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requiemforthepoets · 1 month ago

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lipstick kisses 𖦹 LN4

part 3 of dog dad lando series

PAIRING: lando norris x female!reader

SUMMARY: you would always get random cuteness aggression towards thor, but today, you might have smothered him too much, causing him to have lipstick kisses all over his face.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: i wanted to post this first before i post the requests. if you have some request/prompts, feel free to send it and i’ll work on it. this is another one shot to the dog dad lando series, hope you’ll enjoy this one! :)

REMINDERS: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WORD COUNT: 1.4k

WARNINGS: not proofread, typos, cuteness aggression, all photos are grabbed from pinterest, and no use of y/n

The sound of your laptop closing echoed in the quiet apartment as you stretched, with your muscles relaxing after hours of your online meeting. It has been a very long day, but finally, you can unwind. With a sigh of content, you got up from your seat and changed from your formal attire to some comfortable clothes, which is one of Lando’s white shirts and some shorts. You quickly made your way to the living room, threw yourself on the couch and grabbing the remote, scrolling through Netflix until you landed on The Crown—your latest hyper fixation calling out for your name, and with Lando busy doing a stream with Max, the living room was yours.

Settling into the couch, you pulled a blanket over your lap, getting ready to immerse yourself in the drama unfolding on the screen. The room was dim, illuminated by the light from the lamp and the flickering light of the television. Not long after, Thor padded into the room, his fluffy white fur practically glowing in the low light. He jumped up onto the couch beside you, his big round eyes staring up at you as if asking to join in on your little Netflix binge.

You smiled, absentmindedly running your fingers through Thor’s soft fur while you kept your eyes glued on the screen. “Hey, buddy,” you whispered, feeling a wave of affection wash over you.

Your petting became more deliberate, and the next thing you knew, Thor was already nestled on your lap, gazing up at you with those impossibly cute eyes. Suddenly, you felt that all-too-familiar rush of cuteness aggression. The kind that made you want to squeal and squish something so adorable that it hurts.

“You’re just too cute, Thor,” you cooed, your voice rising an octave. You leaned down and began planting kisses all over his fluffy face. “How are you this stinkin’ cute?!” Another kiss. “How is this even allowed?” And another kiss. You were completely absorbed in showering your baby with affection, blissfully unaware of anything else.

Meanwhile, Lando had quietly stepped out of his streaming room for a quick break, intending to grab one of his drinks from the kitchen. As he walked towards the kitchen, he immediately paused when he caught sight of you on the couch. His lips quirking up in amusement, eyes sparkling as he took in the scene. There you were, in your mid-cuteness aggression, holding Thor and peppering him with kisses like you couldn’t help yourself.

Lando chuckled softly to himself, careful not to make any noise that would let you know of his presence. Instead of interrupting, he pulled out his phone and discreetly filmed the moment, capturing how you lovingly attack Thor with your kisses. Once he had enough footage, he saved it, already planning to post it on his Instagram story later. With a smirk, he quickly grabbed his drink and slipped back into his streaming room, shaking his head as he settled back into his gaming chair.

“You guys won’t believe what I just saw,” Lando said with a laugh, speaking to his chat. “She’s having a full-on cuteness meltdown over Thor in the living room. I’m pretty sure Thor’s drowning in kisses right now.”

Meanwhile, back in the living room, you finally pull away from Thor, your cuteness aggression fading as you let out a satisfied sigh. Thor jumped off from your lap, ready to do his own thing, and as you turned back to the screen, something caught your eye. You squinted at Thor’s fluffy white face. Lipstick marks. Everywhere. You burst out laughing at the result of your cuteness aggression, unable to control the giggles as you realized what you had done.

“Oh no, Thor!” You exclaimed, wiping away tears of laughter. You reached for the pet wipes on Thor’s cabinet of necessities. “Come back here! I need to clean you up, my love.” But before you could grab him, Thor was already scampering off—straight towards Lando’s streaming room.

“Thor!” You called, but he was too fast, already gone. You could only shake your head, stifling another round of laughter as you imagined Lando’s reaction when he saw Thor covered in your lipstick.

The sound of your voice calling for Thor grew closer just as he dashed into Lando’s streaming room, leaping onto Lando’s lap like it was his favorite spot in the world. Lando blinked in surprise, pulling his headphones slightly away from his ears and glancing down at Thor, now comfortably settled in his lap.

“Mate, what—?” Lando started, then burst out laughing as he finally took in Thor’s appearance. The once pristine, white snow fluff was now covered in your lipstick marks, a splotchy red all over his cute little face. Lando leaned forward to show Thor to his stream, his grin widening.

“Guys, look at this!” He chuckled, turning Thor toward the camera so everyone could see the incredible masterpiece. “Thor’s just been absolutely smothered by kisses. Someone’s been a little too affectionate.”

His chat immediately blew up with laughing emojis, hearts, and comments, with people demanding a closer look. Lando quickly grabbed his phone and took a photo, smiling as he saved it. He turned his attention back to the stream, about to read one of the chats, when he heard your voice calling out for This again from the hallway.

“Thor! Where are you? Get back here right now, I need to clean you up.”

Lando smirked, lifting Thor a little higher. “Looks like someone’s in trouble,” he said playfully to his audience, giving Thor a conspiratorial glance. “Running away from mummy again, huh? You sneaky sneaky little boy.”

Just as you stepped into the room, Lando shifted in his chair, still holding Thor in his lap. You stopped at the doorway, a sheepish smile on your face as you met Lando’s amused eyes. “He ran away,” you said, trying to sound stern but failing miserably as you grinned. “I need to clean him up before he gets lipstick all over the place, especially on our white couch.”

Lando laughed, scooping Thor up and holding him out toward you as if presenting a prized trophy. “You’ve made quite the mess on him,” he teased. “I was just showing everyone your handiwork.”

You sighed dramatically, walking over to take Thor from Lando’s arms. “Sorry, love, I just got carried away,” you sheepishly smiled. “I couldn’t help it. He’s just too cute.”

He smirked, raising an eyebrow. “Carried away? Babe, you practically covered the poor guy in kisses. He’s never going to live this down now,” he joked, gesturing to the chat that was still buzzing with laughter.

You rolled your eyes playfully as you bent down to scoop up Thor. “Come on, little troublemaker. Time to clean you up before you end up on Instagram again.”

Lando’s fans greeted you warmly as you appeared on the stream, and you waved at the camera with a smile. “Hello everyone! Hi, Max!” You said, catching sight of Max’s face in the corner of the stream.

Max grinned. “Oh hey, look who it is! Caught you in the act, huh?” He teased, leaning closer to his screen. “You know, I think Lando’s just jealous. He never gets that many kisses.”

Lando feigned shock, gasping dramatically. “Max! That’s not true! I always get plenty of kisses, thank you very much.”

You shook your head with a laugh, wiping the lipstick marks off Thor’s face. “Well, if he doesn’t stop teasing me, Thor might just get more than him from now on!”

The chat exploded with laughing emojis and comments again, with Max laughing in the background while Lando pretended to sulk. “Unbelievable. Betrayed by my own girlfriend and dog,” Lando muttered, but his smile betrayed his amusement.

Once Thor was all cleaned up, you gave him a final kiss on the top of his head—much to Lando’s fake protest—and set Thor back on the floor. “There, all better. No more lipstick adventures for you,” you said, watching as Thor trotted off, likely planning his next trouble.

Lando’s eyes followed Thor, then flickered back to you with a fond smile. “You’re the best, you know that?” He said softly, barely loud enough for the mic to pick up, but it was enough to make your heart flutter.

You shot him a wink and gave him a soft peck on the lips before backing out of the room. “Have fun with your stream. Don’t let Thor distract you again!” You called over your shoulder, leaving Lando grinning as he returned to his stream.

“Sorry, guys. Where were we? Oh, right. Max, let’s go.”

landonorris

liked by yourusername, yourbestfriend, maxfewtrell, and 2,748,937 others

tagged: yourusername

landonorris my girl suffered from cuteness aggression. what have you done to our son 🙂‍↕️ but don’t worry guys, he’s all good

view all 49,937 comments

yourusername our son is too cute, i can’t help it!!! 😔

landonorris he looked so traumatized by your cuteness aggression, love

yourusername he is NOT traumatized! in fact, he loved it very much

username1 thor living out his best life. getting all the love and kisses

username2 ma’am, you’re GLOWING

username3 can your man fight? yourusername

username4 PEAK CUTENESS

maxfewtrell just wait until you see the lipstick marks on lando next

landonorris you bet 😉

username5 THE LIPSTICK MARKS HEHDJSJS THE CUTENESS AGGRESSION MUST BE TOO MUCH LMAOOO

username6 can i just say that yourusername looks so fucking gorgeous???!!! lando, you lucky lucky lad

username7 thor is such a good boy 🥹

username8 look at that distinguished gentleman

yourbestfriend it’s one of those days, huh

landonorris oh yeah 😔

yourusername you can’t blame me for my cuteness aggression!!!!! not when we have a very very very cute son 😠😠😠

username9 idk if i’d be jealous of thor, yourusername, or lando tbh

username10 STOP THIS IS SO CUTE

username11 ma’am, we can see the level of cuteness aggression by lando’s video 😭😭😭

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caplanbuckybarnes · 1 month ago

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Seeing Ghosts (Frank Castle)

Summary: She tries to convince Frank that there's nothing he can do after the death of his family.

Warnings: Angst, blood, murder (off screen)

WC: 632

Read on Ao3!

The rain pelted the cracked windows of the small, dimly lit motel room. Frank Castle sat on the edge of the bed, the hard lines of his face cast in shadow by the flickering television. His black t-shirt clung to him, damp from the rain outside. He’d been on the road for days, running low on sleep, but he didn’t care. There was a job to do, and he wasn’t the type to rest until it was finished. Until they were finished.

She sat at the small table by the window, her eyes scanning the black-and-white surveillance footage of their latest target. She hadn’t said much in the last few hours. Not since Frank had returned covered in blood, his knuckles raw from the beating he’d given one of the thugs who had information they needed.

"You're seeing things that aren’t there," She said, her voice cutting through the silence like a blade. Her gaze stayed fixed on the screen, but Frank knew her words were meant for him. She didn’t need to look at him to know the dark cloud in his mind was getting heavier.

Frank didn’t respond right away, his eyes trained on the floor. He clenched his fists, feeling the way his bruised knuckles strained against the skin. He could still see them—his family. Maria, the kids, their faces flashing behind his eyelids whenever he closed them, haunting him like ghosts.

She sighed, finally looking at him. "This… obsession, it’s getting worse. You’re chasing ghosts."

Frank's jaw tightened, his voice low and rough. "They’re not ghosts, Y/N."

Her expression softened, just for a second, but she didn’t let her guard down. Not with him. Not when he was in this kind of mood. "They are. They’re gone, Frank. They’re not coming back." She stood up and walked over to him, her steps deliberate. "But you’re still here. You can’t keep living like this."

Frank met her eyes, a mixture of anger and pain swirling in the depths of his gaze. "What do you know about it? You think this is just gonna go away? That one day I’ll wake up and—poof—it’s over?"

She knelt down in front of him, her hands resting lightly on his knees, forcing him to look at her. "I know what it’s like to lose someone. I know what it’s like to have their memory clawing at you, pulling you under until you don’t know which way is up anymore." Her voice was steady, but there was an underlying tremor, a hint of the past she rarely let slip through. "But you have to stop chasing after something that’s not there. You’ll drown if you don’t."

Frank stared at her, his chest tightening. He hated when she spoke the truth he didn’t want to hear, but it was the reason he trusted her. The reason he let her stick around when he should have pushed her away, like he did everyone else.

His hand reached out, almost on instinct, and he brushed a stray strand of her dark hair behind her ear. Her eyes fluttered closed for a brief moment before she caught herself, shaking her head slightly as if to shake off the feeling.

"You can’t save me," Frank murmured, his voice gravelly and worn.

"I’m not trying to save you," she replied softly. "I’m trying to make sure you don’t destroy yourself."

They stayed like that for a while—silent, the rain tapping against the window, the television buzzing faintly in the background.

Frank wasn’t sure what the hell he was doing, or what he was feeling, but for the first time in a long time, the ghosts that haunted him seemed a little further away, like they were fading into the distance.

