#“if you are interested please check it out” this is genuine colleague energy

[definitelynotnia]

why do dads text you like you're their coworker- my dad texted me on whatsapp to inform me he has emailed me

father in christ you could directly just text? this email could have been a dm

[tarotapprentice]

Hello and happy new year!

I have been a fan of yours for some time and really appreciate your approach, the boundaries you set, and how you remember and refer back to past readings (it always surprises me when other readers don’t).

I have questions that have been bugging me and hope you have time to explain if possible:

1) how much does a reader’s own biases, feelings about people or relationships, or own energies affect a reading? I know talent is diverse, but often, after listening to a reader over a period of time, I believe I can tell whether a reader likes or doesn’t like someone, particularly when same cards are revealed for two people, one liked and the other not so much. And some readers are always more negative than others. When should we take a reading “with a grain of salt” and do the readers even know how they might come across, over time? Some are such blatant haters.

2) in terms of relationships, I get confused. Unlike real life, where most of the time, people struggle with finding their love and experience the situation where one person may be all in while the other is not, in tarot readings, it’s like if one person likes/loves someone, the assumption is automatically that the object of desire feels the same way, and not just platonically. Bizarre. Especially bad with the bts guys - I’ve seen readings where ships get discussed and love is bandied about to explain some situations, when it may be that romantic feelings are not reciprocated but the guys are friends and colleagues, so they are careful with each other. I would rather know if there is true love than be asked yo accept that everyone is involved equally and easily. Can you tell whether a reading or feeling is more one-sided or when there’s genuine reciprocity? And referring back to 1), how much does the reader’s own feelings or wishes color this picture?

3) how long does an energy/interpretation last? I’ve listened to readings that are very good but I think the event already took place. Are you temporally up to date when reading?

I have more questions but will stop here. Please let me know if I am even asking the right questions.

I thank you for any insights you are able to provide as I would like to learn. I know you must be very busy.

Take care.

Hi anon,

Happy new year 🎇

I appreciate that you like the readings😄

The answers that I will give you are of course my own opinion based on what I have experienced and have taken notice after learning how to read the tarot. Please be reminded that I am still no expert and still feel like I lack so much and can improve much more (the reason why I chose the name tarot-apprentice is to remind myself that I am still learning and that it is oke to make mistakes)

Here is my opinion on your questions:

1) the bias is always there and the amount depends on the person's personality and mood. I think that when we know the least about a person or a subject or the least we are interested the less biased we are. Some readers try to be as balanced as possible but I think that maybe even unknownly we can be a bit biased. We are humans after all. I tend to meditate too before a reading to even my emotions out as much as I can at the moment. The amount of harmony found depends for me (maybe if I would be more experienced, I would be able to do this a lot better). The person you are and your ethics will also influence how much you will let the reading be influenced by your personal opinion on a matter.

2) This was my question too! When I used to check other readings before I started myself, I also wondered about it. How can they just assume with so little cards and talking about such complicated matters. I thought 'wow they must be very experienced or gifted' haha but now I think that people just assume. This is how it works for me: I get some messages through intuition. This intuition comes in a form of a thought or picture or scene to me. I can get a word, sentence, a lyric, a memory, a scene from a movie or tv show or something 'original'. Together with the tarot I get a story but it is up to me to make sense of it. It is like a puzzle or a police case where you have to put things together that make sense and sometimes we get it right, sometimes we get it half right and other times we are completely wrong. We can sometimes misunderstand our intuition and put things incorrectly together, since we only get some pieces or clues. So, with only a couple of cards and certain messages we cannot decipher something so complex as a relationship. It requires a lot more work, time, effort and concentration (even so, we cannot know everything, because we are also not mend to. To me that is not the purpose of the tarot or our intuition). So, unfortunately a lot of readers can't or do not want to spend that much time in doing that, so they try to keep it simple by putting things into categories

3) ah timing, I've also noticed this a lot for myself. And I don't have a very opinionated opinion yet about this. I think that there is no way of telling this. Sometimes I do a current reading but there are some parts that have happened in the past already or/and happens much later on. I believe that the reason for it is because the past present and future are always connected. Something in the past shows up that still has an effect on the present and both predict a possible future on short or long-term.

Hope to have answered your questions fully. I enjoyed answering them and you can always ask more 😊

Take care🖐️

[dragons-bones]

FFXIV Write Entry #15: Just Your Average Symposium

Prompt: row || Master Post || On AO3

“I had forgotten how lively the conferences are in Limsa Lominsa,” Nidhana said cheerfully.

On the stage where the panel was seated, the arcanist presenting had escaped her colleagues trying to hold her back to stumble forward and throw a punch at the professor from the University of Ul’dah. The hyur ducked and tackled the au ra to the floor, and then a full-bore brawl broke out between their colleagues. Synnove, at the moderator’s podium, threw up her hands in disgust. “Get the kiddos out of here!” she barked, and her fellow arcanists in the audience immediately began herding the first- and second-years out of the auditorium.

Varpasa snickered into her palm as Jalamuc covered his eyes, whistling mournfully through his trunk. “It’s a paper on the aetheric properties of pathogens and managing potential disease vectors, how in the world does one get into a fistfight about it?” the other Arkasodara said.

“Oh, please, like any one of us wouldn’t have lost our tempers being questioned so rudely,” Nidhana said, watching with keen interest as the front half of the room used Synnove’s distractedness, the Highlander now wading into the stage brawl with Tyr at her side, to devolve into a chaotic mess of debate. The lalafell academics were always the most vicious, so much rage compressed into such tiny bodies.

“Tobana and Ayleth have hated each other for years, too,” Mahruvvet said, on Varpasa’s other side. “How long has their “In reply to” chain stretched to now?”

“It’s at least ten,” Varpasa said, finally gaining control of herself.

Synnove had, of course, read the energy in the room correctly when she had demanded the removal of the youngest students, as the auditorium was quickly descending into bedlam. Any excuse for a debate, or a fight. Which was both, to academics.

And Lominsans preferred a fistfight. Honestly, it was such a better method; Hannish alchemists went to the explosives first a little too eagerly.

(Nidhana should not cast stones, she knew. Put her and her fellows from the High Crucible in the same room as a gaggle of adjunct professors from the University of Radz-at-Han, and there would be violence at some point, even if it was just a single bloody nose or trunk.)

A chirp caught all their attention, and they glanced down to see Galette sitting primly at Nidhana’s feet. Sorry, Nidhana, she churred, her mental ‘voice’ genuinely apologetic, could I use you as a lookout post? Mama needs me to check the paths to the exits stay clear.

“Oh, certainly, little one, I’m happy to be of assistance!” Nidhana said, bending down to scoop the carbuncle up and set her on her shoulder.

Galette chittered her thanks, ears flicking as her head whipped back and forth to scan the crowd. Such a lovely carbuncle; Nidhana still remembered that one conference over a decade ago where she had eaten half the dessert table at the buffet lunch on the third day when tempers were fraying and Synnove had to grab her carbuncle and flee the city entirely to escape the ire of the attendees. Of course, Galette was still willing and able to demolish an entire spread of desserts all by herself, but her self-control was much better these days.

On stage, Synnove had literally dragged Tobana and Ayleth apart; Tyr had flopped on Ayleth, the hyur snarling in outrage, as Tobana dangled in Synnove’s grip and struggled to break free.

The cacophony of everyone shouting and yelling and arguing all at once was incredible, and some of Nidhana’s cheer dimmed as the sound assaulted her. Synnove was shouting something herself, but she couldn’t be heard, and Nidhana saw her face twist before she gestured with her free hand to someone.

Ivar leapt onto the moderator’s podium, threw back his head, and howled.

The sudden, following silence seemed to echo, and the audience slowly turned to face the stage again, many visibly cringing with their shoulders hunched.

“Thank you, darling,” Synnove said to the ruby carbuncle, who puffed out his chest. Then the Highlander turned her head and leveled a glare on the audience. “You will behave or I will personally kick each and every one of your asses. Except the Hannish alchemists, you’ve been lovely. Please off Zarir for me.”

“Your shows are the best!” Nidhana called down. “And it’s called plausible deniability! None of us have it!”

Synnove waved in acknowledgement, and set Tobana back on her feet, pointing sternly to the Raen’s seat. The other woman grudgingly went to take it as Tyr dragged Ayleth back to hers.

Galette wiggled up to loaf on Nidhana’s head. I’m just gonna stay here, she chittered.

“Ate a tort you weren’t supposed to, didn’t you?”

…Maybe.

Varpasa started snickering again.

PREVIOUS PROMPT (NSFW) || NEXT PROMPT

[daily-dose-of-sweets]

Hello!! We have not interacted in while!! But I love you and I check your blog religiously!!<3 can I request some more lance sweets fluff? Or angst/fluff? Honestly whatever you’re willing to write I’ll be giddy to read. Ty! I love you so much!! I hope you’re doing well!!<3<3

@doctorsteeb

Hi!!! Just let me say I absolutely adore you and it makes me so happy to know someone likes my writing this much! I will totally try and write anything you request! I’ve got a few stories in the works for Sweets now, but here is a little late Christmas story for you! 

Christmas Greetings

Lance Sweets X Reader

Summary: After a year of being in a relationship with Sweets, you’re finally getting the chance to meet his family, or the people at the Jeffersonian in other words. Oh, and it’s at a Christmas party, for some holiday cheer this season.

Words: 2573

---

“Are you sure they’ll like me?” You ask nervously, fingers shifting against the porcelain crockpot in your hands.

Sweets slips an arm around your waist and gives your side a gentle squeeze, “Trust me, they’ll love you.”

You take a deep breath and nod. It doesn’t really ease the nerves buzzing in your chest, but at least he is right there beside you. You and Lance had been in a relationship for a full year now, and you had yet to meet his colleagues somehow. It already feels like you know them though, from all the stories he’s told you, especially his partner Booth, and his wife Doctor Brennan. You’ve wanted to meet them for so long (which lead to quite consistent pestering on your part) but now that you’re finally standing here, your stomach is tying itself in a knot.

Christmas dinner is a huge deal, after all, and so are first impressions. What if they don’t like you? You weren’t in the science profession, so what will you even talk about? Sometimes you struggle to even understand some of the things Lance talks about, so how are you going to talk to the country’s foremost anthropologist?!

“Stop worrying, everything will be okay.”

You jump when you feel Sweets press a soft kiss to your forehead. His touch lingers, sending a soothing warmth flooding through you, finally easing the tension in your shoulders. Your eyes flutter closed as you lean into him, head resting against his shoulder for just a moment. When the two of you draw away, you tilt your chin up and let a smile capture your lips.

“Okay, I’m ready!”

Sweets chuckles and raps his knuckles against the door. Moments later, it swings wide open, letting the glow from inside cascade over you.

“Sweets!” You’re greeted by a man that towers over you, making you slightly shy away, but Lance keeps a steady hand pressed against the small of your back. The man gives your partner a side hug, clapping him on the back before turning to you with a wide smile, “And you must be (Y/n)! We’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Oh really?” You glance over at Lance, who’s looking down with a bashful smile. His cheeks are glowing the softest rose color, which sends your heart thrumming. How can he be so cute?

“Is that Sweets and (Y/n)?” A woman comes rushing up behind the man. She offers you a sweet smile, just as vibrant as his.

Their excitement is so infectious, it fills you to the brim with a fresh energy, and now your own smile is wholly genuine. You weren’t expecting such a warm welcome! Why were you so worried about all of it, these people seem so wonderful.

“(Y/n), this is Booth, my partner at the FBI, and Doctor Brennan, the lead anthropologist at the Jeffersonian,” Sweets introduces you.

The woman, Doctor Brennan, is quick to shake your hand and say, “Please, call me Temperance, and come in. We are almost ready to eat, we have ham, and I also made a tofurkey.”

“Really?!” You gasp excitedly, darting in to follow her to the kitchen and leaving Sweets at the door, “I’ve been looking for a good seasonal tofu recipe for years! Could I possibly, maybe get it from you after dinner?”

You plop down your contribution to the meal and fall into an excited conversation with the scientist. You had no clue she was a vegetarian like you, and it’s not every day you get to talk to another! Sweets and Booth watch the two of you from the entrance, both sporting fond glints in their eyes.

“Thanks for inviting us, Booth,” Sweets hums as he shucks off his winter jacket, “(Y/n)’s been eager to meet the team, especially you and Doctor Brennan.”

The older man shrugs, though he has a pleased smile on his face, “Anytime Sweets! Bones will take any chance to make her ‘meat substitutes’. Remember how excited she got when you told her about it?”

Sweets nods, it is always memorable when Doctor Brennan shows such strong emotions, which wasn’t always often around him. He had even gotten the chance to help her plan the dinner, not that you knew about that. It filled him with warmth to watch you excitedly flutter around the kitchen, and to see how your eyes practically sparkled as you helped the anthropologist set up the dishes.

“You really love her, huh?”

A sigh escapes Sweets as he nods again, “I do. She’s amazing…”

Booth can’t help but feel a small swell of pride in his chest. He’d never admit it, but Sweets was like a little brother to him, and seeing the young psychologist so happy just put a cherry on top of the night he was having.

“Lance!” Sweets looks up at you, a wide grin spreading across his face when he sees you aggressively gesturing him over, all the while bouncing on the balls of your feet, “Come here! You have to check this out!!”

You know it must seem childish to some, but you can’t help but get thrilled over a good meal, especially when it’s vegetarian. You can’t wait for the day that you can make Christmas dinner for your family, spending the whole day cooking and then just being able to enjoy a nice night and some Christmas carols. Sweets would be right there beside you, and maybe a kid or two across the table. A boy and a girl…

“What is it?”

You jump, a fierce blush splashing across your cheeks when you whip around and come face to face with Lance. He’s standing so close, your noses are practically brushing. Your breath catches in your chest, and you spin back around, hoping he doesn’t notice just how red you’ve gotten. Stupid daydreaming, you totally forgot you called him over.

“Mrs. Temperance has this amazing recipe fo-” Your voice breaks when Sweets presses in close behind you, arms snaking around your waist. You clear your throat nervously, “-for um, for vegetarian casserole. She says it’s really good, so I was thinking I could, I could try making it sometimes!”

“That sounds wonderful,” Sweets hums, the words vibrating through his chest and against your back.

It feels like your entire face is on fire now, to the point where you feel like you need to call the fire department. There was more you were going to say, but it’s like all your thoughts have been put in a mixer and are now scattered throughout your mind.

“Stop torturing the poor girl, Sweets,” a smooth voice scolds from a few feet away.

You glance up to see a beautiful brunette with tanned skin, and right beside her stands a slightly shorter man with some of the curliest hair you’ve ever seen. You swat at Lance’s hands and twist away from his grip, embarrassment flaring deep in your chest. Nothing you could say would help the situation, so you just wave at them weakly.

“Angela, Hodgins, this is (Y/n),” Sweets says as he pulls you back to his side with a cheeky grin, “(Y/n), this is Angela Montenegro, our forensic artist. And this is Jack Hodgins, our entomologist.”

“And botanist, mineralogist, palynologist, chemist, among other things,” Hodgins continues with a casual shrug.

Angela elbows him in the ribs sharply, not letting her glittering expression fall for even a second. “Excuse my husband, he’s just really passionate about his work,” she chirps, “It’s really a pleasure to meet you. We’ve heard a lot about you from our dear Sweets here.”

“So I’ve heard,” you muse softly with a giggle, “It's nice to meet you too, by the way! Lance tells me you're also a traditional artist?”

You spend the night making conversation with all of Lance’s friends. You meet Cam and her partner, Arastoo, who are so lovely and gentle to you. You ask Arastoo all about his beliefs and how he came to work in forensics, and you even talk to Cam about her daughter. You also get to talk to some of the interns at the Jeffersonian. Each conversation just pulls you in, even if you don’t understand everything they’re saying. You’re literally talking to the leaders of forensic sciences, who wouldn’t take the chance to ask them all the questions and praise them for their work! Even through dinner, you share a quiet conversation with one intern, Finn, about his time before coming to Washington DC. Afterwards, you all take to lounging in the living room to enjoy some eggnog and story telling.

“So how did you and Sweets meet, huh?” Angela asks as she plops down next to you and Sweets on the couch.

The entire team falls quiet, all eyes immediately set intently on you. You shy back into Lance's embrace, which makes him chuckle and hold you tighter. Was your story really that interesting to all these people? Really?

“Do you want me to tell them?” Sweets asks you quietly, fingers brushing against the skin of your shoulder.

“Yeah, your memory’s better anyways.”

“He has to learn all that psychobabble somehow,” Booth jests from across the room, earning a disapproving look from his wife but some amused chuckles from the rest of the guests.

Sweets just rolls his eyes, easily brushing the jab off as he starts your story, “So, we actually met at a christmas party, just like this one. A mutual friend invited us and we started talking, and things just kind of...took off from there.”

You can’t help the snort of laughter that breaks from your lips when Lance trails off. He perks an eyebrow up, peering down at you in confusion, which only serves to send you into a bigger fit of giggles.

“What?” He asks, voice pitching up.

“Nothing, nothing,” you chortle, pressing a hand to your mouth to muffle your laughter, “You just left out a small tidbit. A pretty important tidbit.”

“Oh, did he?”

The room waits for you to calm down, but when you do, you just stare intently at Sweets with a raised eyebrow. Did he actually forget the beginning of the story? And right after you praised him for his memory! You wait for just a moment longer, the words perched on your tongue, waiting to see if he gets there on his own. It’s only when you see his eyes blow wide and his entire face flush red that you let the words tumble from your lips.

“What he failed to mention, is that we didn’t just meet and start talking. No, no.” Now it’s your turn to grin cheekily, “We met under the mistletoe, by chance, and you all know how the tradition goes. We started talking after that and found that we actually had a bit in common. It was about a month later that our mutual friend decided to share with me what actually happened that night.”

It begins to dawn on some people what you’re alluding to. You can hear some giggles ring out behind you from who you’re sure is Angela and the other women. Sweets is getting darker by the second, even his ears are tinged with that appealing rosy glow. This is totally payback for his teasing earlier.

“So, this is how the story actually goes, according to our friend,” you finally continue, “Apparently, I caught Lance’s eye when I got to the party. Back then though, he was a bit shier, and didn’t want to talk to me without a reason, sooo….he and our friend came up with a plan to have us meet under the mistletoe ‘accidentally’.” You break out some air quotes for the last word to stress just how silly the story is.

“Sweets, you dog,” Hodgins laughs.

“I never thought Sweets would come up with such a devious plan,” Temperance states amusedly.

“Alright, alright,” Sweets waves his hands in the air, looking thoroughly flustered much to your pleasure, “In my defense, she looked absolutely beautiful that night. Anyone would have been intimidated.”

Something warm and fuzzy fills your chest as you tuck yourself back into Lance’s side. To think, you almost didn’t go to that party last year. If you hadn’t, you wouldn’t have met the most amazing person in your life.

“I can’t say I mind too much,” you chirp, eyes closing as you rest your head on his chest like a content cat, “I think I’m pretty lucky to be the one who caught his eye.”

“You guys are disgustingly adorable,” Angela giggles next to you.

Maybe you are. You had never felt such a deep sense of affection for anyone, that is, until you met Lance. Now that you know what it feels like, you can’t help but return it full force, with every ounce of your being. He’s just been so good to you and has lifted you up in dark times over the past year. You couldn’t ask for anyone better, because you’re absolutely sure such a person doesn’t exist.

The rest of the night is spent telling stories and sharing sentiments. You stay tucked in Lance’s side the entire time, just enjoying the jovial tone and the sound of his laughter. When midnight rolls around, the party begins to wind down, filled with yawns and mumbled goodbyes as people take their leave. You and Sweets are some of the last to go, with Seeley and Temperance trailing you to the door.

“Thank you so much, again, for inviting us,” you murmur as you give the older woman a tight hug.

“Of course! You are welcome here anytime, and if you ever need anything, do not be afraid to call.”

“Yah, we’re always here to help. Though I’m sure Sweets here would do about anything for you,” Booth chuckles as he pulls away from giving Lance a hug.

Sweets gives his head a little shake and takes up his place next to you, “Thanks you guys, we really appreciate it.”

“Don’t mention it.” Booth gives a little wave, “You two have a good night. Oh, and you might want to take a look up,” he chimes right before closing the door.

Your eyes dart straight up at that, landing on a small plant hanging from the doorway. Breathless laughter shakes your chest, pale clouds lifting from your lips in the cold night air. It’s mistletoe.

“Did you do this?” You look at Lance, who has one of the smuggest smiles that you’ve ever seen on him.

He gives you a shrug and draws you closer by a hand on your hip, “Maybe…”

You shake your head at his antics, but you can’t ignore the butterflies that swirl around in your chest. Even after a year, he still makes your heart race.

“Well then, don’t leave me hanging.”

Lance doesn’t hesitate to cup your face, tilting your chin up so he can capture your lips in a sweet kiss. For just a moment, you forget the cold, you forget how late it is and how tired you are. All you can feel is the warmth of his body next to yours, the thrumming of his heart under your palm. Even when the kiss comes to an end, the two of you stay close, foreheads barely touching.

“I love you, (Y/n),” he murmurs oh so softly, for only you to hear.

“I love you too, Lance. Merry Christmas.”

Again, I love you all so much, and I hope your Christmas was absolutely amazing! Send in a request and I’ll be sure to try and write it!

[five-rivers]

Adoption (part 2)

A gift for @a-flower-lover!  This wound up being more along the lines of vignettes...  Little snapshots into Danny’s life after being adopted by Clockwork.  I hope that’s ok!  (PART 1)

.

Mr. Lancer had met Charles Worth before, albeit briefly. The man had fostered a number of Casper High students and with that responsibility came parent-teacher conferences. He had struck Mr. Lancer as being steady and reliable, if, perhaps, impersonal, despite his predilection for clocks and ominous announcements. A decent foster parent, if not... ideal.

Mr. Worth just didn't seem to connect with his fosters, although he certainly didn't neglect them. Then, too, were the persistent rumors that his home was haunted.

Alright. So, Mr. Lancer didn't think Charles Worth was really a children person. Oh, he was a good person! It took one to do well as a foster parent, but... yeah.

Which was why the scene in front of him surprised him so much. Not the who of it, but the what.

