in that moment with only five of them

Imagine Flug as the type of gamer who rage quits in games like Mario Kart 8.

Black Hat and Demencia are the lil’ shits that enjoy them, mainly because it’s one of those rare moments they get to make the doctor truly mad. And make him curse like a sailor.

Flug: *is first on the final lap**only has coins and a banana*

Demencia: *has six red shells**throws all of them*

Flug: Oh geez THANKS Demencia. I absolutely LOVE getting fucked in the ass with- HOW THE FUCK DO YOU HAVE SIX FUCKING RED SHELLS??!!!

Demencia: Pfffffffhahahaha! git rekt.

Black Hat: *throws blue shell**was already locked on Flug before Demencia took first* 

Flug: *is instantly thrown to last place at the end of the race*

Flug: *smashes anything within a five foot radius*

Black Hat and Demencia: *currently on the floor laughing their asses off*

Flug: FUCK THIS! I’d rather slave myself to death in the lab than deal with this fuckin’ bullshit! *leaves*

Demencia: *sings while in tears* Baby come back~

Flug: *in a distance* FUCK YOU.

2

Victuuri Week Day 3: Goblin AU

in which Viktor is this 937-year-old goblin who’s looking for his bride and Yuuri is fated to his bride and can see ghosts:


It was the strangest kind of attraction.

Even Yuuri, with his rather dull intuitive perception, had been very much cognizant – at that precise moment of meeting the stranger’s gaze – of the sudden electrifying chemistry between them, transpiring ever so briefly yet imparting a long-lasting effect on his consciousness.

It felt to him as though the world around him was so abruptly thrust into an eternity of quietude, blurred by the hollowness of nonexistence, except for the figure of the man who captivated his undiluted attention, a defined entity against the illegible backdrop, like a distinctive gleam of light in a vacuum of disorienting darkness.

Keep reading

“I grew up in a rural town. I was the only girl in the family. Being a girl back then represented a lot of ‘no’s.’ I wanted to study English, the answer was ‘no.’ I wanted to play guitar, the answer was ‘no.’ I wanted to date a boy, the answer was ‘no.’ I felt like there was a barrier separating me from life. The only thing my family wanted for me was to graduate high school, get married, become a teacher, and spend every Sunday with them. So I stayed. And I got pregnant at twenty-five. But my child died during birth. I felt completely drowned. I don’t even remember the passing of time. I lost an entire year of my life. But I eventually reached a moment where I knew that my only chance was to make a major change. And I finally left that town.”

(Rosario, Argentina)

Okay, but listen, I’ve been thinking about this and I’m pretty sure that only a small part of the Justice League knows that Bruce is Batman and obviously, most of the rogues gallery is in the dark as well–but Selina is another story. Like, she has a record, compared to Bruce LOTS more people KNOW she’s Catwoman.

So basically, if she agrees to marry Bruce, any romantic relationship she has with Batman is out the window when they’re out and about. Like, strictly professional when they’re around other people.

I can see the hilarity that would come out of it.

Like, imagine 99% of the Rogues gallery tracking him down after “The Future Mrs. Wayne?” gets slapped all across the tabloids. And at first, Bruce is like, shit…wtf? Because night after night he’s got Harvey and Jervis and Fries hunting him down.

But instead of trying to kill him they’re all, “We’re really sorry about this whole Bruce Wayne thing. We were really rooting for you and Selina.” 

The only ones that don’t come to congratulate him are Ivy and Harley (and possibly Eddie since last I checked he DID know Bruce’s identity), because they’re busy tracking Selina down and being all, “Well, good for you. You finally ditched the Bat. He was never any good for you anyways.” 

(She laughs so hard when she finally gets away from them, she can barely breathe, let alone talk, and Bruce spends like ten minutes convinced that Harley dosed her with Joker gas before she can finally get the whole story out.)

And then there’s the Justice League and, of course, the members that know Bruce congratulate him (though most of them are confused as to how this happened). 

But there are the ones that only know Batman and they’re whispering behind his back about how sad it is, because they know Batman has a thing for Catwoman, but he’s too emotionally constipated to act on those feelings.

 And then, she comes in for a mission (because they need her to steal something obs) and there’s no denying (even though they do a remarkable job of toning it down) that there’s still something between them. And, Bruce, being Bruce, does something stupidly heroic and almost gets himself killed, which naturally gets a reaction from Selina. 

So you end up with, I dunno, Hal (I have no idea who in the JLA actually knows Bruce’s secret identity and who doesn’t rn) approaching him later–probably as he’s ripping out IVs–and being all, “Listen, I know I’m the last person who should be giving anyone advice on romance…Hell, I don’t know why I’m even bothering it’s not like you’ll listen to me…or at all, but you know, I think Catwoman still has feelings for you and you should act on that before she gets married to that Wayne dude. I mean, I’d prefer Wayne over you, even if he is a flake, but I think she might only be with him because she’s given up on you.” 

I mean, they could even go as far as to have, someone not in the know catch them having a private moment and being all, “OMG, Selina does Bruce know you spend your nights making out with Batman?” and at this point, Bruce is like five minutes away from deciding that keeping his identity secret is NOT worth this headache. 

But Selina just looks whoever it is in the eye and calmly says, “Sometimes he joins us.” 

And Bruce has to excuse himself, because Batman does NOT laugh, but oh boy, does he love his wife. 

(Even better, if it’s someone who’s friend with Nightwing, so the next time they see him, they ask if he knew that his mentor is part of a threesome with Bruce Wayne and Catwoman. You KNOW, Dick would piss himself laughing.)

10 Things I love about Expiration Date

#1.

This face. 

Legend says it only happens within a millisecond, but once you see it, it’s chilling. Like if this screenshot doesn’t describe the personality of Medic idk what else would, guys. Dude is so ready to scare the entire shit outta Scout. You can see it in his cold blue eyes. That boogeyman smirk. His evil (yet groomed) eyebrows. Y’all, this man holds so much unadulterated glee at witnessing the pain and suffering of others, so much madne–

–aaaand he’s back. Everything’s cool. Hey doc what the hell is that?

“TUMORS!” :Dc

k then

#2.

So originally I took this screenshot bc of Spy’s eyebrow and Heavy’s annoyed expression of being awoken from his slumber….

but then I proceeded to laugh my ass off bc I also happened to capture Sniper staring off into space while contemplating his existence in this universe.

(I’m sure this is a common occurrence with him. He’s probably the type of dude that wonders if pigeons have feelings.)

#3.

Still in the same room, only this time Spy has been gravely insulted by the Scoot.

But look at the others. They don’t seem too exasperated with Scout and his doodles of Spy. Maybe it’s because they also think this meeting is dumb, maybe it’s because they actually knew Scout was going to pull this prank, or maybe it’s because they too think The Eiffel Tower Having Sexual Congress With Spy is a hilarious joke.

Either way, it’s nice to see the other mercs genuinely smiling at Scout and his shenanigans. It’s better than the common fandom theme where Scout is The Worst and Everybody Hates Him.

No, the other old dudes know how to kid around too (even though it’s still at the Spy’s expense, oops)

Of course, whether the Pyro is smiling at him too is something we’ll never know. Personally I think he’s just eyeing up that bucket. Imagine how different this whole video would have gone if Pyro took the bucket instead of Soldier. 

Probably not so different actually.

#4.

This goes to show that Medic is not just a sadistic doctor. He’s a sadistic doctor that cares about his friends and smiles at them when he passes by.

It’s like when you’re walking down the hallway to class and you see your friend going to their class and you smile and nod to acknowledge their existence. It’s such a nice thing, and of all ppl Medic was the one who did that.

“Interesting.”


#5.

If there was a looping video of just Demoman and Sniper playing their instruments of choice I would pay to watch it forever. Also, how did they get there? Did Spy just yell “hey assholes who wants to help me create a romantic dinner mood so I can teach Scout how to talk to a girl” and Demo and Snipes were like “ok m8 no problem B)”

I know we’re already used to the fact that these boys are mad talented, but I still love the fact that their instruments aren’t what you would stereotype them to play based on their personality. 

The dude that’s paid to blow shit up can probably play Beethoven, and the Loner Guy that lives in a camper van probably knows the tune of Careless Whisper by heart. 

I love that.

#6.

Once again I take a screenshot in order to capture the character in the middle, only to lose my shit at the person standing at the far left.

Look at Medic’s face. Yes, I get it, in context this is a ridiculous situation. I mean the last line said before that was “I have done nothing but teleport bread for three days”. This is almost Saturday cartoon material here.

But still, look at his fucking face. I just…

MEIN FUCKING GOTT VHAT HAVE YOU DONE YOU FUCK

#7.

Speaking of horrified reactions. 

Thank goodness I know what the context is in this clip because otherwise I would have assumed someone died, or Armageddon had arrived, or something else completely unimaginable happened and there’s nothing that can be done at all, ever.

But no, it’s just a mutant tentacle monster. And this is right before Heavy asks Medic to ubercharge him, because he’s metal af.

All jokes aside, though, the reason why I am putting so much emphasis on these little miliseconds of expression is because these characters are 3D animated, and a team of people sat in front of a computer rigging these facial features to move this way. Even though these moments happen for only a second, they are still very telling when you look at them up close.

Besides, Heavy doesn’t make this face very often (as far as we’ve seen) and it’s something worth remembering (amirite, Comic #6??)

#8.

Ok, lemme tell you guys a thing:

If I was fighting a giant-tentacle-whole-wheat-bread-monster and it hoisted my ass several feet into the air, only to fling me back to mother earth with all of it’s strength, I would stay on my fucking back for like five minutes trying to get breath back into my lungs and wondering why tf I even bothered to fight anyway.

THIS DUDE get’s knocked on his ass, arms and legs akimbo and everything, get’s back up mid-fucking-tumble while reaching for his blade, and charges back into the fight like nothing ever happened. 

