#and he would never throw out a suit if it could be repared

[poettheythem]

Ok guys cause I'm obsessed with Shadow and Bone(Thats I lie I'm obsessed with Six of Crows and Shadow and Bone is a weird fan fic of my favorite book series that I can watch) and I noticed on this in this clip(While I was watching a youtube video ok thats where the screen shot is from) It just made me appreciate the show more

Just the small detail to add that Kaz's suit jacket is stitched up. Because we all know Kaz isn't some rich mercher like he dresses, and the small detail of having his suit hand stitched back together probably after a fight and probably by himself or Inej is just such a great small detail.

God the costuming department for this show was AMAZING

[separatist-apologist]

We Could Call It Even

Summary: Newly made and terrified, Elain Archeron's human fiance tells her of a creature that could turn her back and keep them together and Elain will stop at nothing to make rumor a reality.

There is no force that can undo fate. No magic that can unmake a mating bond. And Lucien Vanserra isn't about to let his mate throw herself in the path of certain death on a fools hope. Lucien will be forced, instead, to watch her love another man for eighty brutal, miserable years.

While Elain Archeron will have to contend with a life she hoped to never live…and a mate she never wanted.

Thank you @shadowisles-writes for the moodboard!!

Read on AO3 | Chapter 1

-

Lucien couldn’t bring himself to look at her.

Standing beside her human husband, glowing and lovely in the ruined light of the estate they stood in. She had pointedly ignored him, though the male—Graysen—had looked him over with more curiosity than anything. He supposed the human lord wanted to know what his competition was. 

As if there’d ever been any choice between them. She hadn’t even done him the courtesy of formally rejecting the bond, leaving Lucien with an ache he couldn’t dispel and a yearning he suspected would never go away. Even then, Lucien warred with the urge to rip Graysen to shreds.

He had his arm around her. She was leaning into his body, head on his shoulder and Lucien hated it. She owed him, he thought angrily. Not an acceptance, but at least an explanation. Lucien would have liked to be free, too.

Instead he leaned against the ruined door, arms crossed over his chest as he avoided his mate, his former friend, and his older brother all at the same time. He listened to their pretty speeches about unity and togetherness that would never amount to anything. The humans very obviously distrusted her—he could see they thought she was little more than a traitor. 

Feyre didn’t seem to have a good sense of her own history. Lucien wondered why that was. She cared, certainly, but was divorced from the suffering of her own people and wanted them to get over it as she had. Feyre was an anomaly, an outlier that, from Lucien’s perspective, didn’t even notice how different she was.

Even Nesta Archeron didn’t seem wholly convinced, arms wrapped tightly around her body as though she were trying to shrink in on herself. Across the room, Jurian was trying to catch his eye. Lucien would rather die, he decided. He wanted to wash his hands of all of this.

He didn’t regret the things he’d done, but…all Lucien felt anymore was misery.

He tried to slip out once it was clear there were no more speeches left in anyone. Oh, they mingled and talked, promising to keep in touch but he knew they wouldn’t. The fae were too secretive and the humans too distrustful. The history was simply too bloody between them and even five centuries couldn’t erase the hurt.

After all, the fae had never really paid any reparations. They’d merely walled themselves off and warned humans if they crossed the border, well. Everything was fair game. Lucien didn’t know how he’d do it differently—it was a herculean task better suited to far smarter minds than his own. He simply knew that what they’d tried—which was nothing at all—hadn’t been working and would fix nothing. 

“Wait up,” Feyre murmured, looping her arm through his as she’d done on the battlefield. She’d been trying to convince Elain to speak with him, which had gone poorly. Elain clearly wanted nothing to do with him, despite everything he’d done for her. The ache in Lucien’s chest expanded.

“I’m not going to Velaris, Fey.” That stopped her short. Standing among the rubble, a breeze blowing strands of that burnished blonde hair over her freckled face, Feyre looked sad. Young, too. It was easy to forget just how young she was, but…fuck. She was twenty. Lucien ran a hand through his hair, trying to think what he’d been doing at that age.

Fucking and drinking, mostly. 

“Why not?”

“Why—I can’t,” he confessed, letting her hear some of his grief. “I want to forget all this happened.”

“Where will you go?” she questioned, looking up at him with the roundest pair of blue eyes he’d ever seen. She reminded him so much of that fragile human girl he’d once known. Lucien exhaled a sigh.

“I don’t know.”

“She’s…she’s not going to come back, Lucien. I don’t know if she’s even welcome back, I’m so…” Feyre bit her bottom lip.

“So what?”

“Angry,” she whispered, as if Elain might materialize beside her. “This wasn’t how I wanted things to go, you know. But she…she’s got this idea of what life should be like in her head and she won’t let it go.”

“Good for her,” Lucien said dismissively, not wanting to talk about Elain.

“I need…I know you don’t want anything to do with her and I don’t blame you. I told her to at least explain it to you. To talk to you. I um…I went in her mind. A couple times, actually. She doesn’t have any mental defenses and Graysen is always screaming all his thoughts at me anyway. He’s filled her head with some nonsense about a creature who can make her human again.”

Lucien's blood ran cold. “What?”

“A creature tethered to a lake,” Feyre added pointedly.

“He’s a fool then. They both are, if they make a deal with a death god.”

“She’s going to look for him. Alone.”

Lucien hated that he cared. Hated more that he knew what Feyre was asking of him and that he was going to agree, despite how much more pain it was heaping on his shoulders. Hadn’t he suffered enough? Lucien was certain he’d been sent back to live a life of torment for crimes committed in the past. 

“I’ll do anything, Lucien. Anything,” she whispered, offering him her hand.

“You know that’s a fools bargain, Feyre,” he reminded her, knowing she wouldn’t have said it if she didn’t trust him.

“She’ll get herself killed and I’ll be blamed for it. Nesta will never forgive me and Graysen…he’ll spin it as faerie trickery.”

“How am I supposed to stop her? She seems perfectly capable of making her own choices.”

“You went there. You saw him. Explain to her what he takes and the cost she’d be paying. Restoring her humanity would come at an enormous cost. Elain can be selfish, but she’s not cruel.”

Lucien wasn’t certain he agreed with that.  He took Feyre’s hand, though, because he loved her as much as he’d loved anyone. She gripped tight, yanking him just a little closer.

“I’ll put you up somewhere quiet,” she murmured, holding his gaze. “Anywhere in my territory you want. You don’t have to work with me, just…stay, Lucien.”

“And when you have to pick between myself and your sister?” he asked bitterly. “Humans die quickly. She has a century with him, if that. Likely less given how stupid he seems.”

A smile cracked over her solemn expression. “She didn’t choose me. I heard her thoughts when we went to beg for sanctuary. She held such contempt for me and I…why should I keep begging her to care about me? She’s made her choice. And I am making mine.”

Lucien’s stomach tumbled at the ferocity of her words. “I tried to kill you once.”

Her smile widened. “I was a little shit, as I remember it. You went to war for me. I’ll never forget that.”

He’d gone for Elain, and he suspected Feyre knew as much, but he appreciated the sentiment all the same. Maybe he could reframe it in his mind. Sure, he’d gone on Elain’s vision, wanting to prove himself to her. But he’d saved his friend—perhaps the best friend he’d ever had. “How do I…how do I stop her?”

“She’s going alone. Don’t tell anyone…but I manipulated Graysen’s thoughts to convince himself Elain had to go by herself. That it was part of the legend.”

Lucien sighed, exasperated. “What if I’d said no?”

“You wouldn’t,” she replied with that easy, lopsided grin. “She has to make her way through my territory to get to the harbor. I know the ticket she’s purchased. Just…meet her on the docks and say whatever you have to in order to send her home.”

“And if she gets on the ship anyway?”

“Then I’ll send in Cassian,” Feyre said, her smile fading. “And Elain will know I’ve been in her mind and she’ll be cleverer next time.”

Lucien paused. “How many times have you been in my mind?”

She squirmed. “Twice.”

“On purpose?” he demanded, more annoyed than anything.

“Just once—the first time was a mistake,” she told him hastily. He believed that. 

“And the second time?”

“When you visited my sister the first time,” she all but whispered. It was better than he’d been imagining. Feyre, in her roundabout way, always wanted the best for everyone. And if she could force it to happen, well…even better.

“I’ll do my best,” he agreed, if only because he’d already shaken her hand. He felt the tingle of magic sliding up his elbow, and when their eyes met, she was smiling again.

“We ink our bargains on the skin,” she told him. “Stay with me tonight, at least. You can decide in the morning where you want to go.”

“Maybe I want to live in the mountains,” he challenged.

“I’ll build you a cabin,” she whispered. “Or a palatial estate. Whatever you want—name it, Lucien. Just…don’t leave me.”

“No promises,” he said, heart racing. No one had ever wanted him to stay so badly they’d been willing to beg. To give him whatever he wanted. As Feyre took his hand, lacing her fingers with his, he suspected she would have given him nearly anything he asked for. Jewels, some low-level secrets he’d always wondered. And as they walked back to Rhys, who cocked his head to the side but only smiled as if what he saw pleased him, Lucien wondered if it wasn’t better to just try and make a clean break of things.

“Az and Cass are already halfway back,” Rhys told Feyre, falling into step easily beside them. “Azriel was seconds from pummeling Drakon to the ground.”

“Why?”

“He thinks they’re cowards,” Rhys said, some of his amusement fading. “How did you find them?”

“I read,” Lucien replied with a shrug, not bothering to mention that a lot of it had been blind, stupid luck. Perhaps Rhys knew that, too—after all, he had to have been looking for longer than Lucien had. 

“Well, they’re going back behind their wards.

“Miryam showed me how to get a message through,” Feyre told him, but her expression was troubled. Rhys merely nodded, offering a half smile that didn’t meet his eyes.

“Hopefully we won’t need them again. Jurian has gone back with Vassa…they wanted Lucien to join them in the human lands—”

“No.”

The mere thought made his skin crawl.

“I told them he had more important tasks in Prythian that would better suit their goals.”

“Did you, now?” That irritated him. He hadn’t sworn fealty to Rhys as his High Lord. In fact, the only person Lucien felt any allegiance to was Feyre, who had promised him a life of quiet contemplation. 

“He’s lying,” Feyre whispered theatrically before a rush of cool, jasmine scented air filled his senses. Beneath the metallic edge of the magic lay the familiar scent of Feyre—pear and lilac, whorling together so nicely that for a moment he could pretend they were all back in Spring together and none of this had happened.

Was he selfish for wishing that? 

They landed on the cold streets of Velaris. A fog had settled from the mountainside, causing light snowflakes to settle on the cobblestone. Few people moved about—he’d forgotten Feyre and Rhys, like so many others, had evacuated their people. It would take time to bring them all back. 

Rhys made his way back to their home while Feyre took him to a familiar townhouse. “I thought you’d prefer it here tonight. It’s closer, but it’s also…”

“Yeah,” he agreed, understanding. It was empty. He could be alone with his misery, not forced to put on a show so people wouldn’t pity him. 

“I’ll have clean clothes sent over. If you don’t want to stay, I won’t make you, but…” Feyre bit her bottom lip, crossing her arms over her chest to ward off the cold. “I wouldn’t make you work for me. You could take a break, Lucien. Enjoy your life, for once.”

“A novel thought,” he admitted. “I’ll think about it.”

She nodded, tugging the end of her braid nervously. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

Lucien wanted to say more, but the words that often came so easily to him were stuck in his throat. As she turned, Lucien lunged, catching her wrist. “Thank you.”

He hoped those two words conveyed what he wanted to say properly. She seemed to understand—they’d always had that between them, at least. Feyre nodded her head and he released her, letting her vanish into the mist before he went into the warmth. He’d been here before, just as bloodied and exhausted. Velairs had seemed foreign to him at the time, so at odds with the stories he’d always been told. This was the land of living nightmare? Surely not. 

But here, among the well appointed cream furniture and dark wood floors, lay the truth of the Night Court. It was no different than any of the other territories. It simply better guarded its borders by allowing rumors to spread unchecked. He knew, now, that Rhys rather liked that people were too afraid to come marching in. 

It was better than the heavily fortified borders of Autumn, he supposed. 

Lucien snapped his fingers, bringing the fireplace roaring to life. There was new magic in his veins he’d been trying to untangle. Ever since Hybern, Lucien had practically simmered with it. Flame like he’d never seen, bright and hot as the sun itself. It looked a lot like his fathers, like his brothers, but it didn’t feel like it.

He’d been hiding it, terrified if Eris learned, he’d have him killed. Lucien simply didn’t need any more enemies. He didn’t want Autumn, besides, and had to believe the world wouldn’t be so cruel as to force him back to the place that held so much misery for him.

When he and Feyre had trekked through, all he’d been able to think about was Jesminda, after all. What would she make of all this, he wondered? She’d hate Elain, he decided. He’d been trying to decide whether she’d like his mate or find her unworthy. Lucien had his answer at long last. Jesminda had always railed against the people closest to him, frustrated they didn’t treat him better, didn’t love him well.

You deserve so much more, she used to say. He’d believed it once, but now…gods, Lucien didn’t think so. Surely, after centuries of swallowing immeasurable bullshit, things would have started to look up? He’d thought so, for a moment. 

Now, though��

Lucien sighed, trudging upstairs to a room clearly meant for guests. He’d stumbled into Feyre and Rhys’s room and nearly gagged on the scent of them. The room at the far end of the hall—the one that overlooked the river—smelled faintly of lemon and dust. Better than the smell of sex, he decided. It made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

Lucien didn’t bother to turn the lights on which caused him to slam his shin into a chair he hadn’t seen in the gloom. Ripping open the heavy, dark curtains allowed for gray light to filter in. There was a bed large enough to accommodate someone with wings, a dresser, and a bookshelf holding a haphazardly stacked collection of books on war. Cassian must have been here last, he decided.

The bathroom was large—Rhys had that going for him, at least. Lucien peeled off the Illyrian leathers, wincing when it ripped the hair from more sensitive places. How did Cassian and Azriel stand them, he wondered? Lucien would be glad never to wear them again. He hoped to have no cause to ever wear them again, though he figured that was asking too much. There was a death god tethered to a lake and a gaggle of humans trying to enrich themselves at the expense of the world itself.

And his mate, of course, comfortable with potentially damning them all for a human lifespan of happiness. 

Lucien sank into a tub of scalding water, almost embarrassed by the noise that escaped his throat. It was something between relief and a sob. Looking at his forearm, he found proof of the bargain he'd made with Feyre, inked in black and white. Pretty vines wrapped from his wrist to elbow, with delicate, autumn-like leaves hanging gracefully from the stem. He traced the pattern with his finger for a moment before relaxing against the cool, smooth surface of the tub. 

His muscles loosened beneath the water, a reminder that he’d run across that battlefield looking for Elain. He hadn’t known she’d gone back to the human—all he’d heard was that she’d been captured by Hybern and was being held as a prisoner. His fear had overridden his good sense. It had been Azriel who’d gone and rescued her, and Elain who’d turned right back around for the human who couldn’t even keep her safe. 

Lucien closed his eyes, trying desperately to banish the image of Elain from his mind. She’d made her choice and he wasn’t going to beg. Wasn’t going to get on his knees and ask her to give him a chance. All he’d ever had was his dignity, and he’d be damned if he threw all that away, now. She might be his mate, but that didn’t mean he owed her anything. Mate in name only…but Jesminda had been his love. She’d died for that love, defiantly refusing to disavow him even when Beron offered her the opportunity to save her own life. If she’d been alive, would he have wanted Elain?

No.

He almost couldn’t hate Elain for her choice. Lucien hated her for making it and for getting what he hadn’t—the chance to be with Graysen, who had survived the war. It seemed so supremely unfair that Elain got everything he’d been denied.

It was simply easier to hate her. As he laid there in the water, covered up to his chin, Lucien let whatever feeling he might have had for her solidify into something cold and unforgiving. It would take centuries of chipping to break through by the time he was done. He could guard this part of himself so carefully, so closely, that no one would even know it existed. 

Let Elain have her dalliance with the human. He’d die, and she’d have nothing. And Lucien…Lucien had nothing, anyway. How long, he wondered, would Feyre hold her resolve? Would she still choose him over her sister? He knew Feyre—she simply didn’t have it in her to hold a grudge. Not forever. Time had a way of easing things, besides, especially when you were surrounded by love and happiness. Feyre would have children, would settle into her life and she’d miss Elain.

Lucien thought he’d die if he had to see Elain at every solstice party for the rest of his miserably long life. He could beg his father to take him back—and end up on the same side of the blade Jesminda had. Or he could do nothing.

Travel.

Wander.

The idea seemed to warm him a little. Shifting his aching muscles beneath the water, Lucien let himself imagine living on the continent for a time. Maybe a decade before he moved on. There was nothing holding him to Prythian anymore. No one holding him here anymore. He couldn’t even go back to Jes, whose grave was lost to him. Her family had refused to tell him where she was buried and would likely have killed him before they ever let him say his final goodbyes to her. 

Lucien left the bath, drying himself as he solidified his plans. He had more than enough money, collected after centuries of being overpaid by Tamlin, and then overpaid again by Rhys. If he needed more, he could always pick up a job somewhere. Do things he’d always been curious about if he truly wanted to.

It was a nice enough fantasy to put him to bed. Lucien woke to snow falling softly and the smell of cinnamon wafting through the halls. Wrapping a sheet around his waist, he found a little note from Feyre beside a stack of fine clothes that were his style and not the Night Courts. He dressed quickly while reading her note.

You can do hard things—even this. 

Love you,

Feyre

The mug of steaming, cinnamon chocolate, felt more like a bribe than anything. Still, he downed it all the same. Snapping the cloak around his neck, and checking his hair one last time, Lucien braced himself to speak to his mate.

And to tell her goodbye.

[thenixkat]

love how much DC consistently just hates the idea of prison reform, prisoner's rights, and treating prisoners like people…

folks in the Batfam debating about murdering the Joker.

again these are the kinds of things I think about from Barb's end on the whole pressuring Ted back into his costume. She doesn't want to be tech support she wants to be on the field with like half the writers for her Oracle run. And sure some of them are just kinda ableist.

also Barb took one break date and the Joker starts a prison riot

also all of these villains just… following the Joker's lead even tho they should know it wont go well if they do and it doesnt b/c he jokerizes them all (which makes them more dangerous b/c the Jokers just the biggest bad ass ever right after Batman) of course the metagene inhibitor gas mixed with the compound that made the villains throw up turns into Joker venom for reasons

totally the prison using those to control the dangerous super prisoners wouldnt have tested shit out b4 hand

and joker venom makes everyone joker b/c reasons even the folks that are not human or have radically different anatomy and physiology due to their meta powers

RIP to Ted, man is not allowed to be in good comics regardless of whether or not real snakes have ears, Copperhead should still be fucked up by the sonic vibrations shaking the shit out of his organs

b/c that's the correct lesson. Never take a single day off of superheroing and vigilance. Sure you will burn out but if you dont stay vigilant then bad shit will happen to yer friends and family

heheheh good for Orca I hopes she gets to eat as many prison guards as she pleases

why do the Joker's plans involve creating a gravity well?

also i guess we had to Jokerize everyone otherwise the villains might not want to listen to the Joker after getting their power dampening collars off king shark is here too

huh Nightwing keeps getting sexually assaulted and that's likely part of why people call him a slut/slutshame him

like I know he got raped by Harley Quinn in one animated thing and folks thought it was funny and also slut shamed him for getting raped so how much of his comic reputation as a slut is just people slutshaming him for getting sexually assaulted by ladies?

of course Batman and Nightwing can outrun a gravity well forming

everyone knows collapsing gravity is slower than a man carrying another human being can run

of course Ted wouldn't know anything that's happening. It's not like the Bug is a state-of-the-art listening device that would have picked up on all of the nearby radio signals like folks communicating. And its not like the Bug doesnt have dozens of Snoopies, mini Bugs for spying on shit that could have been deployed

"The Bug isn't built for speed and power" bullshit. The Bug is built for power as much as stealth and can top out at 600 mph. Also I like how Batman and Nightwing have no issue outrunning a gravity well but the Bug, a vehicle that is built with an antigrav device that is literally how she flies has an issue escaping from a gravity well

just the fact that no one is allowed to upstage Batman, the Batman understudy, or the Joker and how obviously other heroes have to get nerfed to make this happen or how other villains have to get turned into Joker to make shit happen is just so… blatant

see the problem that i dont believe that the Joker has the influence or ability to coordinate shit on this level.

The USA needs to pay reparations to the people of Rapa Nui for the shit the Joker and the jokerized villains did

They can explain the jokerization shit in-universe all they want, they wont convince me that this wasnt an ass pull

Like why the fuck would being jokerized make all of these villains subserviant to the Joker and all work together instead of clashing and not wanting to be ordered around by this one Joker if they;'re all Joker man Harley Quinn looks so much better in an actual clown suit

also the Joker wants an heir so plans to fuck Harley, her consent is not an issue for him. I'd care more if she werent also a rapist

right.. Lex Luthor is president i think Oracle you use a wheelchair why is yer floorspace this cluttered?

anatomy

Oracle you can't hit your boyfriend just b/c yer upset. That's called abuse

also folks still debating about killing the Joker, who's currently dying of a tumor, when like between yall superhero and the USA penal system the Joker should have been sentenced to death ages ago. He's literally not insane, that insanity defense shit should not have worked for him the first time he got caught again after breaking out of Arkham

Nightwing, the Joker is literally a special case. With the sheer amount of his body count and the fact that the justice system has continuously failed with dealing with this asshole. If you dont want to kill him, that cool, just stay out of the way while other people kill him

The fucking slippery slope argument for not killing a dude who's got thousands of murders under his belt. Like… idk this is not the moral quandary that Nightwing is trying to make it out to be.

half way through Joker: Last Laugh like imagine if Nightwing tried that same argument to a crowd of people who've been victimized by the Joker or had a relative killed by him? He'd get mauled half to death like Jason did in Legends

[coldshrugs]

vacation, had to get away

featuring: rook and rebecca greene + baby alma word count: 2k note: a @wayhavensummer entry for the 7/11 prompt vacation. warnings for suspense/dark tones and imagery/the feeling of being watched. this isn't what i usually write, but it was a lot of fun!

--- ☀ --- ☀ --- ☀ --- ☀ --- ☀ ---

When Rebecca tells Rook she doesn't want to go on this vacation, she doesn't tell him why. The car is mostly packed. The beachfront hotel has been booked for months. They bought the baby a swimsuit, for god's sake.

No, she doesn't tell him why. It isn't tangible enough to be convincing.

"Let's call it off. There are so many things I could get done at work this week."

"Becks, I say this with love: you're a workaholic. We're going to the beach for the week." He punctuates it with a kiss. Rebecca doesn't miss the unmarked beige envelope Rook slips into one of the last minute bags; she's not the only one with work in mind.

The following morning, they pile into the car with a few more duffles and that horribly itchy feeling on the back of Rebecca's neck.

She asks Rook to wait while she double (triple) checks the front door is locked. Of course it is.

The itch lingers as they pull out of the driveway. It sticks with her all the way to the edge of town.

"Tell me something I don't know about you," she beams once they're on the highway, once she can breathe.

Bare feet on the dashboard and sunglasses covering her eyes. The sun hasn't even peaked, but it's scorching already. They roll the windows down, and her hair, free from the usual oppressive bun, whips around her face. She feels like Becks for once. Not Rebecca.

"You know everything about me, B."

"C'mon, there's gotta be something." Her mind spins to the envelope in his bag. "One single thing."

"Okay," Rook begins. Full lips part into a hypnotic smile as he chews on the story. "I had a friend in college, Zack, that taught this contemporary dance class a couple weekends each month. It was a few extra bucks in his pocket and he got a couple dates out of it; a pretty sweet gig, right? One weekend he overdid it the night before his class. He shows up at my dorm, looking like death and practically begging me—" his voice rises— "'Otis, please man. I can't lose this job, can you just go down to the rec center and sub for me?'"

"You?" Rebecca recoils, silent laughter shaking her shoulders. "You can't dance to save your life."

"I know this. You know this. Zack should've known this, but apparently he didn't."

"What did you do?"

"I went down to the rec center, put on some Grandmaster Flash, and did the worst interpretive dance you can imagine."

Rebecca shoves the sunglasses into her hair, helplessly wiping at the tears running down her cheeks.

"Zack still owes me," Rook sighs. "Wonder what he's up to now."

Rebecca forgets, for a moment, the nagging in her gut that tells her this is a terrible idea. This is what they need; a week away from Wayhaven, from the Agency, from whatever is... watching.

A week to be normal.

Yeah, this is good.

They stop for gas about halfway to the coast. Rook fills the tank, while Rebecca throws Alma on her hip and heads into the store.

She and the baby jabber back and forth about snacks, and she holds up packages of fruit gummies and crackers for Alma to choose with tiny hands. It's then that her stomach lurches. The unwelcome fingers of dread, cold and sick, squirm against her scalp. She drops both packages, almost drops Alma too. The doorbell chimes, and her grip tightens around her daughter as she turns toward the entrance.

It's only Rook.

And a man in the corner.

She didn't notice him before. He wears a dark suit, and his face is like a knife, and he rushes toward Rook. His sharp features are unsettling even in his haste. He knocks against Rook's shoulder with a rough thud. Rook, transfixed by the sudden touch, watches the man leave. As soon as he's out of the store, the knot of Rebecca's anxiety untangles.

"Rook?" She calls across the store. He doesn't budge. She picks up the small mess she made and calls for him again. "Rook."

Only when she touches his arm does he snap out of the trance with a heaving gasp. And then... he's back to normal.

"What are we munching?"

"What the hell was that, Rook? Do you know that guy?" Her voice is a harsh whisper as she tries to keep Alma from hearing her fear.

His gaze pans slowly, vacantly, from the door to Rebecca. "What guy?"

Like a thick, dry pill, apprehension sits heavy in her throat. She swallows it, along with her growing list of questions. She pays for their snacks and leads Rook outside. Every muscle in her body is tense, prepared for a fight until they're in the car again.

--- ☀ --- ☀ --- ☀ --- ☀ --- ☀ ---

The week rips past them like a tornado through a small town. Their hotel room (a ground floor double-bed setup complete with the usual washed out pastel textiles and white wicker furniture) looks the part. Alma's scattered collection of shells too beautiful to part with, tacky airbrushed t-shirts draped over the chairs, and a healthy sprinkling of sand being ground into the carpet are evidence of that.

They spend the days exploring the aquarium, strolling the worn and salty boardwalk for unusual shops, dipping into local eateries for fresh seafood. Every other moment is spent on the beach; building sandcastles or running into waves with the baby between them and swinging her up at the last second. Salt spray in her bouncing mass of curls and her squealing laugh stolen by the wind.

Between the clutter and sightseeing, even under the blazing coastal sun, there's always something dark shifting just at the edge of Rebecca's vision. Faint shadows twisting out of view at the last second. The wound-wet itch of unease prickling her skin.

Someone is watching—of that, she's certain.

And then there's the envelope.

Rook's made an excuse or two to be alone. Just running out to grab more sunscreen, or picking up takeout because Alma's too fussy for a restaurant tonight. Innocuous things, but each time he goes, the envelope seems to follow.

Rebecca is sure it holds an answer, or at least a lead.

On the last night of their vacation, he leaves again. But this time, it's a trip for ice-cream with Alma in tow.

Rebecca watches them through the blinds, and once she's sure they're not turning back, she goes for his luggage.

It's not well-hidden. It's nestled under his dirty clothes, sealed with twisted thread that takes a few seconds to unwind. God, he's so unorganized, and for once she's thankful for it.

Carefully, she empties the contents onto the bed: hastily folded, handwritten notes; a few polaroids; and Agency documents? The documents are completely uncensored, not one black bar, not a single covered word. That tells Rebecca everything she needs to know—whatever Rook's doing, it's beyond either of their clearance levels. This is dangerous.

Shit.

That knowledge only nudges her curiosity over the edge. She skims over the pages, drinking in the information as quickly as possible. ...modern supernaturals seek reparations... inhumane treatment... would lose valuable specimens... Agency officials refuse to negotiate.

His notes list locations all over the east coast, some underlined, including the beach they're visiting. The photos show imprisoned supernaturals, each noxious gas cloud above them and their faces distorted in silent, exhausted screams. She recognizes some of them, though she's never been allowed to view them outside a transport situation.

But what's he doing with this? How on earth did he get all this?

A pounding knock shakes the door. Rebecca, torn away from this unplanned investigation, loses hold of the papers in her hands. They flutter to the floor.

"Shit, shit, shit." She scrambles to collect the documents and put them in order.

The knock booms through the room again, more impatiently this time.

