#Sixty’s so despicable I love him

[c0nn0rsseur]

Can we take a moment to appreciate Bryan Dechart’s performance as Cyberlife Tower Connor aka Sixty and Sixty as a character? 🤌

Though Sixty and deviant Connor are physically identical (minus their demeanors, e.g. the way they stand and walk, like wow, Bryan, wow) and their voices technically aren’t different from each other, the distinction is still clearly there, at the same time it’s so nuanced too. Sixty sounds condescending, imperious and callous compared to deviant Connor whose voice is empathetic, curious and sincere. I’m not even talking about their lexicon, their choice of words here (there’s of course a difference too). Even when Sixty tries to convince Hank he’s the real Connor, you can hear how he’s failing to sound exactly like his counterpart because he can’t replicate deviant Connor’s voice and speech pattern just so. Sixty’s also being very commanding when trying to fool Hank into shooting the real Connor (Hank even gets irritated because of it). Damn that’s brilliant acting, all hats off to Bryan. His performance in this game never fails to impress me. (I wish there were dialogue for RK900 too, I would’ve loved to see Bryan’s take on his voice and presence.)

Also also I have to mention I love the take that Sixty really was a deviant all along too, an ”evil” version of Connor if you will; cold, calculating and even enjoying the situation he had Connor (and Hank) in. You know, doing all of it because he wanted to, because he liked it. Why else would he deliver a whole ass villain monologue before executing deviant Connor, gloating about how he knows what he is and that he is the obedient, favorite child, plus calling Connor a disappointment (and a disappointment to him especially, like how Connor should care in his final moments that Sixty despises him for not being a good little robot)? AND shooting him several times non-lethally before landing that final shot (if the story goes there), like savoring the situation. Of course he also has to ask if Connor has any last words too. That’s definitely not what an efficient machine would have done to make sure it accomplished its mission. In some outcomes his stalling costs him the victory.

Top that off with the ending where deviant Connor dies but the androids still wake up, Sixty is scared and emotional because he failed, scared to be deactivated because of his failure. Then there’s this scene where he shoots deviant Connor eleven times in front of his friend. After that Sixty takes in Hank’s reaction and even torments him by saying Connor’s death was his fault. Still doesn’t sound like a machine much, huh? More like a sadistic psychopath.

Man, I wish we could’ve seen more Sixty, it would’ve been chilling to see if he went full-on rogue, maybe being Markus’ right hand/attack dog on a leash in the violent revolution arc, maybe with his own agenda of taking Markus’ place and wanting to subjugate humanity. Or maybe deviant Connor could’ve persuaded him to their side by making Sixty to see he was nothing but a tool, unintentionally prompting him to seek revenge and to reduce Amanda and Cyberlife to atoms (not what Connor intended haha). There could’ve even been a redemption arc for him, like in a ”what’ve I done?” type way. You know, a bit of an internal moral struggle. And of course, our fave ”sack of shit” (as Hank so eloquently put it) demanding answers from his maker, Kamski, in a not-so, uh, conventional manner. Let them measure their respective arrogance and wit and see who comes out on top. Or would they team up?

Such a delicious character, so many delicious what-ifs.

[dieauster-und-diegarnele]

In defence of Pakku

The fandom seems to have a lot of hate towards him. Like, every time I look up something about the White Lotus, there are things like "Why is he even accepted? What is he doing there? He is not worthy" and that upsets to no end.

Of course, there are people who understands Pakku right, - for example, this great analisys of his attitude really inspired this post. He is not a mysoginist. Yes, I will defend this point of view. He never ever says anything bad about women, and he refuses to teach Katara because of his tribe's traditions, not because she's "not good enough" or "women in general are not good enough, and this exception only supports the rule".

He loved Kanna and I wholeheartedly believe this. I saw arguments like "he didn't care! He just made her a necklace with a waterbending symbol, he was not even a tiniest bit creative about it". So hear me out. He carved her the necklace. In the series we have Yugoda's phrase about Pakku making a necklace for Kanna ("The waterbending master"). Why should she focus on the fact that he carved it if it's a common thing to do, expected from every groom? So at first I assumed that the necklace could be bought ready, or ordered to some carving master, or inherited - or made by the groom himself, although the last option is not happening all that often.

So, Pakku did not have to make the necklace himself, but he did. Doesn't it prove that he cared?

Of course, in the same episode Yue is showing her necklace, and earlier in the episode Sokka tried to give her a present that he carved himself, so maybe it all foreshadows that Yue's necklace is carved by Hahn and so every groom has to carve if he wants to propose... Well, the lore says so (does "customary" means "obligatory"? I guess it does, they do value traditions in the North), but it quite contradicts mentions about Pakku carving necklaces - if everyone does it, why it's such a big deal to focus on, thrice?

But anyway, even if carving itself is nothing unusual, we have the design. It's the symbol of waterbending. Pakku's family is a waterbending family, a dynasty of waterbenders. That's what he is, what he's good at. And his bride was going to be a part of his family. So the gift he made for her is symbolic. He did not just choose the design because he had no fantasy - no, he chose this one on purpose, he wanted it to have a meaning. Because, again, the woman he loved meant a lot to him.

And I hope no one will argue that this thing is just so beautiful. So much for a woman he supposedly did not actually love and instead despiced for, well, being a woman.

He never married. Kanna left sixty yers ago ("The waterbending master"), and still we don't see Pakku having any spouse, or children, or grandchildren, nor we ever hear anything like that. He stayed true to her.

Also, the idea of Hakoda being Pakku's son makes no sense - he is obviously younger than 60.

Kanna kept the betrothal gift. She travelled to the other side of the planet, alone - I suppose some money would really help her, but she never sold the necklace, although, as I said, it is really beautiful, not to mention - exotic; she could have get a good prise for that. If she hated Pakku, wouldn't it be logical to get rid of the thing he gave her to make her his, to take away her freedom and make the rest of her life miserable? So maybe she did not hate him? Just thinking.

Kanna made this necklace a family heirloom. She gave it to her daughter-in-law (mentioned in "The waterbending master"), and was okay with Kya wearing it so often that Katara strongly links this thing to the memories of her mother. She was okay with Katara constantly wearing it (not that she could ask her granddaughter to leave behind a memory of Kya, but we never see or hear about Kanna being upset or uneasy with the fact that Katara wears the necklace). Again, she is weirdly okay with a reminder of the man she supposedly despices oh so much.

When Pakku came to the South Pole and proposed to her again (and he made another necklace, again, by himself, wow, he really doesn't give a shit about this woman, really), Kanna accepted his proposal ("Sozin's Comet, Part 2: The Old Masters"). First thing I love about this fact: he still loves her. She is sixty years older than he remebers, she is not a healthy young woman who can do a lot of chores, she is not that beautiful anymore, she cannot bear his children, and I guess they both are not that interested in having sex at all, - and still he wants to be with her. Could it be that he liked her for her personality? Cause that's the only explanation I can think of.

Second thing I love about that: she said yes. So, the first time she refused, but now she changed her mind, why? Well, maybe because he changed himself. He agreed to teach Katara, and he did it well - we would notice if he had treated her differently, gave her less practice, worse explanations, less praise than to the boy students, but he never did anything like that, quite the opposite, he respects her very much ("The Siege of the North, Part 1", "The Siege of the North, Part 2", "The Avatar State"). And Katara developed warm feelings towards him too. She runs to hug him as a new grandfather and tells that he and Kanna must be very happy together ("Sozin's Comet, Part 2: The Old Masters"). So I trust Kanna's and Katara's judgement.

I guess Katara was right when she explained why Kanna left the North Pole ("The waterbending master") - she hated the custom, not the groom personally. Maybe, just maybe, she even had some respect towards him - she kept his necklace, after all. Maybe she was not sure about his feelings and thought he marries her just because of tradition/his parents' will/whatever else? Or did not know him that well to love back because she generally paid less attention to him than he did to her? I don't know. But she is a strong woman, able to act bravely to defend herself from the things she conciders unfair. If she hated Pakku with all her heart, she would tell him to fuck off. If she just did not feel the same way as he did she would have suggested them to remain friends. But she decided to marry him, and she's a woman who knows what she wants and what she doesn't want, so I don't know what to add here. She clearly wanted to marry him this time.

Another thing I love is Pakku's change. He must be about Kanna's age, which is said to be 80; she left 60 years ago, so she was about 20 when Pakku proposed and he was told to be "young" at the moment ("The waterbending master"). It is hard to develop the new point of view and accept new ideas and values this late in life - but he was able to do that. And to add the icing on the cake: he did not change completely, transforming into a lovable guy all of a sudden - no, he is still pretty sarcastic and even bitter, so his main traits that make him him are intact. Such a great example of character growth!

I just love this pairing so much, their story is awesome. Two strong personalities, complicated feelings, not always mutual, someone had to work hard to deserve the love he wanted, and many years later after spending most of their lives separately they found their happiness in each other.

[gemsofgreece]

Γειά! I'm very interested in reading about Greek mythology. Mostly interpretations and deep dives on the origins and context of said mythology. All I've read so far are texts authored by British and American scholars but those are always biased and fitted into not-hellenic cultures. I wonder if you know of an actual Greek source that I could access in Spanish or English? I'd really appreciate it. Have a great day!

Γεια σου! Unfortunately I can't provide very accurate recs because I haven't read much about mythology and because

Foreign scholars hardly translate Greek literary classics (meaning modern classics), let alone Greek research on fields that they have already totally called dibs on.

Greeks themselves traditionally did not care much about mythology and have been studying history way more. The stance they hold towards mythology is that it is a bunch of fairytales suited for kids.

Younger generations are getting more interested in it which had led to an increase in books, references and podcasts about it, however the extreme majority are still adressed to kids. I searched one of the biggest book stores in Greece for recs and out of the 192 Greek mythology books available, it wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that the 170 were meant for kids and then most out of the remaining were translated foreign works.

The most famous Greek book about the mythology is Ελληνική Μυθολογία by Nikos Tsiforos, 1964, 644 pages. This book is very informative and detailed however this is not its actual intent. Written by Tsiforos, who was a screenwriter and director with a very sharp humour and notable for the use of slang (of the time), its main point is the social and political commentary on religion. He was also very interested in drawing parallels and finding influences with other eastern civilizations. A drawback I have seen mentioned lately is that since this is edgy humour of the sixties, it completely lacks in political correctness, which makes some jokes appear irrelevant and insensitive. Greek readers seem to love this book enough to forgive such jokes and all agree about the surprising amount of knowledge and detail concentrated in this book, however unfortunately it is not translated into other languages.

I can translate to you the excerpt above to give you an idea:

"... turned against the idols of the Philistines, those people who historically had Greek origins, the Egyptian gods marched drenched in gold alongside the army to confront the iron gods of the Hittites, the patron saints of Cortés were caught in a catfight with the monstrous gods of Motecuhzoma, and whoever won the match also won the glory and the faith, so try arguing with men thinking that the "protection from above" excused their rights or their injusticies... A deity is necessary in war, because it is based on the highest power of the universe... The human stupidity. The mass human stupidity. The despicable Mr War could not not become a god by the Greeks, people who fought constantly, from their very first day. So he did, and his name was Ares. Behold, then, a Gentleman whom deep inside nobody likes. Neither the people who created him nor the gods who had a brawler in their company. A troublemaker, vile, unconscionable, most rude, never keeping his word - war never has honour anyway..."

It is a great read, but not translated and probably not exactly what you seek.

Then some other ones that are not translated, at least so far, are

Ελληνική Μυθολογία Τόμος Α Εισαγωγή. Ανάλυση και ερμηνεία του ελληνικού μύθου - Greek Mythology. Volume A. Introduction. Analysis and interpretation of Greek myth by Konstantinos Tsatsos, Ioannis Kakridis, Eleni Kehayoglou. Also writes a lot about the origins of every myth and explores the reasons behind their creation. Part of a series on Greek mythology, where most of the work is done by Kakridis, I believe. His full book series is 1680 pages. I believe the Greek Mythology by Kakridis is what you are looking for, but again I don't think there's a translation.

Ελληνική Μυθολογία: οι Θεοί - Greek Mythology: The Gods by Dora Papaioannou, 180 pages. This is an edition in simple, easy Greek, ideal for Greek learners, so I don't know if you are studying Greek, I add it here just in case. Obviously this must mean it doesn't get extremely detailed, although a reader in Goodreviews said it also had myths they did not know about. Papaioannou has written more relevant books in easy Greek, such as for the Trojan War and the Odyssey, with 225 pages.

Even though there are no translations, I thought this was an opportunity to mention these ones for interested Greeks and Greek speakers / learners.

There were more books of course, but they were for children or they focused on beautiful illustrations rather than analysis or didn't have enough ratings in Goodreads yet for me to recommend them.

[cathygeha]

REVIEW

The Fearless One by Lori Foster

Osborn Brothers #2

Absolutely loved this book and am not a bit surprised because Lori Foster is an author guaranteed to provide a story that I will become immersed and enmeshed in with characters I won’t want to say goodbye to, and this book was another one that had all that I could hope for.

What I liked:

* Jedidiah “Diah” Stephens: difficult backstory, skilled jill of all trades, looking for answers about her past, difficult childhood and past, has secrets, needs a job, finds work at a campground being refurbished

* Memphis Osborn: tech savvy, bright, younger brother, wicked sense of humor, good friend, has a secret plan, protective of those he cares for, really like him

* The meet cute: it is making me smile and fan myself as I think of Diah’s first glimpse of Memphis

* Tuff: Diah’s canine companion and a good friend as well as protective

* Getting to see Hunter and Jodi from the previous book along with Madison from the MacKenzie family of a previous series

* Remy: once a bad guy with a conscience that was in the previous book and I wanted to know more about – still want to know more and hope he has a book, too, that perhaps has Lane in it, too

* Lane: a woman on the run from a bad guy that finds a safe place to land at the campground

* Glover: a man that gave up everything to keep Diah safe as long as he could

* That the characters are people I would love to be friends with and spend time with

* That the bad guys were easy to dislike

What I didn’t like:

* Who and what I was meant not to like

* Thinking about how evil Otto was and how easy it was for him to do despicable things

Did I like this book? Yes

Would I read more by this author? Definitely!

Thank you to NetGalley and Canary Street Press (HQN) for the ARC – This is my honest review.

5 Stars

BLURB

“Count on Lori Foster for sexy, edgy romance.” — Jayne Ann Krentz , New York Times bestselling author He had it all planned…until she showed up. Jedidiah Stephens came to the Colorado Rockies for one to uncover the truth behind the fire that killed her family. She’s been chasing down clues, and everything has led her to an isolated campground. Her plan is to get a job there so she can investigate who comes and goes. Getting involved with her boss, Memphis Osborn, the ruggedly handsome groundskeeper, is definitely not part of the plan. When Jedidiah arrives on the scene, Memphis just knows she's up to something. He can see the desperation in her eyes and warily agrees to hire her. As they work side by side, Diah triggers his deepest protective instincts—and the chemistry between them ignites. But the more Diah digs into her family’s past, the more secrets she unravels…and the more afraid she becomes. She lost everything once before. She’ll never forgive herself if now she loses Memphis, too. Osborn Brothers Book 1: The Dangerous One Book 2: The Fearless One

Buy Links: BookShop.orgHarlequin Barnes & NobleAmazonBooks-A-Million

AUTHOR BIO

Lori Foster is a New York Times, USA TODAY and Publishers Weekly bestselling author and a recipient of the prestigious RT Book Reviews Career Achievement Award. She lives in Central Ohio, where coffee helps her keep up with her cats and grandkids between writing books. For more about Lori, visit her website at www.lorifoster.com, like her on Facebook or find her on Twitter, @lorilfoster.t

Social Links:

Author Website

Facebook: @Lori Foster

Twitter: @LoriLFosterInstagram: @lorilfoster

EXCERPT

CHAPTER ONE

For early April, the Colorado weather was unseasonably warm. Probably in the low sixties with enough sunshine to make it feel warmer. Jedidiah Stephens, who went by Diah for short, loosely held Tuff’s leash in the only available finger she had. Loaded down with supplies, she made her way along the rutted, occasionally muddy road leading to the budget campground.

Hard to call the miserable path an entry, though. Surely the guy who’d bought the place planned to fix it up a little before he opened in mid-May. If not, she’d see what she could do about it. At the very least, the potholes needed to be filled and everything regraveled. Otherwise, anyone pulling a camper was in for a really bumpy ride, possible damage to the undercarriage of their travel trailer, and there was a good chance they’d get stuck.

Checking the time on her phone, she saw that she was thirty minutes early. Hey, it wasn’t easy to be timely when she relied on others for her transportation. Good thing she’d found a nice woman who’d let her, her number-one guy, Tuff, and her luggage hitch a ride in the back of her pickup. Talk about getting jostled, and now she was more windblown than ever.

Not that she cared. This was the chance she needed to solve the mystery, rid herself of nagging questions and finally get on with a new, better life. Free.

Oh, how she wanted to be free.

She couldn’t change the past or stop the occasional nightmare; she understood that. But by God, she could put an end to running, and in the process forge a new future.

If she let it, excitement and even a little nervousness would take over. Ruthlessly, she tamped down those two disagreeable emotions. The owner’s brother had sent her here, so her early arrival shouldn’t be a big deal. Supposedly, she was a shoo-in for the job.

“Can’t be too much farther,” she said to Tuff, who looked up at her with a frown of concern. For real, her dog was a world-class worrier, but this time Diah had to agree with him. It was starting to feel creepy. The long road in, lined by tall aspens and pines, was plenty isolated. Other than the sounds of critters in the trees, the area was dead silent.

Don’t be such a chickenshit… You gotta toughen up… Jesus, you’re a scaredy-cat.

She’d heard those comments too many times to count. Worse than hearing them?

Knowing they were true.

To the right of her, something rustled in the underbrush—and effectively stalled her breathing. Tuff went alert, staring in that direction, then dismissed it. Almost immediately to her left, a flock of birds took flight, stripping a year off her life. Tuff sidled closer.

Automatically, she sought to reassure him, and in the process reassure herself as well because Tuff’s nervousness always became her own, and vice versa.

Putting a hand on his neck, appreciating the contact with another living creature, she gently rubbed. “Yeah, maybe I should have asked that lady to drive us right up to the campground, huh? I hadn’t figured on it being such a hike, though. His street sign should give a damn clue, right?”

Tuff looked forward and perked his ears.

“Squirrel?” she asked, because she could handle a critter. “Rabbit?” But no. She heard it now, too. Singing. And there up ahead, finally, the winding road opened to a clearing, with a small parking lot on the right and a wooden shed that served as a gatehouse and check-in station on the left. Right now the shed was empty, but it had been recently painted and looked big enough to accommodate a few people. Nearest the road was a drive-through window, so visitors wouldn’t have to get out to check in for their stay.

Thank God they’d finally reached the campgrounds. With a duffel bag hanging from one shoulder, her packed tent slung over the other, and a suitcase in her hand, her shoulders were killing her. The soft suitcase was a roller, but not on this pitted, bumpy path.

Seriously, she wished she were stronger. Wished she were braver, too.

Sometimes she wished she were someone else entirely.

As Tuff strained against the leash, he almost got away from her. Quickly readjusting her free hand, not just a few fingers, Diah said, “Quiet,” in her low command voice, and although Tuff’s furry lips rippled, he didn’t make a sound. Such a smart boy. So many times over the past two grueling years, she’d given thanks that Tuff had come into her life. He was her best friend, her protector and pretty much the only reason she ever smiled. “We’ll sort of sneak in, okay?”

A muffled, “Fft,” was Tuff’s reply. And yup, she grinned.

When she got to the check-in, Diah unloaded her belongings beside it. Looking around, she took in several small cabins that appeared newly repaired. Some trees had been trimmed, RV and tent lots were mostly cleared, but overall the grounds were a work in progress.

Straight ahead, not too far from the entry, a larger cabin—which by no means made it large—appeared to be the source of the singing. She heard, “Love me, love me, saaaay that you love me,” in a high falsetto and couldn’t help but laugh.

“Oh, man, Tuff, do you hear that?”

“Lovefool” by The Cardigans. If she hadn’t heard it in a bar during karaoke night, she’d have no idea. The drunken chick who’d sung it then hadn’t done as good of a job as this guy. He really belted it out with gusto.

Snickering, she said to Tuff, “No time like the present,” and led him along to the cabin, around to the side and there… Ho boy.

Naked.

Using an outside shower.

Forget the warmth of the sunshine. It was freaking April in Colorado.

Thank God a concrete block half wall kept her from seeing him in all his glory, but holy moly, what he showed was enough to keep her gawking. Dude had seriously hot, muscular shoulders and flat abs… Heck, she could see the tops of his hip bones, too. It was a mighty fine display, one she hadn’t been prepared for. 

Tuff sat down, maybe mesmerized. Diah’s legs were suddenly shaky enough that she wouldn’t mind sitting, too.