Seriously, it’s one swift motion, like a damn nature show. You could watch the video again but you’d have to make sure not to blink because it happens so fast.

 And the amazing thing is that all the mercs (and Pauling too) have this insane ability of getting fucked, getting even more fucked, getting back up, and then getting back into the shitstorm with no hesitation. 

Then again, what’s what the Gravel Wars basically are right?

Shit, Administrator was right, these dudes are straight up Plutonium.


#9.

“Good news! We’re not dying! We are going to live FOREVER!”

Oh that Soldier, always giving a laugh. Honestly, though, the reason why I saved this was because I didn’t realize for a long time that the reason why he was able to jump in on the conversation was because he was eaten by the bread monster.

It makes sense, because last time we saw him he was being dragged while screaming something about teleporting bread. He was probably just laying there in the monster’s throat, getting ready to use a grenade, when suddenly boom went the bomb and he received visitors. All this time I never put two and two together that he was stuck inside the bread monster before Pauling and Scout made it cool. Shame on me. That’s definitely a Soldier thing to do.

(Also, you wanna know what a bread monster and Soldier have in common? They both have a talent of cockblocking Scout.)

#10.

And the final one.

There’s nothing like a family portrait. If the video froze at this point with credits I would have expected to hear a 90′s family sitcom jingle.

What a video.

Day One Hundred and Thirty-Six

-My girlfriend and I opened the store as the only cashiers, tag-teaming to perfection. She ran a lane with her superior “I Am Totally Awake And Ready To Be Here” face, while I handled the nitty gritty opening chores. Together, we easily conquered what would have alone been a devastating shift. There is nobody I would rather fall asleep at the register with.

-A man insisted on stowing his items within a set of drawers he had purchased. The fact that he had more items than he did storage space seemed an inconvenience, but I chose not to say anything, sure he would quickly notice. As I rang up my next guest five minutes later, I looked back, and wished I had said something earlier.

-A woman who was either in her teens or her forties spent her transaction making an impassioned case for the comedic value of Boss Baby. I always admire someone willing to stand for what they believe in, but I wholeheartedly admonish her choices in life that led to this point.

-Handing me a crumpled bag she decided she no longer wanted, a woman was devastated to hear me say it would be recycled. She declared this wasteful and very nearly took it back for her own purposes. I wish dearly that she had committed to this, as I am desperate to know the fate greater than recycling she feels this bag deserves.

-“I’ve never been carded at Target,” a thirty year-old woman said, as I did just that. I thought nothing of it at first, but after looking at her wizened and worried face, I became concerned that I had blown her cover entirely. What that cover was, I am unsure, but blowing it seems to have been the worst outcome this transaction could have had.

-I came across a basket full of fidget spinners in emblazoned with varying designs. The Superman spinners, the Justice League spinners, and even the plain label spinners, however, were all marked solely with the Superman emblem. I know not how he has risen the ranks to become the default design of fidget toys. That being said, I do believe this is how the plot of Injustice got rolling, so I know now to prepare for the uprising.

-When asked how he was today, a man told me that he was doing great, but he hoped to get over that soon. As a longtime mental roommate of chronic depression, I am ready and willing to get Freaky Friday with this man, giving us both just what we want.

-After her purchase, a woman declared that her cart should be shot. I have no other context, but I do trust her judgement, and I now shall carry out her sentence on my break.

-A mother coached her inexplicably green-faced children to hide their unwanted toys behind the candy shelves rather than hand them to me. I believe them to be the most notorious crime family in southwest Virginia. As they left, one of the boys offered me a high-five. I accepted the gesture, and with it, a membership in the Family. Please leave a comment below if you would like to hear my upcoming Mafia Crime Spreetales.

-I met an undercover time traveler who revealed herself as such through her “It’s Twenty Fourteen Time” sweatshirt which fell just short of subtle. I only hope she can make it back from this recon mission in time.

-Moments after I turned my lane’s light on, a woman approached my lane. She double-checked that I did not need more time to prepare for guests, then, after I said I was ready, she triple-checked, just to be sure. This level of consideration is nigh unrivaled in my experience, and I appreciated it greatly. Her purchase then rang up at barely half of what she expected, proving what I have always said about Cosmic Cashier Karma to be true and setting an example for all.

-I left my lane for twenty minutes to complete a training in the back of the store. Upon my return, I found my register covered from its proverbial head to its proverbial toes in deep purple fingerprints. I will spend the rest of my days working to uncover what I have missed, and how it went so very, very awry.

-Today, I noticed that I have many more Retales than an average shift. More things have seemed spectacular to me, more things have seemed thrilling, more things good and pure and joyful. The reason for this is simple enough: my partner in all things stationed by my side. This makes sense, as my girlfriend has long been my inspiration and the reason I am so prone to looking on the bright side. I hope to have more days like today, and as long as I have her, I know this hope will be fulfilled.

The Signs As Monsters
  • Aries: Fast and deadly. They blend into the forest. Will kill you without making a sound. You won't see them until it's too late.
  • Taurus: Eyes like steel. Spikes stick out from their shoulders. They have a growl that makes your bones vibrate. You hear it before you see it.
  • Gemini: Red eyes and black feathers. They come come down from the sky in flocks and carry victims away in their claws. They hunt at twilight.
  • Cancer: They look like beautiful people, but their nails are too sharp and their hair is long and wild. They lure people to their deaths with their attractiveness and sweet voices.
  • Leo: Giant beasts that tower over the trees. Bright scales and rows of teeth. They have a ferocious roar that shakes the ground. They enjoy stepping on people but are careful to not hurt other monsters.
  • Virgo: Small but clever. With large violet eyes and grey fur. They will snuggle into your arms and then scratch and slice you with their claws. They always win.
  • Libra: Slithers in trees with glistening scales. They strangle passing humans and eat them whole.
  • Scorpio: Very very fast. You only see a passing shadow. If you feel a sharp pinch then you're already doomed. It only takes a few moments for the poison to set in.
  • Sagittarius: Bright eyes and gorgeous teeth. They float behind you and sing lullabies in a strange language until you fall asleep. You'll never wake up.
  • Capricorn: They decorate the forest with exotic flowers and grow vines from their tail. It will come at you from behind as you admire their work.
  • Aquarius: They look like humans with extra limbs. Too many arms and legs. Five eyes and no nose. Yet they move beautifully and aren't actually dangerous. People just fear them because they do not understand them.
  • Pisces: They move in packs and hiss at the moon. They have bright blue eyes and silver fur. They come at you from all directions.
;playing with fire (m)

pairing jeon jungkook x reader, college! jungkook
genre/warnings smut, explicit sexual descriptions, exhibitionist themes, slightly-sub! jungkook, switch themes, oral sex, face sitting
words 8,460

 :: summary jungkook seems to have a little crush on you, and no matter how much you try to ignore it, you seem to be losing your resolve with each passing day…

Keep reading

it gets harder to talk about but it gets easier to hold it in. to sit up prettier, to shut up louder, to pretend i don’t want you when all i want is to give in, to hold back the tears at the bar and release them once i get into my own bed, to pretend i want to exist. i want to exist. i want to exist. if i say it enough times, even i believe it. but suddenly, i’m a couple drinks in and i remember how unhappy i really am and everybody’s having fun around me but i can’t breathe anymore and my friend tells me i’m a wimp for never expressing my anger when the second i express it, there is always someone there to invalidate it. it’s getting easier to call myself crazy as an excuse for feeling, as if i’m not allowed to feel, as if this pressure build-up in my head is nothing but unequal brain chemistry, and everybody is so easy to brush off my emotions as being a product of mental illness instead of re-evaluating their own actions and wondering how in the world they could have made me feel this way.

so yeah, to say i’m mad is an understatement. to say i’m mad would even be lying. because it goes deeper than this feeling i experience once in a while, the real truth is that i’m sad and that sadness runs deep. i’m hurt. i feel like nobody even cares if they hurt me and the second i even suspect i am offending a stranger, i say sorry. but people run from me instead of apologize because their pride is more important than my feelings and it’s always been that way. i fall in love with anyone who shows me affection and people think it’s weird but when you’ve been deprived for so long from people who will listen, i don’t know, it’s hard. it’s still hard to believe that the second i start spilling my emotions, people talk over me. nobody wants to be with the person who brings up serious conversations at parties. nobody wants to be there for the girl who is always sad. everyone wants to pretend it doesn’t exist. and the more they pretend, the more i realize i’m getting good at this.

so i try to shut up until i can’t. like this time last year, i was showing up to your house to scream at you because i spent so much time holding everything in. but last night, i sent you fifteen text messages and deleted every one before i pressed send and i know no one’s gonna be there to congratulate me but maybe i can start being proud of myself because i don’t know how else i’m going to make this inadequate feeling end. you know, maybe i just have to keep trying things until i find something that works, maybe i just have to fly through boys until i find someone who isn’t gonna leave, maybe i just have to realize that the only person i’m ever going to truly have is me and i should stop holding people to impossible standards because they’re never going to live up to them and i’m always going to end up disappointed. nobody’s ever gonna care the way i want them to. it’s like i’m impossible to please. but god, i don’t know - i just wish for one second, someone would be excited about something because i am. be sad about something because i am. make me feel like my feelings affect others in some way. like they mean something. i’m growing so tired of the blank stares they give me.

i don’t know. maybe i’ve always asked for too much but i can’t remember the last time someone told me they loved me and if we’re being honest here: it’s devastating. i’m sad. i feel like i have nobody left. everyone likes me at first because i am so outgoing - i say what i’m thinking - but they leave soon after they realize that i am too much to deal with and they don’t really want to hear what’s in my head. they turn away because my insecurities make them nervous and who wants to deal with the girl who asks you if you hate them every five seconds? you say you don’t hate me but your body language tells me everything. i know i’m getting annoying but i can’t stop so i keep repeating it: i want to exist. i want to exist. i want to exist.

they say you’ve gotta let people in but the more i let people in, the more i regret it. i’m tired of silencing myself but it’s like the moments i’m silent are the only moments i’m not ruining everything.