The who was Daniel Fenton and Charles Worth waiting outside the office. The what was smiling and having a conversation. True, Mr. Fenton's smile looked like it was pasted on over several layers of anxiety, but it was genuine.

"Mr. Worth, Mr. Fenton?" he said, tamping down his surprise. "Come on in."

"Hi," said Mr. Fenton, his voice hoarse.

Mr. Worth smiled and nodded, pushing him up with his cane.

But Mr. Fenton must have noticed the curious look Mr. Lancer was giving him. "I knew Cl- Uh. Mr. Worth before this." He winced and smiled widely to cover it up. "So, uh, make up work? Since I missed the past week?"

"Yes, well, circumstances being what they are," aka his parents trying to murder him in public, in broad daylight (and didn't that give Mr. Lancer a chill?), "your teachers have put together a few packets for you to look over this weekend. They should get you more or less up to speed with where your classes are. I'm also willing to stay after school, to help you with anything you've missed in my classes."

.

Jazz knocked on the door of the Worth house. She had been made aware, via various supernatural (she did not particularly appreciate writing suddenly appearing on her fogged-up bathroom mirror) and mundane (Danny did have her phone number) means, that the man known as Charles Worth was actually the ghost known as Clockwork.

How this had occurred was not entirely clear to her. She assumed ghost powers, specifically time travel, were involved somehow.

But, to be honest, that didn't really matter to her. It was secondary, less than.

What was important here was that she hadn't been legally allowed to see her little brother in over a month. To keep her parents from contacting him. To keep her from letting her parents near him. Because they were legally barred from seeing him.

Because they had tried to kill him.

Jazz planned on never seeing her parents again, as soon as she got all of her and Danny's things from their house.

But now that prohibition had been lifted, because Clockwork had forced through what had to be the speediest adoption in the history of adoptions, and Danny was now legally his son. In the eyes of both humans and ghosts. Which was... Well. Danny seemed to be excited about it, anyway. He'd looked up to Clockwork for a while, from what he told Jazz.

Internally, Jazz had more than a bit of trepidation. She didn't know what adoption meant to ghosts, didn't have any context for it. And ghosts, even the good ones, even Danny, tended to be... obsessive. Extreme. She wasn't sure how that would translate when it came to interpersonal relationships.

The door creaked open, ever so slowly, the squeak it made grating on her eardrums. At first, it appeared to have opened on its own, then a hand gripped the edge of the door, and Clockwork, in human guise, leaned out from behind it.

Jazz raised an eyebrow.

Clockwork raised one right back. "This house is haunted, you know," he said.

Okay, never mind. The only thing she had to worry about was the fact that her brother and his mentor both had terrible senses of humor.

"Hi, Jazz!"

Being used to having a half-ghost brother, Jazz only yelped a little bit at his unexpected appearance behind her. Then she sighed and ruffled his hair. He hugged her and then bounced over the lintel into the house.

"Come on! I want to show you my room! It's so cool!" His voice became fainter as he went farther into the house, until his last exclamation was an eerie whisper.

Jazz looked at Clockwork as she stepped inside. "Is he doing that on purpose?"

Clockwork smiled blandly. "I am very fond of the acoustics in this house."

She looked at her surroundings with a skeptical eye. "It seems... dark in here."

"We are ghosts," said Clockwork. "Daniel is very excited to show you his room, by the way."

"He's human, too, don't forget," said Jazz.

"I won't."

.

The house was creepy.

Really creepy.

This was coming from someone who had spent most of her life living under the same roof as two ghost-obsessed mad scientists.

But Danny seemed to enjoy it, and he was the one living here. It wasn't like there was anything wrong with the house. Or anything in the house. It was just... off.

Danny was half-ghost, however, so maybe this was something he needed. Perhaps not all of his peppiness could be attributed to being the heck away from his murderous former parents.

Even so. Jazz had a duty, both as a big sister and an aspiring psychologist.

"I already read it," said Clockwork, setting a cup of tea down in front of her.

"What?"

"The book you were about to give me. I've already read it. And a number of others. I am not the kind of person who goes into things unprepared."

Danny rolled into the kitchen on the ceiling. This was easy to ignore. After her life, an Exorcist reference made by her over-excited younger brother, was, well. Underwhelming.

(Okay, she was a little distracted, but only by his glee.)

"Well," she said. "That's good."

.

"I know this house is out of the way," said Clockwork, craning his neck to look up at his coworker, "but you are rather conspicuous."

"Hm. Am I?" asked Pandora, craning her neck down to look at her comparatively tiny colleague.

"Yes. At that size, humans with average eyesight will be able to see you from town."

Pandora looked out over the trees. "Interesting," she said, mildly. "Do you think the ghost hunters will come?"

"You've spoken to Daniel."

"Yes. He stopped by earlier today, on his way to visit Mattingly. Although, I suppose you knew that already."

"Indeed I did. May I ask, is it your intention to lure the ghost hunters here, fight them, defeat them, and then leave them just close enough to here to constitute a breach of their terms of bail and the restraining order against them?"

"I am not terribly well-versed in human law," said Pandora, "but, why, yes. That is exactly what I'm doing. Best to get it done while Daniel is visiting friends, isn't it?"

"Yes. If you had done this while he was here, I would be significantly more annoyed." Clockwork smiled the sanguine smile of a parental figure who would commit murder if their child was upset.

Pandora returned a matching grin, one that promised retribution against persons who had harmed said child in the past. "Please, Clockwork. You know me better than that. I wouldn't subject him to being in the presence of those fools."

"Good," said Clockwork, eyes glinting.

.

"Hey, Clockwork? Do you know why there were police cars driving down the- Oh. Hello?" He stopped at the sight of an unfamiliar woman sitting at the dinning room table, next to Clockwork. He blinked and tilted his head to the side. "Wait. Pandora?"

"Perceptive," said the superficially human olive-skinned woman. "You seemed so happy when you stopped by, earlier. I thought I would come check in on you."

"You didn't have to," said Danny, beaming.

"Pandora has been trying to convince me to set her up as one of my relatives," said Clockwork, rolling his eyes. "Would you care for a cup of tea, Daniel?"

"Umm," said Danny, dubiously. "I'll try one, I guess. Does that mean you'll be my aunt?"

Pandora smiled. "Why, yes, it does."

Clockwork groaned theatrically.

.

"Ah," said Mr. Lancer, at the next parent-teacher conference. "Are you Mr. Worth's wife?"

"No," said Pandora, grinning. "I'm his sister."

Mr. Lancer looked back and forth between the two very different-looking entities. "I... see."

"We're adopted," said Clockwork.

"Oh! Alright then. Now, about Daniel..."

.

It was a bit strange to see Danny with so much energy, Sam reflected. Strange, but good.

It just went to show how drained he had become over time, how much the constant ghost attacks and worry, all the lies and stress and impossible expectations had worn away at him over time. She hadn't seen her friend this happy since freshman year. If that.

On the other hand...

"Dude," said Tucker. "Your house is spooky. And this is coming from someone who's been inside a literal mad science lab."

Danny rolled his eyes. "Mad science labs are campy, not spooky. Besides, you knew coming in that this house was haunted." He draped himself over the back of the couch, rolling until he was 'sitting' upside-down. "Anyway, what kind of movie do you want to watch? We've got a bunch, because Clockwork apparently collects media from doomed timelines."

"He's got a hobby?" asked Sam.

"Yeah, three," said Danny. "Gardening- you should talk to him about that, by the way, I think he'd like it- baking, and alternate timeline movies. And some books, too, I think. He's got a huge library back in Long Now. I've read like. Two books from it."

Clockwork's voice floated in from the other room. "You've read significantly more than that, Daniel."

"I guess," said Danny, doubtfully. He flopped off the couch, picked himself up, and started prodding at a shelf of movies. "This is from a timeline where the Earth got beaned by a massive asteroid. It's, like, a romcom, but it was made when everyone knew the asteroid was coming. This one is, uh, this is actually a dramatization of real events, apparently, but their timeline split from ours in like the fifties, so the events are pretty wild." He waved the DVD at them. "It's surreal?"

"How'd they die?" asked Tucker.

"Wacky superscience. No, really. Irradiated the entire planet."

"How do you know?" asked Sam.

"Oh, Clockwork puts notes on the boxes. He thinks it's interesting. And there does seem to be some correlation between how cursed the movies are and how bad the timeline was. Which maybe shouldn't surprise me? I mean, if they were bad timelines..." He shrugged. "Oh, this is a CGI Lion King. I can tell you: very cursed. Absolutely soulless. And this is from a timeline where copyright laws weren't changed, so Mickey Mouse and a bunch of other stuff was in the public domain."

"Isn't that a good timeline?" joked Sam.

"You'd think so," agreed Danny. "But apartheid in South Africa apparently never stopped, and they got a nuclear bomb, and, well... World War Three."

"Is that like, a domino effect, or...?"

"I'm not sure... Anyway. Uh. Genre?" He clapped his hands together.

Tucker leaned forward. "I want the wildest version of the Matrix you have."

"Ooh, good choice. There are, like, six with Will Smith. I haven't watched them all yet, but I think the one where they've got another sequel and Zion is also a- Wait, I shouldn't spoil it."

"After that, can you see if there's a non-crappy version of Dracula?" asked Sam.

"Sure. I haven't seen one yet, but I will look."

"I have popcorn," said Clockwork, entering the room, "and various baked goods. No dairy."

"You're the best."

.

Clockwork selected a thick blanket from the chest, then teleported himself to the living room to drape it over the three teenagers passed out on the couch. Overall, he found pretending to be human oddly enjoyable, but it could be trying at times. Tedious. All the finicky little motions humans had to go through to do the simplest of things added up over the day.

So, Clockwork tended to ease off of them when no one was watching. It made life easier.

Heh. Life.

(He would say that Daniel's puns were rubbing off on him, but in truth Clockwork's sense of humor had been like that for, well. Eons.)

He put the kitchen in order with an absent wave of his hand, and double-checked the stove out of habit. It wasn't nearly as good as his actual oven, back in Long Now, but it was serviceable.

One of Daniel's friends mumbled in their sleep, and Clockwork looked in on them. Still peaceful. It was good for Daniel to have them here. Beneficial for both his human and ghost halves.

He hummed to himself and patted Daniel's head as he thought about their plans for the weekend. He had arranged for some truly aggravating evangelical missionaries to darken their doorstep. It would do Daniel good to inspire a touch of terror. In an entirely controlled and risk-free way, of course. No matter how unpleasant the people coming were, Clockwork had no intention of harming them, or suggesting anything of the sort.

But, well. They were ghosts. Being feared was soothing.

(Clockwork knew this wasn't what Jasmine meant when she suggested Clockwork engage in family bonding activities with Daniel. But what she didn't know...)

.

"I think my teeth are getting sharper," said Danny, pulling a face at the mirror. "Is that normal?" The last was shouted, to get Clockwork's attention. Intellectually, Danny knew he didn't need to do that, but a lifetime of habit was hard to shake.

"It is difficult to say what is normal for someone like you, but many ghosts do have fangs," said Clockwork. "Including myself."

"Hm," said Danny. "This isn't, like, a ghost puberty thing, is it? Because I already used up most of my evil puberty jokes."

"Oh, only most?" Clockwork slid behind him and started rubbing the tension out of his shoulders.

Danny shrugged. "Eh, give or take. But, seriously."

"No, it isn't a ghost puberty thing."

"Oh, good. Because dealing with one puberty is more than enough."

Clockwork was silent. Danny looked up and met troubled eyes in the mirror.

"Clockwork?"

"Daniel," started Clockwork, before giving Danny an uneasy smile. "Speaking of puberty..."

Danny blanched. "No."

"What?"

"No. Nope. Not doing the talk today, no sir. I got that at school."

"Daniel, as strange as Casper High may be at times, I highly doubt they taught you anything about immortality."

"What."

.

"It's why ghosts put so much forethought into relationships like this," explained Clockwork, careful not to look directly at Daniel's hiding place. "They might last forever. I certainly hope this one does."

"But I don't want to be a teenager forever!" wailed Danny. He had mastered the art of making his voice sound like it was coming from a completely different direction than it actually was.

Clockwork was older than human civilization and had been worshiped as a god by several civilizations. He did not wince at the heartbreak in his child's voice.

"Your shapeshifting abilities should come in after a few years," said Clockwork. "You'll be able to pass as older."

Daniel answered with a moan.

"I must confess, I'm not sure why you are so upset about this. I can see that you are, but could you explain why for me?"

"I don't knoooooowww..."

.

"I don't want everyone to die and leave me alone," admitted Danny, hunched over a carton of ice cream. "I don't want to see my- my people die." He sniffled.

"We don't have to stay in Amity Park if you don't want to," said Clockwork.

Danny shook his head. "No! That's worse," he said, hating how his voice tilted into a whine. "That's- I can't abandon them! I can't- can't miss their time. I just..." He let out a huff of air. "It's hard."

Clockwork wrapped an arm around Daniel's shoulders. "It may not help much," he said, "but people in Amity Park have a much higher chance of becoming ghosts. It's the ectoplasm in the air."

"Promise?" asked Danny.

"Promise. Although, who, exactly, becomes a ghost is outside of my control. All I can tell you is that the people here have a better chance."

Danny leaned against Clockwork. "Thanks," he mumbled. "Clockwork?"

"Yes?"

"You don't think I'm a freak, do you?"

"Of course not."

.

Mr. Lancer squinted down at Daniel Fenton's latest assignment with a mix of appreciation, disbelief, and shame. This was easily the best work he had ever received from Daniel. In fact, it rivaled papers he had received from Jasmine.

It made him wonder- How long had Daniel been suffering? What had Daniel been suffering? He was no expert when it came to abuse, but all teachers had some training, and he knew that abusers tended to escalate, starting with something relatively innocuous and ending with a travesty. For things to progress to attempted murder... What had it started as? When had it begun?

(Could Mr. Lancer have stopped it?)

(That question would haunt him more than any ghost.)

Well, there was a silver lining to this, Mr. Lancer supposed. He had rarely seen two people who got along as well as Daniel and Charles Worth. It was good, he thought, for the man to have someone in his life on a more permanent basis, rather than the revolving door of temporary foster children.

How rapidly the adoption went through was a little odd, but... Mr. Lancer shrugged. Undoubtedly, Mr. Worth had taken the time over his years as a foster parent to familiarize himself with the system, and with Daniel's former parents unfit to be anywhere near children...

He shrugged again and stamped Daniel's paper with an A+.

[boop-le-snoot]

masterpost • main masterlist • taglist & faq

previously on...

Chapter 3 is finally here. Sorcerers need their shopping done, too. Beyonce/Wong platonic ship (joking)! And finally some action, more witchy stuff. Bucky whump because I have a saviour complex. Stucky cuteness moment. Some blood/gore in this chapter.

My insides clenched, seeing the yellow and blue notice taped to my door - the building manager rarely left notes, so whatever it was, it wasn't going to be good. I had managed to wind myself up into an anxious frenzy by the time I had gone inside and locked my door behind me, immediately thinking I would have to exhaust myself by turning to magic to keep a roof over my head.

For once, the news turned out to be positive: a neighbor was being evicted and turned in to the police for stealing packages. The building manager urged the tenants to report any missing items and apply for a refund when possible, apologizing for the inconvenience. I wondered what prompted this, basically unheard of in NYC, act of kindness as my altar stared at me with mocking amusement, pointing out the obvious by its mere presence.

Grinning to myself, I texted Odette - predictably, she was happy for me, happy that my protection spell had turned out strong and steady, and added a few tips of her own for my spell to stay that way. It felt like I'd grown invisible wings, those days, with all the possibilities open - and never once did I let myself entertain a thought of getting back at an enemy of the past for longer than five seconds.

Sure, it was perfectly human to consider making the cheating ex go bankrupt or make sure the college professor, that failed a couple of students each semester as a 'reality check', trips and face-plants at least once a day... I mean, who wouldn't experience a malicious sort of joy from petty revenge?

But I found my powers were best applied with a positive result in mind. My friend's cat was the first test rat- I mean, living creature I had practiced my healing spells on. The eleven year old kitty was struggling and both me and my friend loved the critter dearly - so the short, but tiring spell I performed yielded exactly the results I was expecting. Odette said something about genuine love backing up the magic, and- well, Dumbledore much?

On humans, it turned out, it wasn't nearly as simple. I didn't know what I had expected would happen after performing nothing short of a whole improv-performace type of ritual right in front of my very puzzled but hopeful friend with chronic asthma, but it wasn't the sheer exhaustion that ran bone-deep and left me bedridden for a whole day.

Odette visited my dingy apartment with her signature enormous purse full of vials she spoon-fed me and trinkets she strategically placed in and around my immediate sleeping area. "There, there," the woman patted my head as I pitifully moaned at the ear-splitting headache. "The first one is always the most challenging. After all, if it would be easy, everyone would do it."

I understood that. But at the same time, it felt unfair that no good deed went unpunished. I told Odette so, raising my voice to the best of my ability as she rummaged around my kitchen.

"Nothing in this world comes out of thin air, whatever you decide to give has to be taken from somewhere," she explained patiently. "People like us are considered hedge witches. We do solitary work and draw most of our energy from the Earth, from mother Nature. We cannot perform miracles, however, the cost of our spells are very low," I felt an immediate peak of interest at the simple yet effective explaination she gave me. "We remain mostly human. Gaia* is kind and generous to the ones who pay respect," Odette continued over the clatter of pans and pots. "There are other kinds of witches - who take from other people, who take from the dead. But taking something by force always leaves scars and taking something from the dead means bringing a piece of them back to places it should not be."

I pondered the words as Odette brought the kettle to a boil, the whistling shriek piercing through my skull like a sharp projectile. "What about Voodoo practitioners?" I couldn't hold back my curiosity.

Odette cleared her throat. "What is left of them is mostly not human. Their gifts are great but the costs are greater. They can live far, far longer than the average witch but their souls will know no peace, just like the souls of the dead they anchor to themselves over time," Odette entered the room with a bowl of tangy, creamy liquid that smelled like pumpkin soup. "We do not bestow any judgement upon our brothers and sisters but it is our duty to inform the young." She cast a pointed glance towards me, passing me the soup and a wooden spoon I didn't know I had. "This should help you recover. Take tomorrow off if needs be."

She left shortly afterwards and I hadn't much strength than to use the bathroom, wash the rune-engraved spoon and curl up in my bed, only waking up when the meager light shone over my face from the window. Sleepy and fog-tinted, the early morning NYC was damp and windy as I stuck my head out of the window to soak my sleep-heated head in the cool air.

As uneventful as the day at the café was, I still wasn't up to 100% energy-wise, but the long walk from Jeremy's to Odette's was pleasantly invigorating. I didn't find the cold autumn moisture displeasing; the small raindrops kept me awake and alert. Odette nodded in muted pleasure as I clocked in and returned the special spoon back to her. The runes on it were interesting; I had taken a picture of them for research purposes, fully intending to craft myself something similar.

"Odette has taken on an apprentice," Wong's voice had me take in several deep breaths in preparation for the inevitable fuck-fest on my patience. "She has been avoiding me. And the girl is painfully slow."

I didn't hear the answer of Wong's companion over the rustling of the boxes I was hastily shoving in their places before the Asian man's temper grew foul. More foul. Ugh. The sharp ding of the bell had me yelling a, "Just a second please, I'll be right with you," while trying to keep my tone polite.

Wong's sour face and a list of items required greeted me as I flew out of the backrooms, noticing the locked doors of Odette's office on my way out. Wong's companion stood at the far end of the store - his robes quite different from the ones I'd seen people of their kind wear, his lithe, tall figure seeming strangely familiar. I squinted my eyes at his back. "Is this all you need?" I waved the list around, increasing the volume of my voice.

The tall man turned around and I could only gape. He, in turn, also froze, the stern, unfriendly expression losing heat and giving way to perplexed wonder. "I had placed an order, for sorcerer Strange," Tony's boyfriend eyed me somewhat sheepishly under Wong's concerned gaze.

I nodded, eyeing Wong in turn, letting satisfaction nestle a warm ball in my chest. Stephen's look of displeasure had turned onto his... Colleague. By the time I finished retrieving Strange's order and packing up the items on Wong's list, the Asian man had left, leaving Stephen to sheepishly pretend to examine the books on the furthest shelf. I waved the paper bags as he took long strides towards me, his fancy, large necklace glimmering under the lights.

"So, how long have you been working here?" Sorcerer Strange asked after I told him the total.

The cash register beeped loudly, coins clattering on the desk as I counted out his change. "Some time now," I shrugged noncommittally. I felt his magnetic eyes gloss over my adornments, the star necklace, the various rings; I could practically feel him coming to his own conclusions. "Long enough for your colleague to get an attitude with me," I had to make sure he knew I would be taking no bullshit from him - or anyone else, for that matter. Odette's opinion on his kind was firm and I was heavily inclined to agree.

"Hmm, I see," Strange was equally as keen on hiding his curiosity. It was a funny thing, really, that we, being adults that we were, treated this encounter like some sort of a dirty secret. "Don't take it personally. Wong is like that with everyone," The man briefly scratched his beard with a gloved hand before pocketing his change and picking up the bags. "Except Beyoncè, maybe," the wink he threw me was positively mischievous as it caught me off-guard, giving him a fox-like appearance.

I sighed as the door shut behind him. Pretty white boys - the ultimate human disasters.

I had no time to dwell on them, however, as something - or someone, hit downtown with all the malicious intentions to wreak havoc on the innocent civilians calmly going about their day. Mutants and people who knew Odette came in hordes, scrapes and bruises and strange wounds that required imminent healing.

My boss was no rookie, she dutifully accepted each and every single soul, looking worse for wear with each minute. Not being able to withstand seeing her drain herself, I simply took over the simplest tasks - and she said nothing, just gave me a nod, instructed to use whatever I needed and write it down somewhere along with the name of the person who required the healing.

As the battle raged, the crowds thinned but the ones who managed to come to Odette's spouted more serious wounds, obviously a result of them fighting back. Mutants covered head to toe with coats and hats and robes, for me to swallow my shock when they undressed - horns, tails and weird skin textures were on the far end of the normal. I dutifully extracted small pieces of information from each and every person I treated.