And maybe—just maybe—he could start to believe they weren’t real.

like what you read? consider jioning my tags for more!

tags:

EVERYTHING PERM: @nekoannie-chan @kjs-s @notyourtypicalrose @mistressofallthingsgeeky

MARVEL PERM: @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @late-to-the-party-81 @capsthot @endlesstwanted @kenzieam @dis-plus-fanfic-reblog-writes

FRANK CASTLE: @hallecarey1

#frank castle x reader #frank castle x you #frank castle x y/n #the punisher

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thalialunacy · 6 months ago

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[for the @calaisreno May Prompt-a-palooza; cw for bodily functions]

(1) (2) (3) (4) 5: awkward (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (18) (19) (20) (21) (22) (23) (24) (25) (26) (27) (28) (29) (30) (31)

Sharing a home with someone, regardless of square footage or relationship, involves an unavoidable amount of intimate physical knowledge. As an army mate of John's had once said eloquently, 'Well, I know what your shit smells like, don't I?'

Those things, John is prepared for. Has got used to, even, in his once-and-future living arrangement. He's a doctor, a combat veteran, and a widowed father. He's not exactly squeamish.

And he can personally attest, on several levels, to the fact that Sherlock is not a machine. You can't share a bathroom and not learn a few things about a person.

But… it's like some switch got turned on after their 'moment' in the stairwell.

(Because no, they had not marched back upstairs and worked things out per Mrs Hudson's request. As will shock no one, they had instead gone on their stubborn ways, and are ploughing through their daily lives willy-nilly as long as they can.)

(Which is not very long.)

Things keep happening.

- John, sitting guilelessly at the table, makes to stand just as Sherlock is walking by, and ends up with his nose essentially in the armpit of Sherlock's dressing gown. Which Sherlock is still wearing. After sleeping several hours in it and old pyjamas.

- John, Rosie in his lap, snorts awake to find himself-- well, both him and his daughter-- slumped into Sherlock on the sofa, credits scrolling on the television screen while Sherlock scrolls through his phone. And, unfortunately, both John and his daughter have managed to leave sleep-warm saliva on Sherlock's person, in two round spots on his breathtakingly expensive shirt. Sherlock, who must have noticed, seems unconcerned. John wonders briefly if he's woken up in an alternate dimension, then realises they'd been watching Doctor Who and it must have seeped into his psyche.

- John, now one hundred percent accustomed to wiping his toddler's nose, is so focused on his laptop screen when he hears a sneeze that he doesn't think (at all) before pulling out a tissue and reaching over to the face of the sneezer. That it's Sherlock is only a fact he recognises a split second too late.

- John, brain uncaffeinated, yawns while reaching across Sherlock to grab something off the table, and realises with a start that it's 6am and neither of them have cleaned their teeth. He stares at the mouth so close to his, at the man whose breath is bitter, yes, but somehow not unagreeable, then jerks away gracelessly. 'I'll just--' He points his thumb over his shoulder at the loo, and escapes, face flaming.

- And finally: John, going quietly mad when Rosie gets her first real, frightening fever. His training doesn't stand a chance of overriding his lizard brain, so he spends three days ignoring absolutely all personal hygiene and never leaving his daughter's side. When it finally breaks, when John feels like he can breathe again, he notices Sherlock is there, too, beside him, quietly watching her sleep restfully for the first time in what feels like long, dusty years. And he suddenly realises he must smell like -- well, like a locker room and a crowded pub rolled around in the dirt then pissed off a skunk, probably. And Sherlock is standing next to him as if he smells like roses. This, unexpectedly, makes John's stomach broil under a surge of affection, and he feels his eyes stinging for one horrifying, sleep-deprived moment.

Soon, after so many of these things, he can't help wondering if God or whomever is taking the piss. If fate is having a good old go at John H Watson by giving him the closest, most fulfilling relationship he's ever had-- and making it with the one person who can knock him flat on his arse and keep him there.

He's tempted, more than once, to give the sky two fingers. But he has yet to get around to doing it. He's too busy, for once, actually living.

[❤️]

#mayprompts2024 #BBC Sherlock #Johnlock #Parentlock #UST #(For now)#Anybody else edit these things like 50 times after posting even though it's supposed to be a casual thing #it's gonna be MAY 2024

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hazelnut-u-out · 11 months ago

Note

Do you think about the whole Rick Prime thing? Did it kinda feel anticlimactic???

Yeeahhhhhh, but... I think that's the point!

At first, I was a little bit disappointed with how they handled the arc. I really thought Prime was going to be the Big Bad! Having the whole climax of C-137's arc with Prime as a mid-season episode felt oddly... dismissive? It was like it wasn't even a major event.

After sitting on this for a bit, I think I actually love how they've handled it. I think this is the first time I've really seen the show take something that perfectly fills a 'Television Run' format (i.e. big events at the ends of the seasons for cliffhangers, and so on) and subvert those expectations into something more like 'Real Life.' In my opinion, a lot of the show is shown as how characters involved view the events, especially in terms of tonality. That's why so much of the show fits these media formulas-- Rick views his life as a show.

I often refer to the majority of the show as 'Rick's Director's Cut' because we get events skewed from his warped perception of his own actions. (You can even think of 'Morty's Mindblowers' as Rick literally editing footage into a better story.) Of course, we see why he's sympathetic. As the viewer, we understand why he's doing what he's doing, even if we don't agree with it. He views himself as the 'sitcom dad'-- comically fucked up and abusive, but secretly caring. Rick believes that he's got just enough heart for his actions to be excusable, forgetting that the people he hides his intentions from aren't getting the 'full picture' like the viewer is. From Morty's perspective, Rick does these things for no reason-- unless you count not liking, caring about, or valuing Morty. Of course, we know that's not the case, but Morty doesn't. His family doesn't.

The Prime arc is fascinating to me because of the contrast between how Rick viewed it versus how it happened from the perspective of the viewer. Rick went into the Prime arc thinking it would be a massive, badass epic where the underdog comes out on top and the audience is satisfied with the conclusion. As the audience, this is probably the first time we haven't really been able to click with that, you know? It was unsatisfying, even for Rick, and now he's sort of saddled with, 'Oh, shit. This is real life. What comes next?'

Sure, they're little guys on our television screens. To them, though... that's real life. Real life is messy. Real life is unsatisfying. Real life is disappointing, the editing is sloppy, arcs aren't linear, and dysfunction and substance abuse aren't silly character traits.

The whole point is: What happens now?

In real life, what happens after your abusive parent passes away or you finally get revenge on the person who tore your life apart? In real life, what happens after you beat the shit out of the guy who assaulted you? Or after your dad apologizes for walking out on you?

There's actually a Malcolm in the Middle scene reminiscent of this concept. Francis was blamed by Lois from the time he was born for ruining their relationship. Throughout the entire series, his arcs deal with their broken relationship. When she finally apologizes, the pinnacle of his hopes and dreams-- the only thing keeping him alive, it doesn't help. It doesn't fix the years of psychological abuse he suffered, or the fact that he's as broken as he is because of her failure as a parent.

youtube

Another great example is in Adventure Time, when Finn thinks he's ripped Martin's arm off for causing him to lose his own. The revenge doesn't help. (Sorry, not digging for a link to the scene lmao.)

Those things aren't satisfying on their own. The fantasies and daydreams we barter through aren't feasible cures. That's real life. What happens afterward is what you do next. That can be a tough pill to swallow. There's no quick 'fix-all' for everything that's fucked you up. What helps? Hard work. Dedication. Time. Therapy. Grief. Acceptance.

Rick never really worked through the grieving process, you know?

There was Denial and Anger:

And where he got stuck... Bargaining:

After Prime's death? Depression:

Four decades later, we're finally on the cusp of Acceptance.

That's what that look into the hole was. That's what putting up Morty's picture was. That's what choosing to walk away was.

Acceptance.

In conclusion of my long-winded rant, I liked the Prime arc. Fits nicely into the season after the finality of 'Fear No Mort.'

Well done, writers.

Thanks for asking! <3

#rick and morty #rick sanchez #morty smith #unmortricken #fear no mort

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sarahowritesostucky · 4 months ago

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Art: @hopelessartgeek

📖 "Medically Necessitated" Ch 6

Rated: Explicit Pairing: Bucky x Steve Tags: a/b/o, age gap, past rape, rape recovery, trauma recovery, pregnancy, medical trauma, hurt/comfort, mentions of CSA, religious fundamentalism, first time, gender dysphoria, male omegas having all the bits (peen & vagine) Summary: After a medical emergency brings him into the ER, Bucky escapes the religious cult he's been raised in. It's up to Steve, nurse practitioner and omega sex & repro specialist, to see him through a medically supervised heat.

Wait! I haven't read an earlier chapter! Story masterlist

5. Fatimah

After their time in the heat suite, Bucky and Steve have to confront the painful reality of their situation after a mistake is made.

When Steve gets back to the suite … it’s not good.

The room stinks of unhappy omega, first off. Steve’s wrinkling his nose before he even lands eyes on Bucky.

Bucky, who is sitting naked in the middle of the still not-fixed nest, stone faced and with dried tear tracks visible on his cheeks. He’s staring at the tv. Steve’s stomach immediately twists in concern and he hurries forward to the bed. “Bucky, what’s wrong? What happened?”

Bucky’s jaw clenches and his eyes flick to Steve for a second, angry, before they return to the tv. “Just giving myself a reality check,” he mutters.

Steve is painfully confused. Then he spots the tablet lying on the bed. His sense of dread increases. “... Bucky,” he says softly, reaching to pick the tablet up.

It’s off of the lock screen, opened to several tabs of messaging and care plans. One is Bucky’s, but there are also some from previous patients who checked into the suite. Steve spots the requisition forms from the last ace patient. There’s a picture of the breeding bench. Another patient file is from one of Odinson’s cases, where the omega had wound up needing to be committed down in psych inpatient.

Blinking, Steve closes out the tabs of confidential patient information, no clue how Bucky could’ve accessed them. The last tab open is Steve’s own discussions back and forth with the other staff about Bucky’s care. The newest message is only about 10 minutes old, having arrived while Steve was still down in the conference room. It’s an automated send from Labcorp that makes Steve’s heart stop in his chest.

Rapid Urinalysis Report: [HCG].....................pos.+ [omGestrin].............pos.+

*Sample submitted for long test confirmation

Oh fuck.

“Honey,” Steve breathes, not looking up from the messages on the tablet. Shit. Does Bucky know what the test results mean? “Honey, how did you open this? There’s a password.”

Bucky scoffs quietly, still staring at the tv. “I know tech. That stuff’s a joke.”

There’s something playing on the TV on low volume. When Steve glances over his shoulder, he finally processes what it is. His eyes widen as he sees a shot panning across the sterile interior of a facility: rows of naked bodies, all in various stages of pregnancy or else being impregnated, strapped to medical furniture and equipment. The footage is in color, but old. Maybe from the seventies. It would have to be, because it’s depicting an omega breeding facility. And not some cheesy imitation from a porno—a real one.

Steve’s stomach nearly turns. “What the fuck?” It’s being played from a website, not cable or one of the hospital’s streaming services. Steve doesn’t even have the wherewithal to be impressed that Bucky could figure out how to bypass the television’s settings like that, because he's too busy starting up a low, unhappy growl. It rolls upwards and sticks in the back of his throat, showcasing his disgust at the horrible images on the screen. “Bucky, turn that off.”

Bucky doesn’t even acknowledge that he’s heard him. He just keeps glaring up at the tv.

In the film, the narrator speaks calmly even as someone in the footage moans out in distress, and Steve makes the mistake of looking back at the tv screen. “Jesus Christ,” he hisses, mad. The format of the film appears to be educational, though the imagery is lurid and borderline pornographic. Steve is hit with an unpleasant memory of the first time he’d been shown such a video in grad school. Jerking his eyes away from the TV, he growls again and Voices, “I said: turn it off.”

Bucky’s whole body gets tense, his eyes flicking to the remote control in the sheets. His jaw clenches as he fights to not obey the command, and then he shoves up from the bed, still stark naked, and stalks into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

Grinding his teeth, Steve grabs the remote himself and hurriedly turns the television off. “Fuck.” He runs his hands through his hair and fumes. “Fuck!” he hisses louder, jerking in anger at the situation. And of course his stupid dick is reacting, chubbed up under his scrubs from the brief sight of something perverted and wrong, something he’s got no right to find arousing. Humiliated by his own body’s reaction, he reaches into his pants and gives his balls a cruel yank, effectively killing the problem. Sighing, he goes to stand outside the bathroom door. “Bucky?” The door doesn’t lock for safety reasons, but Steve decides that he should try to be patient and give Bucky some agency here. He knocks lightly. “Honey, can you please come out? I’m not mad at you, I promise. I’m sorry I cursed.”

“No.”

