“His lips are softer than anything I’ve ever known, soft like a first snowfall, like biting into cotton candy, like melting and floating and being weightless in water. It’s sweet, it’s so effortlessly sweet.”
“Can I take your picture?” Larissa sat a few feet away from me on the grey velvet sofa as I aimed my iPhone towards her. I stared at the screen intently for a moment before shifting my focus, looking over the brim of the phone at her defeated, hopeless state portrayed by bloodshot eyes.
Harry and this missus go for a dip in two places and the missus wants to do the dirty
You and Harry were excited to finally reach the villa. You were tired and really wanted to cuddle up in bed with Harry but you were too excited to even have a nap in the car. “I think we are here love,” As we pull up you were amazed with the sight. You clutched Harry’s arm and smiled at him. “I have a feeling that this is going to be the best holiday yet.” Harry smiled at you. You nodded.
You walked in with Harry, now finally alone. You checked out the living room, kitchen and dining area. Everything was so beautiful. It wasn’t until Harry opened the back sliding doors it revealed a beautiful pool area with a hot tub inside. Your eyes lit up and soon, you had an idea. You chucked your bags down and you ran straight into the pool, full of excitement. When you arose you looked at Harry who was looking at you in shock. “Are you mad?” He cackled. “Just a bit” You smiled. “Join me!” You demanded. “Meh shirt, love!” He smiled pointing to personalised shirt from GUCCI. “Take it off you bore!” You smiled kicking your head back and kicking your legs. You removed your light top and your light trousers leaving you in your bra and panties. Before you knew it, Harry had taken off his top and tight jeans and was jumping in. Swimming over to you, you swam away. “Oi, lil’ bug, c’mon ‘ere” He laughed. He swam faster and finally caught you. “All gorgeous.” He smiled. “Hello you.” You stroked his cheek with your thumb and you met in a kiss. “I’m so glad you a little more relaxed now, you were getting too stressed.” You say with your head leant on his shoulder, you were both floating feeling weightless. “‘M lucky to have such a caring girl like you” He said pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I know” You smiled.
Jumping in may have been a bit of a bad idea, now you were both a little cold, considering the sun had gone down for the night and you were walking against the cold tiles. Plus no towels, but it was most definitely worth the jump. You pattered upstairs and drew a bath, the bath was massive so you didn’t hesitate to share. You snuggled into Harry making sure he was comfy too. “Should write a song about sharin’ a bath with yeh” He smiles against your shoulders. “I don’t think your fans will appreciate that much babe.” You smile. “Mmm, might write a song bout yeh tho’” You smiled at your boyfriend. He was your favourite person ever. “I really love you, H” You said turning to look at Harry. “I love you more.” He smiles kissing you repeatedly on your cheek making you giggle. He continues until you’ve switched places and he’s kissing you a little more seriously than before. He groans a little. “Love,” He moans. You rake your hands through his short hair. “Love,” He repeats again. “‘M tired,” He groans. “Want yeh to love on me though,” You pouted. “Tomorrow? I don’t wanna fall asleep on yeh” He smiled. You rolled your eyes but smiled. “Fine.” You pressed a kiss to his lips and you both got out the bath.
You found yourself drying your hair whilst Harry pottered elsewhere and soon he returned with a big plate of chocolate covered strawberries. “I hope they’re for me” You smiled. “Of course, with the sides of a cuddle from me and Netflix.” He offered. “Right up my street. And desert?” You smiled at him convincingly. “Desert is a makeout session that I’ll probably fall asleep. I highly suggest you be daring and take the dessert first because I may fall asleep.” He smiled. “You and all this sleeping stuff, givin me a headache” You smiled. You walked up to him placing your arms around his neck, he placed the plate on the side and wrapped his arms around your waist and snuggled into your neck.”If I weren’t mistaken Mr Styles, I would think you don’t want to do the dirty with me” You pouted. He scoffed against your neck in disbelief. “Trust me, I most definitely do, but fatigue takes over once again.” He says. You guide your loving boyfriend to the bed along with the strawberries of course. You both lay down and put on some Gavin and Stacey. And Harry was right, he was tired.
You woke up the next morning, and without a shadow of a doubt happy. Snuggled up into your very naked boyfriends chest with the pitter patter of the water from the hot top pittering in the distance seemed to make everything about this morning so spectacular. You suddenly felt a little fire in you that you hadn’t quite noticed before. The sight of your soft looking man made you incredibly desperate. “Mmm, Harry.” You moaned. He groaned and opened his eyes a little. “Are you ready to play now?” You asked.
Summary: The one in which you and Bucky help find each other a new hobby.
Warnings: language, fear of falling/heights, light-hearted cheesy fluff but whatevs man it’s cute
Word Count: 1830
A/N: This story was brought to you by Seb being an adorable panda and this song (great message but explicit lyrics just fyi). Also I’ve never played squash or gone skydiving so shoutout to my Google skills if this is terribly inaccurate.
It was an unusually calm morning – no missions, no paperwork, no training. Just you, the sunrise, and good company. You set your breakfast on the table and slid onto the seat next to Bucky, smiling at him as he absentmindedly leaned into your side whilst he continued reading his book and eating breakfast.
You sighed and took a sip of your coffee, reveling in the feeling of the steam as it swirled past your face. It was strange, in a way, having everything be so peaceful in the midst of the daily stressors of life. If you were honest you didn’t really know what to do with yourself.
As if by divine intervention, an idea popped into your head.
You’re one in a million blizzards, spinning the breath out of burning towns that are still learning how to extinguish themselves, and you’re spilling over onto roads and gracelessly stumbling into the carcasses of trees that rip you apart with their clawed-out branches, only to clothe themselves with your skin.
You’re fumbling with a blue pill, breaking it softly with your thumbs and watching the constellations spill out of every inch of their dust, spilling onto the sun like acid, eating it up from the inside until it’s nothing but a hollow sphere of dark matter trapped in innumerable continuous geometric patterns made of meshes of starlight, struggling to escape their own web delicately spinned into poetry by the rhythmic movement of the planets, turning their orbits into threads bunched up in a knot in the middle too tightly to be unraveled again.
So you lift your scissors and cut it off, letting the sun breathe a little easy but the planets don’t stop weaving and you’re trapped in the middle, struggling to scream with the thread digging into your neck and your hands desperately trying to clutch the constellations that can’t fall into place anymore.
But there’s novocaine coursing your veins and you can barely feel the cosmic bruises lining your spine so you pick every joint of your backbone apart to escape this prison that was slowly trapping you within and you carry your bones in your arms so that you don’t become weightless and float like an abandoned meteor in outer space where you don’t know whether you’re falling or flying.
And when your skull gets too heavy for you to hold and you do let go, you turn into a meteor ricocheting off galaxies and you turn into a shooting star burdened by whispered wishes you can’t grant.
