#anyhow I missed Friday because well I missed Friday! I sort of never went to sleep Thursday and then crashed this morning

[ereborne]

Song of the Day: December 14

“He Set Her Off” by Emily Ann Roberts

[singeramg]

Ruin Me

Quick little reader insert imagine based off this post. Based off a non-ask...

*Update: Now a full length story! Check out Masterlist for my chapters?*

Pairing:  CEO! Henry Cavill x Female! Reader

Rating: M

Warnings: Power imbalance, dom! Henry, sub! reader, fingering, dirty talk...

Song choice: Funny How Time Flies- Meshell Ndegeocello

PART 2 HERE

  “ Y/N can you bring me a cup of coffee...please.”

His voice wasn’t raised but his tone told you all you needed to know. 

He was not happy. Not happy at all. 

He had called you from the phone in his office, not even bothering to call through the door or better yet come to the door himself which he usually did when he needed something from you and was in a good mood. You don’t dwell on it much and you get to your feet, and hustle over to break room to make a fresh pot of coffee. 

It doesn’t take long; you wait the ten minutes to brew, taking note that your coworkers are packing up for the night. You look at the clock and realize you better do the same.

Although you have nowhere special to be the last thing you wanted to do on a Friday night was spend more time at the office. You didn’t complain much, the job wasn’t had for you. You hadn’t been with the company long but you were sure you liked it thus far.

You were Executive Assistant to the CEO of Cavill Industries. a company he started with his brothers years ago and had grown to be a world wide force. Henry Cavill may not have been the eldest brother but he certainly was the most determined and invested of the 5 and more so than any man you had met. This was why they made him the CEO. 

You also thought that had something to do with the fact that he honestly was the best looking brother out of all of them.

The face of the company.

He had to stand out in a crowd, oh and Henry Cavill certainly did.

You could admit to no one but yourself that you had found him extremely attractive during your third and final interview where you finally got to meet him. If he wasn’t your boss, he would be exactly the type of guy you went for in terms of looks. Tall, dark curly hair, a jawline that could cut glass, dazzling smile and  sharp blue eyes that seemed to pinpoint everything 

Including any mistakes you made.

He had made adjusting to this new job hard for you.

Pointing out every mistake, forcing you to redo whole reports that people who got paid a lot more than you should have been doing

But nooooo

He ‘trusted ‘ a.k.a could hover over you while you fixed it.’ causing more late nights and overtime than you cared to think about.

Forget a social life, everything had to be about him.

You had to be everything. 

In your job interview nobody had mentioned you would be basically in charge of his life. 

Dry Cleaning, arranging his groceries to be delivered, you were even his dog walker on the days he brought his cute Akita Kal-El to the office. 

Yea that was totally fun in the heels he forced you into everyday.

You had tried wearing respectable flats after your first week with sore feet and he vetoed that almost immediately. 

Saying it wasn’t “seemly“ and that you were the assistant to the CEO and you should dress like it. Needless to say half of the time you wanted to slap him. The other time you were ridiculously turned on. I mean despite being an ass sometimes he played right into your masochistic streak. The way he spoke to you, wasn’t nasty but it had a very direct way that left no room for arguing or confusion. Just like with the heels. You normally would have argued your point, maybe even seen if he would come to some sort of compromise but you didn’t with him. You just kept the flats in your car and a pair under your desk for when you were sitting at your desk and for the days he was out of office. 

That sort of sneaky was not like you at all. You just preferred to pull off the band-aid so to speak, but Mr. Cavill was not for any of that.

All you said to him when the response he wanted was obvious was a yes sir or no sir. 

You made his coffee just as he liked two cubes of sugar, and a splash of cream. He always would like three extra cubes of sugar on the side, adding the extras depending on how his day had been going. The more sugar added the better his day. You walk as smooth as you can to his office, the large dark door. You don’t bother to knock, sliding open the door to his office, begging your heels not to catch on the floor. You sit his coffee on the desk, to his right, and far enough from his hand that he doesn’t accidentally knock it over. 

You smooth out your black mid length dress, and try not to fidget with your red belt that gives a retro theme to the look, and you even had a red purse and red blazer to wear with it (which you had ditched mid-morning). You slip back out the door when he doesn’t look at you. You pick up the tablet you use to keep track of everything on a mobile basis. You pull up his calendar and head back into the large office. 