He takes a deep breath, then closes his eyes as he tries to speak calmly. “Look, I know you’re upset, okay? I promise if you come out, I won’t touch you. I won’t even come in the nest. I’ll sit on the chair and you can have the bed all to yourself while we talk.” He waits for a few long seconds but gets no response. “Buck?”

“Was it part of the treatment?” Bucky says, voice muffled from the other side of the door. “Tell me the truth. Did you do it on purpose?”

Steve frowns. “Do what on purpose?”

Bucky’s silent for a long time. Eventually, voice barely loud enough for Steve to make out, he says, “Get me pregnant.”

Steve’s stomach drops out. So Bucky does know what the test results mean, and he’s clearly gone and done some research with good old ‘Dr. Google’. “No,” Steve says emphatically, guilt sweeping over him at the situation and how Bucky’s had to find out about it, and the horrible conclusions he’s making now. Steve puts his hand up flat against the door, as if he can touch Bucky that way. “No way, Bucky. That’s not ... No. We don’t do that here.”

Another long beat of silence, and then Bucky’s voice comes through much clearer. He’s moved closer, must be standing right on the other side of the door now. “I googled it,” he says. “It’s a thing. Other hospitals do it. They call it TPOT: therapeutic preg—”

“Therapeutic Pregnancy with Optional Termination,” Steve says, cutting him off. “Yeah, I know. We don’t do that here. And breeding facilit—I mean, erm, treatment institutions like that video was showing don’t exist anymore.” He takes a chance and pushes the door open the barest bit, and is met with Bucky’s pinched face looking at him through the crack. “Please come out and talk to me?” he pleads. “I’ll answer whatever questions you have. I promise.”

Reluctantly, Bucky agrees. Steve backs up and goes to put the tv remote and the tablet away while he hears Bucky padding back across the floor and climbing into the bed. When he turns back around, Bucky’s pulled a bunch of the blankets around himself protectively. Steve smiles sadly. “Thank you for trusting me enough to come out, Bucky.”

Bucky makes a face and avoids eye contact. “So you weren’t trying to get me pregnant?”

Steve winces. “No. In fact I’m on birth control myself. It’s hospital policy for all Alpha Supports. And … so is the routine pregnancy testing,” he says, trying to be delicate about it. Bucky just sits there with an upset expression on his face. “We’ll take care of it, of course," Steve promises. "It’s only been a couple of days, a week and a half at most."

“At most …” Bucky echoes confusedly. "But we've only been in here for two—" He cuts off with a look of dawning horror. “Oh. Oh god, no. You mean it’s not you? It could be from them? From the … the rape?” He nearly chokes on that last word, a terrified little sound that barely gets past his vocal cords.

It leaves Steve feeling utterly powerless. “It … could be, yeah,” he admits. He can’t very well lie to Bucky now, even though he wishes he could spare him this. The poor kid is starting to look green around the gills, and so Steve hurriedly adds, “But I promise you, Honey, it is so easy to take care of at this stage. Just two little pills. It’ll be like getting your period. You’ll hardly feel a thing.”

“What?” Bucky’s face crumples and he keens in distress. “I’ve never had a period Steve!”

Fuck, Steve thinks. He’s so fucking dumb and he’s only making this situation worse with every sentence that comes out of his mouth. He can feel Bucky’s distress through the bond and it is honestly killing him to not be touching him right now. “Bucky, baby, I’m sorry. I didn’t think. I wasn’t trying to upset you. Please, can I come over there? Please?” He toes off the uncomfortable Keds and reaches for the hem of his scrub top like he’ll pull it off. “Buck?”

Bucky sniffles and nods, his head tucked down in shame. Steve doesn’t waste any time in shedding his clothes and crawling into the nest to pull the omega into his arms. He holds him tightly and rocks him, hushing sweet sounds and words against his skin. “Shh sh sh. It’s okay. Everything’s gonna be okay, Sweetheart. I know it’s scary. We’re gonna fix it. I’m here. Alpha’s gonna take care of you.”

Bucky all but collapses into him, clinging and crying against his chest and whimpering needy little omega sounds. Steve soothes him until it passes, and then they both sink down to lie together on the bed. He uses a hand at Bucky’s lower back to hoist him in firmly against his body, slotting one thigh between Bucky’s. They lie together like that for a while, both of their heartbeats slowing as they reconnect through touch and scent, calming themselves down with each other. “Feel a little better?” Steve asks gently, after a long time has passed.

Bucky hums noncommittally. “No. … Yeah.” His eyes flick up to Steve’s face. “Are you mad at me?”

“Mad?” Steve scoffs at the absurdity of it. “Why would I be mad?”

“I dunno,” Bucky mumbles. “I snuck around while you were gone. Hacked the passwords.”

Steve tuts and yanks Bucky in harder against him, kissing the top of his head. “No, I’m not mad,” he says, making sure that Bucky can hear in his tone how stupid he thinks that idea is. “I just hate to see you hurting,” he says. “And watching that garbage on the tv? God.”

Bucky squirms a little in his arms, testing his dominance. So Steve squeezes him more forcefully and doesn’t back down, and it makes Bucky shiver in pleasure and fall into it. “...Okay,” he says quietly, body going lax again in submission.

Steve kisses the top of his head and rests his chin there. “You want to talk about it?”

Bucky shrugs. “What’s there to talk about?”

“A lot,” Steve scolds.

“Well. First I looked at the tablet. Cause it ‘dinged’. I saw the test results, then the messages between you and the other doctors.” Bucky sighs heavily. “And then I googled some stuff and I … just kind of went down the YouTube rabbit hole.”

Steve sighs unhappily. “Bucky … that video … You know that was old, right? That’s not something that happens anymore.” When he’s met by pure silence on Bucky’s part, he realizes that this isn’t something Bucky knew. “Honey,” he coos sadly. “No. Omegas aren’t treated like that anymore. You have rights. Hell, TPOT isn’t even used in a lot of places anymore. We have other ways now.” He kisses the top of Bucky’s head. “It’s illegal to do any of that to an omega patient without their consent,” he whispers. “Tell me you understand, please.”

Bucky shivers in his arms, but he nods. “I believe you. I understand.”

“Good boy.”

He presses his face into the juncture of Steve’s neck, mouthing over his glands. “Steve, I want to know,” he pleads. “I want to know if it’s yours.”

“Mine?” Steve tenses as he realizes that Bucky means the pregnancy. “Oh, Buck. You don’t need to know. It doesn’t matter.”

“What? Of course it matters!” Bucky whines and scrapes his teeth over Steve’s bond mark. “If it’s not yours, then … then that means it’s …” he stammers, getting choked up. “I don’t want it to be them,” he finally whispers. “Please, I need it to not be from them.”

Steve hugs him tightly and shushes him. “Shh, Honey. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t. Either way, you didn’t ask for this. You don’t have to worry. We’ll take care of it, I promise.” Bucky gets quiet after that, the tension in his body making it pretty clear to Steve that he’s still thinking about it. “Hey,” Steve says quietly, wanting to get Bucky’s mind off of it, “So, I just had a meeting with some people from your, uh, home.” Bucky pulls back and looks him in the face at this information, and Steve nods. “A man named Russel?”

Bucky’s doesn’t look the least bit surprised. “‘Course.”

“Is he your father?”

“He’s everybody’s father,” Bucky says dully. “I don’t know who my real parents are.”

Steve frowns, remembering the concern he’d seen in the woman named Rebecca's eyes—eyes that'd looked a lot like Bucky's. Her concern had seemed genuine. He decides not to bring it up to Bucky now. “I read a little bit about your family, about The Children.”

“Are you gonna let them take me back?” Bucky asks, worried. “I don’t want to go back. I’ll be in so much trouble.”

“No,” Steve says firmly. “OmCare has custody of you now, remember? You’re safe. There’s no way they’ll be allowed to take you back, not with the way they treated you.” Some of the tension leaves Bucky’s body at that promise, and Steve strokes up and down his back soothingly. “Everything’s going to be okay, Buck.”

Bucky relaxes somewhat at the reassurance. “And what about my, um …” He touches his stomach in a heartbreakingly vulnerable gesture. “Can they find out if it’s from you or … or them?”

“You tested negative when they admitted you from the E.R. It could’ve been a false negative, but it’s unlikely. You had an IUD at the time, and we gave you emergency contraceptives that night.”

“Oh. Right.”

“Yeah, so. It probably is mine. I’m sorry.”

“Why didn’t you use a condom?”

Steve flushes in embarrassment. “Condoms don’t really work so well for alphas. And medically speaking, well ... you needed to be exposed to my semen.”

“Oh.”

“But I’m on the shot!” he insists, rushing to explain himself even though he knows it's not his fault. “It’s ninety-eight percent effective in preventing pregnancy.”

“Ninety-eight,” Bucky echoes, and Steve’s heart aches.

Bucky’s so young, dealing with so much trauma, and now Steve’s gone and compounded the situation by impregnating him. “I’m sorry this happened,” he says, pulling him in close. “I know it’s the last thing you wanted to deal with right now.”

Bucky gets quiet, rubbing his face against Steve’s chest and appearing to be thinking about it. “I’m pregnant,” he eventually whispers, sounding baffled at the idea. He worms one hand down between their bodies, touching his belly. “It’s yours.”

Guilt sweeps through Steve and he kisses the top of Bucky’s head. “They’ll give you some medication for it. It’ll be okay.”

“Okay,” Bucky says, still sounding dazed. Then his stomach lets out a loud grumble, surprising them both. “Oh.”

Steve chuckles and gives him a squeeze. “You hungry?”

“Starving.”

Bucky’s behavior shifts as the evening progresses. Steve notices slight changes, like how the nest suddenly becomes more important to him. He sends Steve to go get more soft things from the storage room, and won’t let Steve be involved with arranging one bit of it.

Steve is also ordered to spray more of his scent around the bed, and Bucky nearly bites the head off of the woman who slides their dinner trays into the room for them. Steve snickers at the possessive reaction and calms him down by agreeing to hand feed Bucky his meal in the comfort of their nest.

There are other tells, like how he gets lethargic and wants to stay close to Steve at all times, how his sexual urges grow less urgent, and his cravings for skin contact and scent marking take precedence. How he starts purring and going sloe eyed every time Steve takes care of him in any way.

Steve recognizes it for what it is. Bucky’s slipping from heat and into the symptoms of early gestation. Omegas are especially prone to very early behavioral changes like this, so it shouldn’t be a surprise. Steve feels so guilty, not only because he’s technically the one responsible for the situation, but also because a part of him secretly enjoys it. And he knows how messed up that is.

He makes sure to send Banner an update via the tablet and puts in a request for the appropriate medications for termination. Bucky will need to take them within the next few days, though they haven’t discussed specifics yet. Steve doesn’t know if Bucky will want to do it with him around. Some omegas can’t, their natural drive to protect offspring too overwhelming when the alpha who impregnated them is nearby. And besides, it’s still a delicate topic. Bucky didn’t consent to becoming pregnant, and he might not want to be forced to think about the necessary next steps right now. His behavior over the past few hours seems to suggest that he’d rather not.

He keeps referring to Steve by his designation rather than his name, and Steve slowly starts to answer back to it in kind. If what Bucky needs is to remain in the moment and simply enjoy the intimacy of being bred, then Steve’s happy to do that with him. As his Support, he’s obliged to.

So they cuddle all that evening and into the night, and Bucky’s need does return, albeit with a different tone than before. There’s less desperation to it and more of a lazy sort of growing arousal, smoldering coals instead of a raging fire, Bucky’s scent changing from one of pure heat to that of a bred omega seeking pleasure. His hormones are no doubt raging, making him feel instinctively pleased at having the alpha he’s bonded to with him, providing for him and holding him close. Steve selfishly enjoys it, not wanting to take away anything that might be adding to Bucky’s comfort right now. It’s Bucky who eventually takes it further, quietly asking Steve to touch him in the middle of them watching a movie. Steve is happy to oblige, pulling the omega to sit between his legs and lie back against him so that he can reach around and lazily fondle him.

For the first time, he explores touching Bucky’s chest, running his hands gently all over his pecs at first, and then honing in on his breast buds with light strokes of his fingertips. “This feel good?” he asks, nosing against Bucky’s neck and watching what he’s doing from over the boy’s shoulder. The sight of his own large hands touching such a delicate, intimate part of Bucky’s body makes Steve's dick throb where it’s trapped between them. “Buck?” he prods gently. “You like it when I touch you here?”

“Y-yeah.” Bucky’s breathing is shaky, his hands digging into the tops of Steve’s naked thighs on either side of him as he unconsciously presses into the touch. “Mm, it’s—oh—it’s sensitive.”

