#*goes into therapists office with printed word of life* here you go.

[h20]

growing up in an extremely volatile anti-therapy (and medical care/attention in general) environment to be this adult who DESPERATELY CRAVES AND FANTASIZES ABOUT THE PROCESS OF BREAKING DOWN OUR WALLS AND OPENING UP TO a therapist one day in an extremely calculated and planned order. we know what we would start wth and how we would compartmentalize things and reveal things in a timely fashion while reinforcing our need at the end that we didn’t need therapy all along! like we say this rigjt & then we go to sit across from someone to access feelings or events or whatever the fuck goes on in therapy cause we NEVER HAD APPROPRIATE THERAPY and we just

[stuckybarton]

Before You Go [One Shot]

SUMMARY: Ransom Hugh Drysdale has finally done it, his greed had come to bite him in the ass and he was now facing life without parole. Gone was the arrogant trust fund grandson, now a man that had nothing remained. Behind an orange jumpsuit and a lifetime to reflect how his world comes crashing down from his own doing. He has come into terms with his action, but someone comes back in his life to see him before she goes live her life again without him. [Post-Knives Out AU]

WARNING: Slight Profanities(?) Not Beta’d

CHARACTERS: Ransom Drysdale x Future Ex Wife!FOC [unnamed]

WORDS: 1881

A/N: The ending of this is so ugh! i don't like how it ends, but yeah.

Years of knowing one Ransom Drysdale, the years of hating him, loving him, and marrying him. To see him in this predicament was by far the last thing she would have ever believed to would happen to her husband--ex-husband as soon as she could get his signature of the Divorce Papers. This man in a horrible orange jumpsuit and horrible workers boots was not her husband.

"What have you done, Ran?" she questioned finally sitting in front of him.

Ransom and the rest of his family still had a sway in the powers above and here they both sat. Alone, with only three correctional officers watching over them, listening with intrigue as the man had finally had a visitor that he approved of. Sitting in a metal chair that creaked as most of her weight rested on the back, she was led to wonder more about this moment, how could this happen to him, how could he let himself go into the deep end like this.

"What I needed to do." he shrugged, gone was the arrogance in his stance, no longer did he have a snide remark or a comeback. She was left to watch the glory of her lover now turn into ashes. Ransom Drysdale had finally come to accept his fate behind the steel bars.

Her hands clenched as she rested them on her lap, the hard folder that rested on top of it already burning her. This was one of the reasons she came here. To find her closure and live the life he could never give her. The Thrombey-Drysdale Clan were dysfunctional in every sense of the word, in all her years of knowing them and having to interact with them, they were the most vile and cruel family she had ever been associated with. It made her wonder, if that very family was the cause of what came to be known as Ransom, the black sheep that never truly had the love and support of his parents--desperate for money that he forced to make ends meet, even with lives were on the line, his grandfather's life being on the line.

She sighed, eyes skimming the white painted room. The lack of windows and sunlight brought a more harrowing scene before her.

Turning her attention back to her husband, there was this look on his eyes that she has never seen before. The emptiness in his blue hues breaks her heart more than she would ever admit.

Had this been her fault? Was she not strong enough for the two of them and this was what it led to? Ransom thrown into jail and she was empty with the ghost of what could have been. But then again, it had been his own doing why she had to go. She couldn't bare to see him like this, to live a life of a bachelor while she waited at him, stagnation had been the plague that had her leave and never come back.

"You weren't out of the country when there was a Will Reading with the attorney?" He inquired eyes finally landing right back at her. The same blue eyes now turned back to her.

"I left because of money, I wanted nothing out of your Grandfather's money, and having me in the same room as those assholes you call your family would only prove their point." she spat. Why was he questioning something he knew very well the answer to. "I was in California, just got partnered and I'm in the process of moving everything I own cross country." she admits.

"So that's why you're here?" he inquire. "Here to gloat? Tell me once again you've regret marrying as arrogant prick like me."

Taking a deep breath, she counted to ten. A mantra her therapist had said when dealing with Ransom, dealing with him putting words in her mouth. One of the many reasons why they fell apart and constant misery had laid waste in their marriage and in what was left of their relationship.

"I just want to know why you had to do this? Why did it have to come to this? Money wouldn't have been a problem for the two of us. We're set for life, my parents are ready to give the company to us, all they wanted was a grandchild. That was all they ever wanted from the two of us."

The argument that had been constant in their life was her wanting to have child and Ransom being unable to let go of his lavish bachelor lifestyle. They loved each other, she had hoped and prayed that will never stop, but their priorities weren't set straight, more so Ransom. She couldn't allow herself to constantly clean up his messes, deal with his horrible family, and juggle the responsibility thrown at her by her parents for her own future. She just gave in, their relationship became collateral because of it. The fact that he didn't make an effort only proves where their relationship stood.

"So what did you do instead of being my husband?" she inquired. "You slept with countless of women behind my back." The way his eyes finally broke from her own stare made it more evident of the betrayal the man had done to her. "You have proven to my parents over and over again why I don't deserve someone like you."

This wasn't the reason why she was here, but Ransom was making it so hard to control herself, to stop the emotions from spilling out of her resolve. This will be the last time she see him before she moves on with her life. With shaky hands she placed the folder towards him. Eyes finally falling towards his hands that took hold of the document at hand.

"I want a divorce, Ransom. I should have done this years ago, I was just too stupid to think you'd try to make this work."

She watched him read through the papers, each paper cemented what she had tried her best to convince him of. It was never the money.

"You're giving me what Harlan gave you in his inheritance?" Ransom questioned.

She didn't need to be part of the will reading to know the circus that Harlan had made, giving most of his assets to Martha, and a portion of it was given to her. It was no chump change. Blood Like Wine Publishing was under her name, and the harassment she had to endure because of the Thrombey-Drysdale family was not worth it. This was her only solution.

"You think the old man's lawyer would allow that to happen?" he snorts. "He wrote us all off on his will. There are fine prints on them that even I can't be bothered to read anymore."

"I know." she confirmed. "Harlan had stated that if I were to divorce one Hugh Ransom Drysdale, for whatever reason I may have, the Publishing House, and the entirety of his copyright catalogue with return to the rightful owner, to his grandson, no one else."

How the gears were now turning in his head. He has come to realize that everything that he had done was for nothing. The inheritance was still his had he made the right decision all this time. Now here he was, to rot in jail for who knows how long and the stagnation that was to come for the inheritance he was too consumed in taking for himself.

"Why not keep it then?"

"Like I told you, it's never about the money." she sighed turning her attention towards one of the guards, with his head jerking towards his watch, she knew she didn't have much time left. "I gave you everything but as much as I know Harlan's legacy would be in my good hands, if it means having to be forever your wife, I'd rather have nothing that is smeared with your family name anymore."

"You know I did love you."

"Well it wasn't enough for you to keep it in your pants."

"So that's it. Once I sign, it's game over for the two of us?"

Deep breaths. She keep telling herself to take deep, measure breaths. It wasn't worth it to stoop down to his level anymore.

"It's been over for far too long, Ransom. For once, just this once, do this for me. Let me go. I want to be happy, away from you, away from your family, and away from the memory that I can't look at my husband without remembering all of the women I've seen in our home."

That was it, the first line of tears fell from her cheeks and she was a mess. Pleading over and over for him to sign the Divorce papers and the transfer of ownership of the Publishing house to him. In what felt like hours, the sound of pen on paper had overpowered her sob, each line that needed his signature he had signed. The stone face he had could fool no one, not even her. Everything was falling apart for him.

As soon as the folder had closed, he tried leaning towards her, to which she leaned away. She had been tricked by him and his charms countless of times, but this time she will not allow it. She's already done so much, she couldn't see herself wasting it all over again for him. In one swift motion, she had slid the folder away from his hold and taking the pen with her.

She stood, wiping the last remaining tears from her eyes as she tried to compose herself.

"You're free now, Ransom. You've got the money you've always wanted, but you've lost me, you've lost the one last person that had always saw the best in you. I hope you can sleep at night knowing that."

He smirked, the bravado was back. Blue eyes twinkled, but it was far too dim from what he usually had.

"Eat shit, Ex-wife."

She nodded, acceptance finally caving in. This was for the best. For herself and for the life she had made for herself without him in it. Nodding towards the guards, they had now escorted Ransom back to his cell, but he halted just inch from the door.

"Before you go, Babe." he called out. "We could have made it work, if you just fucking saw they weren't anything to me. I never slept with any of them, I didn't even kiss any of them. I always thought I could, break your heart and all that, hoping to make you see that I'm just like what my family said I was."

"And you succeeded, congratulations Ransom. You're even worse that your family for doing this to me."

"I have a different way of loving."

"Yeah well, hope you enjoy the money, Ran. Heard you can bring a few hookers here from time to time. Make the most out of it from me will you."

"Yes Ma'am."

With one last look at her, he followed the guards back to his cell. Leaving her alone with the finality she had always needed in her life. No longer was she chained to him and no longer was she bound to the toxicity of his dysfunctional family. She was free, and that was all she ever wanted.

[writings-of-bored-gal]

New Jersey Dog Sanctuary

Summary: Meet cute! Bucky is told he needs to get a dog and so goes with Sam to the shelter where he meets someone he wasn’t expecting. (It’s not overly romantic, mostly just wholesome Bucky but if I write a part 2 things will heat up a little!)

Words: 1704

Author’s Note: Hi guys! I’m so sorry I’ve been MIA for so long, but hopefully this will be the beginning of me posting more regularly again! I’ve actually really missed writing fanfic but I’ve been taking the time to work on some original bits too so maybe they’ll make their appearance on here some time in the future. For now, enjoy some soft Bucky fluff and make sure to keep sending me any requests (particularly Marvel stuff because I am riding a WandaVision marvel high at the moment!) Sending all the love- Abby x 

Masterlist 

_________

“C’mon Sam you know that this is more hassle than we need right now.” Bucky sighed. The sign above them read ‘New Jersey Dog Sanctuary’ in large green letters, punctuated with a paw print on either side. The glass door opened up to a lobby lined with sofas covered in dog hair. On one sat a kid, clutching a small scruffy terrier to his chest like his life depended on it. Bucky shook his head. 

“Look, Buck the therapist said you needed a dog, so we’re getting you a dog,” Sam gave him a sharp look, staring at him. Bucky met his gaze. A staring contest. He knew the stakes without having to say a word. If he won, he wouldn’t have to  go in, but if he blinked he’d be stuck with some dog he’d be forced to take with him on missions, getting in the way and making him trip up. Sam’s eyes did not move, but his hands clapped, making Bucky flinch, and worse, blink. 

“Cheater.”

“That’s just another word for winner, Barnes,” Sam winked, gesturing to the door. “After you.”

The sound of barking and the smell of fur hit the moment they walked into the place. There was a girl sitting behind the counter, her hair pulled back but strands still falling on her face as she frantically answered the phone and tried to pull something up on her laptop. She smiled at Sam and Bucky and held up a finger, pleading with her eyes. 

“What do you think of that one?” Sam said, pulling Bucky’s attention and pointing to a spaniel in the corner on a pink leash. Bucky shook his head and pulled a face. “Okay, something bigger?” Bucky sighed again, and nodded. “What about that one?” Sam pointed to a dalmatian who was jumping up at one of the workers. One he looked past the dog, Bucky realised that the girl was kinda pretty, smiling at the dog and letting it lick her face affectionately, half-laughing at something one of her co-workers had said to her. 

When Bucky once again shook his head, Sam gave up. The receptionist gave a cough behind them. 

“Did y’all make an appointment?” She asked, her fingers poised and ready to type. 

“It’ll be under Barnes,” Sam answered for Bucky. “We’re looking for a big dog and I looked on the website and-”

“Alright,” the receptionist interrupted, “if you take a seat on the couch over that way I’ll have someone be over with you soon.”

“You looked on the website?” Bucky asked as they turned away and made their way over to the couch. “Is this dog for you or for me?” 

Sam punched his good arm and Bucky rolled his eyes, scanning the couch to find a surface not covered with hair to sit on, unsuccessfully. The whole thing was covered with different coloured fur, creating a strange montage of white, black and brown shades on the bright green of the couch. Sam slumped down in the chair and Bucky took his chance to take a glance back at where the girl with the Dalmatian had been a minute earlier, but she was gone. 

“Hi there!” Bucky turned to see her standing there. The Dalmatian was gone from her side, but she was still brushing her front to try and rid herself of the lingering fur. She smiled brightly, her eyes crinkling as she looked between Bucky and Sam. “Take a seat. My name is Y/N and I’ll be helping you out with finding a dog here today.” She took a seat and pulled a notepad onto her lap. Bucky sat down, feeling Sam’s smug eyes on him but desperately trying to ignore him. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Y/N. I’m Sam and we’re here to look for a dog for grandpa Buck over here.” Sam smirked as Bucky shot him a death glare. She turned her attention to Bucky, kindness in her eyes as she looked him up and down. 

“I’m guessing a big dog, right?” She asked. 

“I guess, yeah,” Bucky said, folding his arms over his chest. “And not too young, we don’t really have time to train it properly.”

“Okay no problem,” she nodded, jotting some notes down, “any other preferences?”

“It’s a therapy dog,” Sam said, “so-”

“Sam!”

“No it’s okay,” the girl said, stopping the argument before it could begin, “we actually don’t have any licensed dogs here on site but if it’s just for companionship and comfort then there shouldn’t be any issues.” 

Bucky nodded solemnly. It had been a kick in the teeth when the therapist Sam had forced him to go to had told him that he would need an animal. He’d survived for so long on his own, it felt almost strange to even be with Sam so often. Having to rely on an animal felt like he was losing independence. When he’d told his therapist that she had tried to convince him that having a dog would actually help with his independence, but he wasn’t buying it. 

“Okay,” the girl said, interrupting Bucky’s train of thought, “I’m gonna go and take this list and see if there’s anyone who I think would be a good match for you.” She hesitated for a second, clearly wanting to say something more before deciding against it and turning to go back to her office. 

There was a beat of silence after she left before Sam pounced. 

“She’s...nice.”

“I guess.”

“You like her.” Sam said, unable to stop himself. “She’s cute Barnes, give her your number.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I said so,” he shook his head. She was too normal, too sweet. He was screwed in the head and she wouldn’t be able to handle it. It was pointless. It was dumb. She probably wasn’t interested. 

“She thought you were cute too, y’know.” Sam sighed, picking up a brochure and beginning to browse, one eye remaining on Bucky as he raised his eyebrow, considering before shaking his head. 

The girl rounded the corner once again, a file in hand and a nervous smile playing on her lips. Bucky tried to match her smile, feign some excitement for her sake at least, but it came out more like a grimace and he decided it best just not to make eye contact and let Sam do the talking. 

“Alright, I have a dog that might be good for you,” she started gently, “he’s a two year old Husky named Loki and he’s honestly such a sweetheart.”

“Loki?” Bucky asked, his brows furrowing. 

“I know, I know, but you can rename him in time and he’s not at all mischievous.” She handed over the file to Bucky. The photo of Loki, all grey and white fur, stared up at him with icy blue eyes. It was a nice looking dog. His previous owners had moved to Europe and couldn’t take him with them so they’d bought him into the shelter just a couple of weeks before. 

He could feel her watching him, leaning forward and trying to hide the way she was nervously picking at her fingers as he examined the sheet. Sam’s eyes were on him too, but he didn’t care much what he thought. 

“Okay,” he huffed, noting the glint in her eyes as she leaned in towards him, “let’s meet him and see what the deal is.” 

She suppressed a squeal and told Bucky and Sam to head down the path towards the meeting area, a closed off space behind the park-like yard that had toys and treats already waiting for them. They stood and waited, the crisp fall sunshine keeping them from getting too cold. 

She knocked before leading Loki into meet them. The dog locked eyes with Bucky, almost pulling her over as he tried to go and meet him. 

“He likes people!” She chuckled, closing the door and letting him off the leash so he could bound over. 

Immediately, the dog nuzzled his head into Bucky’s lap, nudging his head under his metal arm to be pet. Bucky obliged, feeling the dog’s soft fur run through his fingers, privately annoyed at how he knew straight away that his therapist had been right. He looked over to Sam who nodded approvingly, before meeting her eyes. They shone with unshed tears as she smiled at the pair of them. 

“I’ll go out and let you guys get acquainted-”

“No!” Bucky interrupted her, “I mean, he’s obviously comfortable with you here so you really don’t need to. And, y’know,” he cleared his throat, “I, uh… I’m more comfortable with you sticking around for a little bit.” 

A slow grin spread over her face as she joined Bucky and Loki on the floor. Sam stood back, sneakily taking a photo on his phone which he threatened to send to Fury. A long forgotten feeling washed over him. It wasn’t quite happiness, but there was a kind of joy in it, in knowing that there was going to be someone there who needed him that wasn’t an annoying bird-man. Contentment. He was content in this moment, this small world. A pretty girl smiling at him, a dog on his lap. The life he could have had if he hadn’t been drafted. 

“So… what do you think?” She asked him. Loki was lying at his feet, a ball between his paws. She sat beside him, close enough that he could smell the faint traces of her perfume. 

“You said he’d be okay to come on a mission, right?” Bucky asked.

“I’d avoid anything with too many loud noises… but if he was kept somewhere safe he’d be okay to travel.” She shrugged. She leaned forward to put Loki’s leash back on, but her hand brushed his and Bucky felt a shower of goosebumps cover his skin. He turned away, feeling his face flush, only to see Sam’s smug face. 

ASK HER OUT he mouthed. Bucky shook his head. IF YOU DON’T I WILL. Bucky glared at him before turning back to her. 

“If you wanna talk, by the way,” she pulled out Loki’s file and scribbled something down, “here’s my number.” She didn’t meet his gaze, but smiled a little, her fingers messing with Loki’s fur. “Y’know, about dog stuff.”

“I’ll call you,” Bucky replied a little too quickly, “about… dog stuff.” 

“I’ll make sure of it,” Sam nudged him. She blushed a little and nodded, handing Loki’s leash over to Bucky, letting his hand linger before leading them back. 

Bucky looked up at the sky over the dog park, feeling hope fill his chest for the first time in a long time.

[sherrybaby14]

Blue Spiders - Chapter 2

Summary:  Fear pushes your relationship along.

Warnings:  Light horror, background alcohol, (I have not warned for everything possible, please read at your own risk)

Words: 2k

Pairing:  Therapist! Steve Rogers x female reader

Part One

She lived in an apartment.  That was problematic.  Houses were much easier to break in to undetected.  At least it wasn’t in a great neighborhood and the locks on her doors were pathetic.  All he needed was a credit card to break them.  He accomplished that task this morning.

Steve in no way wanted her death tied to him or the New England Butcher. The kill would be a quick one.  Gunshot, he hoped for a mugging gone bad, but it appeared she never left her place after dark.  

Ten days he had been watching her, observing, waiting for the moment to strike.  But she was always home before sundown, never to retreat again.  He wouldn’t risk a daytime public murder.  Too many loose ends.  

It looked like the next option would be breaking and entering.  Doable, but not ideal.  Look like a robbery.  Bullet to the head and the world would have one less awful person in it.  

Under normal circumstances Steve felt nothing when preparing for a kill.  Sometimes a mild rush of glee during the act and then a bit of euphoria after, especially if it was a victim he intended Agent Barnes to tie to the New England Butcher.  

But this felt different. Personal.  The few times he spotted her during the day he felt betrayed.  How could she lie to him about her identity to get a profile for some dumb blog?  And why did he feel a connection.  

His watch beeped and he checked the time.  Three thirty in the morning.  She would be fast asleep.  It would be over soon.  Then the euphoria would come just as it had with the others.  He was certain of it.  

The sound of his car door slamming echoed across the empty street as he began his walk in the shadows, four blocks away from his destination.  

~~

   You didn’t believe in a sixth sense, or you didn’t want to, but something was off.  Wrong.  You were being followed.  Could it be him?

   You finally felt somewhat safe here.  Comfortable enough you followed your passion and started to make a name for yourself.  Sure Miranda’s Museum of the Macabre wasn’t a big deal yet, but you were growing a following and you loved that type of reporting.  

   The last few days you were cursing yourself for even starting the thing.  Today when you got home and saw the locks weren’t working your paranoia vanished.  

   Whoever broke them was subtle about it.  If you hadn’t been paranoid you wouldn’t have noticed, thought that the chain was shut tight when a light tap would drop it.  The deadbolt hole was splintered and pressed back into place.  Anyone with a driver’s license and a shoulder would be able to break the thing down.  

   The right thing would have been to run, or call the police.  Neither option was intriguing.  So you sat next to the thing, waiting in the darkness.  Every time footsteps sounded outside the hall you steadied the shotgun, blinking away the tears that you might have to blow someone’s head off.  

   Maybe you were going crazy.  The locks had always been broken and you only noticed now?  Maybe nobody was following you.  Just the ghosts of your past.  

   Then, at almost four in the morning after standing guard for eight hours footsteps stopped in front of your door.  

   Your adrenaline flared.  You cocked the gun right as your knob started to turn.  It froze.  Fuck! They heard the noise.  

   The handle fell back in place.  They were leaving.  All the shaking you were feeling came flooding back.

   You needed to open the door.  Find out who they were, what they wanted.  But instead you collapsed, hugging the shotgun as the footsteps retreated.   Would you ever be safe?

~~

   Loss of sleep was an understatement.  Tonight you would get a hotel room.  Then decide if you wanted to call the cops, fix the door, or flee.  Life was exhausting enough and it felt like you’d only just started living.  

   The door to the office opened and you rose to your feet, pinning on your best smile as Dr. Rogers walked a patient out.  

   His face looked cold, but his blue eyes widened with surprise.  

   “Hi.”  You gave a nervous wave.  “I have something for you.”  

   His patient waved goodbye as you stepped forward, article in hand.  

   “What is this?”  He grabbed the pages.  

   “The article.  I said I would send over a copy, but I thought with the way things ended I should drop one off in person.”  You fidgeted, thinking about your run in with Barnes the last time.  “As promised, a glowing puff piece.  It will be in the weekend edition.”  

   You watched as his eyes’ scanned the pages.  His brow furrowed in confusion.  

   “Is something wrong?”  You rocked on your feet, hoping to see what line he was at.  “I taped the interview, but if I messed up a fact or misspoke there is time to correct before it goes to print.”  

   “So the article was real?”  The Doctor looked up at you with wide eyes.  “It wasn’t a ruse for your blog?”

   “Ah.”  You bit your lip as you looked away.  “I am sure Agent Barnes gave you an earful.  Yes the story was real.  I write human interest pieces,  Miranda’s Museum doesn’t really pay the bills.”  

   “So this is your real name?”  Steve squinted.  “Rachelle Miller?”  

   “No.”  You blinked.  “I write under multiple pen names.”  

   “So what is your real name?”  Steve folded his arms.  

   “Friends call me Vee.”  You shrugged.  

   “That’s not what I asked.”  His eyes locked on to yours.  

   You hadn’t spoken your real name in years.  Legally it was changed, and with all the pseudonyms you used you hadn’t spoken it outloud in years.  

   “Well, um, I will get out of your hair.  I am sure you have a busy day.  E-mail me if there are problems with the article.”  Your blood ran hot and you regretted coming here.  

   “No.”  His hand reached out and grabbed your arm.  

   You glanced at his fingers and then turned to see his intensite eyes bearing into your own.  His fingers slipped away.  

   “I mean with all do respect, but you look a little rough.”  He nodded to his office.  “Come in and have a drink.  I owe you an apology.”  

   “Me?”  You blinked and shook your head.  “Did Bucky tell you I am just a gossip columnist and was lying to you?  Using you for Miranda’s nefarious purposes?”  

   “Doctor-patient confidentiality.”  He made a playful shrug.  

   “Yeah.  I bet he left out the part where he asked me out nonstop for over a year until I was forced to write something nasty about him on my blog.”  You thought about the person at your door last night,  could it have been Bucky?  He didn’t seem the most stable.  “I may have crossed a line, but what I wrote wasn’t wrong and he,  well I think anyone who has met the man isn’t afraid to use the word obsessive to describe him.”  

   “I cannot confirm, deny, or discuss Agent Barnes.”  Doctor Rogers walked over to a small liquor cabinet.  “What would you like?”  

   “Bourbon?  Scotch?”  You took a seat.  “I’ll settle for anything brown with a nice burn.”  

   “Multiple pen names?”  The doctor came back over and handed you a drink.  “How many?”

   “Three I use on the regular.  I do a lot of freelance writing and they each have their own specialty.  Then several one offs.  I have used them one or two times and let them die.”  You took a sip and let the liquid hit your tongue, wanting to swirl it around your mouth and wishing it would numb your mind in the same way.  

   “Care to share why?”  He sat down and crossed his legs.  “That seems like a lot of compartmentalism.”

“Not a patient.”  You laughed as you leaned back.  

“Let me guess, they are all as generic as Miranda Balfour, Rachelle Miller?”  Dr. Rogers leaned back in his chair.  “You want a legitimate digital footprint, but not one that can be traced back to you.  Why?”  

“You sound like Bucky.”  You tilted your glass toward him.  “Only he has decided Miranda must be my real name.  I would not try to do a deep dive on me Doctor.  I am not interested in opening up.”  

“I am not your Doctor.  Please, call me Steve.”  His eyes scanned you up and down.  “You look very tired.  Late night?  I hope it wasn’t on my behalf.”  

“It was and it wasn’t.  In that order.”  You let out a sigh.  “Since you’re not my doctor Steve, and you can’t think I’m crazy since there is no medical relationship. I think someone, no, I know someone tried to break into my apartment early this morning.”

“Did you call the police?” A look of horror crossed his face as he leaned forward.  “You should not wait on that.”  

“I am not a fan of cops and they are not my fan either.”  You gritted your teeth before taking another sip.  “I cocked my gun too early.  Someone had been following me, all week.  I felt it in my bones.  And then I noticed my locks had been messed with.  So I waited and I felt so paranoid, but then the clock hits 3:44 and the handle jiggles.  I should have let the door open, blown their brains out without asking a single question.  But they heard the noise.  Ran off before I had the chance.”  

“There is a lot to unpack there.”  Steve reached out and touched your knee.  “Are you safe?”

“No.”  You smiled at him.  “Never.  I’m going to get a hotel room tonight.  Figure things out from there.  Get some sleep, a clear head.”  

“If you think someone is targeting you, you shouldn’t stay alone.”  His hand dragged away.  “Friends or family you can stay with?”  

“What was the line you used?  My work doesn’t leave much time for personal relationships.  I’m either writing a freelance story of working on the Miranda project.  Hoping someday it takes off and I can do that full time.”  

“I apologize for being so forward, but I can be your friend, or else your colleague in the work horse force.”  Steve set his glass down.  “And I have plenty of extra bedrooms.”  

You didn’t mean to display the cringe, and tried to bury it down, but there was a pain on his face.

“That is a very kind offer.”  You slammed the rest of your drink.  “But you are not my doctor, or my friend, you’re a stranger right now and I wouldn’t feel comfortable imposing.”  

“I understand.”  Steve grabbed a piece of paper and scribbled as you stood up.  “I would like to take you to dinner, are you free Friday?”  

“Now you’re really going to think I’m crazy, but with the strange feeling I was being followed and the incident last night, I have been scared to leave my apartment after dark.”  The liquor had relaxed your tongue too much.  “Well, now hotel.”  

“I will pick you up at your door, we can go to my place and I’ll cook for you, and then I will drive you home.”  There was something in his voice, this was the first time he had made this request in some time.  “You will be safe the entire time.”

“Alright.”  You couldn’t explain it, but there was a feeling in your heart, like it was drawn to his.  Not mental, like a strange string was pulling you tigher.  “I am staying at the budget in on Wilcox.”  

