)

their vocals mixed together are confirmed to be noises from heaven

lian misses his blonde bowl cut :/

MARK + LIAN: LIMARK

leader of lian’s natural length hair committee

like when i tell you mark hates her extensions-

mark was the first friend lian was able to make in nct!

they bonded over canada and it was very rare to see them speaking in korean

mark goes into straight panic when he’s with her sometimes

has to remind himself they’re like siblings

lian ans mark covered “your eyes” by hoody and jay park during a vlive!

it was adorable :((

lian had him saved in her phone as “android user” but now she doesn’t know what to change it to

they had a fight in 2019

mark let’s her call him the weirdest freaking nicknames ヽ ( ꒪д꒪ )ﾉ

mars bar, markie, mork, marko

AND IN RETURN HE CALLS HER MARIJUANA-

he says it’s because czennies consider her to be addicting and since marijuana is addicting as well he thought it’d be a good fit

someone on twitter absolutely ENDED HIM though and wouldn’t stop making fun of him (；⌣̀_⌣́)

they can read each other’s mind just by looking at each other

“dude i hate this shit why does she keep asking us who we wanna collab with?” *cue lian laughing hysterically*

“what’s so funny (゜-゜)” — interviewer

HAECHAN + LIAN: LIHYUCK

haechan makes fun of her kissing scenes in dramas

calls her short all the time

“lian give me a high five- oh haha nevermind it’s too bad you’re so short”

they’ve actually been so close to fighting each other and i’m not even joking

they’re the two members who fight the most out of all of them

but despite this, they love each other very much

hyuck says he’s the only one who’s allowed to make her mad

and if anyone else makes her mad he’d kill them

limark 2019 fight flashbacks where haechan kept threatening mark

there are actually moments when they’re clingy with each other-

haechan loves her hugs :((

like ??????? one minute they’re at each other’s throats and the next, they’re all lovey dovey hugging each other make it make sense ?????

lian could be speaking english and he’d say, “korean, please. i can’t understand canadian”

“shut up <3”

hello haechan cried and wouldn’t let go of her during her and mark’s graduation ceremony in 2018

she makes fun of him for it but never takes it too far

he goes to her for dance advice

during their nct 2018 weekly idol appearance when they were doing the random kpop dance thing, they beat everyone أ‿أ

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

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Fire and Light (ao3) - on tumblr: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8

- Chapter 9 -

Wen Ruohan presided over dinner in what was now a monthly occurrence.

He liked habit more, now that he was getting older; liked to have everything in its proper place.

Liked to indulge himself more.

Nie Mingjue mechanically forced down his food, drinking his soup first to fill his belly as quickly as possible. If he was very lucky, he might get a case of food poisoning, same as the one that had struck down the younger children that one time; if he did, he’d do his utmost to throw up all over Wen Ruohan’s shoes.

As always, they answered his questions. Wen Ruohan was just in the middle of an especially complicated hypothetical when one of his deputies rushed in with an urgent letter, falling to his knees before him. Wen Ruohan took the letter and read it; he scowled and dismissed them, rising to his feet to return to the throne room.

The reprieve felt like a brush of cool wind on a hot day.

Nie Mingjue caught Wen Xu’s eye.

Wen Xu winked.

It wasn’t really a surprise when the war started.

There were only so many hypothetical battle plans Nie Mingjue could be asked about, whether by Wen Ruohan or by Nie Huaisang and the younger generation of Wens, without him putting two and two together. He was put in the awkward situation of having to answer both sides to the best of his ability, and the whole thing started to feel a little like playing a game of go against himself.

“That’s what you get for being irritatingly good at tactics and with a knack for strategy, and having proven for years and years that you could find weaknesses in all of Sect Leader Wen’s hypothetical battleplans,” Nie Huaisang told him. “Talent brings with it its own punishment.”

“What’s your punishment for all your scheming, then?” Nie Mingjue asked, amused despite himself. “Becoming emperor and ruling the world?”

“I,” Nie Huaisang said, putting his hand to his chest, “am going to grow up to be absolutely useless.”

“Nice try.”

To Nie Mingjue’s relief, Wen Ruohan did not send him to the front line, perhaps afraid that Nie Mingjue would attempt some sabotage or maybe merely run away, and that made it more difficult for him to implement the plans Nie Mingjue suggested to him. They were good, solid plans, each and every one of them, Nie Mingjue implementing everything he learned about the rules of war and adding in a touch of his own knack for forecasting how people would react in a fight, but living so long in Qishan meant that he knew a little bit about how people behaved the rest of the time, too.

He couldn’t make bad suggestions in the plans he recommended or Wen Ruohan would know, but he could propose a plan that required a will of iron and nerves of steel when he knew that the general in charge of that particular division was crafty but cautious, could suggest a complex maneuver requiring cooperation for a general who hated his underlings, could apply just a bit of the brattiness he’d picked up from Wen Chao and Nie Huaisang alike to make his plans just that little bit more annoying to implement.

He could murmur counterplans in the dark of the night when they were all supposed to be asleep, casually sharing a single bed because it was cold, the strange chill of the Nightless City’s interior despite the warmer climate. He could stare at the ceiling, reciting weakness after weakness of the plans he had proposed as if he was merely anxious about them, and this time he tailored those weaknesses to specific strengths: how the pincer maneuver wouldn’t work if it was used against the Jiang, especially if they relied on their watercraft to escape, turning strength to weakness by retaliating in the aftermath; how the advantageous high ground of the mountain would backfire if their enemy were the Lan, their battle-songs’ effectiveness multiplied by the clear mountain air and the resonance of the echoes; how the effect of the ambush would be halved if it was used against the Jin, who were so rich and so lazy that their baggage train would never move fast enough to spring the trap in full.

He still didn’t know how Nie Huaisang and Wen Chao exchanged letters with Lan Wangji, or what Wen Ning was doing over in the Lotus Pier with the full support of Jiang Fengmian’s mother-in-law, or even what scheme Wen Xu and Wen Qing had concocted between them to lure in the normally reluctant Jin sect and force them to take a side. He didn’t need to know, didn’t want to know; he wanted to put his body between them and Wen Ruohan, distract the man with his ‘walks’ and his punishments and the influence that Wen Ruohan thought meant he knew everything there was to know, and to give them as much time as he could manage before disaster struck.

“Isn’t it time for Nie Huaisang to go to the Cloud Recesses?” he asked, playing ignorant, in the middle of a dinner when Wen Ruohan was already stewing over some unfortunate reversals, more than a few caused by the reemerged Qingheng-jun, who had taken on the mantle of leading the war as its general.

Wen Ruohan turned to him with lightning in his eyes, and Nie Mingjue didn’t have to opine on the war for an entire week, confined as he was to his sickbed.

But good things could not last, and he closed his eyes in anticipation of pain when Wen Xu came to sit by his bed in the middle of the night.

“Where is he sending you?” he asked. The two of them were the only ones old enough to be used in war, the others too young to go even for someone as disdainful of social norms as Wen Ruohan, and if Nie Mingjue could not be trusted on a battlefield then it had to be Wen Xu.

“I’m sorry,” Wen Xu said.

“Don’t be. It’s not your fault – are you supposed to tell him no? I know you will do everything you can to stop the worst of the war, to fight honorably and with fairness, avoiding harm to the common people.”

Wen Xu swallowed audibly. “You’ve always thought so well of me,” he murmured. “Always assumed such things…to continue to do badly even after I knew what you thought of me was to fail to live up to your expectations, and even if it made things harder sometimes, the alternative of letting you down was always worse. I hate to disappoint you now.”

“You won’t.”

There was a pause, a long silence. Wen Xu gathering his thoughts, steeling his spine.

“He wants me to burn the Unclean Realm.”

Nie Mingjue had expected a blow. He had not expected –

He exhaled, hard, and found Wen Xu’s hand with his own, squeezing it lightly.

I cannot forgive this, he meant. But I will hate him for it instead of you.

When the news came, Nie Mingjue allowed himself to feel for the first time the rage he had been swallowing down for nearly five years – his father’s rage, his family’s rage, Baxia’s rage, his own.

Training the saber was a style that promoted aggression, both in fighting and in the soul, and yet Nie Mingjue had restrained himself to the point of agony, oppressing himself internally as thoroughly as Wen Ruohan did externally, and all because he knew that the consequences of his actions would not be felt by him alone.