Rebecca stalks to the door, dipping into her handbag for the Agency-standard volt gun as she goes. No one's there when she presses her eye to the peephole, but a third thunderous knock sends her stumbling backward with a choked scream.

"Agent Rebecca Greene." The voice is icy, hollow, and this isn't a question. They know her. "I would like to speak with you. Now."

The words are more instruction than threat. Rebecca expects any inaction on her part to change that, so she scampers to the door and twists it open.

It's him.

The man from the gas station. She knew it would be, but knowing and seeing—feeling, because every cell in her body tells her that being so close to this man... this creature... is unsafe—are very different things.

His skin (pale, and tight, and plastic-smooth) lacks definition, as if he's bloodless, and his blue irises are just a little too small, mouth a little too wide. He doesn't look real, and she's grateful the shadow of his hat obscures some of his face.

It doesn't hide the jagged line of his pointed teeth when he speaks though.

"That's better. May I come in?"

Against her instinct, she steps aside to let him pass. Careful not to touch her, he strolls across the room as if he's been here before. She wonders if he has, while they've been out.

His eyes fall to the half-opened envelope.

"What do you want?" Rebecca backs up until her legs bump against the bed.

He sucks in a breath and looks toward the ceiling. "I want to know why your husband is meddling . I want to know why he is watching a Watcher, badly. And—" he points to the documents Rook seems to keep with him at all times— "I have been waiting for this."

Without saying another word, he picks them up and starts reading.

Rebecca's presence is inconsequential. She waits in silence, the volt gun half raised. She tries to keep an eye out for sudden movements from the Watcher (and what the hell is a Watcher? Her mind swings through random bits of mythology and something between angel-but-not and urban legend seems to stick), but it's tough to look at him.

Finally, he exhales and, in a whisper Rebecca is sure isn't meant for her, says, "Friend and not foe, then." Louder, to her this time, "You read this. You witnessed."

"Y-yes," she croaks.

"And what did you make of it? What do you think?" His voice is cold, even, judging.

She doesn't know how to answer. A couple minutes is hardly enough time to sort out the ethics of this situation, much less her own standing. She's done no research, but she's never had reason to doubt the Agency. The only truth she knows right now is this man feels like death walking.

"I don't know what to think. I need to speak to my husband. If he's in trouble, I can help. The Agency can help—"

"If you so readily walk the line between advocate and adversary after witnessing an injustice, then you have made a decision, Rebecca. We cannot use you."

He pulls a pen from his pocket and gives it a sharp click (the movement and sound almost make her pull the trigger of her volt gun, almost) and scribbles something on the back of Rook's notes. Then, he neatly returns the contents to the envelope and tucks everything back into the luggage.

He turns to Rebecca, and his mouth, his smile is wide enough that the corners of her own throb. Phantom cracks that make her wince. Impossibly sharp. "I mean you no harm, and you will not remember."

In a blurred rush, he squeezes her shoulder. Her knees buckle as the door slams.

--- ☀ --- ☀ --- ☀ --- ☀ --- ☀ ---

"Becks? Hey. Hey, Rebecca, are you okay?"

It's Rook. An echo of him, anyway.

His voice is caught between the song she's humming and another unnamed voice that floods her mind like ice water. She doesn't want to touch that, so she focuses on the song.

And on Rook's warmth.

Dappled morning light across his rich brown skin. Rook softly snoring, softly singing, softly whispering the ways he loves her. She could stretch those small undeserved moments into infinity, the ones in which Rook smooths the roughest of her edges, turns her in his hands and makes her soft too.

He is the quiet thrill of crawling into already warm blankets, the taste of strawberry pie, the sun and the wind on her skin on a long car ride.

He is endless joy, and he is hers.

Right?

Then the warmth is a real pressure against her cheek.

Her eyes are already open but she sees him, both of them, for what feels like the first time. Rook, chaotically charming even through a cloud of worry. Alma, plump and curious, their brightest star.

"How was the ice-cream? Did you guys bring one back for me?" She leans up for a kiss.

Rook meets her lips, brows knitting in confusion. "You okay? You were really zoned-out for a second—and why is the volt gun out?"

She shakes her head. Not a thing in the world could be wrong. They're on their first family vacation. It's been a wonderful trip.

She doesn't understand why he looks so concerned.

"I'm not sure," Rebecca smiles, "but this vacation was exactly what we needed."

[razrbladekiss]

Tyrants | Chapter Two - Gutless

WORD COUNT: 4k

WARNINGS: Death (murder), brief descriptions of gore, Isla and Jax doing something very illegal

MASTERLIST

The morning sun was beating down upon the pair a little bit harsher now, inducing a sheen of sweat to coat over Jax's forehead.

But the perspiration could've formed as a result of coming to the realization that he'd just blown the brains out of an ATF agent, left his body to decompose on Tara's bathroom floor, and spilled his guts--not even twenty-four hours later--to Isla.

Jax knew that he could trust her with anything--he always had been able to trust her with anything. But there was something telling him that she didn't exactly feel too wonderful about his revelation.

Her arm lifted to run across her forehead, ridding the skin of a few salty droplets.

"What do you mean--"

"I mean I put a bullet through his fuckin' skull and blew his brains out, Isla! That's what I mean."

He ran a thumb over his lips, realizing that he should've kept his tone subdued so close to the main doors of the clubhouse.

"Jesus, Jax." She breathed out, pinching the bridge of her nose as he started to pace quietly. "I--I can't believe you're telling me this."

Well, she could. Really, there wasn't anything she could've put past Jax anymore. And when it came to Tara...The man was an idiot. Always had been.

"Why was Kohn even at her place?"

Jax was fidgety. Uneasy. She couldn't blame him for that, could she? Because he'd just fucking killed a man--but still.

He wasn't even trying to hide it.

"Or did you lure him there or something--"

"Shut up." He growled, grabbing her bicep with his left hand as he pulled her to the side of the building. "Just listen to me."

"I'm listening, Jax, but you don't seem to be telling me a lot."

Realizing that he wasn't offering very much explanation, he nodded. Jax let go of her and beckoned her closer, pleading eyes melting her fucking heart.

"Isla, please." He wrapped his arms around her, minding the bloodied shirt.

"What do you want me to do?"

Ringed fingers splayed over her cheek, pushing stray blonde hairs out of her face. He sighed hard. Exasperated.

"Help me get rid of him--"

"Jackson--"

"I'm not asking you to lug his dead body to the creek and throw him in. I'm just asking you to offer a helping hand and be a lookout or something."

Isla searched his features for a morsel of something that'd indicate Jax was messing with her. But he was dead serious--his face set to neutral, eyes glazed over.

"But--I--what about Cameron?"

"Tara and Chibs have it covered." He murmured, heeding the apprehension sail over her.

She was as strong and willing as she possibly could've been. Isla was consistently the person that Jax and Opie would turn to for advice when it came to their girls, or when they needed to be pointed in the right direction.

But he'd never asked her to do such a thing before.

Her loyalty outweighed her nervousness, however. He knew she'd never say no to helping him with such a matter--but it was still asking too much.

Chibs would've been furious that Jax felt it necessary to beg Isla for assistance during such a time, too. Hell, Gemma would've admonished him for it.

"Where is he?" She mumbled, hearing the clubhouse door open and an irritated grunt sounding from the front of the lot.

Jax held her close to his chest, a hand tracing over the skin of her shoulder that'd been exposed as the shirt fell to the middle of her arm.

"Tara's place." His whisper was monotonous, bordering on lifeless.

"Okay--when do you need to do this?"

He eyed Tig storming from the building and toward his motorcycle, completely unaware of the two conspiring.

"Tonight." His voice came low and gravely. "I'll ride to her place now, and you go home, get yourself cleaned up, do whatever you've gotta do today, and we'll head there--"

"I'm not cleaning myself up. I'm already covered in blood--I don't think I need to destroy another shirt."

"Okay." Jax's lips rubbed together, almost turning upward into a smile. "But don't follow me out, alright? Go tell Gemma that you don't know where I went, and then you take it from there."

"And if Tara asks..."

A gentle kiss against her forehead almost forced tears to collate in her eyes.

"She won't ask--she knows I've gotta do this."

Isla silenced herself, though she nodded and watched as Tig--pissed as hell--rode out of the lot and onto the street.

She guessed that he was still piqued after she and Chibs yelled at him.

And she was still pissed at Jax, but for a different reason now.

This time, she wanted to slap the shit out of the blonde idiot standing before her, requesting help with disposing of a literal dead body.

Isla couldn't quite believe that Jax had turned to her and not somebody like Opie--somebody who would be able to help a little more physically--but she could only assume that it was more of a trust thing.

He had a lot of faith in her and she lauded that. But it also saw her get thrust into some questionable situations.

"You look like you're gonna puke." Juice stifled a laugh as Isla padded in, the bottom of her shirt wrenched between bloodied fingers. "Are you good?"

"Yeah." Instantly, she responded. "I'm fine. I just need to get my purse."

Clay was nowhere to be seen--possibly in the back room with Chibs and Tara--but Gemma's eyes focused on the blonde's form as she strolled across the wood.

"You don't look fine. Come sit for a little while."

"I'm gonna head home--"

"Where'd Jax go?" Gemma cut in, lifting an eyebrow conspicuously.

Tell Gemma that you don't know where I went.

"I don't know." She frowned, sitting on the barstool opposite the woman. "We shared a cigarette, talked about Abel, and then he told me he had to go--where, I don't know."

Did she feel bad about roping his child into their little lie? Yeah, a bit. But it was foolproof. Gemma never would've suspected anything to do with Abel because, really, Jax brought him up to everyone whenever he got the chance to.

"Ah. He's probably headed over to see him. I'll go--"

"I wouldn't." Isla pushed. "He's trying to get some alone time with him. He said that he hasn't really been able to spend one-on-one time with Abel all too much."

Which wasn't a lie. Jax needed to spend those rare solitary moments with his baby because his mother couldn't seem to leave St. Thomas for more than three hours at a time.

Gemma just hummed, turning away.

She knew how he felt. But she was Abel's grandma--she just wanted to know that he was safe and being looked after.

"I'm sorry, that was mean...I just think he's a little confused right now, and could use five minutes with his son."

"No, you're right." She nodded, unable to heed the trepidation flitting over Isla because she felt bad about coming down on Gemma in such a way.

That woman was a Godsend to Jax, his children, and even Isla's family. She didn't deserve to be randomly admonished for wanting to visit her baby's baby. Not after everything she'd done for them.

Well, besides trying to murder the mother of Jax's first born. That was a little fucked up--even by SAMCRO's standards.

But Isla adored her. For everything she had done for her during the time she'd resided in Charming, Gemma was regarded extremely fucking highly in her book.

"Go home, baby. Get some sleep, too--you need to rest."

Isla waved her off. "I'm not tired, just feelin' a little gross."

"I'd bet." Gemma pushed her lips together, smiling as much as she could've. "You go yourself pretty again, and swing by later for dinner."

"Yes ma'am." She mock saluted, reaching for her purse.

Goodbyes between Isla, Gemma, and Juice were uttered for a few moments before the blonde made her way to the door.

Her eyebrows raised inquisitively, urging her to turn back to the duo.

"Gem?"

"Mhm?"

"Was Tig alright?" Sincerely, she asked. Feeling a little guilty about snapping earlier.

Gemma didn't say anything but her head bobbed in confirmation, providing Isla with the answer she needed.

The Irish in her shone through during instances like those. She was brash in her actions, words, and the fact she'd always speak before she thought--but the solemnity with which she would ponder, apologize after making a mistake, was just so plainly Irish.

Isla was kind. Caring. Nurturing. She was everything that SAMCRO was not--but, at the same time, everything that Chibs was. Reliable. Loyal. Committed. A true ride or fucking die.

Everybody trusted her, and nobody second-guessed confiding in her.

And, once again, that had its reparations alongside a multitude of perks.

"Holy mother of Jesus." She cursed, the unmistakable Belfast twang flickering through her brusque tone.

Jax haphazardly pulled the bed-sheet over Kohn's lifeless frame, turning to face his little friend who was, to put it lightly, fucking stunned.

"You sound super Irish when you're mad."

"I'm glad you could recognize that I'm mad at you, Jax." Her eyes never once left the outline of that dead body half on Tara's bedroom carpet, half on the tile of her en-suite.

Getting to her knees, disregarding an incredulous amount of blood decorating the walls and carpets, Isla pulled the floral cover off of Josh.

She sighed. "Why'd you do it?"

"He was stalking Tara--"

"So you just blew his fucking brains out?!" Her shriek was guttural. "Jesus Christ, Jax. And you idiots think that Tig is the one with a trigger problem."

"He does have a problem, and you know that! This was different!" He countered, pulling her to her feet. "This was fucking restitution, Isla!"

"No." Calmly, she stated. Her glare piercing. "This was fucking stupid. Possibly the most idiotic thing that you've ever done, Jackson."

His head shook as he sneered, towering over her. Isla felt intimidated. For the first time ever, she felt an unwavering sensation of overawe whilst in the presence of her best friend.

"He was a bad guy. He had to die."

"But he was fucking ATF! Hale is gonna get your ass, and there's nothing Unser will be able to help you with once he gets wind of this--"

Isla's voice cracked around a small sob. She wasn't even aware of the tears welling in her eyes, but they were there the entire time.

It was the thought of Jax making one incredible life altering fuck up--one that he wasn't going to save himself with a bribe, or the simple luck of a good connection to Charming PD--that was maiming her uncomfortably.

Jax's arms wound around her trembling waist, hugging her tightly against his palpitating chest.

The sheer terror visible in her mannerisms was what frightened him. Isla never seemed to scare very easily--or, at least, she didn't show it.

She was fearless, but she was still human. And he had only seen her crack twice. Both times because of the club, too.

"He was stalking Tara." He reinstated, circling his fingers over Isla's svelte spine. "They dated when she was in Chicago, she broke things off but he was a clingy motherfucker and he wouldn't leave her alone."

"She should've gotten a restraining order or something." She mumbled into his chest, sniffing back tears.

"That's the thing. She did. But he broke it by coming back to Charming, pretending to be setting up shop at the PD with Hale, but he followed her around town for a couple weeks instead."

"And nobody questioned why he wasn't getting anything done?"

Jax's head shook. "He was still working for Chicago--or so he said, anyway--so Hale just assumed any intel for whatever the fuck it was he'd been workin' on was going straight back to the big bosses."

She was struggling to follow on.

It was such a convoluted scenario that Isla never thought she'd become entwined with--though, with Jax and Charming being, well, Jax and Charming, she didn't know why she ruled something of the sort out.

"Are you gonna tell Gemma and Clay--"

"No. This is between us, and Tara."

Isla didn't have the energy to bicker with him again. She didn't want to bicker with him again, truthfully.

"Alright, what's the next move, then? 'Cuz this pig can't stay wrapped up in a sheet for too much longer or else he's gonna start to stink this place out."

Jax situated both hands against crimson coated shoulders, lightly pushing her backward so she could look up to meet his gaze.

"I got a plan. But I don't think you're gonna like it."

His eyes went straight to the lighter atop Tara's bedside table, right next to the pineapple scented candle, and she sighed hard.

The man was so sadistic. It wasn't even slightly discreet anymore, really.

Whereas Clay had always been ruthless, remarkably barbaric toward those who had wronged him--or anyone, really--Jax had more of a moral compass. Not much more, but a little. And that was the sort of thing that tied him straight to JT.

But Clarence Morrow had a much more potent impact on Jax's life, thus the man's foibles ended up transpiring to his stepson.

"This is seriously fucked up."

"I know." He didn't even try to argue, pushing Josh into the small grave he'd spent the last ten minutes digging at the pit of a deep, deep ditch.

Isla's body was below freezing, cold and uneasy at the prospect of potentially being caught, or assumed as an accessory to the murder of a federal agent.

"I'm sorry for roping you into this." Jax stated, almost reading her mind. "I just didn't know what else to do."

She ran a hand over his forearm, resting her head comfortably against navy-cotton covered flesh. "I know."

He didn't expect the woman to douse the dead body in gasoline, set it alight, and wait all night for the corpse to torrefy entirely--but she was there now. There was no reason she shouldn't go to the trouble of lighting the first match.

Tara should be the one doing this, Isla thought to herself as the small stick caught alight. She dropped it atop the sheet, taking a few steps backward when the thing immediately shot up into thick flames.

Jax engulfed her warmly with both arms, holding her tightly as if continuing their prior embrace. It felt safe, unusually so. But, to Isla, it felt like he was scouting for that security more than what she was.

"I can't believe you committed murder for a woman that you haven't seen for ten whole years." She laughed against his sweatshirt, eyes watering. "Is there something going on with you two again?"

"No." Huskily, he responded. "There isn't, and there won't be, either. I just swung by her place to make sure she was alright--I knew she was having trouble with that fucker--and he was there. I had to do it, Isla."

"I know."

She didn't. She did not know. She did not want to know, either. She couldn't fucking believe he'd acted out so rashly, how he was so trigger happy.

Jax was morphing into a different man and she couldn't help but pin that on the club.

"Is she alright?"

"I don't think so." His mumble was barely audible, but she caught it.

Isla squeezed his arm reassuringly, knowing that he felt bad about bringing that sort of trouble to Tara.

"She will be." She confirmed. "She's a strong girl, Jax, she'll be okay."

It didn't kill her to speak positively about Tara, she still held a place in her huge Irish heart--but it was an odd sensation to be mentioning her at all.

Ten years had passed by and Isla wasn't even certain that she was still alive. Her concern for the doctor seemed to dissipate over time because Tara didn't want anything more to do with them, so they didn't try with her.

Maybe it was a pang of jealousy that held her back. She was undeniably envious of the fact that she'd gotten out of town, worked her ass off, and experienced bigger and better things.

But, essentially, everything led back to Charming, and Tara Knowles had ended up falling into that same heap of trouble she left behind a decade ago.

Isla pulled her cellphone from the back pocket of her jeans, groaning when she saw the time.

"We've got an hour before Gemma wants us for dinner. You think this son of a bitch is gonna turn into dust within the next sixty minutes?"

"No." Jax laughed, leaning to his left and propping his head atop hers. "But he'll be unrecognizable in the next twenty."

"Perfect."

It was barbarous. Vile. Inhuman.

Isla's mother would be spinning in her grave if she knew the chaos she'd managed to find herself meshed with. Diane would kill Chibs, too.

She'd kill him for roping her baby into such malice after leaving Belfast. She'd want to throttle the Scottish son of a bitch for welcoming little Isla Áine Telford to SAMCRO, to Charming, to Jax fucking Teller.

They weren't natives to the small town, nor were they natives to California. Chibs had just moved from charter to charter. Continent to fucking continent. And taking his little angel along for the ride wasn't exactly planned until his late wife took her very last breath one stormy morning.

It was the most upsetting thing he had to do, telling his daughter that the woman she looked up to and adored with every fiber of her being wasn't coming home.

He'd been in the army, he'd seen things no man should've ever seen, but the sight of that six year old--teary-eyed and partially cognizant--was something that cut him so deeply, Jimmy O'Phelan's mark didn't seem to scratch the surface of Chib's inconsolable hurt.

"I think we're good now." A little nervous, Isla noted.

She simply couldn't wait to get out of the bitter chill, into a hot shower, and to the dinner table at the Teller-Morrow residence.

Jax surveyed the scene. He crouched down, heeding the flicker and sick crackle of flames engulfing the barely fleshed body.

"I think so, too." He confirmed, throwing her the keys to his SUV. "Get outta the cold--I'll finish up here. K?"

She nodded, clutching the chain close to her chest.

Isla wasn't sure how badly she was trembling until she sat still in the passenger seat, watching the club's VP commit the unspeakable.

Really, she wasn't shocked to find out that Jax was capable of the sort. Burning a man dead was better than burning one alive, and she was thankful that Josh had been put out of his misery before his body was cauterized into dust...Which was more than what could've been said about Kyle Hobart.

She remembered overhearing the club's plans to sear, or slice, the SAMCRO tattoo from the back of that brute once they'd gotten wind of his inability to black it out.

And she would've felt bad about that man getting viciously harmed, if he didn't fuck Opie over and subsequently land him in Chino to serve five years away from Charming and his family.

It was cruel, she knew that. To blowtorch the MC tattoo from the stretch of his back, was fucking cruel. Isla knew that Tig was adept at causing such blistering agony, but she didn't think he would actually go through with it, least of all with such delight.

Isla feared that man sometimes. Clay's right hand, the man who sought to protect her, fucking terrified her because he was so unpredictable. So fast acting.

"He's done." Jax officially confirmed, sliding into the driver's seat. "You okay?"

She was staring off into space, her eyes glazing over at the realization she had just helped dispose of another human being.

"Isla--"

"I'm good." Finally, she spoke. "I just--uh--I just wanna get cleaned up and head to dinner now."

He pinched the keys from a frail palm, sticking them into the ignition. All the while wondering what the fuck he was going to do with the shaken up woman to his right.

Twenty-three years of friendship, and Isla never once thought she'd be involved in such incredulous activity. Jax never thought she'd get hauled into it either, really.

Juice was right. She looked like she was going to throw up, all pale and sickly.

He had done that. Jax was, essentially, the reason that Isla seemed as though she wanted to crawl out of her own fucking skin. Granted, she was already feeling rather discomfited after tending to Cameron's laceration for hours on end--at odds with her father and Tig for that time, too.

But now this...This made Isla feel horrible. Dirty. Disgusting.

"You want me to tell Gemma you're not feeling it tonight?" Jax looked beside himself, noticing her head hanging low as she flared out of the window. "So you can skip seeing everybody--"

"No." Flatly, she responded. "No, I wanna make sure Tig doesn't hate me."

"Why would he hate you?"

"I yelled at him." Isla sounded downcast, sad. "He was watching, being awkward, trying to tell me what dad and I were doing wasn't going to suffice, and I just snapped."

In understanding, he hummed. He knew how irritating Alexander Trager was. Irritating, insufferable, it was all the same.

"He won't hate you for that." Comfortably, Jax rested a hand on Isla's thigh.

She barely felt the ringed fingers gently gliding along her jeans as she shook. It was a tremor, light and unnoticeable to the naked eye, that Jax felt reverberate through his entire body through his palm.

"I don't think he's managed to be pissed at you for more than fifteen minutes at a time."

"Yeah." She mumbled, shifting awkwardly. "Yeah, you're right. I'm too sweet for anybody to stay mad at me--"

"I wouldn't say you were sweet."

She smacked at his hand with a laugh, throwing her head backward as her smile started to fade.

It was bittersweet.

Bittersweet because she was realizing that Tig had pardoned her for being a bitch, but she had also just disposed of a dead body on the side of the freeway.

Bittersweet because, now, there was no clear path for her and Jackson and whatever happened was just going to happen and they had to grin and bear it. Pretend it wasn't eating them from the inside out.

Bittersweet because their families--their family--were currently sat around the oak table in Gemma's dining room, waiting for the pair to waltz in after doing the most heinous.

Bitter. Fucking. Sweet.

"Where were you guys?!" Tig pointed his beer bottle at the duo, heeding Jax's hand in Isla's back pocket.

Of course, to Trager, that was more than just a comfort thing. He didn't know what they had just done--nor would he--but she was going to let him believe whatever the fuck he wanted to as long as it wasn't the actual truth.

"It don't matter." Clay dismissed, gesturing to Jax and Isla's designated spaces at the table. "They're here now. That's all I care about."

Her smile was warm, friendly and welcoming while she sat in between her father and partner in crime. Literally.

Chibs nudged her. "You alright?"

"Yeah." Slowly, she uttered. She reached for the wine glass that Gemma had so kindly laid out for her.

The two blondes made eye contact for a few moments, Jax's crystalline hues completely lifeless. Arid. He nodded toward her, an indication that he was feeling alright.

But Isla...She wasn't. Lying through her teeth was the only feasible means of getting over this. Whatever this was.

"I'm fucking brilliant, dad."

[just-jordie-things]

hi! could you do 26 and 45 w/ sokka please? thank you!!

prompt 26: jealous kiss prompt 45: passionate kiss ___

It was kind of funny that Sokka managed to get jealous over some idiot that kept throwing looks at you and trying weird pickup lines.  Mostly because you were his girlfriend, and you’d been glued to his side all night.

This event was very important for reparations between the kingdoms.  Zuko threw a gala every year on the anniversary of his coronation to promote peace and mingling.  And for the past three years, it had been a hit.  People from all over the world came to the Fire Nation to celebrate for the whole week.

Through the week there were festivals and shows, vendors selling little pieces of their culture like snacks, dolls, tapestries, and traditional fashion pieces.  And then at the end of the week came the true celebration, the gala.

It was a grand ball, an event more royal than most people would ever experience in their lives.  Being a part of the Avatar’s crew, you were there every year, and every year, you made sure to gush to Zuko about how he’d outdone himself.  Who would have thought he was so good at party planning?

“Isn’t this fun?” You asked Sokka with a bright smile, your eyes scanning over the crowd of elegant dresses and sharp suits.

You loved how happy everyone looked here.

Sokka just let out a low hum, his eyes narrowing on a certain guy across the room.  He swore that he saw the Fire Nation dressed man was talking to his friend about you, since he kept looking at you and then turning to his friend to laugh.

You’d noticed how off your boyfriend had been all night, but you couldn’t tell what was setting him off.  He was always in such a good mood- especially with a crowd around him that he could joke around with.  You thought that his mood would lift the more you two hung around.  But he was stiff every time you tried to dance, and he was grumpy whenever you tried to mingle with other people.

“Okay,” You sigh, turning to him and taking his hands.  You gave him your most serious look, but his scowl on the Fire Nation guy didn’t lift.  “What’s going on?”

“Nothing” Sokka mutters.

He’s still not looking at you, so you reach up and flick his forehead.

He blinks in surprise, and is about to ask you why you did that, but you’re quicker.

“I spent two hours getting ready for this gala,” You told him in your serious voice- which was a tone you didn’t often have to take with him.  “That’s two hours of applying makeup and making Katara do my hair- that’s two hours of having to listen to Katara talk about Aang while she does my hair” 

“I know- and I’m sorry- and you look... so amazing.  Really.  You’re the most beautiful girl in the room,” 

He’s covering his ass, but you know he means it and it still brings a blush to your cheeks.

“But that guy knows it, too!” Sokka shrieks, pointing at the man across the room.

Your brows furrow in confusion, and you glance over your shoulder to see who he’s pointing at, but Sokka quickly swivels you back around.

“Don’t look at him! He’ll see your pretty face and think he has a chance!” 

Sokka’s losing it, but it’s so goddamn hilarious and adorable that you can’t help but laugh.  Even while he’s death glaring at the stranger.

“Sokka-”

“Maybe we should just leave” 

“Sokka,” You repeat, reaching up and grabbing his chin, tilting his head down so he’d meet your eyes.  “You’re crazy, you know that?”

“Maybe.  But it’s justified” 

“No, my love, it isn’t,” You reply with a soft laugh.  “Don’t tell me you’re jealous of a stranger...?”

“I’m very jealous of a stranger” He grumbles, and moves to look at the guy again, but you’re quick to force him back down to you.

“Oh, Sokka, my love, my darling, my sweet, idiotic boyfriend,” You go on dreamily, and wrap your arms up around his neck.  “You’ve got nothing to worry about, so calm down, alright?” You tell him.  “I’m all yours, and I never want to be anyone else’s”

“Even if I die?” He asks, dumbly, making you giggle.

“When you die of some stupid accident, you know I’ll be right by your side,” You say sweetly, although it’s morbid.  “You know, tragically” She adds teasingly.

“You really mean it?” He asks, his brows drawing upwards at your romantic sentiment.

You answered by leaning up and crashing your lips to his in a kiss far more passionate and heated than necessary.  But just as your fingers carded through his hair and your tongue swiped open his bottom lip, Sokka pushed you back a little.

“Woah- wait- what was that for?”

“Well is that guy still looking?” You asked, breathlessly.

Sokka glances up, before nodding back at you.

“Then... why don’t you give him a little show or somethin- mmph!” 

Before you could even finish your sly suggestion, Sokka had tugged you against him and slammed his lips back to yours.

He didn’t often get jealous, but damn, you’d have to keep this in mind.

[gustafsnightangel]

Shattered Lives Ch 22 Pt 1

He woke tired but let her sleep. She needed to be sharp today, he just had questions to answer which he could do half asleep anyway. Nothing a quart of coffee wouldn’t take care of at the studio. With the kids showered and ready for school, Lily dressed and snuggled into him for morning cuddles, he sat on the bed and brushed his fingers against Sildies cheek.

She woke with a start and inhaled sharply trying to get her bearings.