“Mm hm.” Steve thumbs lightly over each of Bucky’s nipples, opening his mouth to suck wetly at the tender skin of his glands.

Bucky moans at the dual stimulation, jerking in Steve’s lap and crying out helplessly, “Oh!”

Steve hums against his neck and draws all his fingers together, pressing against the little peaks of Bucky’s breast tissue. There isn’t much there now, just enough to play with, the area around the nipple engorged from the hormones of his heat and now from his budding pregnancy. Steve tries not to feel too guilty for enjoying it, for selfishly imagining the little swells growing full with milk for their pups. He doesn’t know how Bucky feels about this part of his body, whether or not he carries shame about it, but he takes a chance and murmurs a heated, “So pretty here, Buck,” against his skin, plucking repeatedly at the little peaks. “Love touching ‘em.”

Bucky makes a high, inelegant sound, and a second later the scent of fresh slick is flooding the air. It makes Steve groan, his hips rolling against Bucky’s back. “Yeah?” he purrs, trailing one hand down between Bucky’s legs and scooping up the evidence of his arousal. “You like that?” He brings his wet fingers back up and rubs the slick around each of Bucky’s nipples, sensitizing them further to the air. He captures the tightened buds rolls them hard between his fingers. “That?”

“Oh, god,” Bucky whimpers. “Steve…” He pushes his chest out into the touch, his own hands flying up to cover where Steve is fondling him. “Please,”

“Pretty little titties,” Steve growls, losing control of himself just the barest bit in that one selfish, dirty comment.

Bucky's breath hitches in a sob, and then he’s tearing away, pulling out of Steve’s arms and scrambling to turn around. He straddles Steve’s lap gracelessly and falls forward against him, kissing him messily and rubbing himself against him. “Alpha,” he begs between kisses. “Please, touch me, please.”

If Steve wasn’t rock hard before, he is now, with Bucky rubbing his little prick against his abs and dragging the lips of his dripping sex over his cock. “Fuck,” he grunts, hands falling into place on Bucky’s hips to try and control him. “Fuck, Honey.”

“Steve, please, please.” Bucky’s still kissing him and rubbing all over his face, his beard, breathing heavier the more worked up he gets. “Oh, please, mmm.”

Steve’s fingers dig into the fat of Bucky’s hips, pulling him down to grind their bodies even harder together. Fuck, his wet cunt feels so good sliding over his dick like that. “Yeah?” he says, his voice roughened from constrained arousal. “What do you want, Honey? Tell me.”

Bucky whimpers and rocks harder in his lap. “Please,” he keeps whining, their soaked crotches gliding together. “Inside, please. Breed me. Want it.”

Steve growls and fights not to lose control at such sweet begging. He desperately wants to flip them over, pin Bucky to the bed and fuck him mercilessly. “Show me,” he says. “Show me how you want it, Omega.”

Bucky whimpers helplessly and continues to squirm for a minute, but then he seems to work up the strength to move and nearly throws himself off of Steve, going ass up and face down in the sheets, presenting himself. “Please, like this,” he begs again. “Alpha, please, please …”

Just as Steve locks eyes on the swell of Bucky's cunt, it pulses and pushes out a wave of fresh slick. He curses and scrambles to get on his knees behind him, forcing Bucky’s legs wider with his own and bending over him to cover him with his bulk. He locks teeth at the base of Bucky’s neck and humps forward at the desperate whine he gets for it. “Want me inside you, Omega?” he growls, instinct already moving his hips, trying to line his cock up. “Hm?”

The tip catches at Bucky’s rim and he gasps and cries out in relief as he’s filled. “Oh, Alpha—”

“That’s it,” Steve grits out, nearly losing it at the overwhelming pleasure of being inside him again. “Fuck, Bucky. Oh, fuck.” He rests his forehead between Bucky’s shoulder blades and grabs at his hips, swallowing heavily as he tries to regain his composure. “You feel so good Sweetheart.”

Bucky sobs and pushes back hard against where Steve is buried inside him. “Please, please, Alpha, please! Need it, need it. Please, Breed me.”

Steve growls at hearing those words again, his knot throbbing near painfully as it comes to life. He feels himself losing more of his control, primal instincts turned into overdrive at Bucky’s behavior, at his scent, at what he’s just said to Steve. “Bucky,” he grunts, if only to stop himself from uttering something filthy back to the omega in response. He pulls back and fucks hard into his heat. “Shit."

Bucky sobs and presses into it, saying needy, desperate things into the bedsheets that make Steve’s knot grow too fast and his balls throb with the need to release. Bucky’s whining cries just get more desperate and less coherent as he begs for Steve’s knot, for his cum, his babies; begs to be bred up and mated and owned. It gets to the very core of Steve in a way that he knows he shouldn’t encourage, but that he can’t help but respond to. He keeps his hands at Bucky’s hips to pull him back into every thrust, growling possessively, fucking him sloppy and hard and making him sob in pleasure as Steve’s swelling knot forces its way in and out of his pussy again and again.

When Bucky starts to orgasm for the first time, he grabs Steve’s wrist and yanks, probably trying to get his hand on his little cock while he comes. But Steve’s hand winds up sliding around onto the curve of his lower belly and holding him there instead. Bucky keeps coming and sobbing in pleasure and cradling Steve's hand there against him.

And Steve just loses it. He growls and hauls him in with the hand at his belly, fucking him harder, pushing his other hand into the back of Bucky’s neck to force him further down into the sheets. Bucky goes pliant as a rag doll beneath him and lets it happen, and the next thing Steve knows he’s popping his knot and coming. He rides it out, falling down onto Bucky, flattening him against the sheets, hips rutting mindlessly against his ass as he humps his spend deep inside.

Bucky comes at least once more while he's lost to it, and then again when Steve has recovered and turned them onto their sides. He rocks them, using their tie to tug and pull against Bucky’s cunt, stimulating him gently. “You want another?” he asks, touching Bucky’s chest with teasing plucks each time he rolls his hips.

“Please,” Bucky moans, too blissed out and satisfied to sob for it anymore. If he realizes the things he’s said in the heat of the moment, he doesn’t seem to care. His hand covers Steve’s where it rests on his belly and he purrs happily. “Mm.”

Steve’s heart clenches. “Honey.”

“Feels so good, Alpha. Please, make me cum again.”

He swallows heavily and digs his nose into Bucky’s neck. “Okay Buck,” he breathes, inhaling the ripeness of their combined scents, reminding himself that there’s no shame in enjoying this. If Bucky’s finding pleasure in it—and he clearly is—then Steve can indulge too. It’s only natural, after all. Breeding an omega up is one of the most intimate things an alpha like Steve can ever experience. There’s no greater honor than satisfying the needs of someone whom he’s bonded and bred. He should be thankful that Bucky wants to experience this with him now.

He lets Bucky’s hand curl over the back of his own, the both of them holding him over the swell of his lower belly. Steve makes sure to let his lowest two fingers trail below, touching over Bucky’s cockhead. He fucks his knot in him softly while moving those fingers, and Bucky’s breathing starts to pick up again as he gets close. “So easy,” Steve murmurs into his ear. “So good for me, Omega.”

“Steve,” Bucky moans, sounding lazy, happy, and pleasured. “Mm, that’s ... ohyeah"

Steve hums and untangles their fingers to get full use of his hand. “Here. Let me go, Honey. Let Alpha rub on your clit.”

Bucky cries out sharply at the words, then gasps at the firm press of Steve’s thumb rubbing underneath his wet little cockhead. “Oh!” He slaps his hand over the back of Steve’s again and Steve grunts in satisfaction. He really, really likes the way that Bucky tends to grab onto his hands when he’s feeling pleasure.

“Right there?” he purrs, moving his hips just so to have his knot tugging on the most sensitive spots inside. “That how you need it?”

Bucky keens and nods, humping desperately between Steve’s knot behind and his hand in front. “S-steve,” he gasps, gripping Steve’s wrist as he continues to pleasure him. “Oh, oh, m’close.”

Steve growls and nips at his bondmark, tries to wedge his other arm further underneath so he can get to Bucky’s chest. He plucks at his nipples with one hand and keeps working his cock with the other. “Good boy. Wanna feel you cum on my knot, Sweetheart. You gonna do that for me? Hm? Gonna give Alpha one more?”

Bucky sobs and nods, his body rippling in pleasure as he starts to climax. The way his cunt contracts rhythmically down on Steve’s knot feels almost as good to him as getting to have another orgasm. Steve groans lowly and gives into the base urge to rut him through it, tugging against their tie and undoubtedly prolonging Bucky's orgasm. “Shh,” he soothes him through it. “Shh. I know. I know it feels good.”

Eventually, Bucky quiets down, and Steve’s hands settle in at his chest and belly to hold him close. Steve can still feel his balls pulsing weakly every once and awhile, body still releasing even though the pleasure of the orgasm is long over for him. After an undetermined length of time, his knot begins to go down and he softens and slips from Bucky’s body.

Bucky whimpers, pressing his bottom back needily. A lot of Steve’s cum has run out of him and he’s rubbing their combined fluids between his ass and Steve’s groin and belly, not wanting to let it go. “Alpha,” he whimpers sleepily, fitful.

Steve growls and holds him tightly. “Shh, it’s okay, Buck. I’m here. I’m right here.” He slips his hand through the mess of Bucky’s cunt and brings it up to grip his neck forcefully, smearing cum over his bonding glands and giving him a reassuring squeeze. “It’s still inside you,” he promises. “You’re all bred up, Honey. I’m right here.”

Bucky moans and goes plaint in his arms again as Steve continues to rub his cum into his skin, the scent clearly reaching Bucky and making him relax. “Alpha,” he whispers. He’s started purring, just a little. He sounds exhausted but at peace. “Alpha, mmm, stay.”

Steve rumbles deep in his chest, answering the purr. “That’s right Honey. Alpha’s got you. Not gonna let you go. Just go to sleep now, Buck. You’re safe.” He forces his thigh between Bucky’s legs and leans into him, so that they’re angled towards their fronts, Steve half covering Bucky’s body with his own.

Bucky is quick to drop off into sleep, and though Steve has vague plans about getting up and checking a few things before bed, he too winds up drifting off before long.

By the next day, it’s abundantly clear that Bucky’s heat is over. They take a bath together and then get dressed, Steve having explained that they’ll check out of the heat suite before the evening shift change. It’s while they’re eating lunch together that Bucky says, “I didn’t know it would end so suddenly.” He sounds equal parts relieved and disappointed. “I thought heats were like, a week long or something.”

“They can be.” Steve gently explains that it’s because of the pregnancy, that Bucky’s body is sending signals that it doesn’t need to have sex anymore. He asks if Bucky feels okay about the sex they had last night. “I know it was very, um … instinctual,” he says carefully. “Very intimate. Are you okay now?”

On the surface, Bucky doesn’t seem distressed. He just gets quiet and holds onto Steve, which isn’t unusual. Omega patients tend to be clingy at the end of their cycles, especially when there’s a bond involved. “I’m okay,” Bucky says. “I think I needed it to be like that. Otherwise I would’ve just felt …” he trails off, then shakes his head. “I dunno. Scared, I guess. I needed to be reassured that I had you.”

Steve feels awful. He pulls Bucky in for a big hug, and the omega goes willingly. “Don’t be scared, Honey. We’re going to take care of it.”

“Thank you for helping me,” Bucky says. “When you bit me I didn’t know what to expect. But I’m glad it was you. This whole time, I don’t know what I would’ve done if it wasn’t you.”

Steve coos and says of course, holding him close and scenting him comfortingly until a nurse buzzes in through the intercom and tells them they’re cleared to leave the suite whenever they’re ready. It’s sad and feels rather anticlimactic, but that’s typical. It’s hard to say goodbye to any partner after Supporting them through a heat, and Bucky’s case is even more so.

Steve helps Bucky to get settled back in his room and says goodbye once his shift is over. He’s already told Bucky that he’ll be spending much of the next few days interacting with OmCare and his therapists.

“But when will I see you again?” Bucky asks, looking at Steve plaintively from his hospital bed.

Steve winces and smiles from the doorway. “I work the day after tomorrow, so we’ll see each other then. Dr. Banner is still your attending now. He should be in tomorrow morning to go over your care plan with you.”

“Oh.” Bucky seems a bit dazed and a bit lost. He keeps looking to Steve, as if the alpha hasn’t yet told him something he’s supposed to. He’s clearly anxious about Steve leaving his sight.