Because he was still his sect’s heir, still the rightful leader of Qinghe Nie, and if he could by his submission and humiliation earn them even a little more consideration, he would do it, however anathema it was to him.

He would be his sect’s heir before he was his father’s son, forgetting injustice and bending knee to his father’s killer – he would keep silent, no matter what he endured.

Wen Xu burned the Unclean Realm, and for the first time, Nie Mingjue put aside his silence.

He howled.

At first, Wen Ruohan laughed at him – the rage of the impotent was merely attractive coloring to him – but Nie Mingjue was not so foolish as to waste the gift of anger so easily. He did not do what Wen Ruohan had undoubtedly expected him to do: savage some training dummies, beat up a few pointless guards, beat himself even if only to vent the pain in his heart.

He did what Wen Ruohan did not expect.

Nie Mingjue, who loved only his family more than his sect –

He lashed out at them.

Nie Mingjue rampaged through the familial quarters at the Nightless City: he burned a sobbing Nie Huaisang’s fans, calling him worthless and a disappointment on their family name; he destroyed a cauldron in Wen Qing’s room in the midst of a batch of medicine she was making, unable to find her but naming her complicit, shouting that she supported evil from behind a façade of righteousness; he attacked Wen Chao’s room, searching for the son of his enemy and calling for his head, demanding blood for blood, red-eyed with fury, searching for a target.

He found one.

Not Wen Chao himself, of course – Nie Mingjue was not, as he was pretending to be, truly maddened beyond all reason, for all that the sorrow and anger he felt were real – but rather his bodyguard, who was nominally there to protect him.

Wen Zhuliu, the Core-Melting Hand. A technique that could only be used for two things, for scaring people – or turning the course of a single battle.

For destroying good people on the other side of the war, turning them into regular people that could not fight, and destroying morale at the same time – Wen Zhuliu was a plague-carrier, a danger that needed to be avoided, as much as weapon simply in the threat of him as he was in actual reality.

Wen Zhuliu was a fierce fighter, more powerful than a person with that sort of technique usually was, and Nie Mingjue was not in as good a shape as he could be, still recovering both emotionally and physically from his last walk with Wen Ruohan and the consequences of his insolent tongue, but he had the advantage of surprise on his side and his saber was unmatched in close combat, the melee his specialty.

By the time Wen Ruohan realized that Nie Mingjue had turned against his own in a way he’d been refusing to do for years and came to stop him, Nie Mingjue had already claimed Wen Zhuliu’s head, sticking it on a makeshift pike before burning the body as an offering in his father’s name.

He turned, red-eyed, to look upon the man he would much rather have killed but knew in his weakness that he couldn’t, and in the strength and safety of his rage decided to give it his best shot anyway.

It didn’t work, of course.

This time he was bedridden for more than a week.

Nie Mingjue found himself missing the others more than he thought he would.

He’d anticipated it, of course. The instant Wen Xu had told him his mission, the plan had leapt fully-formed into his mind, the only way he could think of to keep the younger children safe since there was no way to keep them beneath Wen Ruohan’s notice. In Wen Ruohan’s eyes they were tools, not yet old enough to be properly useful but still sharp enough to use where it counted – he knew how much Nie Mingjue loved them, and if the war went badly he would undoubtedly threaten their lives to get Nie Mingjue’s compliance, would use them as leverage to send him to the front line as a general for the wrong side. Any failure would be punished, and Nie Mingjue didn’t need personal experience to know that war was nothing but failures, one right after the other, interspersed with occasional victories snatched from the jaws of defeat.

Wen Ruohan would not accept that. He would hurt the children, again and again, just to hurt him.

He would put his attention on them, and when he did, he would figure out what they were doing. All their little schemes would become clear to his eyes, and then –

There was no and then. It was unthinkable.

Nie Mingjue wasn’t strong enough to stop Wen Ruohan, no more than he could stop the full weight of a rushing river, but like the river even Wen Ruohan could be diverted if you were clever enough about it.

Nie Mingjue was not especially clever, he didn’t think, not the way Nie Huaisang or Wen Xu or even Wen Qing were, but that was why he thought his plan would work – Wen Ruohan wouldn’t expect it from him.

He would accept the surface reading of what happened: he would think that Nie Mingjue had succumbed to his family’s curse and lashed out blindly in his rage, burning bridges it had taken him years to build, and his cruel mind would immediately leap to how he could use this to hurt and torment him. He would know that Nie Mingjue would be all the more pained if he knew that Wen Ruohan was using his gross violation of trust to replace his influence on the children, which Wen Ruohan hated, with his own.

Under the circumstances, it would hurt him more for Wen Ruohan to treat them well, seeking to seduce them into dependence, than it would hurt him to see them in pain. Nie Mingjue could only count on Wen Ruohan’s sadism to do the rest.

(And since he had no choice but to break with his family in such a horrible way, there was no reason not to take advantage of the situation to get rid of Wen Zhuliu. The benefits outweighed the costs – or at least, the benefits went to everyone, while the costs fell only on him, and he could accept that.)

Nie Mingjue had already seen the fruits of his efforts. At the very beginning, when Nie Mingjue was still bedridden, Wen Ruohan had brought Nie Huaisang with him to the room in the Fire Palace where Nie Mingjue had been imprisoned, and Nie Huaisang had quailed away from him, rocking backwards a little, almost even leaning behind Wen Ruohan as if Nie Mingjue was the scarier of the two.

(Nie Mingjue knew that Nie Huaisang was the finest actor of their group, but oh – it hurt, it hurt!)

Wen Ruohan smiled at the spasm of pain that crossed Nie Mingjue’s face and put his hand on Nie Huaisang’s shoulder as he drew him away.

Nie Mingjue wanted to cut off that hand and burn it to ashes.

He wanted –

He wanted many things.

A different life, for the most part. To live somewhere where he didn’t have to make these sorts of dirty calculations, to hurt the people he loved in order to save them from worse pain. Where he would be able to take Nie Huaisang into his arms and whisper promises that he wasn’t going to succumb to a qi deviation the way their father had, at least not any time soon; where he could buy Wen Qing a half-dozen new cauldrons in apology; where he could tell Wen Chao that he didn’t mean any of the things he’d forced himself to say…

He’d warned them, of course. But there was knowing, and then there was experiencing, and he – he hated to disappoint them, even a little.

And in all his plans he hadn’t realized how terribly he’d miss them, all of them, now that he couldn’t see them.

There was nothing to do but miss them now that he was here, trapped in a small little bed in a small little room with barely any light but that which came in through the door when someone walked by, all alone and waiting for Wen Ruohan to decide his fate.

A fate that was a lot less certain than it had once been, Nie Mingjue reflected. Wen Ruohan had once been bound by etiquette to keep him alive, to pretend to the cultivation world that his forced adoption was an act of generosity rather than an outright act of conquering, but all of those reasons went away now that the cultivation world had declared war on him.

He’d already sent Wen Xu to burn the Unclean Realm. Why bother with hiding behind a puppet?

At least it didn’t seem like Wen Ruohan had realized it yet.

#mdzs #nie mingjue #nie huaisang #wen xu #wen chao #wen ning #wen qing #my fic #my fics #fire and light #reminder for those that need it that this fic will not show on screen torture

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twoidiotwriters1 · 3 years

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Snowy stop (Din Djarin x Fem! Reader)

A/N: And we start with little Christmas stories! Merry early Christmas, everyone!

P.S. The only reason I did this taking it for a Christmas thing, is because it has snow. Enjoy

P.S. 2. Yes, I am still crying for the end of the second season of The Mandalorian.

Warnings: Spoiler not spoiler of season 2, I guess.

"Where do we go now?" I sit in the passenger seat.

"There are still three days to reach Nevarro,” answers the Mandalorian.

"But we've been wandering in space for over two weeks," I complain.

"If we make fewer stops, we’ll get there faster.”

"And the food will end faster too," I reply.

He sighs, presses a few buttons, and turns his chair to see me through his helmet visor.

"You know how this is, Y/N.”

“We have never been so long on the ship. We can get to a nearby planet, buy food, and that's it. Surely it won't take long–“

“We don't have enough credits for food. Which means I have to find a job and it would take more time."

I bite my lower lip hiding a smile.

"You know how this works, Din.”

He sighs again.

"We won’t make stops,” he says and returns to the control panel.

