#also dose anyone know when the fuck protocol is coming out

[geraiodli]

A sketch from monstergardens stream(in no way connected, just listened to him ramble(/pos) as I hatched away)

[rebeccccccaaa]

𝔻𝕒𝕚𝕤𝕚𝕖𝕤

___________________

ʙᴜᴄᴋʏ ʙᴀʀɴᴇs x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Bucky gets hit with that god awful (but really hot) sex pollen. (this was requested)

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: Dub-Con/Non-Con as per usual with sex pollens fics (although i try to write them as consensual as possible :T) Smut obvi (18+ minors dni), slight daddy kink, age gap?, public male masturbation; it's brief but still

TW: very brief mention of possible suicide

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ's ɴᴏᴛᴇs: hot

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“Where are those daisies we collected from the last mission?” Tony asked you, eyes staying glued to the hologram in front of him.

“I left them on the quinjet. Fury said to wait for transportation until Shield confirms safety. It’s literally in a glass case, but whatever,” you rolled your eyes, making the older man laugh.

“Just protocol, kid,” he snickered.

Meanwhile Bucky sat with Steve eating lunch, chatting it up like old men do.

“So what did you bring back from the last mission? I saw a bunch of agents in hazmat suits,” Steve said sipping his coffee.

“Uh, well Thor said we should bring some plants back for research, but it seems like a bunch of normal lookin’ daisies,” Bucky shrugged.

“Y/n loves daisies,” Steve smirked.

“Ok?”

“And you love Y/n,” Steve teased.

“No I don’t-”

“Hey boys!” you skipped past the kitchen.

“Y/n,” Bucky said standing up with a big goofy smile on his face.

“Where ‘ya going?” Steve asked with a chuckle.

“Quinjet. Fury gave us the go to start doing tests on that plant you brought the other day,” you smiled lightly jogging to the runway.

“Why don't you ask her on a date, Buck,” Steve nudged.

“Come on, she’s way too smart to go out with a dumbass like me,” Bucky joked.

“Seriously.”

“I don’t know. It’s been years since I’ve talked to another woman. It doesn’t come naturally anymore. Wha- what’s even the first I’d say to her?”

“I don’t know, man. I’m on the same boat with you. Just… Tell how nice she looks today when she comes back.”

“Really?” Bucky asked skeptically.

“Yeah, be nice to her.”

“I am nice to her.”

“I mean be extra nice. Flatter her,” Steve told him, “Go wait in the lab until she comes back and tell her she looks pretty today.”

“Isn’t Tony in the lab?” Bucky asked.

“Ha ha, yeah,” Steve teased, patting his back before leaving to his room.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Tony mumbled seeing Bucky waltzing in the room awkwardly.

“Nothing,” he mumbled back.

Tony dropped his hands and stared at Bucky with an unimpressed look on his face. Everyone but you knew about Barnes’ little boy crush on you but he’s never had the balls to say anything. You were close to Tony and seeing as though he doesn’t particularly like Bucky, he didn’t want you hanging around him. But you were an adult so of course you hung out with whoever you wanted.

He was sure you liked him back too which never ceased to make him roll his eyes.

You walked back from the quinjet with the glass container of daisies. You weren’t exactly a plant expert but it was apparent that these daisies were mutated seeing as though the pollen swirled around the flowers gracefully. It was beautiful but then again they might be extremely dangerous considering it was a Hydra experiment.

“Hey Y/n, off to the lab again?” Steve smiled.

“Yup, gotta check these babies out according to Thor; said they might be dangerous if they’re what he thinks they are,” you said, still walking.

“And what’s that?” you just shrugged at his question unsure of the answer yourself.

“Well, Bucky’s waiting for you in the lab,” he slipped in the conversation.

“Really? Why’s-” Crash!

“Oh no,” Tony mumbled, seeing the collision in action.

“Shit, I’m so sorry,” you stuttered.

“No, no. I should be sorry. Here let me help,” bucky knelt to the ground grabbed the fallen daisies with his bare hands.

“No! Don’t touch-” Tony shouted practically sprinting towards you two.

The golden pollen swirled in a misty manner engulfing Bucky completely. You stared with furrowed brows confused at the sight before you and what was going on. Bucky’s skin began to burn and his senses were being overloaded. All he could smell in that moment was you; the same scent that he got a whiff of this morning when he hugged you, the perfume and the shampoo that filled his senses when you walked passed him.

Tony pushed you out of the lab roughly throwing you in Steve’s arms who was just as confused.

“FRIDAY,” Tony called out.

“Yes, Mr. Stark,” the familiar voice answered.

“Lock all the doors to the lab and maybe turn on the a/c,” he commanded.

“Of course, Mr. Stark.”

All the glass walls and doors instantly shut and locked, locking Bucky inside. Bucky’s eyes found your and slammed his body against the glass desperately trying to reach you. You too ran up to the glass wall trying to understand what had happened to him. Everything was happening so suddenly.

Your forehead was pressed against the glass as was Bucky’s; both of you staring into each other’s eyes momentarily. In that moment, you could see his eyes turn golden for a quick second before his pupils dilated ridiculously before your eyes.

“Is he going to be ok?” you turned away.

“Y/n! Please!” Bucky’s muffled screams shocked you.

“Uh… where’s Thor?” Tony panicked.

“What the hell is happening?” Nat asked; Sam, Wanda, and Vision trailing behind closely.

“Nat,” you ran to her.

“What happened to Bucky?” Same asked.

“He- I ran- I ran into him by a-accident and the box dropped. There was mist everywhere and Bucky's eyes. His eyes,” you stammered breathlessly.

“Please! I need her!” Bucky hit the glass in an attempt to break it.

“Oh my goodness,” Wanda gasped at the sweaty Bucky hitting and practically going feral.

“Oh god, is he gonna be ok?” you teared up. This is your fault, dammit.

“I can asure he will experience no physical harm,” Thor’s voice made all of you turn around.

“Just physically? What the hell does that mean?” Sam argued.

“Well, uh… I’ve never actually seen it’s effects in person. Especially not on a Midguardian…” his voice trailed off and his eyes grew big.

Nat snapped her head, eyes widening as well. Bucky with absolutely no shame held his hard dick in his hands pumping it with his eyes trained on you. You went to turn around seeing nat’s expression but she covered you eyes before you could actually see the lewd behavior Bucky indulged in.

“What’s happening?” you asked holding onto Nat as she led across the room.

“Nothing, they’re gonna take care of Buck. Don’t worry about it,” she said quickly.

You sat in your room bouncing your leg as the movie on your TV played. Every now and then Bucky would moan and cry particularly loud making all of you wince and cringe. But your mind felt foggy simply thinking about Bucky and his safety; especially that moment when his eyes went from confusion to you don’t even know what. Hunger? Desire? Lust?

Whatever it was, it made your tummy flutter.

“Steve, any news on Bucky?” Steve stood at the doorway with a worrisome face that did nothing to ease your already panicked nerves.

“Well, as far as Thor knows the plant that was mutated with the daisies was pollen extracted from a breeding plant common among other galaxies; for species that can’t… reproduce like we do. The pollen enters the system and targets the nociceptors causing excruciating pain without physical harm. If untreated the victim can reach a traumatic state and truthfully, they will do anything to stop the pain; even kill themselves.”

“What the hell does any of that mean?” Sam grunted.

“It means the tin man is painfully horny,” Tony interrupted.

“Are you fucking serious?” Sam said in disbelief.

“What’s the cure?” Nat said.

“Oxytocin, of course,” Tony said.

“The cuddle hormone,” you whispered.

“Yup. Banner and I are already working on a serum containing artificial oxytocin in hopes to minimize the pain or even better cure him completely. We-”

“I’m afraid it’s going to be a bit more complicated than that,” Thor interrupted Tony.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, see the pollen, it’s a little tricky. The oxyputin-thingy you mentioned…”

“Oxytocin,” Tony clarified but Thor didn’t care too much.

“I don't think artificial love is going to cure the boy. If you want results, he needs to be the one he desires most. That’s where you’ll get your oxy-pudding.”

“Oxy- You know what, we can figure this out without anyone needing to have sex,” Tony groaned.

“Tony, maybe we shouldn’t-” you started.

“Nope, we can do this. We’re science bros,” Tony stormed away like a child.

“Isn’t your lab being ‘occupied’,” Nat called out.

“Shit!”

-

Hours went by and the oxytocin experiments were clearly a fail. The first dose did nothing. The second also nothing. The third relieved him for only ten seconds before he went back to his painful state. Since then, they haven’t been able to help or relieve Bucky’s circumstance any longer.

You thought about Thor’s words, about how the one he desires most could cure him. A ping of jealousy struck your heart but you knew you to find the woman Bucky loved and just pray that she'd help him. You made your way back to the lad area where Tony and Bruce had their new makeshift set up while the lab was locked down.

“Tony, this is ridiculous. It’s been going on for too long. You heard what Thor said about what happens when it gets too much,” you begged.

“And what do you suggest we do?” Tony said angrily.

“We need to find the woman that Bucky loves so she can help him,” you argued back.

“It's not just some woman, Y/n! He wants you.”

“What?”

“All the bastard’s been doing for the past eight hours has been masterbating while moaning your name. I’m not putting you in that situation,” Tony yelled.

You couldn’t speak. Was he telling you the truth? Did Bucky want you like that? The same way you secretly wanted him? It’s not like you haven't thought about what being with Bucky would be like before. He was perfect; so handsome and charming.

You ran back to your room where the rest of the guys still were practically out of breath; your heart hammering out of your chest and your stomach fluttering like it does whenever you think about Bucky.

“I need to get to Bucky,” you panted out.

“What?”

“Please you guys need to help me. Tony said that Bucky wants me; I mean can you believe. A guy like him wanting me? I’m just… nobody. He’s way too out of my league and-”

“Y/n, focus,” Nat said.

“Right. I- I want to help him. I know I can.”

“Y/n, we don’t know how dangerous this is. I mean, it came from Hydra, this could be weaponized and you could get hurt,” Steve argued.

“Bucky could never hurt me,” you whispered; Nat looked at you softly, understanding the situation better realizing you were probably Bucky’s only chance of a cure.

“You’re not actually considering letting her do this are you?” Steve scolded Nat.

"Are Tony and Bruce making any progress?" she sighed.

"They haven't been to even relieve his pain for longer than ten seconds," you whispered.

"Steve, this is Bucky we're talking about. Hasn't he endure enough torture in his life?" Nat said softly.

That seemed to convince him. Seeing Bucky in so much pain like he had been only years ago was unfair, especially when they technically already knew a cure. Waiting this out was pure evil at this point.

"How do you suppose we go about this?" he asked.

You devised a plan in order to let Bucky from the lab; he'd find his way to you on his own. Wanda stood from afar using her powers to tamper with the equipment. Tony frustratingly would have to run across the compound to the conference rooms to grab new devices in order to continue with his notes and tests.

On his way back, Steve and his convincing and charming ways would stall Tony's return asking him all sorts of questions about Bucky's state. Meanwhile, Thor made up some excuse to lure Banner away just for a minute so Nat and Sam could override the lockdown through Friday and free Bucky.

All the while you sat in your room waiting anxiously for Bucky to barge through the door and have his way with you.

A few minutes went by and no sign of a ruckus you'd assume would accompany the escape plan. You fiddled with the hem of your skirt biting your lip in anticipation. Still no sign after a couple more minutes. Wanting to make sure you still looked alright for Buck, although he'd probably not even acknowledge your appearance, you stood up to walk to your bathroom.

Just as you stood up, Bucky in all his muscle and broad glory slammed the door behind him staring at you with nothing but desperate hunger. Your stomach flipped when you saw him lock the door, pushing a small chair you had just next to it in front of the door under the handle.

He stalked towards practically panting and you took in his appearance. His hair was quite disheveled and sweat lined his forehead and slightly down his neck. Despite that, he still looked so handsome and sexy.

"маленький, all dressed up for me to ruin," he growled crawling up the bed as you crawled back.

"Buck, are you ok? I want to help you," you whispered.

"I'm more than ok now, beautiful," he whispered leaning into you, his nose brushing against yours, chuckling when you visibly trembled.

"Is my красивый маленький ангел gonna let me use her?" he whispered, huskily.

"Bucky, I don't understand what you're saying."

"так драгоценно," he whispered against your lips before pressing himself completely against you.

His hands, contrast between hot and cold, crept under your shirt brushing lightly over your delicate skin. You had somewhat expected Bucky to have no control and use you relentlessly, of which you wouldn't have minded, but this soft ginger foreplay was really making your panties wet.

Bucky slowly lifted the shirt from your body before tossing it to the side and removing his own. His hands cupped your breasts squeezing the soft flesh quite roughly making you sigh and moan at the feeling.

His lips attached themselves to your neck biting and sucking harshly littering your skin with dark purple marks. He nibbled on your ear as he grinding his pelvis against yours, his large erection poking your center making you even more aroused.

"I couldn't stop thinking about you. It smelled just like you," he whispered.

"T- The daisies?"

"I've been craving you, aching for you. Thinking about how good you're gonna feel wrapped around my cock," he panted speeding up his grinding thrusts.

"Buck," you breathed out.

Bucky shuddered over you before stilling for a moment. He couldn't help it, your scent, your warm skin pressed against his, he couldn't hold back anymore coming straight away in his pants.

You brushed his hair softly soothing him from his high. You thought it was over, that he felt better and was finally cured but almost instantly you felt Bucky harden under you, poking between your thighs and you gasped knowing very well it was going to be a long night.

Bucky stood on his knees and pulled your bottoms down your legs nearly ripping the material. He too rid his bottoms throwing them god knows where before climbing back on top of you. You stared adorably up at him and Bucky almost came again. He smiled softly at you before kissing you once more.

Suddenly, loud bangs on your door startled you but not Bucky.

"What the hell are you doing!" Tony screamed.

"Tony, you gotta stop! This is the only way! It's not fair to him to let him keep suffering. He's done enough of that, ok?" Nat shouted.

"She's gonna get hurt," Tony sighed.

"No she won't. This was her idea."

Tony looked back teary eyed. He really cared for you as his own and putting you in a situation like this wasn't fair to you either. He really tried to help but this was just too complicated and too advanced to solve in only a few hours. They were right, Bucky needed you as much as he didn't like that idea too much.

"Fine."

Bucky lined his cock with your entrance wrapping your legs around his waist. Slowly he pushed in pulling moans from you both. You've only had a couple lovers previous to Bucky but neither of them ever filled you so perfectly. Bucky stretched you out like none other and admittedly he wanted to use his fingers on you first but he'd been away for too long it was too painful to go another second without being inside you.

"So tight and warm, little one. Feel so fucking good wrapped around me."

"Buck," you moaned.

You wrapped your arms around his neck pulling him impossibly closer to you as you kissed along his neck and jaw. Bucky moaned breathlessly in your ear and you couldn't help the clenching around him from arousal.

"Fuck, keep doing that, little one," he groaned.

Toy squeezed your thighs together and clenched around him again making him groan louder this time. His thrusts became sporadic and you moved against like a ragdoll unable to keep up with his relentless pace.

Your legs began to shake and your back arched into his chest reaching you first high of the night, gushing all over his cock. You realize he hasn't come and gently push him off you before flipping over to let him take you again from behind.

As expected, Bucky pushed into once again deeper this time and you shuddered under his hand that rested atop your arched back. Bucky smacked and kneaded your ass thrusting in and out. The lewd squelching sound of his thrust mixed with the sound of skin slapping against each other echoed in the room.

"Shit, little one. Taking my cock so fucking well," he reached forward and bunch up your hair pulling your head back harshly.

“Shit,” you mumbled.

Your knuckles turned white as you gripped the sheets as hard as you could. You were approaching your orgasm quickly and you weren't going to be able to hold back any longer. Your pussy clenched around Bucky's cock making him throw his head back in pleasure.

"Please, Bucky," you whimpered.

"You wanna come, darling. You wanna cream all over daddy's cock?"

"Yes! Fuck!" your arms shook before giving out completely; your head buried in the sheets as Bucky continued that same wild and rough pace.

"Please let me come, daddy!"

Your body felt on fire. No one has ever made you feel this good before, it was almost too much, too overwhelming. Tears brimmed your eyes from trying to desperately hold back. You wanted to come with Bucky but seeing as his pace had yet to slow down you were beginning to think he wasn't even close.

"Let go, doll."

Your body squirmed beneath him as you released all over his dick. You came with a near shout, your body violently trembling from the intensity of your high. Bucky slowed his pace for your comfort, gently riding your orgasm slowly down despite his still aching erection.

He languidly rolled you over to your back, his hands softly rubbing your sides up to your breasts. You breathed heavily, eyes feeling droopy, all you could feel in that moment was his cum dripping from you onto the sheets.

Bucky, still knelt on the bed and still chasing his release, lifted your legs over his thighs gripping your hip with one hand and his cock with the other. You squeezed your thighs together when you felt his tip poking at your entrance once again, soft whimpers emitting from you shakily.

"Such a good girl. Gonna let me take you again? Gonna let me keep using you?" he moaned.

"Use me, Buck. I'm all yours," you breathed out.

Bucky pushed himself past your folds once again, your cum easily letting him slide in. Both his hands made home on your hips gripping hardly surely to leave marks for you to remember this very moment. You looked at Bucky as his thrusts slowly began to pick up, bringing your own hands to your breasts to play with your nipples. You twisted the perked buds, moaning softly at the feeling as well as Bucky filling you perfectly once again.

"Filling me up so good, baby," you moaned, arching your back slightly allowing Bucky to hit a newer and deeper angle inside you.

"Pussy was fucking made for me," he growled.

His hand moved from its home on your hip right over your lower belly where he could feel his cock so deep poking his own hand through your tummy.

"Feel how fucking deep I am?"

You moved your hand and he pressed yours in the same spot under his and you moaned loudly, shuddering under him.

His pace quickened and for a moment he thought he was going to finally reach his high, that release he'd been thinking about for hours today, but when he felt you clench again, squeezing his cock tightly and he didn't cum, he knew it was gonna be chase that he didn't know you'd be up for. You gushed all over his dick, back arching and your legs pressing tight around his torso, coming with a loud scream of his name.

Bucky fell forward with tears in his eyes. His skin still felt hot and sticky. His sense felt dialed up to an eleven. It was all so overwhelming and all he wanted was to cum in you and hold you closer whispering how he really loved you. He pressed faint kisses to you equally sticky and warm skin and when you felt warm liquid dripping onto your skin to lift Bucky's head to find him crying.

"What's wrong, baby?"

“I can’t cum. I just wanna cum,” he whined.

“Hey, hey. It’s ok. I can go as many times as you need me to. I want to help you, let me do that.”

“Can- Can you uh… use your mouth please? I want to feel those pretty lips wrapped around my cock so bad,” he moaned.

“Of course, baby. I’d do anything for you,” you smirked before pushing him and crawling over him holding his dick in your hand.

-

Hours and literally hours had passed until Bucky was finally tired out only having cum three times compared to the fifteen-plus times you had. Your bed laid on the ground; the wooden stands snapped about two hours ago. Most of your sheets were torn to shreds and marks littered your body from your neck down to your hips and your knees from, well you know.