Lounge back and watch the show? Would’ve been nice.

Unfortunately, she was a human adult, not a dog, so she had to announce herself. She tried loudly clearing her throat, followed by a sharp “Ahem.”

Nothing.

Face turned up, he sang out another verse while rinsing shampoo from dark brown hair a few inches too long. When was the last time she’d seen anyone built like him, all firm, ropy muscles on a tall frame?

Yeah, that’d be never.

Not once in her twenty-four years had she ever encountered any guy, anywhere, who looked like this one.

Shameful to admit, but she eyeballed him a little longer before saying again, louder this time, “Ahem.”

Pausing in midverse, he cocked open one dark blue eye, framed by spiked lashes. He spotted her and at his leisure, without a hint of haste—or modesty—pushed back his wet hair and got both eyes open.

Intently watching her now, no longer singing, he…continued his shower.

What. The. Hell.

A big soapy hand went over his throat, the back of his neck, across his chest and beneath one arm.

He was so damn attractive, her heart ping-ponged around in her chest. Since he didn’t speak, she assumed she’d have to. “Hi, I’m, um…” Who was she? Oh, yeah. “Jedidiah Stephens. Appointment at three.”

Turning his back to the water, not at all put off by being caught in the buff outside, his gaze moved over her body, but quickly came back to her eyes. “I don’t have any appointments.”

She went blank for a moment before the obvious answer came to her. “Oh, hey, I’m sorry for disturbing you.” Belatedly remembering that people were usually put off by her intent stare, she turned to give him privacy. But yeah, she wasn’t comfortable with anyone at her back so she shifted again, facing to the side. If he tried to leave the shower to approach her she’d catch him in her peripheral vision, but at least her gaze wasn’t directly on him. “I’m looking for Memphis Osborn.”

“He’s busy showering.”

Confusion hit her. “You’re both showering?” How… Why…? Thoughts of mud wrestling or some other sexy activity flashed through her mind. Two sweaty guys. Muscles straining…

Sucked that she’d missed it.

A gruff, short laugh came from him and he said, “You’re not seeing the big picture. I’m Memphis, I’m showering and I don’t have any appointments.”

Chagrin brought her around so that she fully faced him again. Yup, still gloriously naked. How could she not stare? “You own this place?”

Beside her, Tuff stirred. The poor dog was as tired as she was and no doubt ready to bed down somewhere for a nap.

“Guilty. As you can see, I haven’t opened yet.”

“I know the place isn’t open.” She resisted adding “Duh.” As if explaining to a little kid, she spoke slowly. “I have an appointment about a job.”

His gaze dipped over her bare legs, making her wish she’d worn jeans instead of shorts. Yeah, if only she’d had a chance to do laundry, but it wasn’t always possible on the road. His attention lingered for a mere heartbeat before returning to her face…and roaming over her every feature as if figuring out who—or what—she was. Rude!

Because she’d ogled him, too, she couldn’t really get huffy about it… The hell she couldn’t! She was fully dressed, not prancing around outside bare-assed. “Take a picture, why doncha?”

“You wouldn’t mind?” He reached for the cell phone he’d left on the top of the half wall near a folded towel. As he lifted the phone, the music that came from it abruptly died.

The sudden quiet was jarring.

He pretended to take aim.

Belatedly, she found her voice, which erupted with irritation. “Look, I was told to be here and that you’d hire me.”

“Sight unseen?” Shaking his head to deny that, he set the phone aside, turned off the water and reached for the towel—which he only slung around his neck. “I don’t think so.”

Swear to God, she could see steam rising off those impressive shoulders. Her palms tingled at the idea of touching him, maybe coasting her fingers over the swells of muscle. “Aren’t you freezing?”

“Little bit.”

Yet, he didn’t dry off. “Is there a reason you’re showering out here instead of inside somewhere?”

“Yeah.”

She waited, but he didn’t elaborate. Fine, she could play this game. “Wanna share?”

Amusement tugged at one corner of his very sexy mouth. “Might as well, since you’re still here.” He made a halfhearted effort at drying himself. “I’ve been living in this cabin, which is the biggest on the grounds, but still not big enough for me.”

“Seriously?” It looked great to her.

“The shower was especially small,” he explained, “so I’m extending the back end with a larger bedroom and bathroom. It’s not quite done and until it is, I have more room out here.” He eyed her again. “Used to have plenty of privacy, too, until some girl and her dog just showed up out of the blue.”

Odd that the words were disgruntled, but the tone not so much. If anything, he seemed amused. Maybe she was going about this all wrong. After adjusting her tinted glasses, she tried on a congenial smile. “This is Tuff.”

“What is?”

“My dog. His name is Tuff.”

Glancing down, he gave a short laugh at the dog’s sleepy expression. “Hey, boy. Are you really that tough?”

“T-u-f-f,” she explained. “He came with the name when I adopted him. He’s fast, smart and super protective.” She tacked on the last just in case he wasn’t as easygoing as he seemed and had any thoughts of hassling her.

Disinterested in all the human chitchat, Tuff yawned.

“He’s also tired.” Memphis searched the area. “Where’s your car? I didn’t hear you drive in.”

“I walked.”

Skeptical, he asked, “From where?”

Right. Nowhere was near so the question made sense. “We hitched a ride in the back of a woman’s truck. She dropped us off by the camp sign.”

“The camp sign that’s a little over a mile away?” 

That far? Hmm. Maybe she could garner some sympathy and that’d soften him up. “Only a mile?” To add an edge of drama, she put a hand to her back. “Felt longer with me carrying all my gear and leading the dog. I think it took me a good forty minutes.”

Lacking even an ounce of pity, he grinned. “Great exercise, right?” He turned a finger in the air. “I’m stepping out now, so unless you want your feelings hurt, you might want to turn around.”

“Why would it hurt my feelings?”

He hitched one of those big shoulders. “No idea, but you’re acting all affronted that I’m out here naked, on my own property where you shouldn’t be, showering in a place that’s none of your business, so I assumed you’d object.” After spewing that mix of nonsense and censure, he waited.

Left with no choice, she gave him the truth. “Eh, since you’re a stranger and everything, I’d prefer to keep an eye on you.”

“What a weak excuse. Admit you want to see me.”

Of all the… She folded her arms and tried to glance away. Couldn’t quite do it, though. “I won’t stare.” She wouldn’t. Her stare had gotten her into trouble too many times.

Had gotten her hurt as well. A long time ago, she reminded herself, and yet it was a lesson she’d never forget.

“Suit yourself.” The towel wasn’t nearly big enough to adequately wrap around his lean hips, but he came out from behind the block wall anyway.

And strolled away.

“Hey.” Diah hustled after him. “Where are we going?” 

“I’m going for clothes, and you aren’t invited.” He glanced back. “Much as you’d apparently love to watch.”

Damn it. She had to do better about staring—and usually she did. Given how good he looked, she’d cut herself a little slack for the lapse.

Ignoring his jibe, she aimed for a marginally reasonable comment. “I’ll wait out here.”

Keeping his back to her, he said, “No reason. I’m not hiring you.”

Unacceptable, so she stalled with a question. “You don’t have a shower room here for guests?”

Idly, he pointed in the direction of a concrete building farther out. “Right there, but it’s still loaded with spiders.”

Even as she shuddered, she prodded him by asking, “Squeamish about bugs?”

“Not particularly, but I’d as soon not shower with them.” He went up a few wooden steps to his front door.

Rather than keep chasing him, Diah acted like everything was on track. “Go ahead and get dressed, then I’ll explain.”

At that, he dropped his head forward and laughed.

She waited to see what he’d say, but with another shrug, he opened his door and went inside.

Damn. Now what?

Pacing away, her every step kicking up debris in the gravel walkway, Diah tried to plan. She came up blank. He had to hire her, period. In fact, thanks to Memphis’s brother and his wife, she’d already considered herself hired. They’d offered her assurances.

Could she use that to her advantage?

Twenty minutes later, he still hadn’t returned. People didn’t take that long to get dressed. It was a nice day. Underwear, shorts, a shirt…presto. He’d be done in under a minute.

So he was dodging her. Did he think she’d give up and leave? Fat chance.

She considered knocking on his door, but that wasn’t a great way to make a good impression on a job interview.

If she could turn this into an interview.

If she hadn’t just been completely dismissed.

Crap, what if he was calling the police or something?

Tuff whined, and that helped strengthen her resolve. She hadn’t come this far just to give up. True, she wasn’t the bravest person. So what? She had perseverance and initiative. “Come on, buddy. We both need a rest and Mr. Naked can just do whatever the hell he’s in there doing. I’m not budging unless I’m dragged away.”

Having done it many times now, in many different places, she methodically moved her gear to a cleared site, dug out Tuff’s bowl and filled it with water from Mr. Naked’s outdoor shower. While the dog drank she got set up.

Naturally, she’d chosen the spot closest to his cabin.

He’d figure out that she wasn’t leaving. She couldn’t.

One way or another, this was where she had to be.

While Memphis hastily pulled on boxers and loose cargo shorts, he watched the woman through one of the specialty one-way mirrored windows installed on his cabin as she literally—and expertly—pitched her tent.

On his property.

As if she had every intention of staying, despite anything he’d said. It nettled him big time, and yet it also had his blood pumping. Exhilarating. He hadn’t been this enthralled since moving here and buying the campgrounds.

Sure, he went into town every so often, and he’d visited with his brother and sister-in-law a few times. At least once a week he conferred with Madison, who was not only hardcore at tech but also claimed to be his BFF. Most best-friends-forever would visit in person more often. So far, he’d only met Madison in person a handful of times. Not a biggie since her husband and brothers were scary dudes who excelled at intimidation.

They didn’t intimidate him only because he understood them. They were big-time enforcers of justice, and on a smaller scale, he could help do the same from this campground.

To make the idea a reality, he’d been mostly working alone, setting up security cameras, motion sensors and reliable public WiFi for the guests—which he could easily monitor when necessary.

Eventually, he’d finish some of the necessary things, like cleaning out the showers and fixing the entry road, but any contractors he had around would be clueless to the real reason he had this place.

In fact, the only people so far who knew were his brother, sister-in-law and Madison.

After thumbing his brother’s number on his cell, he waited, and as soon as Hunter answered, Memphis said, “What the hell is this?”

“Memphis?” Hunter asked with feigned innocence.

“Yes, it’s your brother. I thought you loved me.”

“Do,” Hunter said, then asked, “So what’s the problem?”

“You sent someone here for a job.”

“I told you about that.” 

“You told me about a guy—Jedidiah—not a pushy girl.” A girl with super-long, gorgeous legs, silky-looking brown hair with blondish ends, and an arresting set of eyes partially hidden behind rose-tinted glasses.

Eyes that instantly captivated.

She also had a totally funky fashion sense.

Not that he didn’t appreciate her cute coverall shorts worn with a faded pink long-sleeve top.

Hunter stated, “Jedidiah is a woman.”

“No shit.”

“You called her a girl.”

“You know what I meant.”

“She’s qualified. Has an amazing background as a handyman—”

“Woman,” Memphis said, throwing the correction back at his brother. “Handywoman.”

“—and she can fix, or oversee the fixing of, all the things you still need repaired. Plus, Jodi liked her.”

Memphis hated to admit it, but an endorsement from his sister-in-law counted for a lot, because Jodi didn’t trust many people. “Background check?”

“We figured you’d do more, but overall she’s clear.”

Overall clear and yet she’d watched him shower without a single qualm. That definitely felt shady…or at least ballsy. Worse, though, she’d heard him singing. Being fickle, he grinned and said, “I don’t like it.”

“You mean you don’t like her? Will it help if I tell you she’s a lot like Jodi?”

“Good Lord.” No, that definitely wouldn’t help. If that was true, he shouldn’t have left her unattended.

Good thing he could see her walking around the grounds, inspecting one thing, frowning at another, testing the sturdiness of something else. 

“I’ll share your reaction with Jodi.”

“Don’t you dare.” He adored Jodi and though she didn’t need it, he felt very protective of her.

“So what’s the problem? You were all about me marrying Jodi.”

His stomach dropped. “What the hell does any of this have to do with marriage?”

“I just assumed if you had any type of issue with Jodi, you wouldn’t have sacrificed me.”

Sacrifice? Ha! He’d have liked to see anyone try to separate his brother from Jodi. Satan himself couldn’t have accomplished it. “Jodi, with all her special talents, is perfect for you—but you and I are very different people and you know it.”

“Jodi swears that in the most elemental ways, we’re the same and she wants you to hire Jedidiah.”

Damn. Memphis watched as the woman sat cross-legged on the ground, then dug around in her duffel bag and found an apple. When had she last eaten?

“Memphis?”

“I told her to leave,” he murmured aloud, as much to himself as his brother.

“Did she?”

“No.” Bemused, he watched her fill a bowl with dry food and set it before Tuff. First a water dish, and now this. What else did she have in that pack?

He kind of liked that she’d taken care of her pet first.

“Memphis?”

“She seems to be settling in,” he grumbled. “Now I’m going to have to oust her.”

“Hang on.”

Alarm drew his attention off Jedidiah. “Hunter, don’t you dare put me on with—” 

“Hey, Memphis.”

Damn it. “Hey, Jodi,” he said in his nicest happy-to-hear-from-you voice. “How’s my favorite sister-in-law?”

“I’m your only sister-in-law.”

“Even if there were a dozen, you’d be my favorite.” He saw Jedidiah yawn with an elaborate stretch, her arms reaching high, back arching, before she relaxed again.

Fascinating.

Showing visible impatience, she pulled the band from her ponytail, finger-combed her hair and deftly began braiding it over her shoulder.

Mesmerizing.

“You’re piling it on a bit thick, aren’t you?”

Jodi’s droll tone again gained his attention. “Not at all. You’re special. You know I’ve always said so.”

“Well, as someone special, I want you to keep her.”

Memphis rubbed the back of his neck where droplets from his still-wet hair trickled down his spine. He really needed to finish dressing so he could confront his unwanted guest. “Putting an attractive woman here with me isn’t wise.” He snatched up the towel and roughly ran it over his head.

“You think she’s attractive?”

Memphis rolled his eyes. “You’re not blind, honey. You know she is.”

“I guess, but hey, I’m assuming you can control yourself.”

“Can I?” He’d never had to before. Given how Jedidiah had stared at him, the interest would be returned. If she became an employee, he couldn’t very well react to basic urges. Or could he? He’d never been a boss before. 

Then again, if he didn’t hire her, she’d leave. Hmm.

“I know you can,” Jodi said. “And, Memphis, she really needs the job. Give her a shot. See how it goes. You have a little time before you open, and I guarantee she’ll help you get the last few things in order.”

That casual last few things should have alarmed him, because seriously, he didn’t want others knowing why he’d bought the campground and how he planned to use it.

Hung up on a different part of what Jodi said, he harked back to, “What do you mean, she needs the job?”

Jodi huffed out a breath. “You met her, Memphis. Does she look like someone with a lot of resources?”

She’d hitchhiked in. She’d pitched her tent. Worse, she looked exhausted, so… “No.” Did she carry all her personal belongings with her? If so, she didn’t have much. “Spell it out for me.”

“Look, it’s her business, okay? All I’ll say is that if you send her packing, she’ll be sleeping in the woods somewhere.”

Sleeping in the woods? “What the hell are you getting me into?”

Hunter rejoined the conversation, saying, “Madison recommends her, too.”

Of all the… They’d already discussed this with Madison? “Listen up, brother. Women do not run my life.”

Jodi’s laugh came through loud and clear. “Keep her, Memphis.”

“She’s not a stray dog, you know.”

“Definitely not.” With more humor than the situation warranted, Jodi said, “You’ll like having her around. Trust me. I’ll check back with you in a few days.”

“Jodi—” 

“Later, gator.”

Well, hell.

Hunter asked, “So that’s settled?”

Had he given Memphis a choice? He hated to disappoint Jodi, and now if Jedidiah left, he’d worry about her. No woman should be alone and unprotected in this area, much less alone in the woods.

And it wasn’t just the wildlife and weather that concerned him.

Memphis watched her stretch again, then pet the dog. “How did you and Jodi meet her anyway?”

“She was asking around town about you.”

His brows went up. “How so?”

“Curious about the campgrounds at first. When she found out you owned it now, she wanted to know your plans for the place. When you’d bought in, how long you’d been out there, stuff like that. Jodi got wind of it.”

“Of course she did.” Most likely, Madison had clued in Jodi. For a guy raised with only one brother, Memphis now had two awesome women in his life—a sister-in-law and a tech wizard bestie. He enjoyed them both; Jodi because she was special, both cunning and kind, and she made his brother very happy, and Madison because she was brilliant, connected, and it was nice to talk shop with someone who understood.

“Once we located Jedidiah, Jodi spoke with her.”

“Bet that was an interesting conversation.”

“Actually, Jedidiah seemed skittish at first, and you know Jodi. That made her extra curious, too, but also sympathetic. Jodi claims Jedidiah is here for a reason.”

That was the only conclusion that made sense. Why else would an attractive, healthy woman choose to hitchhike through Colorado and then apply for a handyman job at a remote, rundown campground? “She could be dangerous.”

“You can handle yourself. Plus, Jodi said she wasn’t armed.”

He hadn’t even thought about her having a weapon. “Jodi would know.” His sister-in-law was more astute than most, and deeply aware of everything and everyone. Sad, how and why she’d learned to be that way—but it had made her perfect for Hunter, and vice versa, and that was what mattered most, not any tragedies in the past.

Did Jedidiah have a tragic past?

Seemed possible. After all, Jodi had a nose for recognizing kindred spirits.

“Memphis?”

That particular tone from his brother put him on guard. “What?”

“Give her a try, okay? If it doesn’t work out, if you have legit reason for wanting her off your property, Jodi and I will help you make it happen.”

“Why is it you two think you know everything I need?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Fine. She can stay the night and we’ll see how it goes.” He’d make no promises beyond that. “I should check on her now. She’s been out there stewing while we talked.”

“Ass,” Hunter said in exasperation. “Go take care of her, and let me know if you need anything.”

“Thanks.” He stuck the phone in his pocket, finished toweling his hair, grabbed a T-shirt from the drawer and stepped into old sneakers.

A singular sense of anticipation, something he hadn’t felt in forever, took him back out to the grounds and right up to where Jedidiah Stephens sat with her dog. No way did she miss his approach, especially now that his shadow encompassed her, yet she continued to pet Tuff without acknowledging him. The dog, however, sat up and let his tongue loll out—cautious, ready, but not yet aggressive.

Memphis waited, but Jedidiah said nothing, which meant he had to. “So do you have a reference?”

Squinting against the sun, aqua-colored eyes peered up at him. “Your brother and sister-in-law aren’t good enough?”

“Afraid not.” Was it the pink-tinted glasses that made her eyes that unique shade, a cross between blue and green? Or perhaps it was compliments of colored contacts. For certain, he’d never seen eyes like hers.

She quickly glanced away, but as if she couldn’t help herself, her gaze returned to him. “Then no, I don’t have a reference.”

When she didn’t stand, he crouched down in front of her, noting her touch of wariness. Long lashes lifted, brown eyebrows went up…and then drew down.

“What?” she asked, her tone defensive.

“I’ll keep you on a trial period.”

Miraculously, her expression changed to one of relief mingled with joy. “For real?”

Happiness made her even more appealing. “A week.”

“Awesome.” A big smile put dimples in her cheeks. “That’s time enough to convince you that I’m good to have around.”

Bothered by her nearness, Memphis stood again. “Would you like the use of a cabin?”

“A cabin?” Finally, she came to her feet, too, and though she fought it, her attention flickered to his place. “Where?” 

So much suspicion. Had someone mistreated her? It didn’t really feel like a specific concern as much as general caution. A good idea since she was a woman alone, in an isolated area with a large man she didn’t know. If Jodi was right, she didn’t even have a weapon to protect herself.

Standing in front of her, he guessed her to be around five feet seven inches—which put her a good five inches shorter than him.

The braid she’d refashioned was crooked but cute, and his fingers curled with the urge to see if her hair was as silky as it looked. Traces of dust clung to her arms and cheeks. Wisps of hair around her face had darkened with sweat.

None of that should have stirred him, and yet it did.

“What?” she asked again, this time in annoyance. She straightened those silly colored glasses, flipped her braid over her shoulder. “Something wrong?”

Unfortunately, everything seemed right. “No.” Gesturing to the cabin across from his own, he asked, “Will that do? It’s small, only a loft bedroom, kitchenette, love seat with a TV, and a tiny bathroom.” He needed her to be close by so he could keep an eye on her.

“Sure. Or I can stay in my tent.”

“And then shower with the spiders?”

Her lips scrunched to the side. “Yeah, okay. Cabin it is. Er… I mean. How much?”

Benevolent, Memphis held out his arms. “It comes with the job.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Is there a catch?”

So much distrust. “Yes. If I’m not satisfied with the job you do, you lose the cabin.”