—  I WANT TO EXIST. I WANT TO EXIST. I WANT TO EXIST. I’M NOT REALLY SAD. REMEMBER THIS.

cinnamonrollbucky  asked:

TALK STARKQUILL TO ME I NEED

Their meeting was a little less meet-cute and a little more,,, meet-ugly sort of thing.


Mainly because they both read the situation very badly and ended up trying to kill one another. Completely accidentally, but.

Still.

And really, can you blame Tony? Their ship does crash-land in the middle of a crowded highway, and barely manages to avoid civilians. Then they pop out, and they’re armed to the teeth, looking pretty threatening and…well… alien.

People end up calling (what’s left of) the Avengers- which happens, at the time, to be Tony and Tony alone.

Except the Guardians crashed in Florida; when Tony got the call he was in New Orleans at a science convention, and the suit was still in New York.

But he went anyway. Suit or no suit, he had to try. He was the only line of defence now, after… everything.

So, armed with a sophisticated watch-gauntlet and a gun he always kept tucked in his jacket pocket, he takes the jet and leaves to try and stop them from potentially, y’know, annihilating the world or whatever.


Except things don’t really happen like that, in the end.


“Listen, what are the chances you’re gonna do as I say when I order you to drop your weapons and leave?” tony asks wearily, as he holds the gun at the biggest guy’s weirdly patterned face and the gauntlet at the woman holding the largest gun he’s ever seen in his life. He doesn’t even bat an eyelid toward the talking walking raccoon or… the tree…thing.

Just another day in the life, at this point.

Although it would be kinda embarrassing if he ends up getting murdered by the raccoon. What the damn hell would they put on his grave? Here lies Tony Stark- saved New York, but unable to protect himself from the dangers of the Mighty Raccoon?

As soon as he’d spoken, about 13 different weapons were pointed in his face. Which hardly made sense, considering there were five of them and they all only had two hands. But whatever.

“How’s about we ask you the same? Except more forcefully, considering we got all the guns,” the raccoon said.

Tony rolled his eyes. “Where the fuck would I go then, what with me being a human being who lives here? Just fling myself into the void of space? And yes, tempting as that might sound, I’ve been there done that. Not as appealing as I would have thought, to be honest.” 

The five stared at him in confusion for a moment, before what looked to be the only actual human stepped forward, head cocked. His eyes were bright and beard scruffy- Tony thought it suited him.

Tony also thought he should probably focus on the task at hand, and his ever-growing chances of imminent death, rather than how pretty his opponent was.

“You’re just a human, huh?” Hot Scruffy Man asked.

Tony raised an eyebrow, and then pointed the gun at him when he took another step. “What gave it away? The fact that I have the same composition and structure as every other human on the planet? The fact I look just like you, who is also a human?”

“Half human,”

“What was the other half, pure asshole?”

“Actually… kinda, yeah.” The Hot Scruffy Man paused, and then shrugged. “Daddy issues.”

Tony had a brief moment to wonder what the fuck he was doing before an involuntary snort of laughter had escaped out of him. “Yeah- rode that train before, buddy- still doesn’t explain why you’re on the planet I protect, waving your guns around at innocent people and causing millions of dollars worth in property damage.”

The team in front of him paused, and then the man looked back at the green lady, who just shrugged and put down her gun. “We were told there was an imminent threat to your planet. We were in the neighbourhood, so we thought we’d come save you.”

Tony stared at them, contemplating. “Where are your sources from?”

“The fine NovaCorps,” Massive Bulked Alien Dude spoke up.

Tony squinted, running a hand across his forehead. “Am I… supposed to know what that means?”

“Fancy space police,” Raccoon told him.

“You seen any apocalyptic aliens round here lately?” Hot scruffy Man asked him again, slightly confused now. 

Tony just sighed. “Nope. And if there were, I would handle them. You can go back…wherever you came from, guys, it’s fine, Earth is fine-“

“You? You’re gonna protect the Earth? With your fancy little handgun and hand-firey thing?” The Raccoon laughed, and Tony scowled.

Luckily, because he had been counting the seconds in his head since he’d called it, he knew he was about to do something really badass, and it wiped the scowl off his face, replacing it with a little smile as he stared at the stupid talking Raccoon. 

“No,” he said, shrugging as he heard the familiar whirring sound of metal moving at hundreds of miles an hour up ahead of him.

The aliens looked up, one of them pointing their gun at the source of noise, like it would do anything. But in the space of a few seconds, it had already reached its intended target, slowing down just enough to not vaporise his body and wrapping around him, every piece fitting in a way that made Tony want to give himself a round of applause.


“I’m gonna protect Earth with this,” he said, raising his two repulsors and loading them right in the Raccoon’s little face.


There was complete silence for a second, before Hot Scruffy Man made a noise that should really, for the sake of Tony’s sanity, be kept in the bedroom. “That was literally the coolest and most attractive thing I have ever seen ever. In my life.”

Tony couldn’t help himself; he smirked and cocked his head Hot scruffy Man. “Sweetie, I appreciate the sentiment, but you’re gonna have to keep it in your pants until we can sort this out.”

Green Lady sighed, and walked forward to smack Hot Scruffy Man around the back of the head. “You know what we talked about, Peter- no flirting with potential targets. It’s in bad form.”

“This guy certainly hasn’t got a bad form,” Hot Scruffy Man- Peter- nodded over to Tony and smirked.

Green Lady sighed, and then turned to Tony. “Listen. You want to protect your planet. We want to protect your planet. How about rather than pointing our weapons at one another, we try and… you know, do what we set out to do?”

Instantly, the smile slide off Tony’s face, not that any of them could tell behind the faceplate. “I work alone. Sorry. You’re gonna have to l-“


And that was when the world sort of exploded around them.


Without even thinking about it, Tony shot forward and wrapped his arms around the two closest to him- the Green Lady and Peter- rolling them to the ground and hoping that the rest of his team, especially the more flammable ones, were okay. Green Lady yelled at the sudden-ness of his approach, but Peter just sighed. “Here we go,” he muttered into Tony’s shoulder.

Tony was inclined to agree, there.




Half-way through the battle, Peter AKA Starlord AKA Galaxy’s Number One Asshole asked him out.

Tony looked at him for a good four seconds before he got tackled to the ground by… (Dracula? Dracker? He was having to learn the names on the go, and his mind was currently on other, more explosion-based things) the Massive Bulked Alien Dude.

“THAT IS VERY UNPROFFESSIONAL, PETER!” He yelled, before looking down at Tony. “Are you well? I thought you may have been hit with a paralytic beam of some sort.”

Tony nodded, and then sat up. “No paralytic. Just your team-mate.”

Massive Bulked Alien Dude nodded wisely. “He does tend to have that affect on people.”

“What? Endangering their goddamn lives on the field?”

Massive Bulked Alien Dude paused, and then shrugged as he rolled off Tony. “I was going to say rendering people speechless with his idiocy, but that too.”

“Hey, that’s not fair, I’m actually clever, Tony, I promise! Boyfriend material, right here!” Peter yelled across the battlefield, looking over to them and grinning as he shot an alien in the back of the head without even looking.

“You’re a god damn alien!” tony yelled back exasperatedly, trying to keep the smile off his face as he jumped high into the air and then landed on an unfortunate opponent.

“Yeah- think of all the new tricks I must know, then,” Peter countered, winking as he dived behind a car and then threw what must have been a fancy bomb over the bonnet.

Tony’s mind briefly short-circuited at that (Holy mother of God) astute observation- but he quickly regrouped and fired a repulsor at an alien attempting to sneak up behind Rocket. “I’m gonna need a few examples before I agree to anything, sweetie,” he replied.

Peter laughed and opened his mouth, but then the Tree hit him over the head. “Ow!” he complained, looking betrayed.

“I have enough issues dealing with one distracted team-member whilst in the middle of a battle, I will not be dealing with two! Cut the flirting out!” Gamora yelled, as Tony watched her utterly destroy two different aliens at once.

“She thinks we should be ‘professionals’ and ‘focus on the mission’ when we’re in battle,” Peter said grumpily, wiping a cut across his face and then shrugging. “I respectfully disagree.”

Tony had to cut the conversation short again in order to swoop up and laser his way into the main hull of the ship that loomed barely even twenty meters over the battlefield, but he still had the team in the comm that FRIDAY had patched him into. “So what about Monday? You sticking around until then?” He asked.

Rocket swore at them down the line, but Peter just laughed. “For you, baby, of course I am.”

“Good. I’ve got a meeting with… let’s call him an ex. Be nice to have an excuse to blow him off.”

Peter whistled, “Oooh, want me to sweep you off your feet and declare battle with him for hurting you? I’m always up for it.”

“Much as I would like to see that, he’s kind of peak physical perfection. Plus I’d rather just make out with you,” Tony admitted.

“That’s fair. I want to make out with me too.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Yep- welcome to the Guardians- we’re all assholes here. You’ll fit right in,” Peter told him.

“I am GROOT!” Came a rumbling voice that Tony could hear even off the comms, and he looked down in time to watch the tree grab Peter around the wait and haul him, flinging him up in to the sky with a yell.

It was a perfect throw, to be fair to Groot. Peter’s momentum cut out just as he was level with Tony, who grabbed his shoulders and lifted his faceplate, just for a second, in time for Peter to plant one on his mouth with a grin and a raised eyebrow, before he began falling again, right into Groot’s waiting arms.


Through the comm, Gamora just sighed. “Idiots. All of you.”

Borrowed Time

The series where Harry is mute

Part 1

Masterlist linked in bio


Y/n never went back home. Instead, she spends winter break in the confines of Harry’s apartment—wrapped up in between his bedsheets to keep warm.