“Morning love.” He said gently as those ice blue eyes found his.

“Morning.” She mumbled.

“I’d let you sleep more but I don’t want you to be late.” He dipped down and kissed her tenderly, her heart was broken as much as his was and he’d forgotten that. Forgotten that on top of losing her brother, he’d hurt her and in doing so left her alone thinking she’d lost him, that he’d left her too.

“Thanks.” She rubbed her eyes and focused on the little lady in his arms all smiles and kisses. “You seem all chipper this morning Lily bear.” She chuckled and stroked a knuckle down the girls cheek. “You on the other hand love, are tired.” She cupped a hand to his face and stretched up to kiss him.

“I’ll be fine. Up you get, defendants to roast, cases to slay.” He said and stood bringing the covers with him.

“Such a task master.” She chuckled and climbed out to stand, wrapped her arm around his neck and kissed him. “Thank you for the sleep in.”

“Go shower I’ll make you some pancakes.” He kissed her seductively and let it linger as she deepened it.

“Still illegal.” He quipped breathlessly when she pulled away and walked to the bathroom.

“Still gonna do it.” She called turning the shower on, his chuckle making her smile. They were finding their rhythm again. It was there he thought, they just had to get it flowing how it had been before he he’d been stupid.

“You know you take my breath away every morning love.” He said as she walked to him a little while later, lawyered up in a black suit and power red blouse. He set the pancakes down on the table and kissed her, that passion and a promise of pleasure rippling just under the surface.

“So do you in a crisp white dress shirt.” She purred and kissed him again, nipping his neck just below his jaw as he moved away from her.

She sat and ate while the boys finished getting dressed and Gustaf made lunches. That shirt she thought, she just wanted to get her hands on it, under it. Damn he looked and smelled amazing today and as her luck would have it they were both working. She finished eating and washed her dish, bringing her teacup to sit on the counter.

“Can I see you for lunch today?” He asked gently.

“Text me when you’re done and when we recess for lunch I’ll let you know how we’re looking.” She wanted to say yes but knew she could very well be indisposed. “I may work through lunch today depending on how much we have to scramble with what I figured out yesterday.”

“I’ll text you.” He kissed her softly and handed her some lunch. “Just in case lunch falls through.” He grinned.

“Boys lets go.” She called. “Good luck today.” She said softly and kissed him sweetly. Those lips she thought, how she wanted them on her.

“Ha! Cakewalk. I can do this shit in my sleep.” He kissed her grinning. “You look fucking hot by the way.” He growled and cupped a hand behind her neck drawing her close for one last kiss. One of those toe curling mind altering kisses that stole her thoughts.

“So do you.” She purred. “This shirt does things to me.” She kissed him sinfully.

“Does it now?” He asked slyly.

“Mmmm hmm.” She kissed him seductively and let her body brush his. The groan was all she needed for that wicked chuckle to escape her lips.

“Bye love.” He grinned. Damn he loved playing this game with her. “Go kick some ass.” He kissed her again deeply.

“Bye.” She said slightly fuzzy, the man could kiss her dumb.

She walked into court with a shit eating grin on her face. Today was going to be a good day and if things went well she could close this tomorrow. She ran through her discovery with Oliver and he stared at her blankly, blinked, as if not quite registering what she’d said, before that same shit eating grin cracked his face wide.

“Oh.” He said nodding. “You’re good.” Oliver was her boss and her first chair, they made a pretty awesome team, but she always seemed to surprise him with how her mind worked. “And I owe Nilsson a bottle, damnit.” He chuckled.

“A bottle for what?” She asked as their client’s representative came in. “For you closing out this case before it went to trial. We had a side bet.” He scoffed, still in disbelief at the woman in front of him.

“It’s not done yet. Don’t get ahead of yourself.” She laughed. “Good morning gentlemen. Let’s get to it shall we? I have news and a game plan.” Sildie locked herself into lawyer mode and got down to it.

“You’re going to want to listen to this lovely lady. She’s about to seek restitution damages for a few million dollars.” Oliver said grinning. “And save your clients the ordeal of a trial.”

Gustaf collected his bag and headed out the door not long after Sildie. He’d be finished by ten and planned to text Sildie but also sneak in and watch her in action. It wasn’t just the fact she looked smoking hot in her suit, or what he knew was under it, it was her wicked sharp mind, the way she’d cut him down last week leaving no room for misinterpretation. She just fascinated him, not that he was about to push his luck again just to see the lawyer surface, she was also scary as fuck when she let it loose.

Daisy met him at the studio and they reviewed his schedule for Oslo, making sure to update his calendar with Sildie. He couldn’t forget that again. He’d made good progress with Ana’s shit and felt better now the physical remnants of their relationship were out of his apartment, the bulk of the internal shit in the notebook.

He was apprehensive on what Sildie would say or do after reading it, he was starting to wonder if he’d made the right choice giving it to her, was it too much he wondered? She didn’t seem the sort of person that would hold all that shit against him, throw it back in his face, reject him or their relationship but it was there in his mind, burrowed deep. He breathed out just before sitting down for the interview, fuck he hoped she wasn’t going to kick him to the curb over this, the doubt still lingered.

With the interview done, the usual questions answered, and a few laughs along the way, Gustaf decide to walk the three blocks to the courthouse. It was an ok day outside and he needed the air to clear his head. He texted Sildie that he was done and decided to sit in and watch the proceedings until her lunch break. Even if she couldn’t get away for lunch he’d at least get to see her in her element, it interested him.

He went through security, shucked his coat, and squeezed through the courtroom doors taking a seat at the back of the room behind Sildie. He didn’t want her to see him and throw her off. She’d fucking kill me he thought, hell she might even kill me for just sitting here regardless.

He watched and listened as the other lawyer spoke, laying out what could only be determined as a last ditch effort in selling his case to the judge. It looked as though Sildie had them on the ropes already and was waiting for the opportune moment to deliver the knockout blow. It came soon enough and Gustaf was go smacked.

“Your honor as I stated previously, opposing counsel has had ample time to refute these claims...” Sildie began and rose to her feet to address the judge, who Gustaf thought, looked very intrigued by what she was about to say.

Gustaf saw the opposing counsels shoulders slump, he knew the writing was on the wall, Sildie was about to bury them. He watched in amazement, she was a completely different person inside the courtroom, like an alter ego had emerged and taken over. He was holding his breath as she poked holes in opposing counsels case. This is better than watching it on TV he grinned behind his hand as he leaned his elbows on his knees and watched.

There were objections against and further interruptions until the judge calmed it down and allowed Sildie to continue. Gustaf was on the edge of his seat now wondering what the killing blow was going to be.

“... the slander and racial discrimination of Meyertech employees by Meyertech itself, especially in a public domain, is unacceptable and downright disgusting. In light of this information your honor I ask that the court seek reparation damages for those Meyertech employees affected in the amount of $2.3 million for each count, which if my math is correct totals in the realm of $1.3 billion.” Sildie remained standing and had to bite the inside of her cheek to stop the shit eating grin that wanted to crack across her face as the courtroom exploded in an uproar.

“Counselor $2.3 each is a gift.” She said flatly once the judge had restored order. “...and you know it.” She said slyly and gave him that sidelong glance that clearly said I fucking owned you, and she had. She’d wiped the floor with him.

The gavel slammed down a few times and the room fell silent. Gustaf was grinning so wide his cheeks hurt. She was going to win this case before it even went to trial. He watched her now, standing tall, head high, confident, and with a touch of arrogance he’d never seen before. He smiled as he saw the twitch of her pen in her hand, a nervous trait she did at home when she was thinking, calming herself while working, or sorting through her thoughts.

“Do you have anything to add counselor?” The judge asked opposing counsel.

“Nothing at this time your honor, thank you.” He said defeated and threw up a hand to his client to remain silent, he knew there wasn’t going to be anymore time after this.

“Then in light of this new information and the egregious nature of this case, damages in the amount of $3.7 million for each count will be awarded. And before you object counselor remember this. Those employees will struggle to find employment outside of Meyertech due to the nature of this case and remind your client to be thankful it’s not more. This court is adjourned.” The gavel came down and Gustaf watched Sildie’s shoulders relax, it was her only outward show of emotion if you knew what to look for.

She breathed out slowly and bit her cheek to stop the grin, professionalism wasn’t rubbing the win in the opposing counsels face. The handshake was firm from Lucas, the congratulatory smile of knowing she’d “lawyered” him, as Gustaf would say.

“Well played. Until next time Sildie.” He grinned as he collected his bag. “Good to see you as always.”

“Until next time counselor.” She smiled, the guy looked relieved to be done with it. She couldn’t blame him with the fact his client had blindsided him. Lucas was a good adversary even if he was slightly sweet on her. Had Gustaf not come into her life she might have ended up with him but even that was a stretch. He was good looking, good career, but he just didn’t do it for her, there was something missing that Gustaf filled in spades. And why the fuck was she even thinking of that she wondered?

He saw the look back at Sildie. The long sweep from head to foot, the flirtatious smile of a man on the edge of testing those waters, the slight cock of his head to the side taking in those curves he no doubt wanted to get his hands on. “Eyes off my woman asshole.” He growled to himself as opposing counsel walked past, and wow, where the fuck had that come from, the thought startling him. Sildie was more than capable of fending him off if it came to that. Did they already have history?

This was not a good headspace to be in he decided. He wasn’t like that, he’d never been the possessive, jealous type and he couldn’t start now. He trusted Sildie in that respect, she wouldn’t cheat on him just as he wouldn’t cheat on her. If she had a history with him it was exactly that and none of his fucking business. It didn’t negate the fact he wanted to have words with the smirking lawyer as he made his way out of the courtroom. Sildie would skin him if he did though, she’d make Wednesday night look like a friendly conversation.

He watched her shake hands with her clients, her first chair that he determined was her boss and the guy was extremely happy. He sent her a text saying he was here and let it be. He knew she quite possibly had work still to do.

“Thanks Oliver.” She laughed as he overly praised her in front of their client.

“How did you figure it out?” Alex asked.

“The tone of the emails. Once I looked at the stack you sent over last weekend I knew something wasn’t quite right. It took me all last week to wade through them again and it just clicked last night.” She said honestly, it had been brutal work but well worth it.

“Gotta love those epiphanies.” Alex chuckled and shook her hand. “Thanks again Sildie, you’ve made a difference in their lives. They can at least try to move forward and rebuild their careers.”

“You’re welcome. Please send them my best, I hope they can find some peace in their lives now it’s over.” She packed her bag with all her notes and files as they walked away.

“Take the rest of the day Sildie, maybe tomorrow too. I know you’ve been racking up the hours on this at home and weekends and it’s appreciated. Take some down time now, we don’t want to burn you out.” He held out his hand. “Good job, really good job.”

“Thanks. I might take a couple of days either side of next weekend. My boyfriend is taking me away somewhere.” She smiled and flushed slightly.

“Sounds good. You’ve earned the downtime, take it and relax. Really good work and just as a heads up, you’re names in the hat for partner.” He left her standing there slightly floored. She knew she did good work but partner, holy shit, she thought, holy fucking shit. Her grin got bigger. She finished packing her bag and checked her phone, smiling at the text from Gustaf. Today was a good day and it wasn’t even noon.

Sorry for the wait. Coming out now.

She texted.

“Turn around.” He murmured and chuckled at her slight jump at his voice.

“Hi.” She laughed. “You startled me.” She almost groaned as his lips met the strip of skin just above the collar of her blouse.

“Can I take you to lunch?” His kiss was tender and slow, that slow burn that made her belly quiver. “We have some celebrating to do.”

“What are we celebrating?” She looked at him curiously.

“Your win.” He smirked.

“You were in here?” She looked shocked and the flush of red on her face was adorable.

“Yes, I was in here. I wanted to see my lawyer in action.” He grinned. “And you’re something else love.” He was still in awe. The woman fought for people’s rights and it only endeared her to him more. She fought for those who couldn’t be heard, gave them a voice. It was pretty amazing stuff.

Her smile was that beautiful smile that lit up his world as his fingers brushed her cheek.

“You are beautiful love.” He whispered and kissed her sweetly.

“Only to you.” She grabbed her bag and his hand gripped the handle, she let him take it. “I need food.”

“Grilling the opposition not enough for you today love?” He chuckled as they went to leave.

“Ha Ha funny man.” She scoffed.

“You know.” He started as they walked out of the courtroom. “Watching you work is an extreme turn on.” He growled.

“Good thing I have the rest of the day off then huh?” She purred as they stepped in the elevator to the garage.

“Do you?” He gently pinned her to the wall of the elevator with a chuckle, pressing himself against that body he had the sudden urge to fuck. Damn the woman made him lose himself.

“Mmmm hmmm.” She kissed him sinfully. “When’s your next interview?” She asked as she nipped his jaw, her hand slipping down to palm him as as the elevator slowed to a stop at their level.

“Tomorrow morning. This afternoon’s interview was rescheduled to Thursday.” He said as they stepped out and walked to Sildie’s car. He pressed her against it and kissed her longingly. “What time do you have to pick the kids up?”

“Five.” She kissed him so his mind blanked. “I want us to go somewhere.” She breathed, as an urgent need bubbled up inside her, to feel that body against hers. “Be alone somewhere.” He gripped her behind the neck and kissed her with that seduction he knew made her wet. “I want to peel you out of this shirt.” She purred and kissed his neck where the starched fabric stopped and left that strip of skin visible. “Or maybe fuck you in it, I haven’t decided yet.” She murmured. She’d wanted to kiss and nibble him there since he walked out in it this morning. There was something about him today that she couldn’t get enough of. His smell, his taste, he’d gotten under her skin and she was desperate for him.

“Get in the car.” He growled with a chuckle.

This was a new side of her, urgent hands, that smoldering look from under her lashes, she was stripping him bare with her eyes and damn if it didn’t make him want her more. If it wouldn’t get them arrested he’d fuck her right where they stood.

Her hand wandered while he was driving, his groan more a low growl as she palmed him at a stop light. Grinning he took her hand from his crotch and kissed it, nipping her knuckle as her giggle filled the car. She kept a hold of his hand and slipped it under her skirt which she had deliberately hitched up. She moaned as his fingers found the soft flesh of her upper thigh where the lace of her stockings ended.

His parking wasn’t the best and as soon as he’d pulled the parking break on he leaned over and kissed her, letting the hand she’d placed between her legs ride higher. Her hands cupped his face and she kissed him with a barely restrained passion as her hips arched toward his hand urging him to touch her where she ached for him. She cried out as he gave her what she craved, that one finger grazing over the black lace of her g string.

“Gustaf.” She breathed, almost vibrating out of her skin with the need to feel him inside her. “Please.”

Her whimper made him harder, his cock twitching in response. His finger slipped under the lace and down into her heat, that soaked pussy just begging for him.

“What’s gotten into you?” He asked grinning as her fingers undid the buttons of his shirt, her mouth claiming his. This wasn’t like her at all, not that he was complaining but there was something else going on.

“You.” She breathed, she was ravenous for him. Never had she ever behaved like this with a guy. She always showed some measure of self control but today she just needed him to be inside her, to fuck her. She needed to claim him for herself. Mine, she thought.

“Not yet I haven’t.” He growled playfully. “But I’m working on that.” He nipped her jaw roughly. His finger slipped between her soaked folds to circle her entrance, her whimper desperate.

“The car’s not big enough for me to fuck you in love.” He murmured as his finger circled and dipped into her.

“I need you.” She gasped as he sucked the one spot on her neck that was a favorite.

“Not only that if someone walks past.” He growled as she reached over and took his cock in her hand through the material of his dress pants.

“I don’t care. I need you.” She choked.

He watched her as he slowly slipped his finger all the way inside her. She cried out, wrapped her arms around him and crushed her mouth against his. Beyond desperate he thought. He kissed his way down her throat to suck on the pulse at her neck, his finger sliding in and out of her while his thumb found her clit and circled.

“Find what you need love, let me watch you fall apart.” He whispered.

“Gustaf.” She gasped as her hips rocked against his hand. She crested quickly already on the brink of orgasm when he’d parked. He slipped a second finger to join the first and felt her body tense, her cry of his name hoarse as she came. He prolonged it for as long as he could until she relaxed and kissed him, panting. He withdrew his fingers and licked them clean as he watched her, those ice blue eyes intent.

“Nothing like my favorite dessert for lunch.” He quipped and kissed her seductively.

“I’m not done yet.” She murmured palming him, he was rock hard for her. His groan was one of desire and lust.

“Upstairs.” He growled and nipped her bottom lip gently but she grinned against his lips.

“Not yet.” She whispered. “Let me return the favor.”

He stopped her as she went to unzip his pants. Gently gripping her chin he pulled her to him slowly before capturing her lips tenderly. “Not this time.” He murmured. “I want to be in you when I come.” He kissed her again.

He sat back as she gently pushed him and crawled over the center console to straddle his lap, his hands pushing her skirt up to bunch at her waist as she towered over him, hunching herself to fit in the now very confined space.

“I don’t care if someone sees.” She whispered, kissing him sinfully. His hands gripped her hips, resolve almost snapping. No one would see anyway she thought, because they were all at work and her neighbor couldn’t access their car parked beside them because she was about to fuck him in the front seat of her car.

She devoured his mouth as her hands found his belt and waistband of his dress pants. Once she’d released his cock from its fabric prison she stroked him, his groan sheer lust at the slender fingers destroying his manhood. His mind was racing at their location and current activity as well as being overwhelmed with need for her, a heady mixture which he let himself succumb to.

With one hand on her hip his other dipped into her cleavage and opened the buttons of her blouse, fingers skimming breast and nipple. Once her skin was revealed his lips were on it, the taste and smell of her bringing him undone. Her hands turned suddenly urgent as he sucked and licked the pulse at her neck.

“Inside me.” She whimpered. “Gustaf please.”

“It’s all you love, I can’t move.” He breathed. “Take me how you need to.” He understood the need radiating off her. “How you want to.” This was a power play, she needed to be in control, to feel him give in to her, to let her find her own pleasure, claim him.

Her hand stroked him along her folds and rested him at her entrance. Her kiss, that clever mouth tormenting his. She lowered enough to take his tip, her body shaking with the overwhelming need to take him hard.

Ghosting his lips with hers, she fisted a hand in that crisp white dress shirt and took him in slowly, one inch at a time, her eyes never left his.

“Fuck Sildie!” It was a warning, he was on the edge as her warmth enveloped him. He savagely bit down on her neck and felt her flinch before holding him closer urging him to take more as she started to ride him.

It was a slow hard ride to begin with. With the limited space she was reduced to grinding on him more than bouncing though that didn’t stop them finding the erotic pleasure they were desperate for. They soon found a devastating rhythm, one that took him deep. She leaned back as far as she could while she fucked him, his cock brushing her in all the right places.

Neither of them were going to last, it was going to be quick and brutal, shattering them both. His teeth bit into the tender flesh of her shoulder as he pushed the silk from it sending a thrill to her pussy as his hands held her hips pulling her on and off him as she rode him hard. His hips rocked as best they could in the confined space, pelvises grinding together.

He felt her crest and slipped his hand from her hip to finger her clit furiously. She cried out, gripped his shirt and shoulder tightly as she let herself be consumed by it all. He kissed her as she screamed, that gorgeous body writhing and bucking on him.

His resolve snapped when her pussy clenched him, that velvet vice so erotic. He gripped her hips painfully hard and thrust as much as he could as she rode him harder. She grinned as he bit her neck again and came with her name on his lips, that half groan half cry of complete euphoria. She kissed him long and hard as they rode out their pleasure together eventually slowing to a stop and trying to force air into their lungs.

His chuckle had her looking at him. “I like seeing your moves love.” He whispered, kissing her and letting his hands gently massage her hips and ass as she sat there. “They were something else.”

She looked at the man she’d just fucked on the front seat of her car and kissed him sweetly, she was so in love with him. “Sorry if I was a little too forward.” She mumbled, leaning her head against his. She had to apologize, she’d jumped him.

“No, don’t do that.” He said sternly and gripped her chin gently so she’d look at him. “If I didn’t like it I’d tell you.” He growled. “And I happen to like it when you take control like that. Especially after seeing you in court, all lawyered up, and desperate for me to fuck you.”

“I was pretty desperate.” She giggled. “It’s you and this damn shirt.” She quipped tugging at it. And you smell good.”

“Good thing I’m not done wearing it then isn’t it.” He said quietly. “Upstairs so I can give you what you truly need.”

That low growl always did it to her, the shiver across her skin, the tingle in her pussy. There was something about him today that just sent her need for him to fuck her into the stratosphere. Whether stress or something else entirely she wasn’t sure, she just knew she needed his thick length inside her and for him to fuck her until she was wrecked.

He opened the car door so she could climb out easier and helped straighten her skirt. Once on her feet he stepped out and fixed his pants, closed the door, pressed her against it roughly, and kissed her.

“Come with me.” He rumbled, that low tone only making her wetter. “I need you naked and begging.” He purred. Once the elevator doors closed he pinned her to the wall hard and devoured her mouth until she couldn’t think and barely breathe. It excited and aroused her with his rough but gentle handling. There was no doubt he could throw her around like a rag doll that weighed next to nothing if he wanted, however his strokes and kisses were always gentle, always restrained. The bite at her neck in the car was the first time she’d seen that restrain crack and couldn’t help the shiver of fear turn to arousal at the thought of him really letting go.

He was intensely devouring her neck when the elevator doors opened on their floor. He shot a hand out to stop them from closing, wrapped an arm around her waist and stepped out without breaking stride or his current mission of feasting on her neck. He pressed her against her front door and fished his keys from his pocket still torturing her neck, she’d have marks tomorrow.

Once open, he stepped over the threshold, shut the door forcefully and pinned her against it grinning at the familiarity of her seduction that first night he’d stayed here. Her hand disappeared into the V of his dress shirt and with the top three buttons already undone it gave her enough access to feel his chest beneath her hand.

“This is not like you love.” He said gently, her need palpable even after the pleasure she’d already found.

“I’ve had a taste for you all morning.” She purred. “Ever since you came out wearing this shirt.” She nipped his jaw and tugged at his dress shirt.

“I’ll have to wear one more often then.” He kissed her, that need for her starting to overwhelm his system. “But it’s more than that.” He said softly.

“I don’t know what it is, but I need you.” She breathed and palmed him through his dress pants, his slight thrust into her hand making him groan. “I need to feel you fuck me.” Her voice wasn’t steady. She wanted to lose herself to him today.

“Oh you will love. You’ll feel every inch of me.” He growled. “But I want you begging for it first.” He wrapped a hand at the back of her neck and kissed her roughly as her hand gripped him through his pants. He started walking backwards toward the bedroom, her heels clicking on the wooden floors as she followed grinning against his mouth.

He sat on bed and pulled her to stand between his legs. His goddess, all lawyered up, and wanting, oh she was wanting. His hands streaked up her legs and under her skirt, the feel of her lace top stockings and bare skin sending his arousal soaring. He pulled her to him tightly as he gripped her ass and buried his face into the silk at her belly, inhaling the scent of her, nuzzling her belly and slowly pulling the shirt from her waist and with his teeth until he could kiss her there.

He unzipped her skirt and let it slowly fall from her hips, the sight of those long legs in black lace making him groan. Fingers caressed her skin under the red silk blouse, teasing, his lips kissing the same trail. He tormented her, slowly unbuttoning her blouse as his teeth nipped and nibbled.

“Gustaf.” She breathed as that clever mouth sucked on a nipple through the black lace of her bra, her hands holding his head to her begging him to take more.

“So beautiful.” He murmured pushing the silk blouse from her shoulders. He feasted on her breasts as her hands slipped under his shirt to graze his neck and shoulders, he could feel the tremble in her hands and smiled.

She was whimpering as his mouth tasted the dip in her collarbone, the almost painful nip at her throat. His fingers raked the straps of her bra down her shoulders and sucked the tender flesh of her breasts. As he destroyed her system her hands busied with the rest of the buttons of his shirt, sliding her hands beneath it she moaned at the feel of those strong shoulders.

Her hand slid to his waistband and he let her fight with his belt as he continued to strip the lace and silk from her body. By the time she had unzipped him her bra was on the floor along with her g string. His hands dived into her hair and kissed her hard as her hand stroked him. His control only slipping for a split second as she pulled at him.

“On the bed, on your knees.” He growled and stood. Even though they were the same height with her heels on he had that towering presence that made her entire being feel tiny and tremble with anticipation. He held out his hand for hers to steady her as she knelt on the edge of the bed.

His hand pressed against her belly as he stood behind her, the feel of that curvy body against him making him harder as he stepped out of his dress pants and pulled her shoes off. “You’re so beautiful Sildie.” He whispered. “My Sildie.” His fingers sparked the fire under her skin as they trailed across her body as his other hand cupped her gently around the throat.

“You like it when I do this.” He growled and squeezed gently, her pulse thrumming under his fingers. Her gasp made his cock twitch as his lips claimed that one spot below her ear as his hand slipped into her heat.

He brought her to the edge of her climax and stopped just before she tipped over. Her whimper one of desperation. “Not yet love.” He murmured and nipped her shoulder. “I want you begging for it.”

His fingers slipped into her heat again as he worked her to the edge and stopped as her body began to tense. He could feel those curves tremble against him as he tormented her. “I want to be inside you, feel you when you come.” He breathed as her whimper filled the room. The hand at her throat gently pulled her head back until it rested on his shoulder, he wanted her comfortable while he destroyed her.

He’d pinned her body to his with one hand. She could feel the relentless control he had and it sent a thrill racing up her spine. She was at his mercy, determined to completely wreck her as she’d hoped for. She’d asked for it, with her own desperation she’d asked him to take her, to fuck her into oblivion, and she knew he would.

His fingers continued their erotic assault. Slowly bringing her to the edge of orgasm and letting her teeter there before stopping and ravaging her neck and shoulders with his mouth. He was a patient man when it came to pleasuring a woman and this was only the beginning of their afternoon.

“Gustaf.” She whimpered as her climax built. Her body was shaking uncontrollably as he built this orgasm, she’d lost count how many he’d denied her now, knowing that when she came it would completely shatter her.

“Mmmm?” He asked as he kissed her neck and squeezed her throat gently.

“Please.” Her tone music to his ears.

“Do you want me to fuck you love?” He murmured, that low tone making her quiver.

“Yes.” She breathed.

Her whimper was loud and one of frustration as he stopped just before she went over.

“You’re going to be so tight when I fuck you, you’ll remember me taking you, the feel of me fucking you.” He whispered against her ear, her guttural moan making him smile. He moved her forward on her knees until they were at the headboard. He’d wanted her like this again, the thought of how she’d felt around him that day in his apartment all decked out in a corset making his cock twitch.

“Hands on the headboard love.” He murmured not releasing her throat. He helped her as she did as he asked, the shudder of anticipation flooding through her. “I remember how you felt the last time like this.” His lips grazed her shoulder as his hand tightened on her throat. “So tight.”

His fingers slipped over her heat and she gasped. The slight hiatus was enough to calm her body for the next round, prolong the pleasure she was so desperate to feel from him. “So wet for me.” His growl rumbled through him and made her whimper. She was so lost to him now, aching to feel him take her.

“Please.” She gasped as she crested.

“Soon love.” He whispered.

He worked her into a trembling frenzy almost in tears she was so desperate for release. His hand flexed between her thighs for her to spread them slightly. She couldn’t fully open them as his knees were either side of hers.

He leaned forward and rested his hand on the headboard between hers, caging her in. Keeping his hand on her throat he teased her with his cock, the head slipping along her wet folds.

“Please.” She whimpered, her voice almost delirious.

“Once I start I’m not going to stop love.” He kissed her shoulder and bit down gently. “I’m going to fuck you hard until you scream.”

“Please.” He barely heard it. The breathless whimper of a woman desperate to be fucked by a man that knew how. The long strings of “please” over and over again begging him to take her falling from her lips.

He held at her entrance and tortured her with his mouth, the gentle squeeze of her throat making her shiver. He knew she would come as soon as he thrust inside her, this would destroy her completely.

Finding his balance he took his hand off the headboard and slipped it over her clit, those juicy folds begging to be spread and fucked. Her cry turned to a whimper as he slowly worked her into a beautiful mess. He pushed slightly so his tip slipped inside her as she crested, the sensation making her shake violently, she was so close.

Without warning he squeezed her throat and plunged into her hard, fingers frantic on her clit. The sudden bombardment to her senses and body had the orgasm exploded through her. Her scream of his name filled the room as he took hold of the headboard and began to fuck her as he’d promised.

“So tight.” He breathed and nipped her ear. “So beautiful.”