You fall into the earth’s atmosphere, burning up every crater on your skin while falling with maximum velocity, getting reduced to ashes before you reach the wind shrouding the barren soil.
And then the sky tears itself apart, the sun drowning and splashing the colours of the sea on the velvet canvas sky, painting it one more time before it sinks, before the hues just drip back into the ocean, leaving the twilight burning until it is charred black.
And the sky has torn itself apart and you were ashes caught in the clouds, trapped within droplets of freezing water, waiting to spill.
You’re one in a million blizzards, waiting for the impact on the ground to scatter you all over again.
And while you’re trying to pick yourself up while looking at the night, you realise that the sun is just part of a constellation you’ll never really see.
What the Hell is Modern Architecture? Part Two: Mid-Century Madness
Hello friends! It’s everybody’s favorite time of the 20th century, kudos to Mad Men.
For the purpose of this post, Mid-Century starts in the late 1930s and goes through about 1960. While the 60s were integral to the concept of “Mid-Century Modernism” to people who shop at Design Within Reach, it really belongs to the period known as Late Modernism, which will be the subject of next week’s post.
Where we left off with our beloved modernists two weeks ago, World War II was just starting. Coincidentally, it turns out dictators really like columns and stuff (who knew), and so Mies van der Rohe and Walter Gropius fled to the US where they responded to the hostile takeover of their countries by committing a benevolent takeover of the major American universities.
Though the architecture of fascism was overwhelmingly traditional, (with the exception of Italian Futurism) modernism has still been deemed “fascist” by the ill-informed for over fifty years. Go figure.
The Second World War had a major impact on the field of architecture. For one, it destroyed previous socioeconomic orders, and the horrific use of technology to commit so many heinous atrocities undermined its central position in the previous ideas of technocratic utopia. The machine for living in had a bad taste in its mouth, now.
In addition, in Europe, the destruction of so many urban communities during the war left a vacuum for housing projects, many of which failed and most of which were completely insensitive to people’s aesthetic needs post-tragedy.
But I’m getting a little ahead of myself. One of the pinnacle struggles of midcentury was the battle to continue old norms (the International Style of 1920s Europe) and to pave new frontiers. Meanwhile, in non-western countries, this prewar architecture spread like wildfire, partially as a reaction against the 19th century traditionalism they inherited from colonialism. In countries like Finland, Brazil, and Mexico, there was considerable effort to balance new modern aesthetics with national identities and climates.
But back to the Bauhaus babes: Gropius (and later Marcel Breuer) were both invited to teach at Harvard, effectively ending that school’s history of Beaux Arts classicism.
Gropius’ arrival did something else for American architecture: with the exception of Richard Neutra & Co. on the west coast and Wright in the Midwest, American architecture was relatively stale innovation-wise on the East Coast, and bringing Gropius in kickstarted architectural change in that region.
Gropius’ students, sick of the rather boring eclecticism of the time, flocked to hear the new European ideas, including future stars Paul Rudolph (my personal bae), IM Pei, and Philip Johnson, who would all go on to be icons of Late Modernism (and to some extents, its scapegoats.)
Enter the Saarinens
Meanwhile in the Midwest, where actual progress happened in lieu of lectures, the Finnish-born architect Eliel Saarinen and his son, Eero, effectively kickstarted the aesthetics of the mid-century. Eliel, a figure of the previous generation, shifted his attention to American design late in life, but Eero seemed to have been born into the American jet-set ideal.
Saarinen the Younger established his reputation when he won the competition to build the 1947 Jefferson National Expansion Memorial in St. Louis, Missouri aka:
The 1950s were a period of (highly idealized) prosperity and optimism (despite the constant threat of nuclear winter) with a focus on scientific progress and good ol’ American ingenuity.
It was said ingenuity that enabled new methods of construction, including the wall of glass. One of the pinnacle examples of this progress and optimism was the General Motors Technical Center in Warren, Michigan begun by Saarinen the Elder and finished by Saarinen the Younger in 1948.
It was in this building that the processes of American manufacturing, management, and industry were canonized in architectural form - the building, seemingly weightless, floats above a green, minimal lawn.
Meanwhile, Mies van der Rohe, was spending 1939-1956 building the new campus of the Illinois Institute of Technology. Mies was very fond of the craftsmanship of American steel manufacturing, and used the steel beam as a way to articulate his functional ideals with a finesse like no other.
The glass box of the Institute’s Crown Hall was fervently egalitarian in that it was supposed to be good for anything and everything, and neutral to the concept of place and the specificity of internal function.
(The irony of Mies’ buildings and their honesty of expression, is that the fire code of the time required that steel be surrounded by fireproofing, and therefore the steel visual on buildings such as Crown Hall, is, in fact, a decorative effect, something not lost on later theorists such as Robert Venturi.)
Mies’ seminal work of the period was the famous Farnsworth House (1945-51), where he applied the cool sleekness of his academic and industrial buildings to residential design.
Perhaps Mies is most infamous in the long run for his tall skyscrapers, the most famous of which is the Seagram Building (New York City, 1954-8), which he designed with the help of Gropius acolyte Philip Johnson.
The building owes its debts to Sullivan, who over half a century before, used appearance to express the ideal of its structure, an idea Mies evolved into “lying in order to tell the truth” - his steel frame hid within it wind bracing and other engineering necessities; the mullions separating the windows are applied, rather than structural necessity.
While Mies’ aesthetic would be elevated to the epitome of American corporate style, it continued in the tradition of the Deutsches Werkbund of early modernity, which believed that industrial technique should be worn on the sleeve of architectural form.
Unfortunately, the Miesian ideal was taken up by countless (often garbage) imitators, which reduced his finesse to mere uniformity, resulting in the endlessly replicating “glass box downtowns” of the 60s and 70s. The criticisms of later theorists that Mies left out the messiness of life within the glass structure, weren’t entirely invalid, but much of the time the ad nauseum replication of glass boxes are the faults of Mies’ imitators rather than Mies himself.
Meanwhile, in Brazil and Finland
Brazil and Finland are perhaps the most notable of the nations to have adopted modernism after the pre-war German-French-American trichotomy, because their national architectural figures have contributed so much to the architecture of the time.
Brazil’s strongman, Oscar Niemeyer, was born in Rio de Janeiro, and studied architecture at the Escola Nacional des Belas Artes. His architecture was heavily influenced by Le Corbusier, and featured a heavy use of reinforced concrete. Niemeyer was a believer in constructing “monuments” - architecture that stood out from its surroundings, and the concept that architecture should be infused with social idealism.
Niemeyer’s most famous buildings were those built for the deal city of Brazil’s new capital, Brasilia. Built with Socialist ideas, such as the government owning apartments and leasing them to employees, and that the common worker and the top officials would share the same public spaces, the project, which was constructed hundreds of miles out in the middle of nowhere, aimed to bring a higher quality of life to a rural region.