He opened his mouth, but shut it right away and nodded.  You started to walk to the door and he followed.  Being in his office was the most relaxed you’d been in some time.  

“Friday then.”  He slipped you a piece of paper, you opened it up to see a phone number.  

“I can’t remember the last time someone didn’t just text me their number.”  You smiled eat him.  “You are old fashioned in all the right ways.”  

“Feel free to put that in your phone and use it.”  Steve looked serious.  “Any time, day or night.  I don’t approve of your distrust of law enforcement or wanting assistance, but I respect it.  Never hesitate to call if you need anything.”  

“Thank you.”  You looked at the ground, not wanting to face those blue eyes again, scared if you did you would end up being a roommate at the man's house.  “And thank you for believing me.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”  He was taken aback.  

“Sometimes I’m not even sure I believe myself.”  You blinked away tears and squared your shoulders looking him in the eyes.  “Anyone else would have told me it was late, I was tired, I almost killed a delivery man.”  

“I look forward to continuing this conversation on Friday.”  Steve gave a boyish grin.  “Or sooner, if you need anything at all.”  

“Friday then.”  You folded up the piece of paper and put it in your back pocket.  

It was odd to find something to look forward to and for a moment you wished you were crazy and not thinking about fleeing and starting over yet again.  

A/N:  Thanks for reading!  This is turning into a bit of a slow burn, but I think the next chapter will heat up! 

Tags:  @toozmanykids​

[theonetheycallhannah]

The Treatment of Capt. Syverson- Chapter Three: Therapeutic Activity

Pairing: Captain “Sy” Syverson x OFC (Shane Benton)

Summary: Tensions reach a boiling point during treatment one evening, Shane goes to her own veteran for advice, and takes the first step toward happiness…hoping beyond hope that everything doesn’t blow up in her face.

Masterlist with links to all parts HERE!

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: None, yet… ;) But maybe I should be putting language warnings in here…there are some bad words. And not to spoil but…there might be a bit of kissing in this one…

Author’s Note: Guys, I cannot stress to you enough how much I am enjoying telling this story. My goodness. To sort of combine my passions of writing and Henry with something I know so well like therapy (I’m a secretary like Heather, not a therapist), it really just makes me happy. The next chapter is already done, also, it was initially part of this chapter, but it felt too long, so I’ll be posting it separately later. I know, I’m a tease. Have Henry spank me. Lol.

Disclaimer: Unfortunately for me, Henry is not mine, le sigh, and all mention of him, his characters, any characters from his films, or his precious doggy, Kal, are strictly for transformative and recreational use. I neither ask for, nor accept payment for the work I post on Tumblr or AO3. Unbeta’d because this is for fun and escapism.

Tags:

@onlyhenrys

@cavillryarchive

@summersong69

@titty-teetee

@bloodyinspiredfuck

"This sounds…kinda dumb…" Sy expressed his thoughts on today's warm up with Shane.

"Oh, trust me, it looks even dumber than it sounds. But it works. And it's easier on your knees than doing it the right way. You ready?" he looked at the treadmill, inclined at 3% grade as if it was Everest itself, and looked back at her. "I'll start slow." she raised her eyebrows at him.

"You know just what to say to a girl." he teased as he stepped up, still gingerly, even after eight weeks of therapy. Crutches mercifully jettisoned two weeks ago. He was on his way to being his fighting fit self. With a foot on either track beside the belt, but facing away from the control panel, he waited for her to press start. He took a breath and nodded.

"Test the belt with your bad foot first, and then when you're ready, step down with it. Remember what I've told you about which foot should lead when ascending and descending stairs or hills?"

"Good go to Heaven, Bad go to Hell. So I go up with the good leg and go down with the bad leg."

"A+ student. Okay, when you're ready…any time…Sy, this is an hour session…I have to kick you out in 55 minutes…chop chop." she cajoled him, but he wasn't budging.

"It feels…weird going this way, Shane." If she had been a less kind person, she would have called it whining…she called it nothing, instead.

"I know. Do you need to walk backwards around the clinic a little more to get you used to that sensation?"

"Hell yeah. If that means you're gonna spot me like you did before…felt kinda like dancin'." it was a perfectly legitimate and above-board treatment strategy. They stood back to back, Shane guiding Sy as he practiced walking backward and pushing off with the extensor muscle group, which had been weak. Sy had suggested holding hands, but Shane had compromised with the idea to link arms. Not that she wasn't dying to hold his hand…she was. But that had not been the time. The time was still weeks away. At least.

"I was thinking I'd have you try it with Jordan. He's got a free hour right now. And I can assess your technique. How does that sound, Twinkle Toed Romeo?" Immediately he placed a tentative foot down onto the slow moving belt trying to adjust to the odd sensation of walking up a hill backward.

"Ah, so I now know that all I have to do to get you to do something silly is threaten you with Jordan. Filing that away for a rainy day."

"Come on, you're breakin' my heart, sunshine."

"Aww, don't be ridiculous. I've seen therapists do way more embarrassing things to their patients in the name of treatment."

"Tell me!"

"Sorry, but it's classified information. Protected under the Health Insurance Privacy and Portability Act. I could literally get fired for telling you, and there are way cooler things to get fired for!" She'd always said it. And she meant it. She didn't fool around when it came to HIPPA, and there was no way she was gonna lose her job over a stupid slip like that.

"Any examples of things you'd rather get fired for?"

She thought for a few minutes. She used to have a list.

"Hmm, telling off my bitch of a boss," he looked shocked at her use of a bad language word, which he'd never heard from her. She nodded. "Telling off an asshole patient," sleeping with a patient…

"What about sleeping with a patient?" It was late in the day, the only person still there was Heather in the office, and a few therapists still documenting. Nobody in the gym to hear him echo the thoughts in her head. As if he could read them as clearly as a page in a book. Large print. She looked at him in shock.

"Sorry. That was over the line."

"It was…but…"

"But?"

"But…it would not be the least cool reason to get fired."

"It wouldn't?" she shook her head, reluctantly.

"Especially if the patient was…amazing, and kind, and…fucking gorgeous…"

"Young lady, that language today, I have never!" he exclaimed clutching at his broad and beautiful chest.

"I know, but, Sy…this is all hypothetical, and theoretical, and IF I was GOING to get fired how would I CHOOSE for it to happen and WHAT policy I would go against. People don't just CHOOSE to be fired, you know?" she was nervous and rambling.

"You know what people also don't choose? Who they care about, and have feelin's for. Who they--"

"Don't finish that sentence, Sy." She couldn't hear him say the word he was going to say. She couldn't let him start that. Not when there was too much complicating their situation.

She walked off to her treatment room, needing some space.  Some time.

She didn't get that space or time. Sy hobbled in behind her, looking like a man on a mission. And she knew from his war stories that his missions tended to be successful…even the one that got him his walking papers wasn't a total loss.

"Sy, you still had like, five minutes on the tr--"

His big hands found the sweet spot where her neck met her skull. He took a big breath and closed the distance between them, his lips landing light as feathers on hers, her soft skin welcoming the roughness of his beard, though everything else about the kiss was terribly gentle. Almost chaste. Even his beard wasn't so rough that she worried about beard burn…she'd be filing that away for later, as well. Against her willpower and better judgement but in full cooperation with her desires and instincts she began kissing him back, daring to deepen it by opening their mouths a bit, and sliding her hands up the back of his red tee that sported a black skull. All of his shirts were entirely too tight, but you'd never catch her complaining. Even after several months away from active duty and really, most activity at all, his body was still so solid and powerful.

"Ain't that a daisy…Fuck, I've wanted to do that since my first appointment." he chuckled, lightly.

"Sy…"

"Don't. Don't try to argue or tell me you don't feel it. This energy between us. I've seen it in your eyes, Shane. I've felt it when you touch me. It ain't nothin, sunshine. It's a whole lotta somethin'."

"I know, but I need this job. And I WANT this job. Being a therapist is the only thing I've ever wanted to do. Helping people. People like you. Getting them better. It's what I was meant to do. And there's no place like this in the area for me to treat such a diverse clientele and build my skill set. It's not without it's problems, but it's where I'm meant to be."

"I get that. And you should do what you were called to do. You're too good at this not to do it. But Shane, isn't it worth pushing back on some policy if it could mean you get to have some personal happiness, too?"

"I'm worried they'll make me choose." Actually, it was more than that. She was worried about which choice she'd make. Giving up a ten-year career with excellent benefits despite its pitfalls, or giving up someone she could hardly stop thinking about, who made her heart pound when he smiled, and who was rapidly shaping up to be someone she could see herself sharing a life with…making either choice terrified her for very different reasons.

"You shouldn't have to choose. Any boss who'd make you deny yourself what we could have just because of some ridiculous policy…well, they ain't worth the gas that brought 'em to work today. Y'understand me?"

She nodded, smirking at his idiom, "You don't know my boss."

"Well, maybe I oughta GET to know her, if it's like that. I have a way of throwin' my weight around, case ya hadn't noticed." he shot her a smug grin.

"Ya don't say?" she retorted, brimming with sarcasm, literally still wrapped in the evidence of said weight in the form of his muscular arms, warm and thick, encircling her. Even though she felt like her life was up in the air, she had never felt more safe. "I'll try to have a chat with her about it this week. Our schedules rarely align, and usually that's how I like it, but I'll try to move some things around if nothing naturally falls into place."

"I'll be happy to lend my voice or even come talk to her, if need be." he offered, ever the gentleman.

"I appreciate that, Sy, truly. But I think it would be best not to involve you unless it becomes absolutely necessary. We have several more treatments to get through today, though. You didn't finish on the tread mill, do you think you're warmed up enough?"

"Oh, darlin', I'm plenty warm." he grinned down at her sliding a hand down her side.

"Shit, am I gonna have to start being extra careful with what I say to you until this gets sorted?"

"I really doubt it'll matter, Shane. Ain't much you can say I can't make dirty." she could tell by the satisfaction on his face that this was a point of pride for him.

"Lay down and shut up."

"Yes, MA'AM!" he complied with a little too much enthusiasm. She didn't know whether to roll her eyes with amusement or grow increasingly feral…apparently there was room for both as long as she didn't act on the latter. Yet.

~~~~~~~~

She dismissed Sy for the day, instructing him to behave himself until she gave him the all clear, and even then, if she got the green light to see him outside of therapy, sessions would still be about getting him stronger, and not flirting. Or at least mostly. They settled on a 90/10 ratio by the end. She was a weak woman.

She went into the office where one of the senior therapists, Anita, was still charting and snacking on some pretzels.

"How was your day, Nita?" she asked affectionately. Anita had been her mentor since she started with the clinic over ten years ago, and was now part time, flexing toward retirement. She'd miss her.

"Oh, long, Miss Shane. As they tend to be more and more these days. What about yours?"

"Ah…just…nothin'." she shouldn't go into it all until she talked to Susan, their boss.

"Mmm, that's no nothing nothin', that's a something nothin'. Come on, kiddo. Spill." she offered Shane one of her pretzels and kicked out the chair next to her. Again, she was a weak woman. She took a pretzel, sat, and chewed it for a moment, collecting her words.

"What do you think about…starting relationships with patients?" she searched her reaction for any snap judgement or emotion, but only a narrowing of her eyes occurred.

"Is this about that Captain Sexypants who just left?"

"I'm going to kill Heather. I'm not the one who came up with that nickname and I'm not the one who started the whole having feelings conversation. I was going to be miserable until he was discharged, at least."

"Why would you need to make yourself miserable, Shane?"

"Because the policy. About dating patients."

"Technically the policy only says you shouldn't treat family/close friends if you feel you wouldn't be able to maintain objectivity or would be uncomfortable yourself. But that you should disclose any relationship to your supervisor for review."

"See, what's Susan gonna say?"

"Who cares? The policy is the law. And the board of directors governs the policy. Not her. Tell her in an email if you can't work out a time to talk to her before you see him next. Hell, I sent my boss a memo back when I started dating Ron. And look at us now! 20 years strong."

"No way!?" Shane was flabbergasted. She had never known that Anita's husband Ron had once been her patient.

"Oh yes. I wasn't long out of PT school, my first husband had passed away and I needed an income, so I got my PT license and about a year into working here, Ron got put on my schedule. I knew from the eval, he was meant for me. So I typed up a memo, sent it to Morton, our boss at the time, and told Ron I was free on Friday after work."

"Sy just…I don't know, we have this…connection…a spark. I've never felt it with anyone else."

"Are you concerned that seeing him socially would affect how you treat him here?"

"I'm more worried keeping my feelings for him bottled up while I treat him will get so distracting I'll become less effective."

"Well, then, if you get any push back, tell Susan that." Anita said. "Just be forthright. Honest. And speak with integrity. She'll have no cause to refute it, then. And send it tonight."

"Okay. Thanks Anita. You're the best."

~~~~~~~~~

Shane spent too long, probably an hour, at least, drafting her email to Susan. It read:

To: Susan DeForrest

From: Shane Benton

Subject: Re: Treatment Policy

Susan,

I wanted to bring to your attention a situation that has presented itself with one of my patients. I have been treating him almost exclusively for several weeks now, apart from my week on PTO, and he has progressed to both of our satisfaction as well as the ordering physician. However, we have come to be quite friendly and he has expressed great interest in seeing me outside of therapy. This is something that I too would like to engage in, and I plan to accept the next time I speak with him.

From my understanding of the policy, the only thing that would prevent me from treating him as a social acquaintance would be my own comfort level and ability to remain objective. I have every confidence that my objectivity regarding his case will remain intact. I am also completely comfortable with it, and if that changes, I will transfer him to another therapist. Furthermore, I have no doubts that I will be able to maintain the highest level of professionalism throughout our treatments.

Thank you, and if you feel we need to discuss any of this further, please let me know.

~Shane Benton, DPT

And send…whew. She needed a big glass of wine tonight.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Up Next: Chapter Four- E-Stim

[oh-so-scenarios]

Hello Again...❦| 00 (ᴘʀᴏʟᴏɢᴜᴇ)

⤳ Tʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ʜɪs ᴍᴀɴʏ ʏᴇᴀʀs, Mʀ. Pᴀʀᴋ ʜᴀs ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴀᴄʀᴏss ᴍᴀɴʏ ғᴀᴄᴇs. Bᴜᴛ, ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴡᴀs ᴏɴᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜᴇ ᴅɪᴅɴ'ᴛ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ʜᴇ'ᴅ ᴇᴠᴇʀ sᴇᴇ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ.

⤳ ᴅᴇᴍᴏɴ!Jɪᴍɪɴ x ғᴇᴍᴀʟᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

⤳ᴀɴɢsᴛ, ғʟᴜғғ, ᴅᴇᴍᴏɴ!ᴀᴜ, (ᴀᴛ sᴏᴍᴇ ᴘᴏɪɴᴛ) sᴍᴜᴛ

A/N: This series will be mostly from Jimin’s POV. For this chapter though, we will have an MC’s POv. It’ll feel like you’ve been thrown into the middle of things which is good! lol 

***Please ignore any errors! It is unedited!

(Word Count: 3.90K)

 Next ◀ ▶  Series Index | Masterlist

Y/N:

Time. Time is everything. At least working for Mr. Park it is. 32 days, I have been here for 32 days and I still shake with nerves every day. 

8am: make sure the cooks have begun Mr. Park’s breakfast. 

8:45am: breakfast is set. Mr. Park eats, alone. 

9:30am: print all of Mr. Park’s appointments and place them in his office. 

10:30am: prepare for appointments and point them towards Mr. Park’s office. Do not let them enter early. They must enter at the appointed time. 

12:30pm: Mr. Park’s lunch should be set in the dining room. He will eat alone.

The rest of the day continues like that. It’s...a routine. A strict routine. Nothing should be done a minute later or a minute earlier. Though I’ve never seen Mr. Park’s anger when something is done late, I’ve seen the fear in the eyes of other workers when they seem to be running late. 

Every 4 days the gardener is expected to do touch-ups on the large garden on the further right back of the house. The maid is to show up every weekday at 2pm and leave by 5pm. She cannot stay a minute longer.

Who knows why Mr. Park is so strict about these details, but I am determined to keep them. I am….the coordinator? That’s the best title for my position. I make sure everything runs correctly and on time. If anything is out of place, I’ll be the one to blame. 

The coordinator before me was a frail older woman with a friendly smile. Mrs. Yoon was her name. She wore thick black-rimmed glasses and her years working here did not take away from her kind nature. Though she has told me that Mr. Park is a difficult man to work for. His expectations are high.

I expected as much. Such a time mannered schedule for one’s home life gave it away. However, I do not know what Mr. Park’s work life is either. I assumed his work must be successful to have such a big home, but no details were given.

“Do not answer, unless you are asked.” Those were Mrs. Yoon’s parting words. Do as little talking as possible and just stay on schedule. 

Sounds easy enough. The workers know the deal and are able to keep up. They have no choice but to keep up. 

The pay here is wonderful and the hours are good. 7am to 7pm, 5 days a week. The posting online for the position was vague, and I thought I was going to walk into some type of scam. I am glad that I took the risk.

Despite working here for 32 days, there is one thing that hasn’t happened. I have not met Mr. Park. I have not seen him once. My first week here, I thought I was being tricked. Is there really a man that lives here? The house is barely decorated, there is no personality to the place. 

If it were not for the appointments that come in daily, I’d assume I was looking after a ghost home. I stood in the kitchen with the cooks, sitting at the circular table that was sat in the further end of the kitchen. That’s where we usually sit for our lunch breaks. I was about 30 minutes late to take my break. However, it was worth it, in the end, to see that Mr. Park’s lunch was prepared on time. 

This is only the second time I’ve decided to stay in the house to eat. Going out to eat or ordering was always a hassle. Mr. Park’s house was on the outskirts of town, surrounded by a light forest area. The closest house was about a mile away. 

I barely made it back in time to enjoy my food, and delivery men were always getting lost, resulting in my food being cold by the time I received it. 

Ami, the head chef, suggested cooking lunch for me along with the other kitchen staff, seeing as Mr. Park allows them to do so.

I gladly agreed, and it’s been easier on me since. The food was amazing. Absolutely delicious and I couldn’t get enough. But as I sat at the table, enjoying the rice along with the side dishes, a thought entered my mind. 

I glanced over at Ami who had just walked through the swinging door that led to the dining room. 

Mr. Park is in the other room. This is the closest I’ve been to him, hearing some soft chatter from the dining room. Ami locks her jaw as she grabs a plate off the kitchen counter to join me at the table. The other kitchen staff has decided to go out to eat, seeing as they won’t need to be back for some hours. 

“What’s up?” I asked, my brows furrowing. 

“Mr. Park isn’t in a good mood today. He’s arguing with someone on the phone.” She explains, “Sowe really need to be on top of our game.”

I sighed, “He must be a grumpy old man.” I took another spoon of rice, not noticing Ami’s amused eyes on me. When I finally look up, it’s because her hissing laughs were breaking through.

I stared at her confused, not sure what was so funny.

“You’ve never met Mr.Park! I totally forgot!” She said in a small voice, “Did you think Mr. Park was an old man?” 

I raise an eyebrow at her, “He’s not an old man? What is his middle-aged?” 

“Not even close. He’s not even 30.” She mutters before taking a bite of her phone. My face scrunches up in question. Mr. Park is a young man?

 “Huh.” I said letting out a harsh breath, “that’s interesting. I wonder what type of man is so rigorous with his time.” 

Ami rolls her eyes, her long black hair pulled into a tight bun on her head. She wore her white chef’s coat with her loose black pants.

“All the times I’ve met him, he’s been very kind. He smiles and says hello, then goes about his day. He gives bonuses often, as long as you do your work properly.”

Before I could respond, I heard some noise from the dining room. Both our heads turned as we heard a crash, followed by a frustrated groan. 

“Don’t send her!” The voice hissed, “I am not going to play these games with you!”

I look at Ami with wide eyes and she shrugs, “It must be a business call of some sort. Clients get on his nerves sometimes.” She took another spoonful of food into her mouth, glancing at the doors that led to the dining room. 

My brows furrow in thought before I ask my next question, “What type of work does Mr. Park do?” 

Ami freezes for a second, her eyes glancing around as she thought for a moment. She lets out a huff of air as something dawns on her. 

“I don’t know, I never looked into it. I just cook his food, nothing more.” She gives me a knowing look. It’s clear that no one pokes to know more about Mr. Park. They simply do their job and leave. Fair enough. I know when to poke for more information and there isn’t any. 

Even if I am a curious person, I won’t ask questions. I’d rather go about my work peacefully. It isn’t till we hear a distant door slam closed that Ami stands from her seat, a groan leaving her lips as she moves towards the dining room doors. 

“You go on with your schedule, I’ll clean up whatever mess he left.” With that, she disappears into the dining room. I finish up my lunch, making sure to clean up my mess and set the plates into the sink. I rush out the other kitchen door, bringing me to the big looby area of the house. 

“Mr. Park’s next appointments will be arriving,” I muttered to myself. It’ll be less than 10 minutes before they arrive. I walk through one of the doorways on either side of the grand staircase. One doorway led to the living room with the other took you down long and wide hallways. 

I made my way down the hallways as quickly as I could. My grey pencil skirt wasn’t tight, however, it did restrict the full movement of my legs. My simple white blouse had long sleeves and was warmer than it appeared. 

I learned after my first week that it was usually cold in the house. I had to figure out all the small things on my own. It’s always cold in the house, Mr. Park likes to keep the curtains drawn. He doesn’t like to see dust anywhere and his appointments are the most important part of his day. 

He spends hours with just a single client at times, but he will never posh back an appointment for another client. The time they paid for, is the time they will receive Maybe he’s a therapist? 

I rush into the small office that holds employee paperwork and other things. This is informally my office. I spend some time in the small room, making sure everything is running smoothly. I have two computer screens, one of them displaying all the security cameras in real-time. There is another office for security, but they rarely need to leave their space. I grab the red clipboard I’ve become accustomed to and my black pen. 

I check the list of names and times, hauling myself through the hallway just in time to catch the outline of a body behind the door. The tempered glass on the black double doors that led into the house always made it easy to see when guests arrived. 

It was noted that I should answer the door before they need to ring the bell. Mr. Park doesn’t like the sound of his doorbell. I rushed forward and opened the door, seeing an older man in a sharp suit standing with his fist up. 

He must have been ready to knock on the door. 

“Name?” I said trying to catch my breath. I glanced down at the clipboard, knowing it was Mr. Gwan.

“Mr. Gwan,” He answers, “I have an appointment for 1:15.” My eyes move to the clock hung up on the wall above the door. Just a few more minutes.

“Follow me,” I say, finally recovering from my running. Mr. Gwan closes the door behind him, and though it is my first time meeting him, I can’t help but stop my motions. 

He narrows his eyes at me, his eyes moving up and down my body. I would usually be offended, but it wasn’t in that manner. 

His hair was grey, with some traces of while in his eyebrows. His skin was wrinkled, showing his age. He was taller than me with a lean frame. His all-black suit reminded me of something that would be worn at a funeral. 

“Do I know you?” He questions. 

I chuckle awkwardly, “I doubt it, sir. Have you meet with Mr. Park before?”

“Of course,” He snickers, pointing towards the hallway. I smiled at him before I started walking again, with him following close behind. He knew where he was going.

“I come to see him every few months.” He giggles, realizing I must be new, “Mrs. Yoon finally retired?” 

Though it was a question, he already knew the answer,

We turn a corner, Mr. Park’s office door just insight. 

“Are you sure we haven’t met before?” Mr. Gwan repeats. We stop in front of Mr. Park’s door and I turn to face the man. His eyes held kindness. They were such a light brown, that they almost looked golden. It looked like they were glowing in the dimly lit hallway.

“I don’t believe so Mr. Gwan, I might just have a familiar face,” I gesture towards the door, “Please, Mr. Park is waiting for you.”

I stepped away from the door and watched as Mr. Gwan opened the door, and stepped into my Mr. Park’s office. The door wasn’t opened so widely that I could see into the office.  I spun around on my heels and made my way back to my office. 

For the next hour, I’m sitting in my room, going through the appointment booking email to make up Mr. Park’s day tomorrow. The emails never explain the appointments. Mr. Park simply sends me a list of the appointments he has approved and the few he hasn’t.

It wasn’t till I heard the hard taps against my window that I realized it was pouring down. Just as I turned to the window behind me, I caught a crack of lightning, 

“Oh! it’s really pouring huh?” 

I was sure it was going to clear up in the next few hours, but as I ushered in the last client, it was clear the rain wasn’t letting up. The man took off his drenched jacket and hung it up on the rack. 

He’s a regular, so I gladly let him walk to Mr. Park’s room himself. I shut the door, wondering what exactly was going to happen. The wind was howling, the rain was pouring and thunder was roaring. There is no way an uber is gonna get through all this forest to come to pick me up. I am screwed. 

The time was 5:30pm. Mr. Park has his dinner at 7pm, and my workday ends at 7pm. However, it doesn’t look like I’ll be leaving at 7.

 It’s not long before Mr. Park’s workday comes to an end. The last client leaves and I am sitting there wondering what to do. Ami and the rest of the kitchen staff shuffled into my office earlier, voicing the same concerns I held. I sat at my desk, staring at the phone. All I have to do is press a single button to ring Mr. Park’s office. I don't know why I’m so nervous, seeing as he’s just my boss, this being my first interaction with him, I’d like to make a good impression.

I was pulled out of my thoughts as my desk phone began to ring, the light by the number one letting me know that it’s coming from Mr. Park’s office.

I answered quickly, not wanting to leave him waiting.

“Hello?” I answered. 

“Yes, Ms. L/N?” A kind voice spoke, “this is Mr. Park.” He paused, almost waiting for me to respond. 

I caught on slowly, finally replying with a small yes.

“Yes, the weather outside is getting worse. The storm won’t pass for the rest of the night. You and the rest of the staff are welcome to stay the night. I have enough room.” He states, “Please make sure the rest of the staff know.” 

The phone clicks before I could even reply, leaving me with the hung up dial tone. I put the phone back to the receiver, almost sighing in relief. He is just as kind as Ami said. His voice was light and enticing. There was a nurturing nature to his voice like he could sense my stress.

However, my relief was short-lived as my office phone began to ring once again.

“Hello?” 

“Ms. L/N.” This time it was from the security office, my eyes jumped to the screen with the video surveillance.

“Does Mr. Park have another appointment?” My eyes settled on the camera pointed towards the front door just as the guard spoke. Standing there were 3 figures. I could vaguely make out one man and two women. The man is clearly older, seeming old enough to be the younger woman’s father. Her long black hair was parted down the middle and tucked behind her ears. She wore a casual black dress and the older woman beside her stood in a red blouse and black dress pants.

“No, he doesn’t.” I finally answer, “I don’t know who these people are.” I answered, noticing the girl wiped the rain from her face. Oh right! It’s raining! 

I’m finally taking in their wet appearance, her hair now starting to stick to her face. I frowned, worried that they would get sick. It doesn’t seem like they have coats with them. How did they get here? I didn’t see any car in the driveway. 

“I will go check Ms. L/n. Please don’t worry about it.” The guard said before hanging up the phone. I put the phone down, nervously tapping my fingers on the wooden desk. I hope this doesn’t disturb Mr. Park’s dinner. 

Or was he expecting guests for dinner? I’m usually gone by this time. The guard ends up calling Mr. Park, seeing as I soon see two figures walking into the lobby, one of them being very unfamiliar. The guard isn’t who has my attention. It’s the dark-haired man who was clearly slim fit. His hair was messy, and he ran his fingers through his hair as the guard explained the presence of the three guests. He wore a plain white Tee shirt and grey joggers. 