Your body shook as you laid in a fetal position. You burned between your thighs; the soreness overwhelming but pleasant at the same time. Sweat made what was left of the sheets stick to your body until Bucky pulled them from you to clean you. He used a warm towel all over your body with tears in his eyes whispering how sorry he was about everything.

“I swear I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I’m so sorry. I understand if you hate me now; if you never want to see me again. Just know that I’m so sorry about your bed, the blankets, if I hurt you, everything,” he sniffled, eyes and nose red and puffy.

“Bucky,” you whispered, your voice raspy and croaky from your moaning and screaming all night.

“Y/n,” he whispered back. You pulled him by the back of his neck into a soft yet passionate kiss.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he breathed out when you pulled away. You cupped his face with shaky hands but a smile on your face.

“Do you mean it?”

“Of course. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met. I’ve dreamt about holding you far too many times, more than I’d like to admit. I should’ve told you sooner but like everyone else, I was scared you didn’t like me back; at least not this way,” he rubbed your legs indicating the intimate love he had for you.

“Buck, it’s virtually impossible for anyone not to fall in love with you. Unless they’re Tony,” you giggled as did he.

“Can you say it?” he asked softly.

“That I love you?” you smiled brushing your nose against his; Bucky practically purred as he nodded.

“I love you, James,” you whispered.

“Fuck, I love you too.”

He laid you down softly again on the broken bed pressing light kisses all over your collarbones and shoulders. You brushed his hair with your fingers as he clung onto you ready to sleep.

“Thank you again, doll. For helping me today,” he said after a couple minutes of silence.

“Of course, my love. Besides I’m the one who ran into you with those damn daisies.”

“Thank god for them then. And for your clumsiness,” Bucky chuckled.

“Meanie,” you snorted, making Bucky laugh even more.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Buck.”

ᴛᴀɢʟɪsᴛ: (For all my work)

@mathletemadison​

@buckybarnes101​

@l-sofiamia-l

@pluto-grl

@partr1dge

@stefans-wife

@cordeliaswhore

@fleurlovesbucky

@wandanatasha0720

Bucky Barnes Taglist:

@stolenxkissess

[bbrandy2002]

Fool’s Rush In

Part 10

I’m participating in @wackydrabbles​ prompt 71 “Dont be stubborn. Try it.”

Word Count: 1890

Pairing: Liam and Riley

Thanks @burnsoslow​ for beta reading and pretty much having to drag me across the finish line, as well as all the weeks and weeks of listening to me whine and pity myself.  And @emkay512​ for pre-reading and your encouraging words late Monday that made my whole night.

a/n: this is crack, plain and simple. I haven’t written since mid-october; just been paralyzed with fear over my own writing and this is my practice run and basically the best I could come up with. I’m going to try so so hard to finish this series

The new royal couple, fresh off their Vegas flight, stepped up to a makeshift podium the press had created on the tarmac. It was packed tightly with news station microphones crammed in every nook and cranny, one on top of the other. Voice recorders were spread across its surface, and the crown's private jet served as the backdrop. A bevy of frenzied reporters -- domestic and international -- pushed and elbowed their way into one another in hopes of getting the closest shot of the newlyweds and a chance to have their questions answered first.

“King Liam! Is the marriage binding?”

“How long have you known, Miss Brooks?”

“Were you trying to make a political statement by having a hooker at the ceremony?”

“Your Majesty! Will the monkey be joining your court soon?”

So many questions, most followed by laughter and snickers directed at the King and his bride.

Liam frowned as his eyes dashed side to side in a diligent effort to understand the literally thousands of questions that were lobbed at him all at once. He blinked rapidly as one flash of a camera after the next blinded and bleached his vision. Just as it would return to normal, another successive set of flashes would set him back again.

He had been a part of news conferences since he was a child, when he would watch his late father speak from different parts of the world, near and far, about this policy or that deal. Yet this was different. This was not only the biggest breaking story in Cordonia -- or even Europe -- but one that had swept the world. 

His drunken actions two nights ago, no doubt, would have created a stir; however, it was Maxwell's post on Instagram of the ceremony that now made him tabloid fodder. Everyone knew about the king who was married by his own brother and an Elvis impersonator, the leg-humping monkey that served as a ring bearer, and the chain-smoking, tube-top-wearing prostitute who was the maid of honor. As confident as Liam had been that he could handle this, as he'd dealt with so many other stories of intrigue regarding the monarchy, he couldn't dispel the twisting feeling that burrowed deep into the pit of his stomach.

Maybe Madeleine was right: he had become a laughingstock. A failure. Just one big fuck up.

As much as he hated to hear the things said about him, he could deal with it. In the morning, he would call Prince Harry to swap stories, survival tips, and perhaps share a good laugh about it.

It was just ...

Liam felt Riley's tiny hand grip his a little tighter. He wouldn't blame her one bit if his little pussycat turned around and headed back up the steps to the jet and returned to Las Vegas. The only thing Liam wanted to do was keep her shielded from the hurtful comments and insensitive questions. But to his astonishment, she stood there with all the feigned confidence in the world, flashing a big, beaming smile that lit his heart on fire, while staring back at him affectionately. She was handling the situation better than she was before they stepped off the plane. He knew she was doing it for him. God, she just makes everything better. 

Feeling a little more grounded and in control, Liam returned her smile. A touch of radiance sparkled between his eyes and hers, as if it were some sort of unspoken conversation only they understood. Riley knew exactly what he needed at that moment to rise above this scandal they were both being raked over the coals for: He needed her to be okay.

Raising his free hand to calm the crowd so that he might address their concerns, he noticed the press' attention and cameras suddenly shift away from him and into the distance. Murmurs and chatter soon erupted. Naturally, Liam's gaze followed suit -- towards a group of heavily-armed soldiers heading their way. They wore white hazmat uniforms and had self-contained breathing apparatus and personal protective equipment. Leading the charge was a well-dressed gentleman in a three-piece suit with a shiny bald head that glistened with heavy perspiration. 

He walked like he hadn't shit in weeks.

Liam squinted and lifted a hand to shield his eyes from the bright sunlight. “The hell is that?”

Riley inched closer to Liam and clasped his suit jacket. "What's happening right now? Who are all those people, Liam?"

Liam's forehead creased in puzzlement; he didn't know. Wrapping his arms protectively around Riley, he pulled her even closer but never answered the question. It wasn't until the uniformed men stopped briefly and pointed to Drake, who was standing with his arms crossed at the bottom of the stairs, that it suddenly became clear who they were looking for.

Reporters and onlookers had been so focused on Liam’s return with the American woman, they hadn’t noticed that the brooding Walker had exited the jet last among their posse. Just as everyone had watched replays and snippets of Maxwell’s Instagram video, they were also fully aware the King’s best friend wasn’t exactly returning to Cordonia … healthy … thanks to Maxwell’s Tik Tok sing-along. 

A video Drake Walker had no clue existed. 

 The crowd began to disperse in fear and panic. If men in hazmat suits were needed, they could only assume this went well beyond your casual, run-of-the-mill STD.

Still in no mood to play around, Drake started yelling obscenities and gradually backing away from the hazmat brigade that was closing in on him like a cheetah at a water buffalo hole. 

"Mr. Walker," a heavily echoed voice called out, sounding oddly reminiscent of Darth Vader through their breathing contraption, "we need you to come with us."

"The fuck I do." Drake shook his head emphatically while continuing to slide away from them. "I'll beat the shit out of all of ya if you so much as touch me."

"Now, Mr. Walker, don't be stubborn. Try it, and you'll find yourself with a nice little tranquilizer to the ass. Are you going to come with us willingly, or do we have to make this more difficult than it needs to be?"

Drake stood motionless in disbelief. "I don't even know what you guys want or what you think I did," he squawked with a hint of desperation in his tone.

"Tough titties. SEIZE HIM!"

With that order, Drake twisted on the heels of his boots and took off, dodging and weaving away from a bunch of men he had no clue why were even after him. 

He had a pretty good hunch, though, who set this chain of events in motion.

The bald guy in a three-piece suit walked up to Liam and flipped his badge open. "Your Majesty?"

Liam nodded, not bothering to acknowledge the man's credentials. "I am. What is the meaning of all this? What the hell are you doing with Drake?"

"Sir, if you will, it has come to our attention that Mr. Walker is a public health risk and highly contagious. We will have to secure him into our custody at once."

Liam scrunched up his face in utter confusion and stared back at the official before responding, “He just has case of crabs, syphilis, herpes, genital warts, gonorrhea, and chlamydia. You’re treating him like he’s about to start some damn worldwide pandemic. Without sexual contact and with heavy doses of medications and creams, Drake should be able to live a normal life like anyone else. So, as the ruler of this country, I am ordering your men to stand down at once.”

“My apologies, King Liam, but my orders come from the World Health Organization and the United Nations. You'll need to take this up with them. Dr. Wolfschitz was clear on the protocol."

"Dr. Wolfschitz?" Liam questioned as realization quickly set in. He twisted around to face Leo, who had this enormous shit-eating grin, the likes he'd never seen on him before. "You? You did this?"

“Walker messed with the wrong bull, little bro.” Leo stuck up his pointer fingers on both sides of his head with a menacing scowl and smugness in his tone. “Now he gets the horns.”

Liam swatted away one of Leo's finger horns. “This is serious, Leo. Not everything is a joke! You're going to fix this, NOW!"

Leo placed a comforting hand on his younger brother’s shoulder, patting it a few times before speaking softly to him. “Look, I know you’re upset right now. You two were very close. But the Drakester is going to a far better place. There’s a big open field and everything where he can run and play all day with others just like him. And all the meaty bones he can eat too … lucky bastard.”

Riley had to bury her face in Liam’s chest to prevent the laugh that threatened to escape, but the bobbing of her shoulders was something she couldn’t hide. 

“NOW, Leo!” 

Leo tried to hold his ground but was too weak to resist the impatient glare Liam was burning into his soul. After a brief moment, he rolled his eyes and let out a heavy sigh. "Why ya gotta be such a dillhole, Liam? Do you realize you get rattled faster than a two-tit turtle on a tightrope? It's really not your best quality, little brother, but we can work on that." Annoyed, Liam rubbed a hand over his eyes and groaned as his brother continued, "Either way, Father always said, ‘if you can't help your fellow man out, you might as well become one of the Walkers.’ Truer words were never spoken so eloquently.”  Leo raised his eyes to the heavens thoughtfully before thinking better of it and lowered them toward the ground. "May you rest in peace, Father," he shouted.

As Leo trotted off to speak with Bald Dude to confess his false claim, Bastien helped guide Liam and Riley through the rambunctious swarm of reporters and spectators. Once they reached the limo, Liam helped Riley inside as Maxwell rounded the vehicle and climbed in on the other side. Pausing for a moment before sliding in, the King placed his hands on top of the open door of the limo and turned one last time to check on his friend. He swallowed hard over the guilt of leaving him behind. As His Majesty watched in horror, Drake took a tranquilizer dart to the back of the thigh and Bastien insisted the area was a security threat, shoving him inside. They would send another car to transport Drake and Leo back to the palace. 

Bastien stomped on the gas pedal and sped off, kicking up dirt and smoke as the tires peeled and squealed against the fiery Cordonian asphalt.

When they passed through the airport's security gate, a small motorcade following closely behind, Liam finally lifted his head, his eyes growing wide when he realized what just happened: Bastien's shove had sent Liam flying across the seat to land face-first into a lap — her lap. 

He stayed frozen in place, unable to look anywhere but the two slender, bronzed legs peeking out below the hem of his new wife's dress. 

Riley lifted an eyebrow, a slight grin dangling from her plush pink lips. "Something you wanna say, Your Majesty?"

Everything that had just happened in the 15 minutes since they landed was long forgotten. Drake who? Liam glanced up with a devilish smirk. "Welcome to Cordonia, Pussycat."

@burnsoslow @dcbbw @ao719 @hopefulmoonobject @texaskitten30 @janezillow @merridithsmiscellany-blog @mskaneko @loveellamae @queenjilian @sirbeepsalot @drakexwillow @caroldxnvxrs @jovialyouthmusic @forthebrokenheartedthings @bebepac @kingliam2019 @lovablegranny @cordoniaqueensworld @amandablink

@liamxs-world @choiceskatie @iaminlovewithtrr @hopelessromanticmonie @charlotteg234 @annekebbphotography

@txemrn @ofpixelsandscribbles @alyssalauren @cordonianroyalty @monsoonblooms12 @mom2000aggie @theroyalheirshadowhunter @princessleac1 @kimmiedoo5 @graceful-leah @iam-the-kind-and-thoughtful @thegreentwin @gkittylove99 @cinnamonspongecake @lifeaskim @neotericthemis @pink-diamond13 @walker7519 @natureblooms24 @yourmajesty09

Liam x MC only: Cordonia-gothqueen

Anything with Drake: @tinkie1973

FRI Series Tags:  @sanchita012 ​  @narrytheworld ​  @queenwalton   @gabesmommie1130 @cordonianprincess   @liamandneca @emkay512 @waywardromancefantasygirl @nomadics-stuff @queendianaofcordonia @zaffrenotes @zilch3 @kat-tia801 @drrookie @sfb123

[appropriatelystupid]

“You belong here, Lena. You always have, and you always will.”

Oh really, Alex? Really? Does she?!? What was it that finally fucking convinced you?

Since apparently it wasn’t:

The time she uprooted her company hq and looked to completely overhaul the direction her murderous brother had taken it in hopes of doing good in the world to make up for said brother?

Or the time you were at her renaming ceremony and the man who had attempted to kill her about 5 times (because Lex paid him), was actively about to hurt/kill you, but she had the wherewithal to shoot him first?

(Which was also all it took to convince Clark that she wasn’t like Lex?)

Or when she said “fuck this person I’ve known since I was in high school” and gave up Veronica’s fight club location because Kara, who she’d known for a month, said her friend was in trouble?

Or the time you (officially) met and she was asking to get in touch with Supergirl, because she was having a fundraising gala (for a children’s hospital) that she knew would be a target for an attack and she wanted to make sure there was someone nearby to keep everyone safe while she used her tech to destroy their weapons?

Or the time she trapped her mother into incriminating herself by switching out the isotope to save every alien in the city because she knew her mother better than anyone else could hope to and she knew that her only move was to play along?

(But oh no how dare she not tell Supergirl who she’d met about 4 times?)

Or the time she testified against her mother and was then framed and kidnapped by her, earning her another (un)healthy dose of emotional manipulation?

Or when she told Kara she should publish the article to warn aliens about her mother having the alien registry that your dad stole for her?

Or the time she was forced to choose between saving someone she loved for years or saving Supergirl and she chose Supergirl even though they were only up to about 8 interactions at that point?

Or the time she agreed to partner with an alien, because she was still grieving and needed to do something good (and also mommy issues), in hopes of creating a system that would help end a number of humanity's problems with access to basic needs?

Or when she was kidnapped (again) by that same alien and agreed to a marriage against her will because she threatened to blow up a children’s hospital?

Or the time she created a dispersal device to drive an invading alien force from earth but left the decision to use it entirely up to Supergirl and stopped her mother from tampering with it or using it herself?

Or when she bought a whole-ass media company because her best friend was sad and she felt guilty because she blamed herself for creating the device that made her sad even though it was that friend that decided to use it at all?

(Because you don’t spend that much money on a grudge, but you do spend that much money because your best friend won’t make time for brunch with you.)

((See also: the exact moment Kara should have finally come clean about her secret.))

Or the time she was willing to die so that Supergirl wouldn’t drop dangerous chemicals into the water reservoir?

Or when the Legion woke up after arriving from the 31st century and revealed that L-Corp was responsible for eventually clearing the atmosphere of lead?

Or the time she was poisoned by Edge, realized her mother was trying to kill him (because only a Luthor kills a Luthor I guess?), and used that knowledge to get Edge to confess on tape in exchange for stopping her mother’s attempts to kill him?

Or when she dropped everything to go get Ruby after Reign made Sam leave her alone? And then later hid Ruby away to make absolutely sure that Reign couldn’t find her while she helped Sam?

Or the time she did everything she possibly could to help her best friend who was getting taken over by a villain, even if that meant creating kryptonite, because not only would she not trust a shadowy government agency to save her friend, but she also didn’t even know about them?

(Also re: kryptonite: she would have hesitated to make it or would’ve at least talked it out if she knew her other best friend was also Supergirl just sayin’.)

Or when she insisted on traveling to the dark valley because Sam was in danger and she’s the person who knew her better than anyone else and could get through to her?

Or the time she figured out that Reign was still connected to Sam and figured out how to separate them for good?

Or when she created the image inducer to help aliens live a life without daily fear of being attacked because they didn't look human?

Or the time she got her mother to spill the dirt on someone else to get James out of the DAs crosshairs?

Or when she put herself in front of Kara to keep Mercy from hurting her until she could get Kara to a path that would let her out of the room?

Or the time she created an anti-kryptonite suit to filter the kryptonite out of Supergirl’s system? And then helped Brainy figure out how to clear the atmosphere?

Or when she figured out how to use the Harun-El to save James after Lex had him shot to force Lena into figuring it out?

Or the time she helped Kara with her exposé on Lex?

Or when she poisoned her mother to get her to figure out how to save James?

Or the time she knew Lex would portal his way out of certain death and was waiting for him so she could shoot him in the chest?

Or when she was so hurt by Kara that she tried to stop people from feeling pain?

(Yes it was a bad method but I’m sure your psychologist girlfriend would have plenty to say to explain this whole section of her life, Alex.)

Or the time she realized her brother had manipulated her (again) and she turned back to Kara to do whatever it would take to stop him? And made another anti-kryptonite suit? And stood between Kara and kryptonite, wielded by one of her oldest friends, while Supergirl was at her most vulnerable?

Or when she and Brainy figured out how to reverse the mind altering that Lex had implemented in people in VR?

Or the time she programmed a life-saving protocol into the Fortress because she knew her brother would bring kryptonite to use against Kara no matter what he agreed to?

Or when she risked her own freedom and reputation to testify against her brother (again)?

Or the time she had Brainy transfer all his “foundation” money to a children’s hospital?

Or when-

HAVE I MADE MY POINT YET?!?

[comicalsansa]

I just need to scream into the void for a minute, feel free to ignore this or whatever. Sorry for the lack of break, I can't figure out how to do it on mobile.

Y'ALL LIFTED THE MASK MANDATES AND EXPECTED UNVACCINATED PEOPLE TO CONTINUE WEARING MASKS ON THE HONOR SYSTEM WHAT THE FUCK DID Y'ALL EXPECT WAS GOING TO HAPPEN?!

Come on, did anyone actually expect the portion of America that has been protesting masks and downplaying the severity of Covid to a) get vaccinated and b) continue wearing a mask off they didn't? Like, with how stupidly politicized (and I do mean stupid) everything with the pandemic has been, how the fuck does anyone have the nerve to be surprised at the fact that the hospitals are filling up?

People aren't vaccinated, and they aren't wearing masking, of course the new variant is going to spread like wildfire. None of the kids are vaccinated (because we need to make sure their immune systems can handle it, there's a reason why the usual vaccines are on a schedule), and people don't make their kids wear masks.

There are literally people protesting mask mandates for the schools in my state. What the fuck. Have they already forgotten how fast illness spreads in schools? Fuck, there've been times an individual school or two has shit down because so many people (kids and adults) got the flu, or norovirus. And this shit spreads even faster. Why on god's green earth would you want your kids to not wear a mask?