Unfortunately, his leftist politics resulted in his exile from Brazil, when Castelo Branco usurped the previous president and made Brazil a dictatorship until 1985. Oh well.
In Finland, home of the Saarinens, the architect Alvar Aalto was quietly straight killingit at modern architecture. Unamused by the cold corporatism of the endlessly replicating glass box, Aalto and his contemporaries sought to infuse the vernacular traditions of their country, pre-industrial rusticism, and environmental consciousness with the sleekness of modernism.
(This was easier to achieve in the Nordic countries, where rabid industrialization had not yet ruined natural resources such as timber.)
Aalto’s remarkable sensitivity to his clients and their anticipated behavior within his dwellings combined with his keen sense of place made his architecture successful during a time dominated by the necessity of post-war building making (in place of lasting architecture.)
The sensitivity to the Earth, and the desire to embed his buildings fully into their environment (rather than make them objects on the lawn as was the modern tradition in Europe at the time), set Aalto apart from his contemporaries, and deeply inspired many young architects of midcentury, most notably Louis Kahn.
But that’s not why y’all came here. Y’all came here for this:
On the Pop Side of Things: What Most People Think of When They Hear “Mid Century Modern”
While Gropius lectured, Mies built his boxes, Wright got weird with the Guggenheim, Aalto and Niemeyer led their countries as pioneers, and Corbu hid in Europe (butthurt that he was used for his input on the design of the United Nations building but never received the official commission- basically, he got catfished by the UN) the endless sprawl of the suburbs inched across the US, and the Federal Highway Act paved the way for a new way of life: sitting in the car a lot.
What most people associate with mid-century modernism are the “retro” vibes of the 50s - the Eames rocker, the fanciful signs, and the space-age hotels. What they don’t realize is that much of this beloved imagery existed outside the architectural canon, in the realm of folk or commercial architecture.
Suddenly, the world of motels, supermarkets, diners, and more sprung up seemingly overnight. The architecture of this time was designed to get people’s attention, and not much more - which is perhaps why it is so endearing. Originating from Southern California, this style was known as “Googie,” “Space Age,” and “Atomic Age” architecture, inspired by the events that transpired as part of the Space Race, and the pop culture surrounding the events of the Cold War.
Also originating in California, the ideal of the Mid-Century Modern House was canonized in the Case Study Houses (built for Arts & Architecture Magazine, made famous by the photographs of Julius Schulman), the houses of Richard Neutra, and the affordable tract home plans put together by architects such as Joseph Eichler, and Palmer & Kilmer.
It makes sense that such architecture originated in California, a state that adopted the automobile with a fervent efficiency and built its best-known city of Los Angeles around it.
The unique decor made by companies like furniture giants Knoll and Herman Miller, fit right at home in such adventurous houses. Herman Miller hired the famous duo Charles and Ray Eames to design many lines of chairs and other furniture which have become iconic in and of themselves.
Photo: Wikimedia Commons, Public Domain
The Eames’ designs took the functionalism of modernism and infused it with fanciful coziness which became instantly appealing. The Eames’ chairs dared onlookers to sit in them, and were designed to excel at their purpose: to be sat in. These attributes, along with the slick futuristic design, have made Eames-design furniture timeless and highly desirable, even today.
While the Eameses were the most famous of the mid-century designers, the work of architects such as Eero Saarinen, and designers like George Nelson and Isamu Noguchi, should not be left out as well:
The fanciful nature of Mid-Century Modern design has seen a resurge in recent years, as younger generations delight in its charming simplicity and thoughtful execution for the first time.
Mid-century was the period during which American corporate zeitgeist, pop culture, and technological innovation reached its peak in the public eye. However, a new generation of architects were coming of age, whose sculptural monumentality would send a wave of dissent through the world of modernism, thrusting it into the period known as Late Modernism.
Which is what we’ll get to next week!
I hope you enjoyed this week’s post on Mid-Century Modernism! I’m sorry I couldn’t post an ugly house this Thursday, as it was Thanksgiving and drama was high. Trust me, the upcoming Michigan Monstrosity is well worth the wait.
As a side note, for all of you who submitted a logo proposal to me, I am going through the entries (all 200 of them) and will select a winner soon, so stay tuned!
@youre-on-a-starship - “I’ve got to get my two cents in for this request event: Can you write a Bones fic in which he and the reader finally meet over a communal meal (a holiday perhaps?) and end up bonding because she’s got a rare medical condition that he’s interested in? I love your writing so much; I am unabashedly jealous of the realism you cultivate in your discussion of medical situations. It’s absolutely mind boggling and your writing is exceptional. Lots of love ❤️ ” I will also need to do a little research on this one, but the thoughts are flying fast already.
Word Count: 1892 Author’s Note: I found researching OI pretty interesting, and I definitely have a better idea about it now. I hope I did your request justice :) (And thanks for answering all my questions!)
“Y/N, were you in medbay today?” Your roommate, a nurse who would have known if you’d been hurt, asked as she came into your shared quarters.
“Obviously not,” you replied. “Why?”
“Bones was reading your chart. I thought maybe you’d gotten hurt,” she offered.
“Uhura to Y/L/N, are you free?” You dug your communicator from your hip and flipped it open.
“I’m kind of precariously balanced on the wire rungs of the J-tube, but sure, Nyota, what can I do for you?” You knew she would catch the sarcastic tone.
“I was just checking on you. Medical accessed your personnel file this morning, and I was worried that you’d had an accident,” she responded. “Back to work, before Scotty finds you goofing off!”
“Y/N, join me in my office,” Scotty gestured to a storage closet. It was the running gag, that he’d converted his actual office into a workshop of sorts. When he needed to have official conversations with any of the crew under his command, he’d pull you aside into a secluded corner, a closet or take you down to water reclamation, where it was so noisy, you were guaranteed privacy. You stepped in ahead of him and waited as he found the lights and shut the door behind himself. It was close quarters, and you arched your eyebrow when he started fidgeting with his hands. It was a lot closer than you were used to.
“Scotty, what’s up? Is it the repair on the -”
“No, no, nothing about your performance,” he cut you off. “Are you quite healthy right now?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” you assured him.
“Your zero grav sessions are helping?” He pressed. Part of the reason you’d been assigned to a ship instead of grounded was because it was easier to access the therapy your body required to maintain health. As a toddler you’d been diagnosed with a mild form of Osteogenesis Imperfecta. There was a genetic treatment available, and your parents had taken advantage of that, which had strengthened your ability to create the collagen that was absent in OI patients, but you still needed regular physiotherapy to ensure adequate bone density. Space was a crapshoot because the artificial atmosphere meant there was constant real pressure on you and your bones, which was both emotionally and physically draining. But the opportunity to spend a half hour every evening weightless, floating in the safety of an empty cargo bay was one that you were unable to pass up. For a half hour, you were free, with no cares, no worries, no risk. And each session, somehow, for reasons you didn’t understand, strengthened what little collagen you did produce, making your bone density improve enough that you weren’t terrified of scampering up Jefferies tubes when necessary.