Yes, the Avengers were winning. No, there aren't many people hurt, most of the damage is cosmetic. Yes, the villain of the week is as stupid as usual. It was like a mantra. Odette poked her head into the spare room every now and then, her eagle eyes briefly scanning over me to make sure I wasn't exterting myself.

As I applied the healing salve to a tiny, pink-skinned woman, bandaging up her hands, my boss entered and closed the door behind her, setting down on the creaky chair with a loud thud. "Just got the news, the Avengers apprehended the terrorist," she sighed long and slow. "We've done all we could, the next few days I'll be handling house calls so you'll be here on your own. I'll probably see you in a few days, don't hesitate to give me a call if something comes up," Odette seemed to be barely standing up, yet when she tore off a few pieces of her jewelry and chucked them into a big tin can under the sink, the glossy sheen in her eyes melted away.

"Okay," I mumbled under the watchful eyes of the mutant woman. "Will there be more people coming in today?"

"No," the woman in front of me snorted. "SHIELD is prowling the streets. They are not fond of us, they always say we intervene unnecessarily even though we willingly do their dirty work so our children could be safe," the bitter, harsh tone took me off-guard.

I had to admit, there was reason behind her words. "Will you be able to get home safely? I have a puffy coat and a hat you can borrow." Figuring an expensive taxi ride would be a better alternative to something terrible happening to the woman, I offered her my winter clothes.

She smiled at me, razor blade teeth and large, red eyes the kindest I'd ever seen on a person. In the end, she took the clothes, promising to bring them back in a few days and Odette gave me a parka that was too small for her frame - despite it smelling like someone's grandma's attic, I found it to be quite lovely vintage. The puffy knitted scarf she added felt like warmth and safety - she had to have knitted it herself, for I knew, handmade items carried a significant amount of energy in them.

The shop was eerily quiet as I cleaned and scrubbed the stained, dirty floors and disposed of the bloody clothes and bandages in the tiny, odd fireplace in Odette's office - that was a thing most peculiar, it burned everything I put in it, but had no chimney, no place for the smoke to exit. Magic.

Something banged loudly against the entrance door. I let out a startled shriek, broomstick falling out of my hand and adding to the sudden cacophony of noise as the figure behind the stained glass slowly slid down the door, a deep, male voice groaning something incomprehensible loud enough for me to hear.

Grabbing a large serrated knife we used for mincing the bones of small animals, I made quiet steps towards the door, seeing a large, obviously humanoid figure helplessly lean on the door. The man's arm glinted chrome black and gunmetal grey in the low light. "Sargent Barnes? Bucky?" I whisper-shouted, carefully plying open the door.

He lifted his head, blood dripping down from it, his face looked like someone went to town on it with a meat mullet, his eyes were unfocused and couldn't keep a straight line. His flesh arm leaned heavily on the door frame, the prosthetic hanging limply, dragging his whole body to its side. It must've weigh a ton.

"Я должен найти капитана Роджерса," he whispered.

I didn't understand Russian at all but I could make out the name of his boyfriend. Which made sense. Bucky looked severely concussed - I idly wondered what exactly they had been fighting, what could have given a freaking super-soldier such a brain-leaking injury. "Sargent Barnes, follow me," I put on my big girl shoes and used my momma bear voice, towing the man behind me.

He, too, weighed a ton, as I stumbled, helping him into the chair in the spare room that became my healing station for today. The longer I looked at Bucky, the less lucid he grew, eyes falling shut as he murmured something in jagged Russian, slurring his words.

There was no time to think about the consequences of exposure of my witchcraft; mortar and pestle, herbs and salves flying everywhere, I assembled a healing spell and memorized the according ritual in what felt like record time. He was bleeding all over the chair, fresh crimson blood pouring out of his nose and mouth and it was all I could see.

I hadn't known true terror until the blood that poured out turned black. Whatever it was in him, it was poisonous - my protection charms grew hot, scalding as they left marks on my skin; powering through the pain and unable to turn my eyes off the convulsing Barnes, I finished the chant just as the flow of vile, tar-like liquid suddenly ceased. It pooled around his feet, dripped down the armrests and matted his long hair. It reeked, too, of copper and putrid meat.

Bucky had passed out somewhere mid-spell, the slow, steady breathing bringing me my own sense of calm. To say that I was drained would be an understatement - my vision swam and my world spun on it's axis as I unlocked Odette's office to messily rummage through a cabinet for the emergency tonic I knew she kept there. I chugged the vial, an avalanche of almost anxious, jittery energy hit me like a freight train - exactly what I needed.

I bought myself a couple hours of time. Cleaning up the sludge around Bucky's feet and removing the outer parts of his gear was easy as he remained as relaxed as a cooked spaghetti noodle. The amount of weapons he had on him was impressive, but those weren't what I was looking for - his phone. It was dead, so I plugged it in, waiting for the 5% to show and bringing it to his fingertips, hoping he used the print recognition instead of the password option... And I lucked out.

"Hello, this is Star, I found a Bucky. Tell Dr. Strange to come get him, he knows where I am." I texted the "Stevie ❤️" contact, my inner fangirl self squealing at the dorky name of his boyfriend's contact in Bucky's phone. Shortly afterwards, I went ahead and snapped a picture of myself next to sleeping Bucky, figuring out some actual proof wouldn't do any harm in this bizarre situation.

The answer didn't let me wait long. "10 minutes" came the first text, and shortly afterwards - "Is Bucky okay??????". I had to snort at the amount of question marks before honestly replying "He will be ☺️" and putting the phone back in Bucky's pocket. I cleaned up and attempted to lift Bucky up, succeeding in waking him up into a half-lucid state, probably courtesy of decades of training and whatnot, to at least drag him to the front of the store. I wasn't particularly comfortable with strangers seeing the backrooms.

Bucky leaned with his back against the counter, ass flat on the floor and a towel with a cold compress pressed to his head when the doors all but flew open, revealing Captain Rogers, still in uniform and Stephen Strange, arguing with his boyfriend, both still suited up and bloody and grimy.

"Uhh," I blinked owlishly, causing the men to stop bickering and stare first at me, then at Bucky. "I think he hit his head," I offered weakly, backing up slightly at the amount of burning eyes staring at me.

"Shortcake, that you?" Tony's eyebrows rose as he surveyed the bodega, the items on the shelves, the black and red blood stains on my previously pristine, yellow shirt.

"Now is not the time, Tony. Go with Rogers, make sure the medical is prepared for Barnes and disable his arm," Strange barked out authoritatively, shooting me a puzzled but compassionate look. "The portal is open. I'll talk to Star, find out what happened." He advanced towards me as Captain picked up Bucky bridal-style as tenderly as he could while making sure the compress stayed on.

"Keep that tone fo the bedroom," Tony's voice was more than displeased as he shot me and Strange a hurt look, but followed Steve into the golden circle right outside the door before it sparked shut.

"Now, now, what happened here?" The sorcerer's voice lowered into a soothing drawl as I let out the breath I didn't know I was holding. My shoulders sagged, fingers twitching with anxious energy. The man extended a gloved hand, briefly squeezing my shoulder. "It's alright, take your time."

Damn, did I look that bad?

Taglist: @couldntbedamned @mikariell95 @letsby @sleep-i-ness @toomanyrobins @mostly-marvel-musings @persephonehemingway @schemefrenzy @lillsxd @bluecrazedandbeautiful @slothspaghettiwrites

[nightswithkookmin]

GOING ON A HIATUS

Thanks to everyone who's taken the time out to read my posts and has enjoyed it so far. It's really been fun and entertaining exchanging thoughts and having these much deeper ship discussions.

I thought this issue was gonna go away but I woke up this morning to more people messaging me about finding my last video analysis on several other platforms without appropriate credit.

But that's not disturbing. The disturbing part is the people sliding into people's DM'S on other platforms to get them to take down my video because they don't want people sharing my content on other platforms as they believe it would only make my blog popular.

For those worried about this whole credit business, thanks for showing this much concern for me? I really appreciate the love and concern if it's from a genuine place of concern. Thank you...

I think some of you already know this by now or might have figured it out, I am a law student, I am very much well aware what is and what isn't within my rights? Lol

I honestly didn't see this whole credit thingy as a big deal. It's not. Not to me. Lol. I repost people's photos without credit too all the time. Often, it's because I don't know who to credit and most time my lazy ass just forgets to. Lol. I think it's normal? It's inconsequential I mean.

The videos I use are usually often water marked by the appropriate owners so I don't go through the hustle of figuring this whole credit business out. If I should decide to come back here again I will check that habit of mine?

While this whole credit business is not a big deal to me, malicious slander and defamation to my character is and I don't take it lightly.

It has been brought to my attention that some Jikookers from Tumblr have since been sliding into people's DM's on other platforms asking them to take down my video and or remove the credit they give to my post.

They are telling people I am problematic, calling me the Taekook Lives of the Jikook community. That I have been spreading lies about Jikook, that the Jikook Tumblr community hates me or something like that and to further caricaturize me and make me appear more evil in order to get people to turn on me and hate me, they make up the most ridiculous lies about me claiming that I believe a notorious serial killer is innocent.

Now I have since deleted my YT account because I don't want my colleagues to find out I am into shipping too lol- shipping is a guilty pleasure of mine and I know how this fandom works unfortunately. I've been a silent part of it since 2014. I mean it's started already. The Doxing and shit.

The original post under which these replies are from couldn't save sadly as my account has been deleted but you can see from my notifications the general feel of what my interests outside shipping looks like.

I am interested in a myriad of topics, from literature, Aliens, writing, Harry Potter, history, activism, advocacy, philosophy, law, politics, NASA, and mystery and murder among other things.

My quora is mostly filled with notifications from my Book community and True crime community and often I do share my thoughts and answer questions with regards to the psychology of murderers, legal evidence, notorious villains in literature- well I guess now you know the kind of lawyer I want to be if and when I'm able to complete law school.

But what has my interest in these topics got to do with Jikook and shipping please?? How does this prove I hate Jikook and spread lies about them?

This Kookie Min Monsta person slipped into someone's DMS and asked the person who had put up my video analysis to take it down or discredit me because to her I am problematic. She is not the only one.

You want so bad to paint me black- no pun intended just to win an argument? You claim I am the evil malicious person here but I am not the one sliding into people's dms trying to take credit away from people for their hardwork, spreading hate and negative energy, making things up to manipulate people's perception of others and get them to hate and turn on them- and all because of A SHIP? Damn. This is pathetic.

Who died and made you the gatekeeper of the jikook shipping community? Honestly antics like these don't work on me try again.

I made a video commentary on my Booktube YT account- yes I am part of the book YouTube community as well sue me or better still slip into their inboxes and tell them I voted for Trump therefore I hate chipmunks.

The commentary I made on YT months ago was when I was in the highs of finding a new passion and it was on Ann Rule's book, The Stranger Besides Me- a true crime novel on Ted Bundy which I found so poorly written that at the end of the book it left with me wondering whether or not Ted Bundy was guilty at all!

The Author's writing style which deviates from most writing styles of True Crime novels I have read gave me trust issues as I stated in the video. It felt more as if she was writing a made up fictional novel than an actual True Crime novel but because she knew Ted Bundy in person she made it seem as if we just had to believe her account.

Then there was this whole thing about the police not being able to match the DNA samples taken from his rape victims, to his own Semen because his Semen was DNAless- in lay man's terms. I'll spare you the technicalities involved.

As I stated in that video, I do believe Ted Bundy was guilty but I do not have much faith in the Judicial system, or criminal procedures or even the Author of that book- a sentiment most people within the true crime community share as well. We just had differing views on whether the writer's style took away from the narrative and waters down on the extent of Bundy's guilt.

We had a Similar conversation about Chris Watt. If the community I was engaging in didn't have a problem with my commentary why do you? Please don't meddle in things you know nothing about. It's embarrassing.

The conversation about whether or not Ted Bundy is innocent is moot but a philosophical one. It has nothing to do with Ted Bundy's guilt but more so the criminal procedures involved in his case and the different accounts that exists surrounding his case.

He was electrocuted, he confessed to his crimes no damn person with brains would think or assume he is innocent and I never said anything of that nature drew any conclusions to that effect.

Besides, I moved on from Ted Bundy a long time ago. Now I am into the Serial Killer who writes death poems and signs it off with drawings of the size of his dick at his crime scenes- mind your own business please or don't and let's have an intellectual discourse about him? Lmho.

I am also into cat memes if you care to know and have a whole IG dedicated to cat memes. I believe human beings are the most dumbest species in all the galaxies and when the Aliens arrive I am snitching.

When my mind is at rest, I often wonder if Aliens have masculinity complex and if they do whether or not their masculinity is contingent on the size of their dicks or whether they have to engage in a battle to the death with an alien grizzly bear to determine who is the man.

I love BTS memes too- a little too much and often end up debating over the internet with random people over whether BTS memes are funnier than cat memes- I'm weird, true. But how does all of that make me a bad person?

It's crazy how these people can go on these other platforms to ask people to take down the credits to my posts as well as my posts itself but can't ask people who run to these other platforms with misinterpretations of my work to take those down.

Instead they come on here to call me out for people's interpretations of my work?? It doesn't work that way. You are the author of your own opinion and interpretation of other people's work. You don't call out the original author for someone's opinion of their work. If that were so I would be emailing Stephanie Meyer for Anna Todd and her After series. Get some education.

I have since blocked this person and others whose Tumblr I have been able to find thanks to all those that's helped me finding them on here.

My gf also tried reaching out to the persons who shared my post after we realised this was becoming an issue and had asked them to credit her or my blog- but honestly I don't care about that yet she won't give it a rest. Lol. My ride or die this one. Sigh.

However, we realized soon that this is not about 'stealing' credit- can't call someone out for not giving credit when I suck at that myself. Lol.

This is about people's malicious intentions and their attempts to silence me and take away my right to freedom of expression however way that they can. This is wrong and evil.

I honestly don't care for all these ship politics these people are engaged in. I've had enough intelligent conversations to know the distinction between arguments that flows from bruised egos and actual conversations around a subject matter.

This whole I am right, she is wrong politics... y'all get that the point of having an opinion is not to be right, right? We all cant have the same perspective and you can't call someone a liar for holding views that is different from yours. That is a bizarre mentality to have.

As I stated in my post, that content I made was a rebuttal to the Taekook theories running around on the internet alleging JK glared at Tae when he pulled on his shoulder because he was jealous Tae and Jin were having fun behind him. He wasn't. He was worried Tae was gonna expose him and JM holding hands behind Suga.

If you don't think they were holding hands then Taekookers were right and his reaction was because he was Jealous of Taejin I guess...

But thats your truth. That's not my truth. I don't believe Taekook is real. JK isn't jealous of Taejin he is not Twelve- but then again he was sneaking around behind Suga holding his boyfriend's hands so I guess he is twelve? Lol. Jikook!

Do you.

But please stop the evil malicious attacks and seek immediate help. There is such a thing as right and wrong and this is just plain wrong. Your Karma and chakra are in the negative nodes and you need to fix it. It is not funny anymore.

Thank you to everyone who has shown genuine concerns for me in the past few days and thank you so much for trying to stand up for me. There are good people on here and I have met and interacted with a lot of them and thank you so much for such a wonderful experience and insightful discussions.

I don't hate people because of our differences in thoughts, beliefs, opinions. There's always room for dissenting opinions in every sphere. At the very least, we can agree to disagree and shake on it. But You can't make up shit about people just to prove your opinion is right and their opinions and views which differ from yours are 'wrong.

I am not a victim though, and they are not bullies, psst. They are just vile pathetic human beings exposing the greens of their insides. What you do says more about who you are as a person and human being. And this is who they are.

Just be a nice decent human being. That's what this world needs. Fix whatever is broken inside of you and free your mind and spirit. Hate is never the answer.

I'm going to be away for a while because I have studies, work and other interests I want to pursue at the moment- it's just my AADD flaring up so if you see me henceforth raving about Nana at least you'd know why. Lol. She's wrecking my Jimin bias. Lmho.

Spread positivity, do the right thing, stand up for a good cause and keep supporting Jikook. Jikook is real.

Until we meet again.

Signed,

GOLDY

[begedil]

Internship Tips & Advice

Alhamdulillah, finally found the time to sit and write. Been a crazy busy, super fun, extremely tiring, definitely rewarding 22-week internship experience for me and now I’m back at school. I’ve actually been wanting to pen this down for the longest time but man, working life is tough. It’s been full throttle since week 3 so alhamdulillah for the 6 days of leave. That being said, I know we all have things so I won’t beat around the bush. Here’s some tips and advice for my friends who already started their internships this semester.

Pre-internship (and it’s first few weeks):

-       Advice #1: Get a planner.

Things are going to get hectic and it’ll be (really) hard to rely solely on memory to know your upcoming events. Personally, I prefer planners with a monthly-view as it provides me with a better gauge of how much work is coming up and how busy I’m gonna be (also because I lack the discipline to fill up a daily/weekly calendar). To avoid getting overwhelmed, I don’t include work meetings in my planner, I only indicate the tasks I need to complete and things I have after work.

-       Advice #2: Work out your time ratio.

Figure out who and what you want to make time for. Yourself, your family, your friends, your hobbies – everything you hope to make time for during internship. Planning is one thing, whether you can do it is another. It’s okay if it changes throughout the internship. Never thought basketball would be one of the things I’d want to make time for but here I am. Use the first few weeks to find the right momentum and slowly work things out from there. You don’t have to figure it all out on the first try. It’s still a mystery to me how parents have the energy to do this whole work-life balance thing.

Throughout internship (the school side of things):

-       Advice #3: Logbook. Logbook. Logbook.

Pretty sure every school differs in their daily submission requirements but for my course (Mechanical Engineering) I have to submit a bi-weekly logbook detailing learning points and answers to specific questions. I didn’t think it would be such a burden but… boy was I wrong. I find it is so dreadful. Not because the questions are hard to answer, but because I keep forgetting to do it and end up trying to type as fast as I can before the Friday deadline. So please, don’t put yourself through what I did and set a reminder or block your calendar to complete it sometime during the week. Have your sticky notes open on your desktop and pen down points throughout the week so you don’t panic like I do when you have 5 hours left to submit it.

-       Advice #4: @ friends who are not on internship

Not gonna lie, the FOMO did kick in a few times. While many of my friends are in school going for lunch together, there I was trying to figure out why my vlookup formula isn’t working. I know the thought that I would not know anyone when I go back to school next semester seems absurd, but it does genuinely scare me sometimes (ESFJ much?). Luckily for me, being part of an adhoc helped make me feel like I’m not completely out of the loop and my (lovely) friends do check up on me or (try to) make dinner/weekend plans. Lunch too (and won’t let me PAY, if you’re reading this - may Allah bless you). So, if you have a friend going on internship next semester, please text them occasionally, I can promise you they’d be extremely grateful to know you still remember them. Advanced note: Expect late replies though, it’s not indicative of how thankful they are in having you check up on them.

Throughout internship (the work side of things):

-       Advice #5: Make full use of all the opportunities they provide employees.

Let me just get one thing out of the way first; Yes, interns are employees as well. In the MNC I work for, there are many sponsored certifications for employees to take up. Hopefully when you see me in school next year I am a certified yellow belt in Lean Six Sigma, insha Allah (if I ever find the time to complete the learning materials that’s been put on hold for 2 weeks now). Start making it a habit to ask questions – get your supervisor to teach you how to navigate a certain platform (to my engineering friends, SAP is more confusing than it sounds) or have them share their personal opinions on how a meeting went. It’s interesting to hear from someone who has been working there a lot longer than you have.

-       Advice #6: Get to know the different working styles you get along with.

Make use of this time to work with as many individuals as you can. You’ll be able to know more about your own tendencies and motivations as well as the working styles that you can (and cannot) click with. (You know those unpleasant group project experiences you’ve had in school? Yeah they happen in the workplace too, with adults.)

-       Advice #7: Be open about your workload.

I am so blessed to have the supervisor that I do. 70% of the good experience I’ve had thus far I owe it all to her. (The other 30% were the friends I made and the company benefits. I mean $30 bowling vouchers for $5? WHAT. A. DEAL.) One thing that has helped facilitate a good working relationship is open communication. Whenever she assigns me a task, I let her know what are the tasks that I currently have on hand (including school tasks such as logbook) and how early she can expect for me to complete the task. This way, my supervisor is constantly updated on my current workload and can better decide if more work should be assigned to me. I know how that may sound crazy (and scary) but really, sometimes with the amount of work they have to handle, supervisors can forget what they have assigned you. Trust me, it’s worse if you tank and end up having a backlog of tasks to complete.  

Throughout internship (the you side of things):

-       Advice #8: Don’t worry about your Zuhr and Asr’ prayers!

I’ve had my fair share of part-time jobs and I know this can be a worry sometimes. So, for anyone who may need the extra reassurance, don’t worry. Let colleagues know early on about having to go for prayers. Alhamdulillah my colleagues were really understanding of it, they even showed me where I could go to pray. My advice to you is to read the situation when you are informing them about having to go for prayers and if they look hesitant, let them know how short it’d probably take you. Most of the time, they are hesitant because they are overestimating the time it takes to pray and they are just worried that your work will be affected or that you won’t be there when they need you.

-       Advice #9: Remember that emails are not an easy feat.  

Another one of the small things I never thought could be so challenging. Being overwhelmed by emails is a real thing and please don’t let it happen to you. People send emails even after midnight (which also reminds me, please DO NOT bring work home unless absolutely and definitely necessary) and the rate that emails come in awaiting your reply, my friend, is a recipe for burn out. I mean people even block their calendars just to clear emails! Don’t try to reply them all in one go. Consider the subject and assess its urgency. Also, another tip, Outlook allows you to @ the one concerned/who needs to take action in your email. Based on my experience, that allows you to get faster replies from the relevant colleagues. May Allah ease your inbox, insha Allah.

-       Advice #10: Don’t limit yourself!

You are not “just” an intern. Really, this self-limiting mindset does more harm than good. If you tell yourself you are just an intern, then you’re likely to be treated as one – being assigned work that full timers do not want to do. I’ve heard so many stories from friends of how they had to overtime because they were overwhelmed with work. Speak up for yourself. It wasn’t easy gaining the trust, but by asking if I could take up a certain task or help out with one that was not originally assigned to me, my supervisors and colleagues very rarely give me admin work and trust me to handle bigger tasks. (Alhamdulillah!)