"Oh, come on. Aren't you tired of being in front of those buttons, walking just to go to the bathroom, eat or go to sleep?" He ignores me. "I don't even know when was the last time you slept on your cot!”

I see how he tenses.

"I'm trying to continue the journey so that we can get there faster and you stop complaining," He growls.

"I would complain less if you even rested like a normal person.”

“I am not a normal person. I am a Mandalorian.”

"Yes of course, now you’re going to tell me that not sleeping is the rule that follows after not removing the helmet–”

"Why don't you go see how the child is?"

I roll my eyes.

“I hate when you’re so stubborn. That happens to you for not breathing fresh air…”

"Stop complaining and go with the child.”

"Alright, grumpy,” I say getting up.

I go down the metal staircase and walk down the small hallway until I reach the 'rooms'. Two capsules, in one Mando and the baby sleep, in the other there is only me, although it also depends on the baby's mood, sometimes wants to be with me and others with him.

As I get closer I hear the happy cooing of the little green creature, who is sitting in the little makeshift hammock. I smile and take him in my arms.

"Good morning, my little bean,” I pat his huge ears and he babbles happily. “Let's make you something to eat. I'm sorry, it’ll be the same as the whole week, your father is a disinterested grump who doesn't want to buy you anything else,” the baby babbles again as if he were answering. "I know, you should tell him something…”

But before he could coo anything, the ship shakes brutally and a crash is heard outside of it. The movement makes me fall and I do my best not to hurt the baby. I hug him against my chest and approach a wall. The alarm sounds and for a few seconds the light goes out. Then all is quiet and the ship stops.

"You're good?" I ask the baby.

Strong footsteps are heard approaching us and the imposing figure of Mando crouches in front of me.

“Are you okay?" He asks agitated. I nod and move my arm so the baby comes out of hiding. Din sighs in relief when he sees us.

"What happened?”

He sighs and taps his helmet.

"Something happened to the engine.”

I frown. He knows I don't know anything about ships, so he doesn't bother using big words, but he always tries to explain it to me so I can learn. This time it is different. He wants to avoid it. He stands up and offers his hand to help me.

"Something with the motor?" I ask suspicious.

“It's nothing, I can fix it.”

"Did someone attack us?" An idea crosses my mind and I can't help but smile. "The engine overheated, didn't it?"

He doesn't respond, which makes me laugh.

"There is nothing funny about it.”

"Of course not, grumpy," I say sarcastically. I lift the baby a little. "Did you hear that? Now we’ll have to land on a planet. You’ll finally be able to see the sun again!” The green creature just laughs.

Din growls.

"Don't be so dramatic.”

"Come on, Little bean. We’ll have something for breakfast and then explore a new planet,” I say ignoring the man's comment and walk to the kitchen.

***

"You have to be kidding me,” I say seeing the great landscape in front of me.

"What's going on?" Din asks next to me. I'm sure he's grinning like an asshole now. "You wanted to make a stop, right?"

All terrain is covered in an extremely thick layer of snow. Some bare trees surround the horizon and in the distance are some cabins, perhaps a town.

"But, you can hardly see the sun!” I complain seeing the cloudy sky.

"Now you complain about the planet?"

I sigh.

"Oh well. I'll go for more clothes…”

It doesn't take me that long to choose something more ‘appropriate’, but no matter how much I put on another layer of clothing, the wind cuts through my bones, making me shiver.

"If I become an ice sculture, it will remain on your conscience,” I say returning to the ramp.

"Come on," he says laughing.

Din keeps the baby warm in a bag and hides him with his cape so as not to attract attention. As always, he leaves me behind. But something besides my short legs is stopping me: the snow is so thick that it’s difficult for me to raise my legs again with each step and when I look up to see Din, I am infuriated to see that he has no problem.

"Hey, wait for me!" I yell at him, but he never turns around. I curse under my breath. And as if my luck couldn't get worse, after taking another step, I don't feel anything solid and I fall into the snow, leaving only my head in view. I complain and try to get up, but any movement makes it worse. It's like I'm in quicksand. "Din!" I screech.

I remove the snow from my body, but nothing works, only after a few minutes the Mandalorian returns. He looks at me from above with his arms crossed.

"Do you have a problem, princess?"

"I'm stuck," I say, pouting.

"I thought so,” he says taking my hand.

The rest of the way was better as Din had no choice but to carry me on his back. Only until we got to town, was I able to get off and feel the stable cobbled ground.

The three of us went into the first restaurant and sat at a table.

"I'll go find a job,” he informs us and he goes to talk to other people.

I sigh and remove my scarf. I put the baby in his high chair. A waitress comes over and I order two plates of soup, it's the only thing we can have.

"Do you like this place, Grogu?" The baby babbles and trembles slightly so I put my scarf around him.

The waitress comes back and we both eat until Din arrives.

“I got something. It shouldn't take more than two days.”

I nod and finish my soup. When we pay we return to the cold.

"Do you think that with the money from your work we can get more clothes?" I ask him, hugging my body.

“Maybe,” He tilts his helmet. “The ship is too far to return. They gave me an advance, we’ll stay in a cabin tonight.”

The room is big enough to have a double bed and the capsule where the baby sleeps. It’s nothing out of the ordinary and it doesn’t even bother us that it doesn’t have two beds, at this point we have gotten used to sleeping anywhere.

Also, I could never complain about sleeping near Din and neither does he.

The baby falls asleep as soon as he touches his pillow and I run to the warm blankets on the bed.

“I will go find information. Is it okay if you stay here alone?" says the Mandalorian preparing his blaster.

Normally, where he goes we go with him, but it’s not difficult to see that both the baby and I prefer to stay.

Din leaves and I spend at least two hours alone doing nothing more than getting some sleep and distracting me with some hologram videos that the hostel offers, but a bang disrupts our peace. In the corridors of the hostel gunshots and screams are heard causing the baby to wake up.

Instinctively, I close the curtains and turn to the capsule. A new shot is heard and the baby presses the button to close the crib. I laugh and push him into a corner, pull out my blaster and open the door a little. I slowly went out until I reached the stairs, went down to the first floor and crouched down reaching the corner that overlooks the hall.

"The child and the girl with the Mandalorian!" yells a Twi'lek pointing at the receptionist. She answers with our room number.

The machine nods and turns to the front door. Then a group of at least eight Twi'leks and other unfriendly creatures enter the hall ready to go in search of us.

“Shit…” I ran back to our room, closed the door and pushed a piece of furniture against it. We take my things and bring the capsule closer. From my bag I take out the emergency intercom. "Mando!" I call and while I wait I look around the room for some other way out.

“Y/N?" He answers back.

"There is a group of Twi'leks in the hostel, I counted six and other creatures, but I'm sure more are coming,” screams and more shots are heard. "I will not be able to deal with all!” I say agitated.

"Get out of there!”

I roll my eyes-

"Great idea, how did I not think of it?" I go into the bathroom and find a tall window. “Bingo."

"Cyar'ika?"

"I found a way out, but…” Someone knocks on our door. I take the baby and go out the window very carefully.

Only that this time I do appreciate the thick layer of snow. Grogu and I go down smoothly, although running is hard for me.

I return to town and problems chase us. More enemies gen here from every part of the place.

"There!" Someone yells pointing at us.

I don't wait any longer, I put Grogu in my bag and run towards the nearby woods, where at least the snow lets me run more easily.

I hear screams behind me and some shots graze my body. I dodge attacks and trees, but I know this won't work for long. No tree is thick enough to hide us. Only until I get to a recognized part does an idea occur to me.

I deviate from the forest and in the distance I see the Razor Crest, now I just hope not to be wrong.

***

Every part of my body is about to freeze. Inside my sweater, the baby moves and his head pops out.

“I-I don't hear n-nothing. T-it's your turn…” I raise my arm and with what little strength I have left I push the snow around us a little. As soon as any light is visible, I push the baby out so he can get out. "G-g-go f-for-” I complain. “He-help…”

The light increases and I can only feel the little hands of the child trying to remove the snow, at one point he even uses his powers, but it doesn’t take long for a shadow to arrive and now the snow moves with more force.

I raise my head and see the Mandalorian armor.

“Cyar'ika."

"I- I’m- I’m stuck.”

***

As soon as Din scooped me up to the Razor Crest along with the baby, he did his best to warm us up. After a quick, hot shower, I now find myself in front of the radiator with both my and Din's clothes and a warm blanket. But even so, my body doesn't stop shaking.