“That’s it? For real? I’ll do a great job, you’ll see.” 

He believed her. “Would you like to know how much you’ll get paid?”

“I suppose I should.”

Meaning she’d take the job regardless? Things got more interesting by the minute. He named the amount—slightly more than he’d intended to pay—but why not? She looked like she needed it. When her eyes widened, he felt good about upping the pay. “Will that suffice?”

“That’d be terrific, yeah.”

One issue down, now on to the rest. “Have you eaten?”

“You watched me eat an apple.”

He blinked.

“Dude, you have reflective windows. I know what they are. You look out, no one can look in.” She smirked. “Besides, I could feel you staring.”

His fascination grew. “I was on the phone with my brother.”

“Did he sing my praises?”

“Why would you think that?”

“He seemed all gung ho on you hiring me. His wife did, too. They smiled about it a lot.”

Yeah, Memphis just bet they did. The lie came easily. “Actually, they cautioned me.”

Her brows dropped. “About what?”

He started her toward his cabin with a wave of his hand. “You asked about me around town.”

Nothing. Not a word as she followed along.

Prodding her, he asked, “How did you hear about the campground?”

More silence. He glanced at her and caught her concentrated frown. Ah, so she and this campground had a history? He’d have to look into that. 

“The thing is…”

Understanding about secrets, he said, “Never mind, we’ll get back to that later. Would you like to come in while I get the keys to unlock your cabin?”

She peered around him, gave it some thought and looked at Tuff. “I can’t leave him out here alone. He’d go bonkers.”

“Should I assume you’ll only be able to work when the dog can be beside you?” That’d certainly limit what she could do.

“This is our first day here. First hour, even. He’ll relax once he gets used to the place. Usually, I can leash him nearby and he’s fine.” She shifted, then asked with dread, “Is that going to be a problem?”

Memphis shook his head. Instincts were a very real thing and his were telling him to accommodate her. “Tuff is welcome inside as well.”

For only a second, she showed her surprise. “Oh, okay, then sure. I can check out your bathroom, too, if you want.” Verbally backpedaling, she said, “I mean, to see what else has to be done.”

He let that go without a joke. “You have plumbing skills?”

“Give me the right tools and a little more muscle and I could pretty much build a house from the ground up.”

“No kidding?” He opened his door and stepped aside for her to enter. “A formidable skill for a… How old are you?”

After the slightest beat of hesitation, she said, “Midtwenties.”

“And so exact.” He came in behind her, which had her quickly turning to face him. Right, her aversion to having people at her back. Without making an issue of it, Memphis strode around her toward the kitchen. “Had some experience in contracting?”

“It’s mostly what I’ve done.” Leaning against a wall, she watched as Tuff sniffed everything—each piece of furniture, cabinet and along the floor. “I tried other jobs, but then I realized I have a knack for handyman work and pick up on stuff easily, so I’ve stuck with it.”

Unlocking a large cabinet on the wall, Memphis surveyed the labeled keys on tiny hooks, each with multiple duplicates, and withdrew the one he’d need. “Was your father in construction?”

With deep interest, she continued to stare at the cabinet.

It took Memphis a second to figure out why, and once he did, compassion overshadowed everything else. Whatever was going on with Jedidiah, she’d learned to be extra cautious. “I need duplicates in case one gets lost.” Her gaze shot to his and held. Such remarkable eyes. She didn’t just look at a person, she fixed on them as if nothing else existed.

The only time Memphis could recall a woman gazing at him like that was during sex, and even then, the attention hadn’t felt so intense.

Should he tell her that the tinted lenses did nothing to lessen the impact of her stare? Probably not—at least not yet. Not when she looked so mistrustful.

“Each cabin has a dead bolt on the inside of the entry door so when you’re inside, you’re safe. I have extra keys just in case someone locks themselves out, or loses the key.”

She needlessly adjusted her glasses and glanced away. “Right.” The uneasy smile she flicked his way didn’t include her endearing dimples. Giving her atten it, Memphis strode around her toward the kitchen. “Had some experience in contracting?”

“It’s mostly what I’ve done.” Leaning against a wall, she watched as Tuff sniffed everything—each piece of furniture, cabinet and along the floor. “I tried other jobs, but then I realized I have a knack for handyman work and pick up on stuff easily, so I’ve stuck with it.”

Unlocking a large cabinet on the wall, Memphis surveyed the labeled keys on tiny hooks, each with multiple duplicates, and withdrew the one he’d need. “Was your father in construction?”

With deep interest, she continued to stare at the cabinet.

It took Memphis a second to figure out why, and once he did, compassion overshadowed everything else. Whatever was going on with Jedidiah, she’d learned to be extra cautious. “I need duplicates in case one gets lost.” Her gaze shot to his and held. Such remarkable eyes. She didn’t just look at a person, she fixed on them as if nothing else existed.

The only time Memphis could recall a woman gazing at him like that was during sex, and even then, the attention hadn’t felt so intense.

Should he tell her that the tinted lenses did nothing to lessen the impact of her stare? Probably not—at least not yet. Not when she looked so mistrustful.

“Each cabin has a dead bolt on the inside of the entry door so when you’re inside, you’re safe. I have extra keys just in case someone locks themselves out, or loses the key.”

She needlessly adjusted her glasses and glanced away. “Right.” The uneasy smile she flicked his way didn’t include her endearing dimples. Giving her attention to the rest of the kitchen, she said, “I know how it works. No worries.”

“Oh?” Happy to give her the change in topic, he asked, “Have some experiences with campgrounds, too?”

“We visited them often when I was a kid.”

Something in how she said that made him wonder: Had she been to this campground? Trying to be subtle about it, he asked, “When was the last time you and your family visited—”

She interrupted to ask, “Mind if I take a look at your addition now?”

Huh. Apparently, discussions of her family were off the table. His curiosity grew, but again, he let it go.

Knowing her preferences, he stepped around her to lead the way to his bedroom. “It’s back here.” As they walked down the hall, he asked, “So other than an apple, have you eaten?”

“This morning.”

“Got a meal hidden in your gear? Because I don’t have the camp store open yet and even when I do it’ll be for basics without a lot of meal choices. The cupboards in your cabin aren’t stocked, either.”

Her hand went to her stomach, but instead of answering his question, she said, “I heard you’re making this a budget place, right?” Studiously ignoring his bed, she moved along to the extension.

In between his special projects for the campgrounds, he’d gotten the bigger bedroom and bathroom semifinished. The doors and all the windows were in, so the room was secure. The drywall was up, the seams mudded, but they needed to be sanded.

“It’ll be an affordable stay, not at all fancy. Only the basics offered.” Which meant that less reputable people would find it appealing. The grounds wouldn’t be on anyone’s radar. Low-key, unobtrusive—quick in and quick out. However, while guests were here, Memphis could do all the digging he wanted on their extracurricular and often illegal activities.

Jedidiah moved on, inspecting everything. “Electrical, plumbing and HVAC are all roughed in?”

“Yes.” He glanced around at the incomplete work. Once the room was closed up, he’d put finishing it on hold to focus on other projects that he considered key to the campground. “The shower only needs to be caulked.”

“So rather than caulk it, you choose to shower outside in April?”

“The weather has been mild and I find it invigorating.” Only a partial lie. There’d been times when he’d thought he’d freeze his balls off, completing his shower in under two minutes and racing back into the warmth of his cabin. “I sing to scare off the bears.”

“There aren’t any bears around.”

“Guess my singing is working.”

She snickered. “Want me to caulk it for you?”

“Why?” She sounded so earnest, he lifted his brows and teased her. “Just because you’re here, you don’t want me showering outside anymore?”

The humor slipped and her expression went blank. “I mean, no, sure…” Confusion brought her brows together. “Did you still plan to?”

Fighting a grin, he gestured at the bedroom. “At least until the rest of this is done.” When it was finished, his bed would get moved in here and he’d have the old, crowded bedroom to use as office space. “A little sanding, trim, paint… Won’t be much longer anyway.”

Determined, she faced him. “I can do all that.”

Never before had he met anyone so eager to take on work. “No kidding?”

Again moving past his question, she explained, “You’ve had your final inspections, right? I can do the hookups for the electrical, plumbing, HVAC—all that. Plus, I’m really good at trim work and I’ve done drywall plenty of times. Painting isn’t a problem, either.” Squaring her shoulders, she said, “I’ll even clear out the spiders in the public showers.”

Damn. Did she think she needed to work sunup to sundown? “Jedidiah…”

“Call me Diah. It’s not such a mouthful.”

“Diah.” Pretty name and it suited her. “All right.”

This time her smile showed only resolve. “I promise I’ll be a good worker.”

“I never doubted it.” He realized Tuff wasn’t with them and turned to see the dog snuffling into his closet. Quickly striding to him, Memphis said, “Hey there, Tuff, how’d you get that door open?”

Before he could reach the dog, Diah darted past him and pulled Tuff away. “Sorry.” Stiff and unsure, she stood protectively in front of the dog. “He gets nosy.”

Her moods bounced around too fast for Memphis to keep track, but always, to one degree or another, the uncertainty was there. Now, when it came to her dog, she did her best to shield him.

What did she think he’d do? Wondering about that, Memphis gentled his tone. “First, there’s nothing awful in my closet so I wasn’t worried.” To reassure her, he reached out and opened the closet door the rest of the way. She could see the clothes in front, but not really the shelving in the back. Not that he was hiding anything but he didn’t think she wanted him to give her an accounting of his belongings. “Even if I was hiding something top secret, I would never mistreat an animal. You don’t have to worry about me with Tuff. I just didn’t want him eating my shoes.”

“Tuff would never!”

Her affront on behalf of her dog was endearing. “If you say so. My brother has this goofy basset mix who seems to like the laces in my shoes.”

The mention of Turbo eased some of the defensiveness from her posture. “I met Turbo. He makes funny noises.”

“That he does. His barker is broken or something. He came that way when Hunter rescued him so we’re not sure how it happened, and now it’s just a very Turbo-like thing to hear a dog quacking.”

The dimples reappeared in her cheeks. “He’s bottom heavy, too, and bounces when he’s excited.”

“I imagine he was excited to meet Tuff.”

“Very.” Putting her hand on Tuff’s head, she said, “We didn’t know what to think, did we, bud?”

Tuff said, “Fft.”

“That’s his quiet bark, his way of keeping things understated. When he’s mad he sounds demonic.” Realizing what she’d said, she quickly backtracked. “Oh, but he doesn’t get mad often, only when something is really wrong or…” Her voice trailed off.

“Or he thinks you’re being threatened?”

Excerpted from The Fearless One by Lori Foster. Copyright © 2023 by Lori Foster. Published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

[emjiroki]

Noones Home Collab: @sakusins

Stepbro Hitoshi Shinsou x fem! Reader (both are college age; at least 22)

Word count: 2k

WARNINGS: stepcest, explicit scenes and language, oral (f receiving) 18+ ONLY MINORS DNI

Here's my entry for the Noones Home Collab hosted by our most lovely Tee! This was really fun to write and I'm definitely planning on more Hitoshi cause oof🥵 Hope everyone enjoys!

Skirts. It was always the damn skirts. Anywhere you went if it was over sixty degrees you were in a flouncy short little skirt and it never failed to send Hitoshi’s blood places it shouldn’t be, you were his step sister for god’s sake. His beautiful stepsister who was taking over his mind with your little outfits and glossy lips. Glossy lips that were open in a surprised gasp of his name as he finally bent you over the kitchen island and flipped up the brand new little pleated skirt you just bought, showing it off to him before "accidentally" flashing your panties; black and lacy just like he always fantasized about. Hitoshi knew it was wrong, knew he really shouldn't be doing this but it felt like he flipped into autopilot, His hands going to your hips and turning you around to press you down against the counter. 

You could feel your face burning with arousal and maybe a little shame, you too knew that it was wrong, but who were you to say no when his hands felt so good gripping your waist and holding you down. 

“H-Hitoshi, what are y- ah” You gasped again as he smacked a hand down against your ass.

“Really? Gonna ask me what I'm doing when you’re the one teasing me?” He asked incredulously, “I know you’re taking a year off college but didn’t think you were stupid”. 

“Jerk” You hissed, trying to turn around and walk away from him until he grabbed your forearms and held you in place against the counter, letting you raise up just enough to where the back of your shoulders was against his chest as he leaned down against you. 

“Ah-ah, no need for an attitude kitten,” He whispered against the shell of your ear, eliciting a shiver across your skin, “I am your stepbrother, gotta pick on you a little right?”. You bit the inside of your cheek as he pressed his hips up against you, hard cock grinding up against you.

‘Stepbrother, stepbrother’ it echoed in your mind as you let a soft moan slip, the feeling of him rubbing up against your clit through your clothing had electricity racing down to your toes. 

“My mom would be furious with us,” You said through an airy sigh, fighting the arousing heat licking at your abdomen. 

“So would my dad,” Hitoshi chuckled, fingers going down to your hands and curling his fingers with yours against the marble countertop, effectively holding your hands in his. 

“They would think we were gross,” You said almost defeatedly.

“Disgusting,” He breathed against your throat, lips ghosting against your under jaw. You turned in his grip, surprising him slightly, your hands running up his arms, pulling lightly at the grey T-shirt hugging his body. 

“Terrible and horrible” You whispered, cheeks heating further as you looked into his lavender eyes. 

“Despicable,” He whispered back. You two were only an inch or two away now. 

“They’ll be home from their date soon” You commented, one hand going to his shoulder. He grinned. 

“Guess you better kiss me quick then”. You only hesitated for a moment, pressing forward and kissing him lightly before pulling back, your blood already rushing in your ears. 

“Maybe one more,” Hitoshi said as he nudged his nose against yours, stealing another quick kiss from your lips, barely pulling away this time, “just one more”. He was mumbling into your lips at this point, body pressed flush against yours and your arms eventually making their way around his neck as your lips danced together. Hitoshi didn’t think he had ever been this hard, cock throbbing behind his jeans' confines. He felt lightheaded as you continued to push yourself forward, grinding your hips against his and practically sliding your pussy across him. 

“T-This is wrong ‘Toshi” You murmured hotly against his lips as he tried to pull away, only to be dragged back in by his huffing moan. 

“Shouldn’t feel so right then,” He groaned, moving one hand down to grip your ass under the skirt. You couldn’t argue with that, your pulse pounding under your skin and the feeling of your panties sticking to you showing just how much you couldn’t deny your feelings, no matter how depraved they were. 

“Let me get a look at you, huh? Pull those panties off for me” Hitoshi said, lifting you up onto the counter with ease as you nodded your head, groaning against your tongue when you ran it across his bottom lip. He had your skirt bunched up, sticky panties on full display as he hooked his fingers into the waistband, marveling at the dark lace against your skin and biting his lip to hold back a groan when he saw the glistening sheen of arousal soaking the material. He waited no time before sinking onto one knee, tongue going straight to your clit and pulling a little scream from you at the sudden stimulation. You could barely breathe as his moan vibrated against your clit, his lavender eyes casting up towards you glassy and lust blew as your slick leaked across his taste buds. 

“Knew you would taste like heaven baby,” He panted as he delved past the lips of your pussy and into your twitching hole, “sweetest little cunt”. The high-pitched moan he dragged from your chest would have been embarrassing if you had any shame left, but luckily for you, that was not the case. Your left hand moved to tug at his shock of purple hair, right hand steadied behind you to keep you upright as he buried his face into you. Hitoshi pulled away for a moment, flicking the tip of his tongue against your sensitive nub and smirking when you jerked, running a slender finger through the cream leaking from your hole that twitched and attempted to draw his finger inside. 

“So sensitive,” He commented as his dick throbbed, wanting nothing more than to bury himself to the balls inside of you, “Think we’ve got enough time?”. It was a question that you could barely answer as he dipped his fingers in past the rim, stretching for a moment and taking your breath before pulling away. Now, who was being the tease?

“T-Toshi I want-” You cut yourself off from saying what you were thinking, afraid you’d be crossing a line that you wouldn’t be able to uncross later.

“What Kitten? What do you want?” He asked, ghosting his lips and tongue up the inside of your thigh, “All you gotta do is ask me real sweet”. 

“I-I- I want your cock ‘Toshi, please” You pleaded, tugging his hair and pulling his face away from your still very much leaking pussy. 

“Thought you’d never ask sweetheart” He groaned, standing up between your spread thighs and undoing the button and zipper on his jeans. You moved his hands away when he went to pull his pants down, your own fingers gliding around the waistband and feeling his warm skin against your fingers, tugging them down until his cock was free and bobbing up against his abdomen.

“Jesus” You muttered, taking his dick in hand and feeling the weight in your palm, your fingers just barely touching when you wrapped around him. 

“Don’t worry too much, I’ll fit just fine” He said with a confident smirk, hands going to your waist and rolling his thumbs against your hipbones. You spat into your hand and slicked him up, a deep groan rolling from his throat as you gripped quickly around his head before shimmying down the counter a little. You drew in a deep breath as he rubbed the thick head up between your folds, coating himself just a little more but easing his hips forward. 

“Squeezing around me so much baby, gotta-gotta ease up” He groaned, sinking half of his cock in before pulling back, waiting for you to whine and try and move before he pushed forward more. 

“M’ Tryin,” You whined, taking a deep shuddering breath and trying to relax around the intrusion dragging burning wave after wave of pleasure from your gut, “just big”.

He let out a breathy chuckle at that, gripping your waist before pummeling his full length into your soaked hole. One hand on your waist and the other going up under to hold your thigh up as he began to fuck into you had you panting, eyes crossing and hands shaking as he carved a spot for himself into your insides. 

“Feels s’good Toshi” You moaned, maybe louder than you should have considering your mother could be just outside the front door. 

“Pretty little pussy’s creaming on my balls baby, such a good girl” He groaned, fighting to keep his eyes from crossing too as your velvet walls pulsed around him, attempting to milk everything from him. His cock curved into the sensitive spot that had you seeing stars with every thrust, his nails gripping harder and harder into his shoulders as your climax grew until your knees were shaking. 

“Pl-Please I’m gonna cum” You pleaded hooking your ankles around his back and locking him in closer as you felt him twitch inside of you, the guttural moan that you pulled from him only further igniting your end. 

“Cum for me and drag me down with you Kitten” Hitoshi groaned, wantonly as his fingers gripped bruises into your flesh. Every nerve in your body was vibrating as your orgasm tore through you, a whiny scream of his name being the last thing he needed to cum too. You could have orgasmed for a second time as his thick cum filled you up, twitching against your walls and pumping you full as he groaned breathly against your throat, his hips thrusting lightly to keep himself stuffed inside of you as you both came down from your high, racing hearts beginning to slow as the lustful fog cleared. Well, your heart was slowing until you heard keys in the door. 

“Shit,” He said with a laugh as you shoved him away, quickly pulling your panties on and up to stop the flow of his cum from your abused, still twitching, pussy and fixing your skirt. 

“Y/n?” Your mother’s voice called from the front door, the sound of footsteps only making you two hurry more to get everything straightened like you hadn’t just fucked on their island, “Hitoshi you home?”.

“Yeah, we’re here mom, in the kitchen” You called pulling out one of the take-out pizza menus and shoving it into Hitoshi’s hands as he pulled his phone out. Your mother and stepfather appeared in the kitchen doorway, your mom with leftover bags in hand and putting her purse on the counter with a contented sigh. 

“Dinner was absolutely amazing!” She gushed completely unprompted, going over to the fridge to put the box away, “Have you two had a nice evening?”. You nearly choked on the water you were sipping, setting the glass down quickly and fixing your face. 

“Oh yeah, just great! ‘Toshi’s ordering us a pizza” You said, cheeks burning just a little as you felt his cum soaking through your panties, “We were planning on watching a movie here in a bit”. 

“Toshi? Haven't heard you call him that before” your mom pointed out, only furthering your embarrassment and hidden shame. 

“Well… Hitoshi is such a mouthful you know?” You said, immediately regretting your statement as the purple-haired man cackled a laugh before apologizing to the pizza guy over the phone, snickering to himself. Your mom and stepdad looked like they wanted to ask you more but thought better of it.

“Well we’re heading to bed, you two have fun,” your stepdad said with a reassuring smile to your mom, a soft hand on her back guiding her back out to the living room. You wanted to crawl under the rug and die when you heard your mother’s cheery voice, her smile practically beaming through her words.

“I just love when they get along!”.

[elisaenglish]

I Only Hold Convictions

There is no preface that quite reflects my conflict here. I am no lover of Ayn Rand, either literally or symbolically, and yet there are aspects of her that cannot – I’d even hazard must not – be discarded wholesale or, indeed, be denied. By her own admission in The Romantic Manifesto, she writes:

“The fact that one agrees or disagrees with an artist’s philosophy is irrelevant to an esthetic appraisal of his work qua art.”