Be honest with yourself and ask yourself how you want your internship journey to be. This was my first ever internship experience (and quite possibly the only one before I venture out into the working world) so I really wanted to learn as much as I can and prove to myself that I am capable and ready. Hence, I hope that with the tips I shared here, I can help you achieve that too, insha Allah.

[akfanficlove]

“Double Feature” - #SeblaineWeek2020

Written for Seblaine Week 2020 – Power Couple

Check out all of my other Seblaine-stories here at AO3 :)

Blaine getting his first feature on Broadway.com and Sebastian being part of the interview. Also, since Santana was one of my favorite characters on Glee and Naya Riveras sudden death and the thought of her baby boy really breaks my heart, in honor of Naya I gave her character a special place in this fic. I hope she feels the love.

“Sebastian, I can’t find my other shoe! Have you seen my other shoe?” Sebastian sighs and puts his phone down. He has been ready for a good 15 minutes, waiting for Blaine to get dressed.

“Sebastian!”

He gets up to go their bedroom where he finds Blaine frantically searching through his closet, shirt still unbuttoned and halfway tucked into his pants. And right there, next to their bed, the missing shoe. He goes over and bends down, grabbing the shoe and handing it to Blaine. There is a nervous energy bouncing from his boyfriend that he hasn’t seen since they moved in with each other six months ago, a year after he came back from Paris.

“B, it’s only an interview, you’ve done this before, remember?” He sees Blaine’s eyes widen in shock.

“Excuse you, it’s not only an interview, Sebastian! It’s my very first feature for Broadway.com, it is huge to get this at my age!”

Sebastian holds up his hands in surrender. “I didn’t mean it like that, I know it’s a big deal. But didn’t you say you talked to the journalist on the phone and she seemed rather nice? Isn’t she even kind of a fan?”

Blaine frowns. “She seemed very nice. Very familiar and impressed with my work, yes. But she’s not a fan, I think if she was, she would not be allowed to do that interview in the first place. Some kind of journalistic standards or something…”

“Makes sense”, Sebastian agrees. “You ready now?”

“Yes!”, Blaine beams at him and starts to make his was down the corridor while he buttons up his shirt. “What are you waiting for? Let’s go, we have an interview to give, Seb!”

  When they arrive at the hotel, there are a few fans outside. They still have a few minutes and Blaine usually goes out of his way to take care of his fans – signs t-shirts and Playbills, smiles for pictures and accepts compliments with a shy smile. Sebastian is usually pretty annoyed when strangers approach him. He doesn’t get as much attention as Blaine, his bit of modeling for fashion magazines more a hobby he gets paid for than a career path he wants to follow full-time. No, he is really happy with his position at the advertisement agency he started with Hunter and Beat four months ago. It had taken a while to get everything worked out, their personalities clashing in more than one way, but in the end they each found their places in the general construct of their firm.

Still, Blaine always seems to have a soft spot for his admirers, his smile big, his eyes sparkling with gratitude and awe that someone recognizes him and likes him enough to want to talk to him.

After the small group of people seems satisfied for the moment, Blaine makes his excuses, turns around and grabs Sebastian’s hand. Together, they enter the hotel and look around. On a table in a quieter area of the lobby two women, one of them with short brown hair, olive skin and a camera bag in her lap. The other woman has long, dark red hair and silver rimmed glasses, pen and paper sitting in front of her on the table. As if she feels Sebastian’s gaze, she looks up and her face breaks out in a genuine smile. He pulls Blaine closer to the table when he sees the redhead get up and take a few steps in their direction.

 “Blaine Anderson! It’s so good to finally meet you, I really am happy that we could both make this work”, she says shaking Blaine’s hand. Then she looks at Sebastian. “And you must be Sebastian Smythe, right? I loved your latest shooting for Vogue, you look very great in black and white – or, well”, she looks him up and down, “in color, too, obviously.” She smiles at him. A little superficial, Sebastian thinks, but he’s not one to turn down a compliment.

“I’m Alexandra – Alex is fine – and this is Chiara, my photographer. Please, sit down, guys!”

They both sit down on the table as Chiara gets up to adjust the setting for the pictures later.

“I’m well aware that you are kind of a pro by now in giving interviews but just let me talk you through how I do it: I have a colorful bunch of questions prepared for you but if you can’t answer one of the right away, take your time or let me rephrase it – this isn’t television and we are not daily business, we have a lot more time than my colleagues in the news usually do”, she says and smiles cheekily. “I try to take notes during our conversation, so there might be some pauses in between when I finish writing after you finished talking and I say this because it’s okay and it doesn’t have to feel awkward. It should take about an hour, then I’ll hand you to the very talented Chiara for some photos. As soon as we are done with the article and everything is approved by my bosses and ready to be printed – which should be in, I don’t know, 2 or 3 weeks, probably– I’ll e-mail you the quotes I used for fact checking. We have limited space to I’d be very grateful if you wouldn’t use that to rewrite the whole story”, she laughs, “but if there is something I didn’t get right or where you have the feeling I misunderstood when I tried to make sense of my thousands of pages of writings – please let me know. Oookay, that’s it, I guess. Any more questions before we begin?”

Alex looks at them expectantly. She has light blue eyes, framed long lashes that can be seen through her glasses and Sebastian thinks, maybe she really is different from all those more-paparazzi-than-journalists-bimbos that try to turn everything into a scandal who Sebastian meets occasionally.

“Okay, then. First of all, Blaine – wait, is it alright if I call you by your first name? Good, great. So, Blaine, your first big Broadway-show just came to an end for you – is there a way to describe how that feels?”

Blaine sits up a little straighter. His nerves might have calmed down when Alex explained how this things would go but Sebastian sees his fingers fidgeting with his sleeves. Sebastian grabs his right hand and slips his fingers through. He receives a thankful smile.

“It’s definitely hard to put it into words. I’m incredibly sad to leave the cast and I loved the role of Ryan. But there is also this side of me that wants to explore and try new things and is excited for what’s to come. Both sides are fighting a war inside of me, seriously, and the jury’s still out on who will win”, Blaine laughs nervously.

“Talking about new things: Rumor has it your newest project reunites you with one of your old friends from Ohio, TV-star Santana Lopez?”

“Yes! I guess, it’s official now, so I can finally talk about it. Santana and I will work together for a short film and she’ll actually come live with us for the 2 months which are planned for shooting. She usually lives in LA and we all know, New York rents are high, so we offered. It will be…” Blaine hesitates and shoots a look at Sebastian. “It will be interesting to live with her, I think.”

Alex’ head peaks up and she stops scribbling. “That was a very meaningful look there. What’s the story? Not so happy with your decision anymore?”

Sebastian smiles. “No, that’s not it. Santana is just a wild ride and some people – “ He looks at Blaine. “Some people might dare to say that we are very similar in certain ways and that together we can be quite a lot.”

Blaine sighs and grins. “Seriously, we both love her, she’s so much fun but Santana and Seb have a special kind of relationship founded on deep respect for each other’s wit and snotty remarks. And when they really start with their banter, they can be a lot to take in and you better get out of their way.”

“Yet”, Alex says, “you offered her to stay with you. So, there must be something you like in her?”

“Oh, there is so much I admire about her! I mean, she’s fierce, she doesn’t take crap from anyone and she really taught me to advocate for myself. When we went to school together, we weren’t extremely close but she was always there, you know? No matter what. Maybe with a loving insult on her lips but deep inside she really cared. I think, that’s probably why we stayed in touch even when I transferred back to my old school.” With each phrase Blaine had gotten more excited which ended with him now sitting on the edge of his chair, leaning in and supporting himself with his elbow on the table.

Alex seems amused by this sudden outburst but she doesn’t say anything. “Since we’re talking about your school life, you transferred three times in four years of high school, right?”

Blaine nods.

“That seems like a lot…”

Blaine blushes lightly but holds her gaze. “Yes, I guess it does when you see it written down on a paper. To be honest, I don’t think about it like that. For me, it was the right decision every single time I made it. I spend most of my high school time at Dalton Academy in Westerville, though, the same school Seb attended and the school were we fell in love with each other. After a lot of high school rivalry and Sebastian being a stupid brat – “, he smiles, “and me being stubborn and a little careless, maybe, but in the end, we found each other and that’s what matters.”

“A stupid brat, huh?” Alex laughs.

“A stupid brat. You may quote that”, Blaine confirms with a cheeky glance to Sebastian. Sebastian just huffs. He still feels uncomfortable when his asshole-actions of his lesser glory high school days are mentioned.

“So, what about the other two schools? When Dalton obviously seems to be so important to you.”

“It is. Well, I attended William McKinley High School in Lima between Dalton and Westerville Central High before I went to Dalton. It’s not easy for me to tell this but I transferred to Dalton after some stupid people decided that being openly gay in Ohio was obviously something that could be punched out of someone and they tried that theory on me, so to speak.” Blaine lowers his gaze. He sounds angry more than still hurt. Sebastian squeezes his hand and slides as close as he can in his chair.

Alex stops scribbling and looks at Blaine with wide eyes full of empathy like she understands what Blaine is admitting out of a sudden. She puts down her pen and paper. “Blaine, if you need a minute…? And remember, you can just say, you don’t want to answer and we’ll go on.” She looks genuinely sorry that she touched such a delicate subject by accident.

Blaine takes a deep breath and sits up straight again. “No, it’s okay. Please, I want to tell this story.” Alex takes her pen again and nods. “Okay. So, what do you mean when you say that someone tried to punch being gay out of you?”

Sebastian feels Blaine’s fingers tremble a little but his voice is strong when he tells Alex the story of the Sadie Hawkins dance.

It was one of the little secrets Blaine whispered to him years ago in the comfort of the dark when they were laying squeezed into his small bed in the Dalton dorms. Back then, he couldn’t see but feel the tears rolling down Blaine’s cheek silently when he told him about the flashbacks he kept having for weeks afterwards, how he flinched when anyone touched him and about Dalton’s strict bullying-police that made him feel secure for the first time in forever when he actually saw it executed 2 weeks after he started at the school. He told him about the Warblers, the brothers who took care of his fractured mind and heart after his broken bones were already healed, about Wes and David who Sebastian had never met, about confidence and unconditional support he was given when he finally started singing and playing piano again. And if Sebastian felt a little more shitty than the already did for how he used the grief and hurt of exactly those brothers after Blaine left, well, he tried to make up for it by tugging Blaine a little closer, holding him a little tighter and brushing away stray tears with his thumb.

Sebastian shakes his head to push the thoughts away just in time as he’s asked “And then you met Blaine and fell for him on first sight? Because, seriously, I could get that, I saw pictures of him in that cute navy blue uniform. Although, the hair, Blaine…?” Sebastian laughs and ruffles through Blaine’s curls with his right hand. Blaine dips his head and glares at him, trying to smooth it down again.

“Yeah, the hair was something. And in hindsight, you might be right, maybe I did fall for him the minute I saw him standing in that Dalton common room door. But to be honest, I wasn’t very fond with the idea of love back then and Blaine was ridiculously in love with someone else. So, as much as there may have been a certain spark or something, we weren’t really ready then. When Blaine came back to Dalton – per my insistence, I might add, there might have been an impromptu song accompanied by a not so impromptu performance – we started becoming friends again. But it took us months to finally admit that we were more than that, to be ready to be more than that.” Sebastian smiles at Blaine and when he sees that mushy expression on his boyfriend’s face he gets every single time when Sebastian tells the story on how they fell in love, he leans forward and kisses him softly. Wow, okay, that was a first, they’re usually never that affectionate in professional settings.

 “Gosh, you guys are too cute… Umm, talking about being ready and cute: We talked a lot about your past today, what about your future? Any romantic news?” Alex smiles sweetly and bats her eyes. It takes everything in Sebastian to not roll his.

“If you’re asking if there will be any wedding bands decorating or hands any time soon, I have to tell you… who knows, we’ll see.” Sebastian smirks at her and she smirks back: “That’s not a ‘No’, so I guess I’ll keep an eye out for any rings.”

Blaine intervenes. “What Sebastian means is that we are very happy how things are right now. Seb is starting his own business, I’m very lucky to be in that short movie with Santana and we’ll go from there. I mean… marriage is definitely on the agenda at some point, so sooner or later, yes, you’ll see wedding bands.”

Little does Blaine know about the small velvet box in Sebastian’s dresser, buried in socks and burning a whole in Sebastian’s mental pocket because, yes, there will be a proposal. He just has to work up the courage to actually ask.

[snezfics-n-shit]

Whumptober Day 16: Comfort Food

Fandom: Ace Attorney 

Characters: Gregory Edgeworth (he’s all alone :’C) [For those unfamiliar, Gregory is Miles’s father. He’s dead by the time the first game starts, though.]

Notes: Alright it’s time to go back to (probably not) everyone’s favorite year: 1994. Disney’s The Lion King released, The Nanny entered its second season, and all Mariah Carey wanted for Christmas was you. Times were good. Gregory Edgeworth cannot say the same, however. He hasn’t had sleep in days. He’s up at 3am making soup for himself. Will he get his sleep? More importantly, will he get his soup? It’s Sad DILF Hours, guys.

     Gregory couldn’t remember the last time he had a decent night’s sleep. His son was a surprisingly good sleeper, which should have meant Gregory would have no issues with getting some much needed rest of his own, but he always found himself awake in the night for some reason or another. Tonight he found himself forbidden to sleep as long as he couldn’t adequately breathe through his nose. He would attempt a deep sniff, trying to get some air without falling asleep breathing through his mouth, only to erupt into a fit of muffled coughing.

Once or twice, he tossed and turned about in his bed. The amount of room he had to do so just reminded him he was sleeping alone as always. He thought by his age, he would be married by now and waking up every morning to find family members waiting for him so they could start eating a hearty breakfast. Sure, he had family in the form of Miles and his parents who were kind enough to watch the boy while he was at work, but it wasn’t at all what he expected his life to be. 

Gregory stared at the ceiling wondering if he had done something wrong, but was soon interrupted by his stomach rumbling. He responded to the sound with a hoarse, yet audible, groan. Was he ever going to fall asleep tonight or was that just not in the universe’s plan?

By 3 in the morning, Gregory had just about given up on attempting to sleep. He put on his glasses and stood up, mentally preparing himself to be as quiet as possible. Navigating the dark halls of his house without making too much noise was difficult enough on its own. To keep nearly silent with a bad cold? Gregory thought it ought to be classed as impossible. He picked up the baby monitor receiver unit from his night stand, for the off chance of Miles waking up early, and tiptoed his way to the kitchen.

He ever so carefully pulled open the cabinet where he kept a few recipes on top of the phone book. He shuffled through the cards, certainly not interested in baking an apple pie or roasting a stuffed turkey, until he found the laminated recipe card for a homemade soup he had not eaten since he was in college. Miles’s mother had slipped it in Gregory’s pocket after he had overexerted himself just before the winter semester finals. Thinking of that memory made him more aware of the heartbeat in his chest; the day she dropped Miles off shortly after he was born was the last time Gregory had seen or heard from her. He shook his head, needing to pull himself together so he could properly read the list of ingredients.

It was just his luck that hardly any of the ingredients listed on the card. He delicately opened every drawer he could think of, at least twice, with little success. Of course, that was his own fault, since he had decided that as long as Miles was eating from various jars of mashed fruits and vegetables, Gregory had some time to avoid cooking too many complex meals. It saved him some money that could be used to keep his law firm above water, but times like now had him kicking himself over that decision. With a shrug, he supposed there was no other choice than to just make soup of the canned variety.

Bending down to grab a can from the bottom shelf of the pantry had to be one of his worst decisions. It was not at all normal to get a head rush from such a brief amount of time at that angle. The effects of gravity from standing made his nose run enough to have him swiftly grab a tissue with his free hand, as if a client would have somehow found his address and walked in at that moment.

“Ee’EKXT...chuh.” He knew it wasn’t healthy to stifle, not to mention it hurt his ears, but what was he supposed to do so late at night when it’s been said that his sneezes could shake a building? Now that he thought about it, he didn’t think he had actually let himself properly sneeze since last year’s ragweed season, which naturally sent some of his colleagues shaking in their boots, much to his embarrassment. He exhaled through his mouth and shrugged; he just had to do what he could to not potentially wake up his son. 

Running water to fill the glass pot with the faucet at the lightest setting was clearly going to take a while. Gregory glanced at the faucet a few times as he reached for the thermometer kept on the counter. Why was it there? Hell if he knew, but that didn’t stop him from sliding off the cap and taking his own temperature with it. Even if he didn’t have a fever, he still planned on calling in sick to work in the morning; maybe then he could get some genuine sleep or even watch some TV. What was even on TV during the day? Surely The Electric Company was no longer on the air, which was a shame because it would likely have been the most mentally stimulating program compared to whatever was airing now.

Gregory had lost himself in his nostalgia. He soon wondered if this was preparing him for the dreaded ‘back in my day’ speech he swore he would never let leave his lips. 

‘We didn’t have any of that MTV! Who the hell is this Madonna woman!?’

His imagination did an astounding impression of his father. He wondered what the old man would have said if he had become a musician instead of an attorney and shook his head with as soft of a chuckle he could manage without the thermometer falling out of his mouth. Had it been three minutes yet? He checked his watch against the dim kitchen night, doing some mental math to confirm he had waited long enough. 99.8, a low-grade fever. Not the worst by a long shot, but enough to justify his decision to stay home. The other attorneys at the firm could manage without him, he was sure.

He would have mentally recited his call to work if he hadn’t been disrupted by the sound of water overflowing from the pot he left in the sink. He whispered a few profane words as he frantically shut off the faucet. He should have given himself some slack as it was only expected for him to be a little out of it, but all that was on his mind was keeping the wet handle in his grip without triggering the crash of broken glass and a screaming Miles that surely awaited him if he wasn’t careful. 

Too heavy and too slippery for his currently reduced strength. Gregory set down the full pot back in the sink and threw his wet hands in the air. The soup was definitely not happening, at least not now. He had used most of his energy from simply being on his feet for this brief amount of time. With an aggravated sigh and a thick sniffle, he staggered back to bed carrying the receiver unit, praying he could get… carry the two… about four more hours before he expected to hear the usual morning babbling from the other room that motivated him to get out of bed. 

Please.

Zzzz...

[princepestilence]

Hey Samson, I'm very much a homebody and I wanted to know if you had and tips on where to meet cool queer people?

Hello there! I’m honestly very flattered that you thought to ask me, because that makes me feel like I must look like I’ve got my stuff sorted out and am living that #queer community dream–but that’s not actually entirely true and I sort of want to preface anything else I say with the fact that I am still very much in the process of trying to find more cool people to bring into my life myself, because I’m not where I want to be on that front yet. I’ve been super lucky so far, but I don’t want to give the impression that I’m done meeting cool queer people. There’s a lot of friends I’m still out looking for and a lot of connections I haven’t made yet that I’d really like to, so yeah! Happy to share my thoughts but I am not an expert.

For me, there’s kind of been three major sources of finding My People so far, and those have been: work/university (which count as the same for me, since I was once a student and now I teach students and have cool queer colleagues and they know cool queer people, so it has a run-on effect), the internet, and creative art spaces. 

I think being a homebody can be a bit of a disadvantage if you want to meet cool queer people, mostly because I’ve found online queer spaces and offline queer spaces to have… very different vibes and values. Not always! I’ve definitely experienced first-hand some weird vibes that I didn’t want to tangle with in offline queer spaces (thinking specifically of the queer collective at my university). But broadly, I’ve enjoyed offline queer spaces a lot more, and found more connection with other people, and experienced more genuinely restorative and healing and positive vibes in those spaces than here on tumblr or elsewhere online. 

So that’s kind of my first piece of advice: see what’s happening in your local area regarding queer and/or artistic events! I don’t use Facebook, but there are a lot of local groups that use Facebook to organise and announce events, so if you have that, that can be a great way to keep in touch with that’s going on and see if anything strikes your fancy. For me, I go to the poetry slam every month I can make it, which is something I adore and always an experience of big queer solidarity, because it’s a bunch of creative (often queer or non-norm) people in a space that has a strongly upheld belief in the respectful spaces policy–i.e., be excellent to each other, no bigotry allowed. 

I’ve definitely lucked out with my local slam (maybe I’m biased, but it is the best one around) but a lot of events like that are places where you can walk in, sit down, and not have to really talk to anyone if you don’t want to, and get a sense of the place and the people and I’ve definitely found these spaces to be more welcoming and respectful than more… mainstream (?) events, so that can be a cool place to go. Similar things like pop-up art exhibitions (especially if they have talks or workshops) count, especially if you see anywhere that they’re LGBTQ+ friendly and/or make a clear statement of intent re: supporting grassroots or marginalised creators, etc. 

Alternatively, I can recommend queer book clubs! Sometimes these groups are specifically about reading queer lit., and sometimes the reading is just a way of bringing queer people together, and either way, that’s a good place to at least go along and suss out. If there’s none around, a great option is to actually start something like that yourself–as intimidating as that might feel. Submitting a call for interest on a queer Facebook group, for example, can help put you in contact with people who might be in your exact same boat of wanting to build community but not knowing where to start, or not yet finding the right kind of space for them. 

I personally feel book clubs (or a similar hobby exercise) are a good way to do this, since it 1. brings everyone together in one place on a regular schedule, which is good for getting to know people, 2. isn’t necessarily a huge time or energy or financial investment, which means it’s more inclusive than many other events (although obviously requires some planning and also consideration re: which books and book costs, travel costs, access to libraries etc.), 3. is overall a relaxed space that can be hosted in the daytime, away from alcohol, in a public venue such as a cafe, which for many people is more approachable, and 4. gives everyone something to talk about when they get there and for the duration, so it’s way less awkward than sitting in a circle being like, “hi, I’m gay, are you my new best friend??” or feeling obliged to generate personal conversation the whole time. If it doesn’t work out or it’s too much effort to continue, you can discontinue it at any time, so it’s a pretty low stakes approach, I feel.