Grogu is asleep in his hammock, he didn't have so much trouble, I kept him safe before falling into the snow.

Din's footsteps come closer and he sits next to me on the floor in front of the radiator. He raises an arm behind me, but I jump away.

“You'll be better with my body heat.”

I smile thinking of a comment that would make him uncomfortable, but I decide to lose the opportunity for now.

"Y-you, your b-beskar is frozen,” I say pointing to the armor.

“Oh."

Din leaves and after what was maybe half an hour, he returns to his place next to me wearing only a black sweater and pants. This time I let him hold me.

He leans against the wall behind us, settling in to sit me on his lap and wrap me in his arms. I sigh resting my head on his chest.

“It was a great idea what you did. Dangerous and stupid, but it worked,” He says hoarsely without his helmet modulator. Although I have already seen him without it, sometimes he still uses it and only when he’s comfortable does he take it off. Like now.

"N-no, I didn't know what else to do,” I reply. "I-I'm sorry about your work."

"It doesn’t matter. I thought I had lost you,” He tells me tightening his hug. “But I also knew that you would find some way to escape. When I saw Grogu moving the snow, I could breathe again.”

I lift my head and he looks back at me.

"N-no, you won't get rid of u-us so e-easily,” We both laugh and Din leans in to kiss me.

"I don't plan on doing it for a long time, my ka’rta," he replies. Din kisses my forehead and I return to his chest. "Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum, Cyar'ika"

I smile.

"I love you too, Din.”

#Merry crisis #Merry early christmas #We stan the Mandalorian #snowy mando #Star Wars #The mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #baby yoda #Grogu #din djarin #Din Djarin x reader #twoidiots writing #Two santa idiots #Christmas story

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loveisnotadagger · 3 years

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Love is Healing - Chapter Four

Chapter 4/?

Warning: There is a brief mention of when Loki let go of Thor's hammer when he was hanging from the Rainbow Bridge and how he had basically tried to kill himself by doing that. It's literally maybe three sentences, but it's there if that triggers something for you.

The only thing Loki really saw was the girl – no, Arianna; he remembered her name now. She has shoulder-length, honey blond hair, much like the color of his mother's hair, and bright ocean-blue eyes. That was all he noticed at that point and that was only because she was standing over him.

He took her in within the few seconds it took for his pain to register and then he felt as if he couldn't breathe. So intense was his agony that he couldn't even find the strength to scream out loud even though he knew he'd opened his mouth to do just that.

"Your ribs were broken," Arianna said. "I couldn't heal them completely. I'm sorry. I know it must be extremely painful."

She went on to tell him every other thing she'd found that needed to be healed. He no longer had any bruises, and she had healed his lungs, which had been damaged by the broken ribs.

"What you really need is food and water."

"Food sounds wonderful," Loki admitted weakly.

He couldn't actually remember the last time he'd eaten. He did, however, remember that when he'd been under the control of Thanos he would sometimes miss many days' worth of meals when he wouldn't cooperate.

"I think we should start with broth. See how well that stays down before we give you solid food."

Before Loki could reply the door to the room opened.

Loki hadn't been paying attention before, but now that he could focus on something other than pain, he realized he had no idea where he was.

He would have to worry about that later, however, because the only thing that mattered at the moment was that he was weak and in pain, and the person who had opened the door was the man who could turn into a beast.

Loki had never moved so quickly in his life. It caused him more pain, but he didn't care. This man wasn't going to get hold of him again. He wouldn't survive another round of being smashed around.

He threw his legs over the side of the bed, intent on getting to his feet and running, using whatever strength he had left to push past Banner and get away.

"Loki," Arianna exclaimed, but he ignored her.

A sharp pain went through his chest and it had nothing to do with physical wounds. He'd trusted Arianna as much as he could trust anyone. He'd allowed her to lead him out of his tormented mind only to have him awake here with the one being in the whole of Midgard that had been able to hurt him.

As soon as Loki's feet hit the floor, he stood up only to fall right back down. The pain that fired throughout his body took his breath away and jarred him enough to break through his adrenaline-addled body.

So he couldn't even stand? How was he to escape his fate if he couldn't walk?

"Loki," the girl whispered, kneeling beside him. "I know what you're thinking, and it's not true. I didn't betray you, and Bruce will not hurt you. He has no reason to now."

Loki didn't respond vocally, but when Banner tried to help him stand and sit back on the bed Loki allowed it without complaint. The doctor was surprisingly careful and gentle with him.

"He needs water and food," Arianna said. "Broth to start off with. He is extremely malnourished."

Banner nodded. "I'll have Tony get something brought here. What should I tell Thor and –"

"They'll want to see him."

Loki noticed that Arianna was looking at him. She wasn't dictating that they had to see him. She was giving him a choice. He could decide for himself.

He gave a quick nod and Banner left. Only a few seconds passed before both Thor and his mother flooded into the room.

"Loki. My son," Frigga said and sprinted to his bedside. "You're awake."

"Careful," Arianna said. "He's still in pain. I wasn't able to heal him as fully as I wanted to."

"He is able to be awake," Thor said. "That is enough."

"Okay, well . . . I'll leave you guys to it."

Loki stiffened when Arianna touched his shoulder, but she didn't remove her hand.

"I'll be back shortly with some water and your food." ----------

Once outside the room, Arianna slid down to the floor with her back against the wall. She was exhausted mentally and physically. She'd had to break through Loki's defenses and she'd had to fight against Thanos. If he was that powerful in Loki's mind, she hoped she never came across him in real life.

She'd been anxious to get outside and help the victims of the earlier battle, but now she was glad she had to wait. She probably couldn't hold up against a flea at the moment.

Unbidden, tears stung her eyes. What was she doing? What had she been doing for the past however many hours? She'd been helping a criminal. True, Loki had been through a lot, but did that matter, really, in the grand scheme of things? Who knew what he'd done before he'd been tortured? Maybe he'd been bad all along. She didn't know.

A quiet sob escaped her and she clapped a hand over her mouth. She would not do this here where just anyone could walk by and see her.

"Aries?"

A figure hovered over her – short, dressed in black, red hair. Natasha – before sitting down with her. Arianna should have known that Natasha would be nearby. There was no way Tash would've gone far knowing her friend was in the other room with a psychopath.

"What's wrong? Did Loki hurt you?"

"No. Loki can barely sit up or stand. He's . . . he's – if he'd been human before now, he'd be dead."

"But he's not."

"No. I helped him a little bit . . . he's not him. Or . . . maybe he's more himself than ever. I don't know. But he's not the guy who tried to take over the world."

"That's a good thing. Why are you crying?"

"Because he's been through a lot, Tash. And I felt some of it. And I'm tired, and I just can't do anything else today."

"Then don't. You always push yourself too hard and then you end up feeling awful for days."

Arianna knew that was true, but she also knew she had several reasons for doing so. Because her best friend was a superhero, whether Natasha believed that or not, Arianna felt the need to prove that she was as useful as the other Avengers. She couldn't actually fight the bad guys, but she could clean up their messes. That was her job – or it had been until now.

"Am I crazy for wanting to heal him?" she asked. "I mean, I feel it was the right thing to do, but –"

"It is unprecedented," Natasha said. "But you also wouldn't be you if you didn't want to help. Just because he's a villain doesn't mean he can't also be a victim."

"He is," Arianna said. "He is a victim."

Natasha smiled softly. "Sometimes you care too much, Aries. Sometimes I think you're in the wrong line of work." ---------- Inside the room, Frigga was apologizing to Loki.

"Why did you not say anything before I stripped you of your powers?"

"I did not wish for you to know," Loki said.

What Loki wished was for Thor and Frigga to leave him alone. He was sitting up to save face, but he needed to lie back down. It was physically hurting him to stay upright.

And where was Arianna? He wouldn't admit it out loud, but he felt just a bit better with her in the room, and he would definitely need her with him once his mother and brother left. None of the other hero-types would dare touch him with her present.

Just as he was getting close to keeling over, Arianna came in. She was balancing a tray with a bottle of water and a steaming bowl of what Loki assumed was the broth she'd mentioned earlier.

"Hey," she said. "I got some vegetable soup and, obviously, water. You should lie down. I've got you covered."

She gestured to the tray she was holding. It had two legs that came down, one on either side.

Loki relaxed against the mattress, but he couldn't say he felt any more comfortable at all.