He walked some gracefully, his head held high with his hands tucked into his pockets. That’s Mr. Park? He doesn’t look a day over 25! What could such a young man be doing with such a fortune? I couldn’t see his face clearly, just because of the angle of the camera, but he’s obviously handsome.

Strangely, the three guests made no move to ring the doorbell or knock. They only stood there patiently, speaking among themselves. I narrowed my eyes at the strange behavior

I leaned back in my seat, watching as Mr. Park opened the door. He didn’t look pleased to see the guest, but they were not strangers. Mr. Park lets them in, shutting the door behind them, and leaning on the door with his arms crossed. I was so tuned into the camera that I didn’t notice the security guard left.

“They are friends of his.’ The guard says as he waltzes into the office, “But he doesn’t seem happy to see them. I can’t be sure if it’s because they are interrupting his schedule or if he truly doesn’t like them.”

I can only nod, “I see.” I glance back at the screen, watching what seems to be a heated conversation.

Mr. Park kept his position on his back against the door, arms crossed and his attention on his feet. The other three people stood in front of him, all talking at the same time. Are these clients? Maybe family members?

They are weird ones, that’s for sure. All three stood there, completely soaked head to toe, not minding the condition that they were in. Mr. Park is yelling. I could faintly hear it, and he was leaning forward, making the other three move back in...fear?

I get up from my seat as the voices rise in volume. I walk out of my office and tread lightly towards the lobby area.

“Jimin please!” A voice shrill. It must be the older woman? The voice was unsteady and shook as if the person was crying. 

“How long are you all going to do this?” Another voice hisses. I’m guessing it must be Mr. Park, who I’m guessing is Jimin?

“Jisoo is a lovely woman, she is so accomplished, so powerful. Everyone is expecting a proposal! If this delays anymore--”

“Uncle, who’s at fault? Who has been planting seeds into everyone’s ears? I never once showed interest in Jisoo but you let your imagination build a fairytale ending in your head! There won't be one!” 

Ahh, so they are family? I can hear them, but I can’t see whatever is going on, but it is time for Mr. Park’s dinner. He can’t run late. I don’t want his mood to turn sour as he realizes he is running behind. 

I stepped out from the hallway, my presence not being noticed until I spoke. 

“Mr. Park, it is time for dinner,” I said after a short gap of silence fell between the four adults. I finally laid eyes on Mr. Park. I must say...what a beautiful man. His features were soft, but the hard look in his eyes and his clenched jaw were not hidden by the kind features. His lips were pretty pink and his eyes a fiery honey brown. Even from where I stood, by the hall doorway, they stood out. 

The other three people were standing with their back to me, their postures stiff. They can’t be friends. Friendships shouldn’t feel so tense.

His eyes didn’t leave the face of the man I assumed was his father. It was the older woman who turned around to glance my way, a look that yelled “ugh the help!” in a snobby manner. 

But she quickly double-takes, her eyes widened. I am stunned by her eyes, almost the same hypnotizing light brown as Mr. Park. The longer I stare back at her, the more I notice the resemblance. It’s hard to miss. 

Is that Mr. Park’s mother?

The room stays silent, the man I’m assuming to be his uncle having a staring contest with the man of the house. 

“Are you fucking serious?” The older woman says quietly. She sounds defeated, and almost like she was on the verge of tears, again. I-is she talking to me? At first, I thought that she’s annoyed by my boldness. I interrupted a serious family conversation to announce dinner? I must be out of my mind. 

The younger woman turned to look at the older woman gripping her arm for balance. The young woman’s confusion was momentary as she followed the stunned woman’s gaze to my meek presence. The young lady narrowed her eyes, scoffing. 

“Wow.” She sounded annoyed. 

I looked over my shoulder, checking to see if there was something behind me. They couldn’t possibly be talking about me?

I clasp my hands in front of me, trying to keep my cool customer service smile. I don’t do well with stares.

“Jimin!” The older woman calls. I look towards the master of the house. He’s still glaring at his uncle. It’s almost like his eyes could physically burn a man down if he stared hard enough. 

“Jimin for fuck sakes!” The woman wails. 

“What is it?” He roars back, looking at the woman. The sudden voice of his voice causes me to jump and that movement catches his attention right away. His eyes bounced onto me, the angry gaze dropping to sadness? Confusion? The emotions flash over his face so quickly I can’t keep up.

I muster up a small smile, waiting for him to say something. There was something on the tip of his tongue. 

“Mr. Park?” I call out as everyone stares at me in silence. The uncle was also gawking at me. Their eyes held recognition. 

“Y/n?” Mr. Park calls out. It feels unsure, as though he was worried he was calling me the wrong name. Does he not know the name of his employees? I’ve been working here for over a month! 

“Yes, Mr. Park?” I hope my exasperation was leaking into my voice, as I was trying to keep my cool. All these people are staring at me like I’ve got three heads.

“What are you…” The uncle trails off, eying me up and down, “How are you…” He trails off again, turning to face me completely. 

My eyes move to every face, the questions in their eyes only are meeting with my equally confused face. 

“I’m sorry but,” I pause, “have...have we met before?”

[fluidityandgiggles]

Dalton Big Bang day 22 - That’s What We’re Here For

Writing Masterpost, AO3 Link

Notes: Logan in therapy is a thing I care about very deeply and he needs a good therapist to help him out. Did you really think I'll write about anyone else in therapy?

"This is Dr. Blake's office," Johnny told Logan as they left the horrid medicinal smell of the office building and entered a room that could best be described as what would happen if a unicorn projectile-vomited.

Well, maybe he was exaggerating a little, but still! The walls were a light lilac color, decorated with fairy lights and childish doodles painted on colorful paper; the wall near the door had several bookcases on it, full of crafting supplies and tabletop games and books Logan didn't care to check out, and next to them was a white desk with two colorful chairs right up against the wall.

There were also a small coffee table and a light blue suede couch opposite the desk and chairs. The couch was covered with plushies and there was a soft blanket folded neatly on the armrest. That was the biggest offender in his opinion. That couch in particular.

On that couch sat a young man, about somewhere in his thirties, sipping a cup of tea and looking straight at Logan. He sported slightly messy light brown hair, in a way that still seemed intentionally so, and frameless glasses that sat high on the bridge of his nose; Logan believed that, had the glasses been different, maybe his green argyle sweater vest and khaki pants combo would look less nerdy and more… well, more like something. Anything, really.

"Dr. Blake," John greeted the man, nodding a bit as a courtesy.

"Senator Wright." His voice was calm, but as his face broke into a smile Logan could hear it change into something else. "And this must be John—"

"Logan."

"Yes, of course. Excuse me." As the therapist stood up, Logan could see him grab a cane he hasn't seen before, that until now was resting on the small table. At a closer glance, he could see the man's leg wrapped in a bandage of some sort. "It's nice to meet you, Logan. I'm Arin Blake, you can call me Arin, or Dr. Arin, or Dr. Blake if you so fancy, I honestly wouldn't mind."

"Yeah…"

"Don't fuck this one up," Johnny threatened Logan as he turned to leave. "Your psychiatrist recommended him to us. Don't make her regret it—"

"Actually, Senator, I'd rather you joined us today."

The man was already on his phone by then, but at least he didn't leave, which meant he listened probably. Still surprised at the suggestion though, which showed on his face. Logan just scowled as he went to sit on the truly offensive couch - as instructed by the doctor - and grabbed a cat plushie to hold.

A brown cat plushie, not too fluffy, with embroidered black eyes and a stupid expression.

Kinda reminds him of Julian. In a way. He's not sure which. 

"In order to understand what we're working on here, I'd like to also hear your side of the story," Blake continued as he sat down in a chair in front of them. Johnny took the other side of the couch. "Can I offer you coffee, tea? Water?"

"Coffee is fine," Logan shrugged.

"To me as well."

"Just remind me for a moment, which medication are you prescribed?"

Logan may have rolled his eyes at that.

"Prozac, and I'm starting to take adderall soon."

"I see…" he hummed to himself as he got up and left the office, leaving Logan and Johnny in uncomfortable silence.

Dr. Blake's cup of tea was in a big blue mug, decorated with a print of tiny cartoon citrus slices. A clear plastic teaspoon stuck a bit over the top, and Logan inspected the little tag on the tea bag. Hibiscus apple cinnamon. Sounds fancy enough.

He just about took his phone out and started playing something when Blake came back, hopping on one leg almost, and put two disposable cups in front of them. Johnny's was a cup of coffee. His, though…

"I asked for coffee."

"And isn't this it?"

He took a sip. "It's… it's fine." It wasn't. There was too much milk, he could tell just by looking it. This was just a confirmation. "Thanks."

"So how about you both tell me why you're here?" The doctor sat back down in his chair, waiting for an answer.

"I don't know if you've heard in the news, but there was a fire at Logan's school—"

"Don't act like that's the reason we're here." Logan waited for his father to get red in the face. He always did. So he just leaned back and counted the seconds. "You brought me here because you think that everything wrong in your life is the result of me simply existing, and your only excuse to actually do it is that the people you dumped me on when you couldn't bother with keeping me around anymore can't look after me now."

"How do you think people would have reacted to my campaign if they knew—"

"Oh, come on, not everything is about your FUCKING JOB!"

"Okay, okay, Logan put that cup down." He did as he was told. After all, he can't fuck this one up, can he? "Now, without exploding on each other, please tell me what's going on."

"Logan's school burned down back in March—"

"February."

"—and he's only been getting worse since. He's always had anger issues, but since then he won't stop acting out. Usually over quite… petty things too."

Blake pushed his glasses further up, if that was even possible. "Petty things like what?"

"Like…" Johnny faltered, fumbling for words. So Logan spoke for him.

"Like that time last week when I asked if I can go visit my friend in California and you said I can't because what if his mom says no."

"Ms. Larson is a very busy woman, Logan. You can't just expect her to let you stay over because you wanted to on a whim."

"Well, I'm not five anymore, I don't think it really matters so much whether or not she can—"

"Let's stop it right there, again, Logan." Dr. Blake's stare made Logan curl up into himself. "Repeat that, now calmly."

Logan swallowed rather hard before talking again.

————

"Tell me a little about your friends," Dr. Blake asked at another meeting, about five weeks later. Logan sat on the chair closest to the desk, hugging the cat plushie again, and focused on drawing some flowers.

Lily of the valley. It was the only flower he could draw well. And isn't that just sad.

"There's Derek," he started, drawing the stems. "He… well, if he put half as much energy into caring for himself as he does for caring for me, I think the world would be a much better place. I think he's trying to compensate for this with girlfriends. It's kind of worrying, to be honest."

"But he cares for you?"

"Yeah. Sometimes a bit too much. It's… it's funny, actually, because… he really needs to work on himself. He can't fix me no matter how much he tries, because he's not some miracle worker and my mental health isn't fixable—"

"But it is treatable. And that's what we're here for."

"Yeah. I just… I find it funny, because he spends so much time trying to fix me that he's completely ignoring himself, and then he goes off and thinks having a girlfriend is a good replacement for self care. But I can't just tell him that… he'll get upset and then say it's not important and I'm just obsessing over it because reasons, and then when I get upset over not understanding he says it's my anger issues and I should be medicated."

"And why do you think he's doing this?"

This was the type of question that Logan quickly learned Blake loved asking. 'Why do you think', 'why do you feel', as if he wasn't the expert here. It was weird, having someone interested in his opinion without calling it anger issues and shutting him up, or telling him it's stupid and all that. He wasn't sure he could get used to it, but he certainly felt like he was, and it scared him.

"I think… I think he's just worried… he has anxiety, and I think he's reflecting it onto others because he doesn't know how to deal with it himself…? I know his parents don't know how to. So neither does he."

"And your other friend?"

Logan put down his pencil and picked a yellow one, throwing Blake a look.

"Julian is… he's cool. I miss him, I haven't seen him in months and he can't come over for vacation because his mother won't let him."

"Is he just cool?"

"I mean… he's one of my best friends, so… he's cool. He's very snarky sometimes… well, most of the time… and we talked about it a while ago, about why he's like this, and it was before revising my diagnosis, and he didn't really understand that I was insulting him back as a fight or flight response and he thought I was enjoying it… umm…"

Blake just pushed a mug closer to Logan. It was a clear mug, full of a bright red liquid. The hibiscus apple cinnamon tea. He made it for Logan today, as an attempt to get him to like something with no caffeine. Apparently coffee was bad for adderall. He assumed it'll be okay though.

"We're working on it now. And he needs physical therapy, so it's not like we really can do it in person, but we call each other every day and stuff…"

"You should visit him, then," the doctor suggested, making Logan snort. 

"I don't think he wants me around… his boyfriend is there to keep him company. It's fine. Well… not his boyfriend. I'm not sure what they are. It's complicated, I think. Jules says they're not dating but they sure have a—"

"Dearie, are you jealous?"

He just laughed again. "Of Julian? Nope. Not in a million years. Of Sebastian? I… I don't actually know. I mean, he and Julian aren't together even if sometimes it feels like it, and Jules did say I'm his best friend and stuff, but on the other hand he makes him happy, and…"

"And being jealous is okay, so long as you put it into a healthy outlet and not into anger. Talk to Julian about it. See what he thinks and says."

"But… we talked about it… kind of… he said he's in love with me, but it wasn't at a very ideal situation, and… we agreed to not talk about it. Just… let ourselves work through it, figure out what we really feel… what he really feels… and then we'll see where we go from there."

"That's good. But ask him for clarification, okay? Don't make your head spin like this."

Logan just nodded along, grabbing a blue pencil to shade in the flowers themselves.

"So I think I'm going to visit Julian soon," he continues. "I'll ask Derek to join me too… maybe I can buy him a gift…"

"That's a nice idea. What does he like?"

"He likes… cats, and candy… maybe I can get him new sunglasses. I think he'll like sunglasses. Or coffee…"

"Is coffee a gift?"

"Expensive coffee, maybe."

The doctor just laughed. "How about starting small… what about flowers?"

"...I can get him flowers…"

"That you can. I fear we're running out of time, though." Logan looked up from his drawing, a bit disappointed. "We can keep talking about this next week too, okay?"

"Okay… sorry for wasting time like this."

"You've wasted no time, dearie. It's all good. Just remind your father to write me a check, yeah?"

————

Logan crashed on the blue suede couch and covered himself all the way up over his head the second he made it to Dr. Blake's office that day. Sure, he was still wearing his huge coat — New York was especially snowy this winter, like, much more than usual — but he didn't really want to show his face to the world, and the receptionist who asked him to wait earlier was on the receiving end of his panic attack. It wasn't fair to the others, and it just… it wasn't…

"Do you want me to make you tea, dearie?" Blake asked him, rubbing his back. He sounded worried.

Logan just nodded and whimpered.

"Okay… try to breathe while I'm gone, okay? In for four, hold for four, out for four. Think you can do that?"

He nodded again.

"I'll be right back."

As Logan waited for Blake to come back, he started crying again. Winter vacation wasn't treating him too well, between fighting with Julian back at school right before coming home and getting yelled at by his father for flirting with the son of an associate (well, the guy was pretty cute, and certainly down to fuck) and probably the cherry on top, he was late. It wasn't as bad as the others, but he was late to this appointment, and he had so much to talk about, and…

"Logan, can you hear me?" Blake asked after what felt like forever, holding his hand. Logan whimpered again in response. "Come on, let's breathe together. I'll count."

He didn't even feel how long it took before he was sitting up, a second, weighted blanket on his shoulder, drinking his tea. Dr. Blake was still there, helping wipe his cheeks with a tissue as Logan tried to calm down.

"...Julian and I had a fight."

"Okay… what was it about?"

"I… I tried talking to him again, about… about us, and our relationship, and where does our friendship go, and he screamed at me that he's tired of talking about it and that I need to stop bringing it up, that he's with Sebastian and that's it, and then I yelled back and I… I may have slapped him, but…"

"That's bad, dearie. You know it's bad."

"I know! And I hate myself, I hate myself so much for doing this! He doesn't deserve a friend like me, I'm… I'm possessive and an asshole, and he just…"

"Okay, here's where you're wrong," the doctor told him, taking one of his hands. "You're wonderful, Logan. You're a great friend, and Julian didn't tell you he hates you. He didn't say you're terrible."

"But he implied it."

"He did not. It was an intrusive thought. What did Julian say, exactly?"

"...he… he said it's, he said that he's tired of talking about it, and that… that he already has a boyfriend, so I can't... " He hiccuped.

"Exactly… nothing about you as a friend. Open your phone and call him for me, okay? I want you to talk to him, and I want to see you do it."

Logan just nodded, a bit hesitant. He fumbled with his phone, trying to avoid looking at Julian's number, but ultimately he just… did.

Julian answered at the third ring.

"Hey, Lo."

"Hey…" he sniffled a bit. "I just… I need clarification on… on something." He looked at Blake for approval, wiping his eyes with a finger. Blake just nodded.

"Sure, what's up…?"

"Just… when we… had the fight. And you screamed at me and I screamed back, and…" Logan took a second. "Jules, do you hate me?"

"...are you high right now? Seriously. Are you?"

"No… I'm in… never mind."

"Okay... Lolo, I can't hate you. You're my best friend, you know how much I love you, but sometimes I can get mad or frustrated. Just like you do." He could hear the disappointment in Julian's voice almost. "I'm with Sebastian now. I'm happy with him. I love you, I really do, but you constantly asking me if I'm sure I'm happy and if we can give it a chance is getting tiring. I'm sorry, but it's getting really difficult."

"I… I'm sorry… Jules, I—"

"I accept your apology. I'm not mad at you, you don't have to get so anxious about this. You're starting to act like Derek."

"I'm still sorry…" he could finally take a breath, looking at his therapist for approval again. "That's… that's all I… I'm just in therapy, and…"

"Okay… go back to therapy. Don't waste time talking to me. I love you."

"Yeah… me too."

Logan hung up after that and turned to sip his tea, which has now cooled down.

And then the doctor spoke. "I'm proud of you. You don't need to apologize so much, you're doing just fine, but you did great. I'm so proud."

"Thanks." Logan forced a smile.

Maybe… maybe things would be okay, at the end of it all. He sure hoped so.

————

"I'm going to ask Julian out," Logan announced one day, two years into seeing Blake, just waltzing into the office. He may have caught his doctor by surprise, but as he sat down and grabbed his cat plushie, Blake straightened back up and cleared his throat.

"Doesn't he have a boyfriend, though?"

"Not anymore! And he said he doesn't want a rebound but then we talked about it and—"

"Okay, slow down. Let's start from the top. Julian broke up with his boyfriend?"

Logan nodded, then started rambling — "apparently they grew apart, at least it's what he told me, but I'm kinda pretty sure Sebastian cheated on him with Blaine? Blaine is my ex, he's kinda… meh. But yeah. So they broke up, like, three weeks ago, and Jules said he doesn't want a rebound so fast after the relationship, but I can build up to it! I can… I can start talking to him about it, right?" — all while Dr. Blake listened, nodding along to what he was saying.

"...okay… we can build up to that, then. I can help you do it if you're nervous about it."

"I'm really nervous about this…"

"Okay, okay, I can help. But first, how was your week? I made you tea."

"I saw that, thank you, but…" his stomach fell. "My week was so boring… college is boring. I have an exam in two weeks that I'm not sure I'm ready for, Alex had a mental breakdown the other day that I had to help with because nobody else was around, my dad visited…"

"And how is your dad?" Logan rolled his eyes at this question. "No, no no no. You answer me. How is your dad?"

"He still thinks I'm gay for the rebellion part of it. I mean, he'll get over it, I have faith in Michelle to make him change his mind, but… he and Michelle visited, and it was really nice. I missed both of them so much. But the second he saw my friends again he started talking shit, because Drew's voice dropped a lot since the last time they met and he started making transphobic remarks and it was… it was bad. It was so bad."

"Did you help Drew out?"

"Yeah… and then my dad got mad at me and we went into a screaming match. But it's okay, Michelle… did her best to get us to talk. I think he understands it now… not the gay thing, but… the transgender thing."

"That's good…"

Logan opened his phone right before the end of the session, as Blake was reminding him to remind his father to pay and that next week they'll talk in video chat, same day same hour. He nodded along, looking through to his messages to Julian — there —  and getting up and out.

Lolo: I know you said you don't want to get back at it this early, but when you're ready, wanna go on a proper date…?

Lolo: also, can we talk about something? I have an exam soon and I'm anxious as shit

He kept staring at it as he went downstairs and to his car, watching the text on the screen dance with a pain in his chest.

J is typing...

[wardencommanderrodimiss]

Witches, Chapter 23: a long overdue reunion, and reckoning. 

[Seelie of Kurain Chapter Masterlist] [ao3]

[Witches Chapter Masterlist] [ao3]

----

Phoenix wakes with his phone buzzing beneath his pillow like someone is calling and letting it ring to eternity, but when he brings it, still vibrating, into sight, there is only a location printed on the small screen. He punches the keyboard to text back K and rolls out of bed. How does texting the fae work anyway, he wonders. He’s wondered it for years and never asked. Does the text float up in her mind visually, or does she hear his voice in her head? And what voice would she hear if it was someone else texting from his phone? His or theirs? 

As he blinks to ease the heaviness of sleep from his eyes, the red lights of his bedside clock tell him it’s not even 5:30. 

Damn it all, Maya.

She’s left him with no indication of what this is about, how long it will be - if he’ll have time to make it back here before work to change into his suit. After a few seconds more thought he puts on jeans and a t-shirt, in case she shoves him in a lake, and if he’s late to the office then he’s late. He leaves a note for Trucy on the table so she’s not surprised when she gets up for school, and he slips out of the apartment into the dark Los Angeles morning, with no idea what awaits him. 

It could be a conversation about Thalassa. After he saw her he called Pearl and told her everything that had happened that he thought could help, and she promised that she would tell Maya everything. And then he told Pearl plenty more that he knew wasn’t related to magic much at all. He has no one else to talk to about Thalassa, no human he can ask for advice. Maybe the reverse is creating a serious problem, too - that Thalassa has no one at all, besides Phoenix, and she doesn’t want to divulge too much in case it leads him to do something reckless. Is “therapist specialized in magic people” too niche of an occupation to make a living out of? Even if it’s not, the only person he has to float that idea by is Athena, and - like hell he would. That’s a can of worms he isn’t unpacking. 

It’s been a week since then. Maya could’ve called him if she had thoughts on Thalassa - or more than likely, relayed a message to Pearl to get back to Phoenix. He’s spoken more with them in these past eleven months than they had for the last five years, but it’s always Phoenix reaching out with a new quandary that goes through one of the others. For Maya to reach back, stretch her hand out across the gulf - he’d expect it to take more than this. 

Unless she’s figured something out. And even then she could have called.

Or she’s figured something out and wants to push him in a lake. No one ever said she’s not capable of holding two thoughts in her head at the same time.

The years have not been kind to Gourd Lake. It was a nice park in the springs and summers, when the trees flowered and the grass covered the ground in full, and even when the winters turned the lakeside sparse and gray, there were enough people who passed through to give it some sort of life. But it collected its share of incidents, all after Larry broke the seal and released an actual lake monster in the course of trying to set up a hot dog stand, and some time after the (phony!) president of Zheng Fa was nearly assassinated there, the cold, unlucky heart of the lake pooled outward, and whether people consciously decided it had too much of a reputation or made the decision without really knowing why, they started to find other places for summer picnics.

It was always a gross lake that no one would go swimming in, anyway. Far too much mud and weeds.

Around the lake it gets chilly sooner in the year than other parts of the city, and the still morning air turns crisp as Phoenix walks up the main path, through the trees whose leaves yellow and flutter down onto the patchy grass below. Nature overtook the old boathouse years ago, and no one ever tried to repossess the boats for other things; Gourd Lake is now a BYOB (bring your own boat) lake, and algae and rot and nesting wild geese laid claim to Yanni Yogi’s fleet. Trucy says the rumor at school is that said boathouse is a certifiably haunted structure and that her classmates dare each other all the time to break in and never do, as afraid of the geese as they are of ghosts.

If those investigation days with Maya, both of them stressed to hell and Edgeworth’s life on the line, hadn’t carved the full map of Gourd Lake in his mind, he wouldn’t know where to push through the bushes to find the old boathouse. The woods had almost a life of their own the way they swallowed it up so thoroughly, almost like the park itself wanted to erase it. He bats aside branches and knocks leaves from them, and after wading into the thicket finds a bit of a thin path where the foliage hasn’t been trampled down but has moved aside, as though of its own accord. Like the branches are all tied back with invisible strings. 

With the boathouse in view, he starts to notice frost on the ground, as patchy as the withering grass. All of the colors of the woods seem desaturated and muted, overlaid by a brown filter - everything except a few scattered flowers caught up in the bushes like someone carelessly plucked them from a bouquet and tossed them to land wherever. He recognizes these flowers; couldn’t for the life of him name them, but their thin red petals and spindly spidery red thin - whatever they are that pop up from the center of the flower, are pretty distinct. His grandparents told him that they were flowers that back in Japan meant death. They had them at their funerals, and even if they weren’t all that, they’re, well - Maya’s flower. The ones that show up in a ring when she shows up, unbidden by everyone but herself.

(He’s not sure what to think about the “death” connotation, especially when the fae of the Winter Court came to LA by way of Japan, too.)

And there she is, sitting cross-legged on the dock that is collapsed half into the lake. Paying no mind to the edge of her long ivory-colored skirt trailing into the lake, or the ends of her sash slipping through the gaps in the dock, she holds her hands stretched out in front of her, palms flat over the water about a foot above the surface. Her hair is a billowing, insubstantial cloud of smoke around her head; six orbs like pearls float around her face, the arc of the two sets of three meeting in the center at her magatama that pulses with a soft rainbow of light. The water freezes in a thin sheet of ice that cracks apart and melts and refreezes beneath her hands and the sharp white claws at her fingertips. Her mouth, moving silently, has the shape of any human’s mouth, a normal one, until she lets out an audible scream of frustration. All of her red eyes snapp open bright against her pastel purple skin, and her mouth splits across her face in a wide slash of teeth. The ice breaks apart for the last time and the water goes still; Maya’s hair coalesces into a sheet of inky black, tumbling back down around her shoulders, solid and subject again to gravity.

“What were you trying to do?” Phoenix asks, standing at the water’s edge where the dock meets the shore, unsure if the old wood will also take his weight. 

“Maybe it’s the water,” Maya mumbles, reaching into one of her sleeves and producing a small scroll which she unravels and passes her hand over the scribblings on it. The mixture of English and Japanese and some other symbols that Phoenix can’t ascribe to any known language changes beneath her fingers into new sloppy marks. Even her magical writing can’t fix her atrocious handwriting. “Because the way it translates could either be a specific kind of water that isn’t named because it was assumed everyone would know it, or water, general, any…” She drums her claws on the scroll and more words and characters appear in the margins around what was already written. 

“Maya?” he asks, again, now considering that she’s ignoring him on purpose.

“There’s this new spell I’m trying - new old spell, it’s absolutely ancient and that’s why I’m having issues with what the components are.” She shuffles the scroll back into a roll and slides it back up her sleeve. “The language it’s written in is imprecise so at this point I have to experiment and hope that it doesn’t go catastrophically wrong.”

“Is this spell what you called me out here to talk about?” Phoenix asks. “Or just something you’re working on while you waited for me, which is why we’re—” He gestures around at the lake, at the boathouse, at the boats half sunken into the murky brown water. He’s not sure this location is haunted-haunted the way people generally refer to such - there’s no ghost, a floating white translucent figure, in the boathouse, but there are ghosts, memories with cold teeth, all around them. 

He doesn’t really want to be out here. He can hear it in the breeze: don’t forget DL-6. 