“Yeah, Scotty, life is good,” you confirmed. “What’s this about?”
“Doctor McCoy was down here asking questions. I know M’Benga did your intake physical. It made me wonder if you were declining and afraid of telling me,” Scotty explained. “You know you’re too valuable to let go, Y/N. Even if you need to be on light duties for a while, I will be keeping you here in engineering.”
“Really, I’m fine, Scotty,” you asserted. “I trust you. You’re the first person I’d tell if anything were up.”
“I’m not pulling your leg, lass,” he asserted. “If you need extra time away from shift for physiotherapy, or would like reduced duties -”
“Scotty, I’m fine,” you interrupted. “Really. I appreciate all your support. But there’s nothing any worse than usual happening.”
“I’m relieved to hear it,” he nodded, and suddenly realized how cramped the closet was. “Let’s be out of here before people assume the worst.”
You couldn’t help but laugh, and you winked as you walked out ahead of him, deliberately adjusting your skirt just to give him a hard time. He sucked in his breath to protest, and then coughed, drawing even more attention to you both. It was a good thing that everyone in engineering was used to Scotty’s unorthodox use of whatever space he could find. No one even blinked. “Are you headed to the Federation Day celebrations this afternoon?”
“If you think I’m going to pass up real food, you’re out of your mind,” you replied. “I saw the quartermaster’s delivery while I was fixing that malfunctioning door in the cargo bay. There were bananas. Real, perfect, honest-to-god yellow bananas. And I heard a rumour about steak.”
“We’ll see you later on then, Y/N. Save some bananas for me,” Scotty laughed.
This is what my mind conjured up instead of letting me sleep. It’s stupid and I don’t know how to write dialogue properly but enjoy
Walking out into your living room, you saw Sans lounging on the couch. He was watching tv and flipping through the channels lazily, not seeming to be interested in anything particular. Deciding to have some fun you creeped up behind him, and threw yourself over the back of the sofa. He folded up with an ’oomph’’ when you landed on him, but quickly adjusted his body around you and pulled you closer.
’’Sans,’’ you said as you snuggled closer to him. ’’I’ve been meaning to ask you something.’’
’’what?,’’ he responded still not looking away from the TV.
’’You can catch stuff with your magic, right? Like if something fell, you’d be able to catch it?’’
He shifted his body until he could look at you and then raised his brows.
’’yeah? depends on the object and the speed and what not. what’re ya asking for?‘’
’’So if I fell’’,- you continued without acknowledging his answer- ’’would you be able to catch me?’’
His brows furrowed even further as he tried to see where you were going with all this.
’’if your life depended on it then probably’’, he said still looking puzzled.
You stood up on the couch, arms out to balance yourself. ’’Good,’’ you said while stepping up on the armrest. He reached a hand out for you but you shooed him away. After swaying for a while you seemed to find your balance. Sans looked at you uneasily.
’’Y/N i don’t know what the hell you’re doing but-
’’TRUST FALL!’’ you cut him off mid sentence, throwing yourself off the couch and onto the floor.
’’Y/N!’’ he yelled while reaching for you.
He was too late, and your body hit the floor with a thud. You rolled around while holding your sides and hip, groaning in agony. Sans just stared at you with a blank face as you laid there, writhing in pain from your own stupid actions. After a while he sighed and held out his hand. A red glow enveloped your body and you felt yourself become weightless. Gently floating upwards, Sans moved his hand closer to himself and the couch, making you follow suit. His magic lifted you over and placed you next to him on the couch, where he took over and wrapped you in a hug.
’’you are so fucking stupid,’’ he said as he wrapped his arms around you. ’’i don’t get how you survived childhood you moron.’’
You craned your neck to look at him.
’’You were supposed to catch me y’know’’
’’next time,’’ he said grumpily while once again keeping his eyes on the TV.
You just huffed in annoyance but couldn’t help the smile forming as you sank deeper into the couch cushions. Your bruises be damned, scaring Sans was kind of fun.
“Can you believe they found Polly’s son?” You laugh, walking on the curb like a it’s a tightrope. You put your arms out to try and keep balance but are failing from the few drinks you had slipped without your brothers seeing. Finn’s there, ready to catch you when you fall, cause he can see it coming.
“I mean, Tommy’s done crazier shit.” He says as you laugh, your foot slipping and falling right into his arms. You laugh as he keeps you from going back onto the curb, keeping you upright.
“You’re right; he can do anything. Damn our brother’s pretty cool. I mean so is our whole family. Think Michael will fit in?”
“Hard to tell.” He says shrugging as he’s messing with the lock. He shushes you as he gets it open, helping you up to your room. Thankfully Tommy and Polly weren’t around, otherwise you’d be dead for having even one drink.
“Finn, you’re my best friend.” You mumble as he shuts the light off.
Any chance we could get some Ice Mechanic "we're the only unattached people here and we're going to die soon anyway so why not" smut? Seeing all these gifs of them standing together is getting me thinking!
It’s like you read my mind because I wrote this last night unprompted and it fits the bill perfectly.
Somehow, the ice king managed to make the cavernous lab feel small. While they waited for the transfusion to take he paced around the lab, peering intently at screens and at one point reaching over Raven’s shoulder to fiddle with a dial. She slapped his hand away without looking and he huffed out a quiet laugh. He’d disappeared for a few hours then, reappearing shirtless with his long hair dripping as if he’d taken a shower. Raven briefly wondered if he found the technology required to start a shower in Becca’s mansion intimidating, but then her brain got distracted by thinking of water running over that smoothly chiseled chest and stomach. She scowled at him because she couldn’t afford to be distracted right now. He stopped frowning at a monitor to look at her. “Is there a problem?”
“Don’t you ever wear a shirt?” she snapped.
He made that sound again, more like an exhale than a real laugh. “Am I interfering with your work?”
Raven’s neck felt hot and she looked back down at her calculations. “Nevermind,” she muttered, and let him continue to prowl around the lab, looking oddly at home despite his grounder clothing.
Raven walked out of the mansion and stared off the veranda towards the water. They were leaving tomorrow morning to inspect the bunker Jaha had found because that was humanity’s last hope.
There was nothing else left.
Everything she’d done, everything she’d tried, and they were reduced to hoping that a cult’s hole in the ground would save them.
A splash of water drew her attention. Roan was swimming in the pool, knifing through the water with even, smooth strokes. He was shirtless again, this time giving her a good view of his back muscles working as he swam. He came to the edge of the pool and looked up at her, the underwater lights throwing his face into sharp relief.
“You did everything you could,” he said in that low growl.
Raven chewed on the inside of her cheek. “We might die in less than two weeks anyway,” she said.