Like, I get that wearing a mask is really uncomfortable and makes communication difficult. The precautions that we have to take are absolutely fucking up an entire generation.

You know what else will fuck up an entire generation? Dying. Long term effects from a serious respiratory disease. Watching their family members die; rather, watching their family members go into the hospital and never come out because they aren't allowed vistors.

Given the choice between the two flavors of trauma, I would much rather keep the kids alive and uninfected.

We are learning as we go about all of this, that's why the information keeps changing. That's how science works. Numerous studies have shown long term effects in kids already, so while it may not be as serious (oh wait, the new variant is), who knows what effects this will have on them in 20-30 years?

You know what else had serious long term effects? Fucking polio. You know why we don't have polio in the US now? Because everyone had to be vaccinated against it for decades. Fuck, they were still vaccinating against it in the 80s, I know because I remember getting a tiny cup with a swallow of liquid for one of my vaccines as a kid.

You know what else has serious long term effects? Chickenpox. And I know older people will be like, "BS, I had chickenpox and I'm fine," or, "My parents took me to a chickenpox party to make sure I got it, and I'm fine." Yeah, you ever hear of shingles? You know why you need a shingles vaccine? Because you had chickenpox. That's right, if you never had chickenpox you can't get shingles.

Point is, who the fuck knows what this is going to be doing to survivors 20-30 years down the road and if you gave a shit about your kid, you wouldn't want them to get it.

And I'm so pissed off because you know what? I fucking hate wearing a mask, too. I hate it. I don't care what the nurses with pulse oximeters say, I cannot breath as well with two layers of fabric covering my face, especially not for hours at a time (fun fact, pulse oximeters are not an accurate indicator of whether or not you can breathe as it takes time for an oxygen shortage to hit your blood--i know this from experience as an asthmatic). Everyone covering their faces and the plexiglass and paranoia and shit has been driving me nuts, I can't fucking live like this either. That's why I wore masks and got vaccinated as soon as I could, because the ONLY way this stops is with vaccines. And yeah, we're going to need boosters, we were always going to need booster shots, almost every vaccine we have requires more than one dose. And we had a period of time where cases were hella low and if you were vaccinated you didn't have to wear a mask and it was so great!

But some of you dumbfucks didn't want to get the vaccine because a) you didn't think Covid was a big deal b) it's made from aborted babies (I want to punch you if this is your objection) c) the vaccine is too new, they rushed it (it was in the works since SARS and they tweaked it, also the flu shot is new every year, your point?) d) it's the mark of the beast! (If you believe this or spread it please exit the gene pool) or e) we don't know what's in it! (This and a especially bothers me from hospital workers, who are required to get an annual flu shot).

There is exactly one valid reason to not get the damned vaccine and that is if your immune system can't handle it. So if you have a serious health condition that weakens your immune system or you're allergic to a vaccine component, you are absolutely off the hook, and none of this is directed at you. You're one of the ones who needs the rest of us to do our part to survive this, and I am so sorry.

And people keep screaming about my freedom! Look bitch, your freedom ends when it impinges on mine, and you are sorely impinging right now. You have the freedom to do what you want with your body, but not with other peoples. If you want to get Covid, fine. But you do not have the right to spread it, which is what is going to happen if you get it. Vaccinations used to be mandatory. You still need to get vaccinations if you travel to certain countries. If you join the military you are going to get injected with every vaccine we know of and probably a few we don't. Vaccines are one of the things that make modern life possible.

I understand being skeptical, I mean, I would've preferred a bit more time and more studies before getting vaccinated. But I did it anyway because:

Widespread vaccination is the only way we get out of this.

The alternative is over crowded hospitals (which is starting to happen again) and just accepting people dying. Sure, death is part of life, but this is needless and overtaxing already broken systems.

If you have not gotten your vaccine and have no medical reason not to, you are part of the problem. You are the asshole on the zombie movie who gets bitten and hides it until it's too late and you become a threat to the rest of the party.

Stop being a dumbass and do something for other people for once in your miserable life.

I am tired of wearing masks. I am tired of all the pandemic protocols. I have done everything I can do, as have many others. But it's not enough. Everyone has to do their part.

If you want this to be over, instead of protesting, get vaccinated, it's a hell of a lot more useful.

[snarkwrites]

Title: snowbound pt 1 of 2/3

Theme: snow

Fandom / Character(s):Ben Solo/Kylo Ren x Earth!FemaleReader.

Warnings: First up. I preface with two strong warnings.. I am not a medical professional in any capacity. Second, I am only kind of a casual Star Wars fan, so Idk how things work in their universe as compared to here on Earth. The actual warnings here are blood!tw and injury!tw. Again, I remind you. I am neither a veteran star wars fan nor a medical professional. So, some things may be entirely wrong. And Ben Solo is most likely written totally OOC as he is not a character I am used to writing, by any stretch although i love him with my whole heart... Anyway... The warnings are: Blood!TW, Injury!TW, OOC fandom character and a strong dose of hurt comfort / fluff in the next parts I kind of hope i get to do for this. This part is so long because I was using it to sort of set things in motion..

Word Count: 2k. Listen, I was setting things up and got carried away, rip me.

Listen... You all just don’t fucking understand how much I love Kylo/Ben... I know, I know, he’s a bad guy. Anyway, this is me doing something I’ve literally been dying to do, a scenario in which Ben somehow winds up Earthbound just in time for the holidays...This is my daily entry for my bb @champbucks over on the @12daysofchristmas challenge blog...

OH YEAH.. for the sake of a timeline here.. This part takes place around the end of November/beginning of December. Part two will take place two and a half weeks later and part three will take part a day or so, maybe two, after part two. Trust me, this needed to be said.

Also, again.. I made the banner for this. Don’t steal or repost.

TAGGING:

So, here’s the thing.. There really isn’t anyone on my Star Wars masterlist and like... I haven’t really written anything Star Wars related... Until now. So, if you want to be tagged in my star wars stuff, click the little link below or send me an ask/dm on my main and I’ll happily add you.

@champbucks and @12daysofchristmas

[ about my writing | masterlist | multifandom tag doc ]

“What the hell?”

The boom from outside had the windows to my grandma’s old cabin rattling and I quickly sat up just in time to look out the window at the head of my bed to see a bright flash of blue as it disappeared beyond the treeline across the road.

,, Curiosity killed the cat, remember?” my brain nagged at me the whole time I was slipping on the jeans I’d worn earlier in the day. That nagging only grew as I slipped on my warmest boots and by the time I had my daddy’s old shotgun loaded and I was heading out the door, I wasn’t entirely sure if going over to see what the hell was going on in the woods across from my house was a good idea or not.

I mean yeah, the odds were that some idiot kids were racing around Deadman’s curve and one crashed.. Or a drunk trying to drive home on an icy road hit black ice and lost control… At the thoughts of what probably happened, I stopped in the middle of the road and felt my back pocket.

As soon as my fingers grazed the cool weight of my cell phone, I took a deep breath and started to walk towards the woods on the other side of the little country road.

My eyes were adjusting to the semi darkness, so when the wrecked craft came into view just a few feet into the trees, I had to stop and really stare at it, rubbing my eyes.

“What the fuck?” the words left my mouth in a soft gasp as all the breath left my body. I knew exactly what I had to be looking at by now… And rather than turn and walk away, back to my grandma’s cabin, I kept moving closer. Pushing through bushes and trees and overgrown weeds and dead grass as I made my way towards the clearing to get a better look.

I knew it probably wasn’t a good idea, because everybody knows there’s a damn good reason we have a military base on the outskirts of our little town and we all know they’re not testing weather balloons out there.. I knew that if this were a military thing, there would most likely be a cover-up.

So I did what anybody would and I pulled out my camera, recording the crash site and taking a few pictures of the craft as I walked around it slowly.

I froze completely when I heard a wounded groan.

Now, I’d assumed that whoever crashed whatever this… Thing.. Was… they’d gotten the hell out of dodge as soon as the crash was over.

,,Or they were dead on contact because the impact was really hard.’’ my brain finished. I glanced all around the clearing that the craft crashed in the middle of. Everything was silent. Almost deathly silent, as if something had come along and sucked up all the sounds and background noise. I shivered and hugged myself, swearing under my breath about not having the presence of mind to stop for a jacket or grab my first aid kit on my way over here...

A scream died on my lips when I felt a strong grip wrap around my ankle as soon as I stepped closer to the wrecked craft, bending down to peer inside, my phone out and ready to call for emergency services.

When I looked down, after I dove away as quickly as possible, of course, I swallowed hard and tried to find words.

“Help.”

As he said it, I got the distinct feeling that this was not a word he enjoyed saying, not at all.

I could only nod and when my brain finally felt it had enough time to process what was going on, it kicked into overdrive.

“Can you pull yourself out?” I finally managed to ask the question.

“Trapped.” the word came on the heels of words that were totally unfamiliar to me, yet somehow I knew instinctively that this guy had to be swearing up a storm and in immense pain.

I guess tonight’s one of the few reasons I’m glad I went into the medical field instead of becoming a horror novelist or a starving artist like I used to want to when I was a kid. Tonight my years of school and training and the experience I’d gotten thus far as an intern at the hospital in town was all going to come in handy.

Because the lack of military vehicles or police by now only meant one thing to me.

The military either didn’t know yet so this gave me a chance to finally do something about the way they were polluting the water supply and making people sick or… Nobody knew about this.

Laughing softly at the thought that I might’ve stumbled onto an alien crash landing, I bent lower, peering into the smashed window and I dug around in my jeans pocket until I found my dad’s old pocket knife.

“I’m gonna.. I’ll try to cut you out, okay?” I muttered. He grunted, a light pained scowl playing at gorgeous and full lips.

I leaned inside a little, swearing as I felt shards of glass.. Or whatever the material was on the windows, digging into my hand..As soon as I got a good look, I realized that he wasn’t trapped by a harness or belt of any kind.

He was trapped because when the craft he was inside made impact, the damn thing basically folded like a soda can. I winced. Drawing a few sharp and shaky breaths, the fog from their warmth lingering in the air as I tried to stop and think.

I should be calling EMTS. I should be leaving him here because everything I’ve ever learned about accidents of any kind clearly predicates that if someone is hurt and you don’t know how fucking bad, you don’t move them.

But here’s the problem with that knowledge and my current situation… If I didn’t do something, then either that military installation was going to get away with the shit they’ve been doing the past few years since they mysteriously popped up on the outskirts, show up to finish this guy off in the time it took me to get help on the way… And then they might just do me in also because I had evidence and proof that they were up to something shady out there... Or… They’d find him and take him back to the base and do God only knew what to him.

,, but he might be an alien…” my brain gave me the gentle reminder and the counter argument arose almost immediately, ,, he can’t be. He looks like I do. He looks human. I can’t just turn my back and leave the guy… If he is military and they do realize what’s happened, he’s as good as dead… And I cannot live with someone’s blood on my hands.” 

And with that thought, I proceeded to try and figure out the safest way I could to go about breaking years of protocol that had been drilled into my brain.

I started with the obvious. I leaned in, my body brushing against him as I raised my hand, pressing my fingers to his neck, feeling for the jugular so I could attempt to see if his pulse was steady.

He groaned quietly and I explained in a hushed tone, trying to keep him calm, “I’m trying to take your pulse… to make sure it’s okay to move you if I can get you loose. Because we’re gonna have to get you out of here somehow.”

He merely nodded. I almost asked if he spoke the same language as me, but that was a later question. I was still operating under the assumption that I was working with a very small time frame, either way. 

Because even if the military didn’t know what happened out here, they would soon.. Because this just felt like something they would be aware of or become aware of. And I wasn’t going to let them get their hands on the guy, especially when he was injured and far too weak to fight them off.

Or so I thought…

,, where the hell am I? What happened? Need to.. Get out of here. Get back to the others.”

I heard it so clearly that for a second or so, I thought he might’ve actually spoken. I answered quietly, “You’re in Montana. Apparently, you crashed whatever the hell this thing is. If you’ll be still and stay calm sir, I’m trying to get you out of here. We have to hurry. If those damn military guys realize what happened and come down, we’re both probably fucked.” and continued checking him over.

I dreaded what I was about to have to try and do, because if there was any internal injury, I was about to make it worse. The goal, I decided mentally, was to move him as carefully but as quickly as possible.

He gritted his teeth and gave another long and wounded grunt as he seemed to pick up on my rush and started trying to maneuver his legs free from the part holding them in place.

“Okay, whoa. Easy, sir. Stop moving, damn it!” I said frantically, eyes widening as they settled on the dark depths of his eyes.

He glared at me, speaking in a calm but firm tone. “I have to get out of here.”

“And if you’ll go about this carefully, like I said before, you might actually live through this. I don’t know if you’ve been injured internally or not. I won’t know how severe your injuries are until I’m back at my cabin. I’m hoping that since you’re vocal enough to be an entire stubborn ass right now, that you’re really not seriously injured.” I snapped back because he’d snapped at me just seconds before.

He eyed me, almost wary. Almost as if he weren’t entirely sure whether to trust me. But I stared him down, firmly as I could. He managed to get his legs free and clear of the way they’d been pinned somehow and if I hadn’t thought the guy might be strong as an ox when he grabbed my ankle before, I now knew that fact beyond a shadow of doubt.

Oh, he grunted and groaned and growled in pain the entire time, but he seemed to be entirely too stubborn for his own good, too hell bent on getting himself out.

Once he was slowly pulling himself through the busted glass and lying on the snow, I cleared my throat. He winced and gritted his teeth as he pulled himself to a sitting position in the snow. The form fitting black garment he wore on his upper body was shredded in a place or two from the way he’d pulled himself through the window of the wreckage.

“Do you think you can walk? Because we need to figure something out.” I asked the question as I worked on keeping calm. But I was in a bit of a panic see, because internal injuries are difficult to spot and often, they go unnoticed until the person injured either dies or suffers massive complications. And I knew that me, moving him as little as I had and then him freeing himself from the wreckage somehow and all that movement… It was tempting fate, in my own opinion, but I was that determined not to let all this be covered up or to have this man’s blood on my hands.

He looked as if he were going to attempt it and I stood, holding my hands out to him to at least try to help him. But after the second or third attempt, the fight or flight response within me kicked in and I was… Growing impatient to get him indoors and both of us hidden away somewhere safely.

“I’ve got an ATV up at the cabin. It’s literally just across the road at the top of the hill… I need you to stay here and stay hidden. Are we clear?” I didn’t mean to bark it at him like an order, I guess I just assumed at the time that if he were a soldier who worked that base, he was used to it.

He bit his lip and eyed me.

“Don’t tell me what to do.” that firm tone, I won’t even begin to go into the effect it had on me, but I was the one who wasn’t injured and didn’t possibly have the US Armed Forces about to pop up at any second, so I had to act as if nothing he did or said had any sort of effect on me at all.

And god was it ever hard!

“Which one of us crashed a fucking piece of government property and is injured, sir?” my hand dragged through damp hair and tugged a little as I tapped my boot against the crunchy snow covered forest floor.

“ The ship is mine.” he corrected. I eyed him with a brow raised.

“Whatever you say. Either way, arguing semantics with you is not getting either of us to my cabin.”

The searing pain that shot through my palm as I rubbed it against my jeans had me grimacing, but I tried to ignore it. He stared me down, head tilted slightly.

“Alright. I’m going now.” I turned on my heels and I bolted up the hillside, hurrying so fast across the slippery pavement separating me from my cabin that I nearly slipped a time or two and I finally got to the shed that I’d parked the ATV under after riding it along the creekbank earlier to look for fallen trees I could use as firewood.

The keys were still in the ignition. I jumped on and fired it up, biting back a pained whimper as I curled my hand around the handlebar and that only put more pressure on the wound that I didn’t even realize I’d gotten trying to help the man out.

I shoved out the pain and focused on getting back across the road as quickly as possible. And in the back of my mind, yes.. I did find it more than a little odd that nobody had come down. The neighbors a mile away from me have to have heard… Then I remembered that Herb and Isla were out of town, in Kentucky with their oldest daughter and her family for the holidays.

,, c’mon lady luck, don’t fail me now.” the thought came and went and I took a shortcut through the treeline that I knew would put me straight in front of the crash site. Now I just had to hope to God that the guy was okay and he hadn’t left the scene.

Right as the crashed ship came into view, I spotted him trying yet again to use the wreckage to pull himself to his feet and I rushed over.

“You’re a stubborn one.”

“Trying to..” he took a few heavy breaths and grumbled before continuing, “Get back home.”

“And you can do that.. The second you’re at least partially healed, sir. I’m gonna…” I trailed off, awkwardly positioning myself against his side so that he could use me as a crutch and lean on me to get to the ATV so I could take him back to my place, “Lean on me.”

But the guy was an actual fucking giant.

And normally, in a non life or death situation, I’d have been absolutely mesmerized by… Pretty much everything about him. But tonight, I was too focused. Too intent on getting both of us to safety.

,, daddy always told me curiosity killed the cat. Now look what I’m smack in the middle of.” I thought to myself, grunting a little as he leaned into me heavily, my arm around his lower back and his arm around my shoulders as he clumsily tried to make his way to the ATV.

Once I got on and he managed to get himself on behind me, I took off. “Might wanna cover your face.”

And a minute or so later, as I parked the ATV right at my porch steps to make it a little easier to get him inside, he eyed me warily again, this time questioning, “Why are you doing this? Don’t you know who I was?”

“What do you mean was?” I asked the question, all the worst possible scenarios flashing through my mind. And that adrenaline surge from earlier that I had yet to come down from? A little more panicked.

He muttered something and shrugged, putting a shoulder around me again as he grunted and managed to get himself standing.

The light overhead on my porch caught on his bloodied pants leg and I grimaced. “Well, pretty sure that’s a broken leg.”

I kicked open the front door with my foot and helped him into my living room, letting him sink down onto the couch. After I got him all settled in, I rushed around my pantry gathering up my medical supplies that I kept on hand.

And I wandered back into the living room, taking a seat on the handmade heavy wooden coffee table in front of my old plaid couch. “You’re gonna have to… Take off the shirt..”

He eyed me, this curious gleam in his eyes that quickly vanished when I firmly repeated myself.

His eyes caught on my palm and he eyed my own smaller wound, then fixed his eyes on me. “You’re dripping blood on the floor.”

“And I’ll worry about that as soon as I’m totally certain that aside from a possibly broken leg and a few cuts and bruises, you’re fine.” I insisted, a firm tone of my own as I started to tug the ripped fabric up and over his body. I grimaced at the older scars and bit my lip as I surveyed the bruises already starting to form against pale skin. “Are you in any pain at all when you breathe?”

Bear in mind here. I am still only just an intern. So I haven’t actually had to deal with a whole lot in the way of injuries. The most I’m currently allowed to do is make rounds and do consults, checking in on patients to let their actual physician know what they might need or how they might be feeling on that particular day.

So this was all trial by fire for me.

One glance at his well muscled body had me definitely continuing to think that he was one of the guys from the military base and I made a mental note to maybe NOT turn down Carrie if she offered to set me up with one of the guys her fiance knew in the future as I had been doing.

He cleared his throat.

“A little.”

“Most likely dealing with a bruised rib or two. I’ll wrap those for now.. I’ll call in a favor with Dr.Albertson in the morning...I don’t think he’ll tell anybody.”