She pops up onto her feet in one quick motion, swinging her skirt out of the water; the cloth has no muddy stain like it should. The purple drains from her skin, her mouth shrinking, and her extra eyes close up and the two that remain gain whites and dark centers. “Hi, Nick, long time no see!” she says, and the cheery chirp of her voice doesn’t sound right. Sarcasm sours every word. “I’m doing all right! How are you? See, isn’t it nice to take the time to catch up with someone you haven’t talked to ages, rather than just trying to get right down to the point as though we’re merely business associates and not friends? That’s pretty rude, don’t you think?”

“Hi, Maya,” he says, and if he does ask her how she is now, she’s just going to go in for another round of mocking. The only good choice would have been, as she says, starting with the friendly greeting. But she also woke him up hours early and dragged him all the way out here, and being terse is somewhat justified. Isn’t it?

“I realized something, the other day, when Pearly caught me up on what’s going on with your siren.” Maya clasps her hands behind her back, turning away from Phoenix to look out over the water. “Memories are, in no small part, connected to the mitamah, which is why our changed child in question has the trouble that she does. Time, distance, whatever, that part isn’t super important right now. I mean, this isn’t actually about her, what I’m working on right now. I’ll get back to her. But this is important - Nick this is a revelation!” She spins around, robes and hair all swirling wide, red excitement beaming through her dark eyes. “I finally understand! I was looking in the wrong places - I kept trying to understand ghosts, like Sis, or if there was - necromancy, such a thing, or a way to channel and commune with the dead - but it wasn’t ever really about that! It’s not - it’s not an active conversation like I thought it must have been. It’s about memory!”

“What is?” Phoenix asks. He has honestly never quite understood how it works, when they talk about studying and learning new magic. He pictures like a vast library full of very ancient archival texts, but that has always seemed too accessible, for a society as hierarchal and stratified as the fae. Knowledge is power, and anyone else gaining power is greater odds of a knife in the back. And for all Maya is willing to go on and on like this about what she’s learned, she never ends up saying how. 

“What my mother did! During the DL-6 investigation!”

The breeze skims across the surface of the water, sending ripples to the shore where they break against the old wooden boats. 

Phoenix steps out onto the dock. Ice clings to the edges of it, over the algae. The question has puzzled them for years: the official police reports, the ones Redd White leaked, said that the fae that helped them “spoke” with the victim to gain insight that Yanni Yogi was the killer. But Phoenix and Maya can’t even speak with Mia - well, she can’t speak with them - and contacting the human dead is far beyond any magic any of them have ever known. It had seemed one last part of the case would never be solved.

“I haven’t been able to duplicate it.” Maya covers her mouth with her hand. Her fingers still have claws. “But there’s a spell, a very old bit of magic, that can call up the last memories of a dead person, human or fae. That must be what my mother did! She must have known this, and known what the key was - water is the important physical component, but—”

“You don’t know what kind,” Phoenix says, recalling her earlier mutterings. 

“Right. I’ve tried ocean water, water from the falls in the mountains, water from the cave under Mount Mitama which is technically ocean water - none of it worked. I came out here to see if water with some sort of connection to the victim was the answer - it was Gourd Lake, or fill a bowl up with tap water and go sit in the courthouse elevator.”

“I’m sure the courthouse has seen weirder,” Phoenix says, “but it’s probably better that you didn’t.”

Maya joins him on the part of the dock that still stands above the lake and she sits leaning up against the boathouse, patting the spot next to her. He still doubts its stability, but if he keeps standing, he’s that much more liable to be pushed into the lake, and after weighing those odds, he sits down next to her. For a moment they’re both sitting cross-legged on the office floor, leaning up against the couch that’s piled high with case notes and takeout containers, formulating a trial plan as the television spouts some news neither of them pay attention to.

“This is magic ancient enough that it would have come with us from the Summer Court when we left,” Maya explains. “Which could be another reason I’m having trouble with it. The water might be from their waterfalls, or something special - it raises the question of how my mother knew, it’ll be something else to look into once we find the Summer Court.”

“There’s no records about where they’re located?” Phoenix asks.

“It’s active erasure - they didn’t allow us to know. There’s - from the seat of the Winter Court, I can sense the Vernal and Autumn Courts, if we” - she gestures between Phoenix and herself - “didn’t already know by family history where they’re at, but there’s just a bit fat block shutting us away from the Summer Court. And if I were to start pushing up against that wall, they’ll respond in kind - I’ll do it, of course, but I’m waiting for the solstice when we’re strongest and they’re weakest to try.”

“I guess, with the Winter Court being the Winter Court’s own worst enemies, I should have expected that you’d be on bad terms with the others.”

“Fae are fae’s worst enemies.” Maya brushes her hair back behind her shoulder. “And I kind of - um, intentionally obfuscate the history, when I say we left the Summer Court. It was a lot more like an exile. My branch of the family went to war for the throne and lost and there’s a legend that when we were thrown out we lost the ability to use certain kinds of magic but I’ve got no idea what those might be or if that part of the tale got twisted after all this time. I’m sure we could figure out all the nuances of what to do with mitamahs if we had more than me and my two cousins who are trying anything more than just grabbing it with brute force to be stronger.” She picks at a loose splinter on the dock. “Speaking of powers and exile, by the way, we must have seriously underestimated how powerful Magnifi was, all this time.”

“What do you mean?” Phoenix asks. “When did you find this out?”

Maya waves a hand dismissively. “A while ago, but you haven’t been in touch. It occurred to me, with the way the siren is still alive and walking around - having your soul taken doesn’t just make you immortal. Your heart stops working, you’re still stuck. When she was shot, someone had to heal her - Magnifi would have had to heal her, patch her up just enough. But healing magic is - Pearly barely knows a little, and she’s the best of us at it. It’s hard. And Magnifi should’ve lost most of his power on exile, but no, he could just…” She makes another dismissive hand gesture. 

“He healed her and then just - sent her away?” Phoenix asks. Maya shrugs. Maybe once he realized her memory was unstable, he decided that her death as blackmail was more valuable than her life. “Could having hold of her soul have given him enough strength to do that sort of thing? The healing, the—”

“Could be. Then there’s the little pocket dimension he had set up for the Gramarye hideaway - that’s another real tricky thing. And then, your daughter, he bound a wisp to her for her to be able to control, gave her a blessing - a blessing to the siren, too, because I can’t imagine he would’ve thought Truth was useful before they entered the human world, sure it sometimes helps when someone’s hiding something but only sometimes - anyway. Good thing he’s been dead as long as we’ve known of him, else us underestimating him could’ve gone badly.”

And now he’s just another man causing problems for them long after his death.

“It was real brave of your daughter to reject her family’s legacy of so much hurt,” Maya adds, “but it’s unfortunate that it’s made this all so much more difficult.”

“What do you mean?” She’s never not jumped between different thoughts like this, but with so much to catch up on, it’s harder to follow than ever.

“Ownership of that mitamah should’ve gone to her. I mean, that was how it was supposed to work - Magnifi’s power gets passed down to chosen successors, that’s the plan. And if your little magician had accepted it - not to say she should have, just had she - then that soul would belong to her and she could do what she wanted with it, like give it back. Instead she rejected it, and Magnifi has no other heir by the legal standard he chose to set an heir by, so we’re left with - a mitamah is always supposed to have an owner.”

“But it’s just floating loose?”

“Exactly. And that’s why none of us know how to put it back. If someone owned it, they could set that term to give it back, but no one owns it and it isn’t naturally returning, either.”

He’s going to do his damndest to keep Trucy from learning this particular fact. She doesn’t need to feel worse about her family, doesn’t need to know that turning away from its legacy of pain still ends up continuing another kind of pain. “You’ve been busy, huh. Getting all this figured out.”

It’s treacherous ground he approaches, that yawning chasm of eight years between them. How much did she learn in that time, only to wait until now to catch him up on it? Even just what she must have discovered in the past year—

“I’ve wondered all this time why my mother helped the police with their investigation of DL-6,” Maya says, her eyes vacant and her claws tearing up new splinters from the dock. “Simply assuming that she was nearest to their summons never felt like an answer. I knew whatever she did was magic beyond my wildest imaginings, and she used it in the course of a human’s murder investigation. What could the police have offered her?” A small slice of wood snaps. She tosses it into the water where it floats in the midst of a tangle of reeds and matted fallen leaves. “She knew him, beforehand, Gregory Edgeworth. I found that out, asking around - the office that still uses his name, you know.”

“Mr Shields?” Phoenix asks, too confused about why Maya is going down this path to protest it. Ray’s never said, exactly, that he’s had close brushes with the fae before, but even if Phoenix didn’t have the Sight it would be obvious by the way he acts when the topic comes up.

“He mentioned - and I realized that was my mother. I know her only well enough to recognize her ghost.” Maya spits the last sentence like it’s a bitter taste, and when she pulls her hand away from the dock to rest it in her lap, the deep scratches of her claws in the old wood show her agitation. “And now when I’ve realized about what kind of magic she used, when I started trying it myself” - she gestures out at the water, and a faint trail of frost follows along the surface after the movement of her hand - “that left me another big question about that entire affair. What did she see, that the answer she gave to the police was, Yanni Yogi is the killer.”

Phoenix wishes he had even a clue where she’s taking this conversation.

Maya holds her hand up and starts ticking off the facts of the case on her fingers as she speaks. “Lawyer and bailiff were arguing and because of that, the son throws a gun. It makes impact with the ground and misfires. Gunshot, scream, he passes out. The other two must have moments later, else Yogi could have testified to who really committed the murder, or my mother viewing Gregory’s last moments would have seen von Karma. Is there really no difference between watching a man fall unconscious through his eyes, and watching him die, that she could have thought that first gunshot killed him? Wouldn’t she have known the scream was not his?”

Maya’s hands sink back into her lap. “She did not know any objective truth of the crime. She should not have been able to lay blame.”

“But she did,” Phoenix says.

“What were her words? Did she tell them it ‘most likely’ would have been Yogi? The police could have figured that for themselves - would they have accepted a vague answer from her? Or did she speak with certainty because she refused to entertain the idea that the son had killed his father?”

Maya’s mother left the Court long before DL-6 happened; her abandonment of her daughters was a refusal to play the Court’s game that time and again saw parent pit against child for a sliver more of power and status. She refused to consider the prospect of having to kill her daughters. (And Mia, down the line, forfeit the throne to her sister rather than worry that she might try to take it by force, rather than consider killing her now to prevent it and keep it for herself.) 

There in the human realm, with a crime scene photograph and a dead man, did Maya’s mother again reject that concept, that possibility of patricide? Was it to save someone else’s son from that fate the way she tried to spare her daughters?

(Maya hadn’t thought much of her mother until she realized that, unlike most fae parents, her mother truly loved her, and then she like Mia wanted to find her, and then it was too late.)

“As she knew Gregory Edgeworth prior, she must have known how he loved his son,” Maya says. Phoenix’s throat tightens. He remembers - well, he remembers very little, is the tragedy. He better remembers von Karma’s steamroller objections, the furious wounded scream of a man finally beaten, the photograph of the  inside of the elevator. “And I keep thinking, when I wonder what the police offered her, I am not sure that they did. Offer anything, I mean. I think she did this for - I think she must have respected him enough, or—”

She shakes her head, clears her throat, and it sounds rather like a growl. “She used magic that no one else in the Winter Court could have dreamed of. However she learned it, whenever she did, magic that powerful you don’t do on a whim. What’s equal payment for that? What could the cops have bargained with? Dignity doesn’t fetch a high price these days - they lost that on their own, my mother was involved in why, certainly, but not to blame - and the LAPD has never quite had a good name that they could sell.” She frowns, her eyes flashing. “And all they had was professional pride at stake, and people do nasty shit for that, but none of them are gonna be personally selling their souls or names for it, right?”

Manfred von Karma, Matt Engarde, Blaise Debeste, Kristoph Gavin - all monsters for their pride, to uphold their names and reputations, but none of them sold their souls for it. Maya’s right. Someone seeking out the fae for a matter they have little emotional investment in will draw a much firmer line than the frantic and desperate with personal problems they hope magic can solve, the kind of person who gets tangled in lopsided bargains and dangerous debts.

“So why would she do it?” Maya presses a contemplative finger to her mouth. 

It seems only like supposition, that Maya is building a case on, a theory that there wasn’t an offer, or a good offer, made. That her mother wasn’t the kind to help for the sake of helping. (Mia saved Phoenix’s life but he could help her convict Dahlia in return. Mia was already a lawyer then. Before Elise became Elise, the artist, what was she? How did she care for humans?) But the fae know things and Maya, sometimes, knows things she doesn’t know how. This is her mother, the last queen, and maybe it’s more than supposition. Maybe she knows and doesn’t know she knows. 

“But if it was me,” she continues, “when would I do that, for chump change? If it was you - you asking me, or you were the one that died - if I knew that magic, and it was you, then I would. So I think, why my mother ever got involved in DL-6, like I said, it was about Gregory Edgeworth. That she must have respected him enough, or loved him enough, that she would—” Maya sighs. She leans her chin on her hand. “I think damned doomed defense attorneys just have a draw for my family, whether to befriend them or become them.”

Or be the one who damns them, but besides Dahlia, Maya’s formula fits. And even if he presumes that she has given thought to this again because of the relevance of the memory matter, there’s still a reason she’s telling him this, and now. Of course he’d like to know, and she’d know that: they can never fully lay DL-6 truly to rest. It will always matter to them. But that can’t be all she’s thinking, because even with Maya it’s never just the surface level. There’s a moral to the story buried in its timing, or simply in that last sentence. 

“Hey, Nick,” she says, her voice softer and less confident than before. “You remember when you were arrested for my sis’ murder, and that got me out of jail - and you told me you knew who did it, and you told me who. And I could’ve done anything that night you spend in jail. I knew what monster had killed my sister and tried to blame me and then blame you when you were the only person in the world on my side. I could have killed him. I really thought about it.” Maya pulls her knees in close to herself. “I really wanted to. But it wasn’t what Sis would’ve done. She could’ve killed him for everything she knew he did, but instead she spent years trying to bring him to justice through human courts. And if I killed him, then your name would never be cleared.”

Has that honestly ever occurred to him? He didn’t know Maya well enough to worry what she would do; and then once he did know her, he didn’t look back. Not to that. Not to ever notice it was weird that all she did, knowing the identity of the man putting them through hell, was go home to Mia’s office and put together the last pieces of the case, that list of names, on Phoenix’s behalf, because Mia wrote a note that asked her to. 

“You told me you didn’t want me to,” Maya says, staring at her hands, fingers hooked together in front of her knees hugged up to her chest. “You said you wanted to know why he did it. I wouldn’t have killed Kristoph Gavin, not as long as you live and have a name that needed clearing. I’m fae, not a monster! All you had to do was trust me! That would’ve been easier than binding and banishing me to stay away!” She doesn’t stand up but she unfolds herself so that she is kneeling on the dock, her hands balled up in the fabric of her robes in her lap. 

“I kept everyone out of it,” Phoenix says. It isn’t difficult to meet her eyes, even as smouldering red simmers up from their depths. This is a conversation he’s had before, justification he’s made to others and himself time and again. “It wasn’t just you. I didn’t want Kristoph to feel like he was being investigated like he would if all my friends started coming to him if I told them something was up. I didn’t want to tip my hand too soon.

More threatening than her glittering glare is her silence, because this is Maya, and Maya isn’t silent. He keeps talking even through his awareness that the longer he goes on justifying himself to her uncharacteristically stern face, the higher his chances of saying something regrettable. “And you especially - Kristoph hates the Court. You getting involved at all would just have been ugly.”

(When an orca tried to help her people, with those big teeth of hers, it looked like she was doing more harm. It saved no one, and made a more complicated mess of the truth in the end. But she wanted to help. She was an orca. What else could an orca do to help?)

“And you could think of nowhere else in your life that your friends are welcome - it’s help you investigate or nothing? No room for us otherwise? Not unless we’re usable by you?”

“That’s not at all what this was! And you know it, and you know you’re deliberately misinterpreting it.” This is what he’s been waiting for - the confrontation, the fight, about the years of distance between them. When she left him a message he expected that she was finally tired of him calling her and her family up for favors from a distance, that she was finally ready to indict him for it, and her restraint so far has been surprising. “I was afraid something would happen to you! Like I was afraid for Edgeworth! And I had to figure out how to raise a daughter! And you had a kingdom to rule! To reform its treatment of humans from the ground up, didn’t you tell me you were going to do that? When the hell were you planning time to watch kids’ shows at my office in the midst of all that!” 

She bares her teeth at him but doesn’t make a verbal response more than a hiss. 

“Besides,” he adds, furious but not at her, and rather furious that she’s tricked him into anger, “you can’t blame me for not trusting that you would leave Kristoph alone! You tried to talk me out of looking for the reason why he did what he did! You can’t blame me for thinking that the reason you wanted me to give up was so I would be fine with you killing him!”

“So what was his reason?” she demands. Her teeth have lengthened to points, her second small set of red eyes opening up at the outer corner of her main ones. “How about those locks, Nick, did you break them, did you find out why!” 

He doesn’t even know why the locks were black. “I cleared my name,” he says. “I’m a lawyer again.”

“Yeah, would’ve loved to hear that from you.” Maya jabs a finger that lacks a claw into his chest, the spot where his lapel would be, where his badge would go. 

“I…” He has no good answer to this one. It didn’t sink in, it didn’t sink in, and then he was busy on a case with no other thoughts to spare. He didn’t tell Larry. Edgeworth did. He didn’t tell Maya. Pearl did. And then they knew and there was no point to calling. Right?

She prods him several times more in the same spot, for emphasis, and then she yanks her hand away and furiously rubs at her eyes. Shit, is she crying? Before he can really tell, she is on her feet, staggering clumsily, her claws tearing rifts in the boathouse wall when she steadies her wobbling. Standing with her back to him, the movements of her arms tell him she is still wiping her eyes. Shit, she is crying. “You left me alone!” Her voice rings shrill out through the predawn silence. “You sent me away and left me alone! Like my mother left me! Like Sis did! You were supposed to be different! You could be different! Because you’re human!”

He’s a lawyer. He always tries to have a counterargument. He always tries to have anything to say, anything except the admission of wrongdoing, because that’s an admission that there is something that should be repaid. The fae don’t apologize. Humans don’t apologize to fae. Those become debts.

“Maya…”

“You were the one who wasn’t supposed to go away! You were the one - you’re my friend!” Maya’s hands drop to her sides. When she turns around, her skin is purple again, much harder to tell if her face was starting to redden and go blotchy. “I love Pearly with my whole heart but she’ll never be my friend, not really. She cares too much about our tradition and our hierarchy and thrones to ever look at me as an equal.”

“I know,” Phoenix says, not really to that, but to everything, to the fact that she’s more right than she is wrong and he’s the one who’s made a mess with almost everyone he’s loved in the past eight years. “But times change. We change.” The fae might hate change, strive to stop it from happening, but they still do. “We’ve both got all sorts of other responsibilities. Even if - it was never going to be the same way it was, when it was just the two of us and the office.”

“No,” she agrees, “but the problem wasn’t that we were different. It was that we” - she gestures back and forth between them - “were nothing at all.”

“Yeah. I…” He sighs. “I know I’ve not been a good friend.” He can’t even stick the lately qualifier on it. Eight years is not lately. “Not to you.” Or to Larry either, if he’s already thinking about this. He and Larry both know that they’re each closer to Edgeworth than they are each other. They knew that years ago. Maybe ever since Larry admitted that he was the one who had stolen Edgeworth’s lunch money, and all those years never told Phoenix that.

“You definitely have not.” Even if he said it, her echo of it hurts more than he expected. Maya sighs, equally heavy to his, and she sinks back to the dock next to him, leaning one shoulder against the side of the boathouse. “At least you figured out how to be a good father, Pearly says.”

Maya can’t say, really, because Maya hasn’t seen him, and him and Trucy, enough to know. Whether it’s that she’s thinking about, or something else, she goes quiet for a while, and they watch the sky slowly lighten from the faint but unerring approach of the sun up from beneath the horizon. Yellow autumn leaves fall with the breeze, landing in the water and casting ripples out from the impact. Maya reaches out and snags a leaf from the air, her claws puncturing its fragile surface. 

“I’m sorry,” Phoenix says. It feels like a deeper debt he’s leaving open if he doesn’t say it; she couldn’t collect on silence, but his guilt would still be there and that’s a hell of a thing, guilt. For some things he’s said today, and some things he’s said eight years ago, and for some silence over eight years. 

“I am too,” she says. “That you’re a jerk and that you didn’t trust me and that any of this happened and that we're both too petty to ever try and talk it out since. I kept wanting to hate you and I never could and I just got too tired to be angry.”

He had expected that anger, had wanted to wait for her to reach out, afraid that if he tried, she would be furious with him anew and tear him apart - this lack of yelling this morning was not the expectation. Maybe she’s matured - somehow, as queen in the pettiest, cruelest environment of them all, she’s grown up. Enough that she acknowledged her own failings there too, a little, even if she put the onus more on him. Deserve it as he might.

She catches another leaf and rips it apart and drops the pieces one by one in the lake. “I tried to do a lot of hating of you guys over the years. Sure I was mad at you, but it - it was more than that, considering when it was, you know? Just after - just not that long after…” She clears her throat. “I tried to hate them too, my mother and Sis, for leaving me to the throne, for making me be queen because if not me then it’s Pearly and I can’t make her do that. But I just kept thinking instead that I never knew either of them really. That you got more time with Sis than I did.”

And that time - and still, what would Phoenix do for more time with Mia? Real, actual time to learn from her, to speak to her and hear her voice in return, to share the office with someone more than a ghost. He had more time with her than Maya and now it still feels like nothing at all. 

“There’s something I wanted to ask you, because I’ve said everything else, because I kept thinking about her,” Maya says, and the pace of her voice picks up, faster and faster, the frantic way of someone who expects to be rejected in what they are saying. “And you don’t need to answer me now, you can think about it and get back to me, and whatever questions you have we can figure out, but—” She inhales sharply. “But um, whenever you die - whenever that’s gonna be, in another hundred years or whatever—”

What’s a human lifespan, anyway, and why would she have bothered to figure it out in the decade she’s been friends with humans. Maya’s relationship with the passage of time is like Edgeworth’s with money: barely an inkling that they, and not the rest of the world, are the odd ones out. I said a month, and it’s been two days; what do you mean you thought it’s been more than a month already? - What do you mean, a private jet?

“—Whenever that happens, can I have your heart?”

Phoenix knew that whatever she was asking was going to be bad, messy, ugly, and a bit terrifying, when the question started with “whenever you die���, but somehow this exceeds his worst expectations. He pictures her holding it bloody in her claws, or maybe, less messy but no less morbid, the Mary Shelley route, with a calcified heart instead. (Iris read Frankenstein in one of her literature courses, and thought the story of Shelley keeping the supposed remains of her dead husband’s heart was as romantic as anything could be. Phoenix had not agreed, exactly, though he also hadn’t argued, exactly, either; his aversion to the gothic horror of carrying around a loved one’s heart had wilted in the face of his infatuation and the giddy glee that she might like him enough to want a memento of him if something happened. Ironically back when his heart was still soft enough that it would burn up on a pyre, not like he is now, a hard rock that could survive the flames.)

“What?” he asks. “My heart?” 

“I mean,” she says, quickly, hurrying to get the words out but weirdly casual all the whole, “I’m not gonna ask you for your soul. Even if that’s where your memories are and memories are be the best way to know Sis - that’s your soul. I can’t just take that.”

Now there’s a statement that he would never expect one of the fae to make. Maya, always surprising him. 

“You’d just be worried that I’d make a mess with it after your death and end up bringing you back because your soul’s still kicking around,” she adds. “But your heart - all the feelings in there, even separated from memories, those still - you don’t ever truly forget some things. Some people.” Thalassa might disagree. Then again - Thalassa, devoid of memory, separated from her children, taking Machi under her wing and making him an inseparable part of herself, mothering an orphan even if she didn’t remember she was a mother herself. Kay, no idea at all who she was, but concerned enough about Edgeworth’s well-being that she would gladly be arrested if it caused less trouble for him. Phoenix himself, defending Maggey, not knowing he was a lawyer but still knowing that if he didn’t help her than no one else would do it right.

So then maybe Maya’s correct enough. “And I could figure enough out from your heart,” she continues. “And it wouldn’t - if you’re gone, you not having it wouldn’t be an issue, and I can’t cause trouble with it. There’s a reason that we never make deals with people asking them to sell their hearts.”

“There’s no power in that?” 

“Nah. I’ve never figured out what you would do with someone else’s heart, besides sentimentality. Y’know, like this thing I’m doing. Or will be, if you…” She looks down at her hands. “You don’t have to answer me now. Just think about it. And maybe help me workshop how to pitch this same idea, but about my mother, to Laurice without it sounding so weird.”

“I think it’s going to be very hard to make this sound less weird.” He forgets, sometimes, that he knew Mia just about as well as Maya did, but he’s never forgotten that Maya never knew her mother at all - she met her as a stranger, saw her die as a stranger, and learned the truth days later. He thinks about it when he thinks about Thalassa, and how Trucy has no memory of her, and god damn if he’s going to let her die a stranger to her daughter.

“Then we’ll just have to take some time to work at it,” Maya says. She glances sideways at him, from the corner of her eyes, a mischievous glint alight in them and a grin on her face. “Like, over breakfast?” She had begun to push herself up onto her feet, but she stops while waiting for an answer and stays squatting there, her hands on the ground in front of her to keep her balance, staring at him. She looks like she’s ready to pounce.

She’ll eat until his wallet is flat, she’ll eat until she drives him into credit card debt, and she’ll eat until it’s noon and he has an office to run. He’s got to get back to Apollo and Athena. He—

Maya waits, her smile starting to fall off at the edges. Phoenix can say anything but he knows the truth really is that he didn’t trust her, and could have; he did stop her from getting involved with the Kristoph situation and no matter how she pulled back out of frustration with what he did, he pushed her away too. She could have acted better, but so could he. 

“We are going to have to negotiate a limit to the amount you are allowed to order,” Phoenix says. “I can’t afford for you to order the whole menu.” Her smile blossoms back into full, her glamour holding but not quite, her mouth just a little too wide and teeth too sharp, too excited to contain herself. “The office isn’t exactly brimming with clients lately, and I’ve got a daughter too—”

Maya springs up. “Nick, Nick, come on, you’ve never had that many clients, and you can’t keep using the daughter excuse forever!” She hops over his legs, putting herself between him and the place where the dock meets the shore. “She’s got to be old enough to be getting money herself too, right?”

“She’s sixteen,” Phoenix says, knowing as he does that it’s a meaningless number to her. “So, no, not really, not yet. She’s working on it, been trying to get herself up on stage as a bona fide stage magician, but she’s still trying to find an in.” 

The Gramarye name carries some local power and status - they did stage tricks of their own, in between the real magic and shady deals, or it was more like the shady deals and real magic happened backstage after the stage performances were over. But it’s hard to chance on a sixteen-year-old, so Trucy’s been searching for someone to share the spotlight with her, make her less of a gamble. Someone who isn’t Valant. That ship sailed. 

“She’s reached out to some stage magician who ran with the Gramaryes a long time ago, though he didn’t take the name” - she doesn’t actually remember him herself, but there’s a lot of information still lying around in the Gramarye basement - “so depending on how that goes I might be checking with Pearls or you to vet him additionally and make sure he’s not—”

“Not a monster?” Maya finishes. “Not sold his soul or gone off to be a bastard like the rest of that coven? Yeah, you meet the guy and don’t like what you see, then we’ll talk on that one.” 

Apparently he’s been taking too long to stand up, because Maya grabs him by the forearms and yanks him back up onto his feet. He staggers, but she has a steely grip on him and keeps him upright. She doesn’t release him immediately, but stares at him, and he expects that she’s going to say something else about the Gramaryes and this guy whose stage name Phoenix can’t quite remember but he’d swear it’s literally just Mysterious because that’s just what performers do sometimes, shitty names - but she just stays silent another moment, and then another.