Edit: totally forgot, but sometimes [hobby or passion of yours] + “queer” into search bars can show up good results! For example, sometimes there are particular gatherings or small conventions, regular gaming events, forums or talk-sites, so on. I definitely know of Ace & Aro Teatimes that are held, specifically as a way of catching up, and you might luck out and discover something like that, which is particularly great because it means you will already have an interest or hobby in common with the people you meet there. 

Off the top of my head, that’s kind of it for offline spaces. You can probably check out if your local university has a queer collective, because even if you’re not part of the university body, sometimes they will have events open to the general public etc. Like I said before, that’s not my scene, because I’ve personally found the local university queer collective to be… more similar in personality to the online spaces and also just a little more intense than I’m looking for. But! That’s not to say they’re all like that. 

As for online spaces, I met a lot of my queer friends by the sheer bizarre wheel of fate that brings people together in the disgusting blue sea of tumblr. I know that’s not helpful at all, but the piece of advice I have to offer there is that I met all these people by doing what I loved, first and foremost. I was doing my own thing, however weird, and they were doing the same, and we saw each other and went “oh cool,” and we were both queer. To a certain extent, I think this is true in all things: have fun, be yourself, and trust in queer pack magic to bring cool queer friends into your life. 

I am someone who’s very forward, I guess, and very proactive socially (and in general), so I am usually the first person in a new friendship to walk over and say, “hey! you’re cool, I love your you, tell me about yourself,” [paraphrased] and honestly that’s worked pretty much every single time. I admit my charisma rolls tend to be high (I sacrificed constitution and wisdom for them, so they better be) but I do believe that you miss all the shots you don’t take, so it’s worth reaching out. So if you come across someone that seems cool, remember that you’re also a cool person worth knowing and a good friend and give that person a chance to find that out for themselves by saying hello, because a lot of the time, the other person isn’t going to have that courage and if you wait for them, it might never happen. Easier said than done for many, I know, but it’s that whole thing with lesbian sheep (wool-oo-wools, if you will): you can’t stand there and expect someone else to know that you standing there still is a sign of how much you like them. 

I have no idea if any of this is going to be helpful to you, but I wish you so much luck in finding your people! If there’s anything I’ve said that’s not clear or needs more detail or anything, please let me know and I’ll be happy to do what I can to help. I think finding community is one of the most important things in life for queer people to do, in whatever form that takes, so I am absolutely always down to help with that in whatever ways I can. 

[heartbeatan]

Partition (Chapter 2)

Return to Table of Contents.

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Chapter 2

A few hours ago you were hanging out in a voguish club that had been rented out for an exclusive launch party. The room was filled with big industry names, peers, and the occasional celebrity who decided to join. Attentive wait staff zipped smoothly through the crowd carrying trays of drinks and appetizers.

Two of your colleagues had also attended, but for the most part, you were wandering through the party alone. Your little talk show production didn’t tend to warrant a lot of mainstream attention, but it had done well enough that most guests knew who you were even though tonight was the first time you were formally meeting. The event had been a great opportunity to network, but the alcohol had begun to take over the atmosphere and no one wanted to talk shop anymore. Although you were a bit of an outsider, you were confident that you could make friends, however, you weren’t quite sure you wanted to expel the energy. The week had been long and busy, so a big part of you just wanted to go home and relax and not wake up with a hangover the next day.

You were standing on the second level, surveying the room below and sipping a glass of wine when a woman's voice startled you.

“He’s here!” your colleague and friend, suddenly appeared.

“Who’s here?”

“Don’t be coy, you know who I’m talking about.” You didn’t - but you figured it out as soon as you saw him step through the doors and onto the landing. The site of him gave you butterflies. You watched him warmly greet several people before he headed off in the direction of the booths. Min Yoongi.

On TV he was always charismatic and handsome, but now that you were able to see him in the flesh you couldn’t help but notice how attractive he truly was - not just in terms of raw looks… he had a certain aura that was quite sexy.

“Do you mean him?” you asked, nodding in his direction.

“Yes, of course. Who else would I be talking about?” she rolled her eyes. You could have argued with her about how there were many people in this room you would have been interested to meet, but you decide not too as you knew precisely why she was excited about him.

The rumor mill had been buzzing with the news. Apparently, he was a fan of your show and, in particular, of you. He allegedly had been asking around about how the two of you could meet. You assumed it had just been another inaccurate, out of context, ridiculous rumor, but, some of your staff had run with the idea either as a joke or in genuine hope that a wild romance between the two of you would occur which they could gossip about. Regardless, it was titillating to think that there was an off chance he was secretly (or not so secretly) pining over you.

You watched him confidently cross the room as he continued to greet others along the way. He made it to one of the V.I.P. areas which was filled with media personalities in expensive suits. After making pleasantries, he turned and began to scan the faces in the room before him.

“He’s looking for someone,” she gave you a nudge. It was your turn to roll your eyes. She was right though - he did seem to be looking for someone or something. Eventually he looked up to check out the second level. His gaze crossed the upper floor until his eyes arrived on you. You quickly glanced somewhere else, hoping he didn’t notice that you were watching him, but you could see in your periphery that he hadn’t moved. In fact, you were sure he was still looking right at you. After a moment you glanced back and your eyes locked with his. He dipped his hands into his pockets and gave you a casual, crooked grin. It was a mischievous expression - as if you two had a secret. You weren’t sure if it was the result of him also hearing the rumors and finding them amusing, or if it was because the rumors were true. The uncertainty made you a little uncomfortable so you turned your back to face your friend and took a comforting gulp of your drink.

“He’s looking right at you,” she exclaimed. “I knew it was true.”

“You don’t know that for sure. Stop staring, he’s going to think I’m asking you to spy on him for me.”

“I am spying on him for you - just not at your request. Oh, he’s going somewhere…” You fought the urge to turn around and watch him. “What are you going to do?”

“Nothing. Why would I do anything?”

“Give me a break. Tell me you haven’t thought about it?”

“Nope.” You took another sip. It was a lie. You did have a crush on him - although, you had never actually met, so at best you could call it a celebrity crush. He was endearing. He acted, he was a music artist, a radio DJ, he did a lot of charity work, a lot of community work, he was an art collector, he played basketball, he was an adventurist - hell, his list of hobbies and interests seemed to change more sporadically than yours did, which you didn’t think was even possible. Personality wise, as best you could tell anyway, he was charming, polite, open-minded and he seemed genuine. Intelligent, but, obscurely so - a bit of a weirdo, but in a good way.

Before the rumors, you didn’t really think about him, but whenever he was appearing on TV or in a magazine interview you were sure to tune in. Once you had heard the rumors, however, he was on your mind even when he wasn’t on your TV screen. You spent a many evenings doing the ménage à moi while fantasizing about him. You had imagined a sultry, sexy first encounter if you ever crossed paths. Perhaps a coat room, or a tucked away corner of a studio. Your fantasies always placed the two of you somewhere risky and elicit - he struck you as that type of lover.

Regardless, that was all fun in your head - this was reality.

The evening rolled on and you spent it conversing with various partygoers and getting buzzed on a few more drinks. By 10 o’clock you had managed to meet almost everyone of importance, but your desire to leave the party early had for some reason subsided - there was still one more person somewhere in the club you were pretending not to look for.

Nature finally called, so you made your way towards the restrooms. As you crossed the floor, you felt a pair of eyes watching you. You looked up in their direction and, for the second time that night, you locked eyes with the sexy man you had only ever seen on TV and met in your fantasies. Unlike you had earlier, he didn’t dart his eyes away when you caught him staring. He held your gaze. His face was very handsome and inviting and there was something about the way he looked at you that made your insides tingle slightly. For a moment, you got lost in the exchange but were knocked out of your trance when you bumped shoulders with another guest passing by.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you said before you ducked into the restroom. You felt your face flush with a bit of embarrassment.

When you exited one of the stalls, you we’re greeted by your friend again who was freshening up in the mirror.

“So, how is your night going?” she was trying to imply something. “Have you spoken to him yet?”

“No, I haven’t seen him at all.” She paused and smiled at you through the reflection in the mirror. She picked up on the fact that you had actually been thinking about him. “Well… he’s definitely seen you. He’s been watching you all night.” She handed you her tube of concealer, prompting you to clean yourself up.

Her revelation gave you a rush of excitement and you turned your head to look directly at her. “How do you know that?Have you been watching him this whole time?”

“Yes,” she was unapologetic. “Please, go flirt with him. Let me live vicariously through you! I need this.”

You laughed. “Why don’t you just go flirt with him without me as your buffer?” You returned the tube and shuffled through your bag for your on-the-go products.

“I would, but he doesn’t know who I am and it’s you he wants.”

“We’ve been here for hours. If he was really interested, he would have approached me by now. Your theory is bunk.”

“Mmmm, I don’t know. The night is still young. Let’s get back out there and find out.” You rolled your eyes as you finished up and repacked your purse.

You gossiped about the nights hot topics as you exited the rest room. Who was too drunk, who was too candid, who was flirting - all the juicy events that happen when the alcohol really flows. Upon re-entering the main room, you heard a voice call out in your direction.

“Hi.” You looked up and saw a man leaning against the railing looking at you. You stopped in your tracks when you realized it was him. Your friend forced a cough as a cheeky acknowledgement of your conversation from moments ago.

“Hi,” you responded somewhat dumbfounded. The corner of his mouth turned up slightly, amused by your bewilderment.

“Hi! I’m a big fan!” your friend shook his hand and gave him a bright smile.

“Oh, thank-you,” he returned with a warm greeting.

“You know who this is, of course.” She gestured towards you. “We were both really looking forward to meeting you tonight.” He looked back at you at you as she says this.

Bitch.

“Really?” he asked, almost rhetorically. “Well, I’m a big fan of yours.” He reached out to shake your hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you.” You clasped his outstretched hand. His grip was polite but you could feel the strength he had in his hands, and you noticed how beautiful and masculine his long fingers were. For a moment you thought about what they could do to you. That thought combined with the sensation of this first touch sent a jolt of electricity up your arm. You shook off the thought and looked up to meet his gaze, but that didn’t help. He had a glint in his eye that made you feel… something. Like he desired you… as if he wanted to take you right then and there in front of all those people - and that you might have let him if he tried.

He turned to your friend. “Do you mind if I steal her away for a bit?”

“Oh no, not at all!” she replied, all to enthusiastically. “In fact, keep her. Make sure she has a good time. She has nothing to do after this… or tomorrow, by the way.”

Fired.

You watched her skip off back into the crowd as she bid you a good night. You turned back towards him and he nodded in the direction of the bar. He placed his hand onto your lower back to guide you there. Another pulse crossed over your flesh under the heat of his palm. You winced slightly, annoyed that you were so easily turned on by this stranger.

You reached the bar and took a seat next to each other. He turned his chair so he could face you. Trying to be cool but not too inviting, you turned yours somewhat to face him.

“I heard you were going to be here tonight,” he said. “I was hoping it was true. It’s about time we met.”

“Oh yeah? Why is that?” You wanted to kick yourself for that response. Firstly, you were too flirtatious, and secondly, you weren’t sure what kind of response you’d get or how you’d handle it.

“Because I want to take you home with me.” You choked when he said this.

I guess they weren’t simply rumours after all.

“You’re so forward. What makes you think I want to go home with you?” you smirked. Again, your inner flirt was making an appearance. Something about his proximity to you made her come out uninvited.

Keep your panties on, girl. You drew your lips between your teeth at the thought of your panties in relation to him. He’d probably pull them off of you with his teeth.

“Nothing. I don’t know if you want to.” He brushed his thumb across your lower lip, acknowledging your grip on it. You quickly released it. “But what I know of you, you’re an honesty-is-the-best-policy kind of person.”

“You don’t know me… at all.” You cocked your eyebrow.

“No. But, I want to get to know you.”

“Really? Because it seems as if you just want to sleep with me.”

He smiled. “Sleep with you feels like an understatement of the things I want to do to you.” Your nether region tingled.

Damn it, why is what he’s doing working?

He continued in a more serious, but still flirtatious, tone. “But I do want to get to know you. I’ll wait. Whatever you need, I’ll do. I’ll take you out. We can have dinner, drinks, go to the movies… If you don’t come home with me tonight, my interest in you won’t end.” He ran one of his fingers around the rim of his glass. You watched it softly circle around and around again. A simple action, but somehow it felt sexual and arousing. “I just don’t want to waste any time.”

Oh, please. Give me a break. You rolled your eyes no way believing he was sincere. He wants sex. Plain and simple. This is insta-lust, not insta-love. Regardless, when you looked back at him the hunger in his gaze was clear, and it made you not really care if it was just a big line to get you between the sheets. The last rendezvous you had with a man was over a year ago. Since then, you’ve been rendezvousing with battery powered objects. You were needy to feel the weight of someone on you and the heat of their skin brushing up against yours… or really just anything solid against you - the lamppost outside your apartment complex was looking pretty good to you at this point. At least he was a solid object that you had chemistry with.

“You don’t believe me?” he asked.

“No.” you responded. “But I’m still intrigued.”

His smile stretched a bit further. “Good.” He pulled his phone out of his breast pocket and gestured for yours. You handed it to him and he entered in his number and called himself so he would have yours. When he was done, he handed it back.

“There.” he said. “So, what will it be? Should I call you tomorrow or should I call my driver?”

You stared at each other for a moment while you considered his proposition. You wanted to go home with him. He was alluring, confident, a little dangerous - whatever it was about him that was seducing you, you wanted to give in. You weren’t sure if he was genuine when he said he’d wait for you and take you out on a proper date. Even if he did, you may not end up liking each other by the end of it, and maybe wouldn’t get the opportunity to have the great sex you had imagined you would have together. This was the sexy first encounter you had imagined - how often does one get to live theirs? You took another sip of your drink and licked the liquor off your lips before turning to give him your answer.

Fuck it, you thought. “Call your driver.”

[caffeineivore]

Commission #1

For @ellorgast

Prompt: A Very Spirited Wedding

Ships: Usagi/Mamoru, Senshi/Shitennou

Rating: PG

Get your own commissions from me here or check out other people offering commissions here!

**

Something Old…

Her dress is spotless white satin glimmering with seed pearls and a flowing overlay of chiffon embroidered with rosebuds. Angela has just finished dressing, and makeup, and had kicked out the well-meaning army of her mother and future mother-in-law and bridesmaids and photographer after the requisite pictures and champagne, just to take a moment for herself. The woman in the mirror glows with excitement and the flush of love, but there’s always a hint of nerves, of the finality of tying oneself to another person for the rest of one’s life. She knows, more than most, anything can happen. Countless tragedies spring from a single blink-of-the-eye catastrophe, or one bad decision. 

A knock, a harmonious, familiar voice at the other side of the door. “It’s Jay. Are you decent?”

He looks exceedingly handsome and somehow a bit stately, dressed in pale grey linen with a sprig of sage and ivy— silvery and lush green— pinned to his lapel. It’s not a typical choice for a suit or boutonniere, but it suits more than black-tie would, and he’s holding something in his hands— gleaming silver. 

It’s a delicate tiara, wrought branches of metal so intricately worked as to look like the slender stems of living flowers and vines twisted together. Drops of clear crystal like dew glitter against the silver, along with fantastical flowers carved out of jewels— blue irises, pink rosebuds, yellow daisies and red poppies— an effect which should’ve been crass, but when he places it on her head, over the filmy lace veil, she looks like a fairy princess. The metal feels slightly warm and almost alive against her hair, and she smiles up at this surrogate brother, this forever friend. “How did you know I’d looked in every single boutique in this city and couldn’t find anything?”

He grins, and the stately, somewhat remote look vanishes. “Well. For one thing, this is super old. But I am firmly of the belief that it will bring you good luck, you little ball of sunshine. I brought it out of storage.”

She thinks art nouveau, circa 1920’s, perhaps out of a safety deposit box somewhere in a bank. He knows, but doesn’t say, that it had been wrought by the masterful hands of his clan’s greatest artisans, in moonlit smithies high up in mist-shrouded mountains back before the first ships had ever even crossed the ocean, blessed by starshine and magic and centuries’ worth of romantic hopes and dreams. She just knows that it fits perfectly, and her eyes shine a bit brighter in the reflection, and she reaches up, impulsively, to give him a hug. “Something old, right? Thank you.”

“I wish you all the best and brightest of this world’s blessings, my friend.” He presses a brief, grave kiss to her forehead, right under where the metal meets skin, and it feels like the strangest of benedictions, almost solemn and formal. But then he steps back, and he’s Jay again, and he makes a cheeky comment about how beautiful she looks and how Adam is going to swallow his tongue when he sees her, and he leaves as quickly as he’d come on quick and silent feet.

**

Something New…

The blind date with Jareth’s friend had gone surprisingly well. Zhen, with his indolent green eyes and roguish smile, is well-spoken and courteous, with an almost-dangerous way of looking and listening to a woman as though he’d been waiting all his life for what she had to say at any given moment. Raina considers herself immune to such foolishness for the most part, but that Jareth considers him a friend is a point in his favour. It’s unspoken, but not unknown, that she and Jareth are both a bit out of the realm of the ordinary mortals who surround them.

When she’d mentioned the wedding, he’d cheerfully agreed to go as her date. “I love weddings. Such an optimistic sort of atmosphere, no? Whatever storms the happy couple may face in the future, for today they are deeply in love, heads and hearts full of rose-coloured dreams and hopes. And then they almost always have fabulous food and delicious cake. That cannot be overstated.”

She’s not as optimistic, perhaps, about the concept of marriage. But she rather likes Adam King, out of her colleagues at the hospital. He’s intelligent and capable, as is expected for his profession and academic record, but furthermore, there’s a soul-deep, untarnished light of compassion and empathy in the blue of his eyes. He had not become a healer because it was his birthright, like her, but because he genuinely, in his quiet, mortal way, felt and wanted to heal the pain of his fellow humans. It stirs a long-dormant feeling of fond protectiveness in her, and when she and her date go to wish the happy couple well at the start of the reception, she means it genuinely.

Zhen looks keenly interested in the proceedings, and though she’s quite sure that neither the bride nor groom had ever met him before, he greets them both with the cordiality of a socially-adroit man intent on befriending them both. He had not brought a gift-- (she had picked a popular programmable coffee and espresso machine out of the online registry, knowing Adam’s fondness for mochas)-- but he’d brought a card, and tucked in a scratch-off lottery ticket. He hands it to Adam, in person, rather than adding it to a pile left somewhere, and the groom opens it, reads the message aloud.

“Best of luck with your love and your lives together. Blessings upon you both.” It’s a nice enough message, and written in exuberant flourishes of looping script. Good-humouredly, Adam claps Zhen on the shoulder, and scratches off the silver wax on the lottery ticket, then his eyebrows shoot up to his hairline as he scans the ticket again.

“Did you win something?” Zhen inquires pleasantly, his lazy smile playing across his lips.

“Three matched sevens across, and then these two numbers mean…” Adam furrows his brow, and glances around before lowering his voice. “I’m not much for playing the lottery. But if I’m reading this correctly, did I just win $5000?!”

“Well, well.” Zhen’s voice is low and pleased as an animal’s purr. “How lucky for you, my friend. I do think that is a fantastic beginning to your new life together, wouldn’t you say?”

Raina hears pleasure and something close to triumph in her companion’s voice, but not even a little bit of surprise. This man, with his scintillating gaze and effortless charm, is much more than he seemed. She’d have to keep an eye on him.

**

Something Borrowed…

Linden Thorne does not often work in the role of caterer, but on impulse, she had accepted to provide both the cake and food for this wedding, and she had found herself pleasantly surprised at how much she’d enjoyed it. 

The bride and groom were perhaps two of the most pure-hearted, genuinely good mortals that she had ever come across. A doctor and a social worker, both working tirelessly to help and heal the physical and emotional damage of any of their fellows that crossed their paths-- and humans are a fragile lot, indeed. They had been pleasant, easygoing, not at all demanding, and so deeply in love that both of them all but glowed with it. The bride especially, with her boundless energy and equally irrepressible sweet tooth, took particularly well to any and every thing that Linden had her sample.

So, she’s not entirely surprised when Angela-- who had been Angela King for all of perhaps an hour-- peeks into the kitchen area where the wedding reception is taking place. Linden has a half-dozen sous chefs and assistants putting together delicate canapés with the efficiency of a battalion following the directives of their commanding officer: a lanky young man is on top of a step-stool putting the finishing touches on the top tier of the wedding cake-- translucently thin slivers of gold leaf, velvety rosebuds in shell pink and scarlet, a woman with a severely pinned bun is garnishing exquisite smoked salmon toast rounds with glossy black caviar and eyelash-thin fronds of fresh dill. The bride, still in her gown though sans veil, grins at her with a good-humoured yet half-embarrassed look that Linden interprets in an instant.

“You’re starving, aren’t you?”

“A bit, yeah. I had a salad last night for dinner. Then it was my fault this morning because I was too excited to eat. But now I’m shamelessly begging in here like I have no sense. You can totally tell me to buzz off.”

Linden finds herself laughing, unoffended. “It’s your wedding, so it would not make much sense for me to tell you to buzz off, wouldn’t you agree?”

“But you’re busy, and this is probably rude of me, so…”

“I will forgive it this time.” Linden steps away from the buzz of activity, digs through the pantry and fridge. The bride is a silly, bright-eyed slip of a girl, sweet and pure as vanilla buttercream, and if the world has yet to break her spirit, who was Linden to take that onerous task into her hands. She cuts two slices of rye bread, then adds Dijon mustard, peppery arugula leaves, generous slices of red tomatoes and sharp cheddar and cold chicken breast. A sandwich is probably the least glamorous meal that she could have put together in that moment, but the girl’s eyes light up like stars nonetheless. 

Linden, with an indulgent smile, slips her own chef’s apron off of her neck, and carefully ties it over the bride’s flowing white gown. “Okay. Eat up.”

“Oh, God, this is the best thing I’ve ever had, and I know I’ll be saying that again like twenty times tonight after everything else you’ve made, too,” Angela says in between bites, looking like a mischievous fairy princess who’d snuck down to the palace kitchens in that borrowed apron. She finishes the sandwich with rather unladylike haste, but then gets up, with her usual endless energy, and reaches up to give Linden a hug. It’s such a human gesture-- warm and impulsive and sweet and unexpected, and Linden pauses awkwardly before returning it.