Roan shrugged. “So come for a swim. Probably the last time you’ll get to.”
“It’d be the first time,” she corrected. “Didn’t exactly have pools in space.”
“All the more reason to join me.”
Raven looked down at him and considered. She didn’t know him well, aside from his habit for wandering around shirtless and the fact that Clarke seemed to like him. He was efficient and cold, but it seemed to her like might be a mask. Still waters run deep, and all that. “I might drown,” she said, but she was already crouching down to untie her boots.
“I’ll make sure you don’t,” he said with a flicker of a grin.
Raven stripped down to her bra and underwear and stepped into the water. She was a little unsteady without her brace and Roan came to meet her on the steps, holding his hand out with his face impassive. She took his hand and let him help her down.
“You’ve seen battle,” he observed.
“It was Murphy,” she admitted. The water lapped around her calves and then her hips, warm and soothing.
Roan nodded. “Want me to kill him?”
“Aren’t we all dying soon anyway?” she said with a laugh.
Roan shrugged again. “If we’re all dying and him dying first would make you happy, I could provide that for you. You’ve worked hard to save my people; it would be an honor to repay the favor.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she replied wryly.
The water reached her waist and Raven felt the ever-present ache in her hip lessen. It wasn’t quite like zero-g, but there was an ease to movement in water that made her feel at home. Roan kept his hand curled around hers and led her towards the deeper end of the pool until her toes left the ground and the water reached her chin. He coaxed her onto her back and held his hand on her lower back until she was floating, weightless under the stars.
Raven floated and Roan stayed nearby, just out of her line of vision. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Raven had stopped looking at the stars on the ground— there was too much going on, but now, with the end in sight, she wished she’d done this more often. Eventually she dropped her feet back down and flipped into an awkward paddle that propelled her to the edge of the pool. Roan followed and she found a shallow bench cut into the side, so they sat and rested their heads against the tile.
“Are you scared?” she asked without looking at him.
Roan was quiet for a long time. “If praimfaya comes, it comes. But the bunker might work.”
“Think you can live underground for five years?”
“If that’s what it takes to survive, then yes. You?”
Raven kept her eyes on the stars. She didn’t have much time to see them anymore, one way or another. “If that’s what it takes to survive,” she echoed and glanced over at him. He was watching her, his blue eyes unreadable.
Raven weighed her options, She had ten— no, nine— days left. The bunker might work, but if it didn’t…this might be her last night of peace. She would work as hard as she could to get the bunker ready once she was there, but for tonight, there was nothing left to do.
She might as well enjoy herself.
So she tipped her head and closed the distance between them. Roan took her meaning and kissed her, gentler than she was expecting. His beard was softer than she thought too, and his tongue found hers in a way that made her toes curl. Roan scooped her into his arms and resettled her onto his lap and they slowly peeled their remaining clothes off.
Raven didn’t expect tenderness from the ice king, but he touched her with such care it almost brought tears to her eyes. His own eyes were shaded with something like fear too, and Raven wondered if even kings craved kindness. She liked the feel of him inside of her and she liked how he looked at her with something like wonder. She liked his hands on her hips and she liked how they moved together in the water.
Death was ticking closer, but Raven had never felt more alive.
this is going to be a short series about Pietro and it’s going to be called Reversing Gravity, as exemplified in the fic. Pls, enjoy.
“And who’re you?”
“My best friend.” Clint pipes up unnecessarily and you shoot
him a dark look.
“I’m Y/N.” You chirp, offering him a hand to shake, which he
“She has the necessary qualifications to be on the team,
just sign the paper.”
“What qualifications?” Fury asks with a raised eyebrow and
just as you’re about to answer that you don’t actually, Clint cuts in.
“She’s my best friend. Case closed.”
“What can you do, kid?” Fury sighs and you nod seriously.
Because this is a serious question and what you can do is serious.
“Gravity.” You state clearly, a scoff echoing through the
suddenly silent room.
“That’s all?” Fury smirks and you wince, eyes shooting to
Clint who rolls his eyes dramatically.
“Fine, I’m taking her to Tony.” Clint snaps, jerking his
head to the door and snatching the papers from Furys desk. “Tony funds it all,
he’ll say yes then Nick can’t do jack.”
“You’re going to break up him and his boyfriend?” You gape
and Clint laughs, shaking his head. Then it hits you. “Oh! The saying.”
“That’s my girl.” Clint laughs, bumping your shoulder, his
“What can she do?” Tony asks the moment the papers are set
in front of him and Clint sighs loudly.
“Why is that the only thing anyone asks? She’s more than
just a bundle of powers.”
“Gravity.” You offer over Clints complaining, shooting him a
look that has his grumbling turned down in volume and his ass settling into a
“I’m listening.” Tony says slowly and you clap happily.
“I can turn it on and off.” You shrug, because what else is
there to it. At least you got to that part.
“Show.” Tony demands and you nod slowly, holding out a palm
and flipping it upside down, the items on the shelf behind him hovering and
lifting into the air, bumping one another and sending them floating before the
reach the edges of your gravitational field and fall to the ground. “How big of
an area can you do this in? And does the amount of items in the area effect
“A baseball field was the biggest we got to, and no. It’s
not so much controlling the items as it is the pull.” You explain and Tony offers
you a sage nod.
“She can stay.” He states, signing the papers before rising
and heading out the door.
“Busy.” Clint grins, leaping into the air toward you and you
flip your palm, watching him float weightless toward you before he bumps into
you and wraps his arms around you. “You did it! You wait till Natasha finds
“She’s going to fall off her rocker. She hates the idea of
me getting in any kind of altercation.” You laugh, Clint rolling his eyes at
your word choice.
“It’s called a fight, little girl.”
“She doesn’t like anyone yelling at me or arguing with me
either, old boy. That means altercation.” You counter primly, flipping your
palm face down and watching him smack into the floor. “I’m gon’ go find her,
you can find us both when you get up.”
“I’m an Avenger.” You open, Natasha spinning toward you with
a permanent looking scowl.
“No.” She snarls and your eyes fall to the floor, a soft
sigh sounding. “I’m sorry, Isaac. But you’re going to get hurt.”
“You get hurt all the time. Why can’t I?” You whine softly
and she tuts quietly, the room filling with chattering voices as a group walks
“Hey Natasha and… Hello.” Someone pipes up, the unseen voice
friendly, if a little flirty when he spoke your friends name.
“Sam, Steve, Wanda, this is Y/N. She says she’s part of the
team now.” Natasha grumbles and you can feel inquisitive eyes on you.
“She isn’t pleased about it. Nice to meet you all though.”
You greet, your teeth worrying the inside of your bottom lip, brows drawn
“Best friend!” Clints voice shouts from the hallway and you
dive behind the counter, knocking into Steves legs, who to his credit, acts
natural. “Where is she?”