And she lets go of his arms to step forward and throw hers again around his shoulders, pulling him in against her and giving him a forceful snake’s squeeze. In his shock, it takes him a few stunned seconds to bring his arms up. “Missed you, Nick.”

“Yeah,” he says. “I missed you, too.”

[less-than-wholesome-shipper]

Dog DayZ - Part 2

Part 1

AO3

newTumbl

WARNINGS: Bestiality, talk of pet play, sloppy seconds

Taglist: @starkersenses @starkeristheendgame

~~~~~

Almost two whole weeks pass before Peter calls him.

Tony had almost been ready to write it off as some kind of kinky fever dream after going too long without sleep, if it wasn’t for the fact that Ace had morphed from his regular self back into the terror he was before that day.

“Sorry it took me so long to get back with you, Mr. Stark. Things have been a bit busy lately.”

“That’s understandable… I’m sure your services are in high demand. Shit! I meant your job - your real job. Dammit! Not that I think you go around doing… uh… that other stuff.. For fun. I mean, I hope you like doing it - wait! I didn’t mean that to come out the way it sounded! I jus-”

The softest puffs of laughter could be heard through the phone and Tony just sunk down in his chair and berated himself for sounding so stupid.

“I’m just gonna shut up now before I choke on my foot. How’s that sound?”

“Noo! You’re fine, Mr. Stark. I get that this isn’t a normal situation for you, so nerves are to be expected.”

Tony chewed on his bottom lip to keep from asking if this was normal for him. Because he wasn’t sure which answer he was hoping for. Besides that really wasn’t any of his business, right?

“Right! Well… Terms. We were going to discuss terms of… care for Ace… here.”

“Yes. While we still don’t have a formal program implemented at this time, we figured we’ll use this arrangement to… work out the kinks, as they say. But only if you agree, of course.”

There was definitely a little more than the average customer service smile in the way the kid said that. There was a bit of promise in the fine print that had Tony’s dick taking notice.

“Su-re.” Tony cringed at how high that came out. So he cleared his throat to try again. “Sure. Of course. A trial run is the best way to make sure something works. It’s just good business.”

“Exactly. I’m glad you understand and are willing to help.”

“Happy to hel-”

“Which day would work best for me to move in?”

“I’m sorry?” Tony’s brain short-circuited as he tried to reprocess the words he’d just heard.

“Move in date, Mr. Stark. What day works best for you?”

“Move in… You- you’ll be moving in?” 

“Of course, Mr. Stark. In Home Care happens in the home and it would be far too inconvenient for Ace if I lived elsewhere. That would leave him reliant on you or a set schedule for his release. We’re hoping this program can provide a natural full-access experience for our clients.”

‘Full-access’ burned hot and loud in Tony’s mind and dick. It took him a minute to remember how to speak.

“R-right. Yeah. Natural. Ok. uh… how about today? Is that too soon? I can-”

“Today works for me. I just need to make a couple stops, and I can be there by 5?”

Tony glanced at his watch to see that it was just before 3 then took stock of his desk still covered by paperwork that needed his attention. “Sounds good to me.”

“See you then, Mr. Stark!” 

As soon as he hung up the phone, Tony paged his secretary while stuffing proposals and contracts inelegantly into his briefcase.

“Angela, I’ll be working from home for the rest of the week. Push back all of my appointments and have my calls forwarded to JARVIS. Thanks! OH! And if you could, be a dear and call the cleaning service and reschedule tomorrow’s service for Monday. I can handle cleaning up after myself this week.” Tony racked his brain for anything else he might need. It was only Tuesday, but hopefully, a week should give them enough time to work out some sort of plan to properly fit this new development into his life.

He was definitely struggling given that most of his brain was focusing on his dick, but after a good five minutes of coming up short, Tony just said fuck it and left. If it was really that important, he would have thought of it by now.

When Tony steps off the elevator, Ace is there to greet him as usual. It doesn’t take him long to pick up on Tony’s frenzied state and responds in kind with extra enthusiasm - adding in bass-y barks to his excited jumping. 

Tony fends him off long enough to drop his briefcase off in his home-office and make it to the bedroom, stripping off his suit along the way. 

“Yes, yes. I get that you’re excited because I’m excited, boy. But just wait until you see why I’m excited.” 

Ace runs ahead and jumps up on the bed, eyeing Tony as he follows. 

Tony smirks as Ace flops over and rolls around in the covers while he continues stripping. “I think you’ve got the right idea there, bud, just not the right bed.”

As if Ace understood that, he rights himself quickly and launches off the bed. Only he misjudges the trajectory of his dismount and barrels into Tony’s legs just as the man is trying to step out of his underwear. The result is the two of them sprawled out on the carpet with Tony laughing.

Right up until Ace licks his dick.

It catches Tony so off guard that he nearly chokes on his own tongue as his body locks up.

“Hey! Woah!” Tony scrambles to his feet, covering his junk with one hand while the other struggles to push Ace’s insistent muzzle away, but it’s a difficult task when his hand isn’t covering much with how hard he is and Ace has a long tongue.

“Ace! C’mon, quit it! We’re taking a bath so you can be nice and clean for your therapist friend. Remember him? The pretty thing that jerked you off? Don’t you want to wait for him?” Maybe it was cheating a bit to pull out the baby-talk tone, but it got Ace’s attention like it always does and distracted him long enough for Tony to march towards the bathroom, all the while telling himself he was already this hard before Ace licked him.

“Alright big guy. Bathtime.”

-----

By the time JARVIS announced Peter’s arrival, both Tony and Ace were squeaky clean, dry, and dressed down to give off a more casual atmosphere as they lounged around near the elevator- Tony donning sweats and an A-frame and Ace in full buff as his collar was left on the bathroom counter. 

It wasn’t long before the elevator dinged and the doors opened to reveal two men from Maintenance carrying a large box and Peter carrying two large shopping bags.

Ace immediately lost his cool composure and darted for Peter, greeting him like they were best friends… Not that Tony could really blame him. 

“Where’dya want this, Boss?”

“Uh…” Tony’s attention is pulled away from his dog and the kid and he eyes the box for a moment before looking back at Peter.

The kid doesn’t even look up from petting Ace. “Where does Ace usually sleep?”

“In my room mostly…”

“Then that would be the best place for all of that.”

Tony just shrugs and points them in the direction of the master bedroom. Once they drop it off, they head back to the elevator.

“Thanks again for the help, guys!” Peter goes to reach for his wallet and they wave him off.

“It’s no problem kid. We’re happy to help.” 

After they leave, Tony eyes the bags and then looks back towards his bedroom a bit confused.

“Where’s the rest of your stuff?”

Peter finally looks at him with an open grin that Tony can’t read for shit.

“This is all of it. I didn’t think I’d really need much, but if that changes, we can always have it sent up.”

Tony just nods because that totally makes sense.

“Right, ok. So uh, I’ve got three spare rooms for you to choose from. Personally, I’d go wi-” 

“Actually, I think it’d be best if I sleep where Ace sleeps.”

Tony’s dick also thought that was the best idea.

“My room? I mean yeah, I probably don’t sleep there 9 times out of 10, and even if I did, it is a king size so-”

“Oh, no worries there Mr. Stark. I’m not going to take your bed. I brought my own.”

Peter makes his way to the bedroom with Ace excitedly in tow, leaving Tony no real choice but to bring up the rear.

Tony watches from the door frame as Peter proceeds to pull out a massive lounge pillow and a large collapsed wire crate and set it up in the corner of the room, putting the thick pillow inside the crate.

“Ta-Da!” He turns and presents the setup like Vanna White and Tony takes way too long to put two and two together.

“You plan to sleep in that?!”

“Of course! By placing myself in a less-than-ideal sleeping area, it makes it easier to understand my role in the pack and how I’m to be treated.”

Tony couldn’t help but feel skeptical at this as he watched Ace give the kennel (a fucking dog kennel!) a cursory sniff before getting back to stuffing his muzzle between the kid’s legs. “Pretty sure he’s got a good idea of what you’re here for, kid.” 

“Maybe.” Peter gave another one of those soft, huffing laughs as he widened his stance a bit and gave Ace a light scratch behind the ears as the dog took advantage of the better access. “But it’s not just Ace that needs to get it.”

The way that the kid was looking at him now made Tony’s dick throb and his mind spiral. 

“What does that mean, kid? You want me to treat you like a dog?”

“Yes.” The intensity in that gaze told Tony that Peter was serious. 

Tony wasn’t really sure how to respond, but somehow “I don’t fuck dogs” found it’s way out his mouth before he could stop it.

Not that it wasn’t true, mind you.

The fire in Peter’s eyes dimmed a little, but he nodded just the same. “That’s your prerogative as our alpha. What matters most is that I fulfill my role for Ace.”

It felt like a bitter pill to swallow, but Tony accepted it just the same. 

“So when you say ‘treat you like a dog’, to what extent are we talking here?” Tony crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame - not because he was feeling vulnerable or anything, he was just getting comfortable.

“Preferably, I’d like to be treated with all of the same privileges and restrictions as Ace. Eat, exercise, and bathroom breaks at the same time. I brought my own gear and bowls, but I know some owners prefer to pick those out themselves.”

“What about food? I can’t exactly feed you the same stuff Ace eats.”

“You could if you wanted to. As long as it’s a brand that adheres to specific federal guidelines, it’s legally considered fit for human consumption.” Peter just shrugs, but Tony’s already shaking his head.

“No. I’m gonna have to draw a line there. That sounds too much like lawyer speak. I’ll have the cooks put together something nutritionally balanced but not too exciting so you’re not fighting Ace for your dinner every night.”

Peter nods and tries to hide the small smile he’s sporting, but Tony still sees it and makes him feel a bit better about the whole situation.

Ace catches Tony’s attention as he nips at Peter’s hands and shirt with a soft whine.

“He’s getting impatient.” Peter tries to calm him by petting him, but Ace ducks his hand and nips again.

“Yeah, well, Ace isn’t famous for his patience, but he’ll have to get over it. These kinds of negotiations are important to get in detail. Although, honestly, I’m fine with you having the run of the place as you like. Ace has it just the same. You know, within reason. Don’t shit on the carpet or anything like that. I’m really more concerned about emergency info and the like. I assume there’s some sort of record at your job that says you’re here?”

With Peter’s nod, Tony nods in kind and pushes up off the doorway.

“Ok then. Go ahead and write up a list of allergies, emergency contact info and all of that… and specific dog stuff you want/need for all of this. We can go over it tomorrow. Gives me time to wrap my head around all of this a bit more. And we can spend the rest of today getting to know each other better.”

“Sounds like a plan to me, Mr. Stark!” Peter’s face is back to that wide beaming grin as he pulls his shirt up over his head and starts unbuttoning his jeans. “Would you mind grabbing a towel again?... You know. We should probably look into getting a set specifically for this. It’d be easier to keep them on hand.”

Tony's body is moving before he even thinks about it, crossing the room towards the bathroom for a fresh towel. He steps back into the bedroom just in time to watch Peter lean over the kennel and pull a decent sized knotted dildo out of his ass. 

He must be making a specific kind of face because Peter gives him a sheepish shrug as he sets the used toy on the kennel and reaches for the towel. “I figured Ace wouldn’t want to wait, so I prepped myself earlier. I may need your help with this, Mr. Stark. Sometimes they have trouble getting it in.”

Tony is seriously questioning his own intelligence at this point, given the length of time it keeps taking for him to process any information Peter relays to him. Especially now, watching dumbly as Peter lays out the towel and kneels over it - falling forward onto all fours and arching his back to present his ass.

Ace is there an instant later with a quick snuffle and an even quicker tongue. 

From his viewpoint, Tony can barely see Ace’s tongue as it moves against (and sometimes inside) the kid’s hole, but he can hear it just fine - the wet lapping loud in the almost quiet room. There’s the soft little moans Peter’s making and the booming of his own heartbeat to contend with, of course. 

Tony’s about to ask how he can help, when Peter shifts his hips - just a bit- but it must serve as some kind of natural signal because Ace pulls back and paws at the kid’s ass while humping air. Peter shifts again and Ace makes a full attempt at mounting him, but it’s off center and Ace just ends up rutting against the back of the kid’s thigh. 

“I think you’re going to have to help line him up, Mr. Stark. If you can get him there, usually he should be able to handle the rest.” 

Tony’s mouth is dry and his dick is using up all of his brain power so he doesn’t say anything, he just moves forwards and tries to guide Ace’s hips in the right direction. He gets a light growl for his efforts.

“He thinks your trying to dislodge him so you can mount me instead,” Tony decides to save that mental image for later as Peter drops his front to the floor and uses one hand to reach under him. However, at his current vantage point, Tony can’t see what he’s doing. “Don’t worry, just push him a little more… and I can- AH! AHhAhhAH!” 

Tony jumps back as Ace’s hips start going at that frantic pace again and Peter keeps up the… screaming? Moaning? He can’t quite tell which it is and he’s not sure if he should try to stop what’s happening. Underneath the kid’s cries, Tony can hear the sloppy sounds of a slick fuck and he’s fascinated, scared and turned on - frozen in his indecision.

Thankfully, (or not) just as before, Ace stops thrusting not too long after he started and Peter quiets to a gentle groan as he rests his head on his forearms.

“Y-You doin’ ok kid?” Tony realizes that maybe he should have tried asking a little earlier.

“Mmh, yeah… it’s just… he’s a bit.. Mmmm… longer than I had… hah… anticipated.” The kid sounds out of breath like he just fucked a marathon rather than the bare minute.

“Did he hurt you?” Tony spares a glance to Ace perched on top of him - he looks tired too. 

“nnNo.. I’m fine… ‘is knot’s huge though…” 

Tony can’t help but palm himself a bit at that. “Yeah?” it comes out breathy and soft and Tony would probably cringe if he were in his right mind.

“Mmmhmm… it’s almost too much… but not quite… God… I can feel it… each spurt… it’s so hot…” The words sound like their almost being punched out of him and by the end of it, Tony has a hand in his sweats, stroking himself in earnest.

He takes in the complete picture they make together, this gorgeous boy stuck on his dogs knot - nowhere to go until Ace is finished dumping his load - and pumps his cock faster, the idea so foreign and hot that his balls are already starting to draw up and -

“Wait. trust me… wait… when we untie…. It’s so much better… I promise… don’t finish yet…”

Tony looks and sees Peter watching him and he immediately stops moving - feeling caught in the act of something he shouldn’t be doing. “Sorry… I shouldn’t’ve...”

“Mmn.. it’s ok… I want you to like it…” Peter groans as he shifts a bit to get a hand under himself, palming at his own hard cock. 

Tony can’t help but look now that it has his attention. It’s on the long side, but it’s pretty thin. Obviously cut and the tip softly flushed. It was cute. Just like the rest of him. 

Suddenly Peter whines high and sharp as Ace shifts above him. “Noo nonono.. Stay… staystay… c’mon Ace… Stay, boy” 

Tony reaches out to try and steady Ace, but that doesn’t really seem to help as the dog continues to try and turn himself.

“Grab his leg! Help him turn ov- AH!”

Tony quickly jumps to help get Ace’s leg over so they’re standing ass to ass and Peter’s back to panting about as fast as Ace. 

“You still holding up ok?”

“Yeah… I’m good...it’s pulling now… it’s still a bit too big… but soon… stay close Mr. Stark… you’re gonna love it…”

Tony’s already loving the view. He can see a bare bit of Ace’s cock where it disappears into Peter, but what’s even better is he can see where the knot’s pulling. The kid’s hole is fluttering, but also bulged out a bit. Tony also notices how Ace’s balls keep twitching alongside his cock. He can’t still be…

“Is he still coming?”

“Mmhmm…” It’s more of a whine than anything and Tony really wants to come just hearing it.

“Fuck... you must be so full now…” Tony can’t keep his hand off his dick any longer - stroking himself to the idea of that pretty hole overflo-

“I am… do you want to see?” 

“Fuck yeah!” 

“Keep watching… ooOOOHHH!! FUCK!!” 

Tony watched as Peter’s hole puckered open and stretched… and stretched… and stretched even more, revealing a part of the large knot inside of him, then Ace got the message and stepped forward, pulling himself free in one quick jerk.

The kid’s hole fluttered, trying to close, but it was no use - it was gaping and probably would for a while. 

The sound of rustling drew Tony’s attention to Peter digging through one of the shopping bags and then shoving a dog bowl into Tony’s hands.

“Here. Hold this under me.”

Tony wasn’t so slow on the uptake this time, holding the bowl under Peter’s ass as he sat up. He watched as a rush of dog cum filled the bowl, with more slowly dribbling out after. When Peter reached back to work his hole with his own fingers, coaxing even more cum from deep within him, Tony sat back and with full intentions of finishing himself off, but Peter stopped him. 

“Finish in me. I’m not a dog yet, right? You can fuck me.” Slick fingers teased along his dick and that was more than enough to break Tony’s non-existent resolve.

In an instant, he had Peter bent back over, and was lining himself up. When he slid in, there was no true resistance and it was as wet as a cunt, maybe even moreso, and it felt amazing.

With a bit of encouragement from Peter, pretty soon, Tony was driving into the kid at a pace similar to Ace’s, but he at least managed a reach-around and lasted longer than the dog did.

When he finally came, he pushed each spurt as deep as he could go, and after he caught his breath, he helped Peter add it to the bowl and then watched the kid lap it all up.

[cupidmarwani-archive]

Come Into the Water (14/15)

Waking up mid-morning scorches what’s left of her heart. Still alone, still herself, she leaves the sheets be and decides a walk into the city center will make her feel more alive, if only for a moment. While she’s there, she’ll get some breakfast. Maybe talk to people other than her neighbors or Ava. It’s the sort of thing her therapist would probably recommend. That’s what she thinks about as her feet carry her across pavement and to a little bakery whose morning crowd has waned by the time weekday hits further than the start of work for most. No line bars her way when she orders a croissant and a coffee, and no one crowds around her when she sits at a small table by herself. Solitude, of a different sort than she experiences at the beach, washes over her as she eats and wonders.

Her mind pulls her in a thousand different directions, fights for her attention at each corner in spite of how she can scarcely concentrate on one. The aggressive pod which seeks to cause nothing but harm. Ava and her injuries. Noah and his mothers who love him the way mothers are supposed to love. All things need her consideration, and instead of offering it, Sarah merely takes bites of her croissant until there’s nothing but crumbs dusting the paper bag it came in and a greasy film clinging to her fingertips. Then, with nothing left to do, she wonders around the shops properly for the first time since her initial exploration on the day she saw her local therapist for the very first time.

There aren’t really any chain stores. Everything is locally owned. There’s a couple clothing shops, a grocery store, and then mostly specialty wares that draw her eye. A glass craftsman, a candle maker, a seamstress, a woodcarver. People who’ve dedicated their lives to one skill, just one, and have perfected it in a way Sarah has never been able to perfect anything.

She wanders into the local book shop, a secondhand store which is rife with old oak shelves and books with cracked spines from being loved very much. For lack of something better to do, she looks through the maze of titles, organized by genre, and winds up in the nonfiction section. Fingertips trace hardcovers, glance embossed names, until she reaches a book which does not seem to have been officially published. Curiosity has her taking it from its place and flipping it open. Everything is hand written in swirling black ink, accompanied by sketches Sarah recognizes easily. Mermaids. Makos, more specifically with their stiff fins and sharp teeth and dark eyes. There are paragraphs upon paragraphs about them alongside bullet points and questions. It’s too much to read all at once right now, but it’s a book which might be worth buying. She flips it over and finds no price, but begins searching for the checkout counter just in case. She has so many questions that perhaps she’ll earn answers to.

When Sarah finally finds the counter, manned by a woman with grey-streaked curls and a resting smile on her face even before noticing Sarah there with a book tucked under one of her arms. She doesn’t say a word, but she does straighten up and gesture toward the book with a smile.

“I’d like to buy it,” Sarah says, setting it on the counter. “Please.”

The woman still doesn’t say anything, but points to the cash register and mocks a question mark with one of her fingertips. When Sarah hesitates, the woman points to her own ears and shakes her head. It strikes her, then. Deaf. She nods and pushes the book closer before grabbing her wallet and reaching for her plastic. 

After a moment of examination, the woman gives Sarah a sympathetic look and puts the book beneath her counter. She hits her two flat palms against each other in an x and then points at the register. Not for sale. Frustrated, Sarah has no choice but to nod and find her way out. She should have taken a closer look at what was in there before trying to buy it, since she was unsure whether or not it was for sale in the first place. Too late now, though, and she finds her way out of the store in favor of continuing to explore downtown. There’s a jewelry store she goes into which specializes in that which comes from the sea. Shells polished into beads and pearls strung together hang in the window alongside blown up photographs of diamond inlays. Truly, it is a store designed for pretty things. Sarah doesn’t know why she goes inside, but feels she has no choice otherwise. 

There seems to be no one at the front counter, but everything is behind locked glass cases. Some rings, some necklaces. Shells and diamonds and rubies and shark teeth. Everything is so pretty, and Sarah has to make a conscious effort not to put her fingers on the glass and leave behind prints.

Everything is beautiful, but her eyes land on a particular necklace in a case of its own, elevated with a plaque beneath it. The chain is gold, mostly polished, and beaded with mussel shells like Ava gave her and small teeth like the makos have. It almost unsettles her, but it’s so pretty. Her eyes wander down to the plaque.

In 1945, the Rhodes family extended this necklace as a peace offering for the local mermaid pod. However, it was rejected by the increasingly isolationist pod, found among the tidepools. Shortly thereafter, a body washed up on the shore. Her teeth were added to the necklace and it has been preserved as a peace offering on hold ever since. Since this initial offering, any contact with the mermaids have been isolated incidents. In more recent years, mermaids have been seen watching local environmental teams and playing in the water.

“I don’t recognize you, are you new in town?”

The voice startles her and Sarah looks around for the source, finding it in a petite woman with a sleek bob standing by one of the other counter. Something about her face is familiar, but she can’t put her finger on it as she steps away from the display.

“I am, I’ve uh-” she clears her throat, “I’ve been here a few months. I’m Sarah. Reese.”

“Claire Rhodes.”

Sarah nods thoughtfully. “Your family made this?”

“My grandfather,” Claire corrects. Sarah studies the shape of her nose. “He had an affair with one of the maids, and made this to try and appease them after. But it didn’t work. The maid he slept with, she- he found her dead not long after. My grandmother took her teeth out and added them.”

That’s awful. But Sarah doesn’t say so, and instead looks back at the necklace carefully, The beautiful peace offering which now has bloodshed on teeth from a carcass. It makes Sarah think, for some reason, about the office and the photos and the way she bled a little onto the carpet. 

“Did you want to buy anything?”

“No, but thank you.”

Still, she thinks about the necklace as she leaves and goes back home. The makos didn’t used to be so angry, it seems. Maybe it was a byproduct of one of them procreating with a human. Then, suddenly, it hits her why Claire Rhodes’ face looked familiar. She has the same nose, the same jaw as one of the mermaids she saw yesterday. One of the men. And he reminds her of the little one who bit her too.

She thinks about it the whole way home, and then down to the water again, and as she rejoins the waning tidepools. Water rushes, and Sarah stares into the foam until she catches movement out of the corner of her eye. Hope bubbles up and, in answer, she sees a flash of blonde hair and then it’s Ava, watching her as she rises from the waves. 

“Ava,” Sarah starts, and doesn’t finish.

She doesn’t finish because Ava comes close and pulls her even closer to kiss her, kiss her like she did in the beginning and Sarah is finally given the opportunity to lose herself in it. Eyes shut, hands falling to Ava’s waist before skin turns to scales. Her hands fit neat, and for a long moment, she buries herself in the feeling. But too soon, Ava pulls back and Sarah can’t help following her for a split second.

“I’m sorry,” she says softly. “For interfering with Liv and Maggie.”

Ava shakes her head and smiles, and she’s just so beautiful it hurts. “No, I’m glad you did. Thank you. I just reacted because of the pod. They’re angry.”

“Because of us?”

Although the answer comes hesitantly, it still comes and rings in the air. Yes, it’s because of them. Because they lit their candles on the top of the dunes, because they wanted to bring even a little light to someone who they all love, if not the same way.

Sarah realizes, then, that she truly does love Ava. She loves her, and if possible, would bring her entire life into the ocean just to see her all the time, even more than she already does because she can’t stay away.

“Can we go swimming today?”

Eyes cast down. Fingertips twitch against her face. “We can’t. They’re angry.”

Angry, and yet Ava is still here instead of the sheltered hollow in the cliffside Sarah saw when she was new, and she kisses her again like Sarah is her oxygen. The opposite is, at the very least, unbearably true. Nowhere does Sarah feel more alive and more like a human being than when she sits here with the water eating away at the warmth in her body. There she resides as she is kissed like a dying woman, and as Ava makes her whole.

For these handfuls of moments, she feels safe and secure in Ava’s grasp and the taste of her lips. The ocean breathes life into her, and Sarah takes the chance to keep touching the way she’s considered once or twice. Touching a body that is like her own but different. Not just in imagination, but in reality. Sarah finds it easy to drown in. And then Ava kisses her neck too, and allows hands under her jacket and it just feels like being wanted. Not like her teacher wanted her. No, this feels like being wanted as a person and not an object and she is in love and is loved. And it tastes like freedom.

“Ava,” she breathes, and it warms the air around them.

“Ava,” and the wind blows harder.

“Ava,” and the waves crash louder.

“Ava,” and the sun shines brighter.

“Ava,” and Sarah is alive again.

[wild3flow3r]

Chapter Six

January 7th

Lorelai did not want to interview for a job as Xavier Styles’ assistant. She wanted nothing more to do with the Styles’, and if she got the job then she most definitely would not want to admit that Harry had helped her do so. But she desperately needed a job. She did not want to move back in with her parents or Jones who had offered to house her for a while, and not because she was too embarrassed or too prideful to do it. Lorelai didn’t want to move away from London. Sure, she didn’t have many friends here, or any for that matter, but the city called to her like it was always where she was meant to be.

So Lorelai sucked it up and gave Xavier a call after the New Year started, and after a short interview earlier this morning he instantly gave her the job. It was nice to have this to fall back onto, but she promised herself that this job would only be temporary. She would look for other jobs while working for Xavier, and when she finds one she will rid herself of all Styles’ for the rest of her life.