She was seeing stars as her release brought her undone, that blissful buzz from his hand at her throat, the feel of his girth stretching her, the feel of him taking her. His slow rhythm built her up again and again, letting her body crest and fall into bliss at will. She had no control, pinned to him and content to leave it up to him.

“Do you feel me?” He growled teeth grazing her neck, his hand skillfully squeezing her throat.

“Yes.” She cried as another orgasm crested. “Harder.” She whimpered. “Please harder.” Her choked plea the sweetest sound.

“Anything for you love.” His hand tightened at her throat as he pounded into her, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh echoing around their bedroom. He felt her entire body tremble before bucking against him as she screamed, her climax ripping through her again.

He knew she was tiring, being in this position for so long and for the amount of pleasure he’d given her. “Rock back onto me love. I want to be deep inside you.” And he groaned as she did as he’d instructed.

Her breathing became frantic at the sensation. He bottomed out with every thrust in and push back, her head was spinning. His hand gripped the headboard and her throat as he took her hard and fast. With her legs together and pussy spasming over and over again she was deliciously tight.

“Yes.” He breathed. “Sildie.” His murmur of her name as he crested had the most beautiful cry escape from her lips.

He felt her release bubble up from within her and speared into her as her climax ripped itself from her body. His hand tightened on her throat as he bit down on her shoulder hard. As she writhed and bucked at his mercy he continued to take her apart as he tensed for a split second before spilling his seed inside her. His roar mixed with her cries as he continued to ride out their release.

He pried her hands from the headboard and pulled her back against him. Her soft sigh at the warmth and security of his arms around her made his heart lighten. “I’ll have to wear a white dress shirt more often.” He growled as they caught their breath, her chuckle making him smile. “I like seeing your moves love.” He whispered nipping her ear before kissing the spot below it.

“I like it when you fuck me like that.” She smirked and nipped his jaw playfully before twisting around and kissing him with that smoldering kiss that always made his head spin.

“You’re in a mood.” He chuckled as he toppled them over, gently falling to the mattress so he could snuggle her in. He’d missed this and kicked himself for ever driving that wedge between them. “I like this mood.” He murmured and cupped her neck in his hand kissing her.

“I am in a mood. I’d be sorry, but I’m not.” she grinned.

“You’ve had a good day.” He smiled as her face was bright and cheerful.

**************************

@hausofobsession @ill-skillsgard @grandpa-sweaters @authentic90skidd @tuckersgirl @fairlyfallacy @flowers-in-your-hayr @raewritesfiction @stinkerbelle007 @kamie-b @mrsaugustwalker @skrsgardspam

[whatdoesshedotothem]

Wednesday 11 April 1838: SH:7/ML/E/21/0076

7 10

12

fine morning F58° at 8 20 and went out talking to George Naylor (wheelwright) who came this morning to mend carts, harrows, etc – then talking to John Booth – to brew every 3 weeks 46 gallons from 6 struck of malt – came in at 8 ¼ - A- had William Keighley who asked 3/. a foot for oak wood for gates – and she had also Robert Scholefield – waited for her a few minutes – some little talk – out again at 10 about an hour pulling out dead wood from hazels in the walk – with Robert Mann + 5 at the meer embankment breach making up – then went with Robert to see about walling up between Wellroyde and the Lower brea wood – then by the new road to Sun wood quarry – Mrs. Robinson called after me – promised to take the 2 trees away tomorrow – then sometime at the quarry – the road done – SW. was right as I told Hartley 15/. would have been enough – said I should put the quarry under Mr. Bentley – a minute or 2 at Listerwick pit in returning finding fault with John Manns’ boy for beating Mangnall the gin horse, over the head – came in about 12 ¾ - sat with A- at her luncheon – some talk – mentioned her riding to H-x to see about Holroyde the tailor to make a suit for George – A- could not possibly ride both to Cliff hill and H-x – this led to the subject of her being ill etc. allusion to what she said yesterday and my deep regret that it was so totally out of my power to be of any use to her – to have so uninterestingly used her hardly twice was grievous enough – it was still worse that I could not have the consolation of making some reparation – a little explanation calm and gentle on my part – no wish of mine to make automata nor did I care at all for the colour of the servants coats – green, black or blue – if one colour would make A- more comfortable than another, I should be thankful to choose that – Poor A- who seldom stoops to reason took refuge in her usual silence, and walked off to the north parlour, probably to waste her health and happiness in unnecessary tears! How melancholy! I said in sorrow that as it was so totally out of my power to do her any good, I was of no use – perhaps I was better out of the way than in it – Poor soul! – she sees all thro’ a false medium – she thinks herself ill used! what can I do? – had just written so far at 1 50 heard her in her room and just went to say I had come to ask how she was poor thing her temper had given way and all got right again! all this is tiresome wearying work to me but my mind is made up  I will be the [saster] or be off   she promised to be a good little one and so as I told her  poor thing she is little fit to be left to herself – with A- from 1 50 to 3 – then wrote the last 4 lines and went out at 3 10 took George Naylor to Lower brea and with him there about an hour cutting up the 2 ash trees for the cart to bring home tomorrow – sawing and going and returning took up about not quite 1 ¼ hour – then from about 4 ¼ to 6 ¾ with Robert Mann + 5 at the meer – had Robert + 2 (James Mann and Jack Green) getting down (into the excavation into the hill side in Charles Howarths’ acrefield) the 36 yards band stone from Listerwick pit wheel-race – home about 6 50 dressed – dinner at 7 ¼ - coffee – read last nights’ and tonights’ London papers – tiresome when Mrs. Bagnold sends me 2 together – came upstairs at 10 50 just when I had finished – the newspapers and at which hour F39 ½° - drizzling rain came on about 6pm and as I returned home a heavy shower – high wind all the afternoon – and highish in the morning – finish day till about 6 pm – Kind letter tonight from Lady V.C. dated Auchinbowie stirling 9 April – 3 pages and ends to announce the birth of little Sibbella at 2 pm on the Tuesday 20th ultimo – V- has recovered exceedingly well – very indifferent account of Mr. Cameron – good account of Lady Stuart – ‘lucky in never being without a companion Mrs. Gordon is with her now. I regret that I have not so good an account to give as I could wish of my dearest Donald – he is far from strong – he has no positive complaint but weakness in his back, and numbness in his limbs – they tell him it is an affection of the spine and a slight symptom of pasly – leeches cupping and blisters reduce him sadly – his mother has taken the most violent alarm about him at Leamington, which worries me extremely, and they want us to give up going to the Highlands this year which is also a very great worry and disappointment but it is not settled yet – you  [are] a good doctor dear Miss Lister, will you tell me if your opinion coincides with the Edinburgh people, or can you ask me any questions to throw further light upon the subject – his feet are always cold yet he inclines to flush – the bairns are all well – ever affectionately yours V.C.’ – Poor V-! how strangely blind the poor Donalds’ fearful state – his mothers’ alarm seems but too well grounded – had just written so far now at 11 10 pm – Charles Stuart travelling in Egypt, regretting that his going to Jerusalem is put off for this year –

[love-fireflysong]

Day 27: Work

Fandom: Man of Medan  Character(s): Fliss DuBois, Brad Smith, Alex Smith, Julia, Conrad, Olson, The Curator  Words: 1182 Rating: General Author’s Notes: And here I was thinking that I would have nothing else for Man of Medan. Welp. Guess that was wrong huh.

Did Fliss want to take the job in the first place? No. Definitely not. The last thing she wanted to do was a diving trip for a bunch of rich, entitled Americans. And instead of just picking one or two of the more popular diving spots available for tourists or diving enthusiasts in the French Polynesia, they gave their own diving coordinates. It wasn’t even in a location that had ever been dived either! Who even did that?

Rich, entitled Americans, that’s who.

So yeah, Fliss was not looking forward to this job in any sense of the word. But she needed it. She was late on her payments for the Duke, and it was her home and livelihood. And these people had rented the most expensive of diving equipment, and were promising to pay out of their ass to get the trip. So, against her better judgment, she took it. A job was a job after all.

She still made a note to sell her laptop and cancel her cell, just is case.

  --------------------------------------------------------

Brad knew that he was right! He had to be. Months of research, of looking up where the plane had started, the distress call once it had been shot, hoping that it was headed back to base. The math on how long the plane would be able to continue flight if shot in the fuselage, the guesswork needed to determine where in the South Pacific that the plane may have finally went down. And finally—finally!—he had an answer, a rough location of where to dive. 

To find a wreck that no one else had. Undived and undiscovered. And if he was lucky, he would get to be the first to see it first hand. A relic of history. Brad knew that Alex had always been a little embarrassed of him growing up, the too nerdy and socially awkward little brother. But this, this was his chance to prove himself, to both Alex and his brothers girlfriend. He could do this!

He just had to hope that all of his work and research was up to par.

-------------------------------------------------------- 

The amount of money that Julia had put into making this trip go, was frankly a little terrifying. A few grand to get the re-breathers—state of the art in diving!— and few more grand to book the trip with Captain Dubois and, more importantly, her boat. Plus another couple of hundred to convince her to even agree to go to the coordinates that Alex’s brother had provided. And then a couple grand more to book plane tickets for four. Plus a hundred or so for a new bathing suit to wear and impress Alex. 

She had had to put work into this dammit! Hours of phone calls, of internet searches, of talking her parents into letting her take nearly thirty grand for what would be a a couple of days at most of diving in the South Pacific. All while Connie had laid around and done nothing at all to help. Typical. He was lucky she had even invited him on the trip! At least Alex’s brother had helped by finding the location of the dive in the first place!

He had better have been right about those coordinates. All of Julia’s hard work would be going to waste anyways. If nothing else, it had been a couple of weeks since she’d last seen Alex, so, at least she had that to look forward too.

--------------------------------------------------------

Alex was terrified. He had boughten the ring weeks ago and it was burning a hole in his pocket this entire time. But he was also excited. He was going on a diving trip to the French Polynesia with his girlfriend (and love of his life), her older brother, and Brad. He was about to explore an undiscovered and untouched wreck. He couldn’t think of a better time to propose.

The amount of money he'd had to save in order to afford the ring in the first place was better left unsaid, but it would be worth it! He was doing exceptionally well in school, acing all his course, and the envy of the rest of his class mates. Alex was going to be a doctor, and engaged to the most beautiful girl on campus. Hell, the East Coast!

At least, he would be. If only he could work up the courage to propose in the first place.

-------------------------------------------------------- 

To be fair, Conrad wasn’t the most ambitious of people. He was content for the most part to skate by in life, enjoying the fineries it offered him. It helped that he was extremely charismatic and always down for a laugh or two, so it endeared him to most people. Like the ladies. And if a beer or two was involved? Even better. So when Julia had invited him on her diving trip to meet her newest boyfriend, the up-and-coming doctor, he was on board right away!

A couple of days enjoying the sun and water of the exotic French Polynesia. A beer always in hand as he relaxed on a boat. Not having to do a single iota of work other than making sure there was enough alcohol on board in the first place. Sounded like the dream summer vacation to him! 

He couldn’t wait.

--------------------------------------------------------

Olson had a plan. It had been pretty simple at first. Just go out fishing with Junior and Danny, and then they had spotted the boat. It wasn’t one he recognized, or in a location was common to divers, so he had been a little curious. And then he had run his boat into the diving line. That had been fine, all a part of the plan really. Point out the now dented and possibly compromised siding and demand reparations.

And then that self-assured, white American had started throwing money at him. Literally throwing money, not even caring as it landed on the water and turned to mush. He was a pretentious asshole, but a RICH pretentious asshole. The best kind really. The kind that had enough money to unthinkingly waste on the ocean, so more then enough to waste on keeping himself alive.

So he had a new plan. One that meant Olson wasn’t going to have to fish for a very, very long time.

--------------------------------------------------------

Another day, another tale to add to the books. The Curator of Stories was very proud of vast collection. Oh! The stories he had compiled on his shelves in his repository. Of the lives snuffed with little thought. The decisions made in a hurry, in a panic, that would determine if they saved or condemned the fate of the character is question. The choices done with little thought for the consequences or repercussions that would befall them later on. Finding out if logic would push them through to the end, or if it be the emotional pulls that guided them to their deaths. Vice versa, perhaps?

They say that if you love your job, then you never work a day in your life. And oh, did the Curator love his job.

[cagestark]

Could you please write about Tony being jealous after Peter spends too much time sciencing with Bruce?

Sorry if you didn’t want so much angst. Hope this is okay

Read here on AO3.

Warnings: alcoholism. Unhealthy behaviors all around. But it does have a hopeful ending I think. 5.7k

Peter is elbow deep in his paper on NASA’s Fermi Gamma-ray Space Telescope when he gets that tingle, like a finger being dragged up his spine. It sets all his hairs to standing, heart pounding. He is not alone. Keeping perfectly still, he holds his breath to better listen and scans what little of the kitchen he can see without moving his head. But the breaths—so quiet, he can barely hear them—are coming from behind him. The person is still, seated, unthreatening.

He relaxes, twisting on the stool at the island. “Hey, Nat. I didn’t hear you come in.”

She is the picture of poise, perched in the armchair across the room. Peter still isn’t quite used to seeing her like this. In private, she is very different from the woman he first met on the tarmac in Germany with the chic hair and tight, dark outfit. Not relaxed, per se, but maybe as relaxed as the assassin can be, dressed in loungewear, face clear of makeup, her growing hair plaited back. It must be a huge sign of trust for her to show this side of herself, but Peter has been told that he always looks for the best in people.

“Peter,” she greets coolly. Her legs cross, slowly, the dragging of nylon loud. He thinks she might be trying to seduce him. The Avengers already know that he is gay, but maybe old habits die hard. His internal character assessment almost causes him to miss what she says next: “Are you aware of what you’re doing?”

Peter blinks. He points at the paper scrawled with notes. “Actually. Not really. I’m working on this paper for my Physics class, see. But we’ve been discussing gamma-rays and there is something about electromagnetic—”

“I mean with Bruce and Tony,” Natalie says.

His face puckers into a comical expression of confusion, glancing around the kitchen like the two scientists might actually be there without him knowing. “Uh—nothing?”

She looks unimpressed. “You’ve been spending every day with Bruce in his lab or up on the roof.”

Does she think that something is like, going on with Peter and Dr. Banner?

“We’re looking for signs of gamma radiation in thunderclouds. There was a big study last month that found gamma-rays preface some lightning strikes—” Natasha’s flat, unmoved stare stops him before his rambling monologue can truly begin. He swallows, throat dry, feeling some sort of dread in his gut, though he doesn’t know why.

Why is she being so cold to him, right now? It’s reminiscent of the stress dreams he used to have after Tony first offered him the position with the Avengers, dreams where he moved into the tower only for everyone to ostracize him and ignore him, dreams where Tony and Steve would sit down with him and say, Sorry Pete, it isn’t working out, you don’t mesh well with us, and may we please have back your suit?

“What is it?” Peter asks, trying to be brave. “Have I—did I do something?”

Natasha sighs, lifting herself from the armchair gingerly like she is twice or thrice her real age. She crosses the room and he has to force himself not to move away. The tingle is back, and this time, that primal spider-instinct inside him feels threatened, like he is bug beneath an incoming shoe. A large black stiletto maybe, with the Black Widow insignia on the bottom like a target for where his tiny body ideally will be smushed.

But he overrides the instinct and swallows down the fear: this is Natasha. She wouldn’t hurt him.

She does box him in, though, coming into his space and bracketing him with her arms, palms flat on the marble countertop behind him. “Tony doesn’t like me, much, Peter. Surely even you have noticed that. I once broke his confidence in me, and now I work very hard to make that up to him. You could say that a part of my reparations involves looking out for him.”

“That’s really nice of you,” Peter says, polite but firm. “I like to look out for Mr. Stark too. Excuse me—could you give me some space?”

After another moment, she pulls away. “You’re too smart to play dumb. Stop hurting Tony.”

Then she is snatching an apple out of the fruit bowl and strolling out of the room, not even leaving the scent of perfume behind. Peter feels baffled enough by the conversation to wonder if maybe the entire thing hadn’t been a hallucination. There’s no feasible way that Peter could be hurting Mr. Stark—he’s barely seen the man all week, since Peter has been so busy being tutored Bruce for his physics class.

Still, it takes him a long ten minutes for his senses to stop feeling like he’s in danger, and by then, he has completely lost his train of thought for outlining his paper. Sighing, he closes the book.

-

“It’s just going over my head,” Peter admits. It’s the weekend, when any other college student would be out on the town. Not many college students have the option of hanging out with the Avengers though, so. You know. Peter isn’t totally lame. At this time on a Saturday evening, most of the core Avengers are occupying their floor in the Tower. Peter has his own room there, with sheets that are royal blue and soft as silk and a picture on the wall of Tony presenting him with his Stark Industries internship certificate. “Every other aspect of physics is cake to me. Chocolate cake, even.”

“That’s his favorite,” Clint supplies helpfully. He’s playing cards with Nat and Tony at the other end of the island. Natalie is the best bluffer, but Tony can count cards in his sleep, so the odds are pretty evenly stacked, he’d say.

“Yes, it’s my favorite—! But as soon as gamma-rays come in, it’s like my brain shorts out. I failed the quiz over these, and it’s throwing off my curve. If I don’t ace the paper, I’ll freak out.”

“Cheer up, kid,” Tony says. There is an amber glass at his elbow, even though it was whispered very quietly around the tower a few months ago that Mr. Stark was working on getting sober. Peter guesses that it isn’t going well. Now that he looks closely, the man doesn’t look well at all: thinner, grayer, sadder. His dress-shirt collar is rumpled. That’s so not Mr. Stark. His voice is a warm vibrato that Peter feels in his bones: “Take a break. We’ll deal you in. No one is good at everything.”

“What are you bad at?” Natasha asks, maybe flattering him, maybe teasing.

The smile Tony gives her shows too much teeth to be friendly, eyes hidden behind his tinted glasses that he is wearing more often than not these days. “I’m bad at plenty of things, Miss Rushman.”

“He’s right, Peter,” Bruce says. They’re at the other end of the island, both of their shoulders aching from hunching over Peter’s textbooks for the last hour and change. “This is pretty advanced stuff. Difficult enough for scientists who are in this field to grasp. You said that this isn’t the focus of your major? Then I wouldn’t stress over it.”

Peter is stressing though. MIT has been tougher than he thought it would be, and he still worries that his success in high school was just him being a big fish in a small pond. Suddenly the pond is bigger: a fucking ocean. He feels like algae on the waves, tossed to and fro compared to some of his classmates.

Glancing up, he catches Natasha’s eyes. She is watching him, face blank, but he can’t help but feel that there is a silent message in her eyes. Seeing her unfriendly disposition makes him remember the conversation they had the day before—the one where she threatened him, in vague terms. Against his will, his eyes flicker to Tony. The drink beside his chips is empty now. His elbow is propped on the table and his chin rests in it, one shaking thumb running over the edge of his cards. He looks lost in thought. Sad thought.

“Maybe you’re right,” Peter says slowly. He closes his book. “Go ahead and deal me in, Mr. Stark.”

And that makes Tony sit back in his seat in surprise, glasses slipping down his nose to show pleased though bloodshot eyes. He grins—not one of those shark-grins he gave Natasha, but a real one. A smile. It makes butterflies spread their wings in Peter’s gut. God, he’s had a crush on the man for, like, ever. But Mr. Stark is a crush so unobtainable that Peter’s never even had to stress over it. Never had to stress about the juvenile stuff like does he like me back or what can I do to make him notice me. He’s just able to melt in it, enjoy his attraction and idol-worship. It’s all very sexually frustrating and uncomplicated.

Tony pulls back the stool at his side and pats it invitingly. When Peter sits down, he can just barely smell the bourbon on the older man’s breath. Tony then asks: “Bruce, do you want in on this, too?”

There is a difference in the way the billionaire asked Bruce to play when compared to when he asked Peter, but Peter can’t put his finger on what it is. Something about the tone, the inflection... Under the countertop, Tony’s hand comes to rest on Peter’s knee for a moment, squeezing warmly. But then it doesn’t move, just rests there, burning a hole through Peter’s jeans. It prickles, but this is a different kind of danger, he thinks. He’s so busy trying to remember how to accomplish basic human functions like breathing and swallowing that he completely misses Bruce’s response—a kind no thanks. Then Tony’s thumb is moving, brushing the outside of Peter’s leg in a few slow, firm strokes, and Peter feels a dangerous stirring in his pants. The hand starts to slide up his leg—

Then the hand is gone. His blood is still rushing south, propelled by his hammering heart, but it’s like all his senses beside touch come rushing back the moment Tony removes his hand—Clint is dealing, cards whispering over marble as he passes them out, Natasha and Tony are bickering though Peter doesn’t yet have the brainpower to decipher what about. His knee is still burning hot, and it tingles for the rest of the night.

But he doesn’t think it’s his imagination that the entire evening is lighter, smiles and laughter flowing more freely, and when Mr. Stark gets up to get a drink, he comes back with water.

-

From then on, Peter’s image of Mr. Stark begins to change. Mostly thanks to the patchwork of knowledge Natasha feeds him in passing moments—when they encounter each other in the hall going different directions, when she is running on the treadmill beside him in the gym, when she passes behind him at the kitchen island for another apple, or, like today, an orange.

“He only drinks when he’s sad,” she says in his ear.

Peter starts to look for that as an indicator to Mr. Stark’s mood: times when it’s late at night and he walks in on Mr. Stark standing alone by the window looking at the view of the city, shaking hand clutching a drink that rattles when he sets it down to avoid Peter seeing it. Nights when Tony passes through the living area, glancing at the group gathered around (almost always Clint and Nat watching television, and Peter and Bruce talking through Peter’s homework), rejecting their offer for him to join with a quiet, just passing through, before grabbing a bottle from the kitchen and disappearing into the elevator. If Tony drinks when he’s sad, then he is often sad.

Peter thinks it’s safe to assume that when Tony isn’t drinking, he’s happy—or at least neutral. And taking into account the poker tournament from a few weeks before, Peter begins to notice that he himself seems to make Tony happy.

The knowledge weighs down his shoulders…but mostly, it makes him feel full of helium, light and bouncy, liable to lift off the ground and break through the atmosphere should he not hold on to the world around him. Peter makes Tony happy. For some reason.

“Everything he does is for other people,” she pants, trying to keep up with his enhanced abilities in the workout room. Peter himself is sweating from the break-neck pace he’s adopted on the treadmill, but he doesn’t need to focus to run, so instead his mind is far away.

Natasha is absolutely right. The topic is a sore spot. Peter knows that there were cutting words exchanged between Mr. Stark and Captain Rogers at the beginning of their relationship when the super soldier accused him of selfishness. It’s obvious how little they knew each other then, because even now he sees the fondness Steve has in his eyes for Tony, the gratefulness he exudes and goes out of his way to express to the billionaire. Tony funds the entire Avengers Initiative. He lets them live expense free in his home, feeds them, clothes them, patches them up. Scraping by with his Aunt for most of his life in a tiny apartment in Queens has made Peter keenly aware of all the things he has in his life now, solely thanks to Mr. Stark. And the older man doesn’t bat an eye at it.

And alright, Tony is a billionaire. Those expenses probably don’t scrape the surface of his wealth. Yet there are many other ways his altruism is expressed, ways only Tony Stark could express them. When Peter’s suit was malfunctioning in the wetter-than-usual New York springtime, Tony didn’t sleep for three days while working on it. Got to make sure you’re safe, kid, he’d muttered. Wouldn’t get a bit of sleep otherwise. Tony hadn’t even delivered it in person so that Peter could thank him, just left it neatly for him outside his bedroom door.

There were other things, of course. Providing Bruce his own lab and the resources to expand his research. Once he sat for a portrait at Steve’s insistence, and it was the stillest he’s ever seen the billionaire be. Mr. Stark makes it his personal responsibility to enrich the lives of those around him—he even seems to enjoy it—

“Did you hear me, Peter?” Natasha asks.

Peter stops the treadmill, jogging while it slowly decreases the pace. He’s been a thousand miles away, or several stories away, rather, down in the lab with Tony. “Sorry, I didn’t.”

“I said—what does he have for himself? What does he want for himself?”

Then she is gone, ponytail bouncing as she disappears towards the showers, a towel over her shoulder. Tony has everything. He has an inordinate amount of money at his disposal. What he could possibly want for?

The questions haunt Peter for the rest of the night, even as he spends the evening in Bruce’s lab while the man reads over his paper on the Fermi Telescope. Peter is anxiously squeezing a stress ball—carefully, though, because last time he truly squeezed one, it crumbled in his hand—when Tony appears in the doorway. He’s dressed in what Peter knows to be his lab-attire: comfortable, cheap t-shirt, jeans that are wearing through at the knees. The man’s hair is un-styled, free from gel, and it looks so soft—

“Hey, Pete,” Tony says. “Bruce.”

Bruce doesn’t even greet him, still reading Peter’s paper. He does lift a hand though.

“I brought the LVC permits for you, fresh off the government’s press.”

“Thanks, Tony,” Bruce says absently.

“What are you doing up here, Pete?” Tony asks, putting the papers on a nearby lab table. There’s something in the older man’s voice—something. But Peter’s never been good at stuff like that: deciphering looks, or tones, or subtextual clues. On instinct, he scans the man’s face, trying to determine his mood. It doesn’t look promising, the circles dark beneath his eyes, the frown lines deep. Even when he smiles, it looks tired and sad.

“Just having Bruce look over my paper, Mr. Stark.”

“When are you ever going to call me Tony, kid?”

Peter laughs a little. “Never, probably,” he jokes.

Tony doesn’t look like he thought the joke was funny. He gives a half-hearted wave goodbye and then disappears. Peter is at the perfect angle to watch him through the glass door. He stops outside the elevator and hits the button, leans his head forward to press his forehead to the doors, the picture of dejection. There is an uncomfortable knot growing in Peter’s stomach.

What could the man who has everything possibly want?

Bruce glances up ten minutes later after flipping to the last page, glasses a little askew. “Was that Tony I heard?”

-

The days afterwards, Natasha seems more disgusted with him than usual. Her occasional comments about Mr. Stark have stopped, and Peter laments the loss of help, because he feels no closer to understanding what she wants from him or what’s wrong with Mr. Stark.

Peter spends his nights laying in bed, restless, staring up at the ceiling to avoid listening to the distant movements of the Avengers around him in their own respective rooms—he didn’t need to know so much about Steve and Bucky’s after-hour activities, thanks very much—pouring over his interactions with Natasha.

What do you think you’re doing with Bruce and Tony? she had asked. And what was Peter doing? He’d been spending much more time with Bruce lately trying to grasp gamma-rays. Usually his time was spent equally divided between patrolling, school, homework, and spending time down in the lab with Tony. Of those things to take the backburner, it had been his time spent with his idol-cum-crush. Was the man feeling neglected?

Peter rolls out of bed. He’s tempted to put on his suit and go into stealth-mode, but instead, he tiptoes out of his room in his pajama bottoms and t-shirt, using all of his enhanced senses to make sure he doesn’t encounter any other Avenger on his way to Natasha’s room. When she opens the door, she looks like he’s the last person she ever wanted to see on the other side.

“It’s late,” she says. Peter slips through the crack between her and the door anyway, but he figures if she truly wanted to keep him out, she might have tried. You know. At all.  

Her rooms are as large as Peter’s, tastefully decorated. He notes that the only personal decorations in the room involve the Avengers: the group photograph taken of them and a few drawings of Steve’s, framed carefully.

“I’ve been thinking about all of the things you said, and I still don’t get it. I don’t know what’s going on—I see that there’s something wrong but I don’t know why and I don’t know how to fix it.”

Natasha sighs, already opening the door to usher him back out. “Everyone needs everything spelled out for them. It’s late, and I’m tired. Tony likes you. You like Tony. Quit choosing Bruce over him, or I’ll have to spend the next few weeks finding an incredible foreign benefactor willing to sponsor Bruce’s work only if he relocates overseas. That takes a lot of work Peter. A lot of work. Now get out, and fix this mess.”

He doesn’t even hear the real door shut in his face, because he’s too stunned by the metaphorical door that has been shut in his face. He gapes at the hardwood, eyes unseeing, all of his senses growing dim as he focuses his brainpower on the words that just spilled out of Natasha’s mouth.

Tony likes you. You like Tony. Quit choosing Bruce.

Peter lays awake the entire night. He can’t spot Natasha’s angle, can’t determine why she’d want to lie to him that way. Surely she has some sort of motive that Peter can’t see—he’s not a super-secret-spy type. Espionage and subtext aren’t his forte. She could probably run cryptic circles around him, and Tony once jokingly said that Natasha wouldn’t even sneeze unless she wanted someone to say bless you. So what is this? What is she doing to him? Hoping to embarrass him? Maybe she thinks that he’ll make some grand gesture, some romantic monologue to Tony and he’ll be so crushed at the subsequent rejection that he’ll leave the tower and stop Avenging altogether.