The usually cold and brutal winter that always made their skin numb is now warm to them—skin always accompanied by one another’s and feeling more than ever before. And with the mix of never ending company and the feel of the music that always seems to be playing in his apartment, they couldn’t have asked for a better way to start off their relationship.

They never do anything extravagant—never do anything that could take time away from one another. It’s in their simplicity do they find a sense of comfort throughout the festive season. They feel happiest in their own little world—away from everything and everyone, just focusing on them being together without any distractions.

With being so consumed by one another, they’ve learned more about each other than ever before—spending most days watching their favorite movies and baking new recipes they found in Harry’s favorite Christmas cookbook and spending the nights cuddled up against one another as Y/n somehow finds new things to talk about.

Each day, they fall in love with each other all over again. It’s as if their hearts unravel and trap each other in—giving them no means of escape, but neither of them want to.

Whenever she spends the night at his apartment, Harry has to spend nearly an hour each morning just to fight her from getting out of bed. It’s become a routine, Harry having to pull her from the edge of the bed so that he can cradle her back in his arms while she giggles and mumbles some excuses he doesn’t have the energy to listen to.

He just really, really, really loves the feel of her first thing in the morning, especially when the brutal feel of the blistering winds finds its way to his apartment. She’s much warmer than usual and her eyes are brighter and always glistened against the sun. Her lips, too—they are always so much fuller somehow that even in his mild awareness, he finds himself kissing them before he finally lets her slip away from the comfort of the sheets.

But this morning—this morning is different.

After a Christmas night filled with passion and inexperienced intimacy, Harry really doesn’t want to let her go. He’d much rather feel her uncovered body up against his all morning—soaking each other up and holding one another until the sun sets into the night.

It just sounds so right, to keep each other near and close after giving each other their last bit of innocence. Everything they had to offer one another was taken and used to make them whole, so that’s how they should be—together and whole for as long as they possibly can.

But when Harry feels Y/n begin to stir her way out of his arms, he knows she has very different plans.

And he’s just not having it.

He whimpers in his slumbered state, pulling her back against his chest with eyes half-lidded and breathing still steady. He’s holding onto her like never before, refusing to feel her side of the bed empty. He needs her, her, her, anywhere and everywhere as long as it’s with him. And despite having every bit of her last night, he hasn’t gotten enough and he needs her more.

She giggles softly against his neck, gingerly kissing the exposed skin as her fingers run along his jaw. She can already feel him falling back asleep from her touch, a content sigh leaving his lips at their closeness.

“Love, I gotta get up. Y’know me, can’t stay in bed once I’m awake.”

He groans as he shakes his head, somehow filling up the smallest of empty spaces between them and tucking his head into her shoulder. His nose is right up against her skin and he can smell her usual scent—vanilla and lavender from her usual body wash but much more filthy than usual.

She giggles again when she feels his bottom lip poke at her shoulder, her fingers reaching to his hair as she combs through it.

“Oh, none of that, H.” She tisks, thumbing the very exaggerated pout on his lips. “I’ll be right downstairs, won’t be going anywhere far.”

He rolls his body off of her, his back hitting against the mattress with a whine. His eyes remain closed but there’s a very noticeable furrow between his brows, and Y/n begins to wonder what he’s so worried about.

She frowns down at him, observing the rise of his goosebumps from the morning cold on his bare chest. It looks empty and lifeless without her head upon it, and though his body is no stranger to her, there’s something about it that seems much more inviting and she yearns to keep it closer than ever.

And she gets it—she gets his exaggerated whining and the worry in his eyes. After everything that happened to them the night before, he can’t leave her—he can't—and that’s exactly what she’s doing to him, even if it’s only a floor away.

Almost as if to reassure him, she goes with the feel of her heart and decides to spend the next couple hours of the freezing morning right beside him.


Harry loves watching Y/n in her most natural hours.

Her chest and elbows are leaning against the surface of the kitchen counter, one hand holding a mug of coffee while the other flips the pages of her favorite poetry book. Her upper body is clad with Harry’s favorite sweatshirt—ending right at the end of her underwear—leaving her legs exposed and on full display for all of Harry to see.

Despite her hair fully knotted and having an overall disheveled look to her, Harry decides that she looks best this way—in a way nobody other than him has gotten the chance to see—as if she was made for his eyes only.

And he has never seen such a beautiful sight in his life as she looks at him with the softest and most delicate of eyes, a small smile resting on her lips at his presence. Every bit of her looks inviting—like a place of comfort Harry could forever shield himself in.

She’s become so much more than his girlfriend—so much more than someone to call his own—she’s become his muse and his home, his haven and everything in between.

“You always look at me with longing even when I’m right here with you.”

He blinks at her, watching as her cheeks flush with pink under the watch of his amused eyes, loving how easily tranced he becomes in her.

She’s never been confident in herself. Ever since she was a little girl, she used her friendliness to somehow distract people from what she truly felt on the inside. She never truly touched base with her insecurities and never wanted to, so she always found ways to push the most damaging thoughts in the back of her head.

But Harry changed everything. He made her feel beautiful and loved in every way possible, she almost doesn’t understand how he could have so much of that love in him—especially for her. From the way he holds her all throughout the night to the small kisses and gestures whenever he has the chance, she feels it everywhere and she almost feels it in herself.

His sheepish smile confirms her statement, knowing fully that there will never be a moment he doesn’t want her, no matter where she is.

He walks slowly over to her, the smile never fading from his lips and the blush creeping back to Y/n’s cheeks as she turns her body to stretch her arms out at him. It’s the smallest moments like this that make them grateful for the kind of love they share—together.

He presses his lips to hers tenderly when he feels her fingers run across his stomach, his own fingers pushing the material of his sweatshirt up towards her breasts so that he can brush against the swell of them.

“Beautiful.” He whispers, quickly returning back to her lips as they softly release a whimper from the detachment.

She tastes so good—a mix of bitter and sweet from her coffee, leaving his mouth wanting more and more with each passing second. And what was supposed to be innocent turned to lust before they knew it—their movements much more haste and impatient.

In the midst of their desperation, Harry pushes her hips further against the edge of the counter, fingers digging into her skin as his mouth parts open with hers. They both moan into one another, completely consumed by the feeling of their relentless hands and feverish kisses.

Her hands are against his stomach, rubbing along his torso when he hitches her legs around his waist, leaving Harry in control of whatever it is that’s unfolding. Her squeal turns into a moan when his hips collide with hers, the friction making her head spin and body yearn for more.

He feels her hands creep toward the waistband of his sweatpants while his hands bundle up the sweatshirt over her breasts so that they’re fully exposed to him—revealing the most delicate parts of her.

And right as his lips attach to the valley of them, the ringing of the telephone breaks them from their moment.

“H—Harry, the phone.” Y/n gasps.

But he shows no sign of stopping when his teeth sink into an already bruised hickie from the night before, leaving her with shaking fingers between his hair and withering from the soreness. And he really can’t stop, because she feels like no other and she’s so addicting in every way possible. He wants her all to himself.

The answering machine almost dissolves into pure background noise for the both of them, too caught up in the moment.

“Hi, Harry, it’s your mum.”

Only five words and Harry feels the air being knocked right out of his lungs—seizing all his movements and thoughts as Y/n is left completely confused and panting upon the kitchen counter.

"I know it’s been a while and a lot has ended quite messy, but your father does miss you and well—we all miss you, Harry. We would really love for you to come over for dinner tonight as a late Christmas celebration. You don’t have to, but we’ll have an extra seat for you. And—uh—I love you so much. I wish you the best. Please call me soon.”

It’s as if the world around him is spinning faster than ever before—his brain overwhelmed with scrambled thoughts and ears ringing from the anxiety.

There would have been nothing to prepare him for this moment. He never thought he’d ever see his father again—much less be invited back over to his house after everything that’s happened. It’s been so long, he genuinely thought it was over—he thought all of the pain and fear was over, but his biggest nightmare is coming to life and he feels sick to his stomach.

His father is why he’s like this—mute and anxious in social situations. If his dad hadn’t repeatedly torn him down for never being good enough—hadn’t made him believe nobody would ever talk to a little shy boy—he would have probably gained the confidence to speak the more he matured.

But because his father shunned him for being shy and never making any friends, Harry was terrified of what people would think of him if he ever did make friends. Because if his own father didn’t love him, how could anybody else?

Y/n notices the tears in his eyes and his shallow breathing, which she’s quick to mend when her hands reach up to his cheeks. They’re hot and flushed, but all for the wrong reasons.

She frowns, lips peppering small kisses along his face in an attempt to bring him back to her. She doesn’t know much—or really anything—about Harry’s family life; all she knows is that she has never seen a picture of them in his house or any validation that he ever truly had one.

But as she catches the glimpse of fear in his eyes and the small quivering of his lips, he knows very well that there must have been something that went wrong. And even if she doesn’t know what it is that he went through, she knows that if he decides to do this or not, she’ll be right there with him.

“You’re scared.” She whispers, thumbs rubbing against his cheeks softly. “What is it you’re afraid of, baby? Talk to me, please.”

He squeezes his eyes shut, his lips pursing together as loose tears fall from his eyes.

He’s never talked about his family problems and because all of this has happened so quickly, his words get trapped in his throat. To genuinely talk about his family and come to terms with his emotions seems all too much for him, especially when it’s hard for him to speak in the first place.

Y/n clicks her tongue while shaking her head softly, wrapping her around his neck as he nests his cheek into her shoulder. His muscles instantly relax in her arms and has a sense of clarity in her comfort, but there’s still an undeniable thumping in his chest that just can’t seem to go away.

“You don’t have to talk about this, love, but maybe this will be good for you. You know, to test the waters with your family. Maybe this could help you in the long run.”

And he wants to believe her—he really, really fucking wants to believe her—but he knows he can’t. Anywhere in his father’s path is detrimental to Harry’s social anxiety and he knows it’ll only make this worse for him in the long run.