“Haven’t seen her.” Natasha pipes up and an angry sigh fills
“You knew she was coming today, how have you not seen her?”
“I thought she was with you!”
“I texted you to tell you she was coming to you.”
“Steve has my phone.”
“It’s been silent all day.” Steve pipes up, obviously
“Where could she be? Oh man, there are so many bad options.”
“She’s been here before.”
“Once! Like a year ago! What if she dies here? What kind of
press is that going to bring?”
“I’m just press to you?” You shout, leaping up from behind
the counter, Clints girly scream filling the room. “So called best friend,
A scuffing blur slips into the room, slowing into a
swaggering man with silver hair.
“That’s Pietro.” Clint points out, not that you needed it.
You’ve heard about this menace, how he’s terrorized your friend. Your palm
settles on the bench casually, Natashas eyes catching on it as Pietro smirks at
“And who is this?”
“I’m Y/N.” You grin, offering a hand to shake and you see
the moment he starts to race forward, your palm flipping, the silver man
running on air.
The room falls silent as Pietro slows to a still, staring at
his airborn feet.
“I love you.” Clint whispers and you wink at him, hand
flipping palm down and Pietros feet smack onto the ground again.
You sit beside Bucky, someone you hadn’t actually introduced
yourself to but you’re very sure that he knows who you are and what you can do
“I had a NASA partner, and she snuck me in on our two year
anniversary. I knew I was going to break up with her so I was sort of
uncomfortable. Long story short, I got put in a machine, I passed out, woke up
and the machine was broken and she was gone. Never got another text from her or a ride home. And when I woke up the
next morning, things started floating.” You explain, smiling at Bucky, who
smiles back uncertainly.
“That’s new. Got any combat training?” Sam asks and you grin
at Hawkeye, who returns the gesture, a sparkle in his eye.
“Clint asked me after he found out what I could do what kind
of weapon I’d like to learn. I instantly said sword, because that’s freaking
sick.” You giggle softly, the rest of the group silent. Whatever. “So he taught
me. I’m pretty good at all different kinds. Of swords.”
“It’s not exactly practical.” Steve sighs, palm rubbing over
his jean clad thigh.
“You’ve never seen her in action.” Clint smirks, kicking
your foot and you blush a little, Pietro slowing enough behind the group to put
a word in.
“Are you alright?” The man asked, words slightly slurred, although Victor hardly noticed. His recently waterlogged brain struggling to process anything as coherent as words. “Wha-…ah…yeah….” Victor barely managed to drawl out of his slack mouth. His eyes finally were drawn down to what should have been the center of intrigue, the fish tail attached where legs should have gone. It was the deepest shade of black like a puddle of spilt ink. Intricate pattern of scales glistening iridescent like the rippled ocean surface on a full moon or a clear night full of stars. “Ti….. takAya krasiva…..” Victor mumbled mostly to himself. “What’s that mean?” The mermaid murmured back, eyelashes fluttering sweetly over cinnamon eyes. “You’re beautiful.”
This is the first Everlark kiss I ever wrote. Hope you like it.
She closed her eyes and leaned towards him, finally erasing the distance between them.
His lips were soft and warm, and they welcomed hers immediately. Time stood still as he bit her upper lip, nibbling gently on the tender flesh.
The entire world melted away. She was floating, weightless. Tethered to the ground by the soft pressure of Peeta’s lips. She felt his hand tangling in her hair, pulling her closer to him and she sighed, breathless, into his mouth.
She wanted to get closer to him, to feel his warmth encasing her. But she was still sitting on a chair while he was still standing. She brought her hand to his cheek. The feel of soft stubble under her fingertips made her smile. This is real, she thought, we’re not in the Capitol anymore. Her thumb kept tracing circles along his jaw as she gently pushed him away from her. His eyes were unfocused, surprised, disbelieving, and her heart ached for him.
“Katniss?” he whispered, an edge of panic in his voice.
She smiled at him tenderly. She looked straight into his eyes, trying to pour all the love she felt for him into her gaze. When she spoke, her voice was barely a whisper, not intended for anyone else but him.
His face broke into the most brilliant smile she had ever seen. Something glowing and warm exploded inside her chest and spread throughout her body, and she remembered why she’d stopped kissing him. In one swift motion, she stood up, pushing the chair away from her with the back of her knee. Peeta followed her motions. His hand never leaving its place at the back of her head as he pulled her towards him. She wrapped her arms around him, holding on to his sturdy frame as she stood on the tips of her toes and reached for his lips once more.
new anon please hit me over the head with dad might as hard as you can
I took that as a challenge, went and wrote probably the fluffiest and chessiest Dad Might I’ve ever written. I hope your in for it, dear anon! =D (Also, no hitting, sorry, I’m a pacifist.)
Here we go:
at the dorms, Toshinori had discovered, had quite a few perks to it, apart from
practical reasons like being close to his students should anything happen, or
being safe from harassing reporters.
importantly, there were three times a day the former hero had come to enjoy
very much. The evenings spent together with everyone, where they cooked
together, before they proceeded to laze around the living room. The afternoons
after training, where they usually played, trained some more, or he helped the
kids doing their homework.
his most favorite, the early mornings.
early mornings where he went to wake up each of his students where the times
Toshinori had come to love. It gave him the opportunity to see his student for
what they really were – still children, innocent and young, even though they
had already faced quite some hardships. It made the growing feelings of
affection and protectiveness towards them even stronger.
was Shouto, sleepily blinking up at him when he shook him awake gently. Bakugou,
already awake when Toshinori entered his room, yawning and mumbling that he
would be right there (no swears at all, since those mornings made even Bakugou
calmer and more relaxed). Uraraka with gloves on which made sure that she didn’t
float away in her sleep, humming softly in her throat when he called her
quietly. Mina, instantly awake as soon as Toshinori stepped up next to her bed,
waiting for a chance to hug him tightly and press a wet kiss to his cheek in
greeting. Tsuyu, smiling softly at him and asking him if he had slept well
before he could even ask her the same.
and every one of those little habits and details where already deeply ingrained
in Toshinori’s memory, tucked away safely and close to heart, but every
morning, he would beam in joy when they repeated themselves. Little gems that
he intended to keep as long as he could.
his absolute highlight, the one thing he saved up for last, was waking Izuku
reason for that was not how peaceful Izuku looked in his sleep – even if he
probably was the most calming sight
Toshinori had ever seen in his life.
what really made this worth-while was the fact that Izuku sleep-talked.
had discovered this approximately a few weeks prior, when he had first taken up
the job of waking up the kids. Somehow, he had expected that Izuku, with his
strict training regime, would be a light sleeper, would perhaps even be awake
before someone could come and wake him up.
the exact opposite was true, honestly. Izuku in the early mornings would be conscious
enough to register being spoken to, even conscious enough to mumble and whisper
something, but he could not be waken up that easily.
in this state between sleep and waking, Izuku was quite talkative. Sometimes,
it had sounded as if he was trying to solve a riddle even in sleep, or as if he
was still dreaming.
there had been this one time, when Toshinori had pulled the blanket off the boy
in a fell swoop to wake him up, that Izuku had called out quite clearly, “Noooo,
five more minutes, dad!” and curled back into himself.
had been the moment where Toshinori had spat blood in surprise, blanket
slipping out of his grip as he muffled his startled coughs behind one hand and
used to other to steady himself as his knees turned to jelly all of sudden.
shit, it had been a good thing that Izuku had still been asleep, elsewise
Toshinori would probably have suffocated upon their shared surprise and embarrassment.
that he minded, truly, he didn’t he… he had felt like floating after that,
weightless and good upon hearing that the boy – his boy – thought that much of him. But still… facing Izuku after
such a surprise was different. Probably the boy would even deny that he had
said that, and that would hurt way too much.