Steve tries to reassure him as best he can, knowing that Bucky’s clingy behavior is a holdover from their days spent locked together in the heat suite. It’s going to take them both a minute to get reacclimated to real life again, being around other people. Steve forces himself to escape quickly after that, leaving Bucky’s room despite what his body and instincts are screaming at him to do, which is to stay with Bucky and keep his pregnant bondmate satisfied. It’s just another urge to be fought, Steve knows. Bucky’s not really his mate and he’s not really pregnant. Or at least, he won’t be for much longer.

Steve changes back to his street clothes and clocks out at the nurse’s station, feeling depressed about it all. He stops by the pharmacy to make sure that there’s an Ativan prescription in the works for him, and the tech on duty checks the computer system to confirm that he’s cleared for leave whenever his detox symptoms hit.

It feels weird, going back to his apartment where Bucky isn’t. Steve does some laundry and turns the television on for background noise, notices that his phone is missing and has a tantrum as he realizes that means it’s probably back at the hospital. Fuck.

He stomps downstairs to take the trash out, in some-kind-of-mood about his phone, when he runs into the single father from 4B by the mailboxes. The poor guy is struggling to carry his groceries, his mail, and his conked out two year old all at once, and so of course Steve hurries over to help, holding out his arms helpfully to try and take the grocery bags. Instead he winds up with the two year old plunked against his chest, her unconscious face lolling over his shoulder. Steve wraps his arms around her rather than drop her. “Um, okay.”

“Thanks,” 4B says, looking tired but grateful. “She gets heavier all the time.”

Steve smiles awkwardly and nods. They make their way up the stairs and 4B unlocks the unit door. When Steve’s forced to actually step inside the apartment to set the baby down on the sofa, he’s then faced with 4B at the door on the way back out, smiling at him. “That was great, thanks,” he says. And Steve gets the distinct feeling that he’s about to be asked to stay for coffee or something, but then the guy’s eyes land on Steve’s neck. “Oh,” he says, looking disappointed and like he’s trying not to be. “I didn’t know you were involved with anybody.”

For a second, Steve’s clueless, and then he colors and reaches up instinctively for his newly-marked bonding glands. “Oh,” he says, touching it briefly before forcing his hand away. “Right. Well, that’s…” he trails off from what he was going to say and just nods as he inches out the door. “Right. Yeah. Well, glad to help. See you around.”

4B nods and closes the door, and Steve breathes a huge sigh of relief, then of disappointment at himself. “Great,” he mumbles, very not sure about how he feels about having just used his eighteen year old patient as an excuse for a mate. He groans and heads back towards his own apartment, pretty sure that this bond withdrawal is going to suck worse than ones past.

He got too mixed up this time, he thinks throughout the rest of the evening, his hand migrating to his neck more times than he can count. He’d played around with his feelings for Bucky too much, lost too much control around him from the very beginning. And worst of all, he’d gotten him pregnant, then gone and indulged in it as if they were a real couple. Stupid.

He finds himself obnoxiously hard throughout most of the evening, and winds up jerking off to the thought of Bucky despite the fact that it’s wrong, just to get some relief and finally be able to fall asleep.

He has the next day off, and even though he's already realized that he left his phone at the hospital last night, he continues to ignore the problem because he subconsciously doesn’t want to have to go back to the hospital and face being around Bucky.

Bucky, who’s probably being given his abortion drugs and psychotherapy, preparing for a comfortable withdrawal on Steve’s pheromone detox kit and to soon be sent off to his new foster home. All of which makes Steve heartsick to think of.

It’s a temporary feeling, he reminds himself. Likely part of the bond breaking down already and just making him uncomfortable. He’ll go in for his shift tomorrow and see how he feels, he decides. He can take off time whenever the symptoms start to become too much. In anticipation of this, he spends most of that morning tidying the apartment and doing laundry, thinking about Bucky as he keeps trying not to think about Bucky. When he goes to the store for a grocery run, he buys several pints of ice cream that he knows he’ll be binge eating during his upcoming days spent detoxing on Ativan and All My Children.

By late afternoon he’s got nothing left to do but go to the gym and work out his feelings on the punching bags, then he exhausts himself with a run. When he gets home he barely has the energy left to shower and towel off before he nose dives into his mattress and sleeps for thirteen hours straight.

Steve arrives for his shift the next morning, caffeinated but already feeling the uncomfortable pull beneath his skin that hints of the detox to come. A quick shower in the staff locker room and then he’s clocking in at the nurse’s desk and looking over notes for his current patients. Bucky is no longer on his patient list.

401’s still refusing the hysterectomy she needs, so he heads over to her room and pulls up a chair to try once more to talk some sense into her. As soon as the woman sees him, she’s turning her head away and asking for a beta nurse. She’s said before how she’s uncomfortable being alone with an alpha. “Will you call my husband back please?” she asks him, head turned completely away. “I can’t be alone with you.”

Steve has tried with all his might to be culturally sensitive, but he’s short of patience at this point. “No, you don’t need him here to be able speak with your physician. Now Fatimah, look at me,” he orders quietly, waiting until the woman turns her head back in his direction. She keeps her eyes firmly lowered. Steve sighs. “I wanted to speak to you alone,” he says, “because I know he’s pressuring you not to have the surgery.”

Her lip trembles but she shakes her head. “No. That’s not true. I don’t want it.”

Steve leans forward in his chair. “You’re going to die if you don’t have it.”

“You don’t know that. You are not God.”

Steve takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Fatimah. There are more important things than having children.”

“No,” she says. “Not in our culture. I told you.”

Steve knows very well what she told him, just like he knows her husband has been threatening her with divorce if she consents to a hysterectomy, just like he knows that someone once excised and infibulated her genitals to ensure that she’d never feel a shred of sexual pleasure for the rest of her life. Steve was patient and tolerant about it all before, but that was before he spent seventy two hours in a heat suite bonded with Bucky, before he overextended his emotions, and before he was facing a very uncomfortable upcoming detox. He’s currently all out of patience for and tolerance of horrible things today.

“Fatimah,” he tells the woman in front of him sternly. “You are going to die without the operation. Your body will develop septic shock, and then you will die. We need to remove your uterus. If we don’t, you'll die from infection within the next week. Do you understand me?” He waits, seeing the distress grow on her face as she agonizes over the choice and his cruelly blunt words.

“But … my husband,” she says.

“The hospital has social workers who can help you,” Steve promises. “If worst comes to worst and he really abandons you, OmCare can help you. The important thing is that you’ll live, Fatimah.” Steve is leaning heavily forward as he implores her. If it were any other patient, he’d have reached out to touch the bed or her hand by now, but he holds back at the last second, remembering Fatimah’s modesty requirements. When he can see on her face that she’s reconsidering, he stands up decisively and nods like that settles it. “Good,” he says, turning for the door. “I’ll have the surgeon schedule it for this afternoon. They’ll come and get you ready.” He lingers a few seconds at the doorway, waiting for her to call out and refuse, but she doesn’t say a word, only cries.

Crying he can live with.

Steve has just finished patient rounds when he decides he’d better go try and find his phone. It has multiple missed texts and calls when he finally finds it, plugged in and charging at the nurses’ station. “Crap,” he mutters, keying in the passcode.

“Do you not check your email?!”

Steve looks up at where Clint is approaching from down the hallway, Banner at his side. Steve’s mouth hangs open like a dummy for a full five seconds. “Um …”

“He left his phone here overnight,” Sharon says flatly as she passes by from the other direction. She’s pushing the meds cart around from room to room and she nods at Steve. “I charged it for you. You’re welcome.” She pushes into the next patient’s room, gone from sight.

“Sorry,” Steve says at Clint, unsure what he’s apologizing for but certain he’s about to find out. Banner looks highly unimpressed when he and Clint come to a stop in front of him. “We’ve been trying to get a hold of you,” he says.

Steve glances down to his phone and the—yikes—thirty-seven missed texts, calls and voicemails he has. “What happened?” he asks, dread already filling the pit of his stomach. “Bucky?”

“He’s been refusing treatment,” Clint says.

“Refusing how?”

“He won’t terminate, for one,” Banner says grimly. “And now he’s refusing detox. He keeps asking for you. The therapists are working with him but it’s slow going.”

“Slow going?” Steve repeats, confused. “I don’t understand. What’s the problem?”

Banner shakes his head and leaves it to Clint to cringe and explain, “It seems he didn’t understand about the … temporary nature, of your relationship.”

“What.” Steve blinks. “No. No I explained it to him. He knows what a Support is.”

Clint looks physically pained as he has to clarify, “No, not the Support part of it. He understood that much at least.”

“Well what then?” Steve huffs, impatient and frankly growing concerned at how nervous Clint is acting.

“The bond,” Clint says. “He didn’t know it wasn’t permanent. He didn’t understand that you two weren’t going to be, well, mates.”

Steve freezes in place, feeling horrified as those words sink in. “What?” he asks, shocked. “No. He … he must’ve known. I explained what a Support was. He didn’t think it was real?”

Clint shakes his head sadly. “The poor kid was raised in a cult. He knew you were just there as a heat Support, but apparently he thought it changed things once you two bit each other.”

“Oh god.”

“He didn’t have the real world experience to know any better. He’d always been taught that bonds were permanent.”

“Shit.” Steve is rapidly starting to feel like a piece of human garbage. “So you’re telling me that nobody explained it to him? That this whole time, ever since I bit him, he’s been thinking it was real? He thought I was mated to him?!”

“Hey, keep your voice down,” Clint hisses, looking around nervously. “He’s right down the hall.”

Steve’s eyes shoot towards Bucky’s old hospital room. “Same room?” he asks, tense.

“Yeah. Steve, look,” Clint sighs. “We all fucked up on this one. It’s a unique set of circumstances. Nobody thought he wouldn’t understand.”

“Clearly.” Steve scoffs, fuming over his own stupidity. Poor Bucky! All this time, and he’s been thinking that Steve is permanently bonded to him? Steve can’t even process how intimidating that must’ve been for Bucky, how overwhelming.

… Or how hurtful, once Steve just up and left after the heat suite. “Shit,” he whispers, thinking of how confused and abandoned Bucky must have felt. And Steve had been unreachable for over twenty-four hours after that! “Oh, man,” he groans, feeling even more like human garbage and wiping his hands over his face in stress. “Fuck. I have to see him.”

He starts striding down the hall towards Bucky’s room, feeling the bond draw him closer with each foot of distance that he closes.

Art: @hopelessartgeek

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shinynewboots · 5 months ago

Text

Staring at the Sun / Adam x Lute Chapter 9

Summary: After the battle, Lute attempts to flee with Adam. They find themselves unable to return to Heaven and must adjust to life in Hell.

AN: Lol buckle up. Spoilers and real AN at the bottom.

Warnings: 18+, Violence, gore, smut eventually, Adam-typical misogyny, alcohol use, slight sexual themes, religious imagery

Chapter 8

Chapter 10

“Ch-Charlie, I think you need to check the news,” Angel stuttered as he scrolled his Sinstagram app. Almost every story and post showed Adam flying over Pentagram City. He showed the feed to Charlie, who scrolled through and frowned.

OMG IS THE EXTERMINATION HAPPENING RN??? #imtoohottodie

WTF is that an angel? #amihigh

Hey why is that angel actually kinda hot tho #idtapthat

“Are you fucking kidding me,” She groaned and ran to the television set and turned it on. The screen showed Breaking News on the 666 channel. The footage showed Adam flying swiftly towards the center of the city, Lute cradled in his arms.

“This is Katie Killjoy with Breaking News. The Exorcist leader, Adam, who was presumed dead after the humiliating defeat by a one-eyed housemaid has been spotted heading toward the center of the city and presumably to our imminent doom. And I have to be stuck with Tom over as a companion for this impromptu Extermination Day.”

“Fuck you, Katie.”

“In your dreams, Tom. Now, back to the weather.”

“Fuck!” Charlie groaned. “When did they even leave?”

“Oh, about an hour or so ago,” Alastor said, stepping out from the shadows. Vaggie looked over with narrowed eyes.

“And how would you know?”

“Oh, silly me. I had my shadow follow them to keep tabs on them,” Alastor said, picking at his claws.

“You knew they had been gone for a fucking hour and didn’t say anything?” Vaggie growled, pointing her finger at Alastor.

Alastor smiled at her, his mouth twitching. He gently pushed her finger down out of his face. “You never asked. They did a nasty job on my shadow too.”

The room darkened around Alastor as he grew in size, his antlers doubling. Neon green light emitted from around him and the rest of the hotel guests looked in unease at the Radio Demon. “Someone will have to pay for that.”

“Not now, Alastor! Angel can you find the Egg Bois and see if they know anything,” Charlie said, her eyes growing red. Charlie felt her phone vibrate in her hand and she looked down to check the caller ID: Dad.