The man nodded, agreeing.

I went back to cleaning and patching the wounds I could patch and then I turned my attention to his leg.

“I’m going to have to cut your pants leg…”

“Or I could take off my pants.” 

I eyed him as soon as he said it because truth be told, not only did he have me flustered in saying it, but also, I couldn’t entirely tell if he were being helpful at last, or if he were being a flirt.

As if to prove he was serious, he rose up slightly, unfastening the black pants he wore, working them down his hips and I have literally NEVER… ever.. Turned away and tried to still catch a peek as I did in that moment.

“Christ. You could’ve given me a second to turn.”

“Why?” he tapped my shoulder as he asked the question and I turned around.

 My breath caught in my throat and I quickly had to refocus myself. Because if I thought taking his shirt off was a bit of a distraction… Then him sitting there pantsless was.. A bit more.

I bit my lip and my eyes settled on the lower portion of his leg. The swelling was bad. The leg was definitely broken. I sighed and clucked my tongue, shaking my head. 

“I’m gonna have to call in that favor with the old man now. Because this can’t wait to be looked at. And I need to be sure you’ve got no internal injuries.” I stood abruptly, nearly doing so fast enough that I almost landed on top of the guy.

He eyed me and I pulled back and away from him, raising to a full stand. Walking quickly into my kitchen and sliding the pocket door closed behind me.

“Hey, doc? I know it’s late, but if you get this, can you please swing by my grandma’s cabin on your way home tonight? I need your help. And I need someone who can be trusted to stay quiet on what you’re gonna see.”

I’d just walked back into the living room when my cell phone rang in my hand.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’d rather explain when you get here, doc.”

“I’m on my way now. Just grabbing my equipment.”

“Thank you, doc.”

“I always told you and I promised your grandma when you were knee high to a grasshopper. If you ever need me, kid, I’ll be there.”

I hung up and sank back down onto the coffee table, letting a deep breath escape my mouth. The adrenaline was starting to wear off finally and all I could do now was… Process everything. Try to figure out just how far up the proverbial creek I might’ve gotten myself.

The man shattered the silence in the room by clearing his throat and reaching out. I eyed him, a brow raised.

“What are you doing?”

“If you’re not going to do something about your hand, I’m going to.”

“It’s fine. It’s a little scrape.”

“There’s blood caked on it.”

Something in the look he gave me had me extending my hand. It almost felt as if I wasn’t in control of myself, though I didn’t realize this until much later…

His larger hand gripped mine carefully, holding it on bare legs.

“You still haven’t put any pants on, what the hell..”

“If you called that person and they’re going to come and examine me, doesn’t make sense to.” he didn’t look up as he answered, instead, focusing on swiping the cloth that I’d gotten as a spare in case I needed a clean one for his wounds. When the light overhead caused something in the wound to glisten, I tried to yank my hand free in a hurry, but that sensation was back in my mind and his grip on my wrist tightened to a point where I couldn’t move.

“Be still.”

That firm tone again, honestly, fuck him for it.

“Fine. But I feel like I should remind you, I am a medical professional. I could get this looked at when Doc arrives.”

“Well, I’m doing it now.” he stated calmly, as if I had no say in the matter. And when I opened my mouth to argue, to insist I could just wait the ten minutes it would take Doc to get to my cabin, nothing came out.

He gave me this smug look as he took my tweezers and worked them into the cut, making me bite my lip and take a few deep breaths.

When he finally got the shard free, I pulled my hand back, cradling it against me.

He eyed me, amused it seemed.

“I’ll clean it out and wrap it now, thanks.” I mumbled in a softer tone, giving him a small smile and thanking him.

Now, we just had to wait on Doc to arrive...

[what-is-your-plan-today]

Stark Spangled Banner Ch1: Back Into The Field

Summary: Katie heads back to SHIELD following the crazy events in Miami and finds herself on desk arrest following a disciplinary for two weeks. But when catastrophe strikes on a mission, she kinda wishes she had stayed there.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x O/C Katie Stark

Warnings: Bad language (no smut, yet, but will be down the line. A bit of angst,  injury and blood (some may find upsetting)

Stark Spangled Man: Re-cap

Steve was mad, furious, absolutely and utterly infuriated. His foot tapped as he rode the elevator up to the 95th floor where it pinged open and he stepped into the living area of the tower. Katie uncurled herself off the couch and started to speak before the doors had even shut behind him.

“I know you’re pissed…” she began, but he held his hand up, shaking his head.

“Pissed doesn’t even come into it…” he said, “Are you insane?”

“Not last time I checked.”

He felt his jaw tighten, this wasn’t the time for her jokes or quips. As he looked at she felt herself quell under his gaze and she dropped her eyes from his and sighed.

“I had to help.”

“You’re a fucking idiot_!” he stood, arms folded as he glared at her. She raised an eyebrow at him, but remained silent as he unloaded “You could have been seriously hurt, or killed… I told you to call me!”

“You’re only pissed off because you missed a chance to play the hero…” she snapped and then inwardly groaned. As soon as the words left her mouth she regretted them.

“Is…is that actually what you think?” he frowned, looking like puppy dog she’d just kicked across the floor.

“No, its not…” she said, shaking her head. “I didn’t mean…”

“I was worried about you!” he pressed, “Katie, you’re my best friend and I couldn’t cope losing you as well…”

As well as Bucky.

His sentence hung, unfinished, making her feel like shit. She sighed and crossed the room, slipping her arms around his waist. After a second or two he unfolded his arms and hugged her back.

“You should have called me.” He sighed, his tone softening as she lay her head on his chest.“It was so frustrating. Fury was refusing to do anything, if I knew how to fly one of those damned jets I’d have taken one myself…"

“Ask Clint for some flying lessons.” she said, stepping back to look up at him, sighing again as his face displayed no amusement at her attempted joke. “Look, I’m sorry, truth is, I didn’t think. We just got caught up and I didn’t want to drag you into something that wasn’t your fight. This was down to Tony and a very long list of people he has pissed off…”

Steve snorted as he released her from his grip “Well then it isn’t your fight either is it?”

“He’s my brother, Steve, I’d die for him if I had to.” she shrugged.

“How is he now?” Steve asked, following her towards the bar area.

“Seems ok.” she said, stepping behind it. “Recovering from the surgery, destroyed all his Iron Man suits…”

“He what?”

“Clean Slate protocol… blew them all up. Including the one he had made for me.” she slid an open beer across the bar top towards him. He caught it as he settled down on a stool, shaking his head.

“Wait, he made you a suit?” Steve frowned “An Iron Man suit?”

“Iron Maiden…” she grinned, leaning on the bar opposite him as he looked at her blankly. She rolled her eyes and grinned “They’re a band…rock… add them to the list.”

He raised an eyebrow at her and pulled out the notebook she’d gifted to him the year, making a note of the name, before he slipped it back into his jacket pocket.

“So he made you a suit…” he said, motioning her to continue.

“Yeah, well wasn’t much point seeing as I only got to wear it for like half an hour or whatever. It was only a prototype, nothing I could use with SHIELD either as it was too conspicuous, not that it matters anyway as he blew them all up, like a massive firework display”

“Why?” he frowned, bottle paused halfway to his mouth.

“Some kind of outward gesture to Pepper, basically said that any designs for a new one she gets to help him with…”

Steve took a big pull of his beer and swallowed. “That’s a big step for him.”

“Yeah, I know. He loves her.” Katie swallowed a mouthful of beer “And she loves him, she’s good for him.”

“Is she ok now after the whole Extremis thing?”

“Yeah. Tony managed to engineer an antidote with a bit of help from the SHIELD lab and she’s good.”

“And how are you?” he asked.

“Honestly?” Katie snorted, shaking her head “absolutely exhausted by all of it. Gods, Aliens, crazy assed super soldiers that explode…” her eyes narrowed as she eyed him playfully and suspiciously “you’re not gonna explode are you?”

“Not planning on it, no.” his crooked grin spread across his face.

***********

March 2013.

Any doctor would cry if they visited SHIELD; the caffeine and alcohol intake of pretty much every worker there would way exceed a dose construed to be healthy. Mind you, if you asked any agent whether they’d give up coffee or alcohol, they’d say alcohol in a heartbeat. Well, most of them. Katie couldn’t imagine surviving without an ice cold beer on a hot summer’s day, but she also didn’t function until she had her morning cup of Joe. It was a tough choice to make.

Not today though, she needed coffee. And lots of it. After ‘going rogue’ to chase the Mandarin with her brother Fury was pissed and as such was basically giving her the most boring thing he could think of- working through piles of mission reports, analysing and cross referencing them with others to pick up on common threads .To be honest, she didn’t mind it too much. After the excitement of the festive period she had welcomed a relatively quiet return to work, and didn’t particularly give a shit what Fury thought about her either. That said, it was heavy going, but as with anything she was soon engrossed, circling a part of the hard copy of the report with highlighter pen, before glancing back at the screen to cut and paste it into the Scrapbook App she used to trace trends with, letting out a groan. 

Nope, this was officially crap.

Steve’s morning wasn’t much better. After one particularly gruelling Ops Training session, whereby one of the newest kids suffered a broken nose after colliding painfully with a stray shock baton, he showered and headed up to find Katie. She’d skipped the Ops training, not particularly needing it to be fair as she was a dead shot as it was, but her main reason was she was buried in work that Fury had dropped on her desk. He found her sat, paper in her hand and she was looking her computer screen. She sighed, scratching at her head before she dropped the file onto the desk letting out a groan. It was such a pure, natural action, Steve felt he was interrupting something, even though he knew he wasn’t. So he gave a little cough and as she turned round, her pretty face cracking into a smile which he returned. 

“Fancy lunch?” he asked her.

She nodded instantly “God yes. Can we get FroYo after?”

“Yeah but don’t let me pile it with all that crap this time!” he shot her his best playfully disapproving look as he remembered the first time she had taken him to the Frozen Yoghurt stall. He had loaded his with all sorts of different things and the result had been beyond foul.

Katie gave a laugh and picked up her jacket, shrugging it on. He held the door for her and she stepped under his arm, and he followed her to the elevator.

“Stick to chocolate chip, mint and cookie dough!“ she said, stepping into it. “Trust me.”

They strode across the foyer and into the early spring sun. Katie pulled her jacket tighter around herself as they crossed the street. 

“How are you just wearing a shirt?” she asked, looking at Steve as he fell into step besides her, making sure he was on the side nearest the road. He noticed that she’d long since given up chiding him on this old fashioned habit after he had revealed it was something he used to do for his mom too, and Bucky’s younger sister. She’s simply rolled her eyes but today he swore he saw something that looked like a soft smile flicker on her lips when he positioned himself on her left, but as quick as he noticed it, it was gone.

“It’s not too bad. Been through worse.” He grinned as he opened the door to the Deli for her. He followed her in and stood besides her in the queue and became aware that she was looking at him.

“What?” he asked, turning to her exasperatedly. Katie couldn’t help but grin, she enjoyed winding the usually mild mannered man up

“I’m trying to imagine how you would look with a beard. And with shorter hair.” she said causing the Captain to roll his eyes. He was used to her utter random comments now. She was very like her brother in that respect, her mind moved at about 100 miles an hour and half the time he had no idea what made her come out with the stuff she did and to be honest, he’d long since given up attempting to understand.

“Not gonna happen.”

“What the hair cut or the beard?” she asked.

“Neither.”

“Spoil sport.”

“Captain America doesn’t have a beard.” he shook his head.

“Steve Rogers could…”

She was impossible, but Steve couldn’t help but want to laugh. This playfulness was the thing that he enjoyed the most, how she could just treat him like any other punk she knew.

“Did anyone ever tell you you’re exhausting?” he rolled his eyes, a smirk playing on his face as she stepped forward in the queue.

“Yeah, you.” she spun round to face him, grinning “Several times. But you still come back for more.”

“Well I have the distinct impression if I didn’t you’d hunt me down anyway”

They ordered and ate their lunch, Steve filling her in on the ops drill and after Fro-Yo they made arrangements to slob out that evening at Steve’s with a film. Katie headed back to her office to continue sifting through the Mount Everest of reports she had to do. As with anything once she got the bit between her teeth, she completely zoned out. It was only when she heard a gabble of voices all bidding each other goodbye that she looked up from her work. It was dark outside, and past 6.

“Shit…” she groaned as the realisation washed over her. She was supposed to be at Steve’s for half past. She clicked to save her work whilst calling him at the same time, phone sandwiched between her cheek and shoulder.

“So…I’m running late” she apologised the instant he answered. He chuckled.

“I thought that you said the one good thing about being confined to desk duties was that you set the hours!”

“Yeah, well I got caught up in something…but I’m leaving now. Do you want me to grab pizza on the way?”

“Sounds good, not Chicago Style though. I’m hankering for a proper piece of pie.”

“God you’re such a New Yorker.” she rolled her eyes.

“You say it like it’s a bad thing.” he said, his voice taking on a mock hurt tone and she could imagine him pouting on the other end of the phone.

“Hmmm, I’m undecided. Right, I’m going now…see you soon.”

“Drive safe.”

“What are you my dad?”

“Old enough to be” he shot back.

“Touche.” she sniggered, cutting the call

*******

“Boring New York style for Mr S Rogers…” she spoke into the intercom and he buzzed her in. By the time she’d climbed the stairs he was waiting at the door to his flat, leaning on the door frame.

“Bout time…” he muttered, taking the boxes off her “Was about to send a search party.”

“Mario’s was packed” she said, kicking off her sneakers and heading straight through to his kitchen to grab a beer out of his fridge without waiting for him to offer, knowing he wouldn’t. He didn’t need to. 

Steve headed into the living room, depositing the 3 boxes on the coffee table and reaching straight in for one of the pepperoni slices before Katie flopped down next to him, handing him a beer.

“What we ticking off the list tonight?” she asked.

“A Few Good Men.” he said, nodding at the tv where he had queued the movie up ready.

“Wait...did you manage to navigate that Android box all by yourself…” she looked at him and he sighed. 

“I’m not completely useless ya know…”

“Jury’s out.” she teased, curling her legs up onto the sofa next to her.

They watched the film. Steve got most of the references within it. He chuckled in the right places, and laughed out loud when Katie was unable to stop herself uttering the immortal line “You can’t handle the truth” When the film had finished, Katie unfolded herself from where she had been sat and they launched into Steve’s favourite part of Movie Nights- the post film analysis.

“Who was the guy who played the colonel…errr Jessup?” he looked at her.

“Jack Nicholson” she said, “Amazing actor. He’s in a few on your list.”

“He was good. Kaffee annoyed me a little, arrogant, cocksure.”

“Reminds me of Tony” Katie sniggered.

“Well, I didn’t want to say anything” he said, giving a little smirk.

“You enjoy it?” she asked.

“Yeah, very good. Better than the one we watched the other night anyway.”

“Yeah, pisses me off though. I mean Galloway, she’s a strong female military woman and they still have to go with the romance angle. And with Kaffee too. Personally I’d have punched him in the face several times.“

“It does seem to be a tried and tested format” he said, leaning back against the cushions on his couch “Boy meets girl, boy likes girl, boy wins girl over…”

“Appeals to the hopeless romantic in all of us.” Katie shrugged “Crap like that, happy endings and all, never happens unless it’s in a film. What’s more likely to happen is boy gets you into bed and then fucks off when the chase is over. Well, most men anyway.”

Whilst her action and mannerisms remained neutral, the bitterness in her voice gave her away and Steve felt a surge of anger towards her ex. He’d never met the guy and still wanted to punch his lights out for the way he’d treated her. They continued to chat for a bit longer until Katie glanced at her watch,and seeing the time decided to call it a night. Steve walked her down to her car, he always did without fail, another thing she had given up chiding him for and when he came back upstairs and got in the shower, he found himself straying back to the first time he had seen her, the minute she had stepped into the light in the boxing gym and he’d found himself looking into the greenest eyes he had ever seen in his life.

The more he stood there in the shower and thought about her, the more he started to feel something…well…different. And he couldn’t put his finger on it. Was it that he found her attractive? Well of course he did. To be honest, he reckoned you’d have to be blind not to. And if he was totall  honest, since he’d seen her the first time in that little boxing gym in New York he had noticed how pretty she was. She had the figure of the stars of his time. Hour glass waist, brunette hair, shapely ass and legs and quite large breasts considering she was so slim. But what did it for him were her eyes. Deep, warm green pools that he could lose himself in quite happily. And that smile, that fucking smile that could make him stop in his tracks when she flashed it. But it was more than just that, she was…well…just Katie.

It was strange, really, she reminded him so much of Peggy in some ways, but in others she was so different. Both were vivacious, smart, strong willed and beautiful. But where Peggy had been harsh, after a military upbringing, Katie had a softer edge to her. She was still ferocious at times, but she was a people person, and somehow knew exactly how to explain and understand what he was trying to say even when he struggled to himself.She made him feel at ease. With that in mind it wasn’t surprising they had grown so close. He could trust her and knew that she would do anything for him because she was a good person. And she made it so easy to be around, he didn’t feel a shred of awkwardness around her. 

He hadn’t thought he’d ever find himself a friend he could be as honest and open with again, one he would happily lay his life on the line for, not just out of a sense of duty but out of a sense of love and friendship.

Who you trying to kid, Rogers? 

He knew his feelings went deeper than that. All those times he'd felt irritation at other men looking at her or touching her, all those times he'd looked at her and just wanted to smile because she was just her... the fear he had felt when he had known she was off chasing the Mandarin and he wasn’t able to help...none of that was anything to do with mere friendship. 

He leaned his forehead against the tiles of the shower cubicle and groaned. He was crushing on his best friend. He was so fucked. *******

Katie’s desk arrest didn’t last long. 2 weeks later she was catapulted back into the field, on what was supposed to be a simple op, simple by SHIELD standards, anyway. They had a request from the Cuban government – all very hush, hush, of course –to take down a drug lord who ran the cartel SHIELD had tangled with last year.

Katie read the files, all the intel, pulled together a briefing and delivered it, answering questions that came her way from the team and then handed over to Steve when it was his turn to take the floor. He started issuing out his orders, and informed everyone that the 3 newest recruits would be joining them as it would be a fairly straight forward op to ease them into.

And it had been, for the most part, until one of those new recruits, Steven Adams, had frozen mid fire fight and as a consequence he’d taken 3 bullets to the chest.

“I got him…” Katie said, calmly taking aim at the hostile responsible and as soon as she knew she’d hit him, she broke cover to get to Adams, as she was closest to him. She skidded to the floor, pressing her hand to his chest and her other reached to his face, turning it to look at her.

“I got you…Adams…look at me…” she said gently, her hand warm, wet and slick with the young man’s blood. Steve dropped besides her and she turned to face him.

“I can’t stop the bleeding…” she said, her tone giving away exactly how worried she was.

“Medic, NOW!” Steve yelled, looking around frantically for help “We need emergency evac…”

“This is just like Coulson all over again…” Katie mumbled to no one in particular as she reached into her belt and retrieved a tab of morphine. Steve gripped the young man’s hand as she administered the pain relief.

“Son,look at me…” he instructed and Adams horrified eyes turned to Steve “That’s it, keep looking at me…”

Steve swallowed, figthing to keep his face calm. He’d seen that look so many times on the battle field, the look that told him the man who lay injured knew he was injured beyond repair, that there was nothing to be done for him. But this was now, 70 years into the future, medical science had worked so many wonders since then, they had to be able to do something, right?