“I haven’t had an assistant in quite some time,” Xavier notifies her as he shows her to a desk outside of his office. “So it might take me some time to get used to.”

Harry looked so much like his Uncle Xavier that it was almost uncanny. From their freakishly tall height to their bright green eyes, Lorelai could definitely see the family resemblance. The only difference was that Xavier’s hair was a sandy blonde that was starting to turn gray. All this did for Lorelai was further prove one of her theories about Harry, that he and his family were just a bunch of clones sent to Earth to ruin everyone’s life.

Except Xavier was so much nicer than Harry. In place of Harry’s snarl, Xavier was always smiling at her and being respectful to her. Being a nice human being must skip a generation, Lorelai thinks to herself.

Lorelai sets her bag down on the desk and turns to smile politely to him. “Well, just think of it this way. Whenever there’s a part of your job that comes up that you don’t want to do, the tedious work, just give me a call and I’ll get it done for you.”

Xavier shakes his head in amusement before walking off towards his office. “Get yourself settled, and in about an hour or so I’ll be emailing you something that I’ll need to be faxed over to another doctor. Faxing might be my least favorite part of the job.”

Lorelai frowns, which Xavier thankfully doesn’t catch because he’s already shut his office door behind him. Another thing that Styles’ have in common, she supposes.

Lorelai sits down at the chair provided for her, and clicks the computer mouse twice. Xavier Styles owned his own medical practice, naturally. He’s a cognitive behavioral therapist for children and teenagers, meaning he helped his patients confront any types of problems they were having and help them get better. Lorelai really respected him for his work; it was much better being a assistant for him than for a divorce lawyer.

As it was the first day the practice was open since the New Year started, Xavier was taking the day to settle back into the work setting and would start seeing patients the following day. Lorelai types in her new login information that Xavier had given her, and luckily she finally gets it right on the third try. After signing into her new email as well, Lorelai takes a moment to text Jones and her mother that she’s gotten this new job. She knows they will be pleased with how much more money she’ll be making as well.

The hour passed by slowly, but finally Xavier sent her the documents that needed to be faxed. She’s about to print them out when the phone on her desk begins to ring. After quickly clearing her throat, she picks the phone up and pressed it to her ear.

“Hello, this is Xavier Styles’ office. How may I help you?” Lorelai attempts to keep her voice as bright and chipper as possible.

“So my brother finally got himself an assistant, eh?” There was a man on the other side of the phone, and his rough voice instantly makes Lorelai tense up for two reasons. One, unless Harry had another uncle then Lorelai was currently speaking to his father. And two, just by the way he spoke Lorelai could tell that he was even worse than Harry, and he’d only said one thing to her.

“Yes sir, he just hired me today,” Lorelai lets him know, unable to think of anything else to say.

“You would think because… Well never mind. Just tell him I need to speak to him. It’s an urgent family matter.”

“Yes sir, please hold for a moment.” Lorelai's index finger presses a button on the phone so that it transfers her to Xavier’s office phone. She immediately lets out a loud breath from no longer being on the phone with another Styles’ man that she hopes she never has to meet. Two of them were enough for her.

“What is it, Miss Sterling?” Xavier asks, picking up his phone after two rings.

“Your brother is on line two, sir. He says he needs to speak to you about an urgent family matter.”

Xavier lets out a deep sigh. “Alright, thank you, Miss Sterling.” The line goes dead and Lorelai hangs up her phone. She stands then to print out and fax the documents.

Xavier exits his office ten minutes later, just as Lorelai was finishing up. He eyes her for a moment with a contemplative expression. It makes her uncomfortable, but she waits for him to speak first.

“How long were you on the phone with my brother before you transferred his call over?”

Lorelai stands by her desk with her hands behind her back. “Only for a moment,” she responds.

“Did you tell him… Did you tell him about knowing Harry?”

Lorelai cocks her head to the side before shaking it twice. “Only that it was my first day here, and then I transferred the call.”

Xavier nods curtly before turning around. “If he calls again, don’t interact in any small talk with him. Just immediately transfer him over, or if I’m not here apologize for it and hang up.” He shuts his office doors behind him.

What the hell is going on? Lorelai sits back down in her chair with a soft thud. She didn’t really seem to know why it mattered that she knew Harry, but Xavier was acting pretty perturbed after the phone call. Just a few more weeks until I can find another job, Lorelai reminds herself. Just a few more weeks until she can rid herself of this family forever.

***

As there weren’t any patients today, Xavier let Lorelai leave an hour earlier than her newly scheduled release time. She was very thankful for the fact, and already she could see that she would enjoy working with Xavier for the next few weeks drastically more than she ever liked working with Bertram. Her original plan had been to go directly home and call her parents while making dinner, but instead she caught the tube that took her away even further from her home. She had struck an idea as she was exiting Xavier’s practice, and the idea was making her act on impulse.

Lorelai must have been out of her mind, she told herself that several times as she stood outside the building in this freezing weather. The sky looked like it was about to start pouring at any moment, but Lorelai stood stock still against a wall. She was beginning to shake, from the cold and also from what she was about to do, but she barely even noticed.

Lorelai stood outside for exactly thirty-three minutes before Harry Styles exited the Clemens & Son building. He didn’t notice her at first as he strolled over to his car, his ever present frown playing across his lips. He still didn’t notice her as he threw his briefcase into the backseat of his car and closed the door with a quick slam, even though she was standing only five feet away from him. Lorelai walks those few feet over to him just before he can grip the handle of the drivers side door, and taps his shoulder twice. He jumps around so fast, his eyes wild with surprise and confusion, and Lorelai would have laughed if he wasn’t Harry Styles.

“Lorelai-”

“We don’t work together anymore.” Lorelai states calmly.

Harry raises an eyebrow. “We don’t.”

“You’re no longer my superior.”

“I’m not.” His voice was thick with uncertainty.

“You’re an arsehole, did you know that?”

Harry leans against his car, almost like she’d pushed him. “Yeah, I know that.”

“You don’t care about anyone but yourself.”

“I don’t,” he responds, but it sounded more like he was just repeating her words than actually agreeing with her.

“I’ve been wanting to tell you off so bad since the first day you walked into Clemens & Son. You were such a prick to me that day. You said things about me behind my back before you even knew me.”

Harry frowns now, the memory of his first day playing in his mind. “I did.”

“And then you just get me fired? How could you do that? Everything I’ve ever done to you, none of it will ever match those two terrible things you’ve done to me.” Lorelai was close to tears, but she takes a few deep breaths to try and keep them at bay.

He watches her carefully, taking in her trembling form and wobbling lip. He places his hands on her shoulders and she goes to shrug them off but it only makes him hold onto her tighter.

“You’re freezing,” he acknowledges while holding her still. “Get in my car, I’ll drive you home.”

Lorelai shakes her head, but he’s already leading her to the passenger side of his car. He opens the door for her, but she doesn’t make a move to step into the car.

“Why did you fire me? Tell me why you fired me, and I’ll get into the car,” Lorelai demands.

Harry sighs, his body blocking hers from trying to walk away from him if she wanted to. “I’ve announced today to Bertram that in two months Clemens & Son will have to close down. He spends money like he isn’t running a company, and it’s finally caught up to him. If you were laid off at the same time as the rest of us and couldn’t find a job immediately after, or if I couldn’t get my uncle to hire you, then the company doesn’t owe you anything. But if you were fired before the announcement was made, then we owe you a certain amount of money each month until you find another job or six months after your firing date, whichever comes first. It was just a precaution.”

“But-”

“Please, Lorelai,” Harry cuts her off and lightly pushes her towards the open car door. “Can we talk about the rest of this in the car before we catch frostbite?”

Lorelai’s shoulders slump down before climbing into the car. Harry shuts the door behind her before entering on his own side, immediately turning the car on and the heat to its maximum. She leans her head against the headrest while closing her eyes and trying to catch her bearings. The rain starts to pour down only a few seconds later.

It was silent for about another minute before Lorelai speaks up again. “Why were you so rude your first day at Clemens & Son?”

Harry stays quiet and instead pulls his car out of its parking spot. Lorelai sighs when Harry continues to be silent and she knows she won’t get an answer.

“You’ve ruined me, did you know that?” Lorelai looks over to him, and the frown on his face looks different than it normally does. It’s not laced with annoyance or stress, but with sadness. But Lorelai also thinks that it might just look that way by the lack of lighting surrounding them, because she’s pretty sure that Harry Styles can’t feel any normal emotions other than anger.

“I don’t like myself when I’m with you. You turn my into someone I don’t like. And then I think of you when I’m by myself and all the awful things you make me feel, and I feel terrible about myself even when you’re not around. I never used to feel like this, ever.”

Harry still doesn’t go to speak, and this frustrates Lorelai even more. She wants to hit him, push him around until he makes a noise, because she wants some sort of acknowledgement from him. Some way to know that he’s listening to her and properly taking in the words she’s saying.

“Pull the car over, I want to get out. I can get myself home,” Lorelai demands of him when she’s finally tired of his silence.

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s freezing outside and with the rain you’ll get sick.” He finally responds, barely taking a moment to glance at her before looking back towards the road.

“I’d rather catch the flu than spend another minute with you. It’s not like you care about what happens to me anyways, so just let me get out.”

Harry laughs now, but it’s not one of amusement. The sound causes Lorelai to freeze in her seat and it sends chills down her spine. “You don’t think I fucking care?” He does pull the car over, but he keeps the doors locked so that Lorelai can’t escape. He turns towards her then in his seat, and Lorelai leans against the window of her door.

“I know you don’t,” Lorelai responds quickly.

“I wasn’t talking about you on my first day. It was that woman who worked downstairs, Martha, Margaret, whatever the fuck her name was. She got fired the week after I started working there. Sure I wasn’t the nicest to you on my first day, and maybe I should’ve made those comments about what’s her name in a more professional fashion, but I had a bit of an ego-complex back then that made me think I was the best fucking thing that happened to that office ever. And then you argued with me on everything I did every single day, and I’ll admit you knocked me down a couple pegs. Also I’ve only just recently come to terms with this, but no matter how hard I tried to be the best worker at Clemens & Son, no matter how much work I put into my job, you were always fucking better.

“I’ve been trying to get you a raise from Bertram for almost three months before you brought the idea up to me. I spent countless hours trying to convince Bertram to let us have Christmas off just so you could go see your family. I ordered you a teapot for your collection for Christ’s sake, and don’t ask me why because I genuinely do not know why. The amount of times I told Bertram to stop staring at you like… like… well you know what I mean. It was endless, and I did it because I knew how uncomfortable it would make you feel. So don’t say that I don’t care, because I bent over backwards to get my uncle to even consider hiring an assistant. And I don’t bend for anyone.”

Lorelai sits there in shock, Harry’s words entering her system and her body wanted to immediately reject them. They didn’t sound right, the things Harry was saying, they didn’t sound like him. But if what he was saying was true, then she didn’t really know him at all, not really.

“I’ve been horrible to you to your face, I know that. I didn’t think… I don’t want you to not like yourself.”

“I… I want to go home,” Lorelai finally responds, crossing her arms over her chest as if hugging herself. “Just take me home.” She would have demanded she be let out, let her find her own way home, but she didn’t think she could get her legs to work properly in this moment.

So Harry pulls away from the curb, both of their confessions thick in the air, but nobody speaks. Not one word for the entire ride, and Lorelai doesn’t wish him any goodbyes as she steps out of the car. She barely even waited for him to come to a full stop before throwing her door open.

Lorelai's only two feet away from the car when Harry rolls the window down.

“I’m sorry, Lorelai. I really am.”

Lorelai turns towards him, her mouth open to say something even though no words were coming to her mind, but Harry drove off before he could face her reaction.

[tere706]

Love is Blind Chpt 9

(I was going to have the conversation with Aaron in this chapter, but I’ve pushed it back to the next one. You’ll get convo + aftermath as chapter 10

Thanks for all the support, everyone!!!

Words: 1496)

Riding the motorcycle with Eddie wasn’t quite as difficult or terrifying as she’d expected. He’d helped her secure the helmet and get on behind himself. Once she had her arms wrapped around his waist, under his coat, and her body pressed as much up against him as possible, it wasn’t too difficult to feel him as he tensed into turns or shifted his weight. Eddie started slow to give her a chance to get used riding with him. The final reassurance was the feeling of Venom’s tendrils curling around her arms. If he was helping to hold on, then she knew she would be safe.

By the time they’d pulled up the police station Eddie had probably been speeding. Liz didn’t care, it was fun to feel the wind tugging her body and the sudden changes in acceleration. Not quite as fun as swinging with Ven, but certainly a good way to get around town.

“Hun, you have to let go of me to get up.” Eddie’s voice sounded very amused as he gently patted her arm.

She gave him another squeeze before letting go, feeling Venom’s tendrils pull away. “If I didn’t have business tonight…”

“Don’t tease!” He burst out into laughter.

Liz grumbled to herself as she swung herself off the bike. Her legs were a little shaky. Eddie handed her the long cane, probably knowing she felt better with it in her hands when she was outside. She tilted her head, listening carefully to everything around them. It was the middle of the night, or early morning, but the station still sounded fairly busy.

“Liz!” That was Cal’s voice, coming closer. She recognized his footsteps a moment later. “Who’s your, uh, ride?” The tone had changed from welcoming to a touch defensive.

“Cal, I came as soon as I could. This is Eddie. He’s…” Liz trailed off a bit, not quite sure how to label Eddie. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings or make this confusing for Cal.

“Boyfriend.” Eddie’s arm slid around her waist, his warm palm resting against her hip casually. “I’m her boyfriend.”

There was a long moment of silent assessment. She didn’t have to see to imagine the two men probably sizing each other up.

“Eddie Brock, huh? I do hope you weren’t looking for files at Liz’s home. She doesn’t take work home with her.” Cal’s voice was sharp, angry and trying to provoke Eddie.

Liz shifted her weight, leaning into Eddie’s side. She could feel his muscles shift as he shrugged calmly.

“Honestly didn’t even know what she did for a leaving until a week after we’d met.”

“Sure.” Cal snorted softly. “The police aren’t going to like having you in the station. Maybe you should wait outside, Eddie. Liz?”

She gently pulled away from Eddie, reaching out to grab his hand as it came away from her waist. Liz squeezed his hand for a moment. “Eddie. Stay out of trouble.” Her words were carefully emphasized. Eddie seemed level headed most of the time. In fact, sometimes he thought too much about things. Venom on the other hand… Liz was glad the symbiote was attached to Eddie. They balanced each other. But it never hurt to remind them, either.

“Of course.” He bent slightly and she felt him lightly kiss her cheek. “Just holler if you need me.” Eddie murmured softly.

Liz smiled and turned to brush her lips against his before stepping back. “I know how to take care of myself.”

“Remind me again, how did we first meet?”

She flipped the bird in his direction, listening to his amused chuckle. Liz knew she was grinning like a stupid teenager and she did not care. Eddie and Venom made her feel giddy. If she’d been at home she would have skipped. Instead she tapped a happy little rhythm with her long cane as she followed Cal into the police station.

~

The inside of the station was a relief in terms of noise. A cruiser had just left, sirens blazing. It was painfully loud to Liz this close. Inside there was the quiet murmur of voices. Something was printing nearby. The scent of coffee, unsurprisingly, drifted through the lobby.

“Hey Melanie, can you buzz us back?” Cal’s voice sounded calmer now. Liz made a mental note to have a chat with him later about his reaction to Eddie.

“Yeah, yeah. Go ahead.” The woman’s voice, now on their left, sounded bored and tired. There was a faint buzzing sound and a mechanical click.

Cal held the door open for Liz. “Down the hall a bit and there is an open doorway on the right.”

“I remember, Cal. Don’t worry.” She murmured, lightly tapping her long cane as she walked. Liz could hear the sound rumble of male voices up ahead, growing louder. Several detectives and officers were probably working at their desks.

“Ms. Elizabeth. Why am I not surprised to see you here?” The gruff voice was resigned and faintly amused. The man walked toward her, his steps heavy.

Liz felt a smile tugging at her lips as she replied. “Officer Rodgers. A pleasure to see you again.”

“Ha ha, very funny. You know you can call me Allen.”

“And you can call me Liz. I thought you were being formal. How’s the kids?”

Officer Allen Rodgers chuckled. “They’re growing faster than I can keep up with.” Now he sounded proud. Liz knew Allen’s two children. She’d recorded a voice over of a book as a Christmas gift to them last year.

“Can you take me back to see Aaron, please?” Liz hated to break the happy moment, but she was worried for the teenager.

“I was one of the officers on call for that tonight. It’s a mess and we didn’t even manage to round up all the people involved. The only reason the brass agreed to let you speak to the kid is because he demanded it in exchange for helping us.” His tone had changed, flipping over to serious cop mode. It was still his voice, but it also wasn’t.

Liz sighed and nodded. “At least he’s smart enough to work with you. I’m sorry, Allen.”

“I’m sorry too. Come on.”

~

Allen didn’t try to hold her hand or treat her like she couldn’t follow him. He’d made that mistake when they first met. Liz had used it as an excuse to smack his leg repeatedly with her long cane. On accident of course. Plenty of the other officers had not learned their lesson yet.

“Rodgers, who’s that?” A new voice, male and a little nasally.

“This is Ms. Elizabeth Veritas. She’s the youth counselor that was requested.” Allen stepped to the side a bit more, likely to give a clear view of Liz.

The other office gave a faint snort of derision. “Sure, but she can’t go in the holding cell by herself.”

“Why not?” Liz asked sweetly.

“Because you would be in danger. You can’t defend yourself if the suspect becomes violent.���

“And he certainly isn’t going to talk to me if an officer is hovering over my shoulder. Sir, with all respect, I know Aaron very well. I’ve been his counselor and therapist for two years now. He requested me because he wants to help you. If something happens, I can call out for help. And I’m not helpless.” Liz tried for a mixture of firm, but respectful.

“Jacob, I’ll be just down the hall. The kid doesn’t have a history of violence.” Allen’s voice was a patient rumble. The man was older and steadier as a cop.

Jacob sighed and there was another buzzing noise followed by a mechanical click. “I am not taking shit if this goes downhill. She’s blind, she won’t see anything coming.” He grumbled.

Liz stepped forward, following behind Allen again. She tapped her long cane ahead of her, despite being able to hear where the walls were. As she passed the nasally cop she flicked her long cane to the side. It smacked his ankle with a pleasing crack.

“Ow! Fuck, you little b-!”

“Sorry. Didn’t see you there.” Liz smiled brightly in his direction, hurrying through the doorway.

Allen sounded like he was struggling not to laugh. “Calm down, Jacob.” He spoke over the other man’s splutters. “What are you going to say? The little, blind girl assaulted you? It was an accident.”

Liz heard the Jacob muttering under his breath as the bullet proof door swung shut. “Ungrateful bitch.”

They started down the quiet hallway. Most of the holding cells were probably empty, or their occupants sleeping.

“That was mean.”

“He’s an ass.”

“Aw, Liz, Jacob is new.”

“Then I’ll beat him into shape for you.” Liz said cheekily. She didn’t want to have to talk to Aaron. To hear how he’d tried to ruin his life. Why had he chosen to destroy everything he’d been building for himself?

“Just don’t break anything.” Allen said with a chuckle.

“No promises.”

(Double tagging? Don’t trust tumblr? @dark-night-sky-99, @inumorph, @liadreyar-dragneel, @lunalustrix, @thirstyforvenom)

[welcometothepenumbra]

JUNO STEEL AND THE TIME GONE BY (PART TWO)

SOUND: RAIN. TRAIN ARRIVES, CREAKS TO A STOP. DOOR CLANKS OPEN.

CONDUCTOR: Ah, good evening, Traveler. And welcome… to The Penumbra.

SOUND: DOOR CLANKS SHUT.

Take your seat, please, take your seat.

MUSIC: STARTS.

The junction lies ahead, so if you’ll allow me just a moment.

SOUND: TRAIN WHISTLE.

We are now passing through the Cerberus Province.

SOUND: TRAIN MOVING.

Our next stop?

SOUND: TRAIN BRAKES.

Juno Steel and the Time Gone By.

SOUND: DOOR CLANKS OPEN, RAIN.

ALL SOUNDS: FADE OUT.

***

SOUND: BROOM SWEEPING.

JUNO: So. What’s the plan, here?

BUDDY: Shh.

JUNO: I-I can’t believe this. Your entire deal goes to hell, it turns out the ghost of girlfriends past is running around a decade past her expiration date—

BUDDY: Shhh.

JUNO: —and she’s wearing a tag that could kill her any second and we’re just sitting here?

JACKET: I’m sure your screaming makes Buddy’s thinking much faster.

JUNO: Oh, hey, was that sarcasm? Maybe the big guy’s got enough brain for a sense of humor after all.

JACKET: I have always possessed a sense of humor, Juno. You are just not funny.

JUNO: Come over here and say that—

SOUND: GLASS SHATTERS.

Whoa!

BUDDY: I asked for quiet.

JACKET: I will clean this. Would you like another drink, Buddy?

BUDDY: No thank you, darling. You may take his away as well; I believe he’s had enough.

JUNO: Hey!

SOUND: SLIDE.

BUDDY: I should hope you’d know not to drink and drive, Juno, and yet, here you are, drinking like a fish and driving me up the wall. Why are you here?

SOUND: SWEEPING UP GLASS.

JUNO: What?

BUDDY: I asked why you’re here. Your work is finished; I’ve already told you that as soon as my friend and I sort out this mess, you’ll have your eye problem seen to, and you know very well that we can find you. So, Juno. Why are you here?

JUNO (NARRATOR): The one eye uncovered by Buddy’s flaming hair was burning holes into me. It was the look that fakers like me always dread: the one that said she expected me at my best and wasn’t gonna tolerate anything else.

Only real leaders have that glare. They enforce it in different ways: Valles Vicky would destroy you, Captain Hijikata would make you destroy yourself. Ramses O’Flaherty would make you feel like the whole world was counting on you, so you’d better be good. And Buddy Aurinko, I… still didn’t know what she would do.

MUSIC: STARTS.

I didn’t know if I’d survive finding out, either. My name’s Juno Steel. I’m a private eye, and if you want to give me a panic attack in four words, ‘why are you here?’ is a pretty good place to start.

BUDDY: Well, Juno? Why are you here.

JUNO: I-I-I don’t know.

BUDDY: Yes you do. Try again, please.

JUNO: What the hell else am I gonna do?

BUDDY: That’s closer, I think, but still not quite all of it.

JUNO: What are you, my therapist?

BUDDY: There aren’t enough creds in the galaxy, darling.

So?

JUNO: (INCOHERENT MUMBLING)

SOUND: COMMS BEEP.

BUDDY: We’ll continue this discussion later, then.

Throw me the comms, darling. Then you know what to do.

JACKET: Of course.

SOUND: COMMS BEEP.

BUDDY: Buddy Aurinko speaking. To whom shall I bill this pleasure?

RASBACH (FROM COMMS): It is Rasbach. Though, ‘pleasure’ no is my word, Miss Buddy. I call you with the top, top displeasure.

BUDDY: I can’t say I understand why. We have our money, you have your cure. Everything ended as we planned.

RASBACH (FROM COMMS): Insult!

BUDDY: There were hiccups, of course, but if you want to get technical, the interloping factor was one of yours – so if anyone should be angry here, I think it’s me.

RASBACH (FROM COMMS): I am stabbed! Stabbed!

BUDDY: By a woman wearing a debtor’s tag bearing your branding. Or did you think I wouldn’t notice?

RASBACH (FROM COMMS): Ah, haha, I see. I see, now. Is just so with our sale, yes – Miss Buddy, you make the showing of honesty to harvest sympathy, make you seem the one good, yes, and yet! You conceal the details top inconvenient.

BUDDY: Oh, do I? My, how thrilling! I must be concealing them from myself as well, because I have no idea what you mean.

MUSIC: CHANGES.

RASBACH (FROM COMMS): I heard you. Before I left, I heard you say my servant’s name. Vespa.

BUDDY: (AFTER A PAUSE) If you’re waiting for some big, explosive reaction, you’ll have to supply it yourself. I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.

RASBACH (FROM COMMS): Is shame. Top shame. Vespa, she is the servant excellent. Experience medical, competence high, no looks sick, even. She has the moods violent, the sights and hearings unreal, sometime she need the restraints, but—

BUDDY: Is there a point to this?

RASBACH (FROM COMMS): Ah… forgive me. I will be brief.

The sound of your voice when you say her name, “Vespa…” it gives me the thoughts. You say Vespa as I say the names of family in Balder, yes? I have thoughts that perhaps she is important to you in this way?

BUDDY: We all have thoughts, Raz, and hardly any of them are worth the brains they’re printed on.

RASBACH (FROM COMMS): Ah, it is possible I am wrong. Your culture on these planets Solar, I do not think I will ever understand. Well, in this case, if she no is matter to you, I will continue with the protocol typical.

BUDDY: And what might that be?

RASBACH (FROM COMMS): Our servant no work for free, eh? The radiation fatal goes through her veins, but with our blood filter, ah! We fill this with spawn bacterial of Curemother, and so we give Vespa life. But is no cure permanent, of course. Curemother is rare, expensive. That is why we have you procure it at price high, I remind you, Miss Buddy, top high. If a servant violate her contract, we no can afford this. So, click! Off with filter, and begin the burning. And Miss Vespa has the death top painful. A fate sad, yes, but the contract she signed is written in terms top clear.

MUSIC: ENDS.

Miss Buddy? Do we have the disconnection?

BUDDY: (CLEARS THROAT) Excuse me, Raz. I was just… taking notes.

Doesn’t that seem a bit harsh to you, darling? A stabbing or two may be unpleasant, but, our transaction ended as intended. A second chance—

RASBACH (FROM COMMS): The Board of Fresh Starts do no give the second chances. Vespa took our care medical, she signed our contract, and she must abide. And yet, I do see your point…

Ah! The hole in loop! You see it, Miss Buddy?

BUDDY: I’m concerned that I may.

RASBACH (FROM COMMS): Should I possess the contract Vespa, a termination must occur. But contracts… they can be bought and sold, yes?

BUDDY: You… want me to buy her?

RASBACH (FROM COMMS): Her contract, Miss Buddy. Hours ago you assisted those who buy and sell the contract. This is so different, really?

BUDDY: (AFTER A PAUSE) I suppose not. It takes… stomach, this line of work. I have to say I underestimated you, Razzy.

RASBACH (FROM COMMS): Most do.

Ah! But wait, I forgot the information vital! The cost!

BUDDY: How much does a human life go for these days, Rasbach?

RASBACH (FROM COMMS): Hmm… a situation top difficult… with I explain to the company… with I cancel my appointments… with we meet today, yes, must today, I have been in Cerberus too long already, must care for the health, is vital.

Ten million creds.

BUDDY: So exactly as much as you just paid for the Curemother.

RASBACH (FROM COMMS): Ahhh, so you are certain to have it! Top convenience.