It would also be somewhat naive to dismiss in its entirety Rand’s contribution to modern rational thought or the central tenets of Objectivism as it stands in relation to processes of logic and the pursuit of our own happiness. Flawed as her belief system is overall, there is – as with any text – worth in the exploration. Rand continues:

“One does not have to agree with an artist (nor even enjoy him) in order to evaluate his work. In essence, an objective evaluation requires that one identifies the artist’s theme, the abstract meaning of his work (exclusively by identifying the evidence contained in the work and allowing no other, outside considerations), then evaluate the means by which he conveys it— i.e., taking his theme as criterion, evaluate the purely esthetic elements of the work, the technical mastery (or lack of it) with which he projects (or fails to project) his view of life.”

When it comes to Rand, problematic is most often the “view” readers step away with. From her axiomatic starting point of “existence exists” through to the gravely cynical conclusion where selfishness is deemed high virtue, altruism despicable vice and capitalism the only sane socio-economic model, she adheres strictly – and indulgently – to categorical dichotomies; the black/white and either/or thinking characteristic of young minds yet to encounter the complexities of nuance. Technical weakness is almost by the by; the cumbersome surface of the prose insignificant when we consider the allegorical and anagogical deficits. Further distaste might also be attributed to the fact, especially with regard to Atlas Shrugged, that this is very much by the writer’s design.

But to close our eyes and wish away the horror? The text becomes no less potent in its ostracised state. Indeed, it could be argued that exclusionary approaches amplify meanings – often ones that were but an unsavoury blip before controversy sauntered in. And for us, too, we must beware. “An artist reveals his naked soul in his work,” Rand writes, “—and so do you, gentle reader, when you respond to it.”

Which, perhaps, goes some way towards explaining why I’m taking this discomforting trip through the literary wilderness, light years or so from my natural habitat. And political persuasions aside – and I would wholly endorse this when in pursuit of a truly critical reading – Rand deserves to be part of the current cultural conversation, not least of all because she does ignite the argument and all of its unresolved facets.

And I’m going to say it: Rand isn’t all bad. You have to study beyond a cursory glance and set aside the less palatable veins of pathological self-interest that pervade much of her oeuvre. However, to cast her in a soulless light would be an erroneous misrepresentation of a woman who also expressed that “love and art” are not merely a “special province” of our existence but, in every way, our “sense of life.”

So it is to love I turn, love that Rand defines as inextricably linked to character. As she explains in The Virtue of Selfishness:

“To love is to value. Only a rationally selfish man, a man of self-esteem, is capable of love—because he is the only man capable of holding firm, consistent, uncompromising, unbetrayed values. The man who does not value himself, cannot value anything or anyone.”

Not, then, love as “sacrifice” but more as noble desire – dignified and discerning. Five years earlier, in a 1959 interview with Mike Wallace, she says:

“Because when you are asked to love everybody indiscriminately. That is to love people without any standard. To love them regardless of whether they have any value or virtue, you are asked to love nobody.”

She describes an impetus to choose, to give affection based on mutual respect, a regard of self in relation to other:

“You love people, not for what you do for them, or what they do for you. You love them for their values, their virtues. You don't love causes. You don't love everybody... You love only those who deserve it. Man has free will. If a man wants love he should correct his flaws, and he may deserve it. But he cannot expect the unearned.”

I’m not here to posit that Rand is faultless in her appraisal of romantic love, but she offers something concrete, something – dare I say – honourable from yesterday to consider today. Not the blanket philosophy nor, in her own words, any “faith.” But a mature alternative that acknowledges not just how we devote ourselves to each other, but why.

As Rand offers in her 1964 Playboy interview:

“[Selfless love] would have to mean that you derive no personal pleasure or happiness from the company and the existence of the person you love, and that you are motivated only by self-sacrificial pity for that person’s need of you. I don’t have to point out to you that no one would be flattered by, nor would accept, a concept of that kind. Love is not self-sacrifice, but the most profound assertion of your own needs and values. It is for your own happiness that you need the person you love, and that is the greatest compliment, the greatest tribute you can pay to that person.”

And on that note, I must concede that Rand might be right – for love is not indifference. Nor is it, for me, simply a matter of material pleasure. If I return to Atlas Shrugged, there is resonance albeit in the brevity of places I had to work hard to find. But nonetheless, if intimacy “forces [a man] to stand naked in spirit,” I may also feel the same, relinquish myself to “the sum of [my] fundamental convictions.” Rand writes:

“[A man] will always be attracted to the woman who reflects his deepest vision of himself, the woman whose surrender permits him to experience... a sense of self-esteem. The man who is proudly certain of his own value, will want the highest type of woman he can find, the woman he admires, the strongest, the hardest to conquer — because only the possession of a heroine will give him the sense of an achievement.”

Over sixty years since its publication, the rampant anti-feminism may be forgiven in part. But my point is not in the ideological line; it is to return to the truth of art, of life. Though it isn’t meant to work both ways, it does. The reading is mine, and I love – sometimes in the darkest of Rand’s “metaphysical” mirrors.

[mysterioh]

ticket to my heart || b.b.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Cop!Reader

Summary: Bucky tries to flirt his way out of a speeding ticket. Unfortunately for you, it’s working.

W/C: ~2500 words

A/N: Written for the lovely @honeyvbarnes​ writing challenge. I know I’m a bit early but I just couldn’t wait! Hope you like it and Happy Super Early Birthday!

Warnings: Mild Language, Sad attempt at trying to be flirty.

Masterlist

“Why did you have to pick the bushes?” Sam whined, “I hate the bushes.” 

You take off your helmet, shaking your head gently to free the strands sticking to your face. You look over to your partner-in-justice and can’t help but crack a smile. His thick, muscly arms were crossed against his chest, lips contorted into a disappointed pout that was too cute for words with chocolate brown eyes shooting sharp daggers in your direction. 

“C’mon, Sammy, it isn’t so bad,” you give him a lopsided smile. “You look like a pretty fairy princess.” 

“I’m a cop,” he bites, you hold back the urge to laugh but end up snorting instead. He rolls his eyes. The dense foliage you were hidden behind rustles in the rushing wind that comes with the cars zipping by the highway. 

“Why is it always the bushes?” he asks exasperated, letting his hands fall to his sides, “I hate bugs.” 

“Because,” you reached back and started to feel around in the compartment of the bike, “this is the only spot on the highway where we’re invisible,” you reminded, lips curling into a smile while pulling out your radar. “I hate it when they slow down when they see us.” 

Sam clicks his tongue then chuckles, “you’re brutal.” 

“I’m doing my job,” you pointed the radar at an SUV driving by. You scoffed, grudgingly at the driver’s adherence to the speed limit. 

“Holy crap!” Sam yells, jumping back in his motorbike, “it’s a spider!” 

You turn to him. “Where?” you asked, looking around. 

“Are you blind?” he hissed, pointing at the handle of his bike. “It’s right there!” he shouted, obnoxiously loud. “Kill it!” 

There’s nothing there!”  

“Yes it is!” he insisted, “Oh my God, it’s moving!” he cried, squirming away from the front of his bike. 

You lean over to get a better look and spot a tiny —minuscule, baby, small, microscopic— spider sitting on the handle minding its own business. 

You glare at him judgingly, but he doesn’t notice by how freaked out he is. You flick it away with a finger as if it was nothing and return to your work. Sam lets out a deep sigh of relief.

You roll your eyes while checking another car. 63 mph. So damn close. “You’re such a coward,” you grunted.

“Am not,” he retorted sharply. 

“Are too,” you bit back. 

“That thing was huge!” he defended. 

You aim the gun at another car when he starts to ramble about how much he hates the bushes. 

You whip your head back to him. “Dude it was this big,” you measured with your fingers, “Stop being so—” you cut yourself off when a flash of white flashes in the corner of your eye.

“Whoa,” Sam gaped.

“Officer,” you called, pointing the radar at the speeding car. Sam can hear the wicked grin in your voice. 

“Yes, officer?” he replies, all teeth and gums. 

“What’s the speed limit on this stretch of the highway?” you asked. 

“Sixty-five miles per hour,” he informed. 

“Now correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t seventy-nine bigger than sixty-five?” you asked, showing him the radar. 

Sam looks at you with the most despicable look plastered on his face. He takes his helmet and slips it on. The engine of your motorcycle whirls and you flip on the emergency lights. 

“This is gonna be fun.” 

“I can’t believe you overslept!” Steve screamed into Bucky’s ear. Bucky moves the phone away from his ear. You could’ve heard Steve’s voice from a mile away. “Today’s the biggest deal of our lives and you’re not even here! Tony’s flipping out and I’m hiding under my desk because he’s throwing shit around.” 

“Tell him I’ll be there in five minutes.” 

“Five minutes my ass!” Steve hisses, “Where even are you?” 

His grip on the wheel grows tighter, mentally preparing himself for the blond’s impending and inevitable outrage. “On I-95, around exit forty,” Bucky replies cautiously. His ears started to ring at the sound of Steve’s ear-piercing screams and a distant siren coming closer as the seconds pass by. 

God no. Please, anything but that. 

He begins to slow down and turns to see who it is. He knows who it is. He’s had a run-in with the police more than once and he’s got a stack of speeding tickets to prove it.

Sam’s motorcycle comes up to his right and tells him to pull over. Bucky has a strong urge to just ignore him and speed past them. The possibility of losing his job was making him sway in his morals. 

He could do it and might even make a getaway. Hmm….

Yeah, he’d do it, if he wasn’t such a damn coward.

“Steve, I’m gonna put you on hold for a second,” He pulls over to the side.  

“NO, don’t put me on hol—” his voice cuts off when Bucky taps it anyway. He smirks at the screen of his phone. 

A tap comes at the window and he turns to come eye to eye with an officer. Not the guy, but a girl. 

Holy shit, she’s pretty. 

You tap the window again this time a bit harder and he breaks out of his trance, scrambling to push the button for the window. 

“Hi there,” you greeted with a smirk, prim but cocky. 

Scratch that, she’s hot. 

“H-hello, Officer,” he stutters. 

“Nice car you got here,” you lean back a bit to get a better look at the car. 

“M-Mercedes, miss,” he replies. 

You revert your gaze back to him and it sends sweet shivers down his spine. 

“Yeah?” you asked. He nods with a gulp, You let out a breathy chuckle, finding his timid behavior oddly cute. “Well Mr. Mercedes,” you sassed, “this ain’t the Autobahn, it’s a shitty highway to New York.” 

“Really? I didn’t notice,” he retorted with a grin. Your lips twist into a scowl and Bucky gets the feeling you are not amused. He panics on the inside. 

“You know the speed limit around here?” you questioned. 

“Uh—well, um,” he stammers for a few moments. “Seventy?”

You roll your eyes at him, shifting your stance onto one leg with one hand hugging the curve of your hip. “It’s sixty-five and you were running at seventy-nine. This ain’t the Daytona 500, kiddo.” 

“Yes, but you see,” he replies, “I’m actually late—”

“The law is the law,” you stated, “and everyone follows it. Now I’d like to see your registration, license, and insurance,” you extend your hand towards him.

He quickly turns and opens the glove compartment of his car and pulls out all of his papers and hands it to you. 

“I’ll be right back,” you grunt as you walk back to Sam and your motorbike. 

Bucky hits his head against his steering wheel and lets out a distressed exhale. 

This is it. He’s definitely fired now. You’re definitely going to give him a ticket. Steve and Tony are going to hate him. He’s gonna be dirt poor because he lost his job and nobody wants to hire a guy who can’t even wake up on time. He won’t be able to pay that ticket and then he’ll have to go to court. And the pretty cop is gonna be there, smiling at him all sweet as they drag him off to jail. 

Bucky’s head snaps up when he hears his phone ringing beside him on the seat. He picks up the phone call from Steve. 

It’s Tony.

“BARNES WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?!?!” he shouted. 

“I’m-uh-,” he scratches his head. “On the way.” 

“On the way to where?” he hurls at him, “Mars?” 

“No, to Stark Industries,” Bucky sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Listen, I got into a bit of a bind, the cops pulled me over for speeding.”

“You’ve gotta be joking me,” Tony replies, sounding like he’s on the verge of crying. “I’m ruined. I’ve got a meeting with Pym Tech in ten minutes and my numbers guy is nowhere to be seen. Do you realize how much you’ve hurt me right now? You broke my fucking heart.” 

Bucky rolls his eyes. 

“Do something and get the hell out of there,” Tony ordered. 

“I can’t leave until they let me.”

“No one said you couldn’t.”

“No! Don’t do that!” Steve butts in. 

Bucky looks out the window and sees you checking his information. He pays close attention to the way your hair shines under the sun and how your rather modest uniform makes you look exceptionally hot. 

“But y’know,” he talks into the speaker. “She’s one cute officer.”

Tony snorts, “Yeah? How cute?” He was never one to not discuss women, even in the middle of a crisis. 

“Real cute, but hot at the same time,” Bucky replies. 

Steve snatches the phone from Tony, “Buck, don’t do anything stupid,” he ordered, knowing the way Bucky did things when it came to the ladies. 

“Too late,” Bucky smirked, hanging up on Steve. He throws his phone back onto the seat watching the way you strut towards him. Confident but elegant. 

“Everything’s good here,” you handed him his papers and he smirks. “You’ve got quite a history, Mr. Barnes.” 

“I’m bad with time,” Bucky said, “Always running late. Never late to a date though.” 

“That’s nice,” you reply in passing, filling out the ticket paper. 

“So…” he draws your attention towards him. His arm rests along the length of the window, making it hard for you to not notice the way his lean muscles stretch his shirt. “I don’t suppose there’s a way I can bribe my way out of this?” he asks innocuously, tracing his finger along the metal symbol on the steering wheel.   

You snort, returning to the notepad in hand, “For all the money you could bribe me with, you could just pay for the ticket.” 

“I wasn’t talking about money, Officer,” he smirks when you look over at him. 

“And what do you have in mind?” you jest just to see where this will take you. 

“I’m thinking, me, you, and a really nice cafe on the fancier side of New York.” 

You pause your writing and look over at him and raise a brow. His crystal blues eyes glimmer under the sun, pooling with harmless playfulness. Taking a closer look at him, you have to admit he’s kinda hot.

You shake your head, lips curling into a lazy smile, fingers returning to writing. “Nice try, but I’ll pass.”

Bucky slumps over his car and frowns. 

“What? You thought you were the first person to ever flirt with an officer?” you cackled, “it happens more often than you think.” 

“Thought I’d try anyway,” he says and shrugs. 

“I admire your honesty,” you compliment him. 

A soft smile spreads along his face. 

Get a hold of yourself, officer.

“So how about a date and a ticket?” he bargains. 

“You want a date with the chick that gave you a ticket?” you elaborated, a chuckle coloring your words. 

Bucky notices the soft pink dusting your cheeks and it’s immensely satisfying. “I mean if it’s someone as pretty as you, I’d be stupid not to take the chance.” 

You stop writing to clear your throat, the blush on your cheeks reaching your ears. “And what makes you think I’ll say yes?” you countered as coolly as possible. 

He shrugged, “I don’t think. I just hope?” he says sweetly. 

You smile at him for a second then shake your head. “Sorry to bring your hopes up but I’m not allowed to affiliate with others during work hours. So that’s a no from me,” you replied sternly, a bit harder than you wanted it to sound. 

“Damn,” he frowns slightly, “bad day for me I guess. I’m late for a meeting, possibly going to get fired because of it, and got two no’s from the pretty officer,” he lists on his fingers.

You huff, feeling unwanted compassion for the brunette. Usually, you weren’t this soft, but this guy had a charm to him that others didn’t. Damn bastard. This better not come to bite you in the ass later. 

“Alright, I’ll let you slide,” you give in, unwillingly. “Just this once.” 

Bucky grins from ear to ear making one creep onto your own. 

“But if I ever see you speeding again, I won’t be so nice and neither will anyone else,” you warned playfully. “So mind the speed limit please.” 

“Yes, of course.” 

“Have a nice day, Mr. Barnes,” you walk away but he calls you back. 

“Don’t you think I deserve a reminder of some sort?” he asks, faux innocence lacing his tone. “So I don’t speed anymore?” 

You turn back and smirk, feeling like you know what he’s talking about. “Like what?”

“Your number maybe?” he wonders, practically hanging out of his car. 

“My number?” you asked in mock confusion and a chuckle. “Now how would that help? I’m not allowed to do that.”

“A little rebellion never hurt anyone,” Bucky tempted with a sultry smile. 

“I won’t tell a soul, I promise,” he smiles. You’re unsure. “Cross my heart and hope to die,” he pledges with an action. 

You return to him with a chuckle and pull out the notepad. “I guess I can do that,” you nodded. Bucky quietly cheers to himself as you scribble something down. You rip out the piece of paper and hand it to him with a smile. Your fingers brush against his, firing goosebumps against his arm. His eyes look up to meet yours, sparkly under the sun. 

“Have a good day, Mr. Barnes,” you say, walking backwards to your motorcycle, almost bashfully. 

You get on your motorcycle and ride away with Sam. Both giving the brunette a wave before leaving. A few miles down, Sam finally asks: “You didn’t actually give him your number, did you?” 

You laughed, loud and bright. He doesn’t understand what’s so funny.

Bucky exits the conference room. The meeting was a success and Pym Tech agreed to the deal for the new set of tablets Tony designed. Tony slams a hand on his shoulder. 

“Great work in there,” he cheers, beaming from ear to ear. 

“Thanks,” Bucky smiles. 

“So how’d it go with the officer?” he asks. 

Bucky laughs heartily and shakes his head, a blush creeping onto his cheeks. “I-uh- got her number,” he told him. 

“That’s great man!” Tony congratulated before being pulled to the side by one of the others. 

Bucky walks on towards his office digging his hand into his pocket. A pink scrap of paper twists through his fingers and he roars in laughter, startling those around him. He pulls it out just to admire your pretty handwriting.

911 

p.s. ask for the police. 

Guess that’s three no’s from the pretty officer. 

PERMANENT TAGLIST: @dancingunicorn113​ @marshyrebelcloud​ @chuckennuggets1213​ @miraclesoflove​

[loyally-unfaithful]

—; don’t run from me river

word count: 2605

pairing: upgraded connor | rk900/gender-neutral!reader

genre: hurt/comfort

summary: nines filed the results of the system check to the back of his mind, to be analysed later, and sighed. he wasn’t originally programmed to sigh, but he sure did it alot nowadays. he sighed once more. this check would most likely return like the previous few, [ all systems optimal; functionality: 100% ]. so why does his processor stutter, causing him to freeze and catch his voice in his throat, when he was around you? there was only one logical explanation: he was broken.

a/n: ya boi is an idiot who made more wips than he could handle,,,, but anyway i wanted to write a nines fic because,,,,,,,,,,,, idk inspiration struck? i must admit i had no idea where i was going w this fic skfksfjaskdfhjk btw nines is deviant in this fic, i just have a hc that since he was forced into deviancy (unlike the 3 protagonists who reached some sort of catharsis) he isn’t as familiar with emotions as those 3, hence his difficulty identifying and expressing them. also rk800-60 and rk900 have assigned names, being colin (nickname sixty) and conan (nickname nines) respectively. connor is just connor lmao,,,,, i am god in my fics and i decide that my 3 bois are bros and happy lil deviants,,,, mk, go!

the ambiance inside the bar was loud and suffocating. many people came to celebrate an officer’s promotion to detective, and while nines wasn’t particularly close to them, he showed up regardless (although a certain duo of rk800 models may or may not have had something to do with his decision). mere formalities; he politely congratulated them and stepped away to ruminate on his own in a corner, absently watching the scene in front of him. for a reason that escaped him, he was (disappointed?) (hurt?) that you got along with colin. he still experienced anomalies in his system when near you, even after being told that he was perfectly fine at the maintenance centre. if the problem wasn’t from within, then there was only one probable cause: an outside factor. a recurring event. one that triggered these anomalies. you.

so he requested to change partners. now, he really wished he didn’t.

while you have taken to your new partner wonderfully, he wasn’t as gracious with his. between reed’s incessant snide remarks and overall unwillingness to cooperate, he’d much rather be deactivated. he found himself missing your partnership. for one, your cooperativeness was a relief. you were determined, passionate and kind. truthfully, he missed you. the shine in your eyes when you find a lead, your composure and professionalism, the soothing quality of your voice, the way you’d let you hand linger in his, how your features softened when you smiled—smiled at hi— he caught himself. why did that last part come to mind? how did you still manage to affect him when you’re so far away? he was about to check why when a laughter caught his attention. your wonderful  laughter. One he was oh so familiar with. you were laughing with his brother, probably at another of his bad jokes. seeing you happy with him stirred an ugly feeling inside him. one that he did not recognise nor acknowledge. one that caused him to glare at his older counterpart.

he was miserable after parting ways from you, having to deal with reed’s complaining. he was hurt, he was away from you and it didn’t feel right. this distance between you two manifested as physical pain on his part, so how come you were fine? how were you able to move on in your life as if nothing happened? sadness and hurt turned into something more despicable: how dare you not feel the same pain he did? seeing you so happy twisted the knife deeper in his heart. how could you? conflicting emotions; he wanted to see you happy. he also wanted to see you suffer with him.

his glowering must’ve been pretty obvious as connor “addressed” him, asking if he was alright, to which he replied with a curt « all systems fully functional ». clearly the wrong answer as the rk800 frowned slightly and asked him to follow him. nines did as told. you watched him as he left, but he’d never know that.

the alleyway wasn’t the cleanest of places, but it was private and quiet enough that the two could converse verbally. connor watched his younger brother, concern in his eyes, and tentatively threaded the topic of his relationship with you. nines squinted his eyes fractionally as he observed his brother, pausing before dismissing anything connor may have assumed: « i don’t know what you’re trying to insinuate. the older model raised a brow in as he doubted his younger counterpart’s words. – you’ve been scowling at them for the past few minutes. – everything is perfectly fine between the detective and i. he forced out, probably more defensive and harsh than he meant it to be, as his brother’s eyes widened slightly, flashing with something akin to recognition. there was a pause before connor spoke up. – are you… jealous? he finally asked. »

nines looked a bit more than scandalised as the thought of being jealous, face contorted to slight disgust: « that’s preposterous. he scoffed. jealous? jealous of what? connor thought back about the scene before he intervened: nines was glaring intensely at you and colin, just after you laughed at one of his quips. – well for one, of collin. how he managed to get the detective’s attention. maybe you’re yearning for theirs, for their affection. his proposition has certainly made nines realise something as his eyes widened, making him look like a deer caught in the headlights. – what are you trying to say? his voice wavered in unsurety. – what i’m trying to say is tha— » he didn’t manage to finish his statement as another voice, not too dissimilar to his own cut him off, announcing how “nines had the hots” for you. connor looked slightly irked at being interrupted while nines quickly dismissed the statement before fully processing it. colin was slightly taken aback by the quick rejection, before smirked mischievously: « great! then you wouldn’t mind if i asked them out right? – colin! exclaimed his twin. »

a sudden rage took over nines’ body as he pushed colin out of the doorway and stormed back inside the bar. a few beats passed before connor threw a chastising look at his twin, which colin shrugged nonchalantly to.

yes, nines knew what dating was. he knew that if two individuals were to harbour romantic feelings for each other, they would come together and be “dating each other”.

date /dāt/ verb gerund or present participle: dating 3. go out with (someone in whom one is romantically or sexually interested).

technically, it was fine. logically, it was fine. he didn’t own you. if you were to date his brother, then that would be your choice. but the thought of you being close and loving someone other than him felt so incredibly wrong. he wanted to leave. he needed to leave. this is all too much. he had feelings for you? he needed time to digest that statement. in his rush to get out, he accidentally bumped into another person, who made a small « oof » and an apology. he was about to apologise as well when you both realised who you were talking to.