“RUMLOW WHERE THE FUCK IS THAT MEDIC?” Katie screamed, her tone frantic.

“Still got hostiles on us!” Rumlow replied in his ear “Evans has taken 4 down but they’re approaching from the right! We need to cover the medics in and now you’re down there…”

Steve instantly looked round before he looked back at Katie “We can take him ourselves”

She bit her lip, looking at the young man, then up to Steve again. Everything in their training told them not to move casualties, but Steve knew if they stayed here he was going to bleed out.Katie seemed to come to the same conlcusion a she nodded.

"Alright…Brock, we’re coming to you. Have the medics prep the bay…Evans, we need top cover…”

“Roger, Nova…”

“Steven… we’re gonna move you now.” she said, looking at him, her voice calm and level. She took his hand out of Steve’s which allowed the captain to haul him into a lift over his shoulder. Once he had the man positioned he gave a small jerk of his head and Katie picked up his shield in one hand, and her pistol in the other as they broke cover, sprinting across the front of the industrial yard towards the jet. In the corner of his eye, Steve spotted 2 hostiles moving but before he could shout a warning, Katie had fired off 2 shots, the thumps and lack of returning meaning each bullet had hit its target. Soon they were joined by Rumlow who flanked them up the ramp where she dropped the shield to the floor and offered her hand back to Adams, Steve placed him gently on the stretcher.

“It’s gonna be ok…” Katie said, soothing him as the medics bustled around, glancing up every so often to watch what they were doing.

“Can you tell my mom…I love her…and dad…” Adams was mumbling now and she shook her head.

“You can tell them yourself. “she smiled “you’ll be fine, I promise…”

“We’re locked down outside, local authorities are handling it now. How’s he looking?” Rumlow asked as he stepped up besides Steve who had stood back from where Katie was knelt by the injured man. Steve turned to Rumlow, shaking his head sadly.

“Not good. He lost a lot of blood.”

At that point Katie suddenly drew back slightly, looking at the hand held in hers, before she glanced at the medic who was sadly shaking her head. Katie threw her head back closing her eyes as her face screwed up.

“Shit.” Rumlow muttered as Steve pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and middle finger.

“Radio base” he turned to Brock, his voice soft “Let’s get him home.”

*******

Writing mission reports wasn’t Katie’s favourite thing to do, but this one was awful. So she’d treated it like ripping off a band aid, and after a horrific nights sleep, she’d been at the T riskelion early to get it done. As a result it was little after 10 am, she was done for the day and was about to head home until she heard a familiar voice.

“Eat me…eat me…” The voice was accompanied by a bag from her favourite bakery, which was hovering in the space between the door and the frame, before Clint Barton’s head poked round the side, a grin plastered on his face.

“Hey!” She beamed at her friend as he dropped a cup holder containing two coffees and the bag onto her desk before taking a seat, scooting the wheeled chair over the floor towards her.

“Heard you had a rough time of it yesterday so I brought donuts and almond croissants.And coffee.”

“Hawkeye, you are a godsend.” she said, taking a large drink and leaning back, closing her eyes.

“That the first time you’ve lost a man on a mission?” Clint asked.

“Other than Coulson.” she shrugged. “He was 24 Clint. His whole life ahead of him.”

Clint watched as she rubbed at her temple before reaching into the bag and pulling out an almond croissant. She couldn’t remember when she had last eaten, it must have at least been before the mission.

“How’s Cap taken it?”

“On the outside he seems ok, but I know he blames himself. Keeps saying he shouldn’t have taken him.” Katie shrugged “He’s gone with Fury to see Adams’ parents. Rather him than me.”

“This job is hard.” Clint said after a moment “We fight to keep everyone safe, but y’know, sometimes not everyone makes it. Thing is, if we can’t find a way to deal with that, then maybe next time no one gets saved at all.”

“You mean like Collateral damage?” she snorted, shaking her head.

“No, I mean that everyone one of us that are out in the field know the risks Nova, hell last year 7 of us took on a horde of Aliens in New York. For hours we fought them, and did any of us give a second thought to our own safety? No,because that’s what we do.”

His words made sense. She knew they did, but that didn’t stop the feeling in her stomach that if she had done her research more, maybe she could have spotted something that would have told them about the armour piercing rounds.

*******

Adams’ parents already knew he was dead. Which made it slightly easier. Fury had the local authorities call ahead, common practice now, but still Steve found himself sat on their couch, talking, informing them all about their son’s last moments. They hadn’t shouted, hadn’t screamed or blamed him. Instead, they’d thanked him for what he had done and for bringing him back so they could hold a proper burial.

By the time he got back to base, he was exhausted.

“Here.” Fury said, handing him a glass of scotch from the bottle he had pulled out of his desk. Steve took it, dropping into one of the sofas at the side of the large office, Fury settling into the other. Steve knew the drink couldn’t’ get him drunk, but he liked the momentary buzz he got that lasted all of 60 seconds post sip.

The scotch was smooth, he expected nothing less from the boss. And the pair of them sat in silence for a few moments.

“Ever done that before, a death message?” Fury asked, leaning back.

“Can’t say I have. Wasn’t really my job back in the day.” Steve said, undoing his tie.

“Worst part of the job. Doesn’t matter how many times you do it, never gets any easier.” Fury ran his hand over his face, and it struck Steve how tired his boss actually looked.

“Yeah, it isn’t exactly up there with my favourite thing to do.” he said, rolling the tie up and shoving it into his old Army uniform pocket.

“How’s Nova?” Fury asked.

“She’s upset.” Steve sighed “But she’s strong, she’ll be ok. I’m gonna head over and see how she is later.”

“You two spend a lot of time together outside of work.” Fury commented, innocently enough but there was something in his tone, something that was almost good natured accusation.

“Not a problem is it, Sir?” Steve asked, face straight.

“No, not at all.” Fury said “Why do you think I partnered you up in the first place? She’s a people person…”

“She’s a good friend.” Steve nodded “We get on.”

“Glad to hear it.” Fury said “There’s going to be a debrief with the Secretary of Defense tomorrow.”

Steve sighed “If they’re looking to blame someone, the buck stops with me. I should never have taken the kid.”

“Bullshit.” Fury said simply “I’ve read the reports. From what they say, he just froze.”

“He wasn’t experienced enough.”

“It was a straight forward in and out job Captain.” Fury leaned forward. “What happened was an accident. A tragic one, but an accident none the less. From the reports, neither you nor Stark could have done any more to save his life.”

Steve shrugged, the words were kind but didn’t help him feel any better.

“Taking risks is part of this job.” Fury said simply “It’s a dangerous gig.”

3 glasses of scotch and an hour later he shook the director’s hand and left the office, pulling out his phone. He didn’t want to appear like he was checking up on Katie, so he pinged her a text, dressing it up like it was him who needed to see her, which wasn’t a complete lie. He did, he was craving the normality she gave him.

Can I come over? I could do with seeing a friendly face

He read it a few times, before deciding it was casual enough before he sent it. The reply was almost instantaneous.

My door is always open for you. And I made Mac and Cheese…plenty left.

He couldn’t help but smile. One of the best things about this “new life” was the food, and her Mac and Cheese was frankly his favourite thing to eat on the planet. He shot a message back.

He changed into a pair of sweat and a hoody, hastily making his way to her penthouse and the the smile she gave him when he walked into her place instantly made him feel at ease.

“Hey…” she said, crossing the space towards him and giving him a hug which he happily melted into, a hug they both needed.

“how did it go?” she asked, pulling away.

“As well as can be expected.” He sighed as he followed her into the kitchen, dropping into the stool on the other side of the breakfast bar. “His mom broke down but…they were ok about it. They didn’t shout or yell…”

She flipped the lid off a beer and handed it to him. He took it, with a nod of thanks and pulled a large swig as he sat back down, staring at the bottle in his hand.

He was brooding and blaming himself, Katie could tell so she gently lay her hand on his, reaching over the counter.

“it wasn’t your fault Steve.” she said, gently. She did that all the time, knew what he was thinking. It gave him the unnerving impression that sometimes she could read his mind.

“I should have spotted that shooter…” he said, shaking his head.

“I’m the fucking mission analyst.” she sighed. “I knew from last time those guys were packing, if I’d done more research, maybe I would have found out about the armour piercing rounds…”

“You can’t seriously blame yourself?” Steve’s head shot up unable to believe she actually thought that.

“Why not?” she sighed sadly. She’d been over it a million times in her head that day and had come to the same conclusion every time. She should have spotted something, dug further. “I didn’t do my job.”

“Yes, you did.” he implored, his eyes locking onto hers “Your report clearly set out the layout, the learning from previous missions…Abrams was just too inexperienced, I should never have taken him…”

There was a pause as the microwave pinged and Katie turned to look at it.

“You know, Clint made a good point before.” she said, reaching in for the plate and the smell of the food made his stomach grumble again as she continued “This job, it’s hard. We fight to keep people safe but not everyone makes it back all the time…and if we can’t learn to live with that then maybe next time no one gets saved.”

“It feels like trading lives.” He said as she placed the plate down in front of him “It’s just wrong.”

“I know…” she said, handing him some cutlery and sat down next to him.

“You eaten?” he asked, looking at her, suddenly aware she didn’t have a plate. She nodded.

“Couldn’t have waited until now, I’d have starved to death…” she said, shrugging.

“Hardly.” he replied, mouth full, instantly realising he had said the wrong thing as she narrowed her eyes at him.

“Is that a fat joke?” she asked, making him roll his eyes as he swallowed. That hadn’t been it at all, he was referring to the fact that she never actually stopped eating, despite her tiny frame she gave him a run for his money.

“No, that’s not… I mean you’re tiny…” he said, almost choking on his food through his protests.

“So now you’re making short jokes?” She said back, Steve looked at her, dismayed she thought he was picking on her but then he spotted the look in her eyes and rolled his own.

“Punk.”

“Jerk” she shot back. 

It was the perfect way to escape the trauma and stress of the last few days. Once they had finished eating the two of them flopped down on her large L shape sofa, Steve’s legs extended along one side of the L shape, her legs on the other as she leaned against his shoulder. He couldn’t help but notice the smell of her shampoo…apple, he thought, along with her perfume. Her proximity was making his head buzz but he wasn’t about to move her. The contact was comforting, clearly for her as well as about an hour or so into the film- the first in the Lord of The Rings trilogy- he felt her head growing heavy. He glanced down and saw that her eyes were closed and as he watched her head slipped slightly. He shifted so that he could catch her gently, and grabbed a cushion from behind him. He placed it against his leg and manouvered her head so that she was lay down, gently brushing her hair off her face. She stirred slightly, snuggling down further into the cushion as he absentmindedly rubbed between her shoulder blades as her breathing grew gentle and even.

Steve stayed like that, engrossed in the film right to the end, surprisingly. He had enjoyed it. Katie hadn’t woken up, and he looked down debating whether or not to wake her or simply carry her through to her bedroom. Pondering for a moment, he decided to do neither, reaching for the remote as he sifted through to find something else to watch. He didn’t want to leave just yet, he was too comfy and too at ease. Picking one of his favourites, Casablanca, he settled down, getting himself comfy as he immersed himself in the familiar world of Rick’s Café Americain. At one point he felt his eyes growing heavy and he lay his head back, deciding to rest them for just a little while…

Cold air was blasting his hair back…there was a hole in the side of the train…then a flash of light and Bucky flew straight through the hole. “BUCKY…” he yelled, grabbing onto the side of the train, the bar in one hand as he stretched to reach his friend with the other.

“Steve…” The voice was louder, but not loud enough. No, he had to get to Bucky…

But he was gone, Steve was grasping at nothing but air.

“Steve…” Katie was doing her best to wake him from his obvious nightmare after he had jolted her awake, thrashing in his sleep. She placed both her hands on his shoulder and shook him. Softly at first, then a bit stronger, trying to shake him out of his sleep. His face contorted into a silent scream and then he jerked awake, his eyes wide, breathing deeply. It took him a while but he suddenly realised where he was and whose eyes were looking at him he took a shaky breath and lay his head back.

Damned it, he’d fallen asleep and had a nightmare. On her sofa.

“Shit…sorry…” he said, his voice croaky “I err…”

“Don’t apologise, it’s fine.” Katie said, gently “I’ll get you a glass of water.”

Whilst she was gone he leaned forward, swinging his legs off the couch so his feet touched the floor, wiping his clammy head with his hands.

“Thanks…” he said as she handed him the glass. He took a large gulp, his breathing returning to normal.

“You ok?” she asked, kindly as her hand gently knotted into his, her concern evident.

“Yeah, just a nightmare…” he said softly “I’ve not had one for a while.”

“Understandable with what’s happened.” she said softly “What was it about?”

“It was…just Bucky.” he said shaking his head, “I saw him fall…”

“You know you can talk to me about it Stevie.” she said softly “It might help.”

“They’re always the same.” he said, shaking his head, swallowing thickly “I either replay him falling or me going into the ice…”

She didn’t speak, simply waited for him to continue and for a moment she though he wasn’t going to, but then after a sigh he leaned forward and placed the glass on the table and ran his hands over his face again.

“It was a Hydra train,” he started, “We had a tip that Zola, a Hydra scientist was traveling somewhere and thought that it was our chance to capture him. One step closer to taking down Hydra. There was a blast from one of their weapons and it bounced off my shield and blew open the side of the train car and Bucky was thrown out.” he blinked, swallowing  “He grabbed onto a bar and it wasn’t stable, and he fell.”

Katie stayed silent for a moment before her hand curled round his shoulder and she pulled him to her, causing him to lay his head on her shoulder. “You know it wasn’t your fault.”

“I should have done more” he said softly. The guilt ate him up every day, that he had survived, why had he deserved that any more than Bucy?

“How?” she said again. “How could you have done anymore?”

"I should have gone after him.” he said quietly.

“What would’ve changed if you had?” Katie asked “There’s no way he could have survived that fall.”

“He wouldn’t have been there if it wasn’t for me.“ he said softly, "I should have gone after him, brought him home, done something.”

Katie remained quiet, her hand gently running through his hair which was nice, far too nice. He took a deep breath and sat up moving away from her touch.

"What time is it?” he asked, clearing his throat.

“Nearly six in the morning” Katie replied

“You’re kidding?” Steve snorted.

“Nope. You want some coffee?” she asked, standing up.

“Yeah if that’s ok…” he replied, following her to the kitchen. From her body language he could tell she was rolling her eyes, even if she wasn’t facing him.

“I don’t know if your Ma ever told you, but it’s rude to run out on a girl after you spend the night with her.”

“And as you know, I’m useless with women.” he said, as he sat down at the barstool on the breakfast bar. He watched her, but he didn’t say anything. She bustled about, throwing some bread in the toaster and went to the fridge for the butter, marmalade and jam, sliding them onto the island. At that point Steve held his hands up.

“You don’t have to-” he started to say, but she silenced him with a glare, similar to the ones Peggy used to give him, the look that could stop him in his tracks it was that stern.

“Shut up.” she said, pouring them both a cup of the coffee before adding milk and a spoon of sugar to both, passing one to him. The bread popped up from the toaster, and she put it on a plate before handing it to him and adding more bread to the machine.

His stomach rumbled and he gave in, smearing butter over his toast. He eyed the jam curiously. He’d had marmalade before but…he looked at Katie and she nodded. “It’s good…”

So he added some, and after a bite he concluded she was right, and nodded in agreement. Once the next round of toast was done she sat next to him.

“So…when did I fall asleep.” she asked, swallowing her food.

“About an hour into the film.” he said, taking another bite of his toast.

She shook her head “What an ass…”

“It wasn’t a problem.” He replied honestly with a shrug, chewing his breakfast “to be honest I enjoyed it.”

She looked at him “What, me drooling on your leg?”

He swallowed, his eyes wide “I meant the film.”

“I know…” she smirked, and he rolled his eyes before he smiled softly.

“Punk…”

Tags @the-omni-princess

[phoenixfire-thewizardgoddess]

Hey guys, 

This is the local dog rescue charity that we were carers for, for several years. May do it again in future, but after Debbie (who was rescued by Precious Paws), it feels like we need a break. 

We have had three foster fails, but two puppers came through our home, learned to feel safe and loved, and went on to a perfectly matched new family.

There is always a demand for carers, so if you think you can, have a look at their Carer Info. Or look into the FB page, to keep your eyes open.

The best way to find new carers for animals is having a network of people sharing the Urgent statuses, which flags the attention of new groups of people. No dog will ever be LEFT on death row. They look for carers until the last second, but will absofuckinglutely take the dog anyway and put them in a boarding kennel short-term whilst a carer is located.

No doggo left behind.

It can be a bit confronting, though, so I understand if you cannot. The majority of the dogs have been surrendered to the pound, for various reasons, and the rescues in the region put their hands up for the ones slated for being put down each week. This list constantly refills, so there is always a need.

Some other dogs, like Debbie, are rescued directly from the disgusting human slime of the world who have caused them pain, injury, or attempted to kill them.

Carers open their homes to as many as they can, but there will always be more needed. A dog can be with you for a few months, to a few years, depending on their needs. 

Little Willow was so scared of everything when we got her, it took 5 months to get her to trust men near her due to where she came from. But after nearly a year, she was ready for adoption and went to a new mother; happy, healthy, and confident. She was fast, smart and a very delightful little doggo. I do miss her, sometimes, but her new mother sent us photos of Willow on her first and second adoption anniversaries. 

And little Gemini’s face, when her new family sent a photo from her first meeting with her human brother, was SO BIG!

It is hard to say goodbye, because they are with you for a long time, and you have to work hard with them, so they are an integral part of your life. But it helps to know that their future family is out there, not yet aware that there’s a dog shaped hole waiting to be filled.

As my parental unit says, “In reality, if they were not with us, they’d be dead. Someone without any heart dropped these animals off to be killed, and because of all these rescues, all these dogs and cats get another chance at life.”

Harvey, who we have now, was 9mths (Willow too) when they came to us. BABIES who just were too energetic or too big, so they had to be sent away. It takes a while to rebuild that trust in them.

Not to mention the absolute FUCKS who take their little old dogs, who have known and loved them their WHOLE LIVES to the pound and walk out with a new puppy (or kitten). FUCKS.  Those little doggos are never forgotten, PPARs and the other rescues make sure they have somewhere to go as well! I know of a 16yo bulldog called rosie, who was snappy when she first came and very depressed, who blossomed with her carers into a happy old girl. She was adopted recently!!!

It is important to be aware that these animals are often traumatised and have behaviours that some can consider ‘naughty’. You have to be understanding. Like traumatised kids, the worst thing you can do is yell or hit or whatever, even if they piss on your favourite rug or chew a beloved pair of shoes.

They may snap and snarl. Might shy away from men, or women, or teenagers. Might cower away, or show subservience constantly. Might hide for a few weeks. Might wet themselves or run to hide if something makes a loud noise or there is a specific trigger. They might rip up the couch twice, or hump your pillows. Try to escape the yard (need strong fences). A trigger? One of our kids was terrified of men, the noise of a powertool, and anyone having the hood of their car open. Would sit, shaking, panting in fear if these things were present. Still a bit much for her, but she knows to go to a human, who will keep her safe. Or sit with her sister doggo, who will protect her.