Toshinori settled for these early mornings, looking forward to each of them,
eager to see what sleepy Izuku had to tell him this time.
he was being childish about this, but he really had come to enjoy those quiet,
peaceful minutes where he didn’t have to worry about not playing favorites with
his student. Where he could just spend some quality time with Izuku.
once he had made sure that nineteen of his students were up and ready to go, in
no danger of falling asleep again once he left them, Toshinori made his way
towards Izuku’s room.
it, closing the door behind himself, Toshinori instantly heard the soft breathing
that indicated that Izuku was still dead asleep, and a smile made its way onto
his watch, he noted that he still was almost fifteen minutes too early.
over to the bed, Toshinori took a quick look, smile only widening at the sight.
was facing him, laying on his side. The boy’s mouth was standing open ever so
slightly, breath coming deep and slow. At some point, Izuku had kicked his
blanket off the bed, like he had done so often already.
quietly, Toshinori crouched down next to the bed, taking a closer look. There
were no wrinkles between Izuku’s brows, his whole expression relaxed and
peaceful in sleep, not worried or thoughtful as it was so often.
So young, Toshinori mused,
reaching out to push a lock of green hair out of Izuku’s face. So young and yet such a hero already.
sniffled in his sleep, twitching as the gentle touch tickled him. Humming, the
boy shifted, brows crinkling slightly as his consciousness resurfaced.
to make sure that he had not startled his student awake, Toshinori waited until
Izuku had settled again before he sighed. Nothing for it. He had to wake the
boy up at some point, anyway.
he called softly, reaching over to stroke the boy’s freckled cheek. “Time to
wake up, my boy.”
confused sound left Izuku. Stirring, the boy blinked one eye open, then the
other, blearily focusing on his mentor right in front of him. “Hmmmm?”
morning,” Toshinori whispered gently, unable to keep the soft smile from his
slurred Izuku, eyes falling closed already as he added something in a quiet
Toshinori shook his head at his student. Obviously not really awake yet.
Cupping the boy’s face again, he said, a bit louder. “Izuku. Come on, no
falling asleep on me here.”
was a muffled sound, before Izuku’s left hand latched onto Toshinori’s, keeping
the bigger hand trapped.
a pause, Izuku tugged.
pull was surprisingly strong for someone still asleep, and Toshinori actually
had to steady himself before he fell flat on the bed in front of him. Choking
out a laugh, the retired hero noted the impatient tug at his still trapped
was trying to pull him down onto the mattress.
no,” Toshinori snorted, tugging his hand back, “This is about getting you out of the bed, not about getting me
scrunched up his nose slightly, wrinkles appearing between his brows when he
was denied. Apparently he was conscious enough to notice and get impatient,
since he tugged at Toshinori’s wrist again, a bit stronger than before,
Toshinori tried again, fighting to keep the laughter out of his voice as he put
up some resistance.
then, there it was, gentle and soft and yet like a punch to the stomach – Izuku
mumbled, tugged, and finally, let out an impatient, drawn-out, “Dad!”
was the second time the boy had called him that – and while half-asleep, too –
but it still felt as if someone had pulled out the rug from under Toshinori. He
took a sharp breath, shock, surprise and pure, unaltered affection rushing through him.
whined again, softer this time, frown deepening. Any longer like this, and the
boy would probably wake up.
shook Toshinori from his stupor, and he relented, “Okay, it’s okay, shhhh…
scoot over, come on…”
didn’t take much convincing anymore. Izuku let himself be pushed aside
slightly, grip around his mentor’s wrist loosening as he subconsciously got
aware that his will was being granted.
had to be careful, getting his tall frame into the too small bed without waking
Izuku up completely, but finally, he managed.
soon as he lay down on the mattress, Izuku pushed into his personal space
again, mumbling all the while, eyes still closed. Like a cat, the boy snuggled
against Toshinori’s chest, twisting and turning until he managed to hide his
face in the crook of the man’s neck, arms wrapped around him tightly.
content with this, Izuku sighed and relaxed again, making a content sound in
the back of his throat.
softly, Toshinori tested the waters by carding on hand through the green mop of
hair. As Izuku let out a sound resembling a purr and snuggled even closer, the
chuckle turned into a soft laugh, and the former hero dared to wrap his arms
around the boy.
thing you’re not awake right now,” he whispered to Izuku, getting a drawn-out
hum in answer. “You would probably die of embarrassment.”
hum, and Izuku mumbled sleepily, “Five more minutes…”
back a loud laugh, Toshinori agreed, “At least five more.”
even ten minutes, the former hero thought as he watched his boy with fond
amusement. Twelve minutes top.
yes. Toshinori really liked those
All Hallow’s Eve Request #6!! Tim Drake/ Red Robin X Reader
“This is Vicki Vale reporting live at the newly discovered crime scene of The Cult, a new criminal organization that has been the cause of multiple missing person cases and even possibly manslaughter. The most recent missing case involves eighteen year-old (Y/N) (Y/L/N) who was abducted during a shooting between The Cult and the GCPD. She was not found in this location, but her belongings and DNA have been found discarded in one of the many rooms that suggest torture or even sacrificial events-”
Tim paused the T.V. and looked at the gory scene.. Blood was littered across the walls, floor, and the tools that were scattered on a metal table. Your phone, bag and some pieces of ripped clothing were displayed either broken, bloodstained, or torn apart. The gruesome scene made Tim feel uneasy, but he couldn’t let that distract him from forming a plan to save all of the victims and put an end to this organization. He glanced over to the picture that was placed at the top left corner of the T.V. Your smile was carefree and there wasn’t an ounce of worry on your face. Your (H/L) (H/C) hair glowed in the sunlight and your eyes had that spark of hope and mischief that was hard to come by in Gotham. His blue eyes went over and over the scene before finally concluding that there was nothing useful for the case. He dragged his fingers through his hair and resumed the news.