The office itself had never intimidated you despite the large solid oak desk in the middle of the room. It felt open because of the floor to ceiling windows that had automatic curtains that came down on command. You actually loved his office despite the fact that you didn't spend a lot of time in it. You re-enter his office, and stand in front of the desk looking down at the calendar.

   “Okay before the day ends I would like to go over your schedule for the weekend.”

He finally looked up at you, his blue eyes giving direct contact, that you couldn’t hold and went back to the glowing tablet, where the sun was starting to set outside. 

  “You have a dinner meeting tonight which starts at 6:30pm; a 30 minute commute time which means you need to be out of here in the next 45 minutes,  if you would like to arrive with your 15 minute grace period as normal.”

He doesn’t say anything at first, then takes off the reading glasses off his face and tosses them on the desk.

  “Continue.”

  “ Not too many things on the agenda for this weekend except for family brunch on Sunday. Your mother requests you arrive on time this time.”

You regulate a smirk to the side of your mouth.

  “I’ve arranged for a bouquet of flowers to be delivered to your house by 9am for you to take over there to her.”

  “I don’t suppose I have any missed messages from today?”

You look at him confused.

  “Ummm....no. Were you expecting a call?”

He sighs and rubs the temples of his head, clearly upset something.

  “No...yes...don’t worry about it. You’ve already arranged for a car for me?”

Yep, he was upset and he was not about to share it with you. You didn’t press him, only prayed it didn’t result in a hell of a clean-up for you later. You had been the bad guy with no less than 4 woman, all of them glaring and spiting nasty vitriol at you when you wouldn’t give them access to Henry. You had seen them all come and go.

  “Yes.”

He looks you over, getting to his feet, walking over to the door you knew to be an en-suite bathroom and keeping his extra changes of clothes.

  “ Do you have any plans for tonight?”

He asks you suddenly and puts you on the spot. You don’t even have a lie to cover up how pitiful your life was, but you had to try. He didn’t need to know you don’t have anything planned tonight but a glass of wine and catching up on your TV shows you missed for all the overtime you’ve been working. 

  “Yes.”

  “Like what?”

He asks almost immediately as if knowing you were lying. You had to try and get out of some crazy overtime he was known for. You didn’t want another late night in the office.

 “Ummm...”

As noted earlier you didn’t think well on the spot. He raises an eyebrow at you.

 “You know I don’t appreciate liars Y/N. Anyhow if you are done lying to me, the meeting for tonight requires a...feminine touch.”

 “Feminine touch?”

You echo. He goes into the closet and you can hear him changing. You try not to think about him behind the wall.

 “Yes. The people I am meeting with require a bit of finesse. The negotiations always go better when we bring our women to the meetings.”

“Soo... would you like me to call someone for you. I can have a dress sent over in their size to smooth the deal over.”

He laughs at you.

  “No. Grab your things and call the car service to get here in 10 minutes.”

  “ What stop the press? Are you putting me out of the office before you for once?”

You quip at him. He comes from around the corner his attire changed into a black button down shirt, left with the top few unbuttoned. He adjusts the sleeves and looks up with you.

  “No you are going with me Y/N and we must hurry, you are going to require another dress.”

  “But...”

  “No buts. I need you and you are wasting time.”

He picks up a black suit jacket, his cologne hitting you with an umpf he walks by you to get to the car...

*********

The dinner had gone great from what you could tell. You saw a whole other side of Henry. One that was only observed under the rarest of occasions. 

At least for you.

Overall you weren’t asked for much, Henry had bought you another black dress only this one was a bit more leggy than you were used to around such important people. Its spaghetti strapped and sweetheart neckline, offering way more cleavage than you would ever consider wearing around him, but Henry had literally come in with you, pulling it from the rack along with a few other choices and this was the tamest all the options he left you. You damn near had a panic attack in the dressing room. The women in the boutique had fixed your hair and makeup in the little amount of time you had, once again at Henry’s behest. You hadn’t be so pulled together since... well you couldn’t remember....

Henry had even been nice to you all evening, but you knew it was all an act, even if your body did respond to the compliments and lingering looks, the smile he would shoot you, he had even let his hands skim across your lower back. 