« nines! i’ve been looking for you! can we… uh, talk? » he realised from this distance that he could smell your scent: lavender, fabric softener, and something pleasant that was unmistakably you. he nodded and followed you absentmindedly. how did you have this power to erase all thoughts from his mind, make him think of you and only you? has he really fallen for you? you both went outside, a distance away from the bar’s entrance when you finally restarted the conversation: « nines. – detective. » you bit your lips at that reply, and he realised now you looked tired, that radiant smile absent. « look, nines, i- i’m not dense, okay?... i-i know when someone’s avoiding me. – what do you mean detect— – i thought i told you that it was alright to call me by my first name… look, i… by “avoiding” i mean this. acting like you don’t know me. speaking to me as if we were just “coworkers”. acting like we aren’t friends. you sounded tired, the lilt in your voice that he has grown accustomed to sullen. – i’m not avoiding you. he lied, but he knew you were smarter than that. – nines please don’t lie… this distance… between us. i don’t understand, nines. your voice cracked. what happened? Why are you doing this? »

watching you hurt inside because of him was worse than any punishment he could’ve received. any and all previous wishes for you to suffer was quickly erased. he’s much rather suffer alone than watch you break. he took hesitant steps back. away from you. distancing himself from you. you noticed his actions and whispered a desperate « nines… please… » he wanted to run away. he wanted to stay. he wanted to leave and pretend this conversation never happened. he wanted to hold you and tell you everything: his fears, his doubts, his growing affection for you. in the end, he found himself running away from his problems like a coward. you didn’t bother to chase after him, desperately crying out « please… please don’t run from me conan. », last part choked out as you tried to hold yourself together. hearing your voice crack and waver because of him was awful. he wanted to turn back. comfort you. But his body didn’t obey him. when he finally stopped to pay attention to where he was going, he was right back at his shared flat. he swallowed dryly and moved to enter his house, a solemn air around him.

the next few days were absolutely torturous. he increased his initiative to avoid you, never seen in the same place as you, much to your chagrin. an act so blatant than someone as ignorant as reed noticed, an act that become the core of his recent round of taunts. avoiding you hurt. so why did he continue to do it? the thought of approaching the subject made him go cold. it immobilised him, stopped him from uttering a single word. a quick search told him he was scared. nervous. for rejection. he doesn’t know if his heart could take much more. he does resolve to tell you one day… just… not today…

but maybe he should’ve taken the chance when it was presented to him, as he may never get one again.

you died. well, you almost did. his mind jumping to the worst case scenarios as anxiety filled his system. arrest gone wrong. gunshot. 9mm bullets embedded within your abdomen. what if it hit your vascular system? you were rushed into the er. he knew that in this profession, the chances for an individual to get shot rises. but he didn’t expect to grow so attached to one of them. so as the surgeons work to quickly remove all bullets from your body, he sat, rigid, as he waited for the procedure to be done. he fiddled anxiously with his coin when your partner placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. he mechanically glanced at its owner, who told him to not worry, that you’re “too much of a stubborn ass” to die from this event. he didn't acknowledge colin’s input as he continues to play with the quarter. he should’ve told you. told you when he had the chance.

the clock ticked. and ticked. and ticked. when finally, the surgeon informed the two that you were alright. they managed to take out all the bullets. your condition was stable. you were ok. heavily sedated and going to be in a lot of pain. but you were ok. nines didn’t stop the heavy sigh of relief that escaped him. the doctor told them that visits will be allowed as soon as you were settled in recovery. he was going to tell you. he told himself, like an unspoken promise. he was going to tell you then. it’s the least you deserve. he was going to apologise and come clean. hopefully you’ll have it in you to forgive him.

when you finally came to, your body ached, you didn’t want to move, so you settled with eyeing your room. what happened? you were chasing this guy… and he pulled out a gun… pain and then darkness. and now you’re here. the recovery room was filled with gifts and get-well soon cards. balloons of assorted colours filled the room, bouquets of diverse types of flowers adorned the table.

« you’re awake. »

you turned your head at the source, seeing connor at the doorway. « how—you cleared your throat—how long was i gone for? you asked, voice raspy. – around 3 days and a half. you’d gain consciousness a few times, but you were too heavily sedated to be fully coherent. he explained as he took a seat near the bed. you groaned. – gosh that long? connor nodded. how’s colin? – doing pretty well all things considered. he does, however, feel immensely guilty about failing to protect you. – well, tell him it’s not his fault and that i forgive everything he’s blaming himself with. you worried about him. despite sixty’s mischievous exterior, he had a tendency to get himself stuck in a depressive loop of self-deprecation. connor smiled graciously. – will do… he placed a paper cup filled with what you assumed was thirium on the floor. how are you feeling? – everything hurts but i’ll live, you quipped. » the android chuckled and was about to reply when a knock caught both of your attention. the door creaked slightly open, as nines peered in. he hesitated before asking if he may speak with you. the “alone” part being left unsaid as connor bid you farewell and left.

you and your former partner were locked in an intense stareoff, you on the bed on one end and him glued to the door on the other. he took tentative steps towards you. closing that distance. when he was besides your bed, he nervously called out your name. you parroted him, mustering out a curt « conan. » he took a deep breath that he technically didn’t need and whispered out an apology: « i… i’m sorry. for everything i’ve caused—for all the hurt i’ve caused… for what it’s worth… i never meant for all this to happen. » his voice was clipped as guilt overcame him. you watched him, silent as ever. he wished you would say something, anything. the silence was deafening.

« then please tell me why… he promised himself that he’d come clean. – i… i don’t… i don’t think i know... for sure… i experienced anomalies in my system when i was around you.. you’d consume my every thought, i’d feel immobilised and i… i’ve been told that i’m being nervous… i’ve been told that i harboured romantic feelings for you… i-i don’t know. i… i yearn for your attention, your touch, your affection… but is it right for something like me to desire such a thing? am-am i broken…? his voice was barely a whisper when he choked out the lay part, and he waited for his response, growing more anxious as each second ticked by. what if you didn’t want him? what if he wasn’t enough? – no, you aren’t broken. you shook your head. just human. »

nines. confident and assured nines was an insecure and trembling mess as he poured out all of the doubts that plagued his mind. your heart aches as you wished to comfort him, so you do. you reached out, best you can, and grabbed him into a bone crushing hug. an action that took him by surprised as he stiffened at your touch. but he soon relaxed and carefully snaked his arms around your waist, returning the hug. you slowly caressed his hair as he nuzzled into your neck.

you both stay like this for a moment, relishing in each others presence, before you spoke up again: « it’s okay to be unsure, you know. he stopped his nuzzling, indicating to you that he was listening. if you don’t feel ready at the moment… if you just wanna be friends for the time being, i’m ok with that. and if one day you decide that you want to be more, just remember i’ll be right here. » you pressed a gentle kiss on the crown of his head and stayed in that position for a while, neither wanting to part ways, but this awkwardly positioned hug took a toll on your back so the both of you half heartedly pulled away from each other. hands holding the other’s, you asked for one more request: « just promise me one thing. – anything, he breathed out. – please… don’t ever run from me again. – never. he promised, fully intending to fulfill said request. »

« thank you. »

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[monkey-network]

Moonsummer: Prologue

Have you ever gone to such passionate ends for something eternally dispassionate to your problems? All the chaos, the hurdles, for something you’re never certain is real and doesn’t care to know you exist? Why must this be the most favorable punchline to the most cosmically despicable joke imaginable?

A sundial has been erected in the village square for over ninety-nine years. We only know this because of me, one of the few that bothers to keep track of how long it’s been and can somehow answer simply when asked. Not even the headman, who doesn’t look an increment over twenty despite being over sixty, ever cares to remember and sometimes asks me about it’s age whenever I go to visit him. I have to walk by it every morning, evening, and occasional afternoon and over time, I feel like it mocks me. It gets to stand there, useless to no one because no one else notably acknowledges it, perfect as it appears. The hardest stone, with gypsum fragments peppered in its base, smooth slate with barely a chip fallen from its circumferential edge nor of its gnomon. It looks so perfect, so flawlessly antique it almost sickens me that every time I walk out, nary a soul goes up to it to utilize it’s crafted purpose. [sigh] At the same time, who am I to quibble? What does this sundial do that I haven’t done for myself after over fifteen years?

I notably asked myself this as I luckily woke up today, dawn seductively making her way up to my consciousness once more. About as awake as a milligram of yeast is getting its heat, I steadily peer onto the floor boards over the edge of my bed. I was grateful enough to see the beam hit the 7th chalk line so I definitely could get ready easier than most of last week. I scanned the floor for any insects, content to only find a mere pillbug near a dust mite. 

Then came the best part of the minute as I rolled over to see that she was still in bed, back facing me. A two by three foot slab of visible bronze skin, glistening from the oil I helped apply last night. I steadily inched my hand up to her left shoulder, with a tear creeping out as I felt the multiple scars that told me of the rapiers responsible for these. This adult back was an artistic yet historical horror, malicious marks that no one could bless away no matter the remedy because, personally, they tell a story I’ve yet to hear. They’ve constantly reminded me of how gutless yet scared I am to just whisper her the question, regardless of how open we’ve been after so long,

“Who are you really, Cassius?”

I pulled my hand back, thankfully she didn’t notice. I rolled back to shift a leg out the sheets, to stop quickly after feeling a damp, goopy cloth on the ball of my exposed foot. I was the right amount of tired to only take a deep breath in muffled revulsion as I immediately recognized the piece of fabric… that was used… to pleasure… my girlfriend.

After cleaning “that” off, I tiptoed into the kitchen to see the grain was in the pot ready to boil. I turned on the heat in the midst of getting the brown sugar and some berries from the bag on the other counter. A couple minute wait goes by, and I hear a familiar creak from the bedroom. Awaken, she has. I turn to see she’s fast as ever to appear before the door, leaning confidently on the frame as it appears she woke up in a snap and is ready to seize. The darkest crimson of her long hair being the first thing I see to ignore the fact that she’s still nude.

“A morning of morns, love,” she yawned out like a grizzly, “bubbling the grain?”

“Yeah,” I said, trying to hide my smile, “something simple for today since we’re gonna be low on vittles for a couple days.”

“Pssh, you say that as if we get much else,” noting with a cheeky scoff, “Then again, this evening I’m certain me and the boys are netting some good ones. Boss said he’ll provide a catch just for me~~.”

“Sure, you should catch those clothes outside before somebody takes them like before.”

“Shit, you’re right! Gimme a sec.”

Cass went into the bathroom which leads to our clothesline outback. I began stirring the grain, taking in its charming warmth. Makes me grateful again that my “family” was as charitous to leave me enough for this old house. Still have regrets, but like this… well aged meal, I should be appreciative that things turned out well. Cass came back in, clothes tucked in her arm, and is still in the nude.

“Aren’t you cold? You gonna p-”

“Nope and nope right now,” she chipperly responded, “I’m in a pretty good mood after last night.”

“I figured with the evidence I stepped in this morning.”

“I thought you were gonna wash it before bed.”

“You said you would since I got to finish.”

“C’mon, you kne~ew I’m a heavy sleeper ‘specially after sex so this time it w-”

Before she could finish, I turned off the heat to slowly look towards here with a smile she knows can chip her confidence, if only for a second. She huffed, instantly lost the argument the moment our eyes squarely locked. 

“Damn it... M’kay, I’ll make up for your squeeshy morning,” she slumped her way over to my shoulder with a cornered smirk, “only cause you bewitched me again and since you’re cooking this time.” 

Cass slid her arm around my left side, now doing her typical cheek to cheek begging method, “Can I at least stay nude for just a little while longer?”

“Sure,” I said relievedly as we pecked lips real quick, “but clean your bowl before dressing.”

She plopped her clothes on her chair as I gave her the steamy breakfast and put the washed berries in the center of the table. She waited for me to sit down before digging in. She really was in a good mood, she’s always respectful to me but not as patient and awake as this morning. As we started talking about the happenings of the village and her job buddies, I wondered if there was more than the potential “good catch” this evening that had her in such spirit. I’m probably overthinking it, but I don’t know if last night was better than some of the others. It’s never like Cass is hiding something beside her past, but that has never been something I felt could be brought up and not feel too wrong for pressing. Again, it could be just me, but something about Cass’s spirit this morning made me feel different. Different, in a good way. 

After eating, we cleaned our bowls. I went back into the bedroom to see the sunlight reaching the 2nd chalk line which means I was on schedule. I got dressed but I decided to not wear my vest today. Not sure why, but I just tucked my tie into my shirt since I didn’t have a clip. I walked back in to see Cass on the hay couch having her jumpsuit on but not fully zipped, still with no top on as she threw her hair back, revealing more of her rosy nipples before facing towards the kitchen.

“Got time to do my hair?” she requested over the shoulder, back once more facing me.

“Of course,” I said calmly, feeling at ease that the morning was running as smoothly as it was.

Sat down to methodically comb these dark red locks as she stared at the front door, I kept pace with braiding her mohawk just how she likes it. Firm up top but not tight all the way down. After a couple minutes, as I was nearing the end of the braid I noticed the scars again. I slowed down for a moment, intrusively imagining countless brutal events in a flash before recollecting myself to finish. I was thankful she didn’t notice the pause. She took a sec to appreciate the work before bouncing to do my hair. I faced the bedroom doorway as I felt those admittedly big hands of hers caress my hair gently before combing it out. I wanna say this is what I’ve come to love about her. A woman bigger than me, far stronger than I could ever do for myself, the body of someone that I can’t help but say was tormented, and she enjoys treating me with genuine grace. I know we helped each other out long ago but, deep down, I feel like she’s too nice to me after all this time. I’m not sure, I don’t know what’s happening with me this morning. I know I love Cassius, she loves me back wholeheartedly, so why does it feel like something’s out of place? Nothing is wrong, but something feels incomplete.

“All good,” Cass says, patting me playfully.

I shake my head, not only to feel the braiding but to wake from the daze.

“Thanks, hon’,” I said putting the braid over my shoulder.

I grab my satchel and Cass grabs her tackle box after finally putting her top on and zipping up her jumpsuit. We put our shoes on and headed out the door. Walking outside, I took in the fresh, cool air of the morning and for the first time in a long while, it felt like things were gonna go my way somehow. 

Cass closed the door and whispered, “I know, right? Sex can make for a breath-taking morning.”

“Shut up,” I flusteredly giggled with a playful jab to the arm, “I’ll see you later.”

“Sorry sorry, see you tonight, Aussie.”

We shared one more kiss before she jogged off, waving goodbye as I waved back genuinely. 

“See you… Cass,” I whimpered in awe.

I slowly let my arm down, standing in the same spot for longing than desired. I peered passionately at my girlfriend until she was the size of my pinky finger, then I started to walk to my job staring coldly at the ground.

The dirt felt right, damp but not muddy. The breeze felt complimentary to the gradual warmth of the sun, especially on my neck. I honestly couldn’t feel my steps as I went along, like I was just floating along as I felt empty. Not empty in a negative sense, but hardly any other thought I had stayed for more than a second. What came over me? Was I late? No, I kept track; I know I can’t be late? Was I malnourished? No, that breakfast still feels filling to me; ate two whole bowls of grain. Was it... love? More than before when I haven’t felt any different about her? I love her, I know I do, but what is convincing me otherwise? Not otherwise, but variably? Seriously, what other feelings could I have for that beautiful and outgoing and strong and polite an- OOMPH!

My mind played a gag as I somehow walked right into the square’s sundial, stumbling from the pain in the stomach before falling over onto the ground. I writhed for a bit before looking to see the sharp triangular tip of the gnomon spark for a moment. I instantly grew puzzled, so I got up and looked at the big instrument. It wasn’t long before I recognized something that I should have for the past fifteen years… the sundial was facing east. Nobody could even use this because it’s… always been positioned wrong. Something that looks so perfect, and yet could hardly do the one thing it was meant to do for almost a century.

That was when another thought occurred to me. A more deeper thought, one that stuck with me for the many weeks that I’d knowably work through to finally answer it with everything and everyone coming together: 

How does time move forward?