BUDDY: If you’ll allow me to think like a business vampire such as yourself for a moment, Raz, I might point out that a single worker should not be worth the same as the system by which you control all of your workers.

RASBACH (FROM COMMS): Should not, is so. Unfair, is so. But the war… it taught me much, Miss Buddy. Is fair I no see the family? Is fair they should be sick, hungry? Is no fair. Is top no fair. And yet.

BUDDY: And yet.

RASBACH (FROM COMMS): I will see you in half-hour at my office.

You are pleasure with do business to, Miss Buddy. Goodbye.

BUDDY: Goodbye, Rasbach.

SOUND: COMMS BEEP.

BUDDY: (GRUNTS)

SOUND: THUD.

JUNO: Buddy—

BUDDY: Did you catch all of that, darling?

JACKET: I have recorded it, and I can confirm Rasbach’s location. The call was made from the Cerberus Board of Fresh Starts.

BUDDY: Wonderful. An honest slave trader. Simply wonderful.

JACKET: That ten million creds is every cent we have.

BUDDY: Yes, yes, of course it is.

JUNO: Every cent you have? You started this con with nothing?

BUDDY: When we started we had plenty. But heists cost money, as does reopening a bar five years dead.

JUNO: But—

BUDDY: Juno, I am going to be direct with you. I do not have time for whatever personal revelation is currently percolating in that prefrontal cortex of yours. This job has suddenly become important to me, very important. And I want your help on it because your instincts have proven sharp, but I do not have time for your soul-searching.

I have suddenly become a very poor woman. If you come with us, I cannot give you any payment other than what you've already earned. I can promise you that Rasbach is not going to make this as easy as he says, and Vespa…

If you want to keep that head on those pretty shoulders of yours, we’d best hope Vespa does not interfere.

JUNO: This is who we’re saving, and you’re that scared of her?

BUDDY: If she’s as sharp as she used to be, I am. Medicine was not Vespa’s only specialty. Razzy didn’t mention the other, which means either she’s out of practice or else… she’s been planning this escape for a long time.

If you agree to help, I’ll tell you as much as I can on the way. But I make no promises that I will be able to say everything.

Well?

JUNO: Ughhh, fine, I’m coming.

BUDDY: I hoped as much. Dearest one, start the car.

JACKET: Yes, Buddy.

***

MUSIC: STARTS.

SOUND: CARS PASSING.

BUDDY (NARRATOR): Twenty years ago, you could clear a room by saying the names “Buddy and Vespa.” Because in a lot of places, especially in the former Outer Rim before the war drained it of everything it had, those names meant something. They meant style, and flashy heists, and holdups at banks that boasted they could never be held up. Buddy and Vespa, Vespa and Buddy – my, we were a pair. Stars.

Until we fell. As stars so often do.

SOUND: RUNNING FOOTSTEPS, GUNFIRE.

VESPA: I’m tryin’ to hold them off Bud, but, out in the open like this, I’ve got noth— Ah!

BUDDY: Vespa?

VESPA: (GASPS)

BUDDY: Vespa darling, keep your balance, it’s only a few more steps and this is far too high to—

VESPA: Buddy… oh.

SOUND: THUD.

BUDDY: Vespa! No! (CALLING) Vespa!

BUDDY (NARRATOR): But then perhaps that’s a bit personal, darling; after all, we’ve only known each other a few hours.

JUNO: I think personal boundaries left the station when you got your goon to start spyin’ on me.

JACKET: I am my own goon.

JUNO: Oh, congratulations. Listen, if you’re gonna tell me this story, tell it right. You lived in the Cerberus Province long enough to build up a bar and a dedicated clientele, but you’re worried Vespa might’ve been down here for five years? You two must have called this place home way longer than that.

BUDDY (NARRATOR): Home is not always the place you live, Juno. Now hush, I’m telling a story.

We rarely slept in the Cerberus Province, if that’s what you’re asking. But this was always where we came back after a job to sell whatever we’d earned, and do whatever deals needed doing… and that meant, we only ever saw it once the danger had passed. We’d fly low over the volcanoes and see the lighthouse, twinkling in the distance… and that, darling, that was home. No matter how tired we were, no matter how late it was, Vespa and I would always watch through the window when the lighthouse went by.

That was our life for years. Then, there was a night, I remember, when the lighthouse was not lit when we returned, and Vespa… found that difficult.

VESPA: Something’s wrong. Bud, do you ever feel like… you ever feel like we’re just doomed?

BUDDY: In the sense of going to age and eventually die? Never.

VESPA: (SIGHS) I just feel like I can feel it. Something bad.

BUDDY: Feel you can feel! Well.

VESPA: Stop.

BUDDY: (AFTER A PAUSE) Oh come on, Vespa. You know I’m sorry. You just get so superstitious sometimes and I—

VESPA: I– I said stop!

I mean, we’d have signed up for it, right? A life like this, running from the cops, sprinting from adrenaline kick to kick, we– we’re gonna get caught! Separated, probably.

BUDDY: Vespa, that isn’t going to—

VESPA: If you’re so positive of that, you shouldn’t mind me talkin’ about it.

There.

BUDDY: There what, darling?

VESPA: If it goes wrong… no, when it goes wrong, we’ll meet there. The lighthouse. No matter what.

BUDDY: Vespa…

VESPA: I can just feel it. It’s coming soon, alright? I know it is. I know it.

Just agree. Please? If you’re so sure I’m wrong, what do you care?

BUDDY: Of course, darling.

I love you.

VESPA: And some days I even know it.

BUDDY: Every superstitious inch of you.

SOUND: THEY KISS.

BUDDY (NARRATOR): I don’t know how long it was – months or years – but everything ends eventually. It doesn’t matter how young and invincible you feel; everything ends, eventually.

Our last job was in the Outer Rim. On Balder. A bank job of a kind we’d done a thousand times before, but…

SOUND: RUNNING FOOTSTEPS, GUNFIRE.

VESPA: I’m tryin’ to hold them off Bud, but, out in the open like this, I’ve got noth— Ah! (GASPS)

BUDDY: Vespa?

BUDDY (NARRATOR, OVER THE LINES BELOW): We must have missed a guard. And then, as we were running across the bridge that linked the two bank towers, where our ship was going to pick us up…

BUDDY: Vespa darling, keep your balance, it’s only a few more steps and this is far too high to—

VESPA: Buddy… oh.

BUDDY: Vespa! No! (CALLING) Vespa!

JUNO: She fell off the bridge.

BUDDY (NARRATOR): She did.

JUNO: How tall was the tower?

BUDDY (NARRATOR): Two hundred and fifty stories. The capital of Balder is known for its highscrapers – the city high above and the city far below.

The next laser came for me.

SOUND: BLASTER SHOT. GASP.

And, unfortunately, I did not fall.

VOICES: Pastasi bin-bin das! Basqueesa Vespa? Ovelisan das mivi! Ove, ove!

BUDDY (NARRATOR): In the end I suppose it’s lucky that I wasn’t wearing a stunproof vest. I would most likely have jumped after her if I had.

JUNO: Two hundred and fifty stories…

BUDDY (NARRATOR): It is remarkable, yes. But she’s survived worse. She has… a talent for field medicine.

SOUND: CLICK.

But even so, five years of radiation…

SOUND: MORE CLICKS.

JACKET: We’ve arrived at the Board of Fresh Starts.

JUNO: Wait, hang on. I still have questions.

SOUND: CLICKS, FOOTSTEPS.

BUDDY: (SNAPS OUT OF NARRATOR MODE) And it seems you will continue to have them. Our welcome wagon is on its way.

JUNO: What—

SOUND: GUN COCKING.

MUSIC: ENDS.

Oh wow, that’s a gun in my ribs, that happened fast.

VOICE 10: Come wiz me, please.

BUDDY: And who are you, precisely?

JUNO: And the hell is that blaster for? I didn’t even do anything!

VOICE 10: Vas menta…? Vis… ehpeesu…

JUNO: What?

VOICE 10: Come wiz me, please.

BUDDY: Rasbach has sent us security we can’t negotiate with. I remember hardly any Balder at all.

JUNO: I speak the language his gun is talking just fine.

BUDDY: Then I’d recommend you listen to it, Juno.

SOUND: FOOTSTEPS.

JUNO (NARRATOR): The Board of Fresh Starts office didn’t look like anything special and that surprised me, at first. Then I remembered that the people in charge of this place almost never set foot here. They were probably all partying it up on some solid-gold space station with radiation shields to go around. Let the poor get sick. Let the workers burn. Standard business practice, really.

It was a short walk to Rasbach’s office. He was… a little too excited to see us. Even accounting for the bottle of contraband painkillers on his desk.

SOUND: DOOR OPENS.

MUSIC: STARTS.

RASBACH: Ah, our guests top desirable! Please, have the seat, have the seat.

Hasslanna mivi das muu.

BUDDY: A bit rude to leave us out of the conversation, don’t you think?

RASBACH: Ah, they no said it? Rudeness, rudeness. Ah, but, is rule top vital. Your… ehm, what is the word… mivi, eh, mivi, eh… Pow, pow! You see?

JUNO: You want us to give up our guns.

RASBACH: Is so, yes. Weapons, they cause the meeting previous end, eh, no good. We do without now.

BUDDY: If that’s the price.

Hand them over.

SOUND: RUSTLING, SEVERAL CLANGS, METAL CLATTERING.

RASBACH: My, ah, is look heavy.

SOUND: ONE LAST CLATTER.

Hah– eh… (CLEARS THROAT) Das mivi ehpeesu.

SOUND: FOOTSTEPS DEPARTING.

Ah, i-is rudeness. I told my servant to—

BUDDY: To leave, yes. Can we conduct business now?

RASBACH: We wait. We wait… and…

SOUND: DOOR CLOSES.

Now business may begin.

BUDDY: Alright. Just like our last sale: instant transference through our comms, verbal confirmation, fingerprint identification. Ten million creds from my account in exchange for the code to Vespa’s blood filtration bracelet.

RASBACH: Ah, yes, uh, the creds… But of course, if they no tell you they take the gun…

You look this, eh?

SOUND: GRUNT, CLUNK.

BUDDY: That’s the Curemother I sold you, yes.

RASBACH: Yes, yes. But the lock to this case, you see…

SOUND: CLICK, HUM.

Is broken. Is goods defective you give me.

BUDDY: It’s not broken. It’s unlocked. You’ve unlocked it. And the Curemother is fine; it’s still glowing, you—

RASBACH: Is require more payments.

SOUND: CLUNK. HUM STOPS.

Fixing lock, the tests verification on Curemother… this take money. Then the interest, the damages, the market shifting…

BUDDY: How much?

RASBACH: Should be… twenty million creds.

BUDDY: (AFTER A PAUSE) Well, then.

I think that’s the end of this meeting.

RASBACH: Eh? The end?

BUDDY: There’s no sense in doing business with someone who’s kidding you. Goodbye.

SOUND: FOOTSTEPS.

RASBACH: You will not leave! Here! Here, is her blood filter code on my comms now!

I will deactivate this. This Vespa, she will die!

SOUND: FOOTSTEPS STOP.

Ten million creds may come again, but… once dead, is no second chance. This we both know well, Miss Buddy. And if you no stop, Vespa will die.

BUDDY: Razzy. This money isn’t going to your company, is it?

RASBACH: (NERVOUS LAUGH) Wel– uh…

BUDDY: Well. You really do look out for your family, don’t you?

RASBACH: Is no the question, Miss Buddy. The question is: do you?

BUDDY: I don’t have twenty million creds.

RASBACH: Then… your ship. You no live in Cerberus Province, yes? Yet you conduct the theft Curemother. You have spaceship. The deed, you will transfer it to me, plus the code for briefcase.

This the cost final.

BUDDY: Sold.

RASBACH: Eh? R-really? You are certain?

BUDDY: I’m certain. Have you set up the sale or would you like me to do it?

RASBACH: You Solar peoples… I never understand.

JUNO: To be fair, I’m from here too and I don’t get it, either.

RASBACH: I will set up the sale, of course.

SOUND: BEEPS.

Read. Here.

BUDDY: Seems to be in order.

RASBACH: This I no will risk, Miss Buddy.

BUDDY: I can tell.

RASBACH: Now, for code words.

I, Rasbach the Eldest, Agent… uh, I consent to this transaction.

BUDDY: I consent to this transaction.

RASBACH: My thumb.

SOUND: BEEP.

And now… yours.

Miss Buddy, you are no hesitate?

BUDDY: Of course not. Just taking a moment to say farewell to my life savings.

JACKET: Buddy…

JUNO (NARRATOR): But it didn’t matter what the big guy said. Before he could stop her, or she could stop herself, she held out her thumb.

Aaaaaand that’s when all hell broke loose.

SOUND: ALARMS.

RASBACH: Basqueesy!

JUNO: The hell is that?

JACKET: Security alarm. Utgard-Lockhouse brand. There is an intruder on the premises.

RASBACH: No now, no now!

JUNO: What the hell is going on?

RASBACH: Quiet! You think you getting the better of me, Miss Buddy; but I am the one of top control!

SOUND: COMMS BEEP.

Das mivi! Ovelisan das mivi, das— (CHOKING)

SOUND: HEAVY BREATHING. CLUNK. THUD.

BUDDY: (PANTING) Well. That was… very satisfying.

JACKET: Would you like me to kill him?

BUDDY: No, no. I wouldn’t want to deny his children a father, and I wouldn’t want to deny myself the splitting headache he’s going to have when he wakes up.

JUNO: Wow, uh, Buddy, you timed this out really well. The alarm, the backup – for, a minute there I thought you really were gonna give away everything you own. That was a hell of a con.

BUDDY: I’d like to correct you on two fronts, Juno, but I’m afraid I’ll have to do it quickly, because we haven’t much time: first, my timing was off by around five seconds, because I really did give away everything I own. And second: this is what we in the business of crime would refer to not as a con, but a worst case scenario.

JUNO: Then… wait, what?

BUDDY: Darling, take the door. You are not to let her leave here. I’ve lost her once, I will not lose her again.

JACKET: Understood.

BUDDY: Juno, take the Curemother’s case and hide yourself and Rasbach. In a moment the lights are going to go out. You must be gone by then.

JUNO: This is… Vespa? Wh-why are you so afraid of her? What’s she gonna do?

BUDDY: Do you remember when I told you Vespa had two specializations? The second was assassinations.

JUNO: What!

BUDDY: We’re fresh out of time, darling. The case!

JUNO (NARRATOR): The lights flickered.

SOUND: BZZZT.

I grabbed the briefcase and grabbed Rasbach, and right as I slid under the desk, they went out for good.

SOUND: POWERING DOWN. SILENCE. DOOR CREAKS OPEN.

BUDDY: Vespa?

It’s me, Vespa. It’s Buddy. And it’s all going to be alright now.

Vespa?

You know what to do.

SOUND: FOOTSTEPS.

JACKET: (BIG GRUNT)

SOUND: RUSTLING.

She… is not here.

SOUND: BLADE UNSHEATHING. SWISH, WET THUMP.

JACKET: (PAINED GROAN)

SOUND: THUD.

BUDDY: Vespa! Stop it!

SOUND: FOOTSTEPS.

VESPA: You stop it. (GRUNTS)

SOUND: BLADE SCHING. RUSTLING.

BUDDY: Vespa! What are you—

VESPA: I said stop it! (GROWLS)

SOUND: RUSTLING. BLADE SCHING.

Your voice, your…! Aghhh! I stopped imagining you, I stopped!

BUDDY: Imagining… you mean—

SOUND: BLADE SCHING.

VESPA: Yahhhh!

BUDDY: Vespa! I am not a hallucination. It’s me, it’s Buddy, and you’re my—

VESPA: Don’t! (GROWLS)

SOUND: THUD.

BUDDY: Oof!

VESPA: (BIG GROWL)

(PANTING) I stopped hearing you. I finally got over you, finally. And now, today, the day I was going to be free… I was done with this. I was done.

BUDDY: (GASPING) Vespa…

VESPA: (GROWLS) You aren’t real! Get out of my head!

SOUND: GRUNTS, FOOTSTEPS, BLADE SCHINGS, RUSTLING.

VESPA: (BIG GROWL)

SOUND: THUD.

BUDDY: (GASPING, CHOKING)

VESPA: Stop it. Stop doing that!

BUDDY: (GASPING) Vespa…

VESPA: (GROWLS)

SOUND: RUBBER STRETCHING.

BUDDY: (CHOKING) V-ves– pa…

JUNO (NARRATOR): And in the dark, all I could do was listen to Buddy Aurinko die at the hands of the woman she loved. The last seconds of a tragedy repeated twice.

I felt like this had always been my problem and I was never going to escape it, just standing and watching while a life gets taken away.

TURBO (ECHOING): The good guys always win!

JUNO (NARRATOR): Nothing different. The same old mistakes. Always.

THEIA: Projection: if you do nothing. She will die.

Would you like me to activate. Nightvision mode?

JUNO (NARRATOR): And there it was. That voice inside my head, telling me that changing was pointless, telling me that you might as well be a puppet to whoever or whatever wants to control you because hell, at least a puppet doesn’t have to think. A puppet just listens to the strings, goes where the pulling takes it, so – just give up. Why not?

THEIA: The target. Is dying.

JUNO (NARRATOR): You can’t change the past.

You can’t even change the present, really, because all you’ve got is that little corner of this moment you happen to have your hands on.

But that corner? Your little part in this great big present? You can pull that any way you want, and maybe it won’t work, but… hell, if you’ve got it, why not pull?

So I ignored the Theia, and I opened up the Curemother, and its weird glowing light spilled out into the room.

SOUND: HISS.

VESPA: What the…

BUDDY: (CHOKING) Vespa… please… (BIG BREATH)

VESPA: Oh!

BUDDY: (GASPING)

VESPA: No! No, no, no, no, no! You’re… you’re gone.

BUDDY: (COUGHING) I was, Vespa. But I’m back.

VESPA: You were gone, gone…

BUDDY: I waited for you. I swear I did.

VESPA: At the lighthouse, for months… but you weren’t… you weren’t…

No… no, this is just what I want to hear. Damn it, V, pull yourself together! This is the day – you’re finally gonna escape and this is the day you crack? Damn it, damn it, damn it! They’re gonna get you, you idiot!

BUDDY: Vespa, I’m here! I’m real. And you’re safe, now. Those awful people don’t have your code anymore, and we have the Curemother. I’ll give you your contract. You’ll be safe.

VESPA: Safe? (BITTER LAUGH) Always gives itself away eventually. Damn radiation. Damn it, damn it!

BUDDY: Vespa…? I couldn’t lose you again.

SOUND: FOOTSTEPS.

VESPA: Just get the Curemother and go, V. Past’s gone. Dead are dead. No getting back fifteen years.

BUDDY: No. I suppose there isn’t, is there?

Juno, slide her the case. Be careful not to lock it.

JUNO: Buddy—

BUDDY: And if you say a second word about it you might not survive to your third.

JUNO: (GRUNTS)

SOUND: SLIDE.

VESPA: The Curemother.

SOUND: FOOTSTEPS.

BUDDY: (QUIETLY) Vespa…

(CALLING) Vespa… Vespa, if you can hear me in there… I just want you to know that I tried. I did. And I know that time’s passed us, darling, I know, but—

I would like to try this again. Even if those fifteen years are gone, even if we’re new people, you and I, or ghosts, or… I’d like to see how these new people get along. I… just want to try.

SOUND: RUSTLING, CLUNK.

JUNO: Lights out again. Buddy, you alright?

BUDDY: (CALLING) If you want to try with me, I’ll meet you at our spot. Tonight, at sunset. The place I should have met you years ago.

I’m so sorry we lost this time, Vespa; if I could have it back—

SOUND: BZZZT.

JUNO: The lights are back.

BUDDY: …And she’s gone.

SOUND: FOOTSTEPS.

Darling, are you alright?

SOUND: RUSTLING.

JACKET: I am fine. I have been lightly stabbed, but it is not concerning.

JUNO: Oh, is that all?

BUDDY: I think we really ought to leave, now.

JUNO: But… what about your money? A-and your ship?

BUDDY: They’re Rasbach’s, now. We’d need his consent to get them back, and… he’d certainly never give it.

JACKET: Would you like me to—

BUDDY: Kill him? Ha!

No. Killing one of the million middlemen with dreams above their paygrades won’t save a single soul in Cerberus. Let’s leave now. I think I owe you the rest of a story, Juno; and we have somewhere to be by sunset.

JUNO: The lighthouse?

BUDDY: The lighthouse.

***

MUSIC: STARTS.

BUDDY: I served eight years in the Balder Central Penitentiary after our heist fell apart, watching the faces of new inmates for her… but she never came. Then I was out. I got my hands on the money I’d saved for myself and bought a ticket back to the Cerberus Province, as promised. And I waited.

JACKET: For two years.

BUDDY: Well, so much for being allowed to keep one’s own secrets.

JACKET: He wouldn’t have believed you if you said it. Two years. And she went up that lighthouse every night for hours, waiting. Then I pulled her out. She was not well.

JUNO: You went up there every day? But that’s… aboveground. There’s no Dome.

JACKET: She was very sick.

JUNO: No… no, wait, hold on. Damn it, can you shut that stupid thing up?

SOUND: THUNK, CLANG. MUSIC CUTS OFF.

Two years? And that much time aboveground? You-you’d have gone nuts by now, right? You’dve lost your damn mind.

BUDDY: Everyone experiences the symptoms of radiation sickness in a slightly different order, darling. Over time one might develop hallucinations, paranoia, memory loss—

SOUND: ICE CUBES CLINKING.

—uncontrollable moods… or conditions a bit more visible.

JUNO (NARRATOR): Then Buddy Aurinko pulled back the hair covering the left side of her face, and I saw what conditions she meant.

From the cheek up, that side of her face looked like a dead body’s. Not just burned, like the woman in the street, or the people wearing those debtor’s tags – more than that. The skin was gaunt, shriveled, and gray. Pieces of it were missing. And in the middle of that ruin sat something like a camera lens, ringed in yellow – and when her other eye blinked, a mechanical shutter clicked across it, sideways.

BUDDY: Organ failure. Skin rot. Hair loss.

JUNO: Yeah, ok-okay, I get the idea.

BUDDY: Bone displacement. Food allergy – that’s all food, of course, not just the one kind.

JUNO: I said I get it!

BUDDY: (CHUCKLES) I was fortunate: the mental effects never had their way with me. And so I lived here for two years, running the lighthouse and getting criminals and Outer Rim refugees as drunk as they liked; and every single night, I would walk up the stairs of this lighthouse with dinner, and wait for my Vespa to come. I knew she wouldn’t. But what else was I going to do? Move on? (SAD LAUGH) Nobody ever moves on because they want to, darling. We move on because we’re forced to – and I only did because he forced me.

JACKET: She didn’t open at the correct time. I became concerned.

BUDDY: You took the door off its hinges.

JACKET: I was deeply concerned.

BUDDY: If he had any sense at all he would have let me die. But, instead, he took me in that car of his and drove me back from the underworld. Some top-notch medical care and a bargain-basement eye later, and I was alive. I felt sorry for myself for another five years; and when I was done with that, I called my old friend here, and offered him a job. I owed him, after all: he sold that car to pay for my eye.

JUNO: Even to afford a low-end eye, that… must’ve been a hell of a car.

JACKET: We will not discuss this.

BUDDY: And that brings us to today, darling. This is the first job of my second career – and I must say I can only hope it’s going to go in the reverse of the first. Start with tragedy, end with… comedy. Ha ha.

JUNO: So that’s how you’re hoping today goes? Comedy?

BUDDY: Given enough time and enough hurt you can laugh at anything, darling. But all things being equal I would rather have the laughter now than later.

JUNO: I just… have one last question.

BUDDY: I’ll trade you. If you answer a question of mine, I’ll answer one of yours.

JUNO: Mine’s really not that important, I’m just curious.

BUDDY: Oh, neither is mine.

JUNO: Fine, then. If—

BUDDY: I’ll ask first. Why?

JUNO: Uh– th– wha— (CLEARS THROAT) Wh-why what?

BUDDY: Why did you decide to stay and help me? You didn’t have to. We barely know each other. Yet today, a former lawman risked his life several times for a former criminal, and for all your whining you even did a good job at it, so. Why?

JUNO: Be-because…

For a few months now I’ve-I-I’ve felt… good. Not l– not, like, good-good, but— (STUTTERS, FRUSTRATED SIGH) Like maybe I was on the right track, I-I guess. An-and then, in that desert, looking back on those months and realizing, damn, I really didn’t help anyone, did I? Maybe I meant to, but— (SIGHS) I just wanted to see if I even could help you. Okay? ‘Cause I— (GROWLS)

BUDDY: Go on.

JUNO: I just wanted to… see if I could. Anymore. Help… people.

BUDDY: Well. That’s quite an answer, isn’t it?

JUNO (NARRATOR): She smiled at me then, like she’d known I’d find the answer all along. And that’s when I knew what kind of leader Buddy Aurinko was.

BUDDY: So? I believe you had a question.

JUNO: Oh. Yeah, it’s, uh… it’s gonna seem pretty dumb now.

BUDDY: I’m sure it won’t.

JUNO: Okay. Uh…

If you’re allergic to all food, what do you eat?

BUDDY: (AFTER A PAUSE) You’re right, darling. That was a dumb question.

JUNO: Yeah, I mean, I told you.

BUDDY: I think I like you, Juno. I think you’ve grown on me.

SOUND: ICE CUBES CLINKING. CLUNK.

I’m going to wait upstairs now. Help yourself to… whatever you’d like.

SOUND: FOOTSTEPS DEPARTING.

JUNO: Uhh…

JACKET: She means the top of the lighthouse.

JUNO: No, I get that, I mean… (QUIETLY) What does she eat?

JACKET: I think I will wait with her.

JUNO: Outside?

(CALLING) You and I both got stabbed today, you moron! You wanna get marinated in radiation on top of that? (GROWLS)

SOUND: FOOTSTEPS.

***

MUSIC: STARTS.

JACKET: The sun has begun to set.

JUNO: Yup.

JACKET: It is very beautiful.

JUNO: So are most things that want to kill you.

JACKET: This has not been my experience.

JUNO: (CALLING) Hey, Buddy? We almost done here? I can feel myself getting sicker.

BUDDY: (DISTANT) You’re free to leave anytime you like.

JUNO: It’s sundown. She’s not coming.

BUDDY: (DISTANT) Maybe you’re right.

JUNO: So, you gonna do anything about it?

Buddy?

JACKET: She is ignoring you.

JUNO: Shut up.

JACKET: Alright.

JUNO (NARRATOR): So we waited, and the sun kept setting.

Sunset was… really something, out here. The Domes have a blue tint – small enough that you stop seeing it, after a while, but – out here, unblocked and unblued, the sunset was wild. Alive. Like someone set fire to the sky.

And Buddy had been up here for two years, staring down that sunset. Killing herself, slowly, in the hopes that it’d bring her the only thing she’d ever really wanted.

JACKET: The sun is almost down.

You are shivering.

JUNO: Yeah, well.

JACKET: There are coats downstairs.

JUNO: (CALLING) This is pointless, Buddy! She didn’t even hear you!

God, you really have one of those music machine things up here too? Does anybody even go up here?

JACKET: Would you like me to turn it off?

JUNO: Didn’t say that.

JACKET: Hm.

JUNO (NARRATOR): So we waited, and the sun kept setting.

I-I mean, it was a pretty thought, wasn’t it? That the past could really leap back into your arms, have your love back… have your brother back.

But it was just a fantasy – and soon the sun had set, we were in the dark with nothing but soft-boiled brains to show for all our dreaming.

JACKET: The sun has set.

JUNO: I can see that, thanks.

(CALLING) Alright, Bud, show’s over, time to go home. You and I only got one eye apiece and neither one of us can afford to lose—

SOUND: LOUD POWERING UP. POP.

MUSIC: CHANGES.

JUNO (NARRATOR): The lighthouse lights came on, and… there they were. Buddy and Vespa. Vespa and Buddy.

Seeing ‘em together like this, I saw just a glimmer of who they used to be, and… there was something huge about ‘em. Something bigger than life, bigger than people, bigger than all the years they’d been apart.

Then the lights mellowed a little. And they were just two women who barely knew each other again, and the feet between them could’ve been miles.

BUDDY: Vespa… you’re really here.

VESPA: Buddy… it’s really you.

SOUND: RUNNING FOOTSTEPS. SOFT SIGHS.

BUDDY: Vespa, I’m not assuming… a kiss, it doesn’t have to mean anything, darling. We’re just going to try this, see if it works, and—

VESPA: Oh, save it, Bud.

SOUND: THEY KISS.

JACKET: Well. A happy ending.

JUNO: (SNIFFS) Yeah.

JACKET: I think it is time for us to leave, now. They have much to catch up on.

Are you crying, Juno?

JUNO: (SNIFFS) Shut up. You’re crying.

Let’s go. Whatever.

JACKET: Indeed. You are owed payment for your services. We’ll leave tonight.

JUNO: Sure. Tonight. Fine.

BUDDY & VESPA: (DISTANT, UNINTELLIGIBLE)

JUNO: Stupid music machine. Oughta be a law.

JACKET: Would you like me to turn it off before we leave?

JUNO: No, just… let it play.

Let it play.

BUDDY: (DISTANT) Darling. You wouldn’t be hungry, would you? I know a wonderful place around the corner…

(LAUGHS)

MUSIC: ENDS.

***

SOUND: TRAIN MOVING, MUSIC.

CONDUCTOR: If you’ve enjoyed this tale, please consider donating to The Penumbra on Patreon. Our artists work tirelessly to bring you these stories, and if you have the means, we hope you will support our efforts. Every dollar helps. You can find that page at patreon.com/thepenumbrapodcast. If you support us on Patreon at the $10 level or higher, you’ll receive access to commentary tracks like this one, from actors Sarah Gazdowicz, William Schuller, Chloe Cunha, and co-creator Kevin Vibert:

SOUND: TRAIN STOPS, DOOR SLIDES OPEN, RAIN.

WILLIAM: Sometimes you gotta take time out, and, figure out what the noun endings for basqueezy are.

KEVIN & SARAH: (LAUGH)

WILLIAM: And that-that’s just where you’re– where you’re at as a writer. (LAUGHS)

KEVIN: (LAUGHS) Um… yeah, I mean I know that, uh, from, from, the… from the writing perspective, uh, I really based a lot of their, like, mannerisms, a lot of the, uh, like, little side things, the patterns of their language, on a lot of my extended, uh, French family. Um, which is why you’ve got, which is why you’ve got Rasbach’s top everything…

SOUND: DOOR SLIDES SHUT.

CONDUCTOR: You can also support The Penumbra by liking us on Facebook, following us on Twitter @thepenumbrapod, following us on Tumblr @thepenumbrapodcast, telling your friends about us, telling your friends to tell their friends about us, and especially by rating and reviewing our podcast on iTunes. Every rating, comment, and kind word spreads our stories further and inspires us to keep creating more and better tales to come.

We would like to give special thanks to all who support us on Patreon, but especially to Camille Blanton, Ota Arcana, Juno Yanto, Regan, Ko, KC, Atha Lang, Vron, Charlie Spiegel, Minchowski, and Jaimie Gunter for their incredibly generous contributions per episode. Thank you.

Did you know that The Penumbra has merchandise for sale? It’s true! The Penumbra has partnered with DFTBA to bring you the posters, shirts, and pins your heart desires. Just go to dftba.com and search for The Penumbra Podcast.

This tale, Juno Steel and the Time Gone By, was told by the following people: Joshua Ilon as Juno Steel, Alexander Stravinski as the Man in the Brown Jacket, Sarah Gazdowicz as Buddy Aurinko, William Schuller as Rasbach, and Chloe Cunha as Vespa.