Willow was scared of men, shouting, and would be immediately wet-herself-afraid and show her belly in subservience. My giant bearded mountain of a sibling would lay on the floor with her, and talk gently, let her come over to sniff him. Eventually, she would lay next to him, and finally he could pat her, and it progressed from there. This took months of consistency and care.

I know of another carer couple who had this tiny little dog who was SO SCARED of everything she spent absolute months hiding under their bed or sofa. Too scared to be touched. They fed her and never made a fuss if she had a little accident indoors. And one day, she popped her head out while the male carer was pretending to be occupied... and licked his arm. That was it, went straight back under the bed. But it was a huge step. She can now be held and cuddled, and loves her little life. But it took the time, understanding and patience of these carers to get her there. It’s important to note that carers dont normally have the whole backstory for each dog, but after a while, you tend to get good at figuring it out based on behaviours. Harvey’s behaviours were extremely frantic for attention, he didn’t know how to sit or be still, he was desperate for attention; his behaviours increased when on a lead (which had to be used for the first few weeks and outside time, as this was a New Household Member time).  It was clear that given his age, when we got him, and his behaviours that he’d been an xmas gift puppy that had gotten WAAAAAAY bigger than anticipated. When he was small he’d been the fuss of what we suspect was at least 2 children. After getting too big, he was put on a leash in the yard, and had no real interaction.

Harvey would go BALLISTIC if given even a glance from a human. He NEEDED attention, and it took months of careful work with him to teach sit, stay, look, settle, back back, etc. He’s still a bit ridiculous, sometimes, but he can sleep on a bed with a human and only half drown them in spit (ugh) lmao. 

So consider if you could be a carer.  Or, if that isn’t realistic for you right now... donate.

-------- 

Donate, if you can.

If you’re in Brisbane, you might see them doing sausage sizzles at Bunnings on the weekends to raise needed funds! 

-------

COVID-19 hit all the rescue charities hard. Their normal fundraising was crippled by the lockdowns, but animals are always in need of new homes and protection.

If you can help out your local shelters, they’d appreciate it!

There’s food and supplies that need to be paid for; PPAWs specifically help out pensioners who take on an animal, by providing the food and toys, collar, bedding, etc. There’s desexing, microchipping and all vaccinations to be paid for. Some animals have extreme medical issues that need to be fixed (such as a dog surrendered with a broken hip, or dogs like Debbie, who were starved almost to death. Who need intensive and long-term things; with Debbie, my family put money forwards for her insulin and eye surgeries, etc. bc we could budget for it. Not everyone can, though.

There’s also little emergencies here and there that they jump in for, to assist.  [E.g early on when the caninculin levels were being sorted, Debbie had a random fit, so I rushed her in and they discovered her BSL had hit 1 - very dangerous. PPAWs got on the phone and said, “Any tests, any medication, any fluids, anything that needs to happen for that little girl, you DO IT” and they stabilised her. PPAWs also helped fund the full-day glucose testing and blood panel the next day and an overnight with the vet, that was pretty expensive. To be clear, it is expected that her starvation and new diabetes was likely to experience highs and lows, so we had bought a glucometer, and had squeezy-top bottles of honey all over the house as an emergency-response kit. When Debbie went funny, we filled her mouth full of honey and transported; which was the protocol, as was taking her medication chart (she’d been waaaay high for BSL that morning so this dip was SCARY). It took another incident before the vet decided to use an interstitial fluid monitor, and the results backed up our concerns that Debbie was having completely random highs/lows and spikes with no real pattern. She had the vet recommended food and no treats outside of the ones she was allowed, and at times suggested by the vet. Except on her last day when the vet said she could absolutely have a wholw happy meal, and little Debbie was DELIGHTED. I have the funniest photo of her with it all in her mouth looking excited but not sure where to go from there, but it still makes me cry to look at it because we lost her just three weeks ago. (We did rip it into little mouthfuls for her, though. Just to clarify.) She was placed on a higher dose, after that, and was completely stable from there. It was the testing that initially identified a flaw, though, and we are forever grateful that PPAWs stepped in on that day.

And the point of my rambling speech... is that shit happens. Especially with these dogs, cats, horses, and all the other animals they rescue.  Emergencies are often the most expensive to cover for charities.

On the upside! Donations also help with a) transporting animals to carers around the region, and b) on the occasion that an animal’s new furever family is interstate, they can be flown to them!

Lots of stuff.

Think about the mess of words, and consider donating - to PPAWs, or find out the name of your local charity and see if they need help!

[maxhoemo]

Beyond the Veil p6

trigger warning

“Just remember. You can’t save him. You can only help him...” 

That was what they told Ian. Their advice before he had to go off on his assignment. He stood in the corner of Max’s bedroom. At least, what he assumed was Max’s bedroom in this new house... Max was on top of that douche bag, Jeremy. His ex. Bouncing on his dick. Being as loud as ever, as usual. “Max... How could you come crawling back to this asshole?” he said out loud. Nobody could hear him anyways. The sight before him disgusted him so much, he almost forgot why he was here in the first place.

Luckily though, it didn’t last too much longer... The two eventually fell asleep. Ian figured Max was going to die tonight. Maybe a break and enter, but the time passed and nothing happened.

Ian had in fact dosed off in a chair, not really sure for how long. He was awoken abruptly by the sound of angry screaming. It made him jump awake by pure instinct. Getting a horrible feeling in his stomach. The sound reminded him of the way his dad used to yell when he was younger.

As everything came in to focus he saw it was Jeremy. Yelling at Max. 

“I’m sorry! I’m really sorry!” Max’s voice was so small. Not at all the way Ian remembered him. 

“Stop it! You’re not sorry. You wouldn’t have said it!” Jeremy rolled out of bed. Max’s eyes following him.

“It was an accident.... I dreamt about him....” he admitted. He seemed terrified to even admit it.

Jeremy just scoffed. Ian practically growled at what he was seeing play out before him.

“Because you’re still in love with him...”

“No, no,” Max shook his head. “I’m really not... i’m really not...” He repeated again, this time in a whisper.

Ian watched the couple go about their morning, wondering if things were always this tense between them. He knew who Max was referring to was himself. He also knew Max was lying when he said he wasn’t in love with him. It was hard to believe someone could be so insensitive. But he always knew Jeremy was an asshole.

“You know, Ian left you with nothing...”

“I know... But it’s not his fault. He didn’t expect to die!”

“Why are you making excuse for him?”

“I’m not, I just-”

“Yes you are!” Jeremy spun around. “Just stop thinking about that dead cunt, would you!?”

“I can’t...” Max said truthfully.

“Why are you here then!? You don’t love me!”

“Yes! Yes I do! I really do!”

“You’re just using me!”

“No, no! I’m not!”

“Anyone else would have kicked you out by now...”

“No, please don’t....”

“What’s wrong, Max? Are you scared? What are you scared of?” he asked. Ian’s face contorted in disgust as he watched him. He seemed to get some kind of a kick out of scaring Max and messing with his emotions. Max was far from the loud and joy-filled boy Ian remembered.

“Being homeless....” he forced out.

“You’re not wrong... You don’t have any god damn money...” Max just nodded. “You wonder why they don’t call you for your modelling gigs anymore? They’ve got a hundred younger, hotter guys to choose from. You’re past your prime, babe. I’m the last guy you’ll ever land. So you better hope I decide to keep you around.”

---

Ian was confused as to why he was seeing this. But more than that, he was disturbed. He was powerless to do anything. He watched Max sit on his bed in silence for a long time after Jeremy left. He couldn’t tell what he was thinking. He looked so broken. Like someone who had just given up. Ian couldn’t help but feel guilty. If he hadn’t have died, Max would never be in this situation. That asshole was right about one thing. He’d made Max too dependent on him. He had no work experience, and his fragile ego had been shattered once again by Jeremy, leaving him incapable of fending for himself. 

Eventually, Max stood up and silently wandered out of the room. Like a zombie. Ian followed him to the shower. He had never done anything to anyone, and neither had Max. What did they do to deserve this? They had a perfect little life together. Why couldn’t they have just kept it?

When Max was finished, Ian followed him back to the bedroom. He looked in the mirror. Staring at his face. Stretching the skin around his eyes. Concerned about some kind of wrinkle or imperfection Ian couldn’t even spot. Max had one of those cushioned benches at his dresser. As Ian sat down next to him, trying to get a closer look at what he was obsessing over, Max jumped. Letting out a small gasp, he looked all around the room. 

He looked scared. Freaked out. Like he had just felt Ian’s presence. The same way he did at the funeral. Ian brushed his fingers along Max’s cheek, but Max only shook his head and stood up. 

“I’m going crazy...” Ian heard him whisper to himself. He wiped a stray tear from his cheek and crawled back into bed. Not taking long to fall back asleep.

He didn’t know if it was wrong or against protocol or what. But these were his last moments with Max and he didn’t know how long he would get. He laid down beside him. Watching his chest rise and fall as he slept. 

“Oh, Max...” he sighed. “I’m so sorry.... I left you alone. But there was nothing I could do... Our times are all pre-destined. I don’t know what we did to deserve this... Especially you... I love you, Max...” his voice broke as he began to cry. Looking at Max’s soft face. Ian knew these were his last moments of peace before succumbing to a violent death. He brushed a strand of hair from his face, a tear rolling down his own cheek. As he was about to say more, the sound of the front door slamming made him jump.

Max’s eyes shot open. “Oh my god...” he panicked, glancing over at the clock. “It’s passed 4:30....! I slept all day... Fuck!” He ran a hand through his hair, looking around the room for something he could use to make himself look busy. The sounds of footsteps up the stairs slowly approaching.

“Max?” a voice called out. “Where are you?”

Max bit his lip and took a breath before answering. “In the bedroom...”

The footsteps came closer until the door opened. “Did you sleep all day again?”

“No,” Max shook his head.

“You didn’t take the garbage out like you said you would. The carpet’s covered in dog hair.”

“I’m sorry, I just forgot. I got busy. I’ll do it now, okay?”

“Busy with what? In your bathrobe?”

Max tried to think of something, but nothing came out.

“That’s what I thought. You’re a leech, Max.”

“I know...”

Jeremy pushed past Max to get to the dresser. Rummaging in a drawer for something.

“W-what are you looking for?”

“Nothing, I’m just grabbing a-” he stopped. Pulling something out and studying it. Ian couldn’t see what it was from where he was, but he could tell by Max’s face that he knew. And whatever it was, Max didn’t want him to find it.

“You kept this?” Jeremy asked.

“I just stashed it there. I don’t look at it. I just wanted to keep it...”

“You told me you got rid of all this...”

“I’m sorry.”

“Max. You’re nothing but a liar!” he shouted, and whatever it was came flying across the room. Max covered his head as the object just narrowly missed him and smashed against the wall behind him. As it lay on the floor, Ian could now see what it was. A picture of him and Max in a cheap frame. The very same one that used to sit on their nightstand when he was alive. He looked up at Max, who was struggling to catch his breath.

“I’m sorry! Please! I’m sorry!” he whaled. “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry,” he said over and over in quick succession.

“You’re not! I bust my ass all day while you lay in bed! Wishing I was someone else! Don’t you dare lie to me! I know it’s true!”

Before Max could say anything, Jeremy had him pinned against the wall, only inches away from Ian. “Do you love me?” Jeremy asked. Max nodded. “Say it then. Tell me.”

“I love you...” Max said in a small voice.

“You love me, Max? You aren’t just using me?”

“No. I love you. I really do... Don’t hurt me, please...” Max closed his eyes, turning his face away the best he could against the wall. 

He sounded so small and pathetic, it made Ian feel sick to his stomach. He felt his heart beating in his chest. He just wanted to throw up. There was nothing he could do but watch.

Jeremy used his tight grip on Max’s shoulders to pull him forward and knock him back against the wall, producing a horrible thud that made Ian jump. It sounded as though Max’s skull had hit the plaster hard enough to crack. “Shut up, Max... Just shut up! You’re so pathetic!” he shouted, slapping the boy twice in the face.

Max whimpered, trying to put his hands up to protect himself, but Jeremy easily grabbed both of his wrists and held them above his head. Max looked back at him. Into his eyes. As if he were contemplating what he was going to do next. Jeremy leaned in and kissed Max on the mouth, to which Max only stood there completely still. Eyes open and full of fear.

Jeremy pulled away and looked at Max for a long time. Neither Max or Ian could read his face. Until suddenly, he exploded again. Unintelligible shrieks against Max. His throat scratchy and raw in frustration. He slammed Max’s head against the wall a second time, and then let go. Max grabbed his head, crying out in pain and struggling to find his balance again. It was unbearable to watch.

Max’s bathrobe had slipped down one shoulder and Jeremy easily tore off the rest. Leaving Max in only his underwear. “Stop it...”

“You said you loved me,” Jeremy sneered, pulling Max against his body. 

Max pushed away the best he could. “Stop it!” he shrieked. He no longer sounded so pathetic, he was starting to put up a fight the way Ian had always remembered Max being able to. 

“You love me, don’t you?” he taunted again, slamming Max up against the now cracked wall.

“Stop it!” As Jeremy tried to pull his underwear off, Max gripped tightly to the waistband. “No!” he kept one side clenched tight in his fist and brought up his other hand to try and push Jeremy away. 

“I’ll break your fucking arm!”

Ian’s eyes were wide as he stood frozen on the other side of the room. He reached for a porcelain Lucky Cat figurine on Max’s dresser and lobbed it as hard as he could at Jeremy’s head. But nothing happened. Ian looked behind him to see it was sitting exactly where it had been, as if Ian had never touched it at all.

When he looked back at the scene, Jeremy was tossing Max face first on to the bed as if it took no effort at all. Max was still putting up a fight, Flailing his legs, he managed to land a hard kick against Jeremy’s abdomen. As he stopped to catch his breath, Max tried to scramble over to the other side of the bed and escape, but he wasn’t fast enough. 

Ian squeezed his eyes shut, unable to watch anymore. He covered his eyes with his hands and turned around. Hearing nothing but the horrible cries of pain from Max and the sounds of his injuries. 

“Please!” Ian shouted to himself. And maybe to God, or whoever was running things, too. “Just let it end! Let it end! Let it end! Let it end!” he just kept saying it, trying to drown out the sounds.

It took a long long time. Ian didn’t look back over again until the noise had stopped. He heard the bedroom door slam. He was afraid to face what was behind him but he knew he would have to. He was already in tears and seeing Max on the ground only made things worse. He was nearly unrecognizable. 

He was struggling to breath, desperately clinging to life. It was horrible. Ian stepped over and slowly knelt down beside him. “Max...” he whispered.

Max looked at him. He really looked at him. Right in the eyes. He could see him. “...Ian...?” he struggled to speak.

“Yes, Max. It’s me. Shh...” he brushed a blood soaked lock of hair from his face.

“Ian... I don’t...Wanna die....” He was so scared. 

“Max, it’s okay. You don’t have to hurt anymore. I’m here. I’m here with you. Close your eyes, baby.... Just close your eyes. Everything’s gonna be okay...”

“Ian...”

“Baby. Just relax, okay? Just relax.” Ian gently rubbed Max’s back in circles. Eventually Max let himself slip away. 

When he did, Ian rose to his feet, pulling Max’s soul from his body as he did so. 

“Ian...”

“Max,” Ian smiled. “You look just like I remember.”

“So do you... i’m dead, aren’t I?” Ian nodded. Max turned to look down at his own corpse, but Ian stopped him. 

Pulling his head into his shoulder he held the back of his head in place. “Don’t look at it.”

“That’s me down there, isn’t it?”

“No. This is you. That’s just your body. You don’t need to see that.” His grip turned to a soft combing of Max’s hair. “I love you so much.”

“So do I...” Max’s voice broke. “I missed you every day.” He pulled away, looking into Ian’s eyes. 

“Max...” Ian frowned. “I wish I could stay here and hold you forever.”

“Then do it. We have forever now.”

Ian shook his head. “No, baby. Max. You have to go into the light now...”

“But...”

“You have to. I’m here to take you to your afterlife.”

“But... What about you?”

“I’m a grim reaper... I can’t go with you yet...”

“But when!?” Max sniffled.

“I don’t know... Do you see it?”

Max nodded.

“You have to go.”

“Please...”

“Max, you’re going to a better place. Trust me. You have to go now.”

Max hesitated for another moment, looking over at where Ian assumed he saw his light. “I trust you....” he decided. 

---

Ian let out a heavy sigh. As he was leaving the house, he heard the sound of a dog whining. He looked. It was Kevin. “Come on boy,” Ian picked him up. He whined and cried as if to ask “Where’s Max?” Ian just held him close.

[amezzlove-blog]

Welcome to the 21st

If I could have a moment of your time for a brief departure from all things Mystrade and Sherlock related, I need to tell y’all about Travelers, the Show that Deserves a Fucking Fandom.  Look at the pretty cast.  

From Left to Right:  David,  Trevor,  Marcy,  Carly, MacLaren,  and Philip.

Oops. They forgot Grace. 

NObody puts Grace in the corner!

Okay.   Now the gang’s all here.  

Official synopsis:  Hundreds of years from now, the last surviving humans discover the means of sending consciousness back through time, directly into people in the 21st century. These Travelers assume the lives of seemingly random people, while secretly working as teams to perform missions in order to save humanity from a terrible future.

Let me see if I can Tumblr translate that. In the future, we are so, so fucked. Also? When we send our consciousness back in time to those ‘random people’ in order to save our future selves? The only thing we know about the host (we take over their bodies at the time of death) is what we know from official records and SOCIAL MEDIA. This is a bit not good.  

Meet the Team:

David: Social worker. Heart of gold. Big ol’ teddy bear. We all wish we had a friend/lover like David. He is Marcy’s case worker. He is awesome.  We love him, even though he is not offically a team member.  . :::pets David:::

Marcy: Doctor.  Practical.  Girl can take care of herself and will flip her hair when she’s done kicking your sorry 21st century ass.   Her host is, unfortunately,  brain damaged (you won’t find out how she became that way until season 2 and it will Blow. Your. Mind.)  However, as a social work exercise, David has Marcy set up a profile page on social media, where she says she is a single, young, college-educated librarian.  When future Marcy takes over, present-day brain-damaged Marcy can suddenly speak clearly and intelligently. It’s a MIRACLE. Unfortunately, Marcy’s brain damage is more severe than anyone realized, so she is basically dying from the moment she arrives.  Luckily, she has a David.  

Trevor: Tech guy. Physicist. Old as hell. Like, seriously, over 120 years old. His host is a 17-year-old high school football star who is a bit of a jerk. Trevor is a stop-and-smell-the-roses kind of guy. Kind. Gentle.  Protective.  But he will fuck you up if he has to.  Please note: Everybody from the future can fuck you up. They must learn as infants.  Trevor has seen some shit in his day.   Trevor is an old man in a young man’s body – the fanfiction should just write itself, amirite? So WHERE IS IT?????  