[pointedly-foolish]

[ dσn’t run frσm mє rívєr ]

word count: 2605

pairing: upgraded connor | rk900/gender-neutral!reader

genre: hurt/comfort

summary: nines filed the results of the system check to the back of his mind, to be analysed later, and sighed. he wasn’t originally programmed to sigh, but he sure did it alot nowadays. he sighed once more. this check would most likely return like the previous few, [ all systems optimal; functionality: 100% ]. so why does his processor stutter, causing him to freeze and catch his voice in his throat, when he was around you? there was only one logical explanation: he was broken.

a/n: ya boi is an idiot who made more wips than he could handle,,,, but anyway i wanted to write a nines fic because,,,,,,,,,,,, idk inspiration struck? i must admit i had no idea where i was going w this fic skfksfjaskdfhjk btw nines is deviant in this fic, i just have a hc that since he was forced into deviancy (unlike the 3 protagonists who reached some sort of catharsis) he isn’t as familiar with emotions as those 3, hence his difficulty identifying and expressing them. also rk800-60 and rk900 have assigned names, being colin (nickname sixty) and conan (nickname nines) respectively. connor is just connor lmao,,,,, i am god in my fics and i decide that my 3 bois are bros and happy lil deviants,,,, mk, go!

the ambiance inside the bar was loud and suffocating. many people came to celebrate an officer’s promotion to detective, and while nines wasn’t particularly close to them, he showed up regardless (although a certain duo of rk800 models may or may not have had something to do with his decision). mere formalities; he politely congratulated them and stepped away to ruminate on his own in a corner, absently watching the scene in front of him. for a reason that escaped him, he was (disappointed?) (hurt?) that you got along with colin. he still experienced anomalies in his system when near you, even after being told that he was perfectly fine at the maintenance centre. if the problem wasn’t from within, then there was only one probable cause: an outside factor. a recurring event. one that triggered these anomalies. you.

so he requested to change partners. now, he really wished he didn’t.

while you have taken to your new partner wonderfully, he wasn’t as gracious with his. between reed’s incessant snide remarks and overall unwillingness to cooperate, he’d much rather be deactivated. he found himself missing your partnership. for one, your cooperativeness was a relief. you were determined, passionate and kind. truthfully, he missed you. the shine in your eyes when you find a lead, your composure and professionalism, the soothing quality of your voice, the way you’d let you hand linger in his, how your features softened when you smiled—smiled at hi— he caught himself. why did that last part come to mind? how did you still manage to affect him when you’re so far away? he was about to check why when a laughter caught his attention. your wonderful laughter. One he was oh so familiar with. you were laughing with his brother, probably at another of his bad jokes. seeing you happy with him stirred an ugly feeling inside him. one that he did not recognise nor acknowledge. one that caused him to glare at his older counterpart.

he was miserable after parting ways from you, having to deal with reed’s complaining. he was hurt, he was away from you and it didn’t feel right. this distance between you two manifested as physical pain on his part, so how come you were fine? how were you able to move on in your life as if nothing happened? sadness and hurt turned into something more despicable: how dare you not feel the same pain he did? seeing you so happy twisted the knife deeper in his heart. how could you? conflicting emotions; he wanted to see you happy. he also wanted to see you suffer with him.

his glowering must’ve been pretty obvious as connor “addressed” him, asking if he was alright, to which he replied with a curt « all systems fully functional ». clearly the wrong answer as the rk800 frowned slightly and asked him to follow him. nines did as told. you watched him as he left, but he’d never know that.

the alleyway wasn’t the cleanest of places, but it was private and quiet enough that the two could converse verbally. connor watched his younger brother, concern in his eyes, and tentatively threaded the topic of his relationship with you. nines squinted his eyes fractionally as he observed his brother, pausing before dismissing anything connor may have assumed: « i don’t know what you’re trying to insinuate. the older model raised a brow in as he doubted his younger counterpart’s words. – you’ve been scowling at them for the past few minutes. – everything is perfectly fine between the detective and i. he forced out, probably more defensive and harsh than he meant it to be, as his brother’s eyes widened slightly, flashing with something akin to recognition. there was a pause before connor spoke up. – are you… jealous? he finally asked. »

nines looked a bit more than scandalised as the thought of being jealous, face contorted to slight disgust: « that’s preposterous. he scoffed. jealous? jealous of what? connor thought back about the scene before he intervened: nines was glaring intensely at you and colin, just after you laughed at one of his quips. – well for one, of collin. how he managed to get the detective’s attention. maybe you’re yearning for theirs, for their affection. his proposition has certainly made nines realise something as his eyes widened, making him look like a deer caught in the headlights. – what are you trying to say? his voice wavered in unsurety. – what i’m trying to say is tha— » he didn’t manage to finish his statement as another voice, not too dissimilar to his own cut him off, announcing how “nines had the hots” for you. connor looked slightly irked at being interrupted while nines quickly dismissed the statement before fully processing it. colin was slightly taken aback by the quick rejection, before smirked mischievously: « great! then you wouldn’t mind if i asked them out right? – colin! exclaimed his twin. »

a sudden rage took over nines’ body as he pushed colin out of the doorway and stormed back inside the bar. a few beats passed before connor threw a chastising look at his twin, which colin shrugged nonchalantly to.

yes, nines knew what dating was. he knew that if two individuals were to harbour romantic feelings for each other, they would come together and be “dating each other”.

date /dāt/ verb gerund or present participle: dating 3. go out with (someone in whom one is romantically or sexually interested).

technically, it was fine. logically, it was fine. he didn’t own you. if you were to date his brother, then that would be your choice. but the thought of you being close and loving someone other than him felt so incredibly wrong. he wanted to leave. he needed to leave. this is all too much. he had feelings for you? he needed time to digest that statement. in his rush to get out, he accidentally bumped into another person, who made a small « oof » and an apology. he was about to apologise as well when you both realised who you were talking to.

« nines! i’ve been looking for you! can we… uh, talk? » he realised from this distance that he could smell your scent: lavender, fabric softener, and something pleasant that was unmistakably you. he nodded and followed you absentmindedly. how did you have this power to erase all thoughts from his mind, make him think of you and only you? has he really fallen for you? you both went outside, a distance away from the bar’s entrance when you finally restarted the conversation: « nines. – detective. » you bit your lips at that reply, and he realised now you looked tired, that radiant smile absent. « look, nines, i- i’m not dense, okay?... i-i know when someone’s avoiding me. – what do you mean detect— – i thought i told you that it was alright to call me by my first name… look, i… by “avoiding” i mean this. acting like you don’t know me. speaking to me as if we were just “coworkers”. acting like we aren’t friends. you sounded tired, the lilt in your voice that he has grown accustomed to sullen. – i’m not avoiding you. he lied, but he knew you were smarter than that. – nines please don’t lie… this distance… between us. i don’t understand, nines. your voice cracked. what happened? Why are you doing this? »

watching you hurt inside because of him was worse than any punishment he could’ve received. any and all previous wishes for you to suffer was quickly erased. he’s much rather suffer alone than watch you break. he took hesitant steps back. away from you. distancing himself from you. you noticed his actions and whispered a desperate « nines… please… » he wanted to run away. he wanted to stay. he wanted to leave and pretend this conversation never happened. he wanted to hold you and tell you everything: his fears, his doubts, his growing affection for you. in the end, he found himself running away from his problems like a coward. you didn’t bother to chase after him, desperately crying out « please… please don’t run from me conan. », last part choked out as you tried to hold yourself together. hearing your voice crack and waver because of him was awful. he wanted to turn back. comfort you. But his body didn’t obey him. when he finally stopped to pay attention to where he was going, he was right back at his shared flat. he swallowed dryly and moved to enter his house, a solemn air around him.

the next few days were absolutely torturous. he increased his initiative to avoid you, never seen in the same place as you, much to your chagrin. an act so blatant than someone as ignorant as reed noticed, an act that become the core of his recent round of taunts. avoiding you hurt. so why did he continue to do it? the thought of approaching the subject made him go cold. it immobilised him, stopped him from uttering a single word. a quick search told him he was scared. nervous. for rejection. he doesn’t know if his heart could take much more. he does resolve to tell you one day… just… not today…

but maybe he should’ve taken the chance when it was presented to him, as he may never get one again.

you died. well, you almost did. his mind jumping to the worst case scenarios as anxiety filled his system. arrest gone wrong. gunshot. 9mm bullets embedded within your abdomen. what if it hit your vascular system? you were rushed into the er. he knew that in this profession, the chances for an individual to get shot rises. but he didn’t expect to grow so attached to one of them. so as the surgeons work to quickly remove all bullets from your body, he sat, rigid, as he waited for the procedure to be done. he fiddled anxiously with his coin when your partner placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. he mechanically glanced at its owner, who told him to not worry, that you’re “too much of a stubborn ass” to die from this event. he didn't acknowledge colin’s input as he continues to play with the quarter. he should’ve told you. told you when he had the chance.

the clock ticked. and ticked. and ticked. when finally, the surgeon informed the two that you were alright. they managed to take out all the bullets. your condition was stable. you were ok. heavily sedated and going to be in a lot of pain. but you were ok. nines didn’t stop the heavy sigh of relief that escaped him. the doctor told them that visits will be allowed as soon as you were settled in recovery. he was going to tell you. he told himself, like an unspoken promise. he was going to tell you then. it’s the least you deserve. he was going to apologise and come clean. hopefully you’ll have it in you to forgive him.

when you finally came to, your body ached, you didn’t want to move, so you settled with eyeing your room. what happened? you were chasing this guy… and he pulled out a gun… pain and then darkness. and now you’re here. the recovery room was filled with gifts and get-well soon cards. balloons of assorted colours filled the room, bouquets of diverse types of flowers adorned the table.

« you’re awake. »

you turned your head at the source, seeing connor at the doorway. « how—you cleared your throat—how long was i gone for? you asked, voice raspy. – around 3 days and a half. you’d gain consciousness a few times, but you were too heavily sedated to be fully coherent. he explained as he took a seat near the bed. you groaned. – gosh that long? connor nodded. how’s colin? – doing pretty well all things considered. he does, however, feel immensely guilty about failing to protect you. – well, tell him it’s not his fault and that i forgive everything he’s blaming himself with. you worried about him. despite sixty’s mischievous exterior, he had a tendency to get himself stuck in a depressive loop of self-deprecation. connor smiled graciously. – will do… he placed a paper cup filled with what you assumed was thirium on the floor. how are you feeling? – everything hurts but i’ll live, you quipped. » the android chuckled and was about to reply when a knock caught both of your attention. the door creaked slightly open, as nines peered in. he hesitated before asking if he may speak with you. the “alone” part being left unsaid as connor bid you farewell and left.

you and your former partner were locked in an intense stareoff, you on the bed on one end and him glued to the door on the other. he took tentative steps towards you. closing that distance. when he was besides your bed, he nervously called out your name. you parroted him, mustering out a curt « conan. » he took a deep breath that he technically didn’t need and whispered out an apology: « i… i’m sorry. for everything i’ve caused—for all the hurt i’ve caused… for what it’s worth… i never meant for all this to happen. » his voice was clipped as guilt overcame him. you watched him, silent as ever. he wished you would say something, anything. the silence was deafening.

« then please tell me why… he promised himself that he’d come clean. – i… i don’t… i don’t think i know... for sure… i experienced anomalies in my system when i was around you.. you’d consume my every thought, i’d feel immobilised and i… i’ve been told that i’m being nervous… i’ve been told that i harboured romantic feelings for you… i-i don’t know. i… i yearn for your attention, your touch, your affection… but is it right for something like me to desire such a thing? am-am i broken…? his voice was barely a whisper when he choked out the lay part, and he waited for his response, growing more anxious as each second ticked by. what if you didn’t want him? what if he wasn’t enough? – no, you aren’t broken. you shook your head. just human. »

nines. confident and assured nines was an insecure and trembling mess as he poured out all of the doubts that plagued his mind. your heart aches as you wished to comfort him, so you do. you reached out, best you can, and grabbed him into a bone crushing hug. an action that took him by surprised as he stiffened at your touch. but he soon relaxed and carefully snaked his arms around your waist, returning the hug. you slowly caressed his hair as he nuzzled into your neck.

you both stay like this for a moment, relishing in each others presence, before you spoke up again: « it’s okay to be unsure, you know. he stopped his nuzzling, indicating to you that he was listening. if you don’t feel ready at the moment… if you just wanna be friends for the time being, i’m ok with that. and if one day you decide that you want to be more, just remember i’ll be right here. » you pressed a gentle kiss on the crown of his head and stayed in that position for a while, neither wanting to part ways, but this awkwardly positioned hug took a toll on your back so the both of you half heartedly pulled away from each other. hands holding the other’s, you asked for one more request: « just promise me one thing. – anything, he breathed out. – please… don’t ever run from me again. – never. he promised, fully intending to fulfill said request. »

« thank you. »

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[tisthenightofthewitch]

I ALWAYS QUESTIONED EVERYTHING AS A KID - Tobias Forge Interview

Ghost visited Hungary on December 3, 2019, where he gave a successful concert at the Arena. Before the concert, our magazine was given a brief interview with Tobias Forge, the frontman of the band, Cardinal Copia.

YOU HAVE A COUPLE OF POINTS OF CONTACT WITH HUNGARY AND HUNGARIANS, BUT WHICH ONE WOULD YOU CONSIDER MOST IMPORTANT?

Unfortunately, I've only been to Hungary once, so I haven't spent too much time here. The first thing that comes to mind is music. From the musical background, Erzsébet Báthory is inevitable, since she is the central figure in Gothic and vampire culture. In my youth, the music of BATHORY and VENOM meant the most to me. But also my favorite is the TORMENTOR, whose singer, ATTILA, and he sings in MAYHEM , which is probably the most famous band for us, so DE MYSTERIIS DOM SATHANAS was a big influence on me. I was thirteen when I appeared ...

SO THEN IT'S JUST MUSIC STUFF?

Apart from the subcultural and historical things, there are some outstanding people of Hungarian origin in my life. My lawyer, who is also a good friend, is half Hungarian. My mother was at the same time with a Hungarian guy who was completely Hungarian. The guy who draws our turnstiles is of Hungarian origin. I have no such background, but the country is very impressive.

YOU WEREN'T ORIGINALLY A GHOST SINGER, AND IN AN INTERVIEW YOU SAID YOU COULD IMAGINE GOING BACK TO BEING A GUITARIST AND HANDING IN THE MICROPHONE. IS THERE ANYONE YOU WOULD LIKE TO SEE AT THE HELM OF GHOST?

I couldn't really tell anyone that suddenly.

MISSING THE FACT THAT YOU DON'T HAVE A GUITAR IN YOUR HAND?

Yes, very much. Although I like to do what I do now, if I were in a different band, I would really play guitar, because for me, the most natural way to play music is to play the guitar or maybe play the guitar and backing it up. Once I end up in another band, I'll be really instrumental.

WHEN YOU WERE YOUNG, WAS ANYONE AROUND YOU RELIGIOUS OR ANY RELIGION?

No one in my immediate family. My mother is very liberal, very kind of… * showing a peace sign on both hands * pacifist. It is also quite spiritual, but by no means religious. The other one I grew up with was my brother, who at the time was not religious at all. He has since developed some kind of religion, which is not necessarily a 100% God-fearing fear, so he is not a completely faithful god, but he does. Sometimes it's easier to just go to a church and accept the dogma system that has been put together than to pick yourself "a bit of this, a little of what it doesn't," which I think is healthier, but I don't know what he meant.

SO HAVEN'T YOU MET RELIGION IN YOUR CHILDHOOD?

A little further afield, there was a couple of religious figures in my extended environment who influenced my behavior. Perhaps most importantly, I was my first or second grade primary school student. He was two years old from retirement, or sixty-three years old or about. You know it was thirty years ago, anyone over sixty was very old, now being 60 is virtually nothing. But in the eighties to be sixty, well… He was very backward and had all the qualities that made him perfect… smelly. She was ugly, her hair was scarred and her clothes were scarred, she was terrible and evil, and she was harsh. He couldn't really teach.

THEN NOT REALLY YOUR MAN OR EVEN YOUR FAMILY…

For a guy who grew up with such a liberal mother ... well, wow, she was quite struggling. I swore, listened to metal, waved, talked back and always questioned everything. I think he messed up the school as it is.

SO YOU WEREN'T YOUR FAVORITE…

From then on, I hated school forever, and I could never get over it. By the third, I was a better teacher, but I couldn't care less about the school, I was more interested in opposing everything and questioning things. Unfortunately, it continued throughout my school years, I wasn't a good student, and honestly, I wasn't good at being a friend either, I was really stupid and hateful, which is not a good thing. And it's all his fault! Okay, maybe not… And he was Christian. It was very, very religious. So for me, as a wicked and despicable ... If he could, he would have hit me. He couldn't have done it, but I remember saying he wanted to, and he could have done it a few years earlier. So, if he represents Christian love, I don't ask for it.

I KNOW YOUR SON AND DAUGHTER BOTH LOVE GHOST AND YOUR MUSIC, BUT HOW WOULD YOU REACT IF YOU LATER BECAME ACTIVE IN HATING ROCK AND NOT JUST BECOMING POP OR HIP HOP FANS?

Actually, it would be perfectly natural - you have to face someone, right? I've always been such a very "anti" person who has defied everyone and everyone, so if they want something like that, that's fine. What I would mention, though, is the cultural and intellectual side of the whole rock theme: I would be a little sad if they were separated from everything I love. I am convinced that if you are into rock music, from the '60s rock'n'roll, through the' 80s to the '90s, of course, to the movies and books I like in this regard - one-on-one would refuse to think I would miss out on a huge and great slice of culture, a virtually huge loss to miss. Otherwise, I am not cinematic, my taste is wide enough. If my kids were to find nothing in the culture I can offer them, I'd be really surprised. Then they may know better, and they may know something that I do not.

(Translated from Hungarian - apologies for any errors!)

METAL.HU

[thevagabondvantage]

8.28.2018

Jenn Demorris is a goddess. She has the entire office wrapped around her soft, auburn locks; her perfume acting as a sort of siren’s song. Jaws drop at the sight while hearts stop at the scent. Everyone stares as she enters the conference room. She may act unaware, but this is exactly how she wants it.

“Where are the edits from PR?” she inquires toward some generic assistant.

“Right here, Miss,” he stammers. Silence diffuses across the room as she looks over the edits. There’s no standing rule against speaking while she focuses, but no one wants to take the chance. Seconds burn on, she does not break her gaze; all the while towering over the ensemble of office chairs.

“They call this an edit? Hm…” She sets the documents aside and takes her seat at the head of the table. She crosses her legs, which are kept muscular through pure intimidation.

“Could I trouble someone for a water?” Another generic assistant shuffles out to assure her hydration. Hour-long moments go by, no one is quite sure what to say. She continues,

“What do we think of extending our promotion from last month through the end of the year? Some may think it’s wild and foolish, but - if anything - it’s been wildly and foolishly successful, so who cares what they think?” 

Jack wasn’t sure who they were, but he certainly wasn’t going to tell her that. In fact, Jack wasn’t sure of a lot of things at this point. Was there an email he missed informing him of what the hell was going on? How many questions was she going to ask before someone would speak up? Were these questions rhetorical? Did she only speak in questions?

“What’s the time?” 

Yep, she definitely only speaks in questions. Jack was sure of it now. This whole company wasn’t even a business, just a strategy game where employees played to see how many questions this woman would ask without being answered before firing their asses. Why did he even start working here in the first place? Sure, his college buddy Joe hooked him up with the job right when he needed one, but did he even want to be here? He has a master’s degree in Humanities. He always saw himself ending up as a professor, owning a bookshop, or manning a non-profit. He’d live somewhere like Seattle or Portland and go biking on the weekends. Life would have it, though, that he needed job security, so he traded weekends for never-ending weeks. Sure, he could have fulfilled his dreams, but he liked the idea of having a 401(k) instead of having 401k in debt.

“Isn’t anyone going to give me the time?”

Great, another question, he snarkily thought. Wide eyes, sweaty foreheads, and all, everyone turned to him. He’d apparently been elected as the spokesperson of this merry band. He barely consults his watch. “Maybe about 9:50, Miss Demorris…?”

“Hm.” Finally, a damn statement. She glances away for a moment, but her cunning eyes find their way back to his. She studies his face a moment and - much to Jack’s dismay - returns with a question. “Your name?”

“Jack Tanner,” he sighs. This was probably accompanied by an eye roll, but no one could be certain… He didn’t mean to have such a rotten attitude, but it seemed to come with the job description. Jenn upgrades her stare from inquisitive to relentless, almost as if planning a way to dismantle his well-being. She certainly isn’t evil - she’s actually a great vice-president of marketing and gives amazing gifts at the company Christmas party, but she has no regard for human worth the other three-hundred and sixty four days of hell. 

Jack never could quite pinpoint why he hated working here and working for her so much. Maybe it’s the way she flounces about the office or can’t be bothered to make direct eye-contact with someone in a God-forsaken cubicle... Regardless, he’s had it. Jenn finally reaches her moment of divine inspiration and speaks to him.

“I’m not sure how they did things at the Panera Bread you miraculously crawled out of, but when a woman of stature asks for the time they’re sure as hell not asking for an approximation or a guess sprinkled with sharp ignorance.” Everyone hastily makes eye-contact with the floor so as to not be caught in the line of fire. The color immediately washes away from Jack’s cheeks.

“So,” Jenn continues, “Let’s try that again, shall we?” Her questions were beginning to sound more and more like unadulterated statements. She rises from her chair to her full height in a contained rage. “What’s the time?”

Jack knew this could go one of two ways. He could actually look at his wrist watch, his phone, and his computer and give the woman the most accurate time possible, or he could be a smart ass.

“My apologies, it’s exactly 9:51. Did they not teach you how to tell time in the underworld?” He chose to be an accurate smart ass. One of the generic assistants from before - “waterboy” as he’d eventually be called - returned with a Dixie cup with water for the woman.

“I couldn’t find any bottled water or even a glass of any sort, so I hope this is-”

“It’s fine,” Jenn failed to convince. Waterboy tried to hand her the cup, but her focus couldn’t be broken. She was carefully aiming, ready and willing to shoot something back at Jack. She sat, folded her hands on the lip of the table, and waited. Everyone caught the drift and slowly fled the room, but Waterboy needed one last lick of clarity.

“Should I take the water with me, or-” She shoots him a look that would have denuclearized North Korea and all its friends. He swam away.

Jenn couldn’t find words. No one, and I mean no one, had ever spoken to her that way; not at Waterwood Prep, not at Yale, not even when she worked at Chicago Starbucks for an hour in the early 2000’s, and she can’t get enough. She speaks,

“Right now, I don’t know if I want to kiss you or shove you off of a bridge?”

“Can I pick?” Jack was terrified, but loves every minute of it. The tension between the two reaches its peak. The plan has been set; now for the follow-through.