“Hey Dad, you haven’t happened to see the news, have you?”

___

Adam continued to fly over Pentagram City, his wings stretching out in a way that they had not been able to in months. This was the first time he had truly felt free during his time in Hell; more like his old self. Lute wriggled in his arms as she came out of the fog that she had been under thanks to the shadow.

The next time he saw the fucking Radio Demon, that fucker would die an even more gruesome second death.

They were gaining fast on the Embassy, its golden light shining like a beacon to its unworthy citizens. On the streets, Adam could hear the screams and cries of the sinners who looked upon him with fear and awe (as they fucking should). A buzzing flew up near Adam and he looked over his shoulder to see a drone flying rapidly towards them, a camera attached to it.

“Adam, Channel 666 news here! Care to give a statement?” A voice said from the drone, another camera popping out and coming closer to his face. Adam growled and shifted Lute in his arms, determined to blow the camera into next week but was too late. A gunshot fired out and the drone and camera began hurdling back down to the ground.

“What the fuck,” He exclaimed and looked down at Lute, who held a smoking pistol in her hands and had a weak smirk on her face. “Nice shot, bitch.”

God, she was so fucking small in his arms. Fuck that Radio Demon. This had to all mean something. He had to get them back to Heaven. He had to get Her back to Heaven. Fuck, she didn’t belong here. And if it hadn't been for him, she would never have had to suffer here. She never would have lost a piece of herself (even if the metal arm was badass). She was meant to live out her days of eternity in Heaven, training with her sisters and soaking in paradise.

Not saving a fucking Human soul that didn’t know when to keep its mouth shut.

The Embassy was only a few hundred feet away. Down below, Adam could see Sinners gathered in masses around the entrance, looking at him in awe. Some held phones and took footage of him, while others just stood and watched. Others still shot up at him with various guns, but the ammo (not angelic steel), whizzed past and died back to the ground.

Adam made the executive decision to land on the roof of the Embassy. His feet hit the ground much harder than he anticipated as felt the jarring difference between floating and walking. He looked down to Lute in his arms, who was looking much better and trying to wriggle free from his grip, likely frustrated that she felt helpless.

Adam was taken back to an earth movie he had seen decades ago, of a horrible monster scaling a tall, iconic building with a beautiful girl in its arms.

“Adam, I can walk. I’m good now,” Lute said. Adam nodded and released her, his arms missing the weight of her in them. He looked around the roof, trying to find an entrance.

“You’re telling me there’s no goddamn doors in this place?” He exclaimed, his speech rushed and on edge. Lute began to look as well, her movements slower than usual. She still felt weak from her brush with the shadow.

“I don’t see any,” She yelled over. Adam looked at her like a madman, desperate and rigid.

“Fuck,” He said, his breath quickening and sweat forming on his brow. “Wait, I’m a fucking angel.”

“Adam what—” Lute exclaimed before she was cut off by a shock of angelic light shooting from Adam’s hands aimed for the center of the roof. The light shot right through, leaving a gaping hole that led to the infamous board room where everything began to go wrong.

Adam laughed, a triumphant, if not mad, laugh, with his head cocked back and his eyes towards the sky, as if to mock Heaven.

___

Lucifer was not having a good day.

After receiving a call from his brother about a certain First Man making a spectacle and causing a commotion in Heaven and Hell, Lucifer knew he had to go and put on his big king pants and get to the bottom of the so-called commotion.

(Seriously, why did Charlie ask him to save that asshole again. Oh yeah, redemption. Bleh.)

So Lucifer called his daughter (“Hey Dad, you haven’t happened to see the news, have you?” A pause and a sigh. “No Charlie, rots the brain. But I did get a call from Heaven about an angel sanctuary project gone wrong.”) and began his flight to the Heaven’s Embassy.

Lucifer did not get out much. And he especially did not go towards the center of his Kingdom. So to see the chaos brewing in the streets, all chaos caused by Adam, Lucifer couldn’t help but feel nausea brewing in the pit of his stomach. Just perfect.

“Dad!”

Lucifer turned, his wings flapping in the air to hold himself steady, to see Charlie riding on Razzle. Her horns had grown in full force (oh Lilith, if only you could see her now) and her eyes were red with fire.

“Charlie! What are you doing here?”

“This is all my fault. I didn’t even think they would do something like this. I mean, I thought they were happy at the hotel and everything was going great. I didn’t think they were trying to make the 6 o’clock news!”

“You didn’t think they would try to escape?” Lucifer asked, exasperated.

“Well, I mean they weren’t exactly prisoners, Dad.”

“And you were okay with them doing this?” Lucifer replied, gesturing wildly around him with his hands.

“Well no,” Charlie said sheepishly. “But I trusted them. I mean, I still do. I think they just want to go home, Dad.”

Home. Well, Lucifer could understand that. So he sighed and gave Charlie a strained but encouraging smile. “Come on, let’s go clean up this mess.”

___

“SOMEONE BETTER FUCKING ANSWER ME! ITS FUCKING ADAM YOU CUNTS, YOU ABANDONED US DOWN HERE”

Lute wanted to rage and fight and scream with Adam, but for one of the first times in her eternal life, she knew she had to keep her cool. One of them had to. Dread clutched her heart as the reality of her deepest fear seemed close at hand: no one was coming for them.

“They have to answer us, Lute,” He said, his voice cracking. Sweat dripped down his face and his t-shirt was drenched. Light flew from his fingertips as he blasted holes around the room, for good measure.

The room was a disaster, as Adam had thrown every piece of furniture not nailed down to the floor. The table was flipped over. The chairs were scattered across the room. Holes dotted the walls, letting the hellish red sun stream its light in. He had screamed and raged and destroyed all for just a minute of Heaven’s time.

“They will, Adam.” Lute said, placing a hand on his shoulder. He looked down at it and paused.

“You have to go back to Heaven. They have to let you back into Heaven,” He whispered. His shoulder was hot under her touch, as though he spiked a fever.

“We. We have to go back to Heaven,” She repeated, confused in her tone. Adam looked at her as though he were looking through her.

“Yeah, that's what I said.” His breathing was heavy and he looked as though he was thousands of miles away from her.

A flash of light engulfed the room and the pair came face to face with Sera, her stature intimidating and her mouth set in a grim line.

“Adam! Lute! What is the meaning of all this?”

Adam grew, his wings fully extended and his eyes ablaze. His canines were sharp and he looked as though he could kill. “No, what’s the fucking meaning of this, Sera? Leaving us down like fucking sinners.”

“We didn’t know the two of you were still alive. We didn’t think you survived the fall.” Sera said, her voice clipped as she kept her gaze on Adam. Lute watched in horror at the sight, feeling powerless to stop building tension.

“Bullshit.”

“Adam.”

“No Sera, you mean to tell me that the leader and lieutenant of the fucking Exorcists goes MIA, presumed missing and you didn’t send someone down here check. Or fucking call Lucifer.”

“Someone say my name?”

All three heads turned to see Lucifer flying in through the gaping hole in the roof, Charlie in his arms in a way reminiscent of Extermination Day. Lucifer landed and Charlie jumped to the ground.

“Speak of the Fucking Devil.” Adam scoffed, his eyes shooting daggers at Lucifer. Lucifer’s horns blazed with fire.

“Sera.”

“Lucifer.”

“What in the fuck are you two doing here?” Adam growled. His piercing gaze shot back and forth between the Morningstars and Sera.

“Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’ve riled up the entire city. Literally fucking mobs down there. I’m here to clean up your mess. It’s becoming a bit of a habit, don’t you think?” Lucifer said smugly, strutting towards Adam and Sera, his arms crossed. The Dragon Beast Charlie rode in on howled into the open sky on the roof.

Adam glared and opened his mouth but was interrupted by Sera. “Lucifer, your presence is not required.”

“No, Sera, as long as you’re in my territory, I’m staying right here.” Lucifer said, the horns growing from his head and eyes turning red. He turned to Charlie who gave him a stiff nod and enthusiastic thumbs-up.

“Lute,” A small voice whispered behind Lute. Lute turned to see Emily standing behind her, a large grin on her cherubic features. “Oh my goodness, we thought you were dead!”

Lute found herself wrapped in the arms of the smaller seraphim, who squeezed her tight in her arms. While Lute had never felt a particularly close bond to the Seraphim (who she just now realized reminded her very much of Princess Morningstar), she felt relieved at the sight of her.

“No, we’ve been here this whole time,” Lute whispered back, her mouth running dry and her palms becoming clammy. Emily frowned and opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted when Sera caught sight of her.

“Emily, I told you to stay back in Heaven. This matter will be resolved quickly.”

“Well, you didn’t exactly tell me why I needed to stay and I’ve never seen Hell, I figured this would be a good learning opportunity,” Emily replied, waving at the other occupants in the room and completely unaware of the building tension radiating off all parties involved. She looked around and caught eyes with Charlie.

“Charlie?!” Emily squealed and ran towards the Princess, pulling her into an enthusiastic hug, which Charlie reciprocated. “Oh my goodness, It’s so good to see you! Oh, I’ll have to tell Sir Pentious that I saw you today.”

“Wait, what?” Charlie asked, a stunned look on her face.

If Sera could have paled, Adam was positive she would have looked like she had seen a ghost. She stiffened as she watched the interaction between Charlie and Emily, her gaze never leaving the two.

“Pentious. Your friend? The one who got redeemed.”

No one said anything for a few breathless moments. Charlie stared at Emily in bewilderment. Emily stared at Charlie confused, and turned to Sera for clarification. Sera’s face, however, was made of stone and offered no secrets or explanations.

“Sir Pentious got redeemed? Oh my god, that’s so amazing. That means…the hotel works! Dad, the hotel works!” Charlie exclaimed, joy and rainbows and butterflies and all that ooey gooey stuff radiating off of her. She smiled at Lucifer, though her smile faltered when she saw the grave look on his face.

“It’s been months since Sir Peanut died in the battle,” Lucifer said, giving Sera a pointed look. Sera raised her head as if to stick her nose up at the insinuation.

“We are not here to discuss that. Emily, go home, we will talk about this further.” Sera’s voice was cold, colder than Adam had ever heard her use with Emily (Emily the golden child, Emily the new seraphim, Emily the baby blah blah blah). “The matter at hand is Adam and Lute having Fallen.”

Lute sucked in a gasp. Her heart shattered in her chest.

“FUCKING FALLEN!” Adam raged, hurtling towards Sera with blind fury, his wings making large gusts of wind behind him. “You fucking cunt, after every fucking thing I’ve done for you, for fucking Heaven. After everything Lute has done to serve as an Exorcist.”

“Adam, this shouldn’t come as a shock,” Sera replied, her voice even.

“Adam, this shouldn’t come as a shock,” He mimicked back, his voice high-pitched and mocking.“Well, it fucking does. I mean I had my fucking suspicions. Why did it take me so fucking long to heal from some goddamn stab wounds? Why didn’t Lute’s arm regenerate? I thought ‘shit, maybe it's because we’re in fucking hell of course things would be a little different’. But fucking fallen, Sera. Are you fucking kidding me?”

Lute felt as though all the air had been sucked from her lungs. She could only stare at the trainwreck in front of her, unable to get out of the way and hoping the train would crush her instead. Fallen. Broken. Dirty. Weak.

“Adam, please, calm down.”

“Calm down? Calm down! You fucking cunt I have given both my lives to heaven, human and eternal and you shut me out just like that? Like fucking sinner scum?”

“Adam, no one shut you out. You were unworthy to ascend back to Heaven. That’s all there is to it. You fell and you are the only one to blame.”

“Yeah, and what the fuck did Lute do to deserve this fate?” He snarled, like a rabid dog with its corned prey.

“She followed her leader. A wrong choice, apparently.”

Adam paused and began to sway unsteadily on his feet. He swayed backward a few steps. Lute rushed forward to catch that fall that did not happen. Instead, Adam began to steady himself. He shook with pure rage, hate and fire emitting off of him that Lute had never known. Sera backed up a few paces, shielding Emily behind her.

Adam let out the most heart-wrenching scream Lute had ever heard. It was so deafening that she could not bear to listen longer and so she clapped her hand over her ears but the sound was still overwhelming.

An aura of blinding white light began to engulf Adam, beginning at his core and spreading across his skin like the roots of a tree until his entire body was encased in the light. There was no way to tell where the light stopped and Adam started; they were one and the same. Power radiated around Adam, the likes of which shook the Embassy and the grounds of Hell below.

He was furious. He was hate. He was sin.