“Y/n.” Harry groans, detaching her arms from his neck so that he can stand properly. His teeth are grit and eyes are distant—looking anywhere but her own and he swallows thickly around his words. “There’s a reason I don’t talk to anybody.”

His words are cracked and desperate—like a plea for Y/n to understand that this is different, that there will never be a day he’ll be able to face his problems. There have been too many times he’s found his way back and he always walks away with a damaged heart.

Y/n watches the way his fingers fiddle around one another and how he can’t stand still, it’s like watching the battle in Harry’s head and watching him fall apart from it.

And no matter how much she loves him now—the way he is now, even without much speaking—she doesn’t want to watch him suffer for the rest of his life. He’s the most undeserving man, he deserves the world and she knows he does.

His heart is nothing but pure and damaged—in need of mending and love. It’s the best part of him, really. It’s what brought them together and she feels the need to protect it at all costs.

He doesn’t feel it, though. He doesn’t feel what his heart has to offer and doesn’t see how it makes him so strong. He only sees himself as a ruin—a lost cause with nothing left to fight for, and he doesn’t deserve it. After what he’s been through, she needs him to understand that he is so much more than he thinks he is.

Because he is—he really is—no matter what he believes.

She holds his head in her hands to distract him from his consuming thoughts. His eyes shift in her gaze as he lets out a small breath.

“I just think it’ll be best to try again. I know—I see how hard it is for you to live the way that you do and I want to be here for you through everything. Things could be different this time—things could actually end well and you might be able to push through this. Because I know you, Harry, more than anybody else right now and I know you can push through this.”

She presses her forehead against his with a sigh leaving her lips, her thumbs running along his knuckles.

“And if there is any point you feel uncomfortable or upset, we can walk right out and leave. Just know that I will be there for you no matter what, okay? Just asking for you to try.”

It’s because she sounds so sure of herself that Harry actually agrees to go to the dinner. He knows that if it were a matter of him going alone, he would never even consider it. But knowing she is going to be right by his side—holding his hand through it all—maybe he doesn’t have to be so scared.

Maybe, it’ll actually be different this time.


It’s not different.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, it’s really not any different than he expected it to be.

Upon their arrival, Harry’s mum and sister nearly fainted from seeing him at the front door. They thought their invitation would go dismissed, like the way Harry’s ignored them for the past three years. But looking at him for the first time in what felt like forever, they were nothing short of thrilled.

And to make it even better, he brought a girl. Harry was holding her hand tightly, keeping her tucked right into his side so that he could feel her with every step he took.

Anne and Gemma swore they had never seen something so heartwarming in their life—to the point where tears sprung from their eyes and arms flinging around their bodies. Y/n didn’t even have to introduce herself properly for them to love and approve of her, anybody who gets Harry to open up—in any way possible—is enough for them.

He was calm when it was just the four of them, Harry watching Y/n hit it off with his family so effortlessly. He noticed the fondness in all their eyes and this was how he wanted it to be forever.

But once they sat down for dinner, Harry knew something was about to happen.

His father didn’t acknowledge neither him nor Y/n in the slightest. Instead, he acted as if they weren’t there and only carried conversations with the rest of his family. And Harry wasn’t sure if he preferred it that way or not—wasn’t sure if he’d rather have his father at least notice him and hate him or have his father neglect him.

Y/n was trying to make the best out of the situation and he could tell. She found her way to the conversations even if his father didn’t respond to her, and still remained her perky self while doing so. She seemed unfazed through it all, almost like she didn’t feel the overwhelming amount of tension that surrounded the room.

She does it for him, though. She knew that if she showed just how uncomfortable his father was making her—he’d never be able to survive this dinner. She had to play strong enough for his sake.

But now that dinner has passed by and all that’s left are empty plates of food and mindless mingling, Harry feels nothing short of uncomfortable and misplaced under his father’s glare. It’s as if he’s waiting for Harry to speak out in the conversation, or do much of anything to make his presence known.

Y/n can see the soft shaking of Harry’s head and can feel the sweat on his palms with each passing second—just waiting for the end of the night so that they can go home and be alone at last.

“You know, Y/n, I never thought Harry would have a girlfriend.”

It’s the first time tonight his father spoke to Y/n directly, making the conversation she was having with Gemma come to a pause as she looked over at him with confusion. There’s a small pout on her lips as she tilts her head in question, almost unsure as to what he was implying. He has no expression on his face, only a small scoff and disapproving look in his eyes.

“How so? He’s lovely, any girl would be very lucky to have him. I’m just happy it’s me who does.”

Her fingers squeeze his thigh under the tablecloth; as if to tell him that there’s nothing to worry about. If his father wants to try hard enough to get to Harry, he has to try to get through her, first.

His father grumbles, his eyes shifting away from hers. The tenseness is his body seems to lighten, though, when an almost sadistic laugh falls from his lips—finding whatever he’s thinking quite amusing and entertaining.

“Isn’t it disheartening? Doesn’t it get boring, to be with a little boy who can’t even get his mouth to open? You seem to be a very intelligent, mature lady—I can tell by the way you talk. Don’t you think it’s a man’s purpose to be with somebody like you?”

Harry squeezes his eyes shut, trying to silence the sudden voices in his head and focus on the feel of Y/n’s tightening hand.

All the childhood fights, all the times Harry had crawled underneath his bed during the night to get away from it all, and all the times Harry almost had the guts to speak up for himself only to be shut down from his father are all replaying in Harry’s head.

The anxiety creeps to his bones and in his muscles, straining him of all that’s left of his strength and leaving him with nothing but a shaking body and lack of control. Every part of him that felt alive before all of this is slowly dying at the seems—ready to be ripped out on his father’s account.

In any other situation, Y/n would have kept her mouth shut if it meant getting the support and approval of Harry’s family. But this—the way he’s talking about Harry as if he’s not right next to her, disrespecting him for something beyond his control is just not okay with her.

She’d rather stand up for the man she loves and believes in instead of watching him suffer in silence—the way his mum and sister are—with fear.

“Harry may not be a man of many words, but he’s the best thing I’ve got. There is so much more to him than his voice. There is so much more to him than you will ever know because you decided to be a shit father and give up on him without giving him a chance. He holds so much more potential than you could ever see, and that’s what’s wrong here. Harry’s not the problem, him being mute is not the problem, it’s you. Because why is it that everybody else can accept him and love him for who he is besides you?!”

The aftermath of her words silences everything around them. Nobody moves, nobody dares makes a sound besides their harsh breathing, because there could be something that makes either one of them snap and nobody wants to be the one to do so.

Y/n’s hands are in fists upon the table, eyes locked with his in fury and jaw so tight she almost doesn’t even look like herself. She’s turned into an entirely different woman with just the thought of Harry getting into harm’s way.

And although Harry really wants to show her appreciation for her words, he’s too panicked that he’s going to die from not being able to fucking breathe.

The silence is overwhelming, but Y/n is not giving up on him—on Harry. He had to live through this for far too long and she’s not allowing it anymore. He deserves better than this treatment—deserves better than to be looked down upon by somebody who’s supposed to be his provider.

“He’s the best thing you’ve got, yeah?”

His father is playing with his bottom lip, eyes narrowed and eyes in the same unpleasant manner as before. His voice is softer, though, more understanding than before and they both don’t know what to expect out of the conversation.

Y/n nods without hesitation, “He is.”

He watches as Y/n looks more determined and positive as ever, not a doubt or a trace of a lie in her features.

She means it—with her whole heart—she means it and she’ll never let anybody make her go back on her word. And she doesn’t have to say it twice, because Harry knows she’s genuine when she says it.

“You must have a very pathetic life, then.”

Harry’s eyes don’t move from their trance on the table—his body doesn’t make a move under his words. This is just how it always ends, and he just don’t know why he still fucking comes back here every goddamn time.

His throat is tight and his eyes are filled with tears. His skin is full of sweat and he swears his heart is beating much faster than it should. And even though he’s experienced this all before, knowing Y/n is being belittled by his father too makes it worse.

"We’re done here.” Y/n says sternly, grabbing ahold of Harry’s hand.

Y/n could have stood up for Harry much more, but she knew that if she started an even bigger brawl than what was already unfolding, Harry wouldn’t have been able to handle it.

He’s already drained of color and crying silently within his lost mind, and she’s absolutely terrified for his health.

She’s nearly dragging him out the door, Harry occasionally tripping over his own feet as he’s being drowned with the voices and the thumping in his chest. The world around him seems to be drowning and he can’t keep up with it all.

He just can’t.

“You can’t only keep her around because she’s the only one that’ll fight your battles for you, Harry! It’s only a matter of time before she realizes that you have nothing to offer her! You can’t give her anything with the way you are. You’re worthless!”

Before he could spew any more insults in Harry’s way, Y/n shuts the door in his face.


Harry knows his father was right.

In the long run, he doesn’t have much to offer her. He can’t be the boyfriend that she deserves to have.

He can’t be the boyfriend that can remind her of how much she’s loved or cared for. He can’t be the boyfriend to sing her to sleep whenever she can’t, or be the boyfriend to say his vows at their wedding for all to hear. He can’t be the boyfriend that—God forbid something were to happen to her—can ask for somebody to help her, or be the boyfriend to sway her family’s heart.

He can’t be anything to her besides somebody that she can sleep with at night and wake up to in the morning. Because that’s all it will be, and she’ll get so tired of being the one to be the only one talking to the other.

He’s nothing in her life, and that’s exactly why he can’t look at her anymore.

“Can you please just say something to me, Harry? I need to know why you’re upset with me or else we can never work through this.”

But how can they work through this when he can’t talk to her the way she wants him to?

Instead of answering right away, Harry presses on the gas pedal even harder than before. In the mix of all his emotions—anger, frustration, sad, and absolutely terrified—the only proper thought that can retain in Harry’s mind is dropping Y/n back to her apartment so that she doesn’t have to keep torturing herself with him.