When sunlight is coming through the tinted windows of his room, he has not slept a wink, and has the throbbing headache to show it. His paper is due by 11:59 PM, and he still has a few revisions he needs to make. The other quizzes on gamma-rays and other electromagnetic radiations weren’t much better than the first, and all of his hopes for maintaining his perfect grade point average are riding on this one paper.

He dresses, only able to find mismatched socks, and takes the subway to make it to class on time. He’s there until early afternoon, and by the time he arrives back in the Tower, his stomach is growling painfully and he’s emotionally at the end of his rope. Why hadn’t he taken a gap year before starting school like Ned had? Maybe a year older, Peter would be more capable of handling all that is on his plate. As it is, he feels like a waiter balancing one-too-many glasses of water. Failure seems imminent.

As soon as he is in the tower, he cracks open his laptop and begins to finish the revisions Bruce advised him on—but then the word count is just under what the professor asked for, and now Peter is scrambling for extra content. His senses alert him that someone is coming, but he knows the length of the steps to be Tony.

“Hey Pete,” Tony mutters, looking like he just woke even though it is nearly three in the afternoon.

“Hey Mr. Stark,” says Peter. “How are you?”

“Has this coffee been here long?” Tony asks, pointing to the half-full pot. His hand is shaking.

“I’m not sure, to be honest. I just got here.” Peter frowns to himself, fingers hovering over the keyboard even his brain feels like a train stuck on the same track. He has to say something to Mr. Stark. Has to. “Hey—um. I wanted to say. While you’re here—”

His mouth dries up as Tony turns to give him his full attention. The man is always so courteous, stopping whatever he’s doing to listen to what Peter has to say. It’d be impossible not to notice that the man has a problem with interrupting, talking over other people. But it’s never been that way with Peter. He stops. He listens with a kind of single-minded intensity that makes the younger man flushed. That much focus and attention feels like a laser beam directed at him, about to dissolve him into goo.

“—I wanted to say. That I hope we can hang out again soon.”

Tony leans back against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. For a guy in his 40’s, he’s still fucking fit, biceps thick and strong, core toned. “I hope so too, kid. I’ve—missed you.”

Peter melts, heart aching in equal parts joy and sadness. “Maybe tonight? If you’re free. I could come down to the lab.”

Tony feigns like he’s thinking it over, knuckles rasping against his chin. “What about your—” he waves a vague hand at the laptop on the countertop. “I don’t want to come between you and school, Pete. I’m not very good at being a responsible role-model, but even I know that your education is important. That should be your focus.”

“Don’t worry about it. How does seven sound? I’ll finish this up, get it turned it, and then I’m all yours. I mean—we can—you know. Hang.”

The older man has that look he always gets when Peter’s mouth runs away from the rest of his consciousness: equal parts amusement and endearment and exasperated fondness. “Sounds good. You know where to find me.”

Peter does know. He does. The knowledge weighs on him for the next four hours that he spends staring at his laptop, writing a sentence just to destroy it, flipping frantically through the notes that Bruce gave him. Not meeting the word count means that he will automatically lose 10% of his grade, no matter how good the paper might be. But it’s like his brain is drawing a blank, all cylinders firing emptily.

By the time he is done, it ten PM. The hours ate him up like quicksand. His head aches with exhaustion, eyes burning from staring at the glow of the laptop, but he rushes into the elevator, eyes filling with tears. Surely Tony will understand why Peter is late. But it still makes him feel like shit.

“To the lab please, FRIDAY.”

The elevator moves without any verbal confirmation from the AI. By the time the doors open, he realizes he’s made a mistake. The lab is dark and quiet, lacking the usual soundtrack of classic rock hits. When he grasps the handle, it doesn’t turn. He’s too late. Mr. Stark was probably so angry that he went straight upstairs to the penthouse. If Peter were to follow, the door would probably be locked against him, refusing him entrance—

The door beneath him opens, automatic lock clicking open. Peter nearly falls through as it swings inward, his enhanced senses being his only saving grave. The lab is even more eerie from the inside, because it is all right and all wrong mixed together. The smell is comforting. The darkness is unsettling. He knows this place like the back of his hand when it is lit, but suddenly it is an entirely foreign place as he wanders through, carefully feeling his way, unsure why he hasn’t turned around and left yet.

Lights come up, blue dots like holographic breadcrumbs on the floor. FRIDAY. Where is she leading him, and why?

The lights circle on lab table, and when he comes close his eyes have adjusted enough to the darkness to see why. Mr. Stark is there, slumped over the lab table. Peter would say that he is asleep except for the stench of alcohol and the empty bottles beside him, faceless in the dark. Sad sentinels watching over their king.

“Oh Tony,” he says. His heart feels too heavy for his ribs to hold. He puts a hand on the man’s shoulder, gently trying to rouse him. It doesn’t work. Even when he whispers the man’s name in increasingly louder increments, the man doesn’t stir. Throat closed up tight in the fist of fear, he gently presses two fingers to just under the man’s jaw—

Tony jerks away from the lab table, striking out at Peter. His aim is off, so his knuckles barely glance against the younger man’s chest. The force of the failed punch tips over the chair and Tony nearly falls to the floor—would, if Peter weren’t there to catch him. Still he struggles against a foe he doesn’t recognize.

“Getaway—”

“Mr. Stark—it’s me, Peter.”

Mr. Stark blinks, eyes moonish in the dark. He squints. “Pete?” he asks, voice thick.

“Yeah, it’s me. I’m so sorry that I’m late.” He guides the man back to the chair and searches for one of his own, finds a stool with wheels and rolls it over so they can sit side by side. Tony is swaying dangerously even just sitting.

“’s okay, Pete,” Tony says. “You were with Bruce.”

“What?” Peter cries. “No, I wasn’t. I was working on my paper, remember? Just like I told you in the kitchen? Why would I be with Bruce when I had—” he just barely catches himself before the words a date slip past his lips, “—when I had plans with you?”

The laugh the older man gives is mirthless, slumped over the table. With every shaking breath comes a cloud of acrid liquor. Peter has never understood how Tony could drink that stuff, alcohol with so much burn and no sweetness or sourness. “Why wouldn’ you be with Bruce, kid? I get it.”

“I don’t know what there is to get,” Peter says gently. He knows from his minimal experience with drunk people that drunkenness heightens emotion, and they can be as likely to lash out in anger as they are to burst into tears. Without his suit, Mr. Stark probably couldn’t hurt Peter even sober, but he doesn’t want the man to hurt himself.

“No, no, Bruce ‘s a great guy. He’s a great man. Better man th’n me.”

Peter gapes, even if Mr. Stark isn’t even looking or couldn’t even see him through the darkness. Because, what? Seriously? “Mr. Stark, you’re like the greatest man I know. I don’t—I don’t know anybody who I, I admire or look up to the way that I do you.” That answer is maybe a little too honest, but he can’t help it. This vulnerability, this sheer pain coming from the man who has held Peter’s heart between his palms since he was just a little boy. It’s a terrible thing to witness, and he’d do anything to change it.

“You’re a good kid,” says Tony. He reaches with a hand like he wants to pat Peter on the head but loses strength far before then.

“I’m not a kid anymore, Mr. Stark.”

Tony laughs again in that terrible depreciating way. He rests his forehead in his palm, staring down at the lab table. “Trust me, Pete. I know.”

“Why have you been so upset lately?” Peter asks smally. “I’ve been worried.”

“Didn’t mean to worry you, honey.” The name makes Peter glow, even if its slurred in that terrible, sad voice. “I guess ’ve been—going through some stuff.”

“Like what?”

The exhale he gives is long and loud in the quiet lab. “Adult stuff.”

“What, like, erectile dysfunction?”

The sound Tony makes is indignant. “No you little shit.” It’s said with unbearable tenderness and fondness though, until it almost feels like a caress instead of an insult. “Just, you know, your general everyday average feelings of inadequacy and unbearable loneliness.”

“You’re too hard on yourself Mr. Stark. I mean what I said. You’re the greatest man I know and I—I like you a whole lot. I know you’re having a tough time. But I’m here for you. And I know that you don’t think I’m strong enough, but you can lean on me. I can take it.”

When Tony stirs, lifting his head from his hands long enough to glance at Peter, his cheeks are wet, tracks of tears that just barely catch the light. He could almost mistake it as his mind playing tricks on him, but the man’s shoulders begin to tremble like his hands when he hasn’t had a drink, and Peter gets off of the stool so quickly that it goes rolling in the other direction.

Peter wraps his arms around Tony, pulling his head to his chest like a mother might hold a baby to her breast. There are no sounds, no sobs or whimpers, but the shaking lasts forever it seems. Then all at once the man melts, soft and languid. When he pulls away a hairsbreadth, Peter’s shirt is wet where his face was pressed.

He turns his head and leans in again, this time resting his temple on Peter’s abs. The younger man barely resists carding his fingers through Tony’s hair—just lets one hand gently rub at his back instead. When he speaks Peter can feel the movement on his stomach. “You’re too good f’r me, Pete. I’m so sorry I’m like this. Hated seeing you spend so much time with Bruce ‘cause I’m just a jealous old pervert. A fucking drunk, just like Howard—”

“Don’t say that.”

“’s true, kid.”

Peter swallows, struggling to gather courage. But if he can’t ask questions of Tony now when the man is drunk and possibly unlikely to remember them, when the man is too relaxed to lie, then when can he? “Why—why are you a pervert?”

All the breath seems to go out of Tony in a hot rush of air that Peter can feel through his shirt. “C’mon kid. You have to know.”

It does all make sense then: Tony’s recent behavior, Natasha’s cryptic comments.

What does he want for himself, she had asked.

Carefully—so, so, so carefully—Peter lets his hand drift up the back of Tony’s neck and slide into his hair, dark waves that are soft and free of product. It feels like silk under his fingertips, so fucking intimate. If this is all he gets of Tony, then he’s going to savor it, sear it into his memory. Blunt nails scratch gently at the man’s scalp and he purrs. He groans, the vibrations sinking through cotton and skin and muscle deep into Peter’s bones. “God, Pete,” he says. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

“I won’t,” Peter gasps. He’s hard, 0 to 60 in the blink of an eye, heart hammering, struggling to draw in breaths. “I won’t, Tony.”

“Never stop,” Tony groans softly. “You are the most important thing in my life, kid.”

And then the man is asleep, snoring breaths into Peter’s abs. It takes a while, listening to the gentle breathing, for Peter to calm down. “FRIDAY,” he croaks. “Unmute.”

“Thank you, Peter,” she says. “May I turn the lights on? I’m afraid boss might need some assistance getting to his room tonight. Would you be of service?”

“Yes. To all counts, FRIDAY. Thanks.”

“You are welcome.” A pause. “And thank you, Peter.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” he mutters, hoisting the heavier man up. There’s no use putting just an arm over his shoulder—Tony is out cold. Instead, Peter scoops him up, grateful for his enhanced strength, and begins the trek to the elevator.

In the morning when Tony wakes, Peter will be there waiting. With some water and aspirin.

Because they need to talk.

[pandawritespoorly]

With Time: Chapter 23 - Unhandyman

Author’s Note: Ah! I'm so sorry! I forgot today was Saturday! I was responding to comments, and was about to say 'tomorrow's update' when my brain did a double take. Either way, it isn't Friday, and while I'm late, at least I got it up today! As reparations, here's a 14 page chapter (usually aim for 8-10). Also, there's two reference slides for this chapter.

See the akuma here. (No, I don't regret it)

Chapter Summary: During an akuma attack, Ladybug is put out of commision. What's a cat to do when his partner can't help?

First | Previous | Saturday

Claude had just exited the bakery. He had been visiting Marinette because he’d been in the area, and they’d hung out for a little bit until Marinette fell asleep. Now, walking out of the bakery, they saw another of their friends. Adrien is in the nearby park with-

Oh.

He’s with them. Alya, Lila, and some boy that must be Nino. It looks like it must be some sort of ‘double date’ but as Adrien had pointed out before, that would require both couples to be dating. That Lie-la girl is hanging off the poor boy who is so clearly uncomfortable. The so called ‘friends’ don’t seem to notice his distress, and Alya even seems to be taking pictures of the ‘cute couple’ every so often.

It’s time for an intervention.

“Adrien! I didn’t know you’d be in the area! We could have planned something with everyone!” Claude runs up to the group.

“Claude, it’s nice to see you!” Adrien takes the chance he gets and extricates himself from Lila to move closer to his friend. It’s only a momentary relief, Lila clings to Adrien again, looking at Claude in feigned fear.

“You! Y-you were one of the people that helped Marinette attack me at the museum!” Alya and Adrien both open their mouths to say something, but Claude speaks first, “Oh I’m so sorry to hear you were attacked, but I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about! When did this happen- I’d like to clear this up.”

“Early December a-at the Louvre. I-I haven’t been back since.” Lila’s shaky voice prompts Alya to hug her closely, glaring at Claude suspiciously.

Claude shakes his head, clucking his tongue, “Sorry darling, but you must have mistaken me with someone else. I was in England performing for most of December, just got back last week. I’m an actor.” He pulls out his phone, showing her various pictures of him in front of various English landmarks, and some with him in costumes with different people also dressed up. One specifically shows the date that he knows she’s talking about, so he lingers on that one, but doesn’t point it out seeing as he’s not supposed to know the day specifically.

Adrien covers his confusion well. Lila looks startled, “B-but-”

“Sorry, girl. It’s okay, it must be the trauma,” Alya comforts Lila, before looking at Claude, “Sorry about that, it was a scary day. She had a run-in with a former bully.”

“Hm.”

Lila gasps quietly, freezing in the journalist’s arms.

Alya and Nino notice immediately, asking her what’s wrong and hovering over her as though she might break.

“I-it’s j-j-just I forgot-t-t how c-c-close we were t-to her house.” Lila stares wide-eyed at the bakery nearby.

Alya frowns, handing Lila to Nino, storming over to the bakery and throwing the door open. She hasn’t even stepped inside before the group hears raised voices from the couple inside. Alya comes back after a moment, fuming.

She mutters bitterly, and Claude figures this is as good a time as any to rescue his friend.

“Well, anyways, Adrien did you still want to see Allegra’s practice for her upcoming concert? I was just on my way there!” Obviously, there is no practice, especially given that said girl is out of town visiting family for a few days.

“Oh, that’s today! I completely forgot! Sorry guys, I can’t miss it - she’d be so bummed!” Adrien plays along flawlessly.

“Well, maybe we could come with? We barely see you out of school anymore, Adrien!” Lila clings to him once more, and Claude knows that if Allegra were here she’d not have the self-control to keep herself from forcibly ripping the leech from him.

“Oh, sorry dear, but you can’t join us!” he shakes as head as though truly sorry, “The orchestra likes for people planning on watching performances to sign up beforehand - they don’t want too many people at once.”

“W-well maybe we could see the actual concert in a few weeks? We’d come with Adrien of course!” She won’t give up.

Adrien joins in, “Actually, that’s why I’m seeing the practice - the concert is on the same day as an important shoot so I won’t be able to see it. It’d be kind of weird for you guys to go without me.” He finally pries her off of him, moving to be near Claude, “Well, you guys enjoy the rest of your day!” He hurries away and Claude follows.

“Ugh, how long were you trapped with those dreadful people?” 

“A few hours. Thanks for saving me.” Adrien looks to him questioningly, “Where did you get those pictures?”

“Adrien, Adrien, Adrien. You should know that a magician never reveals their secrets.”

--- 

Adrien is practicing piano when Plagg flies over with his phone.

“Alright, Kitten. You’ve got an akuma to deal with. It’s near Notre-Dame.”

Adrien checks his phone for confirmation.

 Akuma Alert:

Type 3

Notre-Dame

More information and updates available.

 “Plagg, claws out!”

It’s their first akuma attack in a while. The absence of akumas lined up nicely with his father’s trip so they’d had a break from both his controlling nature and Hawkmoth’s nonsense. 

That break’s over with now apparently.

He arrives to see that Ladybug is already there. She’s standing on a nearby rooftop shivering and clearly not wanting to be out of bed. He lands beside her.

“Hey Bug, surprised to see you managed to beat me.” 

She only leans into him, mumbling, “I woke up. Didn’t wanna’.”

���Understandable. Do you know anything about the akuma, or are you just cold?”

“Both.” She huffs, as though he should realize she’s always cold,”’t’s giant construction work’r.”

“Did he see you?”

“No.” He hears loud thuds from down the street, and she continues, “He’s back…”

He turns, seeing a man wearing a yellow construction hat, an orange and red checkered shirt and blue overalls. He’s got work boots on, and a construction belt with various tools sticking out of it.

Oh, and he’s as tall as a building. There’s that too.

The man is holding a wrench and swinging it around, smashing the street and nearby buildings. Civilians are staying inside. Definitely a type three.

He spots the heroes and points at them with a screwdriver from his belt, putting the wrench back as he does so, “I am the Unhandyman! My work wasn’t good enough, so now nothing will work well! Nothing is repaired - everything is broken! Give me your miraculous!”

“Nah…” Ladybug mumbles at the victim.

“I’m with my Lady. You’re going down! What happened anyways? Didja’ screw up a construction project? Just couldn’t nail it?”

The man doesn’t respond, just throwing a hammer at them. They jump out of the way, but the building gets hit anyways, opening up the ceiling as the tool crashes through the ceiling. It fades eventually, showing up in his work belt again.

“Le’s get him… less build’ns an’ peoples…” Ladybug suggests.

“Good idea, we can lead him in this direction.” The duo continues in the same direction, being sure to be slow enough to keep him captivated. If he gets bored and wanders away then the citizens of Paris could get caught in the crossfire.

Ladybug swings around him once they’re in an open area, looking for a way to wrap him up. It’s a good thing their weapons are indestructible because it makes them easier to use when an akuma needs to be restrained.

Of course, their weapons are indestructible, but the things they attach them to are not. Unhandyman sees a chance and hits a hammer against where Ladybug has latched her yo-yo, sending her flying into a snowdrift. Chat winces as he realizes she will most definitely be hibernating. He needs to get to her immediately.

The akuma victim has other plans. Surrounding Chat with nails taller than him, Unhandyman aims the hammer at him. The hero ducks out of the way, only hitting a nail with his suit. The impact of the hammer shakes the ground and he stumbles slightly. A giant screwdriver stabs into the ground in front of him, stalling him long enough for the Unhandyman to draw out a measuring tape on its side as a makeshift barrier.

Chat Noir backs off for a moment, going to higher ground before vaulting over to land near his partner. All-in-all, she’s been in the snow for a little more than five minutes, maybe six. He isn’t sure how long exactly, but it’s definitely been too long.

She’s in a snowdrift that reaches above his knees, curled in on herself and shaking slightly. He’d typically be concerned about hypothermia, but her ladybug tendencies can protect her from the cold better than it would seem. Going into hibernation can help her, but only for so long. He picks her up carefully.

She doesn’t move to be any closer to him, completely limp in his arms. Definitely hibernating - not that he had any doubt given the whole falling into a snowdrift bit.

He makes his way to the rooftops, sparing a glance back at Unhandyman. He’ll have to trust that Paris will be able to stay out of his way while Chat gets Ladybug somewhere safe.

He won’t be able to defeat this akuma alone though. 

---

“Master, I’m sorry, I know Marinette usually comes for back-up, but…” He trails off, lifting the still limp girl in his arms to show his point.

Fu looks startled for a moment, “I take it that you two have revealed yourselves then?” He moves to allow the still-transformed pair into the house.

“Oh. Uh, yeah. Sorry, it was an acci-”

“No matter. It was bound to happen eventually. What led to this?” He gestures at Ladybug.

He nods, “She got knocked into the snow and I couldn’t get to her for a while.” 

“You should de-transform, Plagg will be able to release Tikki.” Wayzz suggests.

“Claws in.” 

Plagg flies out of the ring, blinking for a moment before going to the earrings to release his other half as he has before. Tikki falls against Marinette’s shoulder, both girls are entirely asleep.

“While it is not ideal, you will have to leave them here while you deal with the akuma. Wayzz and I can keep them warm, though she likely won’t wake up with you so far. Would I be correct in assuming you came for back-up as well?” Fu leads Adrien into the main room, grabbing the Miracle Box and placing it in front of him.

He hesitates. This is Marinette’s job. He’s never done this before and doesn’t know where to start. He’d default to Honey Bee - trusting Marinette’s past decisions - but Allegra isn’t in Paris at the moment.

“A distraction would be useful here, Kid.” Plagg suggests. Adrien nods, grabbing the orange fox tail. He transforms, thanking Fu for his help and hurrying to the rooftops.

He has someone in mind.

---

“Claude De Rosier, this is the Miraculous of the Fox which grants the power of illusion. You will use it for the greater good. Once the job is done you will return the Miraculous to me. Do you accept?”

They stare at him in complete shock, “Me?”

Chat Noir smiles, “I don’t see any other Claudes here.”

Claude blinks, taking the necklace and placing it around his neck. He startles when an orange glow appears, fading to reveal Trixx.

“Greetings kit, I am Trixx, Kwami of the Fox Miraculous! Are you ready to be a hero?”

“I’ll do my best.” 

“It’s simple! To transform you say, ‘Trixx, let’s pounce’ and to detransform you say, ‘Trixx, let’s rest’. When you transform you will be able to use your flute to create a mirage for your purposes. Once you do so, you will only have five minutes before you will detransform, the necklace will display how much time you have left. Chat Noir can guide you.”

Claude notes the absence of the heroine’s name, “What about Ladybug?”

“Tikki is hibernating, I could feel it back when we were at the Guardian’s place.”

“Ladybug won’t be able to help. I can explain another time.” Chat offers.

“Ready?” Trixx turns to Claude excitedly.

They nod, “Trixx, Let’s Pounce!”

The Kwami flies into the necklace, and an orange glow overtakes the boy. As it fades, Chat looks to see how he changed.

He has an orange tunic with a white stripe running down the middle, and the long sleeves are covered by black elbow length gloves that end in zig-zagged cut and look fuzzy. The tunic is tied around the waist, and the material trails behind him, ending in three almost diamond shapes that are tipped in white. Their legs are orange and are covered from the knee down in boots similar to the gloves, that appear to have toe-prints on the bottom. On his head sits two fox ears that are more triangular than those of Rena Rouge and Volpina’s - more like a real fox and fluffy too. His mask is almost entirely orange, though the eyes are lined in black, as is the tip of the nose. They have a short shoulder cap around their front, orange except for the white zig-zagged cut edges. The flute is on their back, held there by magic.

He looks over himself, inspecting the various parts of the outfit.

“What should we call you?” Chat asks.

“Hmm…” The fox hero thinks for a moment, “How about… Kit Mime?”

“I like it. Let’s go!” The two boys jump out the window, Kit Mime taking a moment to adjust to using his abilities. The flute doesn’t extend, instead, they can jump far better than normal - luckily for them the boots seem to negate the slipperiness of the iciness of the rooftops.

It’s easy enough to find Unhandyman, following the trail of destruction which leads them to the Eiffel tower. He’s about to bash one of the legs with his hammer when Chat calls out, “Hey! You miss me?”

The giant turns, glaring once he’s spotted the heroes, “Where did Ladybug go? Finally admit defeat?”

“Actually my Lady realized she has better things to do, sorry if you’re a fan.”

“May I say something sir? I’d just like to say that I understand that it can sometimes be difficult choosing the right hammer, but you’ve nailed it!” Kit grins innocently at his pun.

Their response is the giant hammer being thrown at their head. Both boys jump out of the way easily, running to get closer.

“Any ideas on the akumatized object?” Chat questions Kit.

“Maybe the hat? Or the belt?” He’s new at this, but those seem like the most likely options.

“Okay, we’ll start with the hat - it should be easier. Maybe we can climb down from the  tower…”

They’re at the base of the tower, and Chat stops to consider things. Kit Mime looks up and jumps, landing at a platform much higher up. He continues in this way until he’s higher on the tower. At this point Chat has realized what they’re up to and is distracting Unhandyman.

Kit Mime lands softly on the hard-hat, stopping for a moment to think before shrugging and slamming his flute into it. A hole shows up, but no butterfly comes out. The victim has realized what happened so Kit jumps back to safety, sliding down the tower and running to join Chat.

“It was a good attempt.” Chat offers.

“Oh well. Do we try the belt now?”

“Yep, it’s mostly trial and error. I’ll let you in on a secret-” He leans in, whispering conspiratorially, “Ladybug and I don’t actually know what we’re doing.”

“I think you do pretty well for people that don’t know what they’re doing.”

“Thanks, you’ve done well for someone who probably also doesn’t know what they’re doing.”

The thud of a wrench slamming into the Eiffel tower brings them out of their conversation.

“Alright. Here’s how we’re going to do this. Make an illusion of me and just stick near me. Make it seem like we’re trying to get to him. I’ll sneak up from behind and catacl- destroy the belt. First let me go out of sight for a bit - maybe don’t let him see you making the illusion though.”

Kit Mime and Chat Noir duck into separate hiding places. Soon enough Chat Noir sees another him running alongside Kit, and he sneaks over to the tower, climbing quietly. Whispering, he says, “Cataclysm.”

He jumps to the belt touching it with his hand. An akuma flies out and he holds it between his fingers, sliding down the tower to meet Kit.

“Let’s get somewhere quieter. We gotta’ detransform.”

They find an alley just as the necklace runs out. Claude stands in his place, and Trixx is flying about excitedly, “You did so well!”

“You did. Welcome to the team.” The ring beeps, “I’ve got to take Trixx back now though. Are you free tonight?”

Claude lifts the fox tail over his head, “I think so. Why?”

“We’ve started bringing our temporary heroes on patrols every so often - for practice. Seeing as you’re free, I’ll stop by later. I’ve got to go now, are you good here?” “Yep! One of my friends lives near here, and I left a coat at his place once so it’s as good a time as any to grab it.”

Chat gives a two finger salute and jumps away, arriving at Fu’s place just as his time runs out.

“Alright kid, let’s check on our bugs.” Plagg is clearly antsy about being away from a hibernating Tikki for so long.

“I can assure you, Wayzz and I have kept them safe.” Fu allows them in and Adrien hands back the fox miraculous in its box.

Plagg ignores him, zipping through the walls to get to Tikki.

“Master, what can we do about this?” Adrien holds up the butterfly he still has pinned between his fingers.

“With Plagg’s assistance, we may be able to get Tikki to purify it and cast the cure. She will not be awake, but such a task is second-nature to her and as such she could likely do it while not entirely conscious.” Wayzz speculates, taking the butterfly and going to the other Kwami to discuss it as they enter the main room.

Marinette is lying across one of the mats, covered in blankets. Tikki is nearby, similarly unconscious, surrounded by Wayzz and Plagg. He sees a soft white glow and ladybugs rush out to repair the city. Plagg pulls her closer hugging her in the hopes of helping wake her up.

“Should I take her home now?” Adrien looks to Fu.

“It may be for the best. Her room is likely warmer than this one, and a familiar environment could be better for her.”

He nods, scooping her up without hesitation. He waits for Plagg to gently place Tikki on top of her before he transforms.

He does his best to avoid places he may be seen on his way to the bakery - one of the heroes of Paris carrying an unconscious girl could raise some questions.

Luckily, (thanks Tikki) he manages to go without anyone spotting him with the two bugs. He slips in through the trapdoor, relieved to see that her absence hadn’t been noticed. Her parents are still busy in the bakery below.

With her being in hibernation, there’s no hope of simply waking her up. He covers them in blankets and releases his transformation so that Plagg can be with Tikki. 

Hugging his partner closer to him, Adrien plays with her hair softly, hoping to warm her up faster. It probably isn’t good for a human being to hibernate for too long. Eventually, he falls asleep too, resting against her and purring contentedly.

---

Adrien hears his phone ding in his pocket, waking him. Pulling it out, he sees a text from Claude.

 Kid Mime: elsie drew me

Kid Mime: this is the best thing i’ve ever seen

Kid Mime: allan im stealing your sister

 The Mom Friend: no she’s mine

 Hug This Boy: Wait, who’s Elsie? Allan’s sister?

 The Mom Friend: yep

The Mom Friend: shes 6

 Kid Mime: i love her

 Hug This Boy: Is Claude at your place?

The Mom Friend: yep

The Mom Friend: someone decided the best way to get there coat back is to go OUTSDIE in the SNOW without a coat al teh way to my house

 Kid Mime: well i can only where 1 coat at a tme.