“Feel better now?”

“Oh yes. Thanks for the apron. And the sandwich. And everything.” Angela slips the apron off, mussing her hair just the faintest bit, then beams up at Linden again. “I really hope that you’re as happy as I am today. Forever. Does that sound silly?”

Forever is a long time, far beyond the scope of what this silly mortal bride could fathom, but Linden knows that the bright-eyed, perhaps foolish girl means it with every beat of her kind and affectionate heart. And so she lets the genuine goodwill of the wish warm her spirit, like a borrowed candle shining valiantly on a dark night, far after the party is over and the bride is well on her way to her honeymoon. 

**

Something Blue…

The late September breeze filters through the tall, slim boles of a tall aspen decked in autumnal gold outside on the grounds of a Manhattan church, the sound soft and gentle as whispered prayers. Inside, a wedding ceremony is taking place, a young man and woman exchanging their vows to their God and each other to live the rest of their lives together in love and unity and devotion. 

Contrary to popular belief, Kafziel does not spend the majority of his time on the premises of churches in the city. But this morning finds him on the rooftop of this particular building, a stalwart sentinel visible only in the fleeting, ever-changing reflections of the panes of the intricate rose window in the facade of the building. Of course, there is no one around to see him-- all the visitors to the church are well enough inside to watch the happy couple getting married. 

Kafziel knows, of course, the history of the bride and groom, as he knows the history of every other man, woman and child currently living in that great city, and even by his exacting standards, both of them live decent, upstanding lives above reproach. Neither of them were born here; indeed, the young man in particular had been the product of a most unpromising beginning. And yet, they had found their way here, and to each other, and flourished in love and light and goodness despite everything which might conspire to tarnish the kindness of two such spotless souls.

The pane of leaded glass reflects, at that moment, a face of stark, stern beauty and foreboding. “Let love be genuine. Abhor what is evil; hold fast to what is good.” The words are familiar and easy, but Kafziel knows, more than any, of the way great darkness follows great light with dogged, demoniacal tenacity. There is a chill in the air; winter is coming, and with the frost portents sharp strife, perhaps even great trouble. Those who would engender all which he abhors would feed, frenzied, upon the darkest, basest impulses and sins and actions. The happy couple who are even now enjoying their first kiss as man and wife have no idea that their union portends any number of potential catastrophes of a dark and sinful world rebelling against their very radiance. Kafziel’s reflection squares its shoulders, firms its grip on the mighty, fire-tipped sword that throws jewel-like beams of light through the stained glass into the building. 

But even as he braces himself for what must inevitably come-- perhaps a day, or a month, or a decade from now-- he feels the presence of others crowding in, like a ragtag bunch of plucky soldiers summoned to a war they might have no call to fight and yet taken on with every bit of courage as such a troop might muster. The chaotic whimsy of a shifter. The primeval fire-and-wildwoods magic of a nature goddess. The calm, steadfast wisdom of a healer and the tireless, graceful agility of a brace of wandering Ælf-kine. Others, too, all gathered here, converging by luck or fate. Kafziel pauses, and allows himself a faint, almost-hopeful smile, and overhead, the sunlight breaks through the clouds as the sky turns a brilliant blue. 

[driversmutbucket]

Second Chances.

Part 1

Adam Sackler x Reader

Warnings: cursing

Author note: I’ve been wanting to whittle away at this for a while. I think I will slow burn this in between smutty filth. I wrote this as occurring post season 6. Basically I just want to give baby boi a happy ending. K bye.

———

“Mom! I can’t find my shoes!”

You groaned, swearing under your breath.

“Have you looked properly? Under your bed?”

“Oh! found them!”

You shoveled cereal into your mouth, knowing full well it was going to be the last thing you ate for hours.

“Mom, we need to go I don’t want to be late”, Celia stood in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed. The school bag on her back looked almost as big as her.

“Alright, keep your hair on”, you sighed as your threw things into your purse before following Celia out the front door.

———

You breathed a sigh of relief as you watched Celia dash through the front doors of the school.

You looked forward to the post drop-off coffee at the cafe nearby and even going to work.

The theatre was busy, people milled everywhere as you walked through the main doors, the excitement and nervous energy was palpable. Today was the day everyone was finally meeting, thus far, each department had only met separately to become acquainted while casting was wrapping up.

Heading backstage you waved and greeted a few of the crew members you had come to know. You could already hear the laughter and general chatter from behind the doors of the makeup, hair and costume department.

Smiling you pushed through the swing doors, greeted with a loud “Hey Boss lady!” From your colleague Clinton.

“Hey! Good morning” you smiled as you approached the designated makeup/hair area.

“I took the liberty of grabbing you a coffee, creamer and sweetener right?” Clinton motion to the cup at your station.

“I know we haven’t known each other long, but I love and adore you” you grinned.

After some initial gossip and chat you got down to figuring out a plan of attack for the day together. Today was the beginning of trialing makeup and hair on the cast.

A head of department meeting and a hurried lunch break later it was early afternoon. The assistant director poked her head in the door,

“Y/n? I’m going to send you Adam in about 10 minutes” she called across the room.

Giving the thumbs up, you turned to the cast list, scanning for an Adam.

Fiyero......................Adam Sackler

“Oh he plays the love interest” you said excitedly as you started flicking through the folder you had compiled of reference material.

“I have honestly never worked with anyone who is this nerdy” Clinton mused, “but goddam it’s helpful”.

“Thanks? So anyway, I’m thinking for the hair per-” you stopped, noticing Clinton grinning like an idiot at someone behind you.

“Hi uhhh, y/n?”

You turned and looked up at a towering, built man, I mean, you weren’t exactly short yourself but he dwarfed you.

“Adam?” You smiled warmly, he nodded.

“Come have a seat” you said patting the client chair.

As he sat down, you could see Clinton trying to mouth words to you, but you ignored him. You knew enough about Clinton to know it was probably something very unprofessional.

“I’m going to have to lower the seat if I’m to have any hope of looking at your hair” you grinned as you stepped on the pedal at the base of the chair so he came down to eye level with you.

Finally looking at Clinton, who was staring at Adam like he was a slice of cake, you broke his trance. “Hey Clinton, wanna heat up some of the hair tools and we will mess around a bit, see what’s possible?” His head snapped up to look at you before he mouthed “holy fuck”.

Turning back to Adam, you ruffled and ran your fingers through his hair, “you have great hair Adam” you gushed. It was long and thick, just grazing his shoulders. You could feel him studying your face.

“So I’m thinking, Fiyero, he is kind of living behind this facade. So perhaps we should try a kind of super polished, Prince Charming vibe to begin....”, you trailed off, staring at Adam, lost in thought.

“Oh shit, you’ve actually read the script!” He seemed excited.

For the next 10 minutes you became engrossed in character discourse.

“Uhhh y/n.....” Clinton interrupted, handing you a straightener.

“Oh fuck, sorry!” You laughed “I get carried away talking about this sort of thing”.

Clinton snorted, “I’ll say it again, biggest nerd....”

You swatted at him.

The next half an hour you spent styling Adam’s hair into various look, and photographing each one.

“Ok, great I think that wraps up hair” you said as you smoothed some flyaways.

Placing your hand on Adam’s arm you smiled sympathetically “Thanks for being so patient Adam, I’m a bit of a perfectionist”.

He grinned, “Oh honestly it’s no problem, I get it, I can turn into a bit of a lunatic when I’m learning lines.”

“Could you grab the ring light Clinton? Let’s start some makeup.”

You took a moment to study Adam’s face, his features were strong, some would say, handsome.

“You have lovely skin and features for makeup” you mused.

“I must add that to my resume” he chuckled.

“Honestly, some people’s features can get completely lost under heavy stage make up, and then you have to do all this extra work to redefine...” you waved your hand, “I’m getting off track again”.

You got into your zone, testing makeup. It didn’t stop you admiring the little beauty marks on his face, or his plump lips. He watched you work, intently. Especially when you gave Clinton pointers on application. It was a little weird, but you didn’t mind. You caught his eye, smiling from time to time. He asked the odd question about your brushes or a specific technique, seeming genuinely interested. He was different to most actors you dealt with. Quirky, but in an endearing way.

By the time you had finished with Adam, it was late afternoon. You gently wiped the heavy makeup off his face,

“Thanks Adam” you beamed, “I’m really happy with what we achieved”.

“Hey, did you hear a bunch of us are grabbing dinner later, are you coming?”

“Oh yeah, I am, see you then?”

He grinned “See you then”.

After he had left, you checked your phone, seeing a message from Celia’s stepmom saying she had picked her up from school as planned, for the weekend. You fired off quick reply, hoping to go grab a coffee before the next actor turned up.

As you cleaned your brushes Clinton cleared his throat, “so...Adam is a delicious beast of a man” he said coyly.

“Oh Jesus Christ” you snorted “but yes, he is a good looking guy”.

“I would climb him like a fucking tree” Clinton sighed “my god, his buttons looked like they were going to pop off his shirt, he is so big.”

“Note to self, make sure Clinton is not assigned to Adam, ever” you joked.

——

When the day was finally wrapped up it was after 7pm. Feeling absolutely drained you considered ditching the dinner with your colleagues. However, the prospect of getting to chat with Adam was more than appealing.

Arriving at the restaurant you could hear the group before you saw them.

“Y/N get that fine ass over here!!” Someone yelled.

You rolled your eyes, but grinned and made your way over to the table. Seeing Adam you gave him a little wave.

“Hey, I saved you a spot” he yelled over the music and chatter, patting the space on the bench beside him.

“Thanks!” You smiled, squeezing in next to him.

A waitress came over and asked for drink orders.

“House red please.”

The waitress joted it down and looked expectantly at Adam, “soda water please”.

“Not drinking tonight?” You asked, having to lean close to his ear so he could hear you.

“Not drinking ever” he shrugged.

“Oh, good on you” you smiled, placing a hand on his lower arm reassuringly.

Before he could reply, the assistant director tapped her glass with her knife.

“Oi! Shut up, I want to make a toast” she yelled standing up.

“Lets cheers to the beginning of an amazing run. I’m gonna call it early, best cast and crew ever!”

Cheers and whoops erupted from the 30 odd people crammed around the big table as everyone clinked their glasses.

As the dinner progressed, it became more and more impossible to have a conversation as the establishment became rowdier.

Giving up on talking completely Adam motioned at the door. Nodding you stood up and he followed you to the door.

“That was fucking ridiculous” he breathed as the door shut behind him.

“Jesus Christ I’ve been in quieter nightclubs” you laughed, “want to grab a coffee or something?”

“Love to” he grinned.

———

Finding a 24/7 diner down the block you went in and picked a booth in a dim, quiet corner.

You hummed happily as your wrapped your hands around a steaming mug of coffee. Taking a sip you closed your mouth eyes blissfully.

You could feel Adam’s eyes on you and you looked up to meet them, smiling.

“Sorry I was just having a moment with my true love, coffee.”

He snorted a laugh, you noticed the way his eyes crinkled, they were warm, kind eyes.

“No husband or whoever then?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh no, not anymore, I mean, no, nobody.”

You could have sworn you saw relief flutter across his face.

“You?”

“No, nobody” he said softly.

“Well aren’t we a pair” you murmured, smiling gently.

After a beat of silence you sighed, “Sorry i’m expectionally shit at small talk, which is ironic considering I do makeup and hair”

“Oh me too, there no fucking point to it, I’d just rather sit in silence”

“I can’t believe we have never ran into each other on the theatre circuit” you mused “I’ve been working around for a few years now”.

Adam shrugged “I’ve been in and out, some shit happened...”.

“I’m really looking forward to seeing you act”.

Adam chewed his cheek, “oh god...”

“Oh come on, you are obviously very good to be cast in something like Wicked”.

He gave a crooked smile, “I just overthink everything I guess”.

“I think the best people do.”

You talked through 2 cups of coffee and a milkshake. It was after midnight and you yawned.

“Where’s home Adam?”

“Brooklyn”

“Me too! Should we share a cab?”

“I was actually gonna walk”

You burst into laughter, “to fucking Brooklyn?!”

He grinned, “do it all the time”.

Maybe it was due to the large quantities of caffeine but you felt inspired. “Fuck you are a strange one, but I like it, let’s walk to fucking Brooklyn!”

“Fuck yeah!” Adam banged the table with his hand grinning.

———

By the time you got to the Brooklyn bridge you were feeling slightly exhausted. However when you turned and looked at the city from the bridge you gasped. It was beautiful, and the bridge was empty. Leaning against the rail you took in the view.

“This is beautiful” you said in awe.

Adam pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket, offering you one.

“Thanks” you smiled, taking one. You smoked socially, but never at home or around Celia. It was something you had had to cold turkey when you found out you were pregnant with her. There was a comfort to having a cigarette in your mouth. It reminded you of college, the wild, carefree times.

You stood there side by side, in silence for a few minutes, drinking in the twinkling lights of the city.

“I miss having someone to do this shit with”, you sighed.

“Your doing it with me right now?” Adam turned to you smiling.

You waved your hand, “you know what I mean.”

He sighed, “yea, I do”.

“Ever been in love?” You asked, quietly, looking at the water.

“Yup, you”.

“Yup”.

“What happened?”

He sighed. It was a sad sigh.

“You don’t have to answer that, sorry” you lay you hand on his forearm that rested on the bridge rail.

“No, it’s ok, I just haven’t talked about it in a while, tried to move on you know?”

“Yeah I know...”

“We were a fucked up couple, it was just never going to work. We were off and on. She was fucking stubborn and messed up. I had my own shit. I even fucking offered to raise a kid that wasn’t mine, when she got pregnant while we weren’t together, I just...” he trailed off.

“Didn’t want it to end?” You offered gently.

“Yeah something like that.”

He looked at you, contemplating, taking a drag from his cigarette. “You?”

“We got together when we were both in college. Young, you know, just kids really? We are very different people, I just don’t think it was ever going to work. We tried really hard for the sake of our daughter.”

Adam whipped his head to look at you, eyes bright.

“You have a kid?!”

You grinned, “Yeah, she’s 5”.

“Fucking awesome, I love kids, I have a niece, she’s fucking cool”.

You laughed, “I’ve never had a guy so enthused at my single parent status before. It’s usually what I pull out of the bag when I want them to make them run for the hills”.

“People are fucking stupid” he snorted, “what’s her name?”

“Celia.”

“Wait, Shakespeare?” Adam raised an eyebrow at you.

“Yes! Holy shit nobody ever gets that!” You almost squealed.

You started walking over the bridge and discussing various Shakespeare plays with enthusiasm, laughing loudly at Adam’s sudden monologue performances in ridiculous accents.

By the time you reached your apartment you hardly even noticed the mammoth distance you had walked.

“This is me.”

“Oh I’m not far from here actually.”

“Thanks so much Adam, actually this has been the best time I’ve had in ages,” you smiled.

He grinned, “likewise”.

You wrapped you arms around him, hugging tightly. He reciprocated immediately, engulfing you.

“Let’s do this again ok?” You mumbled into his chest.

“We will” he promised. Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 / Epilogue

[kiruuuuu]

Doc/Lion oneshot in which they kiss and make up after a fight. And, uh, other things. (Rating E, utter filth + fluff, ~5.2k words) - written for the ever so wonderful @icezero09​ (and welcome back to tumblr!) 💖 Thank you so, so much for commissioning me again :) You’re a joy to write for! Find my commission info here ♥

.

It’s rare for Lion to hesitate in front of his own damn apartment, keys jangling forlornly in his half-raised hand and a dull, empty feeling in his stomach.

The first time he did so lies a while back and was entirely self-imposed: following one of the most memorable nights in his life (and with his past, this means a lot) as well as a terrifying confession, he announced a trip to the nearest bakery for croissants and fresh coffee, knowing full well he was allowing for an escape. Upon his return, he rested his forehead on the cool, off-white lacquer of his door, hoping to affect reality by repeating a mantra in his mind, over and over again. Please be there still. Please be there still. Please be there still.

When he was greeted by Doc, in his underwear, subtly complaining about his fridge being worryingly empty, he could’ve burst from the pure joy exploding in him.

Another time he wavered because of a question he was about to pose, a question which had occupied his thoughts for weeks by then. The prospect of not being refused was thrilling with how much he wanted to turn his regular visitor into a permanent resident, yet they’d only been together for a few months by then. It might’ve been too early, too much of a commitment to move in together, too much to ask to share their living space. Lion had gotten lucky with his flat, snagged one with large windows, evening sunlight, spacious enough for a dedicated office and both a bathtub and a shower, and picturing Doc becoming a part of it all filled him with giddy anticipation. Regardless, the possibility of being turned down remained and so he gathered his courage in front of the very door which would become their door after a dizzyingly short amount of time.

Right now, he’s also mentally preparing himself for a potentially difficult conversation, though there are entirely too many ways it could go. The backpack dangling off his shoulder is not getting any lighter and neither are the memories of red dust, large tents lined up one after another and helplessness etched into faces. He’d volunteered for the deployment despite knowing it’ll leave him without closure – diseases will always rage on somewhere and their efforts might make a difference in one town, one city, one region, one country, but ultimately it’s like trying to fill up a swimming pool using only a cup. What he needs now is a hug, a little bit of peace and no responsibilities other than buying groceries. He loves his job, it gives him purpose and direction in life, and yet he can’t deny it drains him sometimes until there’s no energy left.

Definitely no energy to continue arguing.

“I’m home!”, he announces into the quiet once he’s discarded his shoes and hung up his jacket, receiving no response. He was looking forward to coming home throughout the entire flight, picturing a warm welcome, an apology, something along those lines and is genuinely annoyed to encounter none of it. The kitchen is empty and so is their bedroom where he drops his backpack onto the mattress he’s missed dearly (among other things), but in the living room he finds Doc in his usual armchair, sipping coffee with a book in his lap and looking up once Lion appears in the doorway.

He’s gorgeous.

It shouldn’t come as a shock but does nonetheless, two weeks of absence facilitate taking a step back and looking at him in a new light; almost as if he’s seeing him for the first time again. He looks… warm, even inviting, his kind eyes making up for the disapproving curl of his mouth, body relaxed and showing off his sculpted arms in the short-sleeved polo he’s wearing. Even casually, he dresses like he’s been invited to an informal business outing; Lion has never seen him just in sweatpants and supposes this is one of the reasons why Doc always comes across as distinguished. And he’s never wanted anything more than to curl up in his lap, cling to him and never let go.

Doc runs his gaze up and down his body, causing a pleasant tingling and maybe, just maybe he’s in the mood for -

“You look like you need a shower.”

His calm words are ice cubes on Lion’s skin. He’s not wrong, a fourteen hour flight will do that to anyone, but it’s far from what Lion has been hoping to hear. “Yeah”, he snaps without meaning to sound this harsh, “I probably do.”

The argument from before he left continues in his head while he’s basking in the heat of the water drumming down on his skull: he was only doing his job, after all. That’s why he got hired – he’s a professional and refuses to let emotions interfere with his work, and that’s a good thing, isn’t it? He nearly drops the shampoo bottle in agitation and hits his elbow on the cool tiles as he proceeds to weave an impenetrable net of arguments in his mind, counters everything Doc could throw at him effortlessly and recalls the things they spat at each other two weeks ago.

Ultimately, it was his jurisdiction seeing as it was a containment issue, albeit a relatively minor one. He planned on taking the necessary steps while Doc undermined his authority along the way, much to his irritation – maybe he did misdiagnose the boy and paint a picture more grim than reality, yet the scheduled tests would’ve cleared it up without a doubt and brought both the child as well as his mother the deserved peace of mind instead of sending them home from quarantine early. In the grand scheme of things it didn’t matter whether she had urgent appointments to get to and the boy was frightened almost to the point of hysterics, not if their staying overnight would’ve ensured they’re good to go, so Doc was entirely out of line by declaring them safe and allowing them to leave.

Even though they were safe. Lion admits that. Everyone knew, but regulations are there for a reason and why allow for making mistakes when there’s safety procedures which benefit literally everyone and hell, he’s getting worked up again.

He curses under his breath and shuts the water off. It’s about the principle of it all. Doc can’t continue being as lenient as he is and it’s bad enough Six and the others are catering to his bleeding heart, Outbreak being only one of the many examples Lion can think of – if they’d lost some of their best ops going on that frankly idiotic suicide mission to save Macintosh, it would’ve been a disaster. The fact that it happened to work out is irrelevant.

Angrily, he shrugs on one of his nice shirts out of spite, buttoning it while glaring at himself in the mirror. He’s going to show Doc what he’s been missing out on these past weeks. Maybe he should casually drop a few names to make Doc really regret not talking to him while he was in Africa. Well. It’s not like he messaged or called Doc, but again. It’s about the principle of it all.

While dressing fully, he prepares an opening sure to grab Doc’s interest while simultaneously sounding dismissive, ends up stomping into the living room to deliver his short speech and is about three syllables in when he realises Doc isn’t even there anymore.

“… Olivier?”

He turns around to an amused-looking Frenchman in the kitchen, lifting a cup to indicate it’s for Lion and he dares to still look utterly irresistible. Lion pushes away the mental image of just tossing the mug into the sink in favour of tracing Doc’s jaw line with his tongue (but fuck, it’s tempting) and instead blurts out something he doesn’t even mean, something which needs far more context than, well, nothing: “I wish people stopped listening to you all the time.”

Doc’s face turns stony and Lion wants to kick himself. “Or we can fight instead of catching up”, he mutters and slams the coffee onto the counter, causing it to slosh over. “That’s fine too.”

Lion has joined his lover in the kitchen now, brows scrunched together. “I don’t want to fight”, he states lamely.

“No. You just want to rehash an argument for which we found no solution while insisting you’re right. Big difference.”

Alright. Maybe he wants to fight a little, if only to get a rise out of Doc who’s infuriatingly composed still. “I met some of your former colleagues from MSF”, he tactically switches topics to hopefully appease his boyfriend enough in the meantime so he gives in once Lion pushes the previous issue some time later. “Martina says hi.”

“I know. We talk regularly.” Ouch. The cutting quality of the remark is not lost on him: Doc is pissed that he didn’t even let him know whether he arrived safely. “She also tells me you got shot.”

This, at least, he can de-escalate. “I was shot at, but not hit.”