Arianna placed the tray down, one leg on either side of him, and then she reached down on the side of the bed. There was a small click and then then head of the bed was moving upward.

Loki stiffened. What kind of magic was this?

"It's just a hospital bed, Loki," Arianna said. "It'll help support you while you eat."

The soup looked good and smelled even better. He was so hungry, though, that the smell almost turned his stomach.

"Don't force yourself to eat, but you do need water. Drink it slowly or you'll get sick."

Why was she being so nice to him? What did she want?

"How long are you going to stay?" Arianna asked, looking at Thor and Frigga. "Not that you have to go, but you probably made the records with that energy spike you let loose by coming to this realm."

"In the morning when you begin the healing sessions again, we will leave," Frigga said. "You need to sleep and someone will need to stay with Loki."

"I am not a child," Loki said. "No one needs to stay."

That was a complete and utter lie. He needed someone with him because he really couldn't do for himself at the moment. The only thing that had been keeping the pain at bay had been his magic, and now he didn't even have that.

And . . . Arianna was going to continue to heal him? Why? For what purpose?

"Why would you do this for me?"

Arianna smiled softly. "Why wouldn't I?"

"I tried to destroy this city," he responded as if it were obvious.

"You didn't want to destroy it. You wanted to rule it."

Those were his own words from earlier and now she was throwing them back at him. Before he could respond, however, Arianna saw her way out of the room.

Both Thor and Frigga had small grins on their lips and Loki rolled his eyes.

Loki didn't find anything funny about having his words thrown back at him. In fact, it only made him remember her earlier words. She'd wanted him to help save her city even though he'd been the one to bring destruction down upon it.

Lost in his own thoughts, Loki was surprised when warm liquid filled his mouth. It was the vegetable soup. It had a savory flavor as if it had been made with chicken broth.

His mother had brought a spoonful of soup to his mouth. Thankfully, Thor had already gone; Frigga must've sent him away.

Loki was able to eat a few of the vegetables, but he stuck mostly to the broth. He was able to finish his water, however. ---------- Down in the lobby area, Arianna and the other Avengers were lounging around on the furniture, waiting for word on what they were supposed to do next.

Director Fury had called Tony to schedule a meeting, which just meant they'd been given about a five-minute heads up on Fury's arrival. He'd probably gotten readings of energy when Frigga had arrived on the balcony of Stark Tower.

What if he found out they were harboring Loki there? What if Fury already knew?

They would try to take Loki away and Arianna didn't know if she would allow that, not without healing him first. If she intervened, however, they would probably take her away too. They would arrest her for aiding and abetting – or they would try to. Natasha would probably stand by her and Clint would too, not because they cared what happened to Loki, but because they cared what happened to her; Thor would help her if only so she could continue helping Loki; Tony would stand by her just to make Fury angry.

The only wild card was Steve Rogers. If he thought them taking Loki was the right thing to do, he would let them.

Bruce wouldn't want to be involved at all.

When Fury arrived, Arianna basically shrank into herself. He was one of the most intimidating men she'd ever met. It had nothing to do with his height or the fact that he wore an eyepatch. It had everything to do with the way he carried himself. He had a no-nonsense attitude along with all the confidence in the world.

He could back that confidence up, too. He had the power and ability to do pretty much whatever he wanted, and he usually did whatever he had to do to get a job done.

"Where is he?" were the first words that came out of Fury's mouth.

"Where's who?" Tony asked.

"Don't play dumb with me. Where's the one who killed Coulson?"

"He is hurt," Arianna said softly. "And he can't be moved."

"Can't be moved? If I were to try and take him from here, who would stop me?"

Thor was the first to step up and then it was Arianna. Standing next to the god of thunder, Arianna didn't think Fury was all that frightening. Tony stood by her as Arianna had thought he would.

Natasha and Clint hesitated, but Natasha did say, "Director, from what Agent Grace says Loki was tortured into submission. He was promised more pain if he didn't obey."

"And did Loki just offer up this information freely?" asked Fury, sarcasm lacing his voice.

"Not exactly," Arianna said.

And here was the turning point. She could either fess up and be turned into a weapon or she could keep quiet about everything and let Fury find Loki and take him away.

"Director Fury, I saw into his mind. I . . . didn't want to, but –"

"You what?"

"It's complicated," she said.

"I suggest you uncomplicate it," Fury demanded.

"I manipulate energy, Director. That's how I heal, and you know that. I can do pretty much anything I put my mind to."

"Like reading minds . . ."

"It was more like I could see what was in the forefront of his mind, and I didn't mean to do it. Our energies merged together and I just did."

"Why wasn't I made aware of this? Do you know how much you could do?"

"Yes, and that's why I didn't let you know. I mean, I'm basically a power source – like the Tesseract, and you wanted to make nuclear weapons out of that. I refuse to be used for destruction."

Arianna was aware she was exaggerating a bit. She couldn't really do anything she set her mind to, but she could do a lot. She had never really practiced, though, and she didn't really want to. She was fine not knowing how much she was capable of. She could heal people and that was enough for her.

"We have everything under control here," Tony said. "The guy is contained and no longer a threat."

"The energy readings you received earlier were from another Asgardian coming into our realm, sir," Natasha said. "Thor's and Loki's mother. She stripped Loki of his powers, so he really is harmless."

"He's mortal now," Thor said.

"He's still a terrorist and needs to be taken into custody," Fury stated.

"Not until he's better," Arianna said. "Give me a week."

"A week and he'll be better? Strong enough to be moved?"

"Yes. There are emotional traumas as well, but I can't really mend those."

"Well, we have psychologists to deal with that," Fury said. "You have a week, Agent."

Without further ado, Fury walked out the same way he came in.

"Thor, do you mind getting me the Tesseract? I can't actually heal Loki in a week, not by myself."

"What do you intend to do with it?" Thor asked, not suspicious but curious.

"Borrow energy." ---------- Loki was lying down and trying to sleep when Arianna came back to his room. He'd thought she was gone for the night but he'd obviously been wrong.

Thor was with her and he was carrying the container that held the Tesseract. What were they doing with it? He'd failed in his mission, and he couldn't get the Tesseract to Thanos now that he was mortal.

"We have a problem," Arianna said. "Fury wants to take Loki away. I bought us some time, but . . ."

"But?" Frigga asked.

"He only gave me a week." Arianna looked at Loki. "You don't want to be hurt when they take you from here. They might not hurt you further, but they won't take the time to heal you either."

"Are you sure no one would harm him?" Thor asked. "When Fury had him before, he asked me to . . . torture Loki to get information. He didn't seem to like it when I refused."

Arianna wasn't surprised when she found out Fury had suggested torture, but it had been different then. Fury didn't need information anymore and they already had the Tesseract.

"I want to spend another couple of hours healing you tonight. I can't heal the lashes until the infection leaves your body, but I can take the burns away, as long as you don't fight me this time."

"Of course I won't fight you," Loki said. "I don't think I was the one blocking your power last time."

Thanos, Arianna thought. Of course.

"Okay. I'm gonna need the room again," she told Thor and Frigga. ---------- "Oh, why isn't this working?" Arianna cried as she tried for the fifth time to draw the Tesseract's power into herself. "I did it without a problem earlier."

"Earlier you had not depleted your own energy," Loki said. "Your body is simply tired, as is your mind."

Loki had been watching her struggle for over thirty minutes now. Perhaps he was not meant to be healed that night. Pain was not new to him, so he could endure it.

"How did you end up with Thanos?" Arianna asked softly.

"I was . . . I fell off the Rainbow Bridge in Asgard."

"The what?"

"It's a bridge to other realms. When used with the Bifrost, it can take you anywhere in an instant."

"Oh."

Loki explained that he and Thor had been fighting and then Thor had destroyed the Bifrost. Both Loki and Thor had been hanging over the edge and Odin had stepped in. Odin had grabbed onto Thor and Loki had grabbed onto Thor's hammer. Loki had let go.

"And you woke up in a hell dimension?"

"If I'd had it my way, I wouldn't have woken up anywhere."

Arianna froze where she sat with the Tesseract in front of her, the blue cube shining bright but its power still not accessible to her.

"You wanted to kill yourself?"

Instead of answering directly, Loki said, "When I was a child I would spar with Thor. We had little toy swords and battle armor for children. He always won due to brute strength. Odin would pit us against each other in all things physical until I eventually just stopped fighting him."