You did your best not to read into anything. Had even gone along with the little game he was playing, being over sweet, playing with the curls on the nape of his neck, your hands lingering on his arms. Enough to suggest without being outwardly desperate and trashy. You were ever the smiling damsel to his associates, laughing at the jokes, ignoring the sexist comments about your dress or the ‘arm candy’ they referred to you as, despite it pissing you off.

You stayed to yourself most for the ride back to the office, and he stays quiet as well. Only then once the car parks do you realize in your haste earlier you left your keys upstairs. He insists he needs to come up as well to grab some files from his desk. You offer to bring them back down but he insists. You scurry to your desk, not finding them in the drawer where you usually kept your purse. 

You don’t see them. You panic and look for them intensely.

Oh you hoped you didn’t leave them at the boutique where you changed dresses. 

  “Y/N. Could you come in here please? I would like to discuss something with you before you leave.”

He calls to you, the voice losing the soft tone he had with you all night, this only serves to make your blood run cold. Have you done something wrong? Said the wrong thing to the wrong person and cost him millions of dollars? You needed your job, and hoped pretty badly that this wasn’t the end of it.

You honestly couldn’t tell if you missed it or not. You disregard the thoughts you are having and push them back in your mind, offering to sort them out later. Preferably with alcohol nearby. You look into his office and see that he is standing behind his desk. Once you come in, thinking he needed something from you.

  “Close the door.”

You close the door behind you, the lights on a dim shade, enough for you to see but not enough to over power your eyes. 

  “Did you need anything from me, because it’s late and I should be heading home...”

He surprises you by cutting you off in a tone that was even softer than any other time he had used with you before. 

   “I just wanted to say thank you for accompanying me tonight y/n.”

  “You are Welcome. I’m just going to go...”

You smile and turn to leave but his voice stops you with a sharp tone that makes you freeze.

   “Did I say you could leave?”

You feel your face get hot and you turn back around to face him. The lighting only showcasing the angles of his face, making you ever more nervous. 

   “No but Sir it's 12am...”

    “I know what time it is. You are so stubborn all the time. Can’t even take a simple compliment.”

  “I thought you were done.”

You shrug, and immediately regret being so nonchalant with him., his gaze intense.

   “I wasn’t. Now before you interrupted me, I was saying thank you not only because you came with me but for playing your role so effortlessly. I didn’t expect you to be so ...reciprocating to me.”

  “I figured that would be best. How would it appear if you showed up with a staff member we rather than a significant other like the other at the table.”

  “Well your quick and astute observation saved me tonight.”

  “All in a day's work. Now if I can just get out of these heels tonight and maybe into a pedicure tomorrow I will have made this all worth while.”

He surprises you by coming from behind the desk where he had been standing, coming to stand in front of you.

And you cursed yourself because it was back again.

The arousal you fought with every lingering look and touch he gave you tonight. How honeyed his words were with you, combined with the animalistic power you knew was just boiling under the surface. 

  “I have had many secretaries before and none of them take your position as seriously as you do. You put a lot of effort into your job and does not go unnoticed.”

Having him so close was unnerving. Especially when you had his direct attention. You can’t hold eye contact and look down at the floor. Henry touches your chin, his fingers tilt your chin up and you lock eyes. It wasn’t the first time you noticed the space of brown in his left eye, but the first time you were close enough to appreciate it. 

You feel your pulse quickening.

 “I don’t think I told you how beautiful you look tonight.”

He blinks slowly and you don’t breathe at all as his lips move toward your own. He is seconds away from kissing you, tension heavy in the room.

  “Wait....Henry...I just...I Can’t go there.”

You say it out loud and it’s like someone let the air out of your balloon. He lets your face go and looks at you confused, for the first time you see just Henry. Not your boss, not the CEO who always had to be ‘on’ and in charge, you just saw Henry. His face was open and unguarded.

  “It’s not that I don’t want you. It’s just you are my boss...”

Henry moves suddenly, and yet simultaneously time slows as he crashes his lips onto yours. The odd duality of soft, yet firm, calming yet passionate overtakes your mind and short circuits you. His hands are holding the side of your face on one side and behind your neck. His kiss steals what little breath you had away. You almost forget why this would have been such a bad idea but he pulls away.