“Martina mentioned blood.”

“It was a graze shot on my side. It’s healed already.”

Doc seems thoroughly unimpressed – not undeservedly, Lion has been known to either downplay or exaggerate his own injuries wildly, though he hasn’t told anyone the real reason. Pretending he was worse off than it appeared ensured a trip to Doc’s office, and acting as if everything was fine surely impressed the Frenchman once he was there. A foolproof system. “If you say so.”

“I say it because it’s true. Were you worried about me?”

Brown eyes turn even darker at the teasing question. “Of course. Every day, Olivier. Just because you behaved like a temperamental child doesn’t mean I didn’t miss you.”

Lion sputters in indignation. “I did not. If anything, you were worse, you broke the fucking vase!”

“Only because you implied the lives of my colleagues are worth less to me than those of civilians.”

“I only did that because you said I care more about rules than I do about humans in general.”

“You also slammed the door and actually stomped your foot. I’m not the immature one here!”

“And yet you sat here and pouted instead of checking up on me despite being worried just because you need to be right -”

“I am right. And now show me your stupid wound!”

“There is no wound, Gustave!”

“We both know you’re lying, come on.”

“Do you really trust me that little?”

“Have you given me enough reason to trust you?”

And that does it. That is it. Lion is seething at this point, all the pent up frustration and worry boiling over as a result of Doc’s consistent nagging, his denial of Lion being right concerning protocols, the silence during the previous weeks and his insistence on being always correct, it’s too much. He snaps.

With one swift motion, he rips his shirt open, presenting his naked torso to his lover, and growls: “Does this look like I’m fucking injured?!”

Doc stills.

And during the brief silence which follows the animalistic gesture, Doc’s eyes are glued to Lion’s chest, sun-tanned and skin smooth with only the faint hint of a scar on his ribs, a mark which will completely fade in months. Around them, torn-off buttons plink and bounce on the floor.

Lion knows what he looks like, knows his lugging around heavy equipment paired with fewer meals and small portions has made his muscles stand out, contoured him flatteringly and harmonises with his slightly bleached auburn hair. He probably smells like sunlight.

Maybe this ended up a little too dramatic.

“You need to fuck me right now”, Doc tells him, tone serious, “we can argue later.”

… or maybe this had just the right kind of flair.

Before he’s even processed the words, Doc’s hands are already pulling on his belt and fuck, getting with the program has never been this seamless. He angrily swats his lover’s hands away to complete the task himself, flinches involuntarily when soft lips latch onto one of his nipples and presses out a groan upon feeling teeth on the sensitive skin. It’s all a little too sudden so he’s only half hard when Doc yanks his trousers down, but watching him sink to his knees without hesitation and lick his way from the base to the tip does wonders to remedy this.

Lion threads his fingers into dark, wavy hair, still reeling from what on earth just happened, is still happening, yet he couldn’t be further from complaining once Doc wraps his glossy lips around the head and flattens his tongue against it. His mouth is hot and wet and Lion feels himself swelling inside the cavern, blood rapidly filling his stiffening shaft while Doc mercilessly sucks him into full hardness. He makes for a beautiful picture like this, more submissive than he usually lets himself be, especially in context, though when he glances up at Lion, there’s still something defiant in his dark gaze.

So that’s how it’s going to be.

His grip tightens and he begins guiding Doc’s movements, pulling him further onto his cock with each bob and causing first a strangled moan and then a warning hum which he disregards entirely. There’s some residual anger still and it bleeds into Lion’s motions, makes them a little rougher than normal. Doc’s tongue is slowly driving him insane with the way its tip seeks out all his most sensitive spots almost out of spite, how it massages the underside, swirls over his slit and curls around the glans, and the sweet pressure of his lover sucking on him only adds to the dizzying mix of stimulation. Not only does it feel mind-blowing, it feels like triumph.

Idly, he debates leaving it at that, interpret this phenomenal blowjob as a concession of defeat from Doc and never bring up their earlier argument again – it would certainly be worth it, Doc always looks so beautiful after he’s swallowed Lion’s come, dazed and proud and like his reading glasses would be askew if he put them on. Doc’s slight resistance might be just for show but Lion relishes it nonetheless, keeps dragging him in while testing out the limits, lets up a little when Doc pinches his thigh after a particularly deep swallow – and then he notices Doc palming himself through his trousers.

He seems to be enjoying this just as much as Lion is.

Inside Doc’s mouth, his cock gives a vicious throb at the sudden surge in desire and earns a helpless moan in return. Lion pictures it briefly, him fucking Doc’s throat while his lover pleasures himself, trapped between focusing on Lion’s dick and his own erection, and his hips involuntarily thrust forward at the mental image. Doc, not expecting it, withdraws while gasping, robs Lion of his delicious wet heat and glares. The hand between his legs, however, is not stopping.

Belatedly, Lion realises this isn’t a submission, if anything it’s an act of war – Doc is taking what he thinks is his, rendering Lion useless in the process. He’s furious but unable to keep his hands off Lion. And if that isn’t the hottest thing he could’ve hoped to encounter today.

“Get up”, he orders hoarsely, throat dry, and doesn’t waste any time undressing his lover as soon as he’s obliged. All his clothes are quickly discarded and tossed somewhere, and with every new bit of skin revealed, Lion’s impatience grows: he wants this man, and he wants him now, wants to show him without a shadow of a doubt how much he desires him… but also make him admit Lion was right.

Doc’s skin is warm under his palms and his tongue slick against Lion’s own. Their making out is almost desperate and not at all befitting a loving reunion after a prolonged absence, but neither of them mind while their lips glide over each other, hands roaming over bodies. Doc moans into his mouth when Lion grabs a handful of his ass, and refuses to break the kiss even as he’s lifted up and set down on the table. His legs wrap around Lion’s hips and he pulls him closer, ankles locked, the gesture possessive but encouraging, and both of them voice their pleasure when their erections rub against each other, Lion’s spit-slicked and Doc’s just as hard now.

“Missed me that much, Gustave?”, he teases in between ravenous kisses and almost loses his balance when Doc’s legs shove him a little in protest.

“Don’t be so smug and get the lube.”

“Why don’t you get it yourself if you want me so much?”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

They glare at each other and it’s tough not to allow the challenging expression to melt into an amused smile over Doc’s visible frustration. He’s clinging to Lion still, resistance clearly written in his features – if it was for him, he’s not going to give up any time soon. The realisation of what he’s going to do next makes Lion’s dick jump in anticipation and he turns out to be right: if Lion has leverage over his lover due to how horny he is, he just needs to level the playing field. And so he lightly sinks his teeth into Lion’s shoulder, grabs his cock and drags the nails of his other hand over Lion’s ribs. The faint pain is transformed into roaring want immediately upon Doc lightly jerking him and holy shit, why have they never had angry sex before?

He curses quietly, whispers Doc’s name and earns a sharp nip to his jaw; if he wants to keep up, he needs to act. Blindly, he reaches behind him and fetches the bottle of olive oil from the counter while thrusting into the unforgiving grip. The feeling is divine, almost as good as Doc’s mouth and he hears himself groan in bliss after his lover has spat into his hand and eased the slide considerably, producing a whole other kind of friction. He’s got something better, though.

As soon as his oiled-up fingers curl around Doc’s thick shaft, the Frenchman pauses. Takes a deep breath. And expels it again with a sound akin to a whine when Lion begins stroking him leisurely, thoroughly enjoying the way his lover relaxes into him before being aware of doing so. And once he notices, it’s back to struggling.

They relentlessly exploit each other’s weakspots, Lion sucking a purple bruise onto Doc’s neck, right below his ear, and Doc massaging his balls, nearly causing his knees to give in, fingertips brush over nipples, lips latch onto sensitive patches of skin, and all the while they’re simultaneously pushing each other away and pressing closer. Breath mingling, they’re becoming one already, pawing and kissing and attempting to dominate. They’re both worse for wear by now and so Doc doesn’t even protest when Lion orders him to lie back and spread his legs. Fingers generously coated in olive oil, Lion runs them over his lover’s entrance teasingly before inserting just one.

And oh.

Doc’s cheeks darken when Lion adds a second finger without hesitation, finding his insides pliant and wet already – or rather still.

“Couldn’t even wait until I’m home”, Lion tuts and watches, full of wonder, as Doc swallows even a third digit easily.

“If you hadn’t given me the silent treatment, you might’ve gotten some photos”, the other Frenchman retaliates through his teeth, though his grimace slips a little when Lion strokes over his prostate. Being this familiar with his body pays off more often than not.

“And if you hadn’t given me the silent treatment, I’d have talked you through it.” Lion’s own dick is rearing to go, pulsing impatiently at the sight of Doc’s hole stretching around his fingers, and yet he resists the temptation to enter him and instead goes back to jerking him with his free hand. Doc looks like he’s going to start drooling any second now, his resistance forgotten in favour of grinding against Lion’s hands. “I would’ve told you that you’re doing so good, that you look beautiful, that you can take even more fingers than that. How much I want you. That you should imagine it’s me pushing inside you.”

He’s putty in Lion’s hands now, was shoved over the threshold by overwhelming need and has turned malleable, soft, desperate. Lion has won, and victory has never felt sweeter than right now: the person with whom he hopes to spend the rest of his life all laid out in front of him, blinking up at him dazedly and with so much love obvious in chocolate brown eyes that Lion’s heart threatens to burst for a moment.

“Please”, Doc says quietly. And Lion doesn’t make him say it twice.

Slicking up his own cock already forces a moan out of his throat, so he doesn’t expect to last long – not with how long he’s had to wait for this, not with how tight the ring of muscle was around his three fingers. It doesn’t matter, he’s sure they’ll be having a second round later. Carefully, he lines up the tip and pushes in with minimal resistance, both of them moaning when the head slips inside, and once he’s fully bottomed out, he takes a moment to revel in familiar feeling of Doc clenching down on him. Oh, how he missed this. How he missed the disbelief written all over Doc’s face when Lion rolls his hips and brushes over his sweet spot, how he missed the filthy sounds they’re producing together, how he missed the feeling of another body against his own.

Once he slams inside the first time, Doc is already incoherent and the half-syllables he manages only convince Lion to not let up, increase force and speed and intensity to make him forget his own name, to make him forget he ever belonged to anyone else. His lover’s crotch is an oily mess but it’s just perfect for him, allowing him to wank him hard and fast, rapidly building pleasure in time with his thrusts – Doc doesn’t suspect anything yet, thighs trembling already from how deep Lion invades him with every motion, from how calloused fingers run over sensitive flesh. He must think Lion impatient or close to the edge but couldn’t be further from the truth. He’s only just started.

When he ceases his ministrations just as Doc’s abs begin to flutter, giving away his impending orgasm, he expects his lover to react with indignation, possibly take matters into his own hands or at the very least glare at him, but when his eyes open, they’re so full of devotion and acceptance that Lion is momentarily floored. Instead of fighting him, Doc tightens his legs and drags him in, turns the hard thrusts rocking his body even more brutal and unforgiving despite panting already, despite squirming away from the overpowering pleasure. He doesn’t protest when Lion massages his dick once more, struggles to hold it with how fiercely it’s twitching, and even when he stops again due to Doc’s mewling nearly reaching peak volume, the man in front of him tolerates the torture.

Lion keeps up the merciless rhythm of his hips, fucks his way towards a well-deserved climax and marvels at the beauty laid out just for him, but it bothers him how… accommodating Doc has become even though he’s nothing if not stubborn. And yet he rewards Lion’s movements with loving gazes, contracts around his shaft to increase the sweet, sweet pressure, and lets endless, blissful noises drop from his lips. Lion can feel Doc’s toes flexing against his back, so he must be hitting just the right spot and he’s so caught up in his own lust, so focused on the erotic sensation of driving into the person he loves, of making both of them feel good, that it takes him embarrassingly long to understand.

He leaves Doc hanging on the edge again and explores his shapely chest with a slick hand, leaving glistening trails on darker skin, but it clicks when his palm travels all the way up, barely brushing against Doc’s throat. Because he tilts his head back, willingly exposing the vulnerable body part. And Lion gets it.

It doesn’t matter that they disagree on certain topics, their views are unlikely to change and so neither of them will budge, but what does matter is that they love each other regardless. That they accept each other the way they are, and even if they might be angry, their passion and commitment remains untouched. This is why Doc is handing himself over so willingly: his trust is unshaken.

And Lion interrupts his motions to lean down and kiss him, channel all the love and faith and desire he feels for this man into the gesture while burying both hands in Doc’s hair, cradling his face. The smile he feels against his mouth tells him that Doc understands, and when Lion starts grinding against him a few seconds later, both of them gasp.

“I missed you so much”, Lion mutters against parted lips and now everything is pouring out of him. “Fuck, I thought of you every free second. You feel so good, Gustave, you have no idea how good you feel. You’re amazing. I love you so much.”

Doc moves against him, eyes open as he clings to the taller man like his life depended on it. “I love you too, Olivier. And you’re so deep -”

“I even dreamt of you. I still can’t believe this is real, sometimes. You look so fucking hot right now, I want to fuck you until you can’t walk.”

This earns him the very first genuine, absolutely brilliant smile ever since he came back. Doc licks his mouth open and plays with his tongue until they’re both breathless and gasping before whispering: “Do it.”

So Lion does.

He pulls out, half drags Doc off the table and turns him around so his feet are (already unsteadily) on the floor, torso resting on the wooden surface with Lion behind him, and slams home in one fluid motion. From there, it’s a veritable mess, a maelstrom of sensation and want, a barrage of stimulation muddling Lion’s perception entirely. He’s vaguely aware of waves of divine pleasure rushing through his entire body with each thrust, notices Doc looking back at him pleadingly over his shoulder, incredulity lining his features and increasing with every strangled sound. It’s pure heaven, skin slapping sharply on skin, his cock rubbing over Doc’s prostate with every thrust, causing him to whimper and writhe and his legs to almost give in, and all the while he insistently drags Doc’s hips to meet him so he can reach as deeply inside as possible.

The fast tempo wrecks them both, sweat is starting to bead up on Doc’s back and Lion’s forehead, both of them completely lost in their own pleasure, in each other, in the feeling connecting them – and when Lion reaches around to jerk Doc in the same unrelenting rhythm as his motions, another hand closes over his own, squeezes it more tightly and demonstrates just how Doc likes it right now. Knowing how much he enjoys the deep and thorough penetration only serves to cloud Lion’s thoughts further and, in contrast, sharply brings his own desire into focus, steadily building up with every time he invades his lover so intimately until he can’t take it anymore.

When he comes, he folds in half and moans unselfconsciously into Doc’s hair, loud groans wrenched from him with every delicious wave of pleasure rolling through him. The relief is immeasurable, rushes through his veins like liquid electricity and has him shuddering violently in time with his small thrusts accompanying the contractions in his lower muscles. He’s barely aware of Doc’s hand speeding up in desperation but suddenly becomes keenly aware of his lover climaxing below him due to the hard clenching around him all of a sudden, the spasms milking him even further and his own moans mixing with Doc’s. They both shiver, prolong each other’s orgasm with minuscule movements and only come down slowly from their intense high, aftershocks making their muscles twitch and cocks throb.

Doc lets out a content sigh which Lion mirrors, but when he pushes against the larger body draped over him, Lion refuses to budge. He’s still coasting on the elating feeling of loving and being loved, of sharing intimacy, and if he doesn’t say it now, he never will.

Lips brushing over warm skin, he murmurs: “I’m sorry. I… rules help me do the right thing and I’m afraid of acting without them. I’ll try to think for myself more instead of blindly relying on general instructions which might not fit the situation exactly.”

His lover huffs a quiet laugh and catches one of his hands in his own, interlaces their fingers to show him he appreciates the apology. “I’m sorry too. I let my feelings interfere with my work which can be dangerous. I’ll try to take a step back and assess situations more objectively.”

It’s such a relief to hear these words that Lion nearly tears up at the realisation that he’s forgiven, that he made a concession only to be graced with one in return, that they’re equals after all, both human and thus flawed in their own way. They’re both wrong if the result is them not speaking to each other, and the insecurity of what their fight might mean for their relationship melts away, leaving behind nothing more than a fuzzy feeling.

This time, when Doc moves, Lion withdraws gingerly and stands up straight, pulling the other man into a tight embrace once he’s turned around. They kiss slowly and sweetly, both of them smiling into it since they can’t help it and when he playfully peppers the side of Doc’s neck in kisses, his lover reacts with a chuckle.

“That was awful”, Doc tells him matter-of-factly. “Let’s never do that again.”

And though Lion has to agree that the past two weeks rank among the worst of his life, he can’t help but clarify: “You don’t mean the angry sex though, right? You looked so incredibly hot, blowing me while furious.”

Doc snorts, visibly embarrassed, and shakes his head slightly. “If you liked that, I… guess we can have a repeat performance. Just without all the nonsense before it.”

“Yeah. I agree.” Lion takes the opportunity to eye up his boyfriend, take in his messy hair, the shimmery smears all over his body, the absolute mess between his legs – and it looks like he did drool on the table after all. “You look like you need a shower.”

The grin spreading on Doc’s face is almost mischievous and has Lion falling for him all over again, not that he’s letting it show just how smitten he really is. “And I do hope you’re going to accompany me, mon amour?”

How could he say no to that? “We have a lot of catching up to do”, he agrees and drops his gaze to see some of his semen running down Doc’s thigh.

Maybe he’ll end up having to shower three times today.

[lovemesomerafael]

Destroying the Planet to Save It    Chapter 4:  Whatever Works

Chapter 1    Chapter 2    Chapter 3    Read it on AO3

Sharon immediately saw that Bruce’s meteorologist colleague was just as convinced as he was that the tornado in Washington hadn’t been a natural phenomenon.  She could also see that all three of those working with monitors and readouts and a very cool 3-D model of the storm with the tornado swirling down from it were deeply troubled.  Tony’s hair was sticking up at all sorts of angles, as though he’d been pulling at it.  Bruce looked even more dark and morose than usual.  

“I just came to check on you.  Do you need anything?”

Tony waved nonchalantly without looking away from the complex display he was manipulating in mid-air. “Nah.  We’re good.”

“All right.  Air Force One is half an hour out.  The Presidents are leaving, if you wanted to say goodbye. Chopper’s already on the landing pad.”

This time she got no response at all.  All three of them were completely submerged in whatever it was they were doing.  

“Can we expect any answers anytime soon?”  She asked, touching Bruce on the arm to get his attention.

“Wha-  No.  We’re working on it, but there’s a lot to go through.  We’re gonna need time.  Just make sure Coulson’s watching for any more of those energy spikes.”

“Will do.  Call me if you need anything.”  She waited, but again no one was paying the slightest attention to anything but whatever it was they were looking at.

From the lab, she went to the little observation room off the landing pad.  Outside, all the Secret Service agents, both Presidents, the first lady, and Bucky were already on the helicopter.  She stood next to Steve and waved as they took off, angling toward the airport where President Burke would meet Air Force One.  From there, the helicopter would take President Lattimore and his Secret Service detail to the Quinjet for their trip to Alabama to return Lattimore to his home.  

Sharon turned and gave Steve a thin smile, then moved toward the elevator.  Steve followed, putting a hand on her arm.  “Sharon, can we talk?”

“Of course,” she said, stopping and turning fully toward him, her stomach in knots.

“Not here.  Let’s go somewhere more private.  Uh, my rooms?”

“Sure.”

Neither of them said anything as the elevator descended to the residential floor, or even as they walked side by side, not touching, to the suite Steve usually occupied when he was here.  He opened the door and gestured her in.  It wasn’t until she’d taken a seat on the edge of a deep reading chair, with him sitting on the end of the couch just next to it, that he spoke.  He leaned forward, elbows on his knees and hands clasped between them.

“I’m sorry,” he began.

“You don’t owe me an apology.”

“Yeah,” he sighed.  “I do.  I’ve been thinking about what you said, and you’re right.  I had reasons for what I did, but I know what it must have looked like – felt like – to Tony.  And I shouldn’t have been rude to you for being right.”

“It’s OK.  You weren’t rude.  We’re good.”

He looked up into her eyes. “Sharon…  What you said…”

Shit.  She’d been afraid of this when he said he wanted to talk.  She was in no way prepared for this moment.  Sharon had never meant to say anything remotely like what she’d said.  It had just slipped out.  And now, sitting here with him looking up into her face with spellbound expectation, she had a choice to make.  All her instincts screamed to make light of it.  Or to apologize.  And yet, she knew that this was her opportunity.  Her chance to tell him what she felt for him, what she saw in him. It might never come again.  

She steeled herself.  “We don’t have to talk about that if you don’t want to,” she whispered.  “I’m honestly not sure I’m ready to.  But I’m not going to deny I meant it.”

It took every ounce of courage she had to keep returning his gaze.  She had no courage left to say anything more.

“You know what my life is like.”

“Like I said, we don’t have to talk about this.  I’m a big girl, Steve.”

“No, that’s not…  I’m not trying to make excuses, or let you down easy.  I guess I sort of hoped it was obvious I have feelings for you, too.  But, I mean, that’s the thing.  I shouldn’t.  My life, it’s…  It’s not mine.  I can’t get involved, because I don’t have anything to give you.  Not even my time.”

“That’s a load of horse shit.”

Steve surprised laugh rang out in the quiet room.  “Uh… Okaaaaaay…”

“Do you know what I see when I look at you?  I see a man who has absolutely no idea who he is.  I get that your body’s changed; you’ve said often enough that it doesn’t feel like yours.  And I understand that you’re living in a time that, for you, isn’t home, either.  I don’t pretend to know what that’s like.”

“How could you?  I think only Bucky and me can really know what it’s like.”

“But that’s not it, Steve.  The thing with you is, you’re all about protecting other people, defending them. Doing what’s right.  All of those are excellent, sterling qualities.  They’re you.  They’re why Erskine chose you.  But there’s another side to those things.  It means you do nothing but give, all the time.  And sure, you wouldn’t be so selfless if it wasn’t rewarding, on some level.  But here’s the thing.  Even though you’re a supersoldier, even though you’re Captain America, you’re still human.  You’re still a man.  You’re finite.  You can’t go on giving and giving, protecting and defending everyone but yourself, forever. There’s only so much of you, so much inside of you, to give away if you won’t ever accept anything back.”