 The Mom Friend: C A R R Y  O N E

The Mom Friend: you coud hve goten sick

 Adrien looks next to him at Marinette. She’s still sleeping, but seemingly out of hibernation. That’s good. What isn’t good is the fact that - despite being in her warm room covered in blankets and right next to him - she’s very visibly shivering. He frowns at her shaking, touching her forehead gently. Definitely far too warm, it would seem her time in the snow got her a fever, perhaps also a consequence of her body being shut down for hibernation. The human immune system doesn’t work well that way.

 Hug This Boy: About that.

 The Mom Friend: oh no

The Mom Friend: are you sick?

 Hug This Boy: No.

Hug This Boy: Our favorite pig-tailed designer may or may not have ventured outside and may or may not have fallen into a snowdrift and may or may not have stayed there for upwards of five minutes before I happened to find her.

 The Mom Friend: SHE WHAT

Melodie: Is she okay?!

 Hug This Boy: I think it’s just a fever.

 Kid Mime: poor girl

 The Mom Friend: hi 😀⭐❤

The Mom Friend: my b ther is makin food

 Kid Mime: allan is stress cooking

Kid Mime: looks like pizza

Kid Mime: so were good

 Hug This Boy: What?

 Melodie: There are levels to it. If he’s making pizza then this should be enough to get it out of his system.

Melodie: Hi Elsie! Do you remember me? The girl with the long hair?

 Really Cool Girl⭐🌞🥀🌛🎂: yeh i tink i do

Really Cool Girl⭐🌞🥀🌛🎂: clwed mayd me name pretty

Really Cool Girl⭐🌞🥀🌛🎂: do u lke it

Really Cool Girl⭐🌞🥀🌛🎂: 🍏🌻🐒🐧🐨🐩🐌🌺🎉🎅🎨

 Felix: It looks great Elsie.

 Really Cool Girl⭐🌞🥀🌛🎂: hiiiiiiiiiiiiiii

Really Cool Girl⭐🌞🥀🌛🎂: r u the cat boy

Really Cool Girl⭐🌞🥀🌛🎂: ???❓❓❓❓¿

 Felix: Yes. I take it that you are referring to Pluto?

Really Cool Girl⭐🌞🥀🌛🎂: yeaaaaaa ⭐⭐😺😺😺🐋

Really Cool Girl⭐🌞🥀🌛🎂: he relly cute!!!!!!!!

Really Cool Girl⭐🌞🥀🌛🎂: can i seeee him agan???❓❓❓

 Felix: Attachment: 1 Video

 Melodie: (This is such a wholesome conversation)

 Kid Mime: (its even bettr in person)

Kid Mime: (felix she loves u. shes so smiley)

 Really Cool Girl⭐🌞🥀🌛🎂: i love kitties!!

Really Cool Girl⭐🌞🥀🌛🎂: tel him hes reallie pretty

Really Cool Girl⭐🌞🥀🌛🎂: an giv him a lot of pats

Really Cool Girl⭐🌞🥀🌛🎂: 😽😻😺😹😸🐱🐈😻😻😻😻😻😻

 Felix: I will.

 Really Cool Girl⭐🌞🥀🌛🎂: o allin mayed me a samwitch by by

 Felix: Farewell.

 Melodie: Bye!

 Hug This Boy: Goodbye!

 Marinette hasn’t woken up yet. Adrien is starting to worry.

“It’ll be fine. Bugs tend to get sick if they hibernate too long. It’s like a cold or a fever.” Plagg consoles.

“A magical cold or fever.” Adrien points out.

“There is that, yes.”

Marinette stirs slightly, murmuring nonsensically. Adrien focuses on her immediately, turning her face to him and feeling her forehead again.

“Mari? You waking up, Bugaboo?”

“...there’s chinchillas in the walls...:”  

“If you say so.” he holds her up carefully, her head lolling to the side. She’s still asleep, “Come on, you should wake up now. You’re sick, and I can’t help you if you’re sleeping.”

She only scrunches up her face trying to process what’s happening.

“Please? You can go back to sleep once we’ve made sure you’re okay.”

She squints at him, “Kitty?”

“Hi Princess.” he smiles at her, happy that she’s finally awake.

Marinette slumps onto him, mumbling incoherently. ‘Awake’ may be too generous of a term. 

“‘ssss col’...”

It isn’t actually that cold, but given her clear shivering she probably wouldn’t accept anything other than agreements, “Is that so? I had no idea.”

“‘cause you warm…” she falls against him again, humming happily. She’s still shivering.

He opens his mouth to respond when he hears someone on the stairs. Tom or Sabine must be checking on her.

Speaking quietly, he tells her, “I’ve got to go now. I’ll try to check on you if I get the chance. Feel better soon.” 

Her feeble attempts to stop him via hugs aren’t entirely effective. His heart breaks at her sad face, but there’d probably be trouble if they came in to see him with their sick daughter in her bed. He kisses her forehead softly and jumps through the trapdoor to the balcony, transforming once he’s outside. 

He probably needs to get back to piano anyways. 

---

Patrol with Kit Mime had gone well. He’d been understanding about Ladybug’s tendencies and had adjusted further to his powers.

Chat had returned the miraculous to Fu at the end of patrol, and is on his way to his house. 

What kind of partner would he be if he didn’t check on Marinette first though?

It’s a good thing he does, seeing as she’s on her balcony. Again.

Landing behind her, he lectures her, “Claws in. What is it with you and going out on your balcony when you’re sick?”

She turns to him, “...hi Adrien…?”

Tikki sits on her head, “Please get her inside,” she’s shivering from the cold, “She’s b-been out-t-t here for… too long?” Keeping track of time is difficult for sleepy Bugs.

“Why are you out here?”

“Gotta’ t-tell Chat I won’ be doin’ pat-trol… he k-know I’m m-me now, so I c-can do that…” She looks around at the nearby rooftops hazily.

“Mari. I’m right here. I already knew you were sick.”

She frowns, “N-no, you’re A-Adrien. Chat is C-Chat…”

“Right. My bad. Sorry Plagg, Claws Out.” the Kwami yelps in protest as he’s sucked into the ring.

Chat Noir stands in front of her, touching her arm gently, “Alright, will you go inside now?” “B-but I gotta’ t-tell y-”

“Shh. I know you’re sick, okay? Now you have to sleep.”

He leads her to the trapdoor, “I alr-ready slep’ a lots t-today?” 

“Hibernation isn’t the same as sleeping, Princess. Besides, I know for a fact that you’re tired right now.” He helps her inside, making sure she doesn’t trip on the snowy balcony as she enters.

Marinette slumps into him once she’s inside, “...am.”

“Told you. Can I detransform now?”

She hums in confirmation and he releases the transformation, Plagg returning to Tikki immediately.

“How have you been feeling? Have you eaten?” He leans against the wall and covers her in a blanket while she curls into him.

“...col’...Paris is mean, dum’ sno’.” she glares at a window across the room.

“That’s just how it is. The snow can’t get you in here-”

“You gonna’ save me from the sno’?” she looks at him expectantly.

“I will. You don’t like snow.” What else is he supposed to say? No? To that face?

“Yay.” she hugs him tighter, which isn’t actually all that tight given her exhaustion, “...’re purrin’...”

“Mhm. Don’t think you can avoid my second question though, did you eat?”

She makes a face, “yeah… Maman made me soup…”

“I take it you didn’t want to eat soup. What do you have against soup?”

“‘s not aphids. All them left ‘cause col’...luckies.”

“Are you still cold? What’s your temperature?” He glances around, hoping for a thermometer. He’s in luck, there’s one on a nearby shelf - presumably left by Tom or Sabine.

“Not enough. ‘Cause ‘m cold.” Clearly, Marinette doesn’t understand the question.

Adrien stretches, grabbing the thermometer and moving back to lean against the wall. Marinette settles herself again, glaring at him for disturbing her.

“Okay, can I take your temperature?”

She harrumphs, clearly wanting to rest, but allows him to check with the thermometer.

“38.8 (101.8℉). Hmm.” he pulls out his phone, googling a few things, “How’s your head feel?”

“Bad… everythin’ hurts.” she’s started blinking slowly, feeling heavy.

“Sorry Bug, you might have the flu. According to the internet at the very least. It’s hard to tell, seeing a lot of the symptoms are just your tendencies…”

“Kay…”

“Though I don’t think you’re supposed to be so confused…” He peers at her in concern. She only blinks up at him, smiling softly. She reaches up and ruffles his hair.

“...like ‘ur hair, Kitty-cat…”

“Yeah, that’s the earrings again.” Plagg interrupts, “Hibernating animals are going to be confused if you wake ‘em up early. She’ll recover by tomorrow, just stay close.”

“Always. She’ll still be sick though?”

“Yep. Bugs get sick really easily in the winter. Especially after they hibernate.”

Marinette is still mussing up his hair. He purrs at her happily, leaning into the touch. She blinks at him tiredly, still feeling heavy from exhaustion. At this, he returns the slow blink - not even thinking about it. It’s just what feels natural.

Marinette likes that Adrien is here. His hair is soft. His purring is nice too. What isn’t nice is her headache. It’s more than a headache - a person-ache? She’s a person and she aches. Her throat is sore too. It’s very cold. She has heaters, but they must be broken because she’s still cold. Then Adrien showed up. Then he left, but Chat came. Then Chat left again and Adrien came back. They should stop leaving her. It’s very confusing trying to keep track of who’s here and who isn’t.

At least he’s warm. He’s warmer than the rest of her room. She loves him. Also she likes that he is warm. Has she mentioned how cold it is? It is very cold. She wants to stay awake to be with her kitty longer, but it’s cold and she’s tired, and the tired is making her cold and the cold is making her tired.

She fights against the sleep hanging over her, forcing her eyes open again and again. It only makes her more tired, but she gets to see her favorite person so she’ll keep doing it. She can stay awake. She’s a hero, so staying awake is easy compared to everything else she has to do.

She feels Adrien’s hand playing with her hair, and her eyes slip close for a little longer, before she remembers that she’s awake right now. She forces them open again, determined to stay awake. His purr seems to get a little louder, and he’s still playing with her hair and she’s really tired. She’s stopped messing with his hair - her hand limp, twisted in his blonde hair and just above his face.

Okay. She’ll compromise. She’ll close her eyes for a little bit, and then she’ll open them again for the same amount of time. If she keeps up that cycle, she’ll make it through the night. Easy.

She’s on the verge of sleep when she remembers herself, startling herself awake. Maybe she can close her eyes for longer than she keeps them open? She really is tired. Adrien is really warm and it would be so easy to just sleep. She just doesn’t like that she’d miss him. He’s still running his fingers through her hair and purring, so she tries her new compromise, certain it will work better.

Adrien watches Marinette carefully. She seems to be fighting sleep, though he can’t imagine why - she must be exhausted. He keeps running his hand through her hair, trying to get her to finally rest. He’s still purring, doing nothing to quiet it, because Ladybug would always fall asleep on him in patrol when she was tired if he was purring.

Marinette is still fighting it, but he can see it’s a losing battle. He knows her too well for her to be able to fight him when it comes to her wellbeing - which includes getting the rest she deserves. He can feel her hand twitch slightly, as though she’s trying to keep messing with his hair. She’s too tired to pull that off properly, and only makes her hand slip slightly.

Her eyes finally close, and he waits to see if they’ll finally stay that way. She gives a small adorable yawn and snuggles closer to him. Her breathing finally steadies and she gives in to sleep. 

He keeps playing with her hair - it’s nice.

Inevitably, he will have to return to his house. For now though, he rests with his Lady, eventually following her to slumber.

---

Author’s Note: Well, what do you think? Lateness aside, this is one of my favorite chapters, so I hope you enjoyed!

New year (almost), new fox hero! Claude is the fox holder, I saw plenty of you guess that! Congrats on being right! I'm pretty proud of that name by the way, I feel like it's pretty clever! (Though I could be biased) Reference slides here! I had fun with their outfit. It went through many changes.

That akuma seemed familiar. Huh. Probably not an easily recognizable cartoon character or anything. Slides here.

Allan's sister made her debut! I haven't even considered what she looks like, but maybe I'll come up an outfit or something (I will take any excuse to mess around on dress up games, I have a blast). I love her.

Last update of the year! Decade too! There's no telling what the next chapter will bring, unless you have 2020 vision of course! (>ᗜ•)

Thanks for reading! Feel free to leave any thoughts, theories, constructive criticism, or anything really in my ask box, in replies or through reblogs. I love seeing what you think!

(Nearing 100 followers, feel free to give me ideas on ways to celebrate)

First | Previous | Saturday

[iturbide]

⭐⭐⭐⭐ Sorry, I know how you feel. Being at home all the time is getting mentally exhausting. Hang in there. Sending a star because I'd love to hear if there's something your excited to talk about.

I really appreciate it it’s just.  Very tiring when nothing work reasonably through VPN (when it takes literally all day to do something that should have taken at most half an hour, there’s clearly a problem).

As Sully excused herself from the room, closing the door behind her, Chrom simply stood by the bed, unsure of what to do.  What to say.  What could he do to make any of this better?

  …was there anything that could make this better?

The tactician had not put on his coat.  But he had unfolded it, at least in part, pulling the hood over his head and draping the rest over himself where he lay curled on the mattress.  The prince had so rarely seen Robin without it – seeing it like this…

Chrom swallowed back the fear lodged in his throat.  “Robin?”

The tactician twitched, gasped, and curled inward.  The prince stepped forward…and paused, unsure of what to do and terrified of doing something wrong.  Of hurting him more.  Gods, Chrom wanted to hold him, but if he caused Robin more pain–

“Chro-om…?”

The captain sat carefully on the edge of the bed, stroking the tactician’s cheek with a shaky hand.  “I’m here,” he breathed.

Robin shifted.  And struggled to lift himself up.

“No – gods, don’t try to get up–”

He was shaking.  Chrom touched the tactician’s arm, gently, and felt the tremors spreading through him.

“Easy.  Easy, just…” He hadn’t wanted to risk making things worse.  But he hated to see Robin like this.  Stretching out at the tactician’s back, the prince carefully slipped his arms around Robin’s chest, curling close around him.  The tactician tensed, his breath ragged and short…

…and then the strength went out of him, and he crumpled into Chrom’s embrace.

They did not move for a few minutes.  He held Robin as his breaths steadied, touching his forehead to the back of the hood and waiting for the tremors to ease.

“I love you.”

The words were small, muffled against the tactician’s cowl.  But he felt Robin relax, even still.

“You shouldn’t say that here,” came the soft reply.  “Someone could be listening.”

“Sully won’t let anyone snoop.”

“No, I mean Sully.  And Kellam.”

“Kellam?”  Chrom hadn’t seen a giant suit of armor outside the door…

“Sully recruited him.”

“Smart,” he murmured, nuzzling the back of the tactician’s neck.  “But if we keep our voices down, they shouldn’t be able to hear, either.  …and I wouldn’t care if they did.”

“You should.”

“Why?”

One of Robin’s hands settled over the prince’s.  “This is a delicate situation.  Another misstep will end badly.”

“Another?”

The tactician’s finger tapped Chrom’s knuckle.  “Personally pulling me out of the dungeon.  I think Sully managed to throw suspicion off of that one, but it raised questions.”  Two fingers tapped his hand.  “This room. Even Sully remarked on it.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s conspicuously close to the royal chambers and appointed far too well for a commoner granted an advisory position, even if it is intended as a reparation.”

Robin’s words grew weaker the longer he spoke, his breaths hitching painfully as he fought to inhale.  The prince hushed him gently, and the tactician fell silent, his fingers trembling as they gripped Chrom’s.  “You shouldn’t have to think about that now,” he murmured.

“I have to,” Robin mumbled.  “Who else will?”

“I’ll try.”

“Please tell me you’re not going to attempt the direct approach again.”

The prince laughed.  “No, not this time.  …I may not be good at this, but in the past few weeks, I’ve…started to see things the way you do.  I thought about this, if you can believe it.”

“Do tell,” the tactician chuckled.

“I talked to Sumia about it.  And Lissa. And Lissa asked Maribelle, I’m pretty sure.  Turns out this is the best place to put you.  As my right hand advisor and the Shepherds’ tactician, who brought us home safe from Plegia, to offer you a lower room would devalue the work you’ve done for me and for the halidom.  This is part of the esteemed guest wing, after all – though usually it’s just used by the council members when they can’t return to their own homes.  And most of those rooms are a full suite like the royal quarter.  The size and simplicity of this one won’t offend the nobles, but it still honors you.”

“And the décor?”

“You’ll be living here,” Chrom murmured.  “The other rooms are full of things anyone would use on a visit.  But this is your place.  So it had to be a place you’d want to be, or you’d just go back to living in the archives.”

“I didn’t sleep there.”

“That’s because you never sleep.”

He heard Robin’s faint murmur of amusement and nestled closer.  “Sumia picked the books.  I arranged for the shelves and the desk, based on what you asked for the archive. Lissa – again, I think Maribelle helped – coordinated the decorations, though Sumia and I helped with the colors.  …Sully said she thought you were going to start bawling when you walked in.”

“I was sorely tempted,” the tactician murmured.

“Do you like it, then?”

Robin laced his fingers with Chrom’s.  “I’ve never had a place of my own before.  A cot in the barracks isn’t the same.  …this is…”

The prince squeezed his hand.  “This can be your home.  If you want it.”

The tactician made a small sound, and Chrom nestled closer.  “Don’t cry…gods, Robin, don’t cry…”

“What if it can’t be, though?”

He frowned as the tactician began to tremble again.  “Why couldn’t it?”

“Will they let me stay?  With all these…these suspicions whirling around what happened?”

“…we’ll just have to take care of those suspicions, then.”

“How?”

“We’ll think of something.  …but you need to rest.  Try not to think too hard.”

“I will make an attempt,” Robin chuckled.  “…you won’t be able to come back here for a while.”

“I know.”  The knowledge weighed on his heart – he hated to think what Sumia must feel, unable to see the tactician at all.  “But we’ll think of something.”

He didn’t want to let go.  He didn’t want to leave the warm half-dark, he didn’t want to go back to keeping silent about something that mattered so much.

But he had learned a great deal in the past year.  And he knew that their time was short.

Slipping gingerly away, the prince crossed to the far side of the bed and sat down again.  Leaning in, Chrom cupped Robin’s cheek in one hand and lifted his head – just enough to press a soft, lingering kiss to his lips.

He felt the tactician smile against his mouth.  As the prince drew back, pulling the coat closer over him, Robin nestled deeper into the mattress.  “Tell Sumia I miss her,” he mumbled.  “And I love her.”

“I’ll share that kiss with her, too,” Chrom chuckled, smoothing the dark hair hidden under the hood.  “…get some rest.”

“I’ll try.”

He wished he could stay.  Gods, he wished he could stay.

But he had run out of time.

So even though Future Built isn’t at the forefront of my writing projects, that doesn’t mean it’s ever far from my mind (because let’s be honest, it never is).  I don’t know if people quite realize it, but I have nearly 200k words written so far, a not insignificant chunk of which represents scattered events from further along in Arcs 2 and 3 of the story.  And this is a piece of one of my favorite plot beasts for the whole thing – in fact, it’s the next key plot point in the overall story progression that we’re currently aiming toward, which will begin resolving one of Robin’s primary character arcs: the yearning for home and family.

Without going into too many details (which, let me tell you, is hard because I’ve been excited about this for ages despite not being in the Future Built headspace), there’s a major incident on the horizon, before even the first rumbles of unrest in Valm reach Archanea’s shores.  It’s part of the human drama that spans what the game left as a two-year timeskip, the same drama that has brought Robin together with not only Chrom, but Sumia, as well.  But the situation they’re in is tentative, something Robin is painfully aware of…and moreover, he remains haunted by insecurities about his place and his worth.  Whether he says it aloud or not, Robin still believes that he is, to put it bluntly, expendable: should something happen, he can be removed from the equation, keeping pertinent losses to a minimum and likely causing little if any fuss.  And he would still remove himself gladly for Chrom’s and Sumia’s sakes, if it meant keeping them safe and well.

Chrom and Sumia don’t feel the same way, though.  Though things as they stand on AO3 are still in the tentative exploratory stages, settling in and feeling out the relationship, over the intervening months things are going to settle and deepen, resolving itself into something new and wonderful.  They find their footing, and even though secrecy must remain, Chrom and Sumia both begin to strain under that burden: Robin is part of their family, and it’s a struggle to keep it behind closed doors.  So when something does happen, rather than excise Robin as he has so long feared, they buckle down instead, pulling out all the stops they possibly can to show that he is not only welcome but wanted, and that losing him isn’t an option. 

[i-llbedammned]

I ended up writing the Good Omens noir fic I talked about about before.  I am excited and nervous as this is a hard pairing for me to feel like I am doing them justice.  You can read it on Ao3 here : https://archiveofourown.org/works/19854631 I will also post it down here:

Light practically sparkled on the grey suit and fedora of one kindly Aziraphale, private eye. It was different being on this side of the pond. Yes, he knew that he could go anywhere in the universe but there was just something so comforting about London that kept him coming back to it. Instead he was here in New York City and even though it was better than dealing with the bombs and the Nazis directly there was something still colder in this city. The roving packs of gangs and the brusk way that everyone talked was just something so unsettling.

He wouldn’t even be here if it was not for a very important mission. Someone had stolen one of his books, you see and it was a first edition of a Charles Dickens novel that he just couldn’t bear to part with. Crowley had given that edition to him shortly after it was published, telling him that reading Dickens was akin to torture so he was really trying to plague him rather than give him a kind gift. The angel was grateful for it all the same.

“What’re’ you looking at?” snapped a man in a flat cap standing near a stoop.

“Oh, ah. Nothing.” Aziraphale gave him a small, brittle smile and quickly looked away.

“Oh I’m nothin’ then?” the man started following the angel, a sour look upon his face.

“I’m just looking for a book shop, I will be right out of your way. My apologies.” He said, looking aside at the man, who had moved to block his path.

“I think you owe me a bit of reparations for the insult sir.”

Oh no. Barely here and it was already leading to a fight. What did he ever do to this man?

“Sir, please just leave me alone and I will be on my way.” Aziraphale tried to move around him and the man stayed with him, blocking his path forward.

“I don’t think I will.” The sharp click of knife sounded from the man and Aziraphale held up his hands as the man brandished a knife.

“The man said he is done with you. Piss off.” Came a deep growl from beside him. A figure with long red hair and a slinky black dress strolled up beside Aziraphale with a swagger that was unmistakable.

“Listen lady, this ain’t none of you-“ the man’s cries were cut off in terror as he beheld the flash of yellow snake eyes and the sharp smell of smoke as his hat began to catch alight. Beating the flames out, the man dropped his knife and began to run in the opposite direction. Cat-eyed sunglasses were placed on her lovely eyes once more.

“Crowley, what are you doing here?” Aziraphale asked as the man fled, looking at his fellow immortal with gratitude. He could have solved the problem easily enough, but he hated having to evoke terror and do violent things. It just made him uncomfortable.

“Saving you, angel.” She drawled, with her eyebrows raised like it was a fairly obvious question.

“Oh of course." The angel grinned in an embarassed way, "Nice dress.” Aziraphale complimented sincerely, taking in her lovely red lipstick and the golden slither of the snake along her back. It really suited her hips and showed off her legs with the long slit up the side.

“Don’t stare too long, I’ll start to think you’re interested.” Crowley laughed as Aziraphale looked up, a small tinge of color staining his cheeks pink.

“I’m not-Not that you aren’t lovely, but it wouldn’t be right.” The white haired man stumbled over his words a bit before finally changing direction entirely, ”What I mean to say is have you seen a first edition Dickens book around?”

“First edition Dickens? You lost the first edition Dickens book?” Crowley backed up, looking hurt. The look almost broke Aziraphale’s heart on the spot.

“No! I didn’t lose it. It was stolen.” Aziraphale extended his arm and Crowley rested long black taloned fingers on the crook of his arm as they walked side by side, now returning to her default moody look. “The shop was broken into and I found a jacket made by an American tailor in New York with some dollars in it so I assumed it would be here.”

Crowley began to laugh, “So you just miracled yourself over here to look for a book?”

“Well there’s also a lovely Vaudeville show in town that I thought I might pop by and see once I found the book.” Aziraphale wove his way through the city streets, arm in arm with his companion following the strange sort of gut instinct that usually was divine providence at work. He was supposed to be going in this direction, he just knew it.

“Care for a little company for the show? I’m bored and could use something to excite me.” Crowley smirked as Aziraphale’s heart did an instinctual flutter and she laughed.

“Well I can’t promise it will be exciting but-“Aziraphale paused, looking at the window of a bookshop in an alleyway. There it was, his Dickens book on display.

Without a further word he strode into the bookshop. A nasally voice answered his as a tall man with glasses glare at him, “I’m sorry, sir. We are closed.”

“Where did you get that book in the front window?” He demanded.

“It’s from our international shipments, but I told you it’s not for sale. Now scram!” The man spoke in pinched tones, exchanging glances with the other men in the room. All of them looked far too scarred and muscled to be book dealers.

“But that’s my book!” He protested loudly, indignant that these mortals would have the gall to both take his book and then refuse to give it back.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m sure it is.” A large man with shoulders twice Aziraphale’s width started shouldering him through the door, flinging him to the opposing wall. He could have resisted, but he chose not to. Really. “And don’t come back!” the man yelled after him.

“Oh bother!” he mumbled, picking up his silver fedora and looking ruefully at the door he had just been flung out of. Wait a second, Crowley never followed him out of the door!

Through the glass he could see Crowley slink forward, with all of the men’s eyes upon her hips and chest. He could not make out the words that were being said, but they appeared to be getting into an argument over it, bickering amongst each other as Crowley made flirtatious facial expressions at the big man who had thrown the angel out.

Wait! From behind the counter Aziraphale could see a man raising a gun towards Crowley’s back. The other men appeared to also be drawing up their various weapons as the conversation got more and more heated. Oh no, if that his her she would most certainly be discoporated for a period of time. That would never do. Aziraphale channeled his energies towards Crowley and with a small miracle, the bullets missed her as they flew about the shop knocking the other men dead.

As the various tough guys fell over from their various wounds, Crowley grabbed the book and walked out. “Was all that violence your doing?” Aziraphale tried to look away from all the death and violence, cringing at the thought of it.

“I wish. It certainly would boost my hellish numbers." Crowley looked mock disappointed, "Alas it was just a bunch of normal human violence though.”

“A pity on all accounts then.” Aziraphale sincerely mourned.

“Now what about that show?” Crowley asked, snapping her long black nails as a ripple of power waved over the City that Never Sleeps. “I think a private box just opened up for us.”

The box seat was lovely with red velvet seats and curtain to close them off from the world should they so choose. It just so happened that everyone who was supposed to have those seats got food poisoning and would be quite unable to attend that night. Poor things.

Aziraphale and Crowley sat next to each other, their arms barely touching.

“Angel, I do believe I owe you something,” Crowley whispered into his companion’s ear as on stage they did some sort of clown act.

“Whatever do you mean?” He responded, turning away from the act to face Crowley. Her face was very close to his all of a sudden, her heavy grey shadowed eye lids and full red lips standing out against the pale of her face in the darkness.

“You saved my life back there, don’t think I didn’t notice.” She grinned at him, “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were falling a bit for me.”

“Oh not falling. Never that. But I didn’t want to see you discorporated.” Aziraphale smiled.

“You’re not falling, not even a little?” Crowley’s hands stroked Aziraphale’s arm, tracing patterns on his suit jacket.

The angel swallowed hard as his nerves began to pound, “I’m not sure this is a good idea, my dear. They could be watching us you know.”

“You know, no one can see us here.” Crowley whispered into the angel’s ear, nipping at his lobes with her teeth sending a shiver through his body. He made no effort to pull away from her actions, “And if someone was going to stop us from above, they damn well would have by now. What’s say we really enjoy the show?” “What do you have in mind?” Even though angels were not supposed to enjoy this type of behavior, Aziraphale had allowed himself to be drawn into Crowley’s actions time and time again. After all, he could just blame it on the demon should he ever be brought up by his superiors and claim that he had some sort of magic used on him.

“I ride you til neither of us can move in this dark little box while the clowns play below.” Crowley’s lips had moved to his neck and were beginning to kiss it slowly, licking along the path of the neck. Her fingers loosened his tie so she could better reach his neck.

Aziraphale cast an eye at the show below. It didn’t appear that this show was exactly the type of high art that he was going to truly enjoy as they did yet another slapstick routine. With one hand he lifted Crowley’s face to meet his, pressing his lips gently to hers as he undid his tie fully with his other hand. She moaned softly, abandoning her seat to sit on his lap.