The longer he feels her presence next to him, the more he realizes that he can’t love her the way she deserves to be loved—even if he really, really, really does love her with every ounce of his being.

“It was only—“ He swallows thickly, “It was only a matter of time before this was going to happen, Y/n.”

Her eyebrows furrow in confusion as she turns her head over to Harry, who has his lips pursed in a straight line while his eyes remain on the road.

There’s something different in him, now—something unreadable in his expressions and it’s something she’s never seen before. He seems broken somehow, like a man who’s been damaged one too many times that he’s become numb—emotionless with nothing left to feel.

“Before what was going to happen, Harry?”

She has an idea about what his words meant, but she doesn’t want to believe it. Not coming from him—not coming from the man who’s shown her nothing but how much love he has for her. There’s no way he could be doing this to her. He can’t do this to her.

“We were never going to last, Y/n. This was over long ago, we’re just on borrowed time.”

Borrowed time.

The sound of it leaves an unusually disturbing churn in Y/n’s stomach and a foul taste in her mouth. She feels as though Harry is taking his own hand and digging into Y/n’s chest, just so that he can grab ahold of Y/n’s heart and rip it to shreds himself.

Her hand subconsciously grabs onto the handle of the car door, eyes glistening with tears and lungs not daring to breathe. The air—instead of it being filled with their love—is now thicker and colder than ever.

She’s never been so confused—so lead on and so scared as to what is happening to them. They were supposed to make this last, they were supposed to make each other happy for the rest of their lives. He promised her he would, too—promised her nothing but love and trust in him.

But what is happening to them?

“How long have you thought that?”

She was tentative to ask, but she just has to know. She has to know if she’s done everything she’s done for nothing or if it actually held some sort of purpose at the time.

She’s terrified beyond words to find out the answer.

“Before or after you decided to sleep with me?”

Harry doesn’t want to make it seem like he never wanted this—never wanted her. He doesn’t want to make her think that he went through all that he did with her just to expect them to break up so soon. Because he didn’t, he never did. He would have never let her give him her virginity if he knew all of this was going to happen.

He loves her too much to do that to her, but also loves her enough to set her free.

So he decides to not answer her because not saying anything at all is easier for him than saying something he doesn’t mean. And he knows he will if it means letting her go and letting her move onto bigger and better things.

And it’s in his silence and twitch of his eyes does she find his answer.

“So you didn’t mean what you said last night. That we fit perfectly—that it’s like we’re meant to be? Or were they just words to you?”

A sob rips from inside of her when he still gives her nothing. She has never felt so hurt before—has never felt so betrayed. And suddenly, her skin feels dirty—sickened by what he’s done to her and how she could have been so stupid as to let it happen.

She feels it now, too. She feels the way his hands touched her that night, the way his lips kissed her that night, the way his hips rutted against hers and she feels so fucking filthy—used and used and used just for his own personal gain.

“Stop the car.”

It’s a weak demand, but Harry is pained to hear it. He has to hold himself back from comforting her and saying how terribly sorry he is for lying to her the way he is. But it’s just easier this way.

“I said stop the fucking car, Harry!”

Her yelling makes him flinch, and without hesitation makes him pull over to the side of the road. And the second he does so, he knows he shouldn’t have because he’d never be able to live with himself if he let Y/n walk in the cold alone, especially at night.

And right as he’s about to turn back, the sound of her hysteria makes his stop everything he’s doing. Her sobs are relentless in her hands and the thickest of tears fall from Harry’s eyes when he looks at the damage he’s done.

She looks helpless and utterly destroyed—he would have never thought of doing this to her if he’d known this is what would come out of it.

His heart is breaking at the sight of her like this.

As if on instinct, Harry reaches his hand over to her shoulder in an attempt to keep her calm. And even when they’re so close, they have never felt more emotionally distant than they do right now.

“No! Don’t touch me! Don’t you ever touch me again!”

She isn’t sure if she means it or not, but the devastating look Harry gives her at her words proves that he knows she did.

The second his touch leaves hers, he feels them falling apart.

It really is over now.

She’s never felt more pathetic and humiliated in her life. Everything she thought was so real ended up being one of the biggest lies she’s ever lived. He had her fooled for months now and she had not a single clue—but she guesses that’s what happens when she falls in love too quickly.

She feels easy.

She swallows her cries as she opens the car door, not knowing where the hell she is or where the hell she’s going, but knowing that no matter where she ends up, it’ll be much better than being with him. 

“I hate you. I never want to see you again, not after this. Not after all that you’ve done to me.”

Harry’s eyes widen at her words, mouth falling open and a gasp falling from his lips. The reality of her words hits him with so much force that he genuinely feels every last bit of him fall apart.

And it’s when she walks away from him—from his life—that he breaks.

He chokes out a sob as his fingers grip the steering wheel, eyes as wide as ever and mouth not daring to shut.

Everything hurts. Every bone in his body feels like it’s breaking and every muscle feels like they’re tearing apart. It hurts so fucking much and Harry can’t stop crying, throwing his head back against the car seat as his hand hits the steering wheel in the midst of his hysteria.

She hates him.

But it’s better this way.

3

A Month of Spook - (15/31)

Dan and Phil Play FIVE NIGHTS AT FREDDY’S SISTER LOCATION

How much SJM writes

This is no way hate on ASOIAF (I read the first two books and enjoyed them), but they’re of comparable length to Sarah’s books (and the only other really thick books I’m familiar with). (Meaning acomaf, acowar, eos, qos,  tod)

A Game of Thrones came out in 1996 at 850 pages (so yes, longer than Sarah’s books). Two years later, 750 page sequel. Two more years, 1200 pages. Five years later (2005), 1100 pages. Six years after that, 2011, 1100 pages. Another six years and the sixth book isn’t out yet.

Substantial books. Obviously, GoT is one of the biggest names in TV at the moment because everyone follows it. Similarly, ToG is one of the biggest YA series at the moment.

[I’m not including ACOTAR in this, only QOS and beyond]

QOS-2015-650 pages

ACOMAF-2016-650

EOS-2016-700

ACOWAR-2017-700

TOD-2017-700

Now, to average those by publication time and pages etc

{sum of all the pages}/{years from first to most recent publication}

ASOIAF: 5000/15 = 333 pgs/yr

TOG: 3400/3 = 1133 pgs/yr

Now, these numbers feature rounding and aren’t uber precise but it’s an approximation. And maybe this can be critiqued because I picked GRRM who is notorious for being a slow writer.

But I’m not nitpicking that. Wyrd knows I hardly ever finish a fanfic and if I write a thousand words a day once a month I feel like queen of the world. My point isn’t to insult GRRM. 

My point is that SJM is writing a metric ton of words and pages every year. She also goes on tour for each book, and as we recently learned, has had her whole world turned upside down with her father. 

We’re spoiled. Most authors turn out a book a year, MAYBE two, or maybe every year and a half. And most of those books (at least the series I’m familiar with) are maybe half as long as ACOWAR. 

Again, this isn’t a critique of other authors. I write slow, lots of people do, and it’s not a crime.

But good lord cut the woman some slack. She’s a HUMAN not a word generator. Not an AI that can function without sleep/food/rest/emotions. An author is a person first. She has a family, friends, etc, and (some) people act like she should be shamed for being a bad author for needing an extra sixth months to not die of overworking herself.

Honestly, I don’t care if this is dramatic. Just… just be kind to people. Be patient. And think how much better they’ll be when the books aren’t rushed to high heaven.

What is Target even?

• Every time I go in a Target, I become invisible. People can’t hear me talking to them even when I’m standing right in front of them. Waving in their faces doesn’t seem to work.

• I once walked up to an entire group of red-vest-wearing employees and had all five of them walk away from me mid-question.

•They seem to migrate from the toy section to the food section like soulless jellyfish.

• They don’t know if Target sells dish soap.

• I don’t know if Target sells dish soap.

• Once, a person walked over, picked up a fuzzy throw-blanket out of my cart, and left with it while I stood there telling them that it was mine.

• The always weirdly crowded shoe section that’s mostly sandals.

• Last month I stopped in the mini Starbucks area of Target and stepped up to a surprisingly empty counter (for the middle of the day). No one appeared for the entire twenty minutes that I waited, but the lights went off and on a few times.

• I once saw a man entering Target with a screaming child over his shoulder. She had an ‘Out of Order’ sign in her hand, and kept repeating, ’I don’t want to go here.

• Their clothing sizes are darkest black magic.

• The changing rooms. (Before they vanished.)

• I lost four people in the middle of the furniture isle. I found them a half hour later in Hot Topic.

• I once stopped at a Target for a bathroom break during a long road-trip. When I entered the store, half the lights were off in the back section, and someone was yelling, “STOP IT, YOU GIANT BITCH!”

• There’s always a questionable swamp in the corner of the Target bathroom.

• When they switch all the moving/talking Halloween items over to the moving/talking Christmas items.

• I’ve seen eight different dogs wandering around by themselves.

• The local Target has birds flying around inside all the time.

• When I was a teenager there was this guy who drove around the Target parking lot blasting the chicken dance and dancing with his shoulders.

• I’ve seen a thousand mirrors break in Target during ‘move into your dorm room’ season. Doubt anybody buried a potato.

• They owe me $20

• I keep finding children in the clothing racks. (I don’t keep them.)

• You can never return anything, ever.

• If you eat their food you probably will never be able to return to the human world.

• Every picture I take in there comes out weird. Blurry, too bright, smudgy, wavy, too dark, weirdly green???

• That last checkout lane at the end with all the ‘as seen on Tv’ items and a million creepy jugs of green liquid for kids.

• I have 14 year-old socks from Target that look brand new. (My clothes typically develop holes the moment I look at them.)

• The animal heads.

• Pit of Death (aka: the far back corner where seasonal stuff goes to die.)

• I once kicked one of the giant red orbs outside and it moved.

• I watched a guy causally glide out of the loading doors and into the parking lot on a huge dolly.