“Adam!” Lute began to scream, though he seemed farther away than she could ever hope to reach.

___

Time stopped for Adam. All the events taking place around him moved in slow motion. He saw Lute paused in mid-scream, his name just on the edge of her lips. He saw Lucifer, trying to usher Charlie away from the scene. He saw Sera and Emily and their holographic images flicker, trying to dissipate into the open air.

And then there was nothing.

And then there was everything.

Adam was suddenly blinded by an awe-inspiring light. He blinked, but his vision was blurred and spotted. The sound of chaos no longer flooded his ears. No. It was the sound of…water? He honed in on it and could hear the unmistakable sound of a babbling brook. The water sounded to be flowing lazily as if the worst thing that had ever happened to Adam was of no care to the water.

A pleasant, warm breeze brushed past Adam’s shoulder and ruffled his hair, his skin, his —. Oh. He was naked.

Adam tried to open his eyes once more to adjust to the warm glow of the light. This time he was met with a sight that brought tears to his eyes.

The garden was lush, just as he had remembered. The wind rustled the leaves in the trees. The brook babbled along, playing a song for all of the garden to hear. The soil was cool beneath his bare feet and he began to dig his toes into the soft carpet. Birds of various types flew around the garden and Adam was immediately able to remember them all by name. Dove. Owl. Eagle. Finch. Rook.

Adam touched his face and realized he was crying. Fat, salty tears streamed down his cheeks and he felt like a child who had run happily into the warm embrace of a mother.

He was home. He was in Eden.

“Adam.”

Adam turned and was met with a formation of light in the shape of a human man. The light began to take shape until it revealed a male angel standing at the same height as Adam himself.

The angel had six brilliant blue wings. His hair was long and shone a golden brown in the sun. He wore the robes and armor in the style of a Byzantine warrior (Adam knew that this was not always his preferred style of dress, but he had adopted it after the various depictions of him in mortal art). Adam had almost forgotten how similar Lucifer looked to his brothers until now.

“Michael?”

“I was wondering when you would join me.” The archangel replied, a smile on his face.

“Am I dead? Again?”

Michael shook his head. “No, no more dead than you already were.”

“Are we in Eden?”

Micheal shrugged. “Of sorts. More of an in-between place, really. I come here when I crave solitude." He paused. "Walk with me.”

Michael guided them to flowing water and Adam looked down and took in his appearance. His facial hair was gone, as were the dark circles under his eyes. His skin was youthful and tanned, almost glowing. His wings were gone, though in his shock he hadn’t noticed. The most jarring difference was the color of his eyes. Instead of the Heavenly golden hue, they were the same color as the warm, dark earth beneath his feet.

He looked just as he had the day he was cast from Eden.

“Why are we here?” Adam asked, looking at Michael.

“I needed to speak with you, uninterrupted.”

Adam scoffed, though he immediately felt shame for the action. “About how you and the rest of Heaven abandoned me to die?”

Michael’s eyes darkened. “Don’t mistake me when I say this Adam, you are special. But, you are nothing more than a human soul. A special human soul, but a human soul nonetheless. A human soul who made a choice.”

“I didn’t choose to stay in Hell.”

“No, but you did choose to indulge in the Exterminations in excess. There was no justification for conducting the Exterminations more than once a year. You chose to engage with Lucifer’s daughter in battle, in spite of the other areas of the Pride Ring you and the Exorcists could have performed the Extermination. That sinner might have attempted to kill you, but your actions are the reason you have fallen.”

Adam wept. He was nothing more than a little boy, hiding behind his mother’s skirts after he knew he had done something wrong.

In his tear-clouded thoughts, he thought of his sons. His first sons.

Oh Cain, my sweet boy who offered up everything to Heaven, only for Heaven to ignore your offerings. To ignore your plea for mercy and forgiveness.

“Oh Adam,” Michael said, his eyes sad. He placed a hand on Adam’s shoulder. “You were the first and for that, you had a tremendous burden on your shoulders, a burden that, in hindsight was unfair.”

“So that’s it?” Adam asked, his mouth dry and full of ash. He pulled away from Michael.“Your regret and my damnation?”

“You have fallen,” Michael said, his tone even. “A fallen human soul. Unprecedented, as the rest of the fallen are heaven-born, but of course you always were a trailblazer.”

Adam glared at Michael, his mind reeling at the information.

“What about Lute?”

“She made her choice the minute she tried to save you and she damned herself to that fate. She is in Hell because she chose to follow you, Adam. She has fallen as well.”

“She didn’t deserve that,” Adam whispered, his voice small as he looked back towards his reflection.

“You more than anyone know that existing is not about getting what we deserve, Adam. It’s about following the path.” Michael said, offering Adam a small smile. “I am truly sorry Adam. There’s nothing I can do for you now. Your path has been set and you are setting course to a place where I and other divine beings cannot follow.”

Adam shook his head. “Just fucking send me back.”

Michael nodded and placed his hand on Adam’s head. Adam felt as though he was being ripped in two; his heart, his soul, his being felt as though they were being expunged from his chest. He was pushed off a precipice and plunged into the frigid waters of eternity.

And once again, Adam was cast out of the Garden of Eden.

___

Lute felt as though she were moving in slow motion. Her hair whipped around her as the heat radiating from Adam hit her full force. Her feet were unsteady beneath her, the sheer force of the power coming off of him almost knocking her to the ground. She watched as Sera and Emily disappeared. She watched as Lucifer tried to usher Charlie out of the building.

The building. The Embassy was swaying dangerously as though there was an earthquake beneath the ground. The building groaned and creaked, unable to hold the weight of the sheer power it was containing.

Her ears rang and she could not keep her eyes off of Adam. She had to stay. She had to help him. She had to do something. She had to—

“Lute!” Charlie said, gripping Lute’s shoulders and trying to pull her away from Adam. Charlie had broken free from her father’s grasp. “We have to go!”

“Adam,” Lute whispered, looking through Charlie like a ghost. The light flowing off of Adam was growing larger, brighter. The heat is more intense by the second.

Lute’s cheek began to sting. She looked at Charlie and realized the Hell Princess had slapped her square across the cheek.

“We have to go, Lute. We can’t help him.” Charlie repeated, her tone firm but kind. Her red eyes had faded and her horns retracted. Lute looked between Adam and Charlie before nodding. Charlie grabbed Lute’s hand and began to pull her towards Lucifer.

“Charlie, sweetie, I don’t mean to rush you and your little friend, but WE NEED TO GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE,” Lucifer yelled, holding his arms out to take both women. Charlie grabbed on to Lucifer and Lute kept her firm grip on Charlie’s hand.

Lucifer began to fly through the hole that Adam had made in the roof and threw Charlie and Lute onto Razzle.

“Let’s go!” Charlie yelled out to the dragon, who let out a powerful roar. The dragon flew high into the sky, with Lucifer close behind.

It was quiet for a moment.

Until.

A bomb went off.

Hell was suddenly engulfed in the brightest and most brilliant light it had ever seen. The light stretched beyond the confines of the Pride ring and touched every circle of Hell. The Embassy began to collapse, fire and brimstone and light exploded from its walls.

The Pride ring began to crack, with the Embassy as its epicenter and expanding to all corners of the ring, leaving deep gullies in its wake.

The three watched in horror as the building began to collapse into a pile of ash and rubble, crushing all the Sinners who had gathered outside of the Embassy.

The brilliant light began to fade until all that was left of the Embassy and its lone occupant was dust and ash.

Lute began to weep.

AN:

So...that happened. I know you all buckled in fro a fun little Adam and Lute story (as did I, I promise) but somewhere along the way, this story decided to take a life of its own and I for one am here for the ride. This chapter definitely had big season finale vibes if I do say so myself.

Also, any religious anything that's not 100% canon or correct...I am simply making it up as I go and using my suppressed Methodist upbringing as a reference. I truly had no intention of adding any archangels to this story and then I had the image of Adam in Eden and I simply could not help myself.

Do. Not. Worry. Lute and Adam will be together again at some point and I promise when they do it will be a very satisfying reunion. Please bear with me. We are strapping into my longest fic yet (that seems to be getting longer by the chapter lol)

I want to thank everyone for their kind comments, support, and just kindness. Everyone I have met in the process of writing this story has just been so amazing. I love hearing your thoughts, theories, everything! Do bear with me, I want our two favorite idiots to get together as much as anyone so I promise I am also on the edge of my seat for what happens next.

Until later, my sweet friends. I will gladly take your pitchforks and eggs.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel adam #adam x lute #hazbin hotel fanfiction #staring at the sun #guitarspear #hazbin hotel fandom #fanfiction #hazbin lute #hazbin hotel lute #lute hazbin hotel #lute hazbin #lute #hazbin adam #adam hazbin hotel #lute x adam #adam hazbin

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hazbinned · 8 months ago

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Plotted with @compelledcurator

The room should have been very dark, but it wasn't.

There was no proper lighting; not even a single window to allow some of the redness of the outside sky to seep in. Instead, there was just an unholy amount of TV screens, which hung from the ceiling and lined the walls— a TV ocean, vast enough to drown in.

Their blues and reds and other flashing colors had to have been migraine-inducing to anyone who wasn't used to it.

In the center of the room, there sat a sleek black table with a massive chair at the head of it. To the side, in a much smaller chair, (as if whoever was seated there was meant to feel insignificant on purpose), was Angel Dust: Valentino's little star.

Vox practically loomed over him.

The sinner with the television head was gesturing wildly at the screens behind him, surrounded by flashing lights and mock-ups of merch that didn't exist yet. Footage of Angel's own career played out silently on some of the monitors— just an 'Angel Dust's Top Ten Moments' thing Val had slapped together— while most of the other TVs were the same shade as Vox's face, or had color bars.

One was a live recording of the current scene.

"Imagine your body on every billboard, your face on every channel!" Vox was saying, "Val agrees: why are we keeping a cash cow like you confined to such a small scale? I'll make you a REAL celebrity; a superstar, a household name!"

The speed at which the Overlord spoke would have been overwhelming even without so much going on in the background. Angel had been subject to this for a while now, with little room to get a word in edgewise.

It was intentionally disorienting.

Vox suddenly thrust a tablet, with a digital contract displayed on it, in Angel's face, and pointed a few times at it in rapid succession.

"You'll get twelve percent of the profit if you agree right now. Sign here, here, and here!"

It was scrolled all the way to the bottom, so reading it seemed like an afterthought.

#compelledcurator #♠️ : old pal / vox.#{ Hope this works. I could keep trying to change it forever but I'm excited for this and want to get it started! }

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fans4wga · 1 year ago

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'Hollywood Is on Strike Against High-Tech Exploitation' - by Alex N. Press

"LOS ANGELES — Before she appeared on HBO’s White House Plumbers and Fox’s New Girl, Stevie Nelson hosted a television show on Nickelodeon. On Crashletes, she and her cohosts, along with an audience of kids, reacted to viral videos of people failing at sports. The production ran for three seasons, wrapping at the end of 2020 with a total of sixty episodes.

Nelson worries that soon, a studio could use that body of work to train artificial intelligence (AI) to create a likeness of her to be used in perpetuity: a digital Stevie Nelson, doing things that she has never done, saying things that she has never said, yet indistinguishable from the real Stevie Nelson, based on her past on-screen work.

“There’s enough footage of me that they could technically have me host other shows for the rest of my life without ever having done it, and I’m sure I would not be fairly compensated for it,” said Nelson. “The idea of not a real person hosting shows is scary. The magic of acting, and of hosting, is its impromptu nature. I can’t imagine how soulless it all would be to replace it with AI.”

Nelson and I were speaking on Monday, July 17, a few feet from the picket line outside of Netflix’s corporate office in Los Angeles. She’s a member of the Screen Actors Guild–American Federation of Television and Radio Artists (SAG-AFTRA), one of 160,000 such members who were then on their second day of a nationwide strike. In walking out, the performers joined roughly 11,500 members of the Writers Guild of America (WGA), who have been on strike since May 2. The last such double strike was in 1960, when Ronald Reagan was SAG’s president.

Unlike less accessible studios in the Los Angeles area — the standout being NBC Universal, which currently lacks pedestrian walkways and shade thanks to studio machinations — Netflix is in the heart of Hollywood. On Monday, morale was high: hundreds of union members picketed while music that sampled news coverage of the strike blasted from stereos and union staff supplied workers with beverages, snacks, and sunscreen as the temperatures soared above 90 degrees.