Jenn rises once again with the grace of a swan and passion of a tiger. She sits on the table next to him, gets as close as she could without giving HR something to complain about, and says in a hot, heavy whisper, 

“What’s the time?” Jack is at another crossroads. He could submit to this despicable, yet sexy woman and give her the time without further commentary, or he could take matters into his own hands. Jack stands as he straightened his tie, knowing exactly what needs to be done.

“9:53, Miss Demorris,” he humbly declares. Neither know exactly who initiated the actions that followed, but their lips unite for an agreeably furious moment. This is everything she’d ever wanted and more than he’d ever deserved. The ball still in his court, he breaks the interaction and says with full satisfaction, “I quit.” He gathers his things and leaves without a smooch or a smile, leaving Jenn Demorris desirably speechless.

He walks briskly, carrying himself with a smug grin. He finds himself at one final crossroad. He should leave it, let it go, find a new job, and assume the life he’d always wanted, but he knows he won’t. Against his better judgement, he opens his phone and writes a message to the godforsaken woman. 

“Want more? 343 Saint Richard Drive, Apartment 33B. Come when you can.” She responds in seconds with a simple, but loaded, “See you then.” He snickers as he dials a phone number. 

“Hello,” asks the voice on the other line.

“Phase two has begun,“ Jack declares. He ends the call, throws the phone in the nearest trash bin, and walks a little fast.

She’ll never know what hit her, he cannives. Operation Demolish Demorris has officially commenced.

[glitchrpgmain]

                      WELCOME TO THE UNDERWORLD.

congratulations MARIE ! you have been accepted into underworldfm. the role of PERIDOT will be portrayed by NADEZDHA CORVINUS. LINDSEY MORGAN is now taken. please submit your blog within the next 24 hours & be sure to follow the guidelines outlined in our checklist.

we can say with confidence that we both absolutely fell in love with nadezdha when we first read through her app. the way you detailed her inner struggle, her conflict, the moral crossroads she is stuck at due to the experiences that shaped her -- it’s amazing! we really love the detail you put into her and you have shaped her into such a strong but hesitant character at the same time! we’re excited to see her interact with the rest of the crew!

IC.

character. i’m applying for peridot! 

name. nadezhda aleksandrovna corvin(us).

age. 499 years old (and very excited to celebrate her half-millenium soon enough).

gender & pronouns. cis female, she/her pronouns.

BIO.

i. 

you were born at dawn. ominous, considering your species — but that was never how your father saw it. his first-born child, entering the world at dawn. to him, it held a different meaning. the dawn of a new era, the next generation. maybe it wasn’t the most creative metaphor, but it surely stuck. not to add that of all things, your name also meant hope. 

                          ( really, dad, what is it with these tropes? )

you were, to vampires, essentially the crown princess — and you were surely raised as proudly as one. descended from the originals themselves, arrogance was practically in your blood. power, beauty, riches, all were laid at your feet. maybe you were a little debauched every now and then, maybe you were just a little wilder than the rest, maybe you indulged a little too often. who could really blame you for it? you wore a crown, not a set of shackles. 

perhaps this is where your reputation started, in the earlier decades of your life. for others it would be chalked up to reckless youth, but as aleksander’s heir, you should have been taught better. though you’d never say it to his face ( or anyone’s face, for that matter ) in part, you think your father is to blame. 

since you could understand, you were told about the horrors of lycans, how those despicable monsters were trying to destroy everything you held dear, your very legacy. you hated them, truly, wholeheartedly hated them. 

but then again, it’s very easy to hate that which you do not know. 

ii. 

in a way, you were coddled. 

you were taught to hate lycans, to see them as abominations. you were taught how to kill them, too. a direct descendant of the originals might be powerful, but it also made you a target — so knowing how to defend yourself was one of the first things your father made sure you knew. 

          ( you also kind of enjoyed it, the training, the fighting. you rarely took                                       anything seriously in those early decades, except for that )

but for all your flaming hatred, for all the ways you knew how to use your silver blades and drive them home, you had never, actually seen a lycan, much less fought one. pampered, that’s what your father’s advisers called you. scoffing, you turned on your heel and complained to your mother — because that, is definitely not what pampered children did. 

looking back, even centuries later, you feel somewhat embarrassed at that youthful arrogance.

iii.

something had started nagging at you. before, you did not notice the disappointed stares some of the older vampires gave you. the way a lot of them did not take you seriously. the raised eyebrows and whispered comments. you were too caught up in your own hubris to recognize how maybe, just maybe, they did not see you as the golden-crowned heir you thought you were. 

“she has never even seen a lycan,” was one of the most common whispers you managed to overhear. annoyance turned to anger — and when someone thought lesser of you, you could not help but prove them the opposite. 

you convinced your mother to take a trip with you. quality time was your reasoning to her, but that piece of gossip you heard about a lone lycan in the area was most definitely involved in the decision. the death dealers had bigger problems to worry about to bother, but not you. 

this was when you realized they had been right all along. arrogant, pampered, stupid, even — if you were being really honest. 

there were six lycans, not one.

they damn near ripped your throat out.

your mother was left in so many bits and pieces after they finished with her, there was barely enough left to put in a casket for burial.

iv. 

at the age of sixty-seven, you were responsible for your mother’s death. for a human, that is an incredibly generous age to lose a parent at — but for an immortal… well, it was a tragedy to say the least.

you barely spoke the first few months after she was killed. they assumed you were innocent in the whole affair, that this was an ambush by the lycans to strike aleksander where it hurt most, they even praised you for managing to kill four of them by yourself. you let them. 

where you had been so fiercely, wildly alive ( as much alive as any vampire can be, that is ) before, there was now an empty shell. you were to blame for what happened and that was something you could not shake. the others mistook your guilt with a need for vengeance and suggested you join the death dealers. even your father encouraged it, though then again, a man who had just lost his wife might not be in the soundest state of mind. 

you accepted their offer. you hoped that killing those monsters would fill the gaping hole inside your chest. that it would make you feel better to brutalize them in the same way they did your mother.

and for a while, it did.

v. 

death is easy, living is the hard part. 

when you killed one of them, it was always easy. not the actual fight towards that kill, though you quickly learned your way into that as well, but the act of taking a life. you saw them as a stain on this earth, and why should that not be eradicated? your ancestors certainly thought so. 

with another two siblings joining the mix, your father had his attention elsewhere. you started to indulge in life a bit more again, to take the edge off, but never like before. you had learned your lesson there. 

no one knew you well enough to see that smiles never reached your eyes, kisses were rarely genuine, and even blood didn’t satisfy you at times. 

maybe you were still seen as more of a warrior than a future ruler, but there was a bit more respect for you in the coven now. you seemed to have dedicated your life to destroying the monsters that haunted them, the bare start of a legacy that was worthy to follow up your father’s. 

                            ( but nothing is ever that simple, is it? )

vi.

you fucked up again. this time, you managed not to endanger or cause the death of anyone else, but still found yourself in a situation that should have meant the end for you. 

trapped in a lycan nest, where a pack of twenty roamed all around, you found yourself alone, without any silver weapons and enough poisoned bites that you were delirious enough to hallucinate your dead mother — you know it’s bad when you hallucinate your dead mother. 

that was supposed to have been your end and you knew it too. preparing to go out in a blaze of glory worthy of the corvinus line ( nothing less was to be expected, you could not shame your father, even in death ) you found a hand clamped over her mouth, just before you were about to out the smart ass comment that introduced your death scene. always so dramatic.

it was a lycan who had silenced you. captured. a much more anticlimatic death than you had wanted, that was your first thought. 

but instead of taking you over to the other flea-bags to be tortured for the next couple hours, he pointed you towards the exit.

vii. 

your view of lycans has always been very simple: 

they were monsters. 

that’s what your father had always told you. that was what your entire life was built around from the moment you could understand what others were talking about. that was what they affirmed when they killed your mother. they surely did not have feelings, they should not even be capable of mercy. that was what monsters were, that was how they lived. 

so why did one of them save your life?

viii.

in the end, the experience changed you enough that you quit the death dealers. your reasons were simple, because like hell would you tell them about what happened. but the heir putting down her sword to focus on the other facets that came with leadership? that seemed understandable enough. 

                     ( it wasn’t even a full-on lie, you did pick up an interest in politics,                                                                   in history — in the art of being a ruler )

but really, when the monsters you’ve always seen as soulless, capable of nothing except evil, save your life, that’s bound to shift a person’s worldview. confusing was an understatement for your feelings back then. you learned more about lycans, things not always taught by your father or tutors, things that made them seem almost… human. 

scared of what this revelation brought, you hid it in a little corner of your mind, rarely ever a focus, ignored, even. instead, you put your energy into something you had always put off because it was boring. studying. you wanted to stay true to your excuse, that you wanted to become a better heir to your fathers’ empire — and it didn’t turn out to be that awful.

ix. 

you never really knew what the catalyst was to bring back your doubts. 

after your stint as a death dealer and actual starting interest in being a proper first-in-line to the great aleksander corvin, there was a more serious, authoritative air to you. plenty vampires still saw you as the arrogant, reckless youth you were in your first century of life, but you knew better now. 

for the most part, anyway.

so what made you so quiet when the others spoke about those dirty fleabags? why do you flinch when you hear a death dealer discuss their kill of a young lycan pup? what causes that hollow look in your eyes when someone mentions blood traitors, such as your adopted sibling?

did it start when you ended the life of a lycan prisoner before they could torture him to death? was it maybe even kyanite, when they were banished and you lost someone you didn’t even know you had been relying on?

you can no longer fully ignore what you know to be true, it tears you up inside.

x.

you were born at dawn. 

your father saw it as a sign that you would break in the dawn of a new era for your kind, he named you hope for that very reason. the question remains on what that new era will be like. do you hold onto your bloodline, your father, to all that your legacy is supposed to be? or do you cast off the bloodshed, all the centuries of death and destruction at the risk of losing everything?

it seems you have a choice to make.

[deviationdivine]

Only If For a Night (RK800-60 x reader)

TLDR: You let yourself succumb to this but he isn’t the one you want...

Word Count:  2403

TW: Angst, Light Smut

Fantasy overshadows people’s lives to the point of forgetting what reality is. For a few hours you forget tangling amid sheets twisting around two beings falling into one another. Long shadows dancing a ballet across wall created a scene of veiled intimacy.

Mingling in the soft cotton your body sinks under power of hot flesh and shuddering breaths. It is unruly, desperate and needful. A lust consumed by selfish decisions. A lust that you want elsewhere but writhing beneath him satiated your craving. 

Closing your eyes opens a floodgate of emotions that not only fool you but him. Consciously blinding yourself gave you what you want. If you can’t see the truth does it count? 

It feels good in the moment. Wrapping yourself up into his toned body, hands sweeping your skin, kisses wet and sucking hard over your pulse. A track mark on your flesh reminds you when sinking back to reality.

All you feel now is disgust. Inhibited in the bed you chose but the thrill comes to a screeching halt when it ends.  Dancing images of swaying branches form through frosty window pane in a waking crescendo tugging you back and creating a most impressive show across room in place of your previous shadow play.

It certainly held better interest than what you no longer want glued like a second skin, a scab to pick off and discard. You think dropping him off in a landfill will be a better end for you both.

Tilting head away and staring at the spot on the bedroom wall didn’t prevent him gathering arms around your body. Holding on and pressing up into bare back like a starving kitten craving warmth from its mother. Sappy, you think, fawning over you and making you shift to untangle. It isn’t enough to relay your disinterest.

He places a flurry of kisses into neck and against shoulder. Skimming every inch of your skin he can find, to taste how delicious you were to his sensors. Clutching on with an eager giddiness almost and you wonder if they even become giddy. They claim to feel so many things once deviant and you believe that but this isn’t reawakening any passion. It only furthers your ire as it twists in your expression bathed in a steady blue glow for once tonight until you can no longer stand pretending.

You shrug forcibly. Dislodging from his ministrations, your breath seethes through teeth. “Stop it,” your voice is throaty in irritation in place of pleasure.

One thing you never asked for is cuddling. All you asked for is sex nothing more, nothing less. Straight to the point which only led you astray because it is too good. Sicker than you started and realizing that pushes your anger out against him.

Two to tango is a stupid saying. You won’t believe in it. Not for this phony construct. The only person you want true affection from, to hold and kiss you all over  is – Connor. 

Instead, this is where you find yourself giving him what he wants when you never wanted him yourself.

A flood of crimson burns his temple next. Syncing in stressful flickers reveals his deepest insecurities. Even after experiencing a long night of passionate sex with you his frown betrays doubt. 

You make him this way. How can he love something that makes him hate what he is not? The android’s expression fell into what you think is a pitiless frown.

“Y/N…”

Dragging in a whine almost turned your name into a simpering invocation wishing to bring him what he desires. Calling upon a higher power did not answer because nothing would change your true feelings towards him.

The flashing red crests over your cheek as he leans closer. It’s a sign for how lost he looks but you ignore it. Keeping your back facing him both avoids witnessing and showing your disgust. A small mercy that you feel is enough.

So weak in his infatuation and you lead him on to fulfill what you can’t have. Allowing their identical model to push this hot burn through veins coiled you together in a night of passion. You pretended from the moment you came to him. He assumed he won your affection.

Repeating your name in a silent prayer, his lips press hopeful again to warm skin. Another nudge answers to tear down his dream of holding you tightly and whispering sweetly against ear. Was it just fantasy now or from the start he is simply deluded.

“Leave me alone.” Warning him in a scoff is kinder than what swirls in your brain. Separating entirely pushes you up to sit as covers yank in your hands. Moving away towards farthest side of bed becomes a cruel torture. Of course you knew that it would be. This is what he asked for. He deserves it for not being Connor.

Is it not your choice? Were you not the one who came to him, begging for his touch mere hours ago? Swallowing any trace of a conscience gives you power over your emotions. It’s too late for that. Sadly you know.

RK800-60 reaches out in a final attempt to bring you back into his arms. Stretching fingers up to caress collarbone, he wants to bury his face in your neck to drink in this longing you curse him with.

“Please, look at me. I want nothing more. We… Y/N, we made love.” 

His voice turns forceful, hoping to conjure enough of himself to stop falling back to his pre-deviated remorselessness. It draws close under his surface as he fights.

You find it uninteresting. Paying no attention to the fissures cracking in the android sinking before you there’s only that ‘L’ word making your insides churn. Love is something that you crave. Itching beneath skin, harboring deep in your tissue and turning insides like a scalding iron. Plaintive delusions believing he can fan this flame. His head is full of misconceptions involving your feelings.

No. An impenetrable need blooms for the real one. Not a mirror image that only became deviant by force, converted to prevent the end of a successful rebellion.

You knew of what happened. Before, during and after their revolution, you hear plenty of stories. All of that is before Connor came into your life. Wanting him in your life in a different way past the foundations of friendship didn’t come to fruition. The longer this ache grew the more you couldn’t wait to have him.

Settling for something that looks like him is both an all encompassing sin, lascivious in nature, speaking out to your inner most appetites. Lust is one of seven for a reason. It’s also a stupid mistake. Knowing full well that RK800-60 is in love with you didn’t stop you taking advantage.

“I would do anything to be the one to shelter, plant myself around you. Y/N, I will do and give anything to see you smile.” The android’s voice filters in glitches and shows what deviancy turns him to. No longer a raging storm but mawkish drone cut down in swells of humanity.

Tracing a forefinger along lips that didn’t upturn sent ripples of stress throughout system. This is far more than physical pain. His deviancy is not of his choice but it broke him in ways that he must hold onto.

Sixty, as you call him, craves this. All he can do is watch how you long for Connor. This moment he believes can be different. Finally, he won your affections but it unravels before the poor boy’s eyes.

“I will give anything. My own heart from my chest, the thirium pump I will rip it out for you. Please, Y/N, tell me what you want and I will do it! He wouldn’t do any of these things!”

You snap around to face him for the first time. All you want to do is make him feel what those words mean, palm connecting sharply with his chiseled cheekbone.

Immediately, you clasp your hand and lean back into headboard. Damn him! Damn him for making you react. A prick of tears threatens but you hold them in fiercely.

Cool hands came up in a flux to soothe immediately. Sixty felt everything as all deviants do. Even when you are the cause of his pain, he jumps to help ease yours. He suffers for this love but he still cannot allow you to.

Kissing atop knuckles to alleviate your pain laid his heart bare. You already caged his. If it must be crushed he will let you squeeze until it turns into dust. “I am sorry,” he murmured between tiny kisses. “I love you. I-I love you, Y/N. Please let me.”

A flicker of guilt shined in your eyes. The way he swoops in to caress and kiss you after hurting him is both sad and despicable.

Your eyes close to listen to him utter unwanted affections. Connor’s voice is identical in its raspy dulcet but there is still a difference with RK800-60 resonating with such unadulterated melancholy. It transcends from his longing that he assumes you gave into. You gave into your own pain. 

Quickly you pull away along with the rest of your body sliding out of bed. Leaving him on purpose set you on a mission to pick up strewn clothes.

“Y/N, come back.”

“No,” you hissed. “I told you to leave me alone.”

“But I love you,” he insisted rougher this time. “Do you not know what I would sacrifice to achieve this!” 

Shades of Cyberlife Tower, his menacing monologue pre-deviancy crept in clashing with his emotional overload. As an android it is too much! “Tonight we were together! Y/N!”

You pull around under a pair of strong hands unyielding in their clutch. RK800-60 loomed tall, pale picturesque and nude as the day he was created.  

Your body shivers peering into his face the mirror image of Connor. God, why couldn’t it be him? Why can’t you stop herself from wanting to throw this pathetic fool onto his back and have your way with him again? It’s only his likeness fueling this incessant need. That’s what brought you to this in the beginning. There is nothing inside your heart for this imposter. He is a means of fulfilling something elusive and beautiful. If only for a night but now as far as you’re concerned it’s over.

“Let go,” you spat at him like a docile AX400. After his deviancy he might as well be. Absolutely nothing but a waste of artificial space, something to be scorned for looking like the very thing you can’t have. The fact this one loves you instead makes everything that much more hateful. 

You hate him for what he is and what he made you do. “Get your hands off me. Or you’ll never see me again!”

RK800-60’s face became a canvas of anguish flickering as rapidly as his blazing red LED. Releasing your arms force him to fall further into the monster of unrequited love. Despite having you tonight he realizes it was only a game.

“Connor will never love you,” his voice grew static and resolute. “If he did he would have already seen what I saw. He will never give you all of himself as I will!”

Digging words into you didn’t help his chances. In fact it’s better to scoff now as you hastily pull clothes back on. “To think I let myself fall into your arms because I couldn’t wait…”

Your words are not hard to decipher. Twisting a knife to his artificial heart bled him dry to the truth he stubbornly ignores. 

“You gave yourself to me because I am his twin!” The android’s voice trembles in fury. Blindly he allows himself to think once, just once, you want him. Little did he realize this is not born of confusion in your human feelings but out of pure cruelty to his! “You pretended I was Connor the entire time!”

Shaking a head took you several steps backwards at the ferocity tumbling out of him. It only reveals him as that terror sent to destroy; the one you only heard tales of. Those tales did him no good. He will never be Connor.

What did he think? How stupid is he to believe there is another reason. That’s on him isn’t it? You try to convince yourself it’s not your doing. He’s the one living an illusion.

“Please, Sixty,” the mocking breath pegs him for what he truly is. “As if you thought I chose to be in love with you when I first came here. This is exactly what you wanted. Don’t pretend you would’ve turned me away. I know you RK800-60.” Spitting a serial number answers everything you saw him as and it’s less than nothing.

He is a number just a duplicate of something more. That’s what he always will be and you’ll remind him with no regard to his so-called feelings. “I know your heart. It beats for me. But I don’t care. I don’t care about you because you’re not him.”  

With that harsh reality you turn to bedroom door in a swift escape. All you leave behind is a broken android full of your thorns burrowing deep in his circuits. Staring where you left keeps him stiff until every seam snaps in his system. His body moves precise and indomitable searching for something to destroy. 

Thrusting knuckles connect to wall and dent the plaster. Brittle against strength it sinks in easily similar to a caving skull. He watches in heated fascination. In his mind Connor’s head smashes to pieces.

Something burns in RK800-60’s eyes. The flood of rage consumes him, transforms him into that whirlwind at Cyberlife. He falls so easily. He falls because you were his but now you’re gone. All he wants is to destroy his ‘brother’ to make him feel what he feels.

So he plans. He plans to crush what you desire. Even if you will never obtain it the idea of it fuels him leading him astray to that very thing originally sent to snuff Connor’s existence.

Emotions are weakness. His are twisted by the grace of your rejection.

[winterironstony]

Codependent

Chapter 1: The Beginning

Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzz-

A large hand cracks down onto the alarm, making the tiny table it’s resting on creak in discomfort.

Steve Rogers resists the urge to groan as he reluctantly tumbles out of bed.