  “Darling, Didn’t anyone tell you? The boss makes the rules...”

He resumes kissing you and you offer little in the way of resistance as he picks you up, in fact you lock your legs around his waist and he deposits you on top of his desk. Everything you had been feeling for him was bubbling up in that moment. You were caught in being wanted to be treated like silk and wanting to toss him down and take exactly what you wanted in no uncertain terms of hatefucking him for all the jackass behavior he had exhibited since you started 6 months ago. 

You slide his jacket off his broad shoulders, tossing it to the room, igniting the soft thud it makes when the expensive thing lands in a heap on the floor. He pulls your hips toward the edge of the desk and his large hands are hot as they slide up your skirt over trembling thighs and his lips move to your neck. He finds the sensitive spots there quicker than anyone ever had while also moving his fingers to play with your clit through the lining of the black lace panties you were wearing. 

Your breath hitches in your throat and Henry grins against your lips, letting you take a second before he kisses you again. His fingers dance around before latching to the hemline and yanking them with enough force that they are torn from your body. Your hips sting from the pull, but you are more than turned on. You fumble with the buttons on his shirt, and don’t look at the skin revealed, but he doesn’t let you take it off him and instead pushes one of his fingers inside of you, you lewdly moan, and grasp his biceps quickly, having been taken off guard. It wasn’t that you weren’t wet, because you were plenty wet, your now ruined panties had been testament to that, but you had expected more of a playful teasing, but as one of your last coherent thoughts, you knew this man never wasted time. 

He was a do-er... 

And right now he was doing you. The amount of focus and precision he took in his work, pouring over contracts, logs, inventory and the like, he was putting in on you. As his finger moves in and out he is staring at you with such intensity you think you might explode.

  “You are dripping baby girl. Melting right into the palm of my hand to be exact.”

He removes the finger that had been inside of you, raising it to his lips, tasting you from it, and you shudder. He kisses you again, you closing your eyes, then you hear in his deep tone like melted chocolate, luxurious to your ears,

  “Open your eyes and suck them.”

He held two of his fingers and you opened your mouth. He wanted to hold your gaze.

 “Get them nice and wet for me.”

You suck on them, imaging the girth that had been teasing you for months in his sacks, was what was actually in your mouth. You had wanted so badly to taste him and feel him you reach down, palming his obvious erection and you hear him growl. It was your turn to smirk, and as soon as he felt that smirk, he pulled his two fingers from your mouth and thrusts them into you. 

You whimper and the one hand you left on his bicep clenched in, digging into his skin. His fingers glide in and out almost painfully slow. You need faster.You try to move your hips to make him move but he chuckles.

  “That won’t work y/n. We do this at my pace. Be still or I will stop.”

He didn’t go any faster, his movements deliberately slow. You could tell he was getting a kick out this, and you whine again. 

    “Beg kitten.”

He whispers in your ear, his thumb teasing your clit again. 

   “Please.”

He moves a little faster.

  “Come on love. You can do better than that.” Teasing.

  “Please Henry...”

He slaps your thigh with a sharp tap and it sends the zing of arousal.

“That's not what you call me. Try again.”

While your brain is shorting out, you fumble on what he wants from you.

 “I..i don’t know sir...”

He rewards you by speeding up more. Your torso drops backwards, your head follows as you rest back on your elbows, and legs move wider, making your dress bunch up around your hips. 

 “There you go. There’s what I was looking for. Now beg me to make you come.”

You worry your bottom lip, ignoring how your chest heaves, pulling against the black fabric of the dress. 

  “Fuck! Please sir please let me cum.”

  “That’s more like it. Begging me like the dirty little slut you are.”

He speeds up, his fingers curling inside, tapping that spongy space that made your eyes cross and your vision blur. You didn’t think you would like being called a ‘little slut’ but it was more of a turn on than you had ever thought it would be. 

  “Sir let me cum please let me cum.”

His dexterous fingers speed up, his thumb rubbing your clit and you were glad no one else was in the office as your moans echo throughout the room.

  “You want to be my good girl hmmm?”

You nod furiously, the edge of your orgasm coming up rapidly, as your walls begin their tell-tell sign of fluttering.