Nelson’s fears that an avatar of herself will host television shows indefinitely in a digital purgatory might sound far-fetched, an idea more fit for a Black Mirror script than the real world, but such a possibility is central to what is now the largest strike in the United States. In negotiations with the Alliance of Motion Picture and Television Producers (AMPTP) for a new three-year TV/theatrical contract, SAG-AFTRA is seeking to regulate the use of AI to protect performers like her.

Writers want to regulate the usage of AI in their own negotiations with the studios, but the technology poses an even more immediate threat to performers. SAG-AFTRA proposed provisions that would require the studios to get informed consent from a performer before using her likeness and fairly compensate her for that use. They also offered proposals concerning the use of generative AI for training purposes.

The AMPTP didn’t agree. While the organization called its AI counterproposal “unprecedented,” SAG-AFTRA’s national executive director and chief negotiator Duncan Crabtree-Ireland characterized the studios’ offer as unacceptable.

“In this ‘groundbreaking’ AI proposal that they gave us yesterday, they proposed that our background performers should be able to be scanned, get one day’s pay, and their companies should own that scan, their image, their likeness, and should be able to use it for the rest of eternity on any project they want, with no consent and no compensation,” said Crabtree-Ireland at a press conference on Friday, July 15, announcing that the union’s board of directors had voted unanimously to call a strike. “If you think that’s a groundbreaking proposal, I suggest you think again.”

“The companies have responded to a number of the proposals we put on the table, but the problem is that the devil is in the details,” explained Crabtree-Ireland on The Town, a podcast about the entertainment industry. “We had reached some agreement on there being a requirement for consent but from our point of view, it has to be informed consent. Consent is not a boilerplate provision at the time you’re first hired on a project that says, ‘The company can create a digital replica of you and use it for whatever purpose they want, forever.’”

[continue reading]

#sag-aftra strike #sag strike #ai #union solidarity #current events #actors strike #fans4wga #wga strong #wga strike #writers strike

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orville-j-clutchpopper · 1 year ago

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Alright..... I borrowed something here. I'm pasting the whole thing because I want you to read it, and not have to waste time clicking a link, and I want you to THINK about it... PONDER, even. I think this is 100% spot on, and I also think it raises just as many questions as it answers, and I don't think enough people are talking about this...

Notice Something About This Israeli War and The Gaza Conflict? October 9, 2023 The coverage of the attacks by Hamas against the Israeli people is extensive, but have you paused to notice a very peculiar dynamic? As familiar to most news consumers, various media war correspondents are embedded throughout the Israel and Gaza region. Flak jackets and helmets are worn by CNN, BBC, Fox News and all the international agencies who are covering the Israeli War. All of that footage is common and familiar. Television streams are lit up with the continuing coverage and the audience is brought in live to the fight, despite the dangers and the military combat that is taking place throughout the area. Brave war correspondents are doing what they do, showing the public exactly what is happening on the ground as the fighting continues. Yet, the extensive footage triggers a reminder of something…. The war in Ukraine has been raging for 20 months, and not once, not even one single time, did we see simultaneous international war correspondents delivering their reporting, showing action on the front lines, donning their protective gear and taking the audience toward the battles in a similar fashion. The contrast between the War in Israel and the “War” in Ukraine could not be starker when viewed through the prism of what a real combat war looks like. Why is that? You know the answer to that question. You might not want to absorb the truth behind this stark reality, but the war in Ukraine is an intelligence war, a creation of the U.S. State Department, CIA, and allied intelligence networks. All of the information coming from the Ukraine War doesn’t come complete with accompanying war correspondents to give context to the statements made by the military officials on the ground in Ukraine, because there isn’t any way to connect to something that just doesn’t exist. The “War” in Ukraine is World War Reddit. A war carried out and advanced by the intelligence system that created it. As the night life and dance festivals in Kiev continue, it would be challenging for the international war correspondents, the actual media, to deliver broadcast ground reports from Ukraine without using green screens and fabricated livestreams. That’s why we have never seen them. The Ukraine War is an intelligence operation, and with it comes the need for high control over the propaganda to support it. It would be troublesome for those carrying out the Ukraine operation if people were brought into the “fight” by media. Worse still, it would be very challenging to retain support for an intelligence operation, if the American and global population realized it is propaganda. We’ve seen more footage of the war inside Israel in 48 hours than we have seen inside Ukraine in two years. Carry on….

H/T Sundance @ Conservative Treehouse.

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apparitionism · 2 years ago

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Confection

For the holiday this year I offer you a culinary AU I’ve been thinking about for basically forever but only now started to write down. It’ll be in parts, as I chip away in the spare minutes, with littler bits of story at a time, as when I first ventured contributions to this surpassingly wonderful fandom, years ago. I miss those long-gone Bering-and-Wells days: the speed, the inventiveness that so many brought to bear... anyway, however many parts this ends up being, it’s all just for fun. (And maybe a little ontological inquiry. Also just for fun.)

In any case, on this random Sunday, I wish everyone their preferred form(s) of activity and/or rest, as appropriate. Good feelings. Whatever it is we’re here for.

Confection

“Cutthroat.”

So says the talking head on screen in response to the offscreen question, “Describe your style in the kitchen in one word, Chef Helena Wells.”

****

“Chef Myka Bering, describe your style in the kitchen in one word.”

“One word? That’s a challenge. Diligent? I’m really diligent. Or, no: focused. I definitely think ‘focused’ is more descriptive.”

Senior Producer Claudia Donovan, upon viewing this footage, had said to the editor sitting next to her, “Can you cut that to ‘focused’ and make it sound decisive?” But then she let herself have a second thought. “You know what? Leave it all in. Compare and contrast.”

Cutthroat Wells first, indecisively diligent and/or focused Bering second... the third competitor’s response had been, in retrospect, hilarious. Claudia did appreciate how radically his pronouncement had failed to match his performance: “Awesome,” Walter Sykes had described himself, with no sense of irony whatsoever. He’d been cast as a sacrificial lamb in the first place, but Claudia still snorted at the completely useless dudebro swagger.

The fourth chef, Artie Nielsen, had been brusque rather than bro, but with no less swagger. “Classic,” he’d said, like the idea of anybody even asking the question was a “don’t you know who I am” insult. The editor angled a glance at Claudia and said, “You were real with him about what show he was on, right?”

“The old-school thing sets up the B plot,” Claudia told her. “He’s known all three judges for decades.”

“Don’t you think the A’s a lot more fun?” the editor said. She clicked quick on the Wells “cutthroat” clip—and Claudia had never in her life heard such an all-facts no-swagger saying of a word—followed by a bit of the Bering: “I definitely think,” Chef Myka said, as if in answer to the editor’s question.

“I definitely think,” Claudia echoed decisively.

****

“The name of our show,” Steve Jinks explains, as he does every week at the start of the program proper, after the contestants have described their styles, “is ‘This Without That.’ What this means, contestants, is that in each of three rounds, you will be asked to prepare a classic dish... but without its defining ingredient.”

****

“You gotta do it,” Pete Lattimer had said. “Because it’d be so cool. Gottagottagotta.”

Myka was leaning against the at-last-closed-for-the-night door of the restaurant where they both worked—Myka as sous chef, Pete grilling and frying—and she wanted to ignore him, for her fatigue weighted her such that she could barely convince her spine to support her head. Forcing that head to lift, accompanied by actually working her jaw, felt well beyond possible.

And she would have ignored him, but she was the idiot who’d made the mistake of telling him about “it”: a producer from “This Without That,” the wildly popular cooking competition show, had called to express interest in having her compete next month (next month being August) for their Christmas championship, to air in December.

Having been that idiot, she couldn’t ignore him, but she was regretting the telling, so now she said, “No I don’t. I don’t ‘gotta’ do anything.”

“But you wanna.”

“I don’t ‘wanna’ do anything either. And as for this, I don’t want to do it.”

First, television. Second, a competition. Third, a Christmas competition. In August. She didn’t want to. In fact she’d rather have gnawed off her knife hand than do it. But then Pete moved from “gotta” and “wanna” (Myka hated those pseudo-word elisions) to “hafta,” adding “for the restaurant”—the one they planned to partner to open someday, when they had saved enough money and/or could talk investors into believing in them—and Myka gave in. “I’ll try,” she told him, and she meant she’d try not to tank her upcoming interview with the producer, Claudia Donovan. She told him that too... but for integrity’s sake, she added, “I hate the whole idea of that show. ‘This Without That.’ It seems so dumb.”

He waved a hand at her, but slowly, showing that he was tired too. “Little piece of non-tanking advice: don’t say that to this producer. Besides, a hugeity-huge-huge audience loves it, which means it’s smart. Say that instead.”

That, she did ignore. “Smart? It’s insipid.” Mimicking Steve Jinks, the show’s host, she quoted his dismissal of each round’s losing contestant: “Unfortunately, this competition will continue without you.”

“I knew you watched it,” Pete crowed.

Ugh. “Once.” She didn’t tell him why. “But it bothered me.”

“Bothered you because you knew you could do better at making a thing without its major thing, right? Say that’s why.” He added, “And by the way, I know you could too. So you should say it twice.”

His faith was sweet, but she told him the truth: “No. It bothered me ontologically.” She didn’t expect him to understand, but she tried to explain anyway. “Beef Wellington without the beef, for example, like they did in the one I saw. That’s just... Something Else Wellington. And then at the end, the judges pick whose Something Else Wellington they like best. The beef part—the constitutive element!—falls by the wayside. The thing itself doesn’t even matter anymore.”

Pete shook his head. “It’s like you don’t understand games. Something Else Wellington is the whole idea. If it isn’t Something Else Wellington, then it isn’t Beef Wellington without the beef. You’re just ticked that the judges don’t spend all their tasting time splitting ontological hairs about how close to beef that Something Else really is. Or isn’t. Whichever way makes you happier, but it doesn’t matter, because that isn’t what they’re there to do.”

Myka hadn’t known he would—could—come up with “splitting ontological hairs.” That was another point in favor of her trying not to tank.

Also (and she’d been thinking about this since the call from Claudia Donovan): her parents. They were reasons that were maybe (okay, probably) on par with “for the restaurant,” because if she could she impress them by being on television... she really did hate the clichéd nature both of their objections to her career—their dismay that she wasn’t “using that brain”—and of her response, a heels-dug-in “I’ll show you.” These several years on, they hadn’t yet acknowledged being shown. Maybe television would be the charm. Maybe if they could switch a channel and discover Myka there, doing what she did... maybe that would finally do that work of showing.

Pete said, “They judge based on creativity, too—how out-there a Something Else idea you come up with. Imagination what? Plus you gotta do it fast. Thinking on your feet, right? Don’t you love all that?”

As adept as Pete could be at saying the wrong thing, he was also, sometimes, exceptional at saying the right thing. “Using my brain?” she queried, just to make sure.

He nodded, and Myka was pretty sure it was because he knew the history: the family, the pain points. She’d inflicted versions of it on him so many times. “Think it’s a smart idea now?” he asked, at his most canny.

Show them not only by being on television, doing what she did, but also by “using that brain” on television. To do what she did. To do it better than other people. To at last, in the end, show them. “Maybe,” she hedged, but her overriding thought was Yes, yes, at long last yes.

Not for one instant did it occur to her that she might not win.

****

Claudia had started on TWT in the casting department, over two years ago. Even though evaluating potential talent wasn’t technically her job anymore, she did like to tinker. Particularly if she sensed a good story brewing.

When Myka Bering walked in—no, she loped in, her legs looking about as long as Claudia was tall—Claudia really hoped the good-story pings she’d been sensing were real radar.

There was truly no time like the right-now to see what was what, so Claudia said, first thing after introductions: “Just FYI, Helena Wells is already locked as a cheftestant on this one. I hear you know each other.”

Myka, who’d been settling into the chair across from Claudia’s desk, froze.

So far so good, Claudia thought. But then she thought again, as she observed Myka’s dart of eyes, followed by a small-but-visible twist of neck, both signaling obvious discomfort: No... so far so spectacular.

TBC

#bering and wells #Warehouse 13 #fanfic #Confection #AU week #holiday (but not yet Gift Exchange)#I find it unbelievable that 2022 is coming to a close #also unbelievable is how long so many people have maintained themselves on high alert #I among them #so maybe a silly AU #featuring some silly people #will help close this year and begin the next one #in a relaxing and/or mind-numbing way #also I've been writing Christmas stories for this fandom since 2014 #and I see no point in stopping now #regardless of who cares at this point #FYI this will bonk around among the cooking show as it unfolds on TV #and what happened before filming #and what happened during #and then after #so I hope they can make those jumps and distinctions make sense #anyway it's all about the reveals #which in this case probably won't be overly revelatory #PS you get a point if you know how H's opening line is related to Goncharov

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