With a flick of his fingers Aziraphale closed the curtains, throwing his hat to the ground. He ran his hands along the black satin of the demon’s dress, tracing soft swirls along her back. Crowley snapped her fingers and suddenly there was a change in her and Aziraphale’s bodies. The angel felt a quivering starting in his loins where previous to that he had been just as sexless as the day he was born.

Instincts took over as Crowley straddled Aziraphale, now kissing him deeply and letting her forked tongue explore his mouth. He responded back in kind, running his hands over every bit of skin he could reach along her back. The angel wondered which set of human sexes they had been granted this time, excited to try something new. This was all so public, even though no one was watching them from the darkness. He felt his own begin to rise as Crowley rolled her hips aggressively over him. Biting his neck rough enough to bruise. Pain, just the right amount sent a wonderful shudder through him. His hands wound underneath her skirt, feeling the garters and silk panties that were beyond her stockings.

Nothing was there to rise, feeling over the mound there. Good to know. Aziraphale unhooked her garters to let her stockings fall to the wayside and unclipped the belt they were attached to.

“Oh angel, the things I will do to you. Tell me, how much do you want me?” Crowley whispered furtively, her breath becoming thick with lust. Her forked tongue flickered out of her mouth.

“I want you more than I want to actually read the Dickens book that we saved today. More than an actor wants attention.” The grinding was doing its job and Aziraphale could feel his cock stiff against the suit pants. White hot need burned in the pit of his gut. He covered the demons mouth with his, reaching under her skirts to stroke at her clit through the underwear.

He needed release and he needed it soon. The pressure that was building up within him was going to be too intense and soon he would be able to bear it no longer. Crowley was relentless, unbuttoning the fly of Aziraphale’s pants and pulling them down just enough that the long length of his newfound cock could be released from within after a quick tug took down the underwear. With a decisive hand, Crowley reached under her skirt to peel the high waistband downward on her own underwear. A flick of the wrist sent it flying.

“How much do you want me again, angel?” She purred, as his fingers worked a steady pulsing rhythm on her clit.

“I swear, I will explode right here if I don’t get a chance to bed you immediately,” Aziraphale moaned as the demon’s fingers slowly ran up and down his shaft, his cock twitching in her hands helplessly.

“Oh but what is in it for me?” She guided his fingers towards her opening, putting in one of his fingers, followed by a second.

“I will make you feel…pleasant?” Aziraphale blanked, the length of his dirty talk coming to an end and just knowing that he wanted to feel her upon his lap riding him right now. To feel her breath on his neck hitch and her whimper as she struggled not to scream in the middle of the theater. “Please, I don’t have words for it, but I’ll show you.”

“Oh close enough, angel.” Crowley conceded, climbing on top of him once more and thrusting his length roughly into her. Her hips rolled and it was Aziraphale who had to fight back the urge to scream. To muffle himself he flew forward, pressing his lips into her neck and his hands into her hips. He felt her rump as she moved and undulated for a moment before she moved one of his hands to move down her dress. Soft breasts met his hands and the angel moved his fingers underneath the bra to massage them as they rolled together.

Crowley’s breath became more strained as she moaned, “Teeth. Bite me angel. On the neck. As hard as you can.”

“But won’t I hurt you?” Concern flashed across Aziraphale’s face.

“Yes, that is the point.” She growled, her hips moving faster and faster til he felt like he was about to explode.

Aziraphale obeyed the orders gratefully, biting her hard enough to bruise on the right side of her neck as he felt the sharp wave of an orgasm wash over him. Crowley’s body tensed him as he bit and she whimpered into his ear as she rode him hard.

That was not to be the end, mind you. The cycle continued three more times, til both of them felt exhausted and were very done being human and messy. With a flick of her talons, Crowley dismissed the sexual organs. Aziraphale focused very hard and they were both in a bedroom, a familiar bedroom that was draped in black.

“All the way in London, angel?” Crowley mumbled into Aziraphale’s neck as the angel laid down next to her on the bed. They could have miracled off their clothes, but even that felt like too much of an effort after the show they had just put on. They were cleaned up and that was really what mattered. And he had his book, which was promptly placed

“Well I wasn’t going to sleep in New York. It’s the City that Never Sleeps after all.” Aziraphale joked, feeling his eyelids be awful and heavy. With drowsy hands he moved the covers over both of them, glad that Crowley had invested in soft blankets despite the fact that both of them only slept as a hobby.

“Remind me to yell at you for that joke when we wake up,” mumbled Crowley, nesting closer to his angel. Aziraphale certainly didn’t mind considering how warm he was.

“I still wonder how they got my book.” Aziraphale queried as he draped his arms around the lovely demon in front of him.

“Oh that. Right. I arranged it. Figured it would be a good way to get you in the Vaudeville show and actually in New York. You’d never go to New York otherwise.” Crowley mumbled as Aziraphale nuzzled her ginger hair.

“Oh that’s wicked.” Aziraphale answered, but without any venom to his voice.

Crowley smirked, lazy and satisfied, “It worked didn’t it?”

The angel demurred softly as they both drifted off to sleep, the sound of bombs echoing in the London skies.

[weartirondad]

And You Would Smile (And That Would Be Enough) 6/6

5 times Tony helps pull Peter away from an anxiety built cliff and the 1 time Peter is on his own. (part i, part ii, part iii, part iv, part v)

FF.net I ao3

Today was a good day.

Like, a good day as in the sun was shining, tickling Peter’s nose through the classroom window and when he got out it was neither too warm nor too hot.

Good as in Flash was out sick, they had gotten back two tests both of which he had aced and Ned kept going on and on about the latest Lego newsletter and all the new sets in it.

Good as in it was Friday and he would spent the weekend with Tony at the tower with May, Pepper, Rhodey and Happy joining them for a movie night on Saturday.

It was an almost suspiciously good day.

Peter tried to shove that nagging voice in his head somewhere in the deep abysses of his mind because he would not let his stupid anxiety ruin this perfectly fine day for him. Much to his own surprise it actually worked for once, leaving him to stroll through the floors one last time that week with a clear head and a big smile.

“Are you planning on going out before heading to Mr. Stark’s?”

They had stopped walking, standing just outside the school doors, and Ned was looking at him excitedly, voice skipping very inconspicuously when he emphasized his secret coded message. Peter was too happy to point it out to him, though, and there was no one around anyway so he just shook his head while enjoying the warm sun on his face.

“Nope, Tony has the suit for reparation after a teensy tiny knife fight on Wednesday,” he told his guy-in-the-chair with a sheepish smile and what he hoped were an innocent flutter of his eyelashes. “I’ll go out when I get to the tower, though, I’m sure he’s already been done with it since like the middle of the night on Wednesday but he’s a little mad about me getting stabbed in the first place so he’s drawing it out.”

Ned stared at him for him minute before letting out a huff that was half annoyed, half amused. “Well, at least he’s giving you the don’t-get-stabbed-talk so I don’t have to. Seriously, dude, you’re supposed to avoid getting hit.”

“Well, gee, now that you say that it makes so much more sense,” he shot back with an eye roll, digging through his backpack with one hand looking for his phone, “Are you taking the bus home?”

“Nah, my mum’s picking me up so I can help her grocery shopping.”

Peter grimaced sympathetically but pulled out his phone and headphones in triumph, “But at least you’ll get to choose which flavor Doritos she’s buying. Ah, man,” he sighed when his phone gave a sad beep before shutting down, “Can I have your phone real quick to text Tony that I’m walking over?”

His best friend was suddenly incapable of forming sentences. “You wanna. Text, uh, Tony real quick,” he repeated, eyes widening and Peter had to work really hard to stifle a laugh. “You, uh, Tony Stark. My phone. Uh.”

“Ned?” He waved his hand in front of the star-struck teenager before simply grabbing the phone he had been asking for from Ned’s lax grip. It took him a minute to type a message and send it to one of the three numbers he actually knew by heart (For emergencies, something May had insisted on since he’d been able to count) and when he was done and the phone back in Ned’s grasp the boy was still blinking ahead stupidly. That is, until a car honked loudly and his mum called for him.

He gave his friend a gentle shove in the right direction before patting his back and saying his goodbyes and greetings to Mrs. Leeds. “See you tomorrow!”

Then Peter was alone and started walking in the direction of the tower, phone and headphones back in his backpack, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket and with a happy skip in his step. He absorbed the noises of the city, the honking of cars, occasional shouts and bustling people, enjoying the normality of it all. It were moments like these when he felt like a normal teenager. Right now his enhanced senses weren’t bothering him, they were simply a way to feel more of the beauty of the day, they made him special without standing out.

He’d been born and raised in New York and the loud noises on the street actually held familiarity when they weren’t overwhelming him. On days like these, when he was at peace with the world and himself, he liked that it was never really quiet and that he was never really alone but rather part of something. He was part of a group of people who were all doing their own thing without knowing what the person next to them was going through.

There was a beauty to that kind of anonymity and connectivity –

A scream pulled him out of his musings. A barely audible cry for help. A kid’s voice.

The second his brain had registered the noise and filed it under important and ‘immediate reaction advised’ the back of his neck started buzzing. It was an unpleasant feeling that Ned liked to call his Spidey sense and that was useful about five out of ten times. And of course it would start going off when he had already established that there was something going on.

Still, he let the hum urge him on and it didn’t take him long to make out what was making the child scream.

There, towering above him, was a skyscraper and it was burning.

A large crowd of people were already assembled in front of the building in a safe distance, ambulances standing all around while several fire workers were working on putting out the fire. Strangely enough there was significantly less uproar and turmoil in the masses than he had expected.

They all seemed weirdly… settled. Scared, dusty and covered in small bruises but not as if they were looking for someone. The fire workers were only running out of the building, no one was charging in to save the child.

“What’s going on?” he asked a middle- aged man who was staring up at the fire, face scrunched up in worry.

He looked down at the kid before telling him that the fire alarm had started half an hour ago and that luckily everyone inside had already been saved and when he started talking about property damage and insurance Peter broke away.

“Hey! Sorry!” He yelled, sprinting over to the barrier to get the fire workers’ attention. “Hey! There’s someone still in there! There’s-“ His voice broke off but luckily a woman had heard him and he could only hope that she would listen because being so close to a building that was destined to collapse was doing wonders for his state of mind.  

“Calm down, sweetie. There’s no one in there. We checked every floor.” He hated adults with a passion just then. He hated not having his suit with him. They would’ve listened to Spider- Man.

“I swear, there’s someone still in there! I- It’s,” he spluttered, heart beating too fast and breaths coming in too shaky to form a real sentence let alone thought. “You need- You need to check again!”

She looked at him with compassion but damn her he didn’t want compassion. “We will check again, okay, but we can’t go that high up anymore, the fire’s been working through the building’s core. But we’ll look for your brother, okay? What’s your name? You might want to-“

Peter had already slipped away, pure panic gripping his heart at the sight in front of him. But he could still hear the voice. It was interrupted by more coughing with every scream but the kid was there and the fire worker’s weren’t fast enough and-

Without thinking he doubled back and went to the back of the building where no one was watching before starting his climb up.

His hands were sweating but he couldn’t think about how he could fall to his death with just a wrong step, he couldn’t think of-

“Mommy! Please!”

The kid’s voice pulled him from his spiraling thoughts and it was so close now. He must be on the right floor. He just needed to get inside. Of course it was one of the floors that had flames leaking out at the sides.

Funnily enough his hand wasn’t shaking when he lifted it from the side of the building to throw a punch into a nearby window. His hand was steady even when his whole body was vibrating with pure, unadulterated fear.

“Hello?” he tried, voice choking on his spit, as he climbed through the shattered window awkwardly. Shards of glass were ripping through his clothes and skin but he ignored them in favor of trying to orientate himself and listening for a reply.

There was none and for a moment he felt like passing out. Oh god, what if this was the wrong floor?

There was, however, a tiny whimper somewhere to his right.

Peter dropped down to his knees and adjusted his hoodie so it was at least covering his mouth before slowly crawling through the – not yet burning – remains of a living room until he reached a little boy, not older than four that was cowering behind a turned table.

“Hey, I’m Peter,” the teenager tried to address him before he touched him, worried the boy would freak out, but the second he realized that there was someone else there, he leaped up and clung to him like he was a lifeline. Which, he probably was in that moment. At least the hope for one.

“I-I’m s-so sc-sca-red,” he hiccupped into Peter’s neck who was holding tightly onto the tiny body in his arms, trying to sooth him through patting his hair in a similar fashion May and Tony usually did for him. He’s mind was going into overdrive figuring out how to get out but he couldn’t move them before he hadn’t calmed him down at least a little bit. “M-my m-mommy went d-downs-stairs a-and-“ he broke off into another sob and Peter shushed him gently.

“It’s okay, I’m getting you out,” he whispered softly and, really, he thought he was doing a fantastic job at keeping the appearance of calm. “We just need to get to the window and then we can climb out, okay? Can you climb? What’s your name, buddy?”

The little boy nodded and introduced himself as Sam and he was glad because if he was responsive then Peter could just keep on rambling to ignore the fact that every single fiber in his body was screaming ‘You’re gonna die’ all at once.

Together they made their way over to where Peter had come in from. But the crawl was going so slowly, too slowly. He needed to get ou-

With a loud bang part of the ceiling came crashing down.

Nononononono

Peter let go of the boy as gently as he could which wasn’t all that gently and the kid whimpered again, pulling the backpack off of Peter’s back when he was in the middle of turning around. He let him though, his entire being focused on the rubble that was blocking their way to the window.

It was dusty and everything was burning and water was dripping from the burst pipes.

He fell to his knees. He couldn’t do this.

He couldn’t. He would die. He couldn’t get out. There was too much, too-

Another crack and he reacted before he fully realized what was happening and then he was there again. He was holding up part of the ceiling, rubble and debris coming down on him and Sam was screaming.

Oh god. Sam.

Peter blinked, biting back the scream at the bottom of his throat and blinking through the tears running down his cheeks.

“It’s okay,” he managed to choke out, “It’s gonna be okay.”

His heart would combust. He was sure of it. There was no way he could survive this again. There was no way the building wouldn’t crush him this time. Squish him like a tiny bug. Like he had no backbone at all. He was Atlas, carrying the sky, stopping two worlds from colliding, only he wasn’t strong enough.

God.

“May,” he sobbed, legs shaking under the weight of the concrete and with the burden of his panic. “T-Tony.”

He couldn’t do this. He wasn’t strong enough. He wasn’t –

In front of him sat Sam, tiny body shaking with sobs as he clung to the backpack he had ripped from Peter’s back. His backpack –

Yes! He almost cried with relief when he realized what that meant. But he was already crying anyway so maybe his tears were just mixing at this point.

Focus, Peter.

“S-sam?” he managed to get out through gritted tears, thankful that the boy seemed to trust him enough to immediately sit up at his voice. Then again, he was currently holding up the part of the building that would’ve smashed them both otherwise.

Let’s not think about that.

“Can you open my backpack?” he asked, trying to breathe through the panic that was still rolling over him in waves, threatening to take over, threatening to drown him. Nope. He had to get this done. Then he’d deal with his panic. “G-great, now do you see Ironman?”

One breath. Two breaths. Steady.

“You need to press the side of his heel,” he instructed the boy who nodded ferociously and did as he was told. Peter heard the faint sound telling him that the emergency message, including their current location, had been sent and now there was actually some relief in his panic.

“Will Ironman come to save us now?”

The voice sounded so tiny and, really, all Peter wanted to do was say yes, break down and let Tony save the day but Sam would die if he let go.

“Yeah, he will,” he managed to choke out anyway, “H-he’ll save us.” Only Peter wasn’t sure he wouldn’t collapse before that.

One breath. Two brea –

The smoke in his lungs made him choke and his head snap up. The smoke was getting thicker by the minute and he already couldn’t breathe properly.

“S-sam.” One breath. “You need to.” Two breaths. “Cover your nose.” Three breaths. “And mouth.”

But the boy was shaking again, obviously having realized that he wasn’t getting enough air either, and Peter couldn’t comfort him because he was trying to keep them from dying and he was trying not to let the weight crush him and he was-

“Sam. Press down on the blue thing, okay?” He couldn’t breathe. “Gr-great. Just h-hide y-your face i-in the bl-blue light.” One more inhale. Just one more. “That’s g-good. O-okay, s-stay l-like th-that. ‘S g-gonna gonna b-be o-okay.” Exhale.

Part of him relaxed when he saw Sam do as he was told but that gave all the other parts of time to focus on his barely suppressed panic. Which was not good.

Breathing. He had to keep breathing. He couldn’t but he had to.

One. Two.

He broke off with a sob, panting through the hoodie over his mouth. He couldn’t do it. His lungs wouldn’t open and even if they did, they would inhale smoke and dust and death and –

Gritting his teeth, Peter tried to stand up a little straighter and he started counting again. Tony would be there. Tony would come. He’d just have to survive until then.

One. Two. Thr-

The building moved and he let out a scream when some part of the ceiling impaled his back. No. Gaze fixated on the little boy, he bit back another scream and took another breath.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

He made it.

He made it through five breaths.

His heart was still beating too fast, his breathing was still coming out in gasps and his entire body was on fire but he made it through five breaths. He could do five more.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

With his eyes closed he imagined May standing next to him, her gentle hand on his upper arm and her warm smile resonating through his chest. May would never let him suffocate.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

His breaths were evening out.

Ned was rooting for him. He was clutching his hand with one hand and gave him a thumbs up with the other. His smile was pained but he was being strong for Peter. Ned believed he could do it.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

His galloping heart was slowing down.

He half expected Tony to join the group next and he almost staggered when his Uncle’s hand found his waist, the touch soothing some of the pain. His Uncle would help him carry the building.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

His body slowly stopped shaking.

Tony was standing right in front of him, a look of worried conviction flickering in his eyes. When he blinked it was gone and all that was left was love and pride and then a hand came to ruffle his hair and he lowered his head, letting the panicked tension leak out of his body. Tony would come.

Peter blinked when he felt his vitals had returned to normal. Well, as normal as they could be in a life threatening situation. He was thankful for the adrenalin coursing through his blood, certain that it was the only thing keeping the post-panic-attack fatigue at bay.

“Hey Sam,” he spoke up, voice scratchy with dust and smoke but steady and calm, “Are you holding up? Tony’ll be here any second, I swear.”

The boy had barely time to mumble an affirmative into the plushy before Peter could hear the sounds of repulsors closing in on them and suddenly the ceiling wasn’t as heavy anymore.

When he looked up from Sam, he found War Machine standing beside him, helping him hold up the building and Vision came flying through the path Rhodey had cleared on his way. The corner of his lips tucked up in tired satisfaction when he watched the android pick Sam up and retreat back to safety.

The boy was safe. He wasn’t carrying the sky anymore. The adrenalin leaked out of his body with the tension and Peter collapsed forward.

He never hit the ground though. Instead he hit the cool metal of the Iron- Man suit that enveloped him in strong metal arms and picked him up as if he weight nothing. He really did feel weightless just then. And so tired.

“Thanks for saving us,” he mumbled between coughs as he let his body go limp. His head fell to the shoulder of the suit and, it wasn’t the physical contact he was craving but it was something he associated with safety and so he let his mind drift, too. The last thing he picked up before everything went black was Tony’s voice, a little tinny through the suit.

“You did all the saving, squirt. We’re just providing the getaway car.”

Peter was hunched over his desk in the work shop, eyes squinted in concentration, tongue tucked between his front teeth and fingers moving quickly yet meticulously. Everything had to be perfect. This project had big shoes to fill.

“You done yet, kid?”

He looked up with a crocked smile, stopping his motions, when his mentor wandered over and heavy hands settled on his shoulders. His thumbs rubbed circles into his shoulder blades, letting Peter relax in his grasp while the tension from sitting still for so long slowly leaked out of him.

“Won’t get done if you keep doing that,” he mumbled in halfhearted complaint but didn’t move out of Tony’s personal space who seemed content to stay right where he was.

The older man chuckled, fingers now running through Peter’s curly strands. “Want me to help you?”

“Nope, you’re doing the tech and I’m getting the software done,” he insisted, “Since you wouldn’t let me help last time.”

Now the billionaire was full on laughing and Peter grinned. He had long since learned to cherish every one of Tony’s honest laughs and he prided himself on tickling them out of him more and more often. Some days tickling was actually involved. But not today. Today was a calm day spent in the lab where they mostly moved around in silence, throwing ideas back and forth every once in a while, and took a break from their usually busy lives. A wonderful kind of boring. Just what he needed.

“Software, really?” came the fond reply, “How long have you been sitting on that one?”

“Let’s just say I’ve been hoping you’d ask me for help for half an hour now,” he grinned back, earning yet another chuckle. He was leaning against Tony’s chest at this point and so the tiny vibrations the emotion prompted swept through his own body like a wave of warmth and home.

It had been so quiet earlier that it had gotten Peter thinking on how he was really missing his StarkPal that hadn’t been salvageable after almost catching on fire two days ago. Thinking back, he was sure Tony had already had plans to make him a new one, but as it was he had suggested they start working on one and while his mentor had figured out how to rebuild the tech (because, let’s be honest he was a lot faster at that stuff), Peter had jumped at the opportunity to sew the plushy.

He had done fairly well, too, considering Tony had only taught him how to use a sewing machine four hours ago.

“I’m done, I think,” he said, disrupting the comfortable silence that had descended on them, “Only way to tell is to turn him inside out and take a look.”

“Ready for the big reveal?”

Truth be told, the plushy wasn’t as perfectly executed as the first one that Tony had sewn but Peter couldn’t care less. Not when Tony looked at him like he had just single handedly managed world peace. Not when, after they had put the tech back in, the blue light was glowing as reassuringly as ever and the heartbeat matched the one that had gotten him through so many bad days.

Friday had been awful. Yet, somehow he had fought through his own demons and surprisingly enough he had come out on top. And he was really freaking proud of that.

“Thank you,” he whispered, plushy tucked under his arm as he reached out to engulf Tony in a bone crushing hug. He was so grateful, so unbelievably lucky to have all these people on his side. There was no way he would ever be able to put it into words, so he didn’t try past a, “Thank you for believing in me.”

Because that was what they did. That was what made him strong. That was what made him hope that someday he would be fine on his own.

“Love you, kid.”

Peter smiled. “I know.”

fin.

[pamphletstoinspire]

Enriching Your Spiritual Life

It is time to ask ourselves the important question: what has been our own practice with regard to the duty of thanksgiving in general? What is our habitual feeling about God’s numberless blessings to us? How long a time have we ever spent in summing up God’s blessings to us, even when we have been on retreat?

St. Ignatius wisely tells us to commence our examination of conscience every day with counting up the mercies of God and thanking Him for them. Have we so much as kept faithfully to this little practice? Many have regular times in the day for different spiritual duties; have we any time especially set apart for thanksgiving?

Many, again, keep in their prayer books a little note of the things and persons to pray for; have we any similar memento of the blessings for which we desire daily to thank our Heavenly Father? How often have we besieged the throne of grace for weeks and weeks with Our Fathers, Hail Marys, Misereres, Memorares, Rosaries, Communions, and even penances, for something we desired; and when at last our dear Lord condescended to our importunity, what proportion did our thanksgiving bear to our supplication? How long did it last? In what did it consist? With what fervor and increase of love was it accompanied?

Alas! We have all great need to take shame to ourselves in this respect. So far from having an abiding spirit of thanksgiving, or a keen, lifelong recollection of God’s mercies, or a loving regularity in the worship and sacrifice of thanksgiving, we go on letting the Holy Spirit Himself touch our hearts with an intimate sense of our obligations to God and our dependence on Him, waiting until He does do so and then feebly responding to His call; so that we let Him, as it were, ask for our thanks rather than pay them with a free heart and out of an abounding love.

Where we fail is that we do not correspond to His touch; we need His pressure.We would be quick enough to see the wretchedness of all this if a fellow creature did it to us.

But answer these questions honestly to your guardian angels, and then say if you think I exaggerated when I said that the disproportion of thanksgiving to prayer is one of the wonders of the world, and one of its saddest wonders, too.

But what is the cause of all this? It comes from your perverse refusal to look at God as your Father.

Independent of open sin, there is scarcely a misery that does not come from these hard, dry, churlish views of God. That is the root of the evil. You must lay the axe there, if you really desire to be other than you are. No schemes for self-improvement will stand in the stead of it.

You may meditate, and examine your conscience, and tell your beads, and little enough will come of it, as you have so often found already. How wonderfully people can be regular in making their daily meditation without its ever melting into them! Not a passion is subdued, not an unloveliness smoothed away! They have the custom of prayer without the gift of it. You may do penances, and they will rather harden your heart in a delusion of vainglorious humility than melt into simple, genuine love. The very sacraments will work only like machines out of order.

Whether it is stunted growth in the spiritual life that you deplore,or the absence of all sensible devotion, or in­capacity to make and keep generous resolutions, or teasing relapses into unworthy imperfections, or want of reverence in prayer, or lack of sweetness with others, in almost every case the mischief may be traced to an unaffectionate view of God.

You must get clear of this. You must cultivate a filial feeling toward Him. You must pray to the Holy Spirit for His gift of piety, whose special office it is to produce this feeling.

Your most prominent idea of God must be as the God “of whom all paternity is named in heaven and on earth.” You must remember that the Spirit of Jesus is the one true Spirit and that He is the Spirit of adoption, whereby we cry, “Abba, Father!”

You will never be right until your view of God as your Father swallows up all your other views of Him, or at least until they are brought into harmonious subordination to that view, which is the sweet soul of the gospel and the life of our Blessed Savior’s teaching.

A man could not do better than devote his whole life to be the apostle of this one idea, the compassionate pa­ternity of God.

In matters of spiritual progress, our interests are identi­cal with God’s glory.This is another of His loving contriv­ances. Hence we may still further persuade ourselves to the practice of thanksgiving by reflecting from a spiritual point of view on the benefits to ourselves that result from it.

Growth in holiness is nothing but the continual de­scent upon us of those fresh graces, which crown every act of correspondence on our part to graces already received; and there is nothing, as we know, that so multiplies graces upon us, or causes God to throw the doors of His treasury so wide open, as the devotion of thanksgiving.

But it is not only in this way that it helps us on in holiness. Its effects on our mind must also be taken into account. Many persons try to advance in spirituality and are held back, as it were, by some invisible hand. The fact is, and they do not realize it, they have never been thor­oughly converted to God. They have stayed too short a time in the purgative way of the spiritual life, or they have bargained with God and kept back some attachment, or wished to loosen themselves from unworthy habits gently and gradually, so as to be spared the pain of conversion.

Now, thanksgiving swiftly but imperceptibly turns our religion into a service of love; it draws us to take God’s views of things, to range ourselves on His side even against ourselves, and to identify ourselves with His interests even when they seem to be in opposition to our own. Hence we are led to break more effectually with the world and not to trail its clouds and mists along with us on our road to heaven.

Hence, also, we come to root and ground ourselves more effectually in the sense of our own vileness and worse than nothingness before God; and what is all this but to make our conversion more thorough and complete?

Neither is the effect of thanksgiving less upon our growth than it is upon our conversion.All growth comes of love; and love is at once both the cause and effect of thanksgiving.

What light and air are to plants, that is the sense of God’s presence to the virtues; and thanksgiving makes this sensible presence of God almost a habit in our souls. For it leads us continually to see mercies that we should not otherwise have perceived, and it enables us far more worthily to appreciate their value, and in some degree to sound the abyss of divine condescension out of which they come.

Moreover, the practice of thanksgiving in ourselves leads us to be distressed at the absence of it in others; and this keeps our love of God delicate and sensitive and breeds in us a spirit of reparation, which is especially con­genial to the growth of holiness.

Our hearts are enlarged while we are magnifying God; and when our hearts are enlarged, we run the way of His commandments, where we have only walked or crept before. We feel a secret force in overcoming obstacles and in despising fears, and altogether a liberty in well-doing, which we used not to feel before; and all because thanksgiving has made us measure the height of God’s goodness and the depth of our vileness; and so nothing looks too much or too hard where the glory of God is concerned. Like Areuna in the time of the pestilence, we give to the King as kings ourselves, and in the spirit of kings. Our hearts are crowned with thanksgiving.

It is a great mistake to think lightly of happiness in religion,of enjoyment in religious services, of sweetness in prayer, of gladness in mortification, and of sensible devotion. True it is that when God subtracts them, it is not necessarily in anger or as a chastisement; and whatever be the cause, our plain duty is to submit ourselves to His sweet, though inscrutable, will. But this does not hinder all these things from being mighty aids in the spiritual life, and therefore to be desired and coveted with earnestness, although in a submissive spirit.