• The ‘Is This Actually Only A Dollar Or Is It Five?’ section.

• I spent a half hour listening to a guy tell me why I needed an IPhone or I can’t be a part of human society. This was before the first iPhone was even for sale in the store.

• It’s bigger on the inside.

• I found this hideous lump of a fur hat for sale last winter, and wore it around the store my entire time there. Still invisible.

anonymous asked:

So i don't know why but i was just thinking like we all know Stiles is a spaz and could trip over a flat surface but like head canon that when he dances he's actually like super sexy and graceful and it's absolutely baffling to everyone how someone so uncoordinated can actually move like he's made of liquid once he hits the dance floor. The first time Derek goes out with everyone and sees Stiles dancing his naw basically hits the floor and he can't stop staring. What are your thoughts on this?

I have always been A FIRM BELIEVER IN THIS. I just adore the image of the pack going to a club or a party - you know, finally just getting to chill - and maybe Erica pulling Stiles up onto a table (I am convinced Stiles and Erica have constant nights out on the town, you can’t crush my sterica brotp dreams!!) and poor Derek not expecting a goddamn thing. 

My number one headcanon is the first time Derek sees Stiles dancing he walks right into a glass door (probably doing some serious damage). And then he panics because Stiles is dancing like a fucking dance instructor and Derek is now the one having to pay property damage for being an idiot, and for a brief, horrifying moment, he’s afraid he and Stiles have been cursed by the new evil of the week and Derek has been forced to trade his natural grace with Stiles’ clumsiness. 

Except, from the way Erica and Scott are encouraging Stiles (where the fuck did Erica get a banner??), it seems like Stiles’ dance moves aren’t a first time occurrence. Which leads Derek into not-so-brief, horrifying moment number two: he not only trusts Stiles more than any other person in the room but he’s attracted to him. And worst of all? It’s not even a new realisation. Just one, up until now, he’s managed to chase away with arguments such as: “just because I’m feeling fond and a little gooey when he smiles like that, doesn’t mean in five minutes I won’t want to smack him in the face with the pizza box” and “his eyes aren’t that beautiful, I only think about them once a day???? like???? how into him could I really be???” 

Cut to the end of the night where Derek is sitting in the corner of the room, all sad and scared, until a hand lightly touches his shoulder. A hand that brings him so much comfort these days, sometimes it scares him more now than when it brought him no comfort at all. The hand squeezes and Derek takes a deep breath, says, “you can dance”. He doesn’t mean to say anything, actually, but he’s happy he does, even though his voice sounds small and vulnerable. Stiles is known to hold five conversations at once but Derek knows he gets scared too; scared he’s too much, scared he’s unwelcome. He can’t stand the thought of Stiles thinking like that. He’s always welcome. Always. 

“I learned online,” Stiles admits, a little nervously, like he thinks he’s giving too much away. Derek has no idea why. When he frowns, Stiles just laughs and ducks his head. “You, uh, like it?”

“I broke a door,” Derek confesses, this time causing Stiles to frown: he asks if that’s a good or a bad thing. “I think…a good thing,” Derek says. 

Stiles swallows. “So, how are your dance moves?” he asks, moving closer, waggling his eyebrows.

Derek can’t help but snort. “Poor.”

Stiles’ eyes light up like they do when he’s discovered something important. Derek wonders if that means he’s important. “Want to head back to the loft? I could teach you a thing or two.” Stiles shakes his hips a little and Derek almost raises his eyebrows at him, but instead he finds himself grabbing Stiles’ hand and leading him out of the club.

They don’t even make it inside the jeep (”I’m not leaving my baby at a club, Derek! You can come back for your car tomorrow, I’m sure you peed around it to mark it as yours anyway”) before Derek is pressing Stiles - a little frustrated, a little excited and lost - up against the passenger side door and kissing him until Stiles grins and the sun starts to come up (both literally and figuratively). 

Sea food department and how I got written up the first and only time

So I was on a fourteen hour shift on New year’s eve to steam shrimp for hours on end in horrifying quantities.

People were buying shrimp because they wanted their mudbug appetizers for their new year’s parties and whatnot but many customers who had not come for shrimp were ordering them because they could smell the shrimp and seasoning as I worked tirelessly.

I had orders to fill for people that had called up to a week ahead to reserve shrimp. I had a list and pounds of shrimp stored away to thaw in the cooler.

By 9:00pm we were out of shrimp that was not already reserved for the customers who had called in.

A man in his thirties wearing a nice blazer and perfectly ironed slacks approached the counter. At that moment I was steaming the last ten pounds (YOU READ THAT RIGHT) of small shrimp for a call in who was scheduled to come pick them up at 9:30. Our steamer was tiny. I could only do about five pounds at a time so I had five one pound bags of shrimp sitting on the back counter while I steamed the first half of the order.

Back to nice blazer guy. He orders two pounds of farm raised shrimp. I politely explain that were out of shrimp. All shrimp. We are out.

He wordlessly jabs his thick, sweaty finger toward the back where five bags of thawed shrimp sat pretty and neat on the counter by the steamer.

I wait for him to say something, he does not. I explain that they are reserved for a customer who called in hours before we were out.

“What the f#+! makes them so special? I’m paying for shrimp now, I want those. I should come first! I’m already here.” He grumbles and barks.

I had to explain that they called hours ago. I have to fill that order or I could be fired. Those shrimp are not his and I apologized profusely.

He leaves.

I spot him talking to my manager who is just shaking his head and clearly frustrated that he has to explain something to this entitled stain. It’s probably about the friggin shrimp.

Ten minutes later there’s a SPRAY of ground black pepper being flung into seafood department, then the plastic spice container bounces off the back of my head.
Thank the gods that all the bags of cooked shrimp were closed and I had my back turned, or else I’d have been blind and the shrimp would have been ruined.

I turn around and GUESS WHO IS STANDING ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE SEAFOOD CASE. That’s right. Blazer guy. He’s standing there huffing and puffing and shouting at me. To this day I have no idea what he said because I was in complete and utter shock.

I could not think of what I should do. This guy was nuts and pissed… but so was I at this point. My feet hurt, I stunk like old bay, I was missing everyone’s new year’s parties and I was just so beat. Best of all I had to be in at work bright and early the next day.

Something dark and unnatural possessed me. I reached back toward the sink, grabbed the spray hose and let loose a stream of cold water on this royal prick. I did not shout, I did not growl.

I said “please leave…” in a mantra over and over until he left to escape the icy flow of my inability to take more crap from him or anybody else tonight.

Yes, he got the manager again. Yes, he caused a scene. Yes, he demanded that I was fired.

The manager, an older fellow who had worked retail for fifty years found me the back room crying because I KNEW that I had just lost my job.

I was handed a write up slip (not the termination notice I was expecting) with a smile and a pat on the shoulder.

“I would have decked that little turd.” My manager said before walking away with a bounce in his step.

I was not fired.

2

BEFORE ‘MOONLIGHT’ & ‘THE WALKING DEAD,’ A FRIENDSHIP BORN IN THE CLASSROOM

ANDRÉ HOLLAND: After seeing [her] monologue at N.Y.U., I basically followed Danai around for the whole semester.
DANAI GURIRA: It was very obvious.
HOLLAND: I was a first-year student. You were a big-deal third-year.

HOLLAND: I talk to Danai more than anyone in terms of work. All these plays I’ve done — Danai came to see “Jitney” recently, and she is the only person I talk to about the work. She had a couple good ideas. I’m working hard to put them in. I’ll keep the specifics to myself. [laughter]
GURIRA: A lot of it is about decision-making in our careers. We remind each other of who we are, what we want, where we want to go. We can get caught up in the moment of the thing you are working on. We remind each other of what we said last year, or five years ago, about what we wanted in life.
HOLLAND: We’re working on a screenplay now together. It’s based on the book “A Native of Nowhere,” and it’s a fascinating story about one man’s life.

Starting with how Bakugou has loved his quirk from the moment he got it cause it made him feel powerful and better, comparing it to how Kirishima started hating his own for a while cause the first thing he did with it was hurt himself. Going on with how Bakugou grew up being a bully and Kirishima fighting them - and how Bakugou was strong and feared while Kirishima was ignored and taken lightly because he was considered weak. How Bakugou’s whole understanding of the world/life was based on how he saw his place as above everyone else, how Kirishima always thought himself as lame and under all his peers. How Bakugou’s always had no problems yelling at the world his goal to become a hero and how he’s always had everyone’s support on it, how Kirishima’s always hidden it and how no one ever truly believed he could do it anyway

And more still, how Kirishima’s whole moral is based on Do Good and Be Fair while Bakugou’s just learning that caring is maybe something he should do now and again, how Kirishima wants to be a hero to save people and how Bakugou wants to be a hero to fight people, how Bakugou’s rarely seen without a scowl and how Kirishima’s default expression is a smile, how Kirishima’s an act-before-thinking person while Bakugou overthinks everything, Kirishima’s simple-minded and Bakugou’s only slightly short of a genius, how Kirishima’s friends with everyone and how Bakugou managing to get himself five friends is considerable a miracle

How Bakugou’s quirk is the perfect attack and Kirishima’s the perfect defense, and how Bakugou’s got the flashiest quirk in the class and Kirishima the least flashy one. How Bakugou’s pivotal moment in his growth right before entering UA was about getting attacked and being unable to save himself/being forced to accept help he didn’t want while Kirishima’s was seeing someone getting attacked and being unable to help them - and how those themes keep on repeating themselves for both of them through their whole personal arcs

The more I think about it the more these two are each other’s perfect opposite. They’re complementary. And they’re best friends.

Boy I love it

We Are Young: Chapter 5

Throne of Glass High School AU

Summary: Senior Rowan Whitethorn is new to town. It doesn’t take him long to get use to a new school, make new friends, even join the local hockey team. But it also doesn’t take him long to meet sophomore and figure skater Aelin Galathynius. And it doesn’t take him long to realize one thing; he can’t stand her.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter 

——————–

Where’s my bra?