  “Good girls wait until they have permission. You hold it.”

It was damn near impossible, but you try to focus on anything but how good his fingers feel. He pulls your body back up from the desk with his hand gripping behind your neck. His lips crash on your again, he lingers around your lips you breathe heavily against his lips.

  “I’ll be your good girl!”

You yell.

  “Good. Cum then come for me.”

It’s like the world goes silent and all you can focus on is his fingers as your orgasm pulls you under. It’s an out of body experience where you could hear your moans and groans of Henry’s name, where you were literally shaking, but you could bring yourself down. Destroyed, Henry is whispering praises in your ear. Calling you his and how good you were for him. It doesn’t take long to come back down, but when you do you feel wrung out, and as Henry pulls away, you notice the sheen of fine layered sweat on his forehead. You feel self conscious as he stares down  at you, and without the haze of lust in your eyes it settles in you that your boss just gave you one of the best orgasms of your life and hadn’t even taken off his pants. 

Pants that were currently begging you to be taken off. He begins to chuckle and you realize you’ve been staring at his cock outline, and he was laughing at you. He unbuttons his pants, and finally takes off his shirt the rest of the way, finally revealing the god sculpted body that he clearly worked for.

The look on his face says he is going to ruin you and you are going to like it.

Only then, as he begins to work on the zipper to your dress,  do you look to your left on the desk and see your keys sitting there...

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

A/n: Hope that was what you were looking for @thiccgeralt​  Hope this met your expectations and thank you! 

I am thinking of coming back to this, but honestly I am waiting until @laketaj24​ finishes her CEO! fic The Rules, because its so freaking wonderful and I don’t want to ruin anything by stealing any thunder with a CEO fic OR Ficlet I would plan on doing. BTW if you haven’t read The Rules then please do yourself a favor a go over to her page and check out all of her work. You will not regret a second of it....

However I am tossing this out to see if there would be any interest in a continuation of this fic. Let me know and as always thank you for reading, re-blogging, and liking!

Henry Cavill Taglist: (OPEN! Let me know if this is something you want on!

@msblkfire84  @magdelen69​ 

[papermoonloveslucy]

‘MY GOOD WIFE’ v ‘MY FAVORITE HUSBAND’

June 23, 1949

"My Good Wife," an added starter on KNBC, 6:30 p.m. PST Fridays, is another comedy about a young married couple, as if we needed another one. I must admit this one is a little different. This married couple, Steve and Kay Emerson, are not nearly so fast with a wisecrack as, say, Lucille Ball and her husband on "My Favorite Husband," 9:00 p.m. PST the same night on KCBS. Great night for matrimony, Fridays, and if those two programs don't provide enough for you, tune in Dorothy Dix at 1:45 pm. (not broadcast in west). She'll tell you how to win back an erring husband. 

I haven't yet made up my mind whether the Emerson's ineptness at repartee is deliberate - after all, not every young wife talks like Groucho Marx - or whether the script writer isn't very good at it either. Anyhow, whether by accident or design, the Emersons are a very restful young couple, possibly a little too restful to get anywhere in the entertainment world. In radio, they're a real novelty. 

As a wife Arlene Francis who plays Kay Emerson, wins out on points over Lucille Ball In other regards - talent and looks, for example - Miss Ball is way out front. But how long could you live with a girl who says: "Oh, we don't miss television. I climb in the Bendix and sing and George looks at me through the little window." Imagine having a girl around the house who said things like that before breakfast. It'd curdle the milk. 

STARTS OFF FAST 

“My Good Wife" started out at a gallop two weeks ago, NBC deciding to set the stage and get everything out of the way all at once. The first program resembled one at those synopses of previous in installments in the popular magazines. Steve met Kay, quarreled with her, married her, taught her how to drive, learned he was about to become a father, and became one - all in 15 minutes. One minute later, the dialogue went like this: 

"It doesn't seem like we've been married 12 years." 

"We've been married 10 years." 

"Well, that's why it doesn't seem like 12." 

That, incidentally, Is a little brighter than the conversation around the Emerson household generally gets. 

On the second show of the series, the pace settled down to a walk. During the first few minutes the Emersons and their neighbors lay lazily on the grass, not  even talking very much. This may be taking realism too far. I mean there ought to be some crickets chirping or something. Things quickened a bit later when Mrs. Emerson decided she was going to help her husband out with his law practice and, of course, messed things up. 