"Did Odin get angry?"

"Yes."

Loki didn't know what he was doing. He shouldn't have said any of that. He didn't open up to people and especially not to people he'd just met. He blamed it on the pain he was in and the gratitude he tried not to feel for this girl for caring enough to help him. The extreme exhaustion didn't help him hold his tongue either.

"So, Thor is a warrior," Arianna said. "And you? What did you like to do?"

Loki was surprised to find Arianna was looking at him with open curiosity. She wasn't just asking. She really wanted to know.

"I spent most of my time in the library or studying magic with my mother, which made me an outsider."

"Why?"

"In Asgard men are expected to know how to fight. That's how they are recognized as men. It's how they are ranked. If you don't know how to fight, it is frowned upon."

"But you know how to fight."

"Yes, but not the way Thor does. He's stronger and bigger. I can't just punch my way out of a situation."

"Oh. And magic? What do they think of that?"

"It's considered underhanded. I can fight hand-to-hand if I must, but magic is my strength. I use it when I fight."

"I see nothing wrong with that."

"Of course not. You're a woman."

Loki noticed his remark made Arianna tense up and he realized how condescending he must've sounded.

"I assure you I didn't mean that the way I said it. I only meant that it was normal for women to study magic. Not so for men. There are very few warriors who are female."

"Hm. I hate fighting, so I would fit right in there. And I don't consider what I do to be magic. Others might see it as such because they don't understand how it's done, but . . . to me it's as natural as breathing. Or it normally is."

Loki realized that he knew next to nothing about this girl – and to him she was a girl. He was almost fifteen-hundred-years-old and she was probably twenty-five at the oldest.

Loki had been able to look into the other Avengers before he'd even attempted to fight them. Since Arianna had been called in only slightly before the attack on the city, he hadn't thought to ask Barton about her. He hadn't even known she existed.

She was by far the most interesting of the Avengers. She had so much power yet to look at her made one think otherwise. She was treating him like a friend would even though they couldn't be friends. They barely knew each other.

"Why're you being so nice to me?"

"Why not?"

That was the same answer she'd given earlier when he'd asked her why she was doing everything she could to heal him. It was infuriating.

"Don't give me that. I tried to take over your world. I destroyed half this city. You have every right to hate me. Aren't you angry? Do you not want revenge?"

To Loki's surprise, the girl laughed softly.

"You forget, Loki, that I saw into your mind. I know enough to know that your psyche was messed with enough to twist you into something you really aren't. And you're right. I could hate you, but I choose not to. Hate is a poison, one of the most lethal kinds.

"And correct me if I'm wrong, but I get the feeling that you hate yourself enough for everyone. We don't need to do it for you."

For some reason, unknown even to Loki, her response made rage flow through his veins.

"Why do you care?" he almost yelled. "What are you getting out of this?"

Loki noticed with some satisfaction that Arianna had flinched when he'd raised his voice. That was when he realized the conundrum that was Arianna. She was both one of the boldest and most easily frightened people he'd ever met. She didn't care for confrontation, but she wasn't afraid to tell anyone what was on her mind either.

"I care because . . . I don't know. I don't really have a good reason. I just care about people. I don't like seeing people hurting or suffering when they don't need to."

This she said softly, as if she were trying not to wake a sleeping child, but then she looked at Loki more seriously, almost glaring.

"As for what I'm getting out of it, it's peace of mind. I don't help people just because they need help. I help because I can, because I have the power to. I find it revolting that there are so many people in this world who can help but choose not to.

"So to ease your troubled mind, this has nothing to do with you. I'm trying to heal you for the sole purpose that you are suffering and I can end it. It makes me feel better when I help those in need.

"Now if you don't mind, please shut up. I'm trying to work."

#loki #loki/oc #loki x reader #loki/ofc #love is healing #chapter four

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thiswasinevitableid · 3 years

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for monster march, ghost + indruck + nsfw?

Here you go! I borrowed some ideas we’ve tossed around on the Discord

A sketchbook, new pens, a Hershey bar, and a bag of jumbo marshmallows. A small but lively fire. And a new, huge, fuzzy sleeping bag waiting for him in the tent.

Not a bad camping set up for a city-boy art goth (as Barclay likes to call him).

Indrid sticks another marshmallow on the fork, roasting it until it’s deep brown, the smell of burning sugar curling through the air and settling in his hair. He’s never liked Graham Crackers, so he jams a square of chocolate into the molten center of the marshmallow and shoves the entire thing into his mouth.

Kepler is small. Barclay hadn’t been kidding about that. He’d also been right that one of the two tattoo shops in town was willing to hire Indrid after looking through photos of his work and confirming he completed his apprenticeship.

He’s been living in the Eastwoods campground in the Monongahela National Forest while he apartment hunts, and the tattoos he’s done so far netted him enough cash to buy his luxurious new sleeping bag. He might be waiting on a place for some time, so he may as well camp in style.

Three “s’mores” later, the moon is up and the night is chilly enough that he wants his sweatshirt. Ducking into the tent, he can’t find it on his pillow, where he swears he left it this morning. Maybe he accidentally buried it getting dressed.

A splashhiss interrupts his rummaging. Scrambling from the tent, he discovers his fire is now a pile of soaked ashes and logs being angrily stirred by a thick piece of kindling.

“Excuse me, but what the fuck?”

A man in a ranger uniform appears, the stick falling through his hand as he gives Indrid a disapproving stare.

“Look here, I know you’re new here, maybe to campin entirely. But you can’t just leave a fire burnin when you go to bed.” He doesn’t sound mad, more like he’s a disappointed big brother scolding his sibling.

“I wasn’t-”

“And all this” he gestures to the food on the table, “has gotta go in the bear box. Black bears are real good foragers and we don’t want ‘em comin’ into camp and gettin to comfy around humans.”

“Of course, but-”

“You didn’t take any food into the tent, right? Wouldn’t want somethin to decide to join you ‘cause it smelled a snack.”

Indrid pinches the bridge of his nose, “I am aware of all of these rules, and plan to follow them. Once I actually go to bed instead of ducking into the tent for my sweater. But since my evening appears to be over…” he grabs the marshmallows, roasting fork, and chocolate, carries them to the bear box, and slams it closed.

When he whirls back around, the ghost is still there, chagrined.

“Uh, sorry. I kinda jumpy about people leavin fires alone.” In the lantern light, his smile is as charming as his drawl. His stocky, bearish shape and unassumingly handsome face command Indrid’s focus, which is why his revelation comes so quickly.

“You...there’s a statue of you at the visitor center. Which makes you, ah, damn it what was the name-”

“Duck. Duck Newton. They put my legal name on there, even though Juno tried to stop ‘em. But my name’s Duck.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Duck. I’m Indrid.”

“Nice to meet you too. Uh, sorry for ruinin your campfire, looks like you were havin a nice time.”

“It’s alright. I suppose I’m grateful there’s someone haunting the campsites to keep them in order.”

“You’re takin me bein’ a ghost surprisingly well.”

“I’ve always been interested in strange things, to the point that I earned the nickname ‘mothman’ in high school.”

“Huh” Duck watches him a moment, then shrugs, “well, guess I better be goin’. Have a nice night, mothman.”

With that, he’s gone.

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

“Hello again.” Indrid says as the campfire smoke curls around a human form, “Doing your rounds?”

“More or less. I like my job, and ain’t about to give it up just because I beefed it and turned into a ghost.” A creak as Duck joins him on the picnic bench. When he materializes, he floats slightly above the worn wood, watching Indrid draw.

“That’s incredible, it’s so realistic it’s like you pressed the leaves into the pages instead of colored them.”

“Thank you.” adds depth to the leaf, “you know, I looked at the statue again today. It hardly does you justice.”

From this close, he can see a blush spread up semi-opaque cheeks. Then he starts fading.

“Oh, ah, I’m sorry. I was aiming for a benign compliment, not to make you uncomfortable.”

“S’alright, just surprised me. Not many folks wanna flirt with a dead guy.”

“I’m more interested in what the ‘dead guy’ wants.” Indrid smiles, hoping to convey he would submit to spectral touches as readily as he’d keep talking.

Duck floats closer, “Kinda curious about your other drawin’s.”

Indrid turns the sketchbook back to the beginning, “they’re half portfolio and half travelogue. Here” he holds up a fade, detached piece of paper, covered by an Morpho Butterfly that looks ready to fly away, “this is the first tattoo I ever designed.”