Carly: Tactician/warrior/bad-ass motherfucker. Her host died in a fight with her abusive husband (who is a cop). She has a baby who is around 8 months old?  A year? After she takes over the host and makes the abusive husband leave, she starts googling how to care for an infant. She is woman, hear her roar. She is not gonna take any shit off anyone for any reason, ever.  Carly isn’t all tough as nails, though.   In the future, Carly is in a relationship with none other than…

MacLaren: Team leader.  Noble.  Headstrong. Flawed.  His host is an FBI agent, which is very convenient for the Traveler team, as it gives him access to all the cool databases, as well as ways to provide cover for their missions.  He is also happily married, which makes things a bit awkward for him and Carly. He has one of the most difficult adjustments to present-day life.  Things seldom go as planned, so he improvises – a lot.  

Philip: Historian. Honest.  Loyal.   Sweet soul.  Conflicted.  Trained since birth to memorize details of the time he will go to, including lottery numbers, racetrack winners, when people will die.  According to records, his host died of an accidental overdose the first time he injected heroin, which is a big fucking LIE.  His host is, in fact, a heroin addict.  Philip goes into withdrawal, but the timing is bad, and ever-practical Marcy gives him a minimum dose so he can function.  Philip is all alone – no family, no friends.  Philip needs a friend. He will adopt a turtle and name it Poppy and love it to pieces. Get it? Poppy?  Heroin? (I ship Philip and Trevor SO HARD – where is the fucking FANFIC?)

Grace:  Was Trevor’s high school guidance counselor.  They bonded over literature.She was going to die, and be taken over by a Traveler. Trevor tried to prevent that (Trevor ignores protocols whenever he damn well pleases), but was unsuccessful, and Grace becomes, well – a giant asshole. If you know who Rodney McKay is of SGA fame, then you will recognize Grace’s character. She’s early series Rodney McKay. Egocentric, brilliant, no social skills (OMG – when she has to be an actual guidance counselor?  Comedy gold!) But you will get used to her and come to like her, and then you will CARE about her, ok?

The thing about this show is how layered it is, how great the writing is, how the continuity is meticulously maintained, how they develop into a TEAM.   Everyone is just doing their best, trying to save the world, yanno? And then shit happens. And keeps happening.  And maybe the Director (the AI behind the master plan to save the future) isn’t infallible.  

Season 2 ended on the cliffhanger to end all cliffhangers. Season 3 starts in… November?  December?

It’s on Netflix.

Go and do your thing, fandom folks, I beg of you.

[inyri]

Equivalent Exchange (a SWTOR story): Chapter 28- Scientific Methods

Equivalent Exchange by inyri

Fandom: Star Wars: The Old Republic Characters: Female Imperial Agent (Cipher Nine)/Theron Shan Rating: E (this chapter: M. Nonexplicit sexual content toward the middle of the chapter.) Summary: If one wishes to gain something, one must offer something of equal value. In spycraft, it’s easy. Applying it to a relationship is another matter entirely. F!Agent/Theron Shan. (Spoilers for Shadow of Revan and Knights of the Fallen Empire.)

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Scientific Methods

He’s being absurd.

It only takes one person to fly Nightshrike, true, and she won’t deny that Theron is perfectly capable (of the two of them he really is the better pilot, though he’d gloat for days to hear her say it), but she’s never liked letting her out of her hands.

“Also-” the speeder glides up the ramp into the docking bag, the hatch raising up behind them- “I’m Alliance Commander. I outrank you. More to the point, she’s my damned ship.”

Fastening the last of the tie-downs, Theron slings the strap of the sample container over his shoulder and starts herding her toward the medical bay like a bantha into a pen. “Yes, but-”

“I don’t need medbay.”

“Yes, you do.” He steers her around the couch. “Protocol’s protocol.”

She scowls. “When have you ever cared about protocol? It took you two days of headaches to even agree to go to the infirmary the last time you hit your head.”

“True. But I-” When they reach the medical bay Theron stands just behind her, blocking off her exit route when she tries to duck around him, and she braces herself against the door. She’s still a little dizzy- just the sedative wearing off, she’s sure- “had a concussion. You had a seizure. If something’s really wrong-”

“There is nothing wrong with me!” She sighs, looking back over her shoulder at him. “I’m fine.”

He rests his hands on her shoulders. “I’ll get us up and jumped. But the sooner we get you checked out, the better.”

“Later.” Nine digs in her heels, resisting his push. “I’ll use Lokin’s scanner once we’re back on Alderaan. Let’s just get out of here.”

His hands wrap around her waist instead, then, and he lifts her through the doorway, twisting to avoid her as she swats at him in protest. “Nope. Scan first.”

“Let go of me, Theron.” If he’s going to fuss this much she’s going to make him work for it; she goes obstinately limp, the toes of her boots brushing across the floor as he keeps moving across the room with her suspended in his arms. “Doctor Oggurobb’s run every test in his arsenal on me a dozen times over since I got out of carbonite. Physically, I’m perfectly healthy.”

“Then just humor me. Please?”

“Are you going to lock me in here until I do?”

“Probably, yeah. It’s that or hit you with a tranq dart and you’ve already had a pretty heavy dose today.”

She kicks backward at him for that but her foot passes through empty air, and when he stops in front of the medscanner she sighs. “If it’ll make you stop worrying so damned much, fine. But if you crash my ship-”

“I’m not going to crash your ship,” Theron says, kissing the back of her neck, finally letting her go and setting the sample box down on the lab bench to his left. “I’ll come check on you as soon we’re locked into the route.”

She fights the urge to throw the nearest thing to hand at him- that’d be the genetic samples, and they’d spent far too much time wrangling rakghouls for her to waste them in a fit of pique. Instead she settles for activating the scanner with an irritated swipe of her finger along the screen and, as it hums to life, starts to strip out of her clothing again .

(It doesn’t take long, not with all her underclothes still wadded into a sodden ball in their gear bag. The bedsheet had only helped to dry her halfway but the friction of it, the rough-woven fabric between Theron’s hands and her bare skin, could almost have passed for warmth, and the breeze through her hair as she picked off rakghouls from the gunner’s seat of the speeder did the rest. Still, she’d prefer to spend the journey back to Alderaan with a hot shower, hotter caf and perhaps a nap- no, definitely a nap, why’s she so tired when she was out for hours?- instead of yet another afternoon spent in infirmary.

But when she turns back to set her jacket on the examination table he takes it from her, instead, laying it down carefully, and the way he looks at her takes the fight out of her.

The war’s only beginning and already she’s so tired of it; the last person she wants to fight is him.)

“I’ll be right back, okay?” Theron knows the layout of her ship now, not like the first few trips where when one of them got hurt he had to search through every cabinet for supplies (granted, she wasn’t much better- they’d moved everything from where it lived in her memory and she had to relearn it all, too) and he opens one of the doors to pull out a blanket, draping it over her body as she settles down onto the scanner’s bed. “And I’ll get some caf going.”

“Finally, the man says something reasonable.”

He grins.

***

She drifts in and out of sleep, she thinks, the steady rhythmic hum of the rotating machine lulling her eyelids closed, but even so she can feel it when they make the jump to hyperspace.

She loves the feel of it, of flying, of the void of space- the first time she’d been allowed off Dromund Kaas as a student- barely even a journey in the grand scheme of things since they’d only gone to see the shipyards at Dromund Kalakar- when the ship’s engines roared to life and they broke atmo half her classmates were sick and she just laughed, joyful, at the way her heart pulled taut inside her chest.

Today is no different.

They jump. Her pulse stutters; she smiles, and keeps drifting.

***

She wakes again to the slow outward slide of the scanner bed, its programmed cycle finished, and turns her head to check the room.

No Theron. No clothing, either: her armor’s gone from the table where she left it and the sample kit’s plugged into the main cryo unit. He must have come in while she slept.

(Normally she’d worry that she hadn’t noticed it. But he could move quietly when he wanted to- he wouldn’t have survived in the SIS if he couldn’t and that he’d managed to sneak out of her bed was proof enough; with anyone else that would have been her job- and she knew he would have tried so hard to let her rest-

Ah, stars, she doesn’t deserve him-)

She sits up, letting the blanket fall. By the sound of the hyperdrive they’re well on their way so she won’t be needed on the bridge for hours, not until they get close enough to require full stealth. Time for a shower, then.

Out of habit she checks the readout- normal. Ghosts and AIs and torture and five fucking years in carbonite and still her scans are fucking normal. Next verse, same as the first, and when she thinks it there’s an echo in her head like the memory of laughter.

As she pads, barefoot and undressed, from medical bay to their quarters she glances further down the corridor toward the bridge. The door’s open but Theron’s not in the pilot’s chair. Where’s he wandered off to? Shrugging, she keeps walking- past the bed, still neatly made from this morning, their bags tucked together at its foot; past the desk, less tidy, datapads and caf cups scattered across its top- until she reaches the ‘fresher.

When the first drops of water hit her skin the water’s already hot and she lets her hair down, lets the water soak in until it hangs heavy down her back. Even with her earlier drenching she still feels dirty, sweat and blood and urine in her nostrils and over all of it the half-dead smell of Taris (sometimes she thinks the Sith that bombed the planet all those years ago had the right idea- if only they’d finished the job properly). Turning toward the shelf and the little bottles, she fills her palm with bright-scented soap and takes a deep breath in.

That’s better.

Minutes pass; she cleans the day from her skin, inch by inch, until she’s pink from heat and scrubbing but finally, finally clean.

She ought to shut the water off. She ought to get dressed. Her muscles ache, though, and she bends forward, palms pressed flat to the tiles as the backs of her legs howl protest.

I am not accustomed to being ignored, Cipher. She can’t tell if his voice is echoing off the tiles or the inside of her skull, and she turns, snapping upright so quickly her head spins. Do you really think you can shut me out?

“If you’ve got something useful to say, then please, go ahead. But I’ve finally got the blood out of my hair so if all you mean to do is hurt me-”

She could never picture Valkorion as a father, even having seen him beside Arcann. But when he sighs, deep and long-suffering, water droplets hanging in the still air around him like bits of shimmering glass, she almost feels sorry for his children.

Almost.

What is my son doing at this moment, I wonder? My daughter? Not chasing after beasts to help a dying old man. How many more of your allies have died while you distract yourself with foolish errands?

His words cut deep. She frowns, looks down at herself, at her toes, at the flat unmarred skin of her stomach, pristine and scarless, and-

Wait.

Wait.

(and there is a noise just beyond her hearing, more a feeling than a sound, that reminds her more than anything of someone rather smugly clearing his throat, and the world twists around her and-)

***

Nine wakes again to the slow outward slide of the scanner bed, its programmed cycle finished, and sits up in a panic.

Shoving the blanket aside, she drags her fingers across her belly until they catch on the puckered edge of the scar. When she looks down this time she can see it, too, soft pink beneath her hand, and the five crimson lines etched along her ribs- everything where it ought to be.

Her heart’s racing, body prickling in a cold sweat; she pulls the blanket back up over her chest, wiping the damp from her skin as she glances around the room.

Still empty.

Her armor’s gone again and Theron’s nowhere to be found, just as before, but now she thinks she can hear him, humming deliberately off-key somewhere near the kitchen, and when she reads the scanner’s screen once again (she’s almost afraid to- what if-) the results are exactly the same. Normal. Always normal.

Now she really does need a shower.

She practically runs toward the cabin and the ‘fresher, slips inside and into the shower cubicle before the door gets halfway open and slaps the panel so hard her hand stings. The water’s hot, as it should be; the tiles are cool beneath her feet, against her forehead as she slumps against the back wall. The bottles on the shelf sit in a neat line, soap second from left. As it should be.

Her hand shakes as she reaches for the bottle.

I’m losing it. The soap alone isn’t enough to strip the discomfort away. Taking up the cleaning-cloth, she scrubs and scrubs and scrubs until her skin’s raw and her hands are shaking. I’m fucking losing it. Can’t even tell what’s real any more, or what’s in my head-

Footsteps, a shadow in the doorway: she turns, steadying herself against the tiles. If it’s Valkorion again-

“If you keep going at that rate,” Theron says quietly, “you’re not going to have much skin left. What’s wrong?”

She shakes her head. “It’s nothing. I fell asleep in the scanner. Just a-”

“Nightmare?” He sighs; he’s got a mug of caf in each hand and sets them both on the counter as he steps in toward her. “Must have been bad. You look like you just saw a ghost.”

She shrugs, raising an eyebrow, and he nods understanding.

“That kind of nightmare.”

“Yes.” She hangs the cleaning-cloth back on its hook.

Theron leans against the rim of the sink. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” (She should. She really, really should, and Theron always asks, even when the answer’s almost always no. It helps sometimes, but so often what Valkorion’s dredged up isn’t something she wants to remember. She supposes that’s why he chooses them. And if he can still manipulate her into seeing things that aren’t there at all, well-)

“Okay,” he says, and it isn’t- she can hear it in his voice- but he just shrugs.

“I think I’ll stay in here for a little while, if we’ve got time. I still need to wash my hair.”

“We won’t make scanner range of Alderaan for a few hours yet. Take all the time you need.” He picks up the right-hand caf cup and takes a sip before he sets it back beside the other. “Though I remember you as the short shower type, given I’m pretty sure you don’t even need to shave.”

He’s teasing her now, and she forces herself to smile in return- he’s only trying to cheer her, she knows. “Mostly correct. We didn’t have unlimited hot water on Rishi- and yes, when I started as a new agent I blew my entire aesthetics budget on electrolysis. Made undercover work quite a bit easier without having to worry about the carpets matching the draperies.”

She can tell he gets it when he starts to laugh. “So that is your natural hair color. But seriously, you got an aesthetics budget? That’s not even a little bit fair. I had to buy my own blasters.”

“The official suggestion was rhinoplasty. But I rather like my nose.”

“So do I.” Pushing his shirtsleeves up to elbow height, he reaches forward into the spray of water and taps his finger lightly to the tip of her nose; she scrunches her face up at his touch. “I’ll leave you to it, then. I’ll use the shower in crew quarters.”

Theron starts to go before she answers and she nearly lets him, but no- if he stays, if she can see him, talk to him, maybe his presences will be proof enough to settle her restless free-floating brain. He only gets halfway out of the ‘fresher before she calls out.

“Don’t go. I mean-” she says when he turns around, pausing mid-step-  “there’s more than enough room for two here, if you don’t mind sharing.”

“Do you promise not to hog the water?”

“I promise.”

A minute later his clothes are in a heap on the floor and they’re both wedged into the little shower cubicle- there wasn’t really room enough for two at all, of course, and they both knew it; her quarters were well-appointed as ships go, but no refresher on any ship was ever built for more than one person- and her back’s to him as he works shampoo into her hair, fingernails scraping lightly over her scalp.

Oh, that’s lovely.

Hair properly lathered, Theron presses the pads of his thumbs into the knots at the base of her skull until the tension releases and she sighs. She tilts her head back, letting the water run over it; his fingers follow the trail of suds down, down, until he gets to the middle of her back where by rights she ought to still have a scar except that in those days she wasn’t allowed scars-  

She shivers.

(She ought to have learned a long time ago that just because the evidence was gone didn’t mean the wounds didn’t linger.)

“Theron?” She turns, grounding herself in the way his hands circle around her waist. “Can I ask you something?”

“Hm?”

“This is all really happening, right? I’m not still stuck in carbonite, watching Valkorion’s third-rate melodramas play out on the backs of my eyelids?”

He blinks down at her. “I’d argue that personally I’m at worst second-rate melodrama, but clearly I’m missing the point. Why would you think that?”

“I don’t-” she sighs, purging her first thought from her mind as soon as it takes shape. He should know- someone should know about Watcher X, probably, if something happens, but- “Even when I knew I was dreaming, I could never completely tell the difference between the truths he showed me and the lies he fed into my head. I spent five years second-guessing myself, and now- what if all of this, the war, everything, isn’t even real?”

“Nine.” He catches her face between his palms. “You’re not dreaming. You’re not. I promise. And we are going to find a way to get him-” she knows who Theron means, of course, but if she wondered she’d have known by the way he says the word, full of spite even as his lips press gentle on her forehead- “out of your head.”

She closes her eyes. “I want to believe that.”

“People said we’d never get you out of Arcann’s vault, either, and look at us now.”

“True,” she says. “But still. How can I be sure?”

He bites back a huff of amusement, not quite well enough; she can still hear it. She doesn’t blame him- she must sound ridiculous. “Somebody told me once that there are things you just have to take on faith.”

“Imperial, remember?” Eyes still closed, she leans forward into him, lets him bear her up with hands still on her face. “I’m not any good at faith.”

Theron sighs. “Well, then, I’m pretty sure I’m real. Does that convince you at all?”

“Maybe.”

He seems real enough, at least, solid beneath her fingertips as she slides them up his back, inch by inch, until she’s stretched out tiptoe-tall against him and she can feel him smile and his mouth, hotter than the water, brushes across her eyelids, along one cheekbone, and finally settles on hers-

When he nudges her backward she hits the wall and the tiles are cold against her back, as they should be; the water is warm, as it should be, and when he lifts her up her legs wrap around his waist as he presses into her, slowly, slowly and then not (and then not, again and again, her teeth in his shoulder)- and oh, Force, she is anchored by him, if only for that moment.

***

Back on Alderaan, she throws herself into the research.

Three days pass in the lab with too little sleep and too much caf until she sees pipettes and vials and spinning centrifuges in the rare moments when she dozes. Between the four of them- Tee-Seven’s surprisingly handy at chemical mixing for an astromech- they brew ten batches of serum in those three days.

All of them fail, and with every trial Doctor Lokin looks greyer and thinner and the spines protrude further through his skin. He’s confined to the kolto tank, now, between attempts, and as they lift him back into the tank he shakes his head.

“You’ve done enough, Ciph- Commander. A valiant effort, to be sure-” he gasps and she can hear the howl hiding inside his breath- “but enough.”

“Two more vials.” The door slides closed between them. “Two more. It can still work.”

“Then if I might make a suggestion?”

She nods.

“Double the adjuvant.”

***

Double adjuvant doesn’t work, either. Close, close enough that they all hold their breath as his muscles dance beneath his skin, spines receding-

-but no.

“One last try,” he says as the kolto reaches chest height. “Quadruple it. But if we are unsuccessful-”

“I know,” she says, and looks out of the the corner of her eye at Kaliyo, who’s standing with her arms folded and her lips pressed together in a thin line. “We’ll be ready.”

Before he can respond the tank is full; he lifts one hand to his forehead, taps the center with one sharp talon, and mouths his reply. Good girl.

***

The needle sinks home one last time, and they hold their breath, all four of them, as Tee-Seven chimes anxiously and Scritchy whines and curls around one leg of the lab table.

The last of the serum flows out of the syringe; Lokin shifts, pulling restlessly at the restraints that tether his wrists and ankles. Behind him, Kaliyo lowers one hand to her hip, unhooking the retention strap on one blaster (she’s got her own on the counter behind her, just within reach- her rifle won’t be any good at this range, not if it comes to that).

Nothing to do now but wait: a minute passes, then another. She counts the seconds by his ragged breaths as Theron, beside Kaliyo across the table, shakes his head silently.

That’s it, then. After everything, to fail so close to the end- if they hadn’t waited so long, if they’d only found him sooner. If, if, if. Another verse in the lengthening song of things the war destroyed.

And then he gasps, back arching, as one hand grips the edge of the table and Scritchy yelps, high-pitched and piercing. She reaches back behind her for the gun.