YALE, NO LESS 

The Emersons are quite upper middlebrow as radio's young married folk go. He went to Yale, for heaven's sake, and she not only went to Vassar but led the daisy chain or whatever they do with that daisy chain. What is this - counter revolution? Oh, yes, they live in Larchmont up to their ears in other upper middlebrows. I don't know what else to tell you about the Emersons except they sound like a nice young couple to have over for a drink some time but conceivably a little mild to entertain you much on the air. 

My favorite young married couple is still Ozzie and Harriet Nelson - I put Goodman and Jane Ace off in another category entirely - and while we're chatting about this sort of thing, I ought to point out Ricky and David Nelson, Ozzie and Harriet's children, are now playing themselves on that program which solves a lot of problems. I have a spy in the Nelson household, named - in case any congressional ears are pricking - Harriet Nelson, nee Harriet Hilliard, and she is not now and has never been a Communist nor worked on the atom bomb nor designed the B-36. 

Anyhow, my spy informed the Nelsons had a little trouble with the kids. The real Ricky and David I listened to the radio Ricky and David and discovered them doing things they weren't allowed to do or wouldn't do voluntarily if they were allowed. Being children, they got confused over their own identities. Well now the real Ricky and David are the radio Ricky and David and the split personalities in the kids has been averted. You run into a lot of funny problems in radio.

#  #  #  

FOOTNOTES FROM THE FUTURE

It seems pretty clear that NBC was counter-programming CBS’s “My Favorite Husband”.  Not only are the names very similar, they were scheduled on the same night, as critic Crosby points out.  

The episode of “My Favorite Husband” described above might apply to any domestic sitcom, but was actually titled “Budget - Mr. Atterbury” broadcast June 3, 1949.  However, this newspaper is still calling Lucille Ball’s character Liz Cugat, when her name had changed to Liz Cooper in January 1949, to avoid comparison with the well-known bandleader (no, not Desi Arnaz).  

Counter-programming by NBC would not stop on radio.  When “I Love Lucy” was a juggernaut hit for CBS TV, NBC created a similar show titled “I Married Joan” for star Joan Davis.  It was billed as “The adventures of the scatterbrained wife of a respected city judge.”  Substitute “bandleader” for “Judge” (played by Jim Backus) - and you’ve got “I Love Lucy.”  Like Ball, Davis was a film star of the ‘30s and ‘40s getting aboard the TV bandwagon.  Like Lucy, Joan wanted to be in showbusiness. Many of the same situations that Lucy got into, Joan did too. The series even featured a few “I Love Lucy” refugees:  Jerry Hausner, Elvia Allman, Bob Jellison, Margie Liszt, Shirley Mitchell, Ross Elliott, and many others. "Lucy” and “Joan” even employed the same director in each show's first season, Marc Daniels. "Joan” lasted three seasons, from 1952 to 1955 and is all but forgotten today. 

Kay Emerson was not the first domestic radio role for Arlene Francis. In 1940, she took over the role of Betty on “Betty and Bob”, which had been the first successful soap opera. She was one of the hosts of the quiz show “What’s My Name?” beginning in 1938. The show was seen as a model for TV’s “What’s My Line?” which premiered in 1950. Francis would stay with the show for its entire run, including six mystery guest appearances by Lucille Ball.  

The husband to “My Good Wife” was played by John Conte.  From 1944 to 1946 he was married to Marilyn Maxwell (1944-46) who would later appear with Lucille Ball in the 1963 film Critic’s Choice.  He had also been seen with Ball (and Maxwell) in As Thousands Cheer (1943). In 1960 he would work for Desilu in an episode of “The Untouchables” (1960).

Unlike “My Favorite Husband’s” mythical mid-Western Sheridan Falls, the Emerson’s livid in the real New York suburb of Larchmont, an affluent village located within the Town of Mamaroneck in Westchester County, New York, approximately 18 miles northeast of Midtown Manhattan.  Nearby was the town of New Rochelle, whose most famous fictional resident was Rob Petrie on “The Dick Van Dyke Show” (filmed at Desilu Studios).  Danfield, New York, another fictional town in the area, was the residence of Lucy Carmichael and Vivian Bagley for the first three seasons of “The Lucy Show.” 