“Damn. Guessin’ that means you did this one” he touches the Rosy Maple Moth on Indrid’s forearm (or tries to). It’s chilly, but not in the way Indrid feared. More like taking a cool shower on a sweltering day.

“I did. Here, it gave me an idea for my first series of flash tattoos…”

They go over the illustrations page by page. Slowly, Indrid weaves in questions to Duck who, instead of recoiling from discussion of his mortal life, tells him rambling stories about the woods and which places serve the best food in town.

The conversation doesn’t end until the fire goes out on it’s own, Duck standing automatically, grabbing a water bottle, swearing, and then disappearing so he can pick the bottle up.

“Do you think that’s part of why you’re still here? Some unfinished business having to do with the woods?”

“Nah.” The water bottle thunks back on the table as Duck reappears, “I tried to live a normal life, improve the world the way I knew how, make some kind of difference to this town. Then I had to go play the goddamn hero.”

“I would say saving two dozen people from a forest fire makes a considerable difference in the world.”

A sad huff of a laugh, “Yeah, guess you’re right. Just...I meant to do somethin’ with my life, not my death, even if it was a small somethin’, and the closest thing I got to unfinished business is a model ship.”

“I...what?”

“It was four-masted and everything! I had Leo order it in special and everything and then I never, I never got to-” He tilts his head up, sniffs once, “never mind. I better let you get to sleep.”

By the time Indrid calls “goodnight,” the ghost is gone.

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

“Please tell me you’re gettin a place soon so you stop eatin everythin outta a can?” Leo bags the last of groceries.

“No such luck. Ah well, there are worse things than canned soup and Pop-Tarts.”

“At least let Barclay feed you, half the point of havin a friend who can cook is to let ‘em do it for you. You need stamps or anything?”

“N-” A box behind the counter catches his eye. It’s at an odd angle, as if whoever put it there is hoping no one will see it. Indrid can just make out an illustration of a four-masted ship.

“Is that for sale?”

Leo looks where he’s pointing, and for a moment something in his gruff affability wavers. Then he nods, “Yeah, suppose it is.”

“Can you ring it up for me?” Indrid nearly bounces on his toes when Leo sets the box on the counter and confirms his hunch.

The older man sets a gentle hand on the cardboard, sliding it across to Indrid, “Don’t worry about that, kid. It’s yours.”

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

“Duck?” Indrid turns in a circle by the picnic table, “Duck, I have something for you!”

He saw the ranger briefly last night, but he didn’t hang around. Gingerly, he sets the box on the table, tearing off a piece of sketch paper to write a note in case the ghost stops by while he’s asleep.

“Holy fuck.” Duck floats across the table from him, “‘Drid, where did, how did--why?”

“Leo still had it. As for why I, ah, it seemed like you still wanted it. If you can douse a fire and over my camp stove, I figure you can build a model ship.”

Duck disappears and Indrid’s heart sinks; that must have been too much. Then he’s squished in an invisible, wonderful bear hug.

“Thanks, ‘Drid.”

From then on, Duck spends every night at his campsite, building the ship while Indrid draws, reads, or talks with him. The model lives in the safest corner of the tent during the day.

“I mean, I’m up durin the day too, but I scared a few folks on accident and I don’t want people avoid the forest because of me.”

Indrid also learns that Duck is stuck within a certain radius of where he died, and that his attempts to talk with Juno when she was in his part of the woods only lead to his friend thinking she was hallucinating and Duck feeling miserable for three solid days. Indrid offers to act as messenger and invite Duck’s friends (many of whom have, by chance and by proximity to Barclay, become his friends) to the campsite to see him. The ranger is quiet for some time after that offer.

“Not yet. Maybe someday, but not yet. I, it ain’t even been a year, ‘Drid. I think a lot of ‘em are still hurtin. And, and maybe this is selfish but...I ain’t ready to deal with them findin’ out I aint fully gone. It’d be so much all at once.”

Indrid doesn’t bring it up again. More than once, when Aubrey tells a story about Duck only for her eyes to sadden halfway through, or when he sees Juno looking at Duck’s statue a little too long, he struggles to keep his promise.

A cold front blows into town and, since he’s still in the tent, he pops into Kepler Thrift N Find in search of an extra sweatshirt. Tucked in between one reading “Ranchos” and one with a picture of Garfield is a soft, well-loved hoodie with “Monongahela National Forest” on the front. He buys it and wears it home, the fact it’s loose in the arms making it even easier to tuck in his hands when he gets cold.

He stops by the visitor center out of habit, checking out the new plush wild animals. There are also hints of Duck here and there; his name on displays, his face in group photos. As he contemplates a small, squishy black bear, he notices Juno looking at him more than usual.

“Hello again” he sets the bear on the counter.

“Howdy. This all?

“Yes, please. Are you alright? You look, ah, tired.”

“Yep. Or, uh, just noticed that sweatshirt. It was one that got made special for staff a few years ago.”

Indrid fidgets with the cat-bitten drawstring, “It was Duck’s, wasn’t it?”

“Uh huh. He put that patch on the sleeve. Guess it startled me to see it on someone else.”

“I understand.”

“Knew him since we were kids. Hell, he’s my daughter’s godfather. Still don’t feel right, bein’ here without him.”

Indrid pushes the bear towards her and she pets it.

“What was he like?”

In the empty visitor center, Juno tells him. In her stories are echos of every conversation he’s ever had with anyone who knew Duck. When it’s time to close up, she asks if she can hug him, and thanks him for listening to her.

“Guess you weren’t kiddin about wanting to sleep with a bear” Duck teases as Indrid sets his new purchase inside the tent. Indrid whaps at him, arm going through his torso. The ranger floats nearby as Indrid heats up ravioli and opens a can of Mountain Dew. Indrid tells him about the conversation with Juno.

“Huh, guess that is my old one. Glad someone is gettin some use outta it. And it looks good on you.”

Indrid sets down his bowl, “We talked a lot, Duck. And it made me think about what you said to me one of the night after we met. You said you wanted a chance to make the world, the town, a little better. Everyone I’ve talked to, and I mean every one, has a story about you. How you helped them, how Kepler is worse off with you gone. You did so much, even with your time cut short. I, I wanted you to know that.”

The ghost looks away, “I wasn’t done tryin to help.”

“You still aren’t. You do what you can to keep the forest and the visitors safe. And you, you’ve made my life immeasurably better Duck. Seeing you is the best part of my day and I think I’m falling--ah, that is, you’re not done making a difference.”

Duck hasn’t moved since Indrid started talking about his feelings. When Indrid tries to meet his eyes, he disappears. Hurried, he reaches out to offer a reassuring touch and gets only air.

“Duck?”

Nothing, even after he calls his name three more times.

He slumps onto the bench, “well, fuck me I guess.”

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

This is a terrible idea. But it’s his last, and therefore his best.

Indrid even asked Barclay’s boyfriend, Joseph, if anything in his impressive library of the paranormal advised the reader on dealing with upset ghosts. A few did, always from the perspective of trying to get the specter to go away. They said nothing about what to do if your upset ghost was missing, leaving an ache in your heart you didn’t know you were capable of feeling.

Instead, after a week of silence, Indrid changes tactics: if he can’t coax Duck back, maybe he can annoy him into appearing.

Tonight, he finishes dinner and cleans his dishes, puts the bulk of the food in the bear box, and then tears open a bag of chips, scattering them across the table. He eats one, then leaves the open bag laying amongst the potato shards.

Next, he dumps his remaining water on the fire, which takes it down to embers but does not extinguish it. When none of that gets a reaction, he decides to narrate.

“Hmm, that should be fine, it’s not that dry and I don’t think sparks can go over the edge.”

“Should I leave these juice pouches out? Yes, I think I should, in case I get thirsty at night. Maybe I’ll take one into the tent, just to be safe.”

He already feels silly and like no one is listening, and so he escalates.

“I know I shouldn’t leave food out for the wildlife, but since there’s no handsome, ghostly ranger here to punish me for my transgressions, I am just going to leave some nuts out for the raccoons. I like raccoons. They deserve nice things. Hell, how about I just leave them a whole buffet since no one is stopping me!”

All he gets in reply are the few bugs awake this early in the spring and the crack of brush as a small mammal runs away from the weird bipedal thing yelling at his camp fire. He doesn’t leave out food for the raccoons; he climbs into his tent in a huff. What a bad idea, to think this of all things would bring Duck back to him. He’s being childish and bratty and selfish; Duck doesn’t deserve that, no more than he owes Indrid his company.