“That won’t be necessary.” He sounds like himself again, the growl that’s been a constant presence beneath his voice this last week finally gone; his claws retract, his body shifting, straightening, softening, and when he tries to sit up a fit of harsh coughing racks his body, a froth of blood on his lips.

She forces herself to stand her ground. The last batch lasted a full minute before it failed. If he reverts back again-

Her hand closes around the pistol’s grip, and she waits.

A minute.

Two minutes.

Long enough.

“Get him shipboard, ‘liyo, and then get Doctor Oggurobb on holo. Tell him I’ve found him a new project.”

“I suppose,” Lokin says as she releases the restraints, “this means my retirement is over.”

[not-poignant]

Speaking of the stomach symptoms that Ef has to go through, how do you cope with your own symptoms and do you have any protips for dealing with the pain?

Hi anon!

This one's tough, because the cause of the pain can be so multi-factorial. Digestive issues - for the best pain treatment and management - require:

1. A diagnosis 2. Understanding your allergies and intolerances*** (and they are not the same thing) 3. Understanding your triggers

The thing is, a diagnosis can be as good as a cure for some people who are lucky enough have treatable digestive conditions. A person with a finicky digestive system who learns they're gluten intolerant has a cure, even if it's not an easy one (avoid all gluten - symptoms and pain gone! Huzzah!)

Anyone who is having difficult digestive times should, imho, never just leave that as something to self-diagnose and just accept. I get diagnosis is a matter of privilege in some cases, but where it's not, this is one area where you don't want to fuck around and find out. There are literally hundreds of different things it could be, all with different treatments, medications, options, and supports out there. And I do know people who've ended up with severe autoimmune conditions and losing like, feet of their intestinal tracts, or cancer-like conditions, because of chronic diarrhea in particular, because they just 'waited' on the pain they were experiencing in their digestive tract.

And then the rest of this post is mostly like, 'I can't help you because bodies are diverse and 'stomach symptoms like Ef' means hundreds to thousands of different illnesses and hell, I've suggested pain management techniques in that story that you can try right now, and also I can't tolerate any pain treatments so good luck anon but I got nothing.' But like, the long scenic route version.

I can't speak to your issues, anon, because I don't know what your diagnoses are. There's not really many 'idiopathic digestive issue' diseases, but there are a lot of chronic illnesses that can be diagnosed through exclusion that can't be cured. But again, of those - and there are many - I don't know what yours are. And what I have, may not apply to you. It may not even apply to someone with exactly the same symptoms I do.

A person having Efnisien's symptoms could just have some intolerances that could be easily cured by avoiding those foods. Another person might have cancer. Like...you'd be amazed how many diseases cause non-specific and painful cramps and diarrhea. Sometimes it seems like all of them can.

For example, one of my many digestive illnesses is severe medication resistant gastro-esophageal reflux disease. Everyone in my family on my mother's side has it to varying degrees.

My grandma has needed to have two Nissen fundoplication surgeries to survive it, and has taken a proton-pump inhibitor since they were invented to manage it (since the 1980s), and because she's been taking a PPI for 40+ years, her stomach is now also riddled with hundreds of (so far) benign polyps and cysts as a result of the medication that she must take.

She avoids certain foods that I don't have to avoid, but I also need to take more medications than her, my food triggers are different to her food triggers, my brother's food triggers are different to my food triggers and he has the same disease and presumably, with a very similar genetic make up because it comes through the family line. His is very severe like mine, and nearly caused esophageal cancer for going so long untreated (the medication to treat has side effects, but leaving medication-resistant GERD alone can cause cancer of the throat and esophagitis, which my brother has been diagnosed with). My sister also has it. My Mum's is very mild, and she just has to avoid certain foods but needs no medications. And so on and so forth.

So how I manage the pain of just that one digestive disease - for I have more than one - (PPI and H2 receptor antagonist, certain food avoidance, no NSAIDs at all) is different to how my grandmother manages the pain (two surgeries, food avoidance that I don't have to avoid, PPI only), is different to how my mother manages the pain (food avoidance only, and different foods to me), is different to how my sister manages the pain (heat packs). Even the specialists we see are different, and our doctors suggest different management protocols. In that sense, I'm lucky, because my GERD can be medicated and I can generally enjoy eating and not choking on my own stomach every single night. Though I still have 'breakthrough days' where I do wake up choking on my own stomach acid, and have a sore throat / cough for the rest of the day.

So like, I can't take anti-inflammatories for the pain because that affects the stomach lining and mine's already fucked from GERD, but you might be able to. I can't take Buscopan for the pain, but you might be able to. I can't take Immodium on bad days, but you might be able to! Don't get me started on opioids or tramadol, it is very much like my body wants to suffer sometimes, the way I can't tolerate meds that are specifically for pain management. :/ I highly recommend looking up some support groups for the diagnosis/es you have, and seeing what people are recommending.

Because I don't tolerate almost all painkillers, I can't take any pain relief for my digestive illness/es (of which there are like...four, not including doctors thinking that my genetic cancer is causing some of it too, which is just a whole lot of oh well) that isn't just paracetamol (acetaminophen) which doesn't work.

There are no medications that help my chronic diarrhea at the moment, because it doesn't seem to be an autoimmune disease (at least so far, despite flagging for mild autoimmune stuff in every bloodtest I've ever had since I was 18 years old, but that's another story), but if yours is autoimmune in nature, there will be options that aren't pain-medication that may help you, and anything that helps with symptoms also, by default, helps with pain.

Some of my symptoms/pain is stress-triggered (my PTSD and my tumours can cause massive and unusual amounts of adrenaline to dump through my system, and one of the side effects of adrenaline entering the system is diarrhea - it's part of the flight/fight response: digestive disturbance). Therefore, less stress would certainly help me. But one of my specialists just laughed at me gently when I asked him how people stress less. You have to be awfully privileged financially to even try, even without a diagnosis of PTSD. And my tumours will still likely do this to me for the rest of my life, whenever they just feel like manufacturing hormones. They're neuroendocrine tumours, they want to fuck up my hormonal system, lmao.

Basically, anon, your question is kind of too vague to suggest much more than what's in Falling Falling Stars - perhaps some pain killers, perhaps some food avoidance, perhaps some heat or cold packs. Who knows? I have no idea what your diagnoses are, what you can tolerate, and I know what other people use for support, I can't, so I can't speak to how good those things are.

I'm going to level with you, anon. I have no protips for dealing with the pain aside from sucking it up and dealing with it, because I have almost no other options myself except to develop a high pain tolerance (which I have, which is terrible, because it means I wait too long to see doctors for very serious issues, and this has fucked me over more than once - one of my specialists literally yelled at me for it only last year: 'WHY DIDN'T YOU COME IN SOONER, DO YOU NOT TRUST US' which was great).

I'm really hoping you are not in my situation, because my 'dealing with the pain' is a version of 'I am in moderate to significant and sometimes severe pain 24/7 and no one can do anything to help me.' I wish it was only my digestive issues causing that, but the Fibromyalgia is certainly part of that. Sometimes the only way to deal with pain is to see a psychologist, and learn how to live with pain.

Find the support groups for your illness/es anon, they will have big personal lists that everyone is doing, they will be highly diverse and everyone will be doing something different for pain management, from ketamine infusions, to low-dose naltrexone, to ultrasound therapy, to heat packs, to a billion different medications, some for pain, some for your diagnosis. Having a diagnosis will help, because there are medications for specific diseases and disorders, someone with Crohn's will be on a very different cocktail of drugs compared to someone with IBS-D type compared to someone with IBS-mixed type, compared to someone with food intolerances.

And if you're lucky, your issues will be caused by intolerances, in which case you have a cure, even if it's an inconvenient one. But that cure (avoiding the food) can permanently remove the pain in some cases.

I'm sorry I can't be more help. There's just...thousands of things that can cause diarrhea and stomach cramps, and thousands of ways to manage those things. It's too nonspecific, beyond what I've already suggested in Falling Falling Stars. And anything more than that comes with side effects, and it's not good to already strain a digestive system that's strained, when you can potentially avoid it.

*** Please remember that there is almost no way to know your intolerances except through a food elimination diet, and anyone trying to sell you a blood test that tells you otherwise (i.e. naturopaths) is a fucking charlatan. There are, I believe, only 2-3 intolerances that can be read through blood test, one of them is lactose. There is no such thing as an accurate 'intolerance blood panel.' And only an allergist can diagnose allergies (with the exception of coeliac and again probably lactose issues lol), and finally, allergy =/= intolerance. Elimination diets should be overseen with the help of a doctor or specialist or dietician, because they are difficult to do and can cause or exacerbate eating disorders and disordered eating. I am not a doctor, always talk to your doctor about this stuff first, if you're concerned.

[tinymixtapes]

Music Review: Roc Marciano - Behold a Dark Horse

Roc Marciano Behold a Dark Horse [Marci Enterprises; 2018] Rating: 5/5 I. Influence Roc Marciano’s direct influence can be heard in the works of each of the following artists, all of whom have at some point achieved commercial success and/or critical acclaim greater than or comparable to Roc’s, with music sonically indebted to his: Ka, Evidence, Mach Hommy, Westside Gunn, Conway, Daringer, Earl Sweatshirt, and more. To be fair, many other artists have achieved commercial sales and/or critical attention lesser than, if not approaching, Roc’s, with music sonically indebted to his: Hus “Wavo” Kingpin, SmooVth, Rosati, Giallo Point, SageInfinite, Shozae, Grandmilly, Tha God Fahim, Willie the Kid, Fly Anakin, Jalal Salaam, and countless others whose names appear in our SoundCloud feeds daily. And then, of course, you say, “Well, what about all those artists who influenced or inspired Roc Marciano and to whom his music is sonically indebted?” For argument’s sake, let’s look at the big ones: Rakim and Prodigy. Yes, you could make a strong case that both were more influential MCs. However — and here’s the ah-ha — neither of them is as renowned for his production prowess as Marciano is. And though they both certainly contributed to important beats throughout their respective careers, neither artist has demonstrated the ability to consistently hold down entire, or even close to entire, solo albums as Marciano has continued to do since making his official solo debut with 2010’s Marcberg. So, it can certainly be argued that to find a workable basis of comparison for what Roc Marciano has been doing in and for hip-hop over the course of the past decade, one can only look to other nearly-decade-long or longer runs by influential MCs/producers, such as Kanye West, Madlib, Dilla, DOOM, El-P, RZA, Q-Tip, Pete Rock, Large Professor, Dr. Dre, DJ Quik, Erick Sermon, Too Short, Pimp C, Schoolly D, and Kool Keith. And until a name from the first paragraph begins to approach Roc Marciano in terms of consistency and influence as both an MC and a producer, then perhaps as long as we’re comparing apples to apples, Marciano’s work is better considered in line with the names directly above. Furthermore, since few if any of the catalogs of these greats are without blemish, and since most all of them are more widely influential as either an MC or a producer, and not equally so in both regards as Roc is, well, I guess when it comes to his still-gaining influence and legacy, all one can really say is… Behold a Dark Horse. II. Control Marciano manager Jazz recently confirmed that the cover and title of Roc Marciano’s latest were directly influenced by the conspiracy literature classic Behold a Pale Horse by Milton William Cooper. The phrase comes from the King James Bible, which in the Armageddon myth of Revelation 6:8 reads, “And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him. And power was given unto them over the fourth part of the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth.” Much like the KJB, Behold a Pale Horse contains mad batshit. There’s the secret government’s population control white paper, Silent Weapons for Quiet Wars, which Cooper sourced to a used word processor purchased at a garage sale. There’s the entire Protocols of the Elders of Zion, which Cooper introduces by advising readers to substitute the word “Illuminati” for the word “Jew” throughout. Cooper also spent a sizable portion of the book aping on UFO sightings and cover-ups, only to later in life refute all alien conspiracies, claiming that they were the single biggest false flag operation of all time. And yet, also like the KJB, there are some jewels in there, pearls of practical wisdom that Cooper takes time to reveal while digging the tome’s labyrinthine warrens. The one that comes to mind — and I’m paraphrasing here, as my copy of the book disappeared about a decade ago under mysterious circumstances — is this: It doesn’t matter if you believe in this grand conspiracy theory or any of its many facets, because even if only one man in power does, then countless people are doomed. Before dismissing this as a cop-out, consider how many politicians and CEOs wear their messianic complex like a badge of honor. Consider also that Cooper’s main point here may have been to draw readers’ attention to the nature and potential of control; that those who hold it can mold and manipulate and improve and wreck the lives of others at their whim, that those who do not are already closer to intangible numbers in a ledger than they are free and actualized human beings. Some who are familiar with Roc Marciano’s work, or the sex trade, might recognize in the above revelation parallels to the relationships between pimps, prostitutes, and johns. As a square, I’m not going to pretend to know anything about that life. I can’t assume that a pimp is powerful and a prostitute powerless, nor can I judge the john or anyone else involved in these necessarily transactional relations. I can only intimate that, as is the case with everything, there are degrees of control and power-sharing. And it’s these degrees, these increments of measure, that make all the difference in the world. It’s these degrees that separate needed questioning of authority from snowballing conspiracy theories, and Bill Cooper from Alex Jones from Ron Paul from Donald Trump. It’s these degrees that revise the literature misnomered history. III. Ends Sometime after Marcberg or Reloaded — I’m not sure exactly when, and I damn sure can’t find the interview anymore — when asked about where he wanted to take his music in the future, Roc Marciano said he wanted to sing. The irony here is that while Roc’s success since Marcberg has generally been tied to a renewed interest in 1990s boom-bap, he’s continued to flirt with the idea that his style shares as much in common with that of shiny-suit era Puffy, a pop sound long considered anathema by many hip-hop traditionalists. And yet, over a long enough timeline, all irony fades. If Puff came out today, he’d be considered boom-bap. Where it once felt novel to hear Roc slip a falsetto ad lib in between lines about singing Rick James tunes in the shower, he now confidently croons hooks throughout a whole album, slipping back into patently smooth murder verses and increasingly melodic cadences without missing a step. One gets the impression listening to Behold a Dark Horse that this project represents the realization of a goal years in the making. Yes, the Busta Rhymes and Q-Tip collaborations lend themselves to this idea, but it’s more than that. Between Rosebudd’s Revenge/RR2 — The Bitter Dose and Behold a Dark Horse, there’s a development that feels rooted in the same evolution that might have occurred between UN Or U Out and Marcberg/Reloaded. It’s as if Roc had been reaching for this sound, planning his way here all along. Perhaps he’d already arrived at the destination, but knew he needed to wait to bring us along for the ride, that we had to see more of the so-called past before we could glimpse the future’s brightness through our foggy present. On “Diamond Cutter,” Marciano raps, “Fuck who next up/ Rosebudd did its numbers, we doing chest bumps.” Consider the road here. After releasing The Pimpire Strikes Back and Marci Beaucoup on Man Bites Dog in 2013, Roc spent the next four years racking up paid guest features before returning with his first truly independent album, Rosebudd’s Revenge, released on his own Marci Enterprises LLC in 2017. Earlier in 2018, he brought us RR2 — The Bitter Dose, also on Marci Enterprises. The two albums presented Roc Marciano at his most romantic and murderous, peppering anecdotes about beachy lovemaking nearly as far and wide as his foes’ body parts. There was more singing than we were used to hearing from him, but the beats were also darker than ever, driven in part by the cold synths of Arch Druids Animoss and Doc C. On Behold a Dark Horse, though, there’s no need for peppering. Seasoned to perfection, the album documents Roc Marciano cementing his legacy as an MC, producer, and influence in control of his ends — that is, not only of his money, but of his destiny. Behold a Dark Horse. http://j.mp/2CxnB72

[peaceofpuregold-blog]

Long Ass Post About Guns & Shit (Part 1)

Allow me to give a long preface about with my relationship with guns. I have a habit of being for too verbose and ramble, so I apologize ahead of time.

I’m going to attempt my first “under a cut for length” doohickey.

I had several family members who were either in the military or in the force and was familiar with hunting rifles and a couple different handguns by the time I was in high school. I was taught proper handling etiquette and care, and a hefty dose of both fear and respect. 

The lone handgun we had in the house was always locked up in a small safe, out of reach and well hidden. I consider that gun as the only firearm that was ever potentially necessary to be near me in my whole life. My father had put away some very unsavory folks, so there were code phrases my family had which alerted us to hide in the nearest safe spot or evacuate immediately. 

There was only one time that my father uttered the “hide” phrase (it had something to do with bananas because he fucking HATED bananas). Thankfully the gun was never discharged as my father’s coworkers arrived post-haste after he gave them a ring. My mother was severely traumatized by the event. She had the unenviable task of keeping my father in her line of sight while hiding herself, which included him loading and aiming the gun. She also saw the front of the house get absolutely wrecked to hell before the man was apprehended.

Meanwhile I was reading Little House in the Big Woods for the eleventy bajillionth time that year in the hidey hole I had that was just my size in the upstairs bathroom linen closet. There was a bunch of broken glass and wood I had to be carried over, but I got pizza!

While I see the potential purpose of firearms, I cannot understand the frikkin’ reason why we have so MANY per capita in the USA. There are enough guns now for every single person in the United States, but gun owning households are on the decline. 

Guess what that means? Stockpiling.

And somehow these rises in gun purchases seem to correlate with the recent uptick in mass shootings. And unfortunately the data seems to indicate that in states that have more guns have a tendency to have a higher firearm mortality rate. In addition guns “are more likely to be involved in a fatal or nonfatal accidental shooting, criminal assault, or suicide attempt than to be used to injure or kill in self-defense”. 

And wouldn’t you know it, when it comes to the “the only way to stop a bad guy with a gun is a good guy with a gun” rhetoric... 

It happens to be bull shit.

After the NRA came out with this line I asked my father if I ought to get a gun. He asked me if I was ever going to be a police officer or go into the military. When I answered in the negative he sternly told me, “No.” 

I asked why, and he said, “Civilians with guns just add a hell of a lot of confusion to the mix when there’s already a reported active shooter on the premises. When we arrive we don’t necessarily know immediately who is defending and who isn’t. More innocent bystanders are liable to be be hurt, too. This is why I do not go out armed when I’m not at work unless I’m in [location redacted here] where everyone in blue knows me. I would follow the same protocol all other folks should in that situation. Besides, even us cops get nervous, and when we’re on our own we make stupid, terrible, awful mistakes.”

Now we know that last bit all too well. I wonder what he would think about what’s finally coming to light today. Did he know about the racism that’s been seemingly there this whole time? If so, did he fight against the racial the stereotypes that his precinct may have held? Was he determined to treat folks who looked like my mixed momma no different than anyone else and pass that on when he was a FTO?

I wish I had the foresight to ask him when I was younger, but when I think about it... I didn’t have any reason to. All the cops I knew when I was little knew who I was, and with the way I turned out I never had to have “the talk” even when we went to strange places.

I wish I had paid more attention to how my more melaninated brothers and sisters acted around cops when I got older, how their reaction was so different from mine when my dad would pick me up from school in his squad car. I wish I had asked more questions of my mother and grandfather, too. But that time has passed.

And I feel terribly guilty and torn because of it.

TL;DR: From the child of a cop familiar with firearms... Why the FUCK do we have so many GUNS?! They don’t do a lick a good unless there are very limited, specific situations occurring. Ya’ll should be ashamed of yourselves.

NEXT PART: What to do when there is an active shooter near you, and what you can do to help.