“My Good Wife” began airing in June 1949, and by April 1950 was nowhere to be found. In October 1949, Billboard reported on a new NBC Gallup Poll that placed the show dead last - with 32 stations voting it poor and only 8 saying it was excellent.  The future of “Wife” was bleak. The sitcom was cancelled after 18 weeks to make room for the new Jimmy Durante show. Meanwhile, Ball’s “Husband” (on CBS), thrived.  Coincidentally, the show was initially a replacement for Red Skelton’s show. Skelton and Durante had both worked with Ball on films.  

Crosby’s quote from “My Favorite Husband”  

"Oh, we don't miss television. I climb in the Bendix and sing and George looks at me through the little window."

was spoken by Lucille Ball in the episode titled “Television” on June 17, 1949.  A Bendix is a brand of front-loading washing machine. The porthole-like window was similar to the size screen of early television sets.  

Crosby’s observation that Liz talks like Groucho Marx is attributable to the show’s writers Bob Carroll, Jr., Madelyn Pugh, and Jess Oppenheimer.  And let’s not forget that Lucille Ball acted opposite Groucho Marx in Room Service (1938)!      

After making the obvious comparison to “My Favorite Husband,” Crosby lets readers know that neither “Husband” nor “Wife” will ever displace “The Adventures of Ozzie and Harriett” in his domestic dome. The show launched October 8, 1944 and a total 402 radio episodes were produced. When it was optioned for television, it was upstart network ABC that made the sweetest deal to the Nelsons. 

As Crosby alludes to, their real-life sons, David and Ricky, did not join the cast until the radio show's fifth year. The two boys were played by professional actors prior to their joining because both were too young to perform. Crosby’s allegations of possible identity crisis due to watching their parents with other sons on television, might easily apply to “I Love Lucy”, where the real-life Desi Arnaz often lived in the shadow of the young actors playing Little Ricky on television. Mrs. Ricardo and Mrs. Arnaz giving birth to both boys on the same day only added to the confusion - one that still lingers today. 

Crosby declines to compare the aforementioned shows with the popular Goodman and Jane Ace. The real-life marrieds had a show titled “Easy Aces”  Goodman Ace cast himself as a harried real estate salesman and the exasperated but loving husband of the scatterbrained, malaprop-prone Jane ("Time wounds all heels"). “Easy Aces” became a long-running serial comedy (1930–1945) but did not make a graceful transition to television, lasting only a few months on the ill-fated DuMont Network. Coincidentally, Martin Gabel, who married Arlene Francis in 1946, had a recurring role on “Easy Aces” during the 1930s. 

In a more sarcastic shout-out, Crosby mentions capping off this slew of domestic dithering by listening to Dorothy Dix.  Author Elizabeth Meriwether Gilmer (1861-1951) was widely known by the pen name Dorothy Dix. As the forerunner of today’s popular advice columnists, Dix was America’s highest paid and most widely read female journalist at the time of her death. Her advice on marriage was syndicated in newspapers around the world with an estimated audience of 60 million readers.  Naturally, radio was not neglected, getting their Dix fix when her column took to the airwaves.  Due to Lucy’s insistence on interfering in the Mertz’s personal affairs, Ricky compares Lucy to Dorothy Dix in “Fred and Ethel Fight” (ILL S1;E22) on March 10, 1952. 

We haven’t yet mentioned this 1940 gem, but we’ll save that for another time!  

[princeanxious]

“Egg-celent” TSS- Patceit

Warnings: Aphobia, sympathetic deceit

I was requested to write this prompt with anyship, i gave it a shot xD , all errors are mine, and i hope ya’ll like it bc it’s almost 1 am for me.

Prompt: “You’re famous and I jokingly left a comment on your social media post asking if you’ll go egg my ex-partner’s house with me this weekend, and I never actually expected you to respond, let alone show up Friday night with dark sweatshirts, toilet paper rolls, and three egg cartons tucked under your arm” AU

Prior/extra info: Patceit AU where Patton is Famous(and has a youtube and uses it for good) and just moved into Dimitri’s hometown, and Dimitri is also a youtuber but a much smaller one, known for amazing stage/costume makeup artistry and the peculiar way that one side of his face is covered in freckles and the fact that his eyes have heterochromia. Patton is also really tall(6’4) and Dimitri is really short(5’2).