That was the only thought running through Aelin’s head as she stood there, in the middle of Rowan’s bedroom. With Rowan sitting in his bed, shirtless.

Obviously there were more important matters at hand.

An eerie silence draped over the room. Neither one of them spoke, neither one of them even knew what to say. And, if she was being honest, Aelin was half afraid that if she opened her mouth, she may actually be sick.

She tried to work around the fog that laced her memoires. She tried to think of what the hell happened last night. More importantly, how she came to be standing before Rowan in just her underwear. But she was coming up empty. Everything was a big drunken blur. The last thing she remembered was her and Fenrys kicking Dorian and Manon’s asses at beer pong - and even that was fuzzy.

Where’s my bra? And pants.

Keep reading

The Raid

I woke up at 5.30 and couldn’t fall back to sleep, so I fell into Sterek feels instead. Thought I’d try to make some sense of the story it looks like they’re telling (possibly a futile attempt, but…)

I’m on mobile, so no read more, sorry!

1.7k

T rating

*****

It had taken Stiles a while to get comfortable leaving his phone on silent when he was in the middle of something; the idea of being unreachable, or worse, unaware of the current threat had haunted him for months. The reality of being almost 3,000 miles away eventually sunk in and he was able to accept being temporarily out of the loop when he needed to focus. It was equal parts terrifying and freeing, a sort of nauseating relief.

So when he sees a missed call from Chris Argent after his last class before break, his heart drops immediately into his stomach. The voice-mail is maddeningly vague, but before it’s even over Stiles is shoving a few last essentials into his mostly packed duffel bag and impatiently waiting the handful of seconds for Chris to pick up his phone.

Chris has barely gotten a “Stiles” out before Stiles rushes out “What’s going on?”

Thankfully, Chris doesn’t waste time with pleasantries. “There’s a rumor that there’ll be an FBI raid at a location I’ve been looking into for some possible illegal hunting. Can you see what you find out from whatever contacts you’ve made there?”

“Yeah, of course. Give me a couple hours. Do we know when it’s supposed to be happening?”

“Week from last Friday, so what, few days from now,” Stiles feels overwhelmingly sorry for Chris, the man must be pushing himself hard if he’s losing track of the days. “I’m not sure what their interest is, possibly a human trafficking angle,” Stiles’ stomach clenches at that. The idea of it so abhorrent it makes him shiver; the fact that hunters are involved, and therefore some of the people involved are likely to be werewolves adds an extra layer of disgust, a too vivid picture of Erica, Boyd,and Derek at the mercy of unhinged hunters flashes in his head and his whole body tenses. Chris confirms the thought with his next words, “but it’s not like they’ll be prepared for what they’ll find if my intel is right.”

“Right, I’ll get back to you as soon as I have something.”

“Thanks, Stiles,” Chris says sincerely, the exhaustion in his voice obvious, and Stiles has a moment of shameful relief that he’s not responsible for any of whatever is going on. It doesn’t last long. Chris inhales audibly, and Stiles instinctively prepares for a blow. “And Stiles,” he begins and pauses, reluctance and regret clear in his voice and in the short silence, “You should know that there’s a Beacon Hills connection to whatever we’re walking into.” Before Stiles can demand more, Chris adds an apologetic “I don’t know more than that right now, but I’m looking into it.”

Stiles drops onto his crappy dorm mattress, the weight of the information making his legs buckle. Stiles chokes out “I’ll call you back tonight,” and hangs up.

The call to Rafael McCall takes an eternity to connect, so when he finally answers, Stiles doesn’t wait for a greeting. “I need to know everything you know about a possible human trafficking raid happening in a few days that has a connection to Beacon Hills.”

“Hello to you, too, Stiles,” Rafael says in that condescending way he has always addressed others with, and Stiles is reminded that despite the man having put in a good word for him at the FBI, he was a first class asshole.

Stiles grits his teeth and manages a “Please,” letting his panic color his voice and hoping Mr McCall is having a day where he’s capable of basic human compassion.

He gets lucky, because Rafael responds with “I’ll see what I can find out, but no promises.”

“Fair enough, but I need it tonight.”

Rafael sighs, but agrees, and Stiles disconnects the call. Stiles spends the next two hours on the computer, finding everything he can on human trafficking, reaching out to contacts for information on hunters who’ve gone off the rails, and wishing Danny was there to help him find a backdoor into government files.

When Rafe calls back with a time and place, Stiles has a frustratingly small list of notes, but at least he has confirmation to pass along to Chris. Rafael has managed to get himself assigned to the team going on the raid, citing his “personal interest,” and Stiles manages not to scoff at the idea that the man has any real connection to Beacon Hills or its inhabitants. Still, Stiles says a sincere “Thank you,” before he tells Rafael firmly “I’m going with you.”

Rafe sighs out a resigned “I figured you’d say that. You’ll have a seat in my vehicle, otherwise I know you’ll just show up on your own.”

He’s not wrong. “Thank you,” he repeats, this time, he says goodbye befits hanging up to call Chris.

*****

Sitting in the government issue black SUV while FBI agents move with surprising stealth to prepare to storm the building is excruciating. Being told to stay in the car isn’t surprising, but it makes him feel anxious and angry and helpless all the same.

While the agents surround the building, a familiar figure approaches Stiles’ car. Stiles barely restrains himself from hugging Chris,the relief at seeing him, at seeing someone from home, from his life in Beacon Hills, from his pack of misfits, is almost staggering.

He settles for a nod of greeting and gratefully accepts Chris’ hand on his shoulder, letting the weight of it ground him.

“Stiles,” Chris says, clearly unsurprised at seeing him there, but decidedly unhappy about it. “I know you couldn’t, but damn do I wish you’d stayed away from this, kid. I’m sorry for dragging you back into this shitshow.” Stiles can see Allison’s ghost in Chris’s eyes, and it hurts in a way he knows it always will.

“I don’t think I could really stay out. Not forever,” he tries to reassure Chris. “Plus, if I could’ve helped and I didn’t, I’d never forgive myself.” Chris squeezes his shoulder, but his face draws tight.

“We’re moving in as soon as the FBI does, hoping the chaos gives us some cover. I wish they weren’t watching this place, so we could’ve moved in as soon as we found this place,” Chris says as he drops his hand to check his weapon. Before he turns to move into position, he levels Stiles with a sympathetic look. “I don’t want to tell you, but you should know, Derek is in there.”

Stiles freezes, he can’t feel his hands for a moment, but uses his thumb to count off his fingers, hoping with all he has that this is all a bad dream. There are only five fingers, and Stiles feels icy dread rushing through his veins. Chris’s voice pulls him from the edge of panic, “Whatever you do, be careful,” he says, the words heavy between them but a strange comfort nonetheless as Chris pats his shoulder again and walks away with practiced silence.

It takes Stiles less than 30 seconds to make a plan. With determination and likely ill advised bravery, honed over two plus years of fighting monsters–human and supernatural alike–he turns on the radio scanner in the SUV and assesses the unassuming old warehouse for a good entry point.

*****

When he finds Derek, he almost cries when Derek looks up from where he’s sagged against a crumbling wall, a complicated mix of emotions playing across his face. Derek chokes out “Stiles?” and despite the confusion in his voice, hearing his name from Derek’s mouth again is incredible.

Stiles takes in the room as he walks through it, a standard villain’s lair except for the heavy chains bolted to the walls, floor, and disturbingly, the ceiling. And the IVs filled with what Stiles assumes is a wolfsbane solution, considering there’s one in Derek’s arm. Anger and relief swirl around in his brain as he moves to Derek’s side, pulling the IV from his arm with disgusted satisfaction.

He’s restrained, but thankfully only by heavy leather cuffs–laced with more wolfsbane, judging by the reddened skin on Derek’s wrists. Stiles takes Derek’s hands, one at a time, removing the cuffs carefully and tossing them away.

“Hey, Der,” he says, cupping Derek’s face with one hand and resting the other on his shoulder. “Not quite the reunion we were planning, big guy, but we need to get the hell out of here, okay?”

Derek is worryingly quiet, eyes glassy from the drugs in his system, a look of shock and something like awe on his face. “Hey,” Stiles pats Derek’s cheek, not willing to slap him to awareness while he’s been so abused. “Derek, we need to go, are you with me?” His thumb traces Derek’s cheek as he pleads and tries to calculate how far he can carry Derek before he can’t anymore. “Der, c’mon, let’s go, c’mon. Please.”

Derek closes his eyes tightly for a second, and when he opens them again they’re clearer. Stiles fights the urge to sag against him in relief, but it’s a near thing.

“Yeah,” Derek says, voice raw (Stiles willfully ignores the knowledge that that means Derek’s likely been screaming for long hours, over however many days). “Yeah, I’m with you. I’m with you. Let’s go.”

Stiles breathes out heavily and gratefully, standing to help pull Derek off the floor. Derek stumbles, the wolfsbane making his movements unsteady, but Stiles catches him. He drapes Derek’s arm over his shoulder, gripping his forearm firmly and wrapping his free arm around Derek’s middle. They both hold on to each other tightly.

They make it into the hallway just as a team of FBI agents run down it in the opposite direction. Stiles is grateful for the vest Rafael had given him to wear, as not a single agent gives him a second glance.

Derek grips Stiles’ shirt as they struggle down the dim corridor, Stiles pulls him closer in response, taking more of his weight as Derek slips. He’d had to leave Derek once, and it had torn him apart; he wouldn’t be leaving him again.

They just had to get to Rafael’s car, then Stiles could get them both far away from this nightmare. Mr McCall will understand.

A road trip should give Derek time to recover, give them time to reconnect, to decide what to do next. Plus, it sounded like a much better reunion story; they deserved a kinder story.

Originally posted by dyjanobrien