He changes into his pajamas pants and sleep shirt, intending to go back out to make the site safe and tidy. Except.

Except something just opened the bear box. The chip bag crinkles and the fire hisses out a minute later. He should be running outside to apologize, but his mind has simultaneously registered the full darkness of the night , the possibility that Duck is not the only paranormal thing in these woods, and the fact the nearest other campers are on the other side of the campground, meaning he is very, very alone.

The zipper on the tent moves, the flap falling open so his lantern shines on nothing but April air.

“Duck? Please say that’s you.”

A low chuckle, “It’s me, ‘Drid.” The fly zips shut, “mighty peeved about that trick you pulled.”

“I’m, I’m sorry. I missed you, but that was a bad way to communicate that.” He can’t see him, and the lantern only picks up the odd shift of sleeping bag or tent floor, so Indrid’s eyes’ dart about trying to pinpoint him.

“Oh, you communicated plenty, sugar. Like what you want a certain, uh, ghostly ranger to do to you.”

“Oh god” he winces, “please, forget I said that, it’s humiliating.”

“Not all that surprisin, truth be told. I mean, you and I flirted now and then. And you told me enough about yourself for me to suspect that you’re a kinky little weirdo who’s dyin to get fucked by a ghost.”

“I, I feel I should point out that I only want to fuck one ghost. You. I want to fuck you and that means fucking a ghoOOOst.” He gasps as cold lips press into his neck.

“I can make that happen, darlin, all you gotta do is say it. You were a pain in the neck earlier, so now I expect you to be real polite and use your words.” Duck’s voice has never been like this before, rough and possessive yet still, under all of it, the same warmth draws Indrid in like a flame.

“I want you, Duck.”

A bite to his ear, strong arms wrapping around his waist from behind him, “Want me to do what?”

“Fuck me” this is like every wet dream he had as a teenager, the supernatural being coming for a fellow outsider.

That gets him a tender kiss on the cheek, “That’s better. Though, if I’m rememberin correctly, word you used was punish.”

Indrid yelps as Duck turns and shoves him to lay across his lap, kicks his legs out in surprise when his waistband slides down to his upper thighs.

“Yesss” he wiggles his ass as Duck palms it, “yes, Duck, pleaseAHgod” the first strike stings, and Duck doesn’t let him recover before delivering five more, three to each side. His cock perks up at the pain. Stranger still, because Duck is invisible, all Indrid has to do is tilt his head to watch it harden and twitch with each slap.

Twenty strikes later Duck pauses, hand rubbing soothing, cool circles on the burning skin, “Learned your lesson?”

“Mmhmm.” Indrid presses an awkward kiss to Duck’s knee.

“Glad to hear it.” Duck hauls him up onto his knees, slides a hand under his shirt and up his chest, “I’m rarin’ to feel more of you--holy fuck”

“AH!” Indrid arches as Duck toys with his left nipple piercing, his other hand quickly finding the right.

“God, fuck, you’re fuckin hot, if I were alive I woulda taken you home first time I saw you.” Messy kisses cover his neck as Duck tugs the piercings.

“Gaahnnyes, that’s, that’s very flattering.”

“Ain’t flattery, sugar, it’s the truth. Never could turn down some skinny punk with piercin’s and messy hair, not when I was a teen burnout hidin in the woods and sure as hell not now.” He moves Indrid onto his back, rucking up his shirt as his legs twist in his half-down pants. The ranger cups his face, and Indrid is positive he’s meeting his eyes, “tell me what you want sugar, tell me so I can treat you right.”

“Marks, I want marks anywhere you’ll give them.”

A growl from above him, then lips smashing into his, drinking him in before continuing down his throat, biting and sucking hard enough that he cries out every time. Duck pauses, teasing his nipples with his tongue as he rakes his nails up his sides. He sits up and for a horrible moment Indrid loses him. Then with glee he watches five red marks drag down his chest. He moans, rolling his hips and discovering just how closer Duck’s clothed cock is to his own. The contact only feeds the rangers eagerness, and Indrid is tosses and turns as he sucks, bites, and scratches, laying claim to the illustrated expanse of his body.

“More, please, god that all feels so good.”

“Don’t worry darlin, still got plenty of you to mark up, but we’re gonna do somethin else while I do.” He eases Indrid onto his stomach, slaps his ass fondly, “don’t go nowhere.”

Indrid’s duffel bag unzips, clothes and pens moved aside until a bottle of lube hovers in the air. The tube compresses and drips coat the rough outline of fingers. When the two digits press into him he sighs, eyes closing as he melts under Ducks watchful eyes.

“That’s it ‘Drid, relax for me. Got well over a year of horny to work out, so this cute ass needs to be ready to take it.”

Indrid pushes his hips back in reply, taking as far as the fingers will go and whimpering excitedly when he presses in the tip of the third. Duck works that one more carefully, kissing Indrid’s face and shoulders as he whispers about how good he is, how much he’s wanted this.

“I want it too so for, for goodness sake please fuck me soon or I’ll leave my entire cooler out for the bears.”

“Only one bear in this campsite tonight darlin.” Duck laves his tongue down the base of his spine, bites down hard on his ass. Indrid’s still moaning from the pain when his cock pushes in.

“Fuuuckme that’s good. Shoulda snuck into your tent sooner, sugar, made you a fuckin cocksleeve you feel so fuckin good.”

“Ohgod” is all Indrid, voice muffled by the sleeping bag he’s biting, manages before Duck adjusts them so Indrid is on his knees. The ranger isn’t gentle, pounds into him like he’s nothing but a warm hole and chuckles whenever Indrid moans.

“H-handprints, Duck, want hand prints GAHyesyesyes” he struggles to move in time with the ghost as the air fills with ear-splitting slaps. He’s so close, the pain and the sensation of phantom fingers claiming his body making his body beg for release. When he slides a hand down to jerk himself off, the arm twists up and stays trapped against his back.

“You wanna cum, you know what to do.”

He blinks away the ecstatic tears, words raw in his throat, “Please let me cum, Duck. I want to, need to cum while you fuck me pleaseplease-” he cuts off into whine as the ghost works his cock hard, all the while jamming into him hard enough that the smooth fabric of the sleeping bag burns his knees. When he cums it’s with a weak cry of Duck’s name, which is swallowed up by hungry lips as Duck kisses him over and over, repeating Indrid’s name like an incantation as he pumps his hips and cums, pulling out as he does so it splatters on the reddened patches of his ass.

A final kiss to the top of his head, and then there’s no contact between them and the zipper is moving.

“Oh no you don’t” Indrid scrambles, sweaty and exhausted, between the tent fly and the invisible man somewhere in front of him, “for goodness sake, Duck, I thought you liked me enough to at least let me fall asleep before you ran.”

The ranger finally appears, hair a mess and cheeks noticeably pink, “‘Drid, all that was amazing, but it’s all I can give you. I, I can’t...you said you were fallin for me and I can’t give you that.”

Indrid cocks his head, “Why not?”

“Because I’m a fuckin ghost, ‘Drid! You deserve to be with a livin’ fella, you deserve someone who can be a real part of your life.”

He crosses his arms, “Duck, you are a real part of my life. Honestly, what part of all the nights we spent together, all the ways we take care of each other, all of this” he points at the rumpled sleeping bag, “suggests otherwise?”

The ghost doesn’t speak, simply hugs himself (or tries to).

“If this is too much, if I’m offering something you do not want, then please tell me. But if this is you thinking that some paranormal quirks keep you from being a worthy partner for me, kindly think again.”

Duck disappears and Indrid is gearing up to try and tackle a supernatural entity when a familiar face buries itself in the crook of his neck. The ghost clings to him, and Indrid clings right back.

“You really wanna give it a go?”

“More than anything.”

Duck lifts his head so their cheeks rest together, “Then fuck it. Let’s see what happens.”

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

Indrid finishes hooking up his lightly used Winnebago, AKA his solution to the lack of available apartments. He’s in a different section of Eastwoods, but he’s happy with his new spot. He opens one of his few boxes, gently lifts the completed model ship into a place of honor, and waits, humming happily, for an unseen hand to knock on his door.

#indruck #monster march #indrid cold/duck newton #reader request #ghost au

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