“-occurred. DNA from other missing persons have been linked to the DNA found in the other rooms. The friends and family members of the missing persons urge you to call if you obtain any information regarding their location, condition, or any other related news. You can find the list of missing persons on our website and any other information regarding when they were last seen. This is Vicki Vale signing off at the recent crime scene of The Cult.”
Tim paused the T.V. once again and rewound it until he could clearly see what caught his attention: you. You were walking in the background, appearing as if you just came through one of the walls of the buildings near the crime scene. There was no blood or injuries apparent, but you seemed pale and has a scared and confused expression on your face. Tim bolted out of his chair and ran towards the entrance to the Bat Cave. His bare feet were heard echoing throughout the cave until he reached his suit. He put it on as fast as he could and grabbed his bo staff and other equipment he may need. When all the necessities were packed, he made his way to the crime scene where apparently everyone was blind.
You walked aimlessly around the streets for what seems like hours. You couldn’t remember what had caused you to walk around at night, especially in Gotham, but you felt like you were being pulled by something. Many of the crooks and thieves you passed by had no reaction to your presence, but some pulled their jackets closer, attempting to keep warm in the cold night. The clothing you wore surprisingly kept you at the perfect temperature despite the cheap and flimsy material. You continued to walk around until you heard a voice echoing throughout the empty alley.
You stopped and looked around for the source of the voice until a silent ‘thud’ could be heard behind you. You turned around and saw Red Robin walking towards you. He raised his hand but stopped when he noticed you flinch.
“Are you alright? I came to ask you about your kidnapping and how you were able to escape.”
Your eyes widened. The memories of being tortured and the pain surfaced, revealing what happened to you over the last few days.
“No,” you whispered, “no, no, no, no, no.”
“Calm down, (Y/N). You’re safe, I didn’t mean to pry,” Tim reassured while taking cautious steps towards your shaking figure.
You shook your head and backed away from the hero. He frowned and did not move. He knew your mental health was not at a good point, so he stopped the questions. You continued to back up until you hit the brick wall, causing a brick to sink into the wall. Soon, the bricks broke apart and slid across the alley floor. A door with an odd symbol carved into it was revealed when the bricks stopped moving. Tim’s eyes widened at the sight and immediately reached to his comm.
“Batman, I have found The Cult’s base. I’m sending you my coordinates now.”
When his eyes wandered back to you, you were gone. He swore under his breath and reached for his comm once again.
“The victim who led me here went in. I’m going in, what’s your eta?”
“About ten minutes, but it may be sooner. Be careful,” Bruce responded.
“Aren’t I always?”
You walked down the dark corridor, giving into the pull that brought you here in the first place. Voices could be heard, but you couldn’t understand the language. You continued to follow the voices until you reached a balcony. The sight wasn’t beautiful or peaceful as you would expect it to be, it was horrifying. Bodies were resting on tables that were spread out in the huge stone room. None of their chests were rising, not even a single twitch. You looked around and saw what you feared the most: your body was with them. Your face was covered in dirt and blood and your hair lost its vibrant color. Your eyes were empty and fading. You choked down a sob when you looked at your injuries. There were sigils carved into your arms, torso, and legs. The dried blood from the wounds was the only thing covering your corpse. The other corpses did not have these markings, so why did yours? You observed the members taking your body down one of the other corridors. You jumped off the balcony and landed silently without a single injury. You knew that because you were dead, so why would you get hurt? You followed them until you reached a room with a faint green glow illuminating the walls. You walked into the room and saw what looked like a glowing green pool. One of the members stepped into the pool and pushed your body into the green liquid. You watched as it sunk until it faded away, sinking to the bottom. Your breathing started to rapidly increase and an excruciating pain began to travel through your body. Your screams filled the eery silence in the room, but no one could hear. You continued to scream until the world around you started to fade and collapse.
You had to lose her, Tim scolded himself, and now you’re searching through a humongous building where there could be a huge amount of Cult members. He slinked through the corridor until he reached a balcony that provided a gruesome sight. He counted all of the bodies and concluded that every missing person was here except you. He was about to grapple to the East side of the room when screams erupted from the corridor to the West. He shot his grappling gun to the ceiling and swung to the opening. Once he landed, he ran and followed the screams until he reached a door where he believed that the screams were originating from. He kicked the door open and was met with six very angry Cult members.
You felt like you were floating. The weightless feeling was all that you felt, but then the agonizing pain returned. You once again screamed, but you only made the pain worse. A foul tasting liquid entered your mouth and made your lungs burn. Your limbs screamed as you tried to swim to the surface. You opened your eyes but that made everything worse. When you were able to breathe again, your lungs burned. Your screams once again filled the room and caught the attention of everyone, including the Cult members and Red Robin. One of the more burly members grabbed the distracted hero by the neck and slammed him into the ground. The other five members seized you and covered you in one of the spare robes. They kept murmuring the language you couldn’t understand and carried you out of the room.
“Put her down now! I won’t ask you again,” a deep voice growled.
The five members stopped and looked behind them. Batman, Robin and a battered Red Robin. Three of them handed you to the last two robed Cultists. The three heroes immediately charged their three opponents and took them out without hesitation. While they were fighting, the two that held you carried you to another door. When they were only a few feet away, they were stopped by receiving a bo staff to the face. Now only one Cultist was holding you. Tim advanced but stopped when the man put a knife to your throat.
“Please put the knife down and hand her over,” Tim ordered.
A faint smirk crawled onto the man’s face as he raised the knife, but it soon disappeared when the knife was hit out of his hand. He glanced to his left and saw Batman and Robin brooding in the darkness. He clutched his wrist and shoved you away from him.
“I got him, Father,” Robin declared before chasing down the last assailant.
You would have expected to hit the ground by now, but all you made contact with was a pair of arms. You felt like you were going to puke and pass out at the same time. Your head was pounding and your skin was burning. Why did it hurt so bad? Through your dizziness, you could see mouths moving, but couldn’t hear anything over your throbbing ears. You felt the arms shift and pull you off of the ground. Your limbs swayed and lulled you to sleep, where the last few days of torture will torment you until you wake.
Tim continued to pace in the Bat Cave until Alfred returned from the room you were resting in. Bruce had called Jason over and told him of the situation, hoping that he could talk to you about the trauma the Pit inflicted on you. What Tim couldn’t grasp was how you managed to contact him. He went over the street cameras the time he found you and you weren’t there. It looked like he was talking to himself, but he knew that he saw you and you were the one who led him to The Cult’s base. What did The Cult do to you?
I’ve never felt more at peace than when I was above the clouds.
For once the stress slid right off my shoulders and evaporated into the sky,
Becoming nothing but vapor.
I was floating.
I was weightless.
My soul was soaring,
and my hopes were high.
As I head into the vast unknown.
My soul was at peace.
It finally escaped the cage of ribs,
Which had made my feathers oh so ridged.