For a moment, Steve simply looked at her, a wrinkle of concentration between his brows.  Then he gave his head a slight shake and said quietly, “I don’t know what that means.”

“It means that I can see the weariness in your eyes, Steve.  I can see that the weight of the world is getting awfully damn heavy on you. And, holy shit, it would.  Because you don’t let anyone else help you carry it.”

Steve sat back and pulled a hand through his hair, huffing.  “That’s not true.  There’s S.H.I.E.L.D.  There’s the rest of the Avengers.  I’m not fighting alone.”

“I’m not talking about fighting.  I’m talking about you.  Steve Rogers, the man.  Who’s he got? Who holds him up?”

“I…  well, I have friends. I mean… I have you, and Bucky, and the team…”

“Yeah.  You do.  But you keep all of us at arm’s length.  Let us in. Let me in.  I think you need that.  I think you need that desperately.”

Steve sighed and frowned down at his legs, saying nothing.  Sharon stayed as she was, just watching him, letting her words sink in. Finally, after several full minutes, he looked up at her from under his eyelashes.  

“I think you might be right,” he whispered, emotion choking his voice.  “I’ll...  I’ll try. If you’ll help me.”

“Of course I will,” she said softly, reaching out for his hand with a gentle smile.

“Right now, I have to go see what’s going on in the lab.”

“No.  You don’t.”

Steve looked up, surprised. “I should-“

Now Sharon’s smile widened, even as she shook her head.  “No. You shouldn’t.”

Steve cocked an eyebrow, genuinely confused.  “I don’t…”

“It’s Tony and Bruce’s turn to carry the weight of the world right now.  You don’t have to take that on.”

“But I…  I don’t know what else to do.”

“Want me to tell you?”

“Yes.  Please.”

“Friday?”  Sharon called, a little louder than they’d been speaking.

“Yes, Agent Carter?”

“Are the comms in the building working?”  She didn’t take her eyes from Steve’s, and her lips remained curved in that smile.

“Yes, Agent Carter. Would you like to speak to someone?”

“No.  I’d just like you to tell me if the comms between this room and the lab are working.”

“Yes, Agent Carter. They are in perfect working order.”

“So if Mr. Stark or Dr. Banner have something to tell us, they’ll be able to do it instantly, right?”

“Yes, Agent Carter.”

“Excellent.  Then we’d like some privacy, unless there’s something urgent.  Can you do that?”

“Of course.”

Steve noticed that Sharon’s eyes had a definite glint of mischief, or something, in them.  He started to get a better idea what that something was when she stood and shifted her weight, sliding into his lap with one arm going around his neck and the other hand lifted to his face, where she began stroking a knuckle down his jaw.  She felt warm and strong, and he didn’t hesitate to gather her to him.  

“Now.  What you do is, you let the geniuses do what they do, and you take care of yourself so you’ll be ready when it’s your turn.”

Sharon felt a surge of joy at the lustful interest already taking over Steve’s expression.  

“How, exactly, do you propose I do that?”

“You let me kiss you,” she answered throatily.  “Really kiss you.  And you kiss me back.  Think you can handle that?”

“Oh, yeah,” he grinned.

Steve’s lips were firm and warm on Sharon’s, and for a very long time they simply kissed as they’d been doing, caressing one another’s lips and nipping at each other’s mouths.  But this kiss was different.  Sharon meant it to be, and she’d been ready to be the one to push it into new territory, but Steve beat her to it.  She felt his tongue licking at her bottom lip, not intrusive or demanding, just lightly tasting.  She hoped he could feel her smile, and used the tip of her own tongue to trace his upper lip.  His tiny moan unleashed a flock of butterflies low in her stomach, and she felt her body’s response lower down when he tipped his head just a bit and licked into her mouth. Oh, this man knew how to kiss.

The combination of the gentle, tender way he was holding her, the warmth of his hand splayed across her back, and the suddenly hungry way he was kissing her, invading her mouth with his tongue, made Sharon gasp.  He seemed to like that, because he moved his hand from her hip to cradle her chin and took firm control of the kiss, moaning out loud this time.  This was by far the most intimate, fully open-mouthed kiss they’d shared, and Sharon felt a rush of pleasure at how good Steve tasted, how masterfully he was holding and kissing her.  She scooted her hips, trying to get closer to him.  If she’d known what really kissing him was like, she’d have been on his lap long before this.

“Sharon…” he breathed, sending lightning through her, and spread his thighs a little, pulling her in.  She let him take their kisses wherever he wanted, responding with all the urgency and passion she felt.  

At first, she wasn’t sure what he intended when he slid a hand under her legs and stood with her in his arms, as though she weighed no more than a kitten.  He took the two steps to the center of the long couch, then gently let go of her legs to set her on her feet.  He stood, pressed full-length against her and kissed her deeply for a long time, cradling the back of her head in his hand.  When he sat again, he turned his body and laid down, pulling her to him so that she was lying full-length on top of him.  

For a seemingly endless stretch of time, it was enough, feeling all of him, mouths hungrily devouring one another, moaning freely now.  Until Sharon began to let herself truly relax against Steve’s body, and felt how aroused he was. The insistent warmth between her legs became a wet, demanding heat.  Feeling his firm cock beneath her, she couldn’t keep from sliding against him, slowly and tentatively at first.  But as she felt him move with her, she instinctively and irresistibly spread her legs to straddle him, giving in to the almost overwhelming urge to grind against him with the most intimate part of her.  He groaned, sliding a hand into her hair and closing his fingers around a handful.  He didn’t pull, but it felt possessive, demanding, the acknowledgement she’d needed that he wanted her as much as she wanted him.  It was tempting, so tempting, to stay there, rubbing their bodies together, tongues ravaging mouths, groaning, until they made each other come.  But that wasn’t what Sharon wanted.

She slid her hands out from under his massive shoulders, down his chest, to the hem of the royal blue long-sleeved T-shirt he wore.  She shivered in ecstasy as, for the first time, she ran her hands up the bare skin of the hard, corrugated plane of his abdomen, to the swell of his chest.  Suddenly, she wanted desperately to get rid of the fucking shirt that was keeping her from seeing his naked torso and arms.  She was probably rough as she grabbed handfuls of it with a growl, practically tearing it up his body.  He didn’t seem to mind.  In fact, he pulled it off himself, in one jerky movement, and pulled her immediately back to him.  

Now it was her blouse she was grabbing at, yanking it from her like it was on fire.  Once she was free of it, she was finally less frantic, able to feel his skin against hers, to touch him wherever she chose, and slide her mouth down his neck, across his chest, to his arms.  They continued to grind their bodies together as she slowly, worshipfully, ran her hands and her mouth over all of his flesh she could reach.  When she felt him unhook her bra, she tore it off, gasping with the feeling of her bare breasts against his heated skin.  

He tried to follow her with his hips as she lifted up to slide her body lower, reaching more of him with her hands and mouth, kissing, licking, and simply rubbing her lips across his stomach.  She kept her weight on one elbow, slipping her hand underneath him to cup his ass – did asses get that hard? - as she caressed his thigh with her other hand.  That kept her occupied for a long while, and his gasping breaths and occasional groans and hisses of her name made her explorations at least as pleasurable for her as his rutting hips told her they were for him.  

He actually cried out when she moved lower, mouthing him through his pleated twill pants, groaning herself as she realized that in her deepest fantasies, she’d actually underestimated his size.  Bless you, Abraham Erskine, wherever you are, she thought.  She could feel Steve becoming needy – trying not to thrust up into her, but wanting desperately to do exactly that – and allowed herself an evil giggle against him.  

“Sharon, please…”

She gave a low chuckle. “You’re not giving the orders here, Captain,” she growled, but reached for his belt buckle anyway.  She continued kissing him randomly, stroking and gripping his thigh, reveling in his hard strength, as she unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his pants.  Then she leaned up onto both elbows, watching his face as she unzipped him.  He was flushed, with a gorgeous sheen of sweat making his magnificent body glisten in the late-morning light flooding the room. His eyes were shut tight, his lips parted as he panted.  

“Is this OK?”  She asked lasciviously.

“Yes!  Fuck, yes!”

Giggling again, she slid a knee under her so she could put her weight on it to lift up and pull his pants and boxer briefs down his thighs.  She’d known, roughly, what his cock would be like from sliding her mouth up and down it through his pants.  But somehow she wasn’t prepared for the full sight.  He opened his eyes and looked at her, the sudden concern in his face turning to a smile when he understood what her gasp had been about.  

“I…  Steve, you’re…  Oh, you’re so beautiful…”  She couldn’t wait long enough to say more than that before getting her mouth on his perfect cock.  

She had no idea how long she spent, kneeling between his spread thighs, never having bothered to do more than move his pants out of her way, sliding her tongue slowly up his shaft to flick across his head, tasting him and moaning in pleasure.  He rotated his hips, trying not to thrust but unable to keep still.  Sharon smiled with satisfaction, hearing the sounds he was entirely unable to control. She moved lower, tonguing his balls, using her hand to lift them to mouth them gently, humming with happiness as he gasped her name.  

He smelled wonderful: masculine, salty and musky and tangy.  She’d wondered how he would smell, how he would taste, and took her time discovering him as he became more and more aroused.  She knew he was having an extremely hard time not taking control, his hands clenching and unclenching, the muscles of his abdomen and thighs hard with the tension of keeping himself in check.  She wanted to remember the ecstatic, tortured look on his face forever.  

After she’d satisfied herself – for the moment – with her explorations, she shifted up slightly, just enough to lick the pre-come from his shaft until she reached the head of his cock and took it between her lips.  She grasped his cock lightly in her hand.

“Steve,” she whispered.

He opened his eyes, looking down his flushed, sweaty chest to look at her, breathing almost too hard to grunt in answer.

“Will you let me make you come?  Please?  I want to make you feel good.”

“I…  Uh…. Uh-huh…” he managed, nodding stupidly.  

Laughing softly, she took him back into her mouth, and spent the next few minutes working her way to taking as much of him as she could.  Even when she finally managed to deep-throat him as far as she could, he was still too big for her to take all of him.  She gripped him firmly with her hand and turned her attention to the slight undulations of his pelvis to help her establish the rhythm he needed.  He smoothed a hand over her hair and combed his fingers through it, but didn’t grasp or try to control her movements, although the tension in his arm told her he wanted to.  Later.  Right now, she wanted him to simply relax, and let her give him this.  

He was close.  She could hear it in his gasps and feel it in the stiffness of his thighs under her.  When he cried out her name, loudly, and began a string of curses and exclamations, she stayed where she was, changing nothing about her rhythm or pressure, or what she was doing with her tongue.  She gloried in her success, at how undone he was.  She knew he couldn’t hear himself, wasn’t paying the slightest attention, was absolutely beyond thinking about anything other than her mouth on his cock, and his impending climax.  Exactly, precisely, where she’d been dying to take him.  

He went stiff and still, not speaking or even breathing, for a few beats before, with a mighty shout, he exploded into her mouth, shooting jet after jet of hot come down her throat. She eased the pressure of her mouth and hand, but didn’t stop sucking and stroking him until he actually pushed a little at her, letting her know he was finished, and becoming oversensitive.

Sharon felt like an obscene goddess, or a succubus, insanely proud of herself in this moment, as she caught her breath, watching Steve Rogers come down from what she could tell had been a phenomenal orgasm.  Her smile was probably an offensively self-satisfied smirk, but she didn’t give a shit, because Steve’s eyes were closed, he was still stroking her hair and smiling to himself, and he was more relaxed than she’d ever seen him in the entire time she’d known him.  Mission a-fucking-complished.

His eyes fluttered open and he pulled her up to lie half on his chest, in the crook of his arm.

“That was…  Well, that was fucking incredible, is what that was,” he gave an awed chuckle, kissing her.  “Damn. The CIA train you in that stuff?”

“I could tell you, but I’d have to kill you.”

“Well.  When I come back to earth, I’m gonna take you to bed and return the favor.  Maybe several times.  I’m a supersoldier, y’know.  Got a lot of stamina.”

She kissed him back messily. “Yeah.  I’m counting on it.”

*****

President Lattimore was cross and whiny from the time the helicopter set down and he saw the Quinjet. Seeing Air Force One again, he’d been reminded of what it had been like to have a plane like that at his disposal, and from there, reminded himself of all the other perks of power.  He’d always liked being President.  Liked it much better than he’d liked actually running the country.  So he hadn’t done much of that.  He let others do it for him.  Now, though, he saw the small, boxy, utilitarian jet that was going to take him home, and resented it.  

Bucky was irritated. The man was a spoiled toddler, creating as much unpleasantness as he could to make himself feel important and, in the process, forcing a team of trained bodyguards, all with military backgrounds, to pay less than ideal attention to their jobs, in order to cater to his tantrum.  He complained about having to wait in the helicopter while three of his detail swept the Quinjet for dangers.  He insisted that Joss be the one who waited with him, which Bucky could have told him was a mistake.  Bucky’s sharp, perceptive eyes had identified quickly enough that Craig Thomas and Joss Emerson were head and shoulders above the rest of the Secret Service agents he’d met.  Since Thomas had gone back to D.C. with President Burke, that meant Lattimore was trusting his safety to what was very much the B-team.  

Once the team was satisfied, they allowed Lattimore and Joss to board the Quinjet while Bucky did his pre-flight check of the exterior.  When he boarded, he saw that Joss had Lattimore seated and was cooing a bunch of bullshit to him about how cool it was to be flown anywhere in a Quinjet, let alone with the Winter Soldier in the cockpit.  Lattimore was a little mollified, and Bucky tried to help Joss out by making his metal arm as obvious as possible and doing a rip-off of Steve’s big-chested hero routine, the one he put on when he wanted something from someone gullible.  Lattimore calmed down just enough that Bucky decided to let him make the trip on the inside of the jet.  Man, this dude was a tool.  Bucky was tempted to put a parachute on him and just toss him out over the Gulf of Mexico, let him swim back to Mobile.  But he was pretty sure Joss wouldn’t let him.

Bucky was glad when the noise of the engines blocked out the drone of Lattimore’s complaints.  It would’ve been fun to have Joss as his co-pilot, but fucking Voldemort wasn’t having it, so Jeff Traynor - one of the Secret Service guys - was in the right seat.  Bucky absolutely couldn’t understand how Joss put up with this Lattimore douche for four years.  He very much understood why she kept politely but firmly refusing his constant requests that she join his Secret Service detail.  

Eventually, Lattimore fell asleep, which allowed Joss to move up to the cockpit.  She wished she could have been Bucky’s copilot – that would have been something to remember when this was all over and he returned to being just a guy on the news and YouTube – but she could still spend some time watching him fly.  She’d been looking forward to it.

“Everything OK back there?” Bucky asked, looking up with a smile that made Joss tremble.

“He’s asleep.”

“What’d you do, sing a lullaby?”

Joss grinned.  “Whatever works.”

“Listen, not that I don’t want you up here, but you should strap in,” Bucky said, indicating the radar screen.  “We’re coming up on some weather.”

“I can take a little turbulence,” she shrugged.  “I’m Air Force.”

“Oh, yeah,” Bucky grinned evilly, and she knew she was not going to like whatever he said next.  “The Air Force.  That’s like the military, but with naptime, right?”

“Wait, what?”  She shrieked in mock dismay.  “You did not just make a joke about the Air Force.  It didn’t even exist when you served.”

“Yep.  Way I heard it, we won the war just fine without it.”

“Oh, man.  Maybe I will strap in, after all, just in case you take that whole ‘ground pounder’ thing seriously.”

“Was that supposed to be an insult?  You can do better than that.  Try again.”

“Nah,” Joss said, patting him on the shoulder.  “You must feel bad enough as it is.  I mean, you’re already Army.”

Joss could actually feel Bucky’s smile.  She was glad for the engine noise to cover her little involuntary whimper.  She went back to her seat, storing up the sound of his deep chuckle to play in her memory once she returned home.  She sat on the starboard side of the plane, so she could watch him at the controls, trying to memorize all of the details of his profile and the way he handled the jet with such confidence and grace.

*****

By the late afternoon, Bruce had finished running Tony and Catherine through the last of the data he’d collected in D.C., and Catherine was working her way through everything they had on the other phenomena.  Bruce and Tony were muttering together before a series of screens, trying to put some theories together.  

“Wait, wait, wait…” Catherine cried, surprising Tony and Bruce, who turned to her.

“What?”  They said in unison.

“This is the most cocked-up hurricane I’ve ever seen.  It’s all wrong.  First and most obvious, hurricane can’t spin clockwise in the Phillipine Sea.  This one did.  It can’t have, but it did.  And it’s not shaped right.  It’s way too small, and…  It didn’t hit land, which would explain why it wasn’t news, but why didn’t the Institute hear about this?  This is… This can’t happen.”

At that moment, Friday interrupted.  “Excuse me, Boss, Doctors.”

“What is it, Friday?” Tony asked.

“Director Coulson is calling.  It seems another energy spike has been detected in the United States.”

“Where?”

“Atlanta, Georgia.”

“And?  Any phenomena?”

“Yes, Boss.  A rather unusually violent thunderstorm.  I’ll connect Director Coulson.”

“Stark?”  S.H.I.E.L.D. director Phil Coulson’s voice came over the speakers.  

“Coulson, you got a hit?”

“We do.  I’ve got agents on the way, and I’ve notified the White House.”

“You need us there?”

“Not yet, but stand by. We might need you, depending on what we find.  I’m already sending you the data we have so far.”

“So tell me about this storm,” Bruce said.  

“It’s a nightmare. Came up out of basically nowhere, a few storm systems just suddenly decided to collide, and now we’re getting reports of lightning storms and hurricane-force wind gusts.”

“Wait, Atlanta?”  Tony suddenly stiffened and turned around, stepping to an adjacent work table and waving another screen into brilliance. He navigated it with a few quick flicks of his hand, and a map of the U.S. appeared, with a blinking green blip near the Southeastern corner.  “Shit!”

“What’s the matter,” Catherine asked, keying in to Tony’s sudden deep concern.

“That’s the Quinjet. That’s Barnes’s plane.  And they’re basically right over Atlanta.”

“He knows to fly around a storm,” Bruce said, trying to sound confident.

“Stark,” Director Coulson said, “Are you looking at a readout tracking Barnes’s plane? Superimpose it over the data I just sent.  Let’s see where they are in relation to the storm.  Like I said, these systems collided out of nowhere.”

Tony did some more flicking and waving of his hands, then an irregular, red blot appeared on the map, with the blinking green dot well within its borders.

“Fuck,” Tony hissed.

*****

President Lattimore awoke with a start when the Quinjet seemed to drop precipitously, followed by a jarring thud.  He would have been awakened a second later, anyway, by Bucky’s very creative, very loud string of curses.  

“You all strapped in back there?”  Bucky called.

Two of the Secret Service agents hadn’t been, and one of them was now rushing to hook his seat harness while the other one was getting up from his knees, holding his forehead where blood was already seeping around his fingers.

“Eric, shit!” Joss yelled, looking frantically around her seat for something to use on the wound. No one could get up for the first aid kit right now, with the Quinjet suddenly buffeted by severe turbulence that rattled Joss’s teeth together.  She finally pulled the scarf from around her neck and reached it over to him as he finished fastening his harness.  “Use that.”

She watched as he blotted at his forehead.  They hit another, worse patch and the jet was thrown sideways and tilted to the left, knocking the air out of Joss’s lungs.  Because she was thrown against her seat harness and her head whipped to the side, she was looking out the window when a blinding, jagged streak of lightning ripped through the cloud enveloping them.  She was shocked.  One minute, they’d been in a white cloudbank, a little bumpy but not enough to even warrant a harness.  Now, suddenly, the world had gone dark, and they were in the midst of a roiling mass of stormcloud tossing them around and riddled with nearly-constant lightning.  She’d flown in plenty of storms, but nothing like this.

In fact, she’d never seen a storm like this.  The darkness had seemed to slam down like a curtain, and the clouds were producing more lightning than she’d ever seen.  It felt unnatural.  It felt malevolent.  

Over the sound of the engine and the banging of the almost ceaseless turbulence, she could hear Bucky shouting into his radio headset.  It was impossible to hear every word, but she could hear frequent cries of, “Say again?” and “Repeat that last!”  

She clutched the arms of her seat, looking out at the swirling clouds, lit by the incessant lightning, being careful to keep her tongue away from her teeth to avoid biting it as her jaws were slammed together by the buffeting.  One of the other agents had already done that, and was now stuffing his tie into his mouth to absorb the blood and keep it from happening again.  

Normally, Joss would have enjoyed the ride.  She knew aircraft, and had been through her share of sporty flights.  But this… this was frightening.  Lightning striking an aircraft was normally no threat. Aircraft were designed to be struck by lightning, because it happened all the time.  This storm, though, was testing her faith in that knowledge.  She’d never even imagined a storm like this.  She hoped the design engineers had.  

Turbulence, while unpleasant, was normally not a problem, either.  Planes were designed to withstand turbulence, of course, which was a routine occurrence.  This, though… She’d never been in turbulence this severe.  Not even close.  President Lattimore was already sporting what would become a fairly bad bruise where a book he’d had on his lap had hit his cheek.  Fortunately, there wasn’t much else sitting loose in the cabin, because anything that wasn’t anchored became a missile with some of the hits they were taking.

Joss watched as Bucky and Jeff Traynor fought the storm.  She could see and feel that they had far less control of the aircraft than they should have, even in a turbulent storm.  She could see them shouting to each other, but the roar of the stressed engines and the constant barrage of turbulence made it impossible to hear what they were saying.  

She didn’t need to hear them to know when the airframe experienced a catastrophic failure.  The most violent upheaval she’d ever felt knocked her head against the window, stunning her briefly.  She shook her head, trying to reorient herself before realizing that it wasn’t the blow to her skull that was causing her sense of disequilibrium. Things seemed crooked because they were crooked.  That last jolt had damaged something that was making it almost impossible for Bucky and Jeff to control the Quinjet.  

They fought it.  They worked together, Bucky screaming instructions as they did everything they could to keep the jet in the air.  When it was clear that wasn’t going to happen, Joss closed her eyes and tried to remember how to pray.