Who does not know cases in which everything seems to go wrong because a person has no happiness in religion? Even at Mass and Benediction a veil is over their hearts, which neither music nor brightness, nor yet the divine presence, can penetrate.

God’s blessings are as dull to such people as His chastisements are to the generality of men. Prayer is a penance; confession a torture; Communion a very rack. What God blesses for them irritates like a sore. What He fills with peace troubles them with disquietude. They have no light but the gloom of their own perverse moodiness, and they have no song but peevishness. Inquire if such persons have ever had a spirit of thanksgiving, and you will find you have hit exactly on the characteristic omission of their lives.

Perhaps they have been converts to the holy Faith. They have obeyed grace grudgingly. When they were safe in the Church, they would see difficulties everywhere, from the Pope and Roman manners downward. Imaginary evils surrounded every step. There was temporal unhappiness, and was the Faith worth it? There was the annoyance of learning a new religion, and new ceremonies, and this made them snappish. Then preachers said such strong things, and they must complain to a score of people of this, as if everything was to be suited to them.

It was the Assumption, and the dear, good Irish wanted to hear of their Mother’s Coronation;but then this impor­tant convert was at church and had brought an important Protestant friend with him and should have been con­sulted, or forewarned. It was so unkind, so injurious, in his presence, to say our Lady had twelve stars on her head. Were they planets or fixed stars? The whole matter is full of difficulties. Really, preachers should be more careful!

Then, in the confessional, it was all so uncomfortable, so coarse, and vulgar, and matter of fact. There was so little smooth talking, and yet much that was so dreadfully to the point.

Thus, from one cause or another, the poor convert has been miserable ever since conversion; and why? Immersed in self, and magnifying self, seeking consolations, and hun­gering after sympathy, such persons have hardly once fallen like children on their knees to thank God for the miracle of love that brought them where they are.

A thankful heart would have taken joyously all the incipient difficulties of its new position, as a penance for the hard-heartedness that had given grace so much trouble and cost it so many efforts in the process of conversion. But these persons were not thankful, and so they are not happy. Let us thank God that their numbers are so few.

This, however, is another point to be made much of: that happiness in religion comes from the spirit of thanksgiving.

[felicityb-reviews]

Review Roundup - Week 4 January 2018

Hello, my lovely baby boos!! My name is Jace (aka Felicity B), and welcome to your Weekly Roundup for Week 4 of January 2018!! This week was something else, sis. I must have listened to 40 or 50 different songs for this week's list. It was cray!! For these kinds of lists, the last thing I wanna do is leave off songs because I don't like them, but that's what I ended up having to do. This week's list was getting excessively long (is still excessively long), but the last thing we need here is an RRU with 20 ballads.

That being said, there's a lot of songs here with "I liked it, it was good" reviews. There's not much I can do about that. A lot of the music that came out this week was very middle of the road. They're good songs, don't get me wrong; I'd throw very few of them into the Shuffle Bait. But there's just not much to say about them.

Turn It Up (RAINZ)

*sigh*

I really wanted to like this song, you guys. That chorus is Rave Excellence™ (if EDM tracks from rookie boy bands sounded like this, I wouldn't hate them so much). It's fucking everything, sis. And you know, I can excuse RAINZ for conjuring the spirit of 4minute with that New and Improved™ Hate breakdown. Everything leading up to it was bomb af, so I can get over myself with how annoyed I was by it.

But what I refuse to get over is DUBSTEP IN 2018!! ABSOLUTELY NOT!!

NO MA'AM!!

I don't know what makes Turn It Up pop so much more than tracks we've heard from groups like UP10TION or SF9 or ViCTON, because like I mentioned before, it's all in the same lane. Sure, that chorus makes my inner gay wanna come charging out and kiss five boys before rolling around in body paint (and then proceed to kiss five more boys), but this isn't anything we haven't heard before, musically. There's nothing inherently fun about this song (just extremely gay, which... RAINZ is a Broduce 101 project group, so of course), I just really freaking like it.

I just can't get over dubstep in 2018. If I had the means to cut it out of the track, I would be featuring that version in the official playlist.

#PettyBitch

Rating - Conditional Rotation

NO MORE (LIMZY featuring Huckleberry P)

No More is an exercise in RnB influenced Trip Hop/EDM that I wasn't sure I was gonna like, at first. This weirdly disjointed flavor of electroRnB is really not my taste, and the fact that LIMZY pushed it more left field than I've heard before really didn't help matters.

But No More is charming in its own way. The more I listened to it, the more it grew on me. LIMZY's smooth vocals are a nice foil to the weirdness of the beat, and Huckleberry P's rap didn't irritate me as much as I thought it would. I gotta be in a certain mood to really enjoy a song like this, but when I'm in said mood, catch me dissociating to No More.

Rating - Conditional Rotation

A luminous cat (Evolution of Sound)

A luminous cat is kind of basic, but it's also kind of fun. It's hella catchy, too.

Would you say that the luminous cat is also a lucky cat?!?!?!

I've always found it interesting how the farther away from K-Pop you get, the lower everyone's voices get. Ballad singers live in the low baritone/mezzo soprano range (although some of them think they live in soprano/tenor land, and they need to Stop Stop It™), and EoS's vocalist is the same. He's got a voice on him like WINNER's Kang Seung Yoon, but not quite as raspy. It's really nice to listen to.

A luminous cat is a synth driven pop/rock song. The first time I listened to it, I was bored as fuck all. The teaser had a lil somethin' somethin' goin' on, but the song fell flat in full. Upon repeat listens, A luminous cat hooks you in, but this is not a track I really wanna play all of the time. Which is a shame, cause I don't hear this type of sound a lot in Korean music.

Rating - Shuffle Bait

Ttongkku (Park Jongchul)

This is the cutest fucking thing I've ever seen in my life. And I stan Kim Jongin, okay?!?!? Do y'all know how cute my mans is?!!? But this video is even cuter than him!!!

#Shook

Ttongkku is a very whimsical acoustic ballad (for lack of a better descriptor). With the way Ttongkku is written, I'd expect this to be from something for children. The majority of the song follows the same strum pattern, just with different chord progressions swapped in, so Ttongkku is perhaps one of the most simple songs I've reviewed. That doesn't take away from how great this song is, tho. It's a really nice break from all the flashiness of K-Pop, which can easily wear on the ears.

Rating - Conditional Rotation

To Heart (fromis_9)

To Heart sounds like the theme song from a 2008 shoujo anime. I shouldn't be surprised considering their pre-release track, Glass Shoes, also sounded like that, and the inspiration behind Idol School is definitely Japanese idol groups. It's just not a sound you hear a lot in K-Pop.

fromis_9 (pronounced Promise 9, even though I still pronounce it like it's written without meaning to) is the group that resulted from last year's survival show Idol School. You know, when everyone was suddenly concerned about the ethnics of all these survival shows, because it wasn't under the Produce banner.

#ShadyBitch

While I liked Glass Shoes (and appreciated K-Pop's modern production techniques being applied to a song like it), it was definitely nothing to write home about. It was easy to lose it in the craziness that is end of the shows and what not. To Heart is, unfortunately, more of the same, but it definitely holds its own.

To Heart is an upbeat, happy go lucky pop/rock track with a really catchy violin riff layered on top of the intro and chorus bits. The verses are rather lowkey, but the chorus puts the pedal to the metal with the energy. You don't really hear a lot of lighter pop/rock tracks in K-Pop, so this is definitely a sound I'd like for fromis_9 to explore more, because it could easily give them a leg up on all the other cutesy girl groups. Tis a good comeback, but that's literally it for me, sis.

Rating - Conditional Rotation

Jazzclub (BoA)

Current Dancing Queen of K-Pop, Kwon BoA, has set her sights on Japan with a new album, set to release in February of 2018 (and it was about fuckin' time, because Who's Back was an abominable Mess™)!! Jazzclub is a song that's been floating around since December, but I'm including it in today's list per request since the single actually dropped last week.

Um... Whom tf just calls their ex out of the blue to tell them they got married?! Every time I watch the video for Jazzclub, I'm so confused by why this bit is included (they literally could've just started with BoA in the club with the song playing).

To the surprise of quite a few people (myself included), Jazzclub is an electroswing track with one of the catchiest horn riffs I've heard in K-Pop. If you're over horn riffs in K-Pop, you'll be happy to know that while it is played at the intro and after every chorus, those sections don't last for long. The most surprising bit about this song is definitely when BoA starts scat singing. Never in my life would I ever expect Kwon Boah to start scat singing in one of her songs, but I guess that just goes to show why she's the Queen.

I'm not quite sure how I feel about Jazzclub, babies. I obviously don't hate it, but there's just something keeping me from falling in love with this song completely. I definitely enjoy the chorus, that horn riff doesn't really bother me (I been listening to all kinds of horns in my music since I was a baby), and I was scalpedt by BoA's scat singing. But this song just doesn't come together the way I need it to, sis. BoA seems like she's phoning it in here, and that's the opposite of what someone in her stature should be doing.

Rating - Conditional Rotation

Don't Stop (TheEastLight.)

TheFetusLight. TheEastLight. weren't content with shaving our edges off with the Funky Fresh™ A Real Man last week, so they decided to drop a lyric video for their song Don't Stop to finish the job.

Of shaving us baldt, that is.

Don't Stop is a pop/punk number that I immediately latched onto. It simply suits TheFetusLight. TheEastLight. far more than A Real Man did. Not to say that they did MJ wrong with A Real Man, but Don't Stop feels more like their style. TheFetusLight. TheEastLight. do more youthful n fun tracks like this (and I Got You) far better than they do songs like A Real Man and You're My Love, because these types of songs suit their voices more.

Rating - Heavy Rotation

Winter Sleep (Lee Junhoe of 2PM)

Two questions -

How many of these 2PM fools can rap?!?!

What is up with these 2PM boys having whack ass vocal production on their songs!?!?!

Junhoe's Winter Sleep sounds like he got Day6's Young K to write him a song and then pulled in some random producer to arrange it into an RnB track. While I am cross about the weird effects on Junhoe's voice (they contrast very Wrongly™ with the sample that sounds like a digital clock ticking), he sounds leagues better than Wooyoung did on two of the four songs I reviewed for in previous Review Roundups, so I'm not too mad.

I don't like this song. It's not a Trash Bomb like Wooyoung's Party Shots, but I wouldn't even download this for Shuffle Bait. The weird beeping contrasting with the vocal effects is one thing, but the entire song just sounds way too loud. None of the elements meld together in a pretty manner, and if I were Young K, I'd demand reparations for Junhoe doin' my song like this.

Rating - Trash Bomb

Radio 199.3 (SBGB)

SBGB decided to go left field with their acoustic midtempo, and the results are a very pleasing aural experience.

Radio 199.3 is your typical acoustic midtempo, but with some very creative chord choices to make the song stand out above all the other acoustic midtempos we've heard this month. I'm typical a sucker for these types of songs (and their RnB cousins), so even if SBGB didn't include the ear catching chord progressions, I'd still be a fan of this song.

This is a song for soft days. For rainy afternoons that make you wanna curl up in bed with someone special. Or those days when things are just kind of blue, and you wanna listen to something simple.

Rating - Conditional Rotation

Thank You, Goodbye (BoA)

BoA, once again proving that she is indeed That Bitch™ (as in, That Bitch™ who loves to spread ha'self too thin), has released the the title track from her new Japanese album two days before she drops her new Korean album.

Because why scalp ya fandom once, when you can do it twice?!?! IN TWO DIFFERENT COUNTRIES!!

Thank You, Goodbye is a Japanese Ballad. If you've been a J-Pop fan for any period of time, you've decided if you like these types of songs or hate them (song quality notwithstanding). I happen to really like the way they sound, and I absolutely adore Thank You, Goodbye. BoA has a very shrill, nasal voice, so anytime she records a song like this, it's a risk that it could turn out Very Bad™. But the production in Thank You, Goodbye compliments BoA's voice well. And speaking of her voice, whomstever was on vocal production duties was on their A game, cause these arrangements are A1. You deserve a raise, babe!!

BoA's Thank You, Goodbye album is due for release in Japan on February 14, while Nega Dola is due for release in Korea on January 31.

Rating - Heavy Rotation

Shall We Dance (SBGB)

Shall We Dance is a very different song than what I was expecting. I thought she was gonna be an upbeat acoustic number, but what I got was a melancholy piano driven midtempo.

I'm not upset, tho. On the contrary, I'm very content.

Shall We Dance sees SBGB sprinkling in unusual sonic choices (including an uptick in tempo at the end of the track) to make their acoustic midtempos pop just like in Radio 199.3. This is all tied together with the very bright (but restrained) soprano of their vocalist.

I like Shall We Dance more than I do Radio 199.3, simply because I like piano driven tracks more than acoustic guitar ones, but I don't see myself listening to it as much as Radio 199.3. Radio 199.3 is a song for a specific mood, but the mood of Shall We Dance is quite darker than the one in Radio 199.3, That's not something I really want in my space all the time. Still, this song makes my Musician Brain™ very happy.

Rating - Conditional Rotation

Cherry On Top (10:45 from The Unit G)

Y'all, I was so so S O sure that Cherry On Top was gonna make the Fabulous Five for this week!! I don't know what name I'd put on songs with this kind of synth bass that also acts like a melodic element and a percussive one, but I fucking L O V E them. I loved it in SNSD's All Night (All Night should have been all the chorus bits, imo), and I loved it in the Cherry On Top preview.

But Cherry On Top is Como se dice... Not Good™.

Now, I listen to Cherry On Top like crazy, because I'm a fan of all of the different elements. But I listen to a lot of songs that I'd rate very poorly, because a) my taste in music is trash and b) I like fun music. If you're song isn't made well, but is a fun aural experience, I can excuse that.

I'm not gonna put you in a top faves list, because I have *some* integrity. But I mean...

The problem with Cherry On Top is that the verses and the choruses are too different, and the transition from the verse to the chorus is whack af. I mean, they *tried* (once), but it's still too jarring of a change. And I don't understand why they jumped right from the verse to the chorus after the rap in the second verse. That always throws me off. This bridge is also trash. It's literally just the prechorus, copy and pasted after the second refrain section. Blegh.

Today's video of Cherry On Top is brought to you by the ladies of The UNIT G's 10:45 unit winning second place in the digital single challenge. There is also a performance version of the video (that I wish was the original) that you can view here. And be sure to watch the ladies of 10:45 making your fave boy band look redundant on Music Bank here!!

Rating - Heavy Rotation

Always (Blooming of The Unit G)

I'm not gonna lie, the first time I heard Always, I turned my tv off because I couldn't find my phone to change the video. I really had that visceral of a reaction to the song.

Always is every cutesy K-Pop song you've ever heard. And I usually love these kinds of songs; they're fun, even if they aren't the most imaginative thing in the world. But Always is just ridiculously saccharine. It's a little too much, sis. It did end of growing on me, but this is not a song I want in my face all the time.

Today's video of Always is brought to you by the ladies of The UNIT G's Blooming unit winning first place in the digital single challenge. There is also a performance version of the video that you can view here. And be sure to check out Blooming perform Always on Music Bank here!!

Rating - Shuffle Bait

I Wanna Become a Celeb (Celeb Five)

Whoever said trot music was boring has clearly never heard of Celeb 5.

Granted, I'm pretty sure this is a project group, because *I've* never heard of them before this song. Either way, I Wanna Become a Celeb is a really fun trot song that's perfect if you need something over the top to jam to.

The best part of I Wanna Become a Celeb is how it refuses to take itself seriously. There's a random ass break in the middle of the track where it totally changes vibes twice, and then goes back to the original. The vocals are done in a tongue in cheek manner. The entire thing is just a really fun mess, and I love everything about it.

Rating - Heavy Rotation

The Perks Of Breaking Up (Cho Jung Chi featuring Fromm)

The Perks of Breaking Up is a sad song. But not too sad, if that makes sense.

The Perks of Breaking Up is a soft synthrock ballad. I really like the way it builds from a simple acoustic guitar all the way up to a rousing orchestration of guitars and synths. A song like this could have easily turn dreary and overly sad, but the arrangement and composition uplifts it. Yes, this is a song about a breakup, but it isn't the end of the world. Take what you need to be sad, and live. That's the feeling I get from this song. Tis nice.

Rating - Conditional Rotation

Propose (Younha)

Miss Younha, not content with the pile of wigs she procurred with last month's Hello and Parade, has blessed us with an Acoustic Coffee Shop RnB Midtempo in the form of Propose.

We love a benevolent queen, babies.

Propose, like I mentioned above, is an Acoustic Coffee Shop RnB Midtempo. Ms Younha's voice is complimented well by a soft guitar and electric keyboard, which are all laid over a soft n simple drum machine. A song like this is Shuffle Bait in the best of ways, imo. I'd put this on on my own accord, mind you, but this is the kind of song I'd look forward to playing if I put my phone on shuffle.

Rating - Heavy Rotation

Always Find You (Kwon Yuri x RAIDEN)

I see Future Bass is the mood of #TwentyGayTeen. Not sure how I feel about that, but considering how much I like Always Find You (and how I can't wait for Seventeen to ruin my life with Thank You), I guess I don't mind.

The problem that I have with most Future Bass songs is that they lack any type of punch or originality. And I mean, most styles of EDM really do not have any room for originality, but Future Bass just seems to have this problem where producers and DJs just churn out the most generic sounding beats they can. Always Find You, thankfully, doesn't have that issue.

Always Find You has a breakdown that washes over you and makes you feel like you're floating. There's a depth of sound/feeling here that I don't get with most Future Bass tracks. Yuri isn't the best vocalist, but she does her best to stand head and shoulders above the instrumentation (and has a producer that wants those Big Man Monies™). There are also vocoded bits that serve as a hook interjected into the prechorus that make it pop, and it's just... *clenches fist* So Good!!

Always find you is a collaboration between Yuri and English based producer/DJ Raiden for SMSTATION. There is an English version that features on Protocol Records' Youtube channel that you can watch here.

Rating - Heavy Rotation

Hometown (Ryan)

Ryan's Hometown sounds like someone decided to take acid, and turn the experience into a song. It's... I'm not quite sure if I like the way it turned out.

Hometown starts out nice and easy, folks. She's not gonna hurt you. Yet. Ryan creates a beautifully tranquil atmosphere with just his voice and a piano, but it doesn't stay that way for long. Hometown very quickly builds and crests into a drop that I would lovingly describe as Dissociation At It's Finest™.

Cause a bitch feels like she's flying!! YEEHAW, MOTHERFUCKERS!!

After the second verse is when Hometown takes a turn into Bad Trip™ land. This section takes the gentle and almost euphoric feeling of the first drop, and inverts them into something nightmareish. If you're not prepared for this section, it can scare the absolute shit outta you. I don't know why Ryan decided to add it, because the lazy bitch couldn't be fucked to properly transition out of it when he goes into the second prechorus. Either way, if you can get past how odd that shit is, Hometown is pretty great.

Rating - Conditional Rotation

Beautiful Life (Six Bomb)

Six Bomb is a group that keeps cropping up out of nowhere and surprising my ass, and you'd think I'd be used to this shit by now. At least they left the gimmicky concepts at home, and decided to just deliver a nice song this time around.

Beautiful Life is really not much to write home around. It's just a really simple pop song, accented by a sax riff that honestly makes the song. If you're sick to the back of ya teef of sax riffs in your pop music, then skip to the next song, this one is not for you. But if you don't mind them, Beautiful Life is nice.

Rating - Shuffle Bait

Baby Boo (High Soul featuring KissN and Mint)

You know that feeling when you stan a rookie from a small company that you aren't sure is gonna make it?!!?! That's me with High Soul. She showed up last year on a random episode of Music Core with a song I couldn't find a video for, and besides a few more sporadic daily music show appearances, I haven't heard from her since.

Baby Boo is a very cutesy swing song that I have to be in a cutesy mood to listen to. If the entire track was just KissN (except for Lime's rap break), I'd probably like this way more, but High Soul's nasally tone is a bit too much with the brightness of the instrumentation. I'm glad that she's still making music, but sis... This ain't the move.

Rating - Conditional Rotation

Miss You (Jang Sooa)

Miss You is a very smooth and straight forward RnB song. This is the type of song I wanna play after listening to a song like CHASY's Memories:Snow, because it helps me anchor my soul back to reality.

Cause shit, a bitch really be visitin' four dimensions in the Higher Realm™ while listening to tracks like Memories:Snow.

Miss You is your typical Acoustic Coffee Shop RnB Midtempo to the T. But that's okay, sis!! We love those around these parts!! People these days are really scared to do shit that's considered ~typical~, but sometimes it's just best to stay in your lane. And that's what Ms Sooa does with Miss You.

Ms Sooa has a really pretty voice that compliments the instrumentation of Miss You very well. More intricate vocal production/arrangement would've been appreciated, tho. And mayhaps a rap break?!?! I feel like this needs a rap break. Nonetheless, a really nice song.

Rating - Shuffle Bait

vague (Ha Un)

Vague is a song you'd hear playing in an upscale bar. Pleasantly funky, but in a manner you can ignore if you wanted to.

There's not really much for me to say about vague other than "I liked it, it was good". A song like this is a textbook Shuffle Bait track, sis. I like the funkiness of the guitars and bass, and the way Ha Un's voice sis on top of the track is Very Nice™, but everything from the arrangement to the chord progressions used here are things I've heard in other songs. And not only that, but used more creatively.

Vague isn't a bad song, it just isn't that creative. And honestly, while I did just say that sometimes it's better to just stay in your lane, sometimes you stay a little *too* far in your lane.

Rating - Shuffle Bait

FLY (Heera featuring PDAY)

FLY is a song I was looking forward to, because the teasers gave me a nice instrumental. But sis... Heera's vocals were whack. They did the thing where they had the hook play out over silence, and... It wasn't cute. BUT!! I've been fooled by teasers before, so I figured I should hear FLY in full before condemning it.

My initial reaction was correct. This instrumentation is amazing, but Miss Heera's voice gets hella screechy. It's not pleasant. And while I like that this is an experimental electroRnB track that isn't too left field, I don't like it enough to purposefully play the song more than twice.

Rating - Shuffle Bait

6 (Six) (MDSZ)

6 sounds like it should be the opener for a Shounen Jump anime. That extended intro at the beginning would lend itself very well to a Bleach or Black Cat type of show.

6 is a synth driven pop/punk track. I wasn't sure what to make of this song at first, but it grew on me. Like, a fuckin' weed. This type of track would be great to work out to. I mean, I don't really work out, but I'd assume the energy here would hype you up like you're the baddest bitch in that gym.

If I ever find myself in Korea, I'd love to hear this song live. The studio version packs quite the punch, but it feels a little restrained. And that's very common with songs like these, because mixing them requires you to EQ a lot of the different elements quite aggressively to get them to sound nice together in a recording. But still, live show. I wanna be there.

Rating - Heavy Rotation

The Fabulous Five

5. NIRVANA (Ravi)

Can someone please find me what that melody being played by the xylophone at the beginning of this song is from?!?!! It sounds so annoying familiar, but I can't place it and it's gonna drive me nuts.

Not as nuts as Ravi's Sik-k imitations, but close.

Nirvana starts out sounding very on trend for a K-HipHop song. I'm not gonna lie, I was debating if I should leave Nirvana off the list, because Ravi's intro was just... So Bad™. But since we're being better people in 2018, I decided to give the whole song a chance, and I was very surprised. The verse had me boppin' a lil, cause Ravi ditches the autotune and starts rapping like he means it.

But nothing could have prepared for the Rave Realness™ of the chorus, ladies.

The autotune is back with a vengeance, but it fits the Rave backdrop better, so I'm not mad. And I will admit (grudgingly), that the hook is catchy as fuck all. This combination, lowkey, reminds me of Azealia Banks' Ice Princess (the verse bits on Nirvana are more RnB than trap, but same concept). This kind of combo really shouldn't work, but the transition into the Rave sections from the verses is clean af.

Jimin's bits are a nice break from Ravi (he's learned to stop embellishing his voice, but he can still be annoying at times), but I feel like they could have utilized her more in the track. The brightness of her voice contrasts the depth of Ravi's, plus she elevates the Rave sections very nicely. But we literally hear her for 10 seconds twice and dassit, boo!!

For whatever reason, Nirvana gets mixed into one of the b-sides on Ravi's mixtape called Alcohol in the official video. You can listen to both tracks separately here.

Rating - Heavy Rotation

4. Sunset Dream (Kriesha Chu)

Miss Kriesha Chu got bored with that Future Bass mess Hui (of Pentagon) gave her and decided to take a swipe at Ariana's ponytail. Turn up!!

Sunset Dream swaggerjacks Problem down to the horn riffs and trap breakdowns, sis. Fortunately, it does so in a way that improves upon the original, and isn't reductive. Kriesha Chu doesn't particularly care that we know she stole Problem out from underneath Ariana Grande's nose. She just wants us to know that she's a better dancer.

And has more stage presence, but let's not get *too shady*.

I don't really understand why Like Paradise was chosen to be the title track from Kriesha Chu's first glorified single album mini album when Sunset Dream was right there. This song makes Like Paradise look dusty af, and I'm salty as hell now. Either way, I'm glad she decided to perform it on MCD One Good Time™. If you'd like to hear the studio version, you may do so here.

Rating - Heavy Rotation

3. Memories:Snow (CHASY featuring Yeonhee)

If I ever lucked out and got cast in a movie, I'd want this song to play during the first makeout scene with my character's boyfriend. These types of really intense breakdowns are perfect for those types of scenes, sis.

CHASY's Memories:Snow is what I wanted from Ryan's Hometown - a straightforward EDM track to dissociate to. There are no surprise breakdowns or beat switches here, baby. Memories:Snow is 100% chillstep. And I fucking love it. These types of songs are great for bad days, because they either make me cry or feel like I'm floating.

Obviously, I like the floaty feel feels better, because that doesn't make physically exhausted, but sometimes a bitch just has to cry.

Rating - Heavy Rotation

2. Glue (Planetarium Records)

Last we saw the boys of Planetarium Records, they were ruining my life with tropical flavored RnB. Glue sees them trading in the tropical synths and drum beats for more conventional, Gospel inspired RnB sounds and hip hop beats.

And to the utter surprise and shock of absolutely no one, I fucking loved it.

While Blah was a "winin' on the beach, dancin' by the sand castles" type of track that would make any misc. group of niggas party go crazy, Glue is slow n sultry. Glue is a "slow dancing with bae" type track. Glue is a "I'm gon' romance you if it's the L A S T thing I do" track. Glue is the type of song you sing to bae when you wanna get in dem guts (or have bae blunder yours #InclusivityInOurSexJams). Glue is a song of many moods, sis.

Glue is brought to us today via a special showcase live video. The Planetarium boys were kind enough to also post their performance of Blah, which you may view here.

Rating - Heavy Rotation

1. On or Off (Nick & Sammy)

So like... Y'all just gon' snatch up Eric Nam like that!?!? Y'all really gon' steal my mans' song, and do it better than him!?!?!? I'm not mad (#SorryBae :3), I'm just curious, sis!!

On or Off is 90% a funky ass bassline, and y'all K N O W how I feel about Funk in my K-Pop!! It's also 90% Sammy rapping (and a lil singing), but I'm absolutely not mad at that, either. Nick comes in with his smooth n bright tenor just enough that it doesn't feel like On or Off is Sammy featuring Nick (in fact, I probably wouldn't like this song as much if it was just Sammy), so it's all good.

On or Off, like I mentioned above, is Funky af. Nick & Sammy have snatched their own little slice of the '90s with track, and it works so ridiculously well. On or Off is also lowkey af; this is a song you play when the party's winding down, sis. It's a lil hype, but you not trynna have nobody be buckwild.

Btw, am I just imagining things or does it sound like the na na na's were quoted from Will Smith's Gettin' Jiggy Wit It?!?!?! They didn't lift the actual audio from the song, but it sounds like they recorded their own version of that bit.

1theK continues to do the Lord's work by providing a Special Clip of On or Off (it's basically a live studio recording with) that you can watch here. Nick & Sammy also posted a dance practice video to their channel that you can view here. And be sure to check out the other videos on their Youtube channel; their covers and mashups are fucking amazing.

Rating - Heavy Rotation

Alright guys, that's it for today's list!! Be sure to tune in this time next for my next Review Roundup featuring songs from this week (I'll try to keep it under 20 songs this time, but no promises)!! And don't forget to keep your eyes open on Friday for the next entry in my SHINee Feature Spotlight series, where we're gonna be looking at some of SHINee's more contemporary tracks!!

I'm also starting up full length reviews again, pending my work schedule. I've got two lined up for next Monday, one at 12pm EST and the other at 6pm EST. Be sure to show them some love, guys!!

Love you all.