The Penumbra is created and produced by Sophie Kaner and Kevin Vibert. If you wish to know more about our ever-expanding, infinitely-creative team of artists, musicians, editors, designers, and managers, you can read about them in the show notes of this episode.

I’m afraid this is the end of the line for today, dear Traveler. We hope you will ride with The Penumbra again soon.

ALL SOUNDS: FADE OUT.

[100kindsofblake]

Etiquette

Part 1: Introduction

Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: Keeping it classy is your thing, your friends live their lives just a little differently.

Word Count: 1,835

Warnings: Cursing, bodily harm, suicide attempt, mention on suicide, depression, and PTSD. Please let me know if I miss anything!

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

—

Some call you spoiled, conceited, a brat, hell even egotistical. You wouldn’t necessarily use those words to describe yourself but whatever works. You like the term self-made but you could care less what others say.

It might be the way you carry yourself, posture at a T, head held straight and high, and your walk is always with grace.

Your appearance is always perfect, never a hair out of place. Always in heels, Louis Vuitton, Alexander Wang, Prada, Jimmy Choo, anything you can think of. Clothes tailored to fit just right and bring out your body in just right.

You are a world-renowned neurosurgeon, best there is in the world! Head chair of Neuro at Grady Hospital in Atlanta, Georgia. 4 doctoral degrees, 2 masters, and a bachelor. You can speak over 14 languages, certified in hand-to-hand combat, Jiu-Jitsu, Judo, Thai, and a certified black belt. You own a 12 bedroom, 12 full baths, 3 half bath, gym, pool, movie theater, huge living room and kitchen, 15 acres, 3 car garage with 3 very expensive cars to go in them. The house is solar powered, energy efficient, and with a smart home and highly intelligent security system to go with it. To sum up, you are indeed the shit.

Let's get one thing straight though, in no way were you narcissistic. You are a selfless person, half of your income goes to charities, environmental projects, house for the homeless, better educations, the whole nine yards.

That’s your life, you save lives at work and on your off days, you help rebuild them.

Your friends are the same way, Dr. Tony Stark; Billionaire of the world largest industries and security, Sam Wilson; world-renowned lawyer, he could talk his way into an all-women college just for the hell of it, Steve Rogers; the best cardiothoracic surgeon the world has ever seen, Dr. James “Bucky” Barnes; a Psychiatrist, for veterans, orphans, anyone who needs help, Barnes is the best, Thor Odinson; an excellent historian who knows almost everything, could even tell you the weather that day if you wanted to know, Natalia (Natasha) Romanova; a physical therapist for injured soldiers and anyone in general, Dr. Bruce Banner; the best scientist there is in Biochemistry, Nuclear Physics, and Gamma Radiation, Clint Barton; Olympic Archer, Colonel James “Rhodey” Rhodes; the title speaks for itself, an officer in the United States Air Force, and Wanda Maximoff; Ambassador for the government of Sokovia.

You all try to stay in touch, Sunday dinners to everyone who can make it, birthday parties, and holidays. You are all family, and family is the most important thing there is. That’s the life you live, every day, a routine you are happy to stick to.

______

“Dr. y/l/n to trauma 2. Dr. y/l/n to trauma 2.” The overhead speaker says, turn on your heels you make your way to the ER.

Walking in you grab a pair of gloves, “What do we have?”

“Bullett to the head, stuck in the skull.” A nurse responds

“Vitals?”

You let the nurses put on the trama wear on you as you read the chart

“ BP 160/100, Oxygenation 70, GCS is 10.”

“Do 100 mg per 5 mL of morphine, watch oxygen rate, it can't get any lower, call the anesthesiologist, get OR 1 prepped and take him down there. We are doing emergency surgery, make sure to contact the next of kin, and I need a more detailed background on him now!” You take everything off and make your way to the locker room to change and then the OR to scrub in.

____

After finishing the surgery and having to put the patient in a medically induced coma for the next 48 hours, you had to head to your office to finish some paperwork. An hour later into paperwork there is a knock at your office door, looking up you see one of your residents.

“Hey Conrad, what’s up? “ You stand up addressing him

“Here is the file you asked for on the gunshot wound head patient earlier.” He hands you the file smiling.

“Oh yeah, thank you, Conrad!” You return the smile and watch him walk out before sitting down.

After opening the file, you look through it carefully before sighing sadly. Sitting back you debate with yourself before grabbing your office phone and pulling out the contact log for the person you are looking for.

After quickly dialing the number, you wait for an answer.

After two rings someone picks up, “Dr. Barnes’ office, Julia speaking”

“Hey, Julia it’s Dr. y/n y/l/n from Grady Hospital in Atlanta Georgia. Is James in today?” You ask using your professional voice

“Hold please..”

You sigh against the phone, leaning back in your chair

“Dr. James Barnes.” A deep voice speaks which makes you pick up the phone.

“Hey Bucky, it’s y/n.”

“Hey! How are you? Are you okay?” You can tell he is smiling through the phone.

Chuckling, “Yeah, I’m okay... I have a patient here who needs you.”

There is a long pause before he speaks again, “How bad?”

This is the worst part of your job, but it has to be done.

“Attempted suicide, a gunshot wound to the head, I placed him into a coma.” You stop before continuing

“Bucky it’s worse, the bullet perpetrated the front left lobe and grazed the parietal lobes. He is going to lose the feeling in his right hand” All you hear is shuffling before he speaks again.

“Give me 5 hours.”

“You have 4.” With that, you hang up. You log on your computer sending him the file so he can review on his flight over here.

Looking at the clock you see it is five pm, you log off your computer, grabbing your jacket slipping it on, and then grabbing your work bag and purse with your keys and phone in hand.

You turn off the lights and lock the door to your office.

Getting to the main floor, you head to the garage before you hear someone calling your name. You turn around to see your assistant, Mike.

“Ma’am I need you to sign these” Mike pants, obvious to see him ran to catch up.

“Mike I thought I told you to take a half day, hmm.” You shift everything grabbing the pen before reviewing the documents.

“I was but then I realized I have no life so...” He laughs to himself, you sign the papers before handing back the pen.

“Mike go home right now before I fire you.” You sternly say.

He quickly nods before walking away. You just shake your head and head to the car.

___

You reach your house in no time, grabbing your things out the car and walking inside the house.

“Welcome home ma’am!” Your AI says.

“Hello Maze, can you please play me my voicemails?” Asking nicely as you walk through the house to set your work bag in your office that unlocks as you approach it.

“One voicemail from Sam Wilson;

“ Hey y/n, I sent you a file I need you to look at. I have a case down here in Florida, you know how Floridians are-” he laughs to himself “..anyways, he is pleading the insanity and if I could get you to consult on it that would be great and I promise you I'll buy that L’aurora Ruby Print Draped Tulle Dress you’ve had your eye on, even though I know you could buy it yourself.”

There is a long pause, as you make your way to your bedroom which unlocks and opens as you approach it. You start undressing, and remove the makeup from your face and get into the shower.

“Just review it and do the doctor shit that you do and send it back, I owe you. Thanks, love you!” The message ends

“Would you like to respond?”Maze asks

“Just tell him “I’ll do it, but you owe me that dress”

“Message sent. There are no more voicemail messages, is that all I can do for you?” The AI asks

“Yes, that’s all, thanks Maze!” You say even though you know she won’t respond.

You finish up your shower, french braid your hair from the scalp even though it still braided it reaches the middle of your back, you brush your teeth and clean up the bathroom before exiting.

Going downstairs and to the kitchen, you find something to cook since you know James will be here in 3 hours. Deciding on steak and vegetables, which should be done by the time he arrives.

____

Just after you clean the dishes, set the table, and place the food, the doorbell rings.

“Dr. Barnes is here ma’am, would you like to enter?” Maze asks

“Yeah let him through the gate and allow him through the door.” You say wiping your hands off

“Certainly ma’am.”

Soon after in walks, James Barnes himself trudging his suitcase behind him. You walk up to him to greet him as he takes his jacket off and places it on the rack.

“Hey Doll!” He smiles, embracing you in a big hug.

“Hi, Buck! How was the flight?” You ask barely breathing because of how tight the hug is.

“It was fine, you smell great by the way..” He says finally breaking the hug, he smiles down at you.

You just laugh and drag him to the dining room. You guys catch up while eating, mostly about work since that all you two ever do.

While cleaning up Bucky breaks the silence, “ I talked to Nat, about you know help the patient with PT in the result of him losing his hand. She wouldn’t mind, so you could just recommend her to his family.”

You debate with yourself before responding, “I rather him not lose it at all, but since no one can get in contact with his family we can’t sign off on the experimental surgery. He can’t sign off on it himself because he isn’t in the right state of mind. I just- I just want the best for him… Being a vet is already hard enough, and with PTSD and depression doesn’t make it any better.”

You face Bucky after drying the last dish, and he leans against the counter.

“If he clears the psychiatric test then you have nothing to worry about and he keeps his arm.” Bucky kisses the top of your head.

“Don’t worry we will figure it out Friday when he wakes up, right now I would like to sleep and so should you.” He grabs his things from the entryway.

You turn off the lights in the kitchen, “Buck do not move. I’m setting the alarm”

He stands still as you type on the system.

“Alarm setting. All windows: Locked. All doors: Locked. Motion Sensors: On. Activating bedtime mode. All Clear, Goodnight Ma’am and Dr. Barnes.” Maze announces

You both say goodnight and head to your rooms.

[tearsofwinter]

DnD Kirkwall Crew

@dovabunny challenged me to do an AU of the entire kirkwall crew, so I chose Dnd! It’s a bit based off a prompt I wrote: “ Fenris, Anders, and the rest of the gang play DnD. Their characters get into a duel because they are dead set on killing each other off. Many missed rolls later, their characters end up married with kids.”

Varric: 

Modern: A successful author, of course. I’m thinking he would be the type of person that wants to write 10 multiple endings and have it printed, and watch his fans go crazy while they argue which is the canon ending. He also writes his own fanfiction of his own series. 

DnD Role: Who better than Varric to be the GM? Master story teller. He enjoys putting all his friends through harrowing experiences and keeping them on their toes on whether they will or won’t survive. But Varric is also tenderhearted. He actually can’t kill off any of his friends, so they always make it to the end. NPCs though, they always die. 

Hawke:

Modern: A fitness trainer/body builder. Hawke is proud of her body and tries to show it off every chance she gets. She isn’t exactly a health nut, but she’s all on the latest trends on how to make herself buff in a safe manner. She’s cheerful and always cracking a joke. Most people peg her as an extrovert, but I’m thinking her being this way is compensation for something in the past? When she was younger, she was scrawny. Her family was poor. They lived off food stamp. Leandra had to get a job at a sweatshop in order to help with the family income. To battle with the helplessness Hawke felt as a child, she physically made her body stronger. 

DnD Role: Gold Dragonborn Warrior. “ Born of dragons, as their name proclaims, the dragonborn walk proudly through a world that greets them with fearful incomprehension. Shaped by draconic gods or the dragons themselves, dragonborn originally hatched from dragon eggs as a unique race, combining the best attributes of dragons and humanoids. Some dragonborn are faithful servants to true dragons, others form the ranks of soldiers in great wars, and still others find themselves adrift, with no clear calling in life.” Hawke didn’t care about the trait or abilities, or anything else. She saw dragon, she took it. 

Rest under the cut

Bethany

Modern: College student. Is studying education and child care. Beth wants to work with children. Carver often teases her, saying she lacks the temperament. He keeps bringing up the story when they were little and he got her so mad, that she pushed him out of the treehouse. He still has a scar on his head to prove it. He likes to call her Ms. Crunchem from Matilda. In response, Bethany goes to where Carver works, and chats up Merrill, telling her all the embarrassing stories of Carver’s childhood.

DnD Role: Like Carver, Bethany only plays on occasion. She actually can’t make it every Satuday, as she works at a volunteer group. When she does play, she plays the wandering Orc, a reoccurring boss the crew has to beat. “Orcs live a life that has no place for weakness, and every warrior must be strong enough to take what is needed by force.” Bethany may look sweet and humble, but she’s a beast at the game. She takes great joy almost killing off everyone with her awesome rolls. The gang has repeatedly ask Hawke to stop bringing her lol.

Carver:

Modern: Also college student. He has a part time job at an aromatherapy shop. He tries to use the money he earns to help with the family, but Hawke never allows him to pay for the bills, and instead tells him to use it for school. Carver can’t wait to be older, graduate, and find a well paying job so Hawke can stop shouldering all of the responsibility.

DnD Role: N/A. Carver refuses to play DnD. He thinks it’s a silly game, but somehow he always gets suckered into playing when Hawke manages to drag him over to game night. Since Carver’s appearance is rare, he tends to play the NPCs that Varric eventually kills off lol. The gang love ribbing on Carver.

In alphabetical order:

Anders

Modern: An ex-doctor. Used to work for the Red Cross. When he came back to Kirkwall, he worked at the hospital for a while, but when a surgery got botched due to the negligence of the head surgeon, they needed a fall guy. Anders unfairly got his license revoked. Now Anders works at a Big Cat sanctuary as a volunteer, and on his spare time, he goes to protests. 

DnD Role: A priest Tabaxi. “Hailing from a strange and distant land, wandering tabaxi are catlike humanoids driven by curiosity to collect interesting artifacts, gather tales and stories, and lay eyes on all the world’s wonders.” Fenris and Anders met because of Hawke and Varric. Hawke sometimes works at the sanctuary and invited Anders and Justice to game night. Fenris is a friend she made after a murder case Fenris helped solve and cleared her name. At first, neither Anders or Fenris were really into the game, until Fenris made an off handed comment about mages. After that, Anders kept trying to sabotage and kill Fenris’ character off. Since then, every single DnD night, Varric has to do one game for the Hawke and co, and a separate game for Anders and Fenris, who’s busying dueling each other. 

Aveline

Modern: Police officer. Slowly, she’s working her way up the ranks in order to become a detective. As much as she enjoys patrolling Kirkwall, she wants conduct investigations and solve criminal cases. Donnic has been asking her if she wouldn’t prefer working as a prosecutor instead. 

DnD Role:  Warrior Aasimar. “Aasimar are placed in the world to serve as guardians of law and good. Their patrons expect them to strike at evil, lead by example, and further the cause of justice.” Everyone was quite shocked when Aveline picked this role. Most of them assumed she would’ve picked human. But when Aveline read this role, she knew it was the perfect fit for her. Isabela rolled her eyes and said of course, manly hand chose the most justicey of justicey roles. 

Fenris

Modern: Works as a translator and a museum curator. In his spare time, Fenris writes. It’s how he met Varric. Both of them work for the same publishing company. Hawke was involved in an odd case where a word written in old Tevene was scratch into the wooden floor of the victim. Varric dragged Fenris in so he could translate it. They broke a few rules, but anything for writing material! What’s the most interesting detail is that Fenris is the author of Anders’ most favorite series. It’s a children’s book about cats, and it actually isn’t selling to well. But hearing Anders gush about it, kind of makes Fenris feel warm inside. All the money he makes from the books, he donates to the Big Cat Sanctuary Anders and Justice runs.

DnD Role: Goliath. “Strong and reclusive, every day brings a new challenge to a goliath.” Anders makes fun of Fenris for choosing this role. He says it must be because Fenris is trying to compensate for something. To which Fenris replied, “Why don’t you come and find out?” and then proceeded to try and roll for an instant KO on Anders’ character. However, he rolled a 1. Instead of smacking Anders’ character with a club, Fenris’ character ends up seducing Anders’ lol. 

Isabela

Modern: Sex therapist. It wasn’t her first choice of job. When Izzy got kicked out of her home at a young age, she worked as a thief, then later joined a gang. However, when a gang war broke out, and she almost died during a shooting, Izzy left that life behind. Her current job is because she was able to blackmail a former lover. He helped her forge some papers. The Ph.D hanging on her wall? Fake. However, her advice is always sound. Maybe it’s because of the hard life she had, but Izzy is always able to see the truth of the matter, and say what needs to be said. Her patients always values her blunt wisdom.

DND Role: Chaotic Good Human Rogue. “Humans are the most adaptable and ambitious people among the common races. Whatever drives them, humans are the innovators, the achievers, and the pioneers of the worlds.” It was a toss up between the human or Triton race ( Long-established guardians of the deep ocean floor, in recent years the noble tritons have become increasingly active in the world above), but the triton just seemed so stuffy, so she went with the regular ol’ human. Having Izzy play is always unpredictable. While she’s good the first 30 minutes and make smart decisions, after her 4th can of beer, she’s chaos unleashed. She is especially fond of teasing Aveline and Carver. 

Justice

Modern: The founder of Big Cat Sanctuary. Was knighted by the Queen of Ferelden. Like, he’s a legit knight. No one knows his complete backstory, it’s as if he appeared out of thin air one day. All they know is that his background is heavily guarded by the government. 

DND Role: Does not play. He keeps telling Anders he has no time to join their frivolous games. So since Justice won’t drive to Varric’s, sometimes Anders has the gang come to THEIR apartment for game night. Even though Justice refuses to play, he keeps coming in and out of his room to watch how the game progresses. He makes sure everyone has something to drink, and that there’s plenty of snacks going around. He’s a bit of a mother hen. 

Merrill

Modern: The owner of an aromatherapy/herablist shop. Everything is organic and hand crafted by Merrill. Diffusers, essential oils, bath bombs, homeopathic medicine, vitamins, plants etc can be found here. Hawke walked by this shop everyday to and fro from work, and the shop always smelled so nice that she finally decided to visit. Who knew that the shop also provided tea and yummy biscuits? It became her favorite place to go during lunch break. It’s thanks to Hawke that Carver got introduced to the job. It’s a bit funny. The shop barely ever has any customers, but not only does it manage to stay afloat, but also pays Carver very well. Carver wants to ask where Merrill gets the money, but he’s also afraid of the answer. What if she already has a lover and Merrill is actually a sugar baby? Carver will be devastated! ((Merrill actually runs an underground business of buying and selling artifacts. She’s taking back what belongs to her people, things that Orlais and Tevinter wrongly stole. Her shop is actually just a front)). 

DnD Role: Elf mage. Merrill cannot imagine being anything else. She’s proud of her heritage. She is a bit absent minded while playing the game though, and often forgets the rules. At first Varric and Isabela looked out for Merrill, and tried to help her get the hang of the game, but then one night they noticed when Merrill “rolled” the dice, she distracted everyone by accidentally kicking the table. By the time everyone righted everything, Merrill’s dice went from a 3 to an 18. Sneaky, sneaky. 

Sebastian

Modern: A foreign prince currently studying abroad. He ran into Bethany and Hawke during one of their volunteer sessions. Both of the sisters can’t get enough of his accent, so invited him to hang out with them. Rumor at the school is that he’s an exiled prince that got banned from court because of his frivolous and wanton attitude. Other rumors is, is that he saw the “Kirkwall Girls Gone Wild” TV ad, and wanted a piece of that action. Some hopefuls hope that they can snag the prince and become princess. They’ll be said to find out, Sebastian’s true goal at coming to Kirkwall was to study to become a clergyman. 

DnD Role: Human warrior. As a child, Sebastian never got a chance to play DnD, so when Hawke dragged him to play, he was quite overwhelmed by all the races, classes, and rules. So he chose the most simple and easiest one to understand. Seb is quite a newb though, and for some reason, Varric seems to dislike him. While the rest of the crew seem to always scrape by unscathed, Seb’s character is always down to 1 HP. 

This took me 2 hours to write. I hope you’re happy @dovabunny LOL

[jlstreck]

American Punchline Ch 63

A TJ Hammond/Steve Rogers Crossover

You can find the previous chapters here (or on AO3).

Chapter 63

“What are you two up to?” Sam wandered into TJ and Steve’s office. “That may be the biggest white board I’ve ever seen. Where did you even find that?”

TJ and Steve both laughed as their friend walked around the massive board.

“Tony had it custom made for us. I think it killed him a bit not to install some super high tech version of one, but we both wanted an old-school whiteboard.”

“Old school to you. Still pretty new to me.” Steve poked TJ in the side as he moved to write on a different section. “Of course, he did set JARVIS to capture everything we write on here and archive it so we don’t lose things. Plus I think we’re supposed to be able to edit stuff.”

“Indeed you are, Captain.” JARVIS piped up. “All whiteboard activity will be fully cataloged and searchable.”

“I take it this is all tied to the event you guys are planning?”

“Sure is,” TJ grinned. “Thanks to Pepper and the team, we’ll be ready to go in far less time than ever expected.”

“Now that we have enough of the details locked in, Tony was going to have information printed up so you can invite anyone you think would benefit. I still can’t believe he managed to get the convention center on three weeks notice.” Steve shook his head.

“I’m not. It seems like there’s very little a determined Tony can’t do.” TJ shoved the cap onto his marker. “Since you’re here, any interest in helping out with this little shindig?”

“Lots of interest. What can I do?” Sam was quick to jump in to assist.

“We could use some more volunteer therapists, counselors, really anyone trained to help deal with our big three issues - PTSD, drug or alcohol abuse, and sexual preference. Stark is pulling in a bunch through his connections, but we want to make sure we have plenty of people for participants to talk to when they come.”

“You can certainly count me in and I definitely know people that will likely want to help. I assume you’re going to have some way of making sure people get with the right professional.” Sam slid into the over-sized chair near the whiteboard.

“Yes. Pepper has a team of people helping us on that front. With JARVIS’s help they’re building out a system that will track level of training and expertise for each of the mental health volunteers. Then as people come through registration they’ll have an opportunity to indicate which topics they want to speak with someone about so we can match them accordingly. Because we don’t know how long each one will take, the system will match each person to a team of specialists and they’ll have something that indicates there current place in line.” TJ explained, full of enthusiasm with how organized it sounded and how many people he hoped they could help.

“So basically they can wander around to the other areas until they’re one of the next ones in the virtual line?” Sam nodded thoughtfully. “I like it. It sounded like there was going to be a lot on offer. What else did you guys land on?”

“Obviously the mental health thing is a major piece of the event. On top of that we’ll have resources for education, employment, housing, various assistance programs, and service animals. Not to mention workshops on handling social media, networking areas for those that want to meet people in similar situations, plenty of quiet spaces for those that prefer to avoid the crowds, and lots of food.” Steve listed off all the offerings. “Honestly, if it weren’t for having Tony, Pepper, and the majority of the Stark Foundation behind us there is no way we’d pull something like this off so fast.”

“It makes me tired just listening to you.” Sam conceded. “Who should I point people to if they’re interested in helping?”

“You can provide the contact information to me and I’ll be sure the coordinators receive it.” JARVIS offered before Steve or TJ could fumble through providing contact information.

“Perfect. I’m gonna go make some calls.” Sam hopped out of the chair, sparing a quick glance back to where the other two had refocused on their whiteboard as he headed for the door.

“Do you really think we’re gonna pull this off?” TJ asked Steve, eyes fixed on the list he was currently making.

“Yeah, I do. With the team we’ve got supporting it there is no way it doesn’t come together.” Steve reached out, squeezing TJ’s shoulders. “JARVIS can you capture all this and send it to the Pepper and Emily?”

“Of course.” Steve and TJ stepped back so JARVIS could get a full view. While he wasn’t fully installed in the office, Tony had hooked up enough to integrate him with the board.

“What do you think …” TJ’s question was cut off by his cell phone ringing. “Shit. It’s my mother.”

“I suppose it would have been too much to ask for her to remain oblivious to my coming out?” Steve gave TJ a sympathetic look as the brunet bit the bullet and answered his phone, putting it on speaker so Steve could hear the conversation.

“It’s about time you answered.” Elaine snapped.

“I’ve been a bit busy.” TJ watched as Steve sat down on the couch near the window, following when the blond patted the space beside him. “And it’s not exactly like we left things in a way that made you think I was going to be calling to check in on a regular basis.”

“Your brother and grandmother both told me you needed space, but Thomas this is ridiculous. How in the world did you manage to convince Captain America that he was bisexual after only a few weeks. Do you realize the irreparable harm you’re doing to his reputation.”

“Excuse me, ma’am,” Steve cut in before TJ could even think of a response. “TJ had nothing to do with my bisexuality. As I stated during the show, this is one of those things the history books just didn’t have right. And as far as any damage to my reputation goes - quite frankly I don’t particularly give a damn. I’m done living my life to please those that want to use me as nothing more than a show pony.”

“But have you thought this through?” Elaine sounded desperate.

“I guarantee I’ve given more thought to what this means for my life than you have. I don’t expect everyone to support my decision, but it is my decision. I’ve come out and now I’m going to make the best of the platform I’ve been shoved onto to try and make life a bit better for those like me. If you have an issue with that, I suggest you take it up with me and stop harassing TJ about it. Your son has been nothing short of an amazing friend and supporter since I’ve met him. I believe it is no small miracle that he retained such amazing compassion and humanity given the circumstances of his life, and I’m damned glad to consider him such a close friend. Now if you’ll excuse us, we have more important things to deal with.”

Steve disconnected the call before Elaine could argue.

“Did you mean that?” TJ’s voice was quite as he remained frozen against Steve’s side.

“Every fucking word.” Steve tossed the phone onto the empty cushion beside them, wrapping his arm around TJ’s shoulders as they fell silent.

A/N: I know a great many of us would like to hang the jerk up by his toes and tear him to pieces, but fortunately Natasha and the others have more sense. I’m reasonably certain the congressman will be having nightmares about his mysterious visitor for weeks to come though.

*~*~ American Punchline ~*~*

A/N: Am I the only one that kinda went "aaaawwwwww" there at the end?

Realistically speaking, I'm hoping to wrap this up in the next several chapters and move on to the sequel. You guys won't mind if I pretty much completely rewrite CATWS will you?

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