It’s 6am. Time for his morning workout.

Brooklyn is sleepily getting ready for the day as Steve steps out of his apartment building for his morning. It’s freezing out but he barely notices. He’s been cold since the day he left the ice and today is no exception.

As Steve begins running his normal route, his mind wanders. Today marks six months since he was recovered from the Artic and yet he feels just as lost and lonely as he did the moment he woke up.

When he had made the decision to put the Valkyrie in the water, he had no intention of waking up. Imagine his surprise when not only did he wake up, but he woke up sixty years into the future.

Peggy is married. The commandoes are disbanded. Bucky is still dead. 

Six months and Steve is losing it. SHIELD had him going into therapy three times a week and training every day but none of it helped. Everyone either treated him as a patient or as an icon. Peggy’s presence helped but she had a life to live, missions to overview and a family to return home to, as did the other agents he formed tentative friendships with. At the end of the day, Steve had his tiny Brooklyn apartment that did nothing more than remind him of the last time he had an apartment in Brooklyn.

And that memory didn’t do him any good.

Steve is pulled away from his thoughts as he suddenly recognizes the park he’s running through. He’s already halfway through his run. Shaking his head to clear the thoughts, Steve continues on, this time trying to concentrate on the sound of his feet hitting the pavement rather than the noisy pity party that’s been in his head for the past six months.

He needs to get his head in the right place if he’s going to pass the assessment he has later in the day. When he had been dragged out of the ice, SHEILD had made it clear that they thought he needed to make sure his mental health was in top shape before he could go on any kind of mission.

That didn’t make much sense to Steve. He didn’t want to sit in a room and talk to a stranger about all of his problems. He wants to go back to work and distract himself from this new world by punching Nazis—or whoever were the bad guys these days.

Steve’s sure if he passes this assessment they will finally let him back out onto the field. He doesn’t care what he has to do to trick these people into thinking he’s fine, he needs to get back out there—he needs to do something.

 Determined, Steve begins his loop back towards his apartment.

4 hours later and the assessment is going well. Steve can tell by the smitten look on the doctor’s face that she truly believes in the fake smiles he’s giving her. Bucky always said he was a shit liar, but apparently sixty years can change a fella.

His therapist had already given him a glowing evaluation. Makes sense seeing as he had been lying to her since day one.

After a couple of hours of talking to doctor after doctor and even receiving a physical from one of the trainers, a new pair enters the room. Peggy, though much older, looks beautiful as ever as she enters the room alongside one of the senior SHIELD agents. Steve knew this one.

Coulson was Natasha and Clint’s handler. He had met the two a few times in the compound and liked them well enough. Both were relatively calm and collected around him and could even hold their own while sparring against him. If Steve were interested in making relationships in the new century, he probably would have turned to them.

Steve rises to give Peggy a hug and she laughs quietly in his ear, “Lovely to see you, Steve.”

“You too, Peg,” He says softly, trying not to let her see the sadness that always fills him when he sees her.

Peggy may be getting older, but Steve had spent enough time around her in this century to know she was as sharp as ever.

Coulson gives Steve a tight smile, nothing but professional.

“Captain.” He greets as he sits across from Steve.

“Agent.” Steve replies politely, eyeing the particularly large file Coulson has in his hands. “You two mind telling me what today’s been about?” He questions. 

Peggy gives Coulson a look before she lets out a large sigh. Steve stiffens slightly, wondering if the assessment hadn’t gone as well as he had thought. “The past six months, I know, have been rough for you.” Peggy admits. 

Damn it.

“But I assure you, it was all necessary before we could come to you with this. There is a very… sensitive topic I need to talk to you about and we had to make absolutely certain that you were stable before telling you.” She says decisively and Steve quirks an eyebrow.

“Okay…” Steve mumbles, completely confused and somewhat concerned what they could possibly have been withholding from him.

“You know that Howard Stark passed just a few months before you were found. And you know he was married. What we didn’t tell you is that Howard had a son.” Peggy says.

Steve flounders for a second. He wonders if his jaw is actually on the floor or if it just feels that way.

Peggy doesn’t give him time to respond, looking to the side as she continues. “I know that is a lot to take in, however there is a little bit more to the story than that.” She waits for Steve to collect himself and nod before she continues, “Howard was a very… interesting man, I’m sure you remember.”

Steve resists the urge to scoff.

“After you died Howard became extremely invested in finding you. In fact, it was a total obsession. Even in his will, he had funds allocated to keep searching for you until you were found, no matter if he were dead or alive.” Peggy says, “The reason I’m telling you this is because it seems his obsession went a little too far.”

Steve narrows his eyes, “What do you mean?”

“I told you Howard had a son. Well, when Howard and his wife died, we found some records hidden away in one of his labs. The records… well, they were more like reports. Experimental reports.” She grounds out, looking disgusted in a way that has Steve genuinely worried.

“Pegs, just tell me.” Steve says, exasperated.

Peggy pauses, eyes looking right through Steve. Steve can see tears pooling in her eyes and suddenly, Steve is actually, very very scared. “Steve he… what Howard did is despicable. But you can’t blame Anthony, alright? It’s not his fault.” She says, nearly quivering at this point.

“Anthony? Peggy, what are you saying?,” Steve begins to rise, nerves rattling all throughout his body but Coulson’s sturdy and even voice stops him.

“Captain, it seems that Howard Stark created Anthony through vitro fertilization in a lab. It seems that his obsession with you went so far that he used his own cells and your cells to create Anthony before using his wife Maria as a surrogate.” He says diplomatically.

Steve pales. His entire world flips upside-down before abruptly turning right-side up again. Nausea hits him like a bus and he barely stops himself from dry heaving.

He takes a moment until he’s sure he won’t vomit when he opens his mouth. “What?” His question comes out like a whisper. “My cells? To-to create-“ Steve cuts himself off, stomach rolling.

 Peggy and Coulson say nothing to deter what thoughts are clearly running through his mind.

 “So you’re saying…” he begins quietly. “You’re saying he’s mine? I have a kid?”

 Neither Peggy nor Coulson answers for a moment, seemingly scared of his reaction. “Technically….” Coulson starts, but quickly corrects himself, “Biologically, yes. He’s your child.”

 Silence fills the room once more.

 Steve’s head thumps into his hands, mind racing a mile a minute.

 Does he look like me? Does he sound like me or act like me? How old is he? Where is he? Who is he with right now? Is he happy? Is he—

 “I want to see him.” Steve says. “I want to meet him, where is he?”

 “You have to understand, Steve, we couldn’t tell you right when you were recovered. It wouldn’t have been right for Anthony or for you. We had to make sure you were in your right mind before we told you.” Peggy tries to explain as they walk down one of the pristine white hallways of SHIELD. 

Steve waves her away, trying to ignore the way his hands are shaking. “I do understand, Peg.” Because he does. He can’t imagine what he would have done if they had told him this when he woke up. There’s no way he would have been able to cope with this kind of pressure. 

But now… now Steve had some kind of terrible, scary, almost excited kind of nervous running through his veins. He had a million questions for Peggy and Coulson but they had assured him everything would be explained later.

Now, they were on their way to meet Anthony. His son.

Steve was a wreck.

 He had no idea how to approach this situation. Would Anthony recognize him? Would he understand the situation at all? Peggy had told him that Anthony was approaching his third birthday.

 Oh god, what do three-year-olds even do? Do they even talk??

 Steve’s worry didn’t have long to fester because they were suddenly standing in front of a large white door. Coulson presses his thumb against a sensor next to the door and it opens wide. For once, Steve doesn’t have the interest to awe over modern technology. His eyes are focused on one tiny being in the center of the room.

 He couldn’t be more than three feet tall. He had a full head of golden brown curly hair and olive skin and bright blue eyes.

 Dear god, he has my eyes.

 Before Steve can properly collapse, Peggy nudges him forward. “Hi Duckie, you remember when I told you I have someone very special for you to meet?” She says, voice changing slightly as she bends at the knee to look into the child’s eyes . Steve watches her, somewhat amused, somewhat sad, as he knows her familiarity with children is something that she definitely didn’t have during the war.

 That kind of familiarity can only come from years and years of practice with children—her own children. Steve tries not to let the realization sting as he continues watching the child in front of Peggy.

 The boy, Anthony, tilts his head up to what looks like an uncomfortable position just to take in the hulking mass that Steve must look like to him. He barely comes up to Steve’s knee. Despite the laughable height difference, Anthony looks absolutely enamored.

 Steve smiles, crouching down so he’s a little closer to the toddler’s height. “Hey there, little man. My name’s Steve. You’re Anthony, right?” He asks, voice kind and soft.

 The little boy’s face instantly splits into a delighted grin, rocking back onto his heels almost shyly as he giggles, “It’s Tony, silly!”

 Steve can’t help the smile that overtakes his face then. He couldn’t imagine a cuter kid could ever exist, though he might be a little biased. “Tony, huh? I like that, think it suits you.” He says earnestly. “How old are you, Tony?”

 “Almost three!” Tony cheers and though Steve did already know that he can’t help but steal a look at Peggy to convey his shock. Although Tony looks remarkably small for his age, his vocabulary and articulation are way more impressive than Steve had expected from a 2 and a half year old.

 “No way.” Steve shakes his head as if he didn’t believe him, “You sound much smarter than any other three year old I’ve ever met.”

 “Yes way!” Tony argues, smile growing on his face even as his cheeks redden in delight at the attention. “Jarvis says I’m a geen-yus.” He says, having a little bit of trouble with the last word as if it were new to him.

 “I’ll bet you are. You know, Tony, I knew your dad a while back. He was a genius too. I bet you get that from him.” Steve says with a soft smile, unsure of how much Tony knew about the situation he was currently in.

 “I know.” Tony says, nodding before leaning in closely, “Aunt Peg says that you’re Captain America.” He whispers this as if no one else in the room was allowed to know, eyes big as saucers.

 Steve tries his best to hold back his amused smile. “I’ve known Peggy a long while and she hasn’t been wrong yet.” He concedes.

 Tony’s eyes stay big, and he looks to Steve’s right as if looking to Peggy to ensure Steve was telling the truth. Peggy nods in agreement and suddenly Tony takes a step forward, closer to Steve. For a moment, the smile vanishes from Tony’s face and he looks contemplative. The toddler rests a tiny hand on Steve’s leg before extremely, seriously asking, “Do you want to color with me?”

 Steve laughs lightly, “Of course, Tony, I’d love to.”

 With that, Tony tugs on Steve’s jeans and the captain dutifully follows Tony further into the room towards a small rug where coloring books and crayons are scattered all around.

 They spend the afternoon together, Tony rambling on and impressing Steve more and more with his conversational skills. Whoever Jarvis was really wasn’t kidding when they called Tony a genius.

 “Steve?” Tony asks softly in the quiet of the room. Peggy and Coulson had left the room hours ago, leaving the two to bond in private.

 Steve tilts his head, not having to move his eyes since he hasn’t been able to look away from Tony—his son—all day. “What’s up, buddy?”

 “Do you…” Tony trails off, scrunching his nose in an all-too familiar way, “Do you think you will come over more?” He asks, huge blue eyes staring up into Steve’s pleadingly.

 Oh god. Not the puppy dog eyes.

 “Of course, Tony.” Steve reassures him quickly, “I’m sorry that I haven’t been around before today but… if you’d want, Tony, I’d love to see you a lot more often from now on.” He says genuinely. He isn’t sure what Peggy or the rest of SHIELD has planned for this situation, but he’s sure he wants to be a part of Tony’s life in any way possible.

 Tony then launches himself at Steve and for the first time ever Steve is holding his son.

 Suddenly, all the past months of not having a purpose, falling into the depression of not fitting in and feeling completely useless slip away. It doesn’t matter what terrible things he had to go through to get here because Tony.

 Everything is suddenly worth it.

 Tony may not have become his son in the most traditional of terms but that doesn’t mean Steve would love him any less. He had known about this kid’s existence for less than 24 hours and he already loved him unconditionally.

 Steve holds the toddler close, blinking away the tears that came to his eyes. Tony feels so incredibly small in his arms, Steve’s almost afraid he’ll break him if he squeezes too hard.

 “So sorry to be interrupting, Captain Rogers, but I believe it is about time for Young Sir to have dinner and get to bed.” A posh, British voice says behind him. Steve turns quick, Tony still in his arms, to reveal an older, gentle looking man in a crisp suit.

 “Jarvis….” Tony groans, though there’s no real malice behind his whine.

 Steve smiles, recognizing the name, and squeezes Tony one last time before placing him on the ground. “Hi, Steve Rogers.” He introduces, still tentatively keeping Tony slightly behind him.

 “Edwin Jarvis, at your service, sir. I am quite good friends with Mrs. Carter, you see, so I am very aware of the… interesting circumstance you’re currently in.” The older man says discreetly, shaking Steve’s outstretched hand. “I was head Butler of Stark Manor and Anthony’s caretaker since he was born. The young sir has been under my care the past several months since the… incident.” He explains.

 Steve nods, opening his mouth to respond when a familiar head of greying-auburn hair appears over Jarvis’ shoulder.

 “Oh Edwin, it is so lovely to see you.” She chirps, pulling him into a hug. Coulson isn’t too far behind her, also reaching out to shake Jarvis’ hand.

 As the three exchange pleasantries, Steve feels a tug on his pant leg. Blue eyes stare back up at him, half-closed and clearly tired as he raises his arms up towards Steve.

 Steve’s heart melts for the thousandth time that day and crouches down one last time to hug Tony. Tony rests his head comfortably on Steve’s shoulder as he clambers into Steve’s all-encompassing hug. “I’ll miss you.” Tony says softly in the genuine, honest tone only children can have.

 Steve shakes his head, “I’ll miss you more.” He promises, reluctantly pulling back and poking Tony on the nose softly. “But I’ll see you very soon. And I think it might be about time for little geniuses to get to bed.” He says playfully as Tony yawns into his shoulder.

 He stands, handing Tony off to the emotional-looking Jarvis and the two go on their way, Tony waving sleepily over Jarvis’ retreating shoulder.

 Steve sighs heavily, nearly collapsing into one of the plush chairs in the room. “Oh my god.” He whispers, resting his head on his head almost dreamily as he stares after the tiny ball of perfection that was Tony.

 “He’s amazing, isn’t he?” Peggy says, jolting Steve out of his ultra calm state. Still, Steve nods readily.

 “I can’t believe how perfect he is.” He agrees, moving his eyes to look up at Peggy and Agent Coulson. They both have soft smiles on their faces and finally, finally there is no pity in their eyes. “So. What is going on? You said you would tell me everything once I met him.”

 Coulson and Peggy look at one another before looking back at Steve. “Everything you need to know is in this file.” Coulson says, tapping the same thick file he’s been holding all day. “Before I give it to you, though, we need to come up with a plan of action.” He says, sitting next to him.

 “Plan of action?” Steve scrunches his nose.

 Coulson nods, “Captain, in Howard’s will, you are listed as Anthony’s godfather. Ultimately, that makes you next in line to take custody of Anthony. Besides that, with the recent findings of Anthony’s true genealogy, you’re his biological father anyway so… what I’m trying to say is--you have options. It just depends on what you want.” The agent trails off, looking as if he’s gaging Steve’s attitude towards the situation.

 Steve looks at his hands before looking up at both Peggy and Coulson. “I want to be as involved as possible.” Steve’s decision is resolute and there is absolutely no hesitation in his words. Even as he says it, there’s ice in his eyes, and he’s fully prepared to fight for his right to be a part of Tony’s life if he has to. To his surprise, when he looks at them, they are both still smiling.

 “Steve, of course you do, you beautiful soul.” Peggy says, eyes still wet. “I think your plan of action should be to move in to the mansion with Anthony and Edwin. Of course if you want full custody, you’ll have it, but I think it best that you two settle in a little before any huge decisions are made, yes?”

 Steve ignores the way his heart is hammering against his chest. “Yeah, yeah. That sounds like a good plan.” He agrees. Suddenly, a file appears in his lap and Coulson claps him on the shoulder.

 “It was great seeing you, Captain. Hopefully we’ll see you back out on the field one day.” He says, and then he’s out the door before Steve can reply.

 The field. Steve has to stop himself from the deranged giggle that almost leaves his mouth. This morning he had been so dead set on getting back out on the field. Little had he known he was going to find way greater purpose from this SHIELD meeting.

 Peggy gives him one last hug, “I’m so proud.” She says, “Steve, I know we never got our chance…” Steve closes his eyes, not wanting her to see how the words affect him. “But Steve,” She stresses, making him open his eyes and stare into her eyes, “I think you may have just found your own chance.” She grins, and pats his face softly before making her way out of the room.

 Steve thinks Peggy might be right.

 (She always is).

Chapter 1 of Steve & Tony’s long long life adventure!! They’re my babies & I love them. Endgame destroyed me so here’s me giving my people the happy alternate universe they all deserve. 

Follow me for updates or check it out on ao3! Also feel free to prompt me! I write any stony/winteriron/tony-centric fic!!!

[bbclesmis]

Metro: Sixty Seconds with Dominic West

■ The star of Les Mis and The Wire, 49, on The Affair, his French fantasies and snogging Keira Knightley in a fat suit

In Colette you play Keira Knightley’s husband, Henry Gauthier-Villars, aka Willy. Did his nickname ever make you giggle?

Ha! Not really. Nobody knows about Willy these days but he was massive: 3,000 people went to his funeral. Willy was probably the most popular writer in Belle Époque Paris and most famous for his tabloid music criticism: he would write punchy reviews of the latest string quartet. I found most of his stuff unreadable and now he will only ever be remembered as the husband of Colette — the guy who sold her and tried to exploit her.

He’s not exactly a #MeToo hero, then?

He’s a #MeToo villain. He represents the patriarchy. Willy was despicable in a lot of ways but people are fond of him in the way that you are fond of your chauvinistic old uncle.

You’re cast as the lover of Keira Knightley — age 33 — in Colette but the father of Alicia Vikander — age 30 — in Tomb Raider…

Well, Alicia doesn’t really look her age — neither does Keira, of course! But it is nice to be back and have a brief revisit to my old line as lover, even though my character, Willy, is a fat, dirty, moustachioed old man.

Did you wear a fat suit?

Three different ones, actually: mini, midi and maxi, which is hot as hell in Budapest in July, where we were shooting it. I was sweating so much that I actually lost weight playing Willy, even though I was eating for all of France. I mean, I finally get to do a love scene with Keira and I can’t get near her because of the fat suit and the ridiculous moustache. My top hat even got in the way of our one kiss.

What’s Keira like to work with?

Well, she is pretty easy-going for a mega-star. She is a Hollywood movie star with an English down-to-earthness. She doesn’t believe the hype; there is no b******s to her. She is incredibly easy to pretend you’re in love with. We started off rehearsals by learning the polka — dancing is always a great ice-breaker. More if you’re, what’s his name? Seann Walsh from Strictly. Are they still together, Seann and Katya? They should be! I think Seann is punching well above his weight there!

Would you call Willy and Colette a 19th-century Kim Kardashian and Kanye West?

Obviously Colette was much more interesting than Kim Kardashian but, yes, they were a huge celebrity couple in Paris. No party was complete without Colette and Willy, and certainly Willy would have loved social media. The notion of cannibalising your own life for public consumption is very much what they were into. They would do anything for fame and understood how sensation and scandal could be monetised, so in that way Willy was ahead of his time. Willy’s tragedy is that he was famous for being a writer when in fact he was a PR guru.

For a traditional-looking costume drama, Colette is transgressively gender-fluid…

Yes, I think that we got the largest transgender cast for some time. It was very interesting meeting lots of transgender actors and hearing their stories. One of the most interesting aspects of this film was that it gave an opportunity for people to see these actors’ talents. Those sort of opportunities don’t come around much.

You’re currently in the BBC’s Les Misérables. Were you saddened it wasn’t the musical?

Oui! Oui! I wanted to sing but, malheureusement, no one else wanted me to, so no singing, unfortunately. Les Misérables is probably the best book ever written. I only read it recently and it really is an incredible classic. So despite the fact that over the years it has had films and musicals made out of it, this adaptation is something different: it is six hours of the greatest book ever written.

How is your French?

C’est pas mal. Non, actually, my French is rubbish. I did live in Paris when I was 21, mainly because of what Hemingway said: ‘If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you.’ In those days we had the Erasmus Exchange, where you could get paid to live in Paris for a year on a university exchange. Unfortunately, I had an Irish girlfriend at the time so I didn’t learn much French. It has always been my fantasy to be French. They seem to have so much passion and their values are so right: they only seem to worry about food and wine rather than their taxes or parking or whatever.

Are you looking forward to the end of The Affair?

Well, we are about to go and do the fifth bloody season so it’s not over yet! Hopefully the younger cast members will take over the burden of the love scenes because I feel a bit long in the tooth for all of that now.

Colette is in cinemas now (x)