———

‘Hey, /PatPuffballSanders, wanna help me go egg my ex’s house this weekend? I’d bet it’d be sp-egg-tacular.’

-posted at 10:23 pm, by /BoopDiSnek

The short makeup artist hadn’t expected things to escalate this far, and well, in all honesty, he hadn’t expected anything to happen at all. Perhaps it was the fact that Patton Sanders was famous, known well for his pretty voice, sneaky puns, dad humor, and growing popularity as a voice actor.

He was a ray of sunshine, and readily used that talent on every social platform he could to make people smile, but primarily on Youtube. The tall puppy of a man had a pun of the day, animal shelter promo of the week, and a monthly charity stream where he’d invite his friends and other youtubers of all kinds to play games and skits and challenges to raise money for all sorts of causes.

The puffball has a moral streak a mile wide, and has a segment for ‘Dad Chats’ in his videos with his viewers about how they should choose go about certain issues, and how their choices and feelings would affect their decisions, among other topics. He wasn’t good at words, but he tries to be the best influence he can, and that much was evident in any of his videos.

Perhaps it was the fact that Dimitri was still heartbroken, his boyfriend dumping him a week ago for someone else after a year and a half of dating. All because he was a ‘killjoy’ for not feeling sexually attracted to the man. It wasn’t even that Dimitri didn’t want it, he just hadn’t felt any of the sort towards his ex yet and didn’t feel the need to fake an act. It hadn’t sat well with his ex-boyfriends ego, apparently, as was evident in their last fight leading towards their breakup.

The words ‘freak’ and ‘prude’ had indeed stung, but not more than ‘unlovable’ had, the sentence burned into the forefront of his thoughts as his ex exclaimed it.

And maybe Dimitri had been a little out of it, typing the sarcastic message through his angry tears.

Even when pressing the post button had sent a jolt of nervousness through him, having tagged his favorite ball of sunshine, he’d never expected a response. It was evident in the comments his followers added to his post, concerned about his full week of silence, that the question had been silly. Patton? Patton Hart Sanders? The Patton Hart Sanders, egging a house? Sure, Patton had just moved into Dimitri’s hometown, but their hometown was big enough that he’d probably never run into the voice actor anyhow. And Patton just wasn’t that kind of person.

In any case, his phone had been left on the charger as he went to make some tea, and had almost spilled it everywhere when he returned 10 minutes later. A single notification from Patton Sanders himself sat, waiting to be read.

‘Now, I don’t know about eggin’ a house, Kiddo, but you sure have got me on the ‘Egg’ of my seat, ‘fryin’ to know whats eating at you. You feeling okay, Di?’’ It was a private message, sent two minutes ago, and Dimitri was barely breathing.

Okay, so maybe Dimitri was pretty gay for Patton, it was a popular type of crush, nothing very real, and that was all. He looked up to the man, definitely. However, there was no way in heaven that Patton Sanders had privately dm’d him. He could scarcely believe it, even after triple checking that this was an official Patton Sanders account. Perhaps it was unprofessional, but Patton seemed genuinely worried and was trying to reach out, and that made Dimitri feel guilty.

“Hey Pat! Don’t worry about it, I was just joking around.” He squinted at the sentence, scrutinizing it for any particular error before sending it, Patton’s response was almost immediate.

“Something tells me you weren’t, but i’ll let it slide for now, kiddo. The question remains, are you feeling okay?”

“Honestly? No, but i will be. Aphobia sucks, though. Some dude my ex turned out to be.”

It took Patton three extra minutes to respond, a hesitance present in his response. “Oh goodness, that sounds bad.. on second thought, that egging his house idea doesn’t sound so mean after all, Di!” Dimitri snorted, gently waving off the others suggestion through another message.

Back and forth they went for another hour, talking about video ideas and plans and possible collab ideas. Perhaps Dimitri was in over his head, he’d never collabed with anyone before, but he wasn’t going to turn Patton's suggestion for a stage makeup challenge for a charity livestream down.

Eventually they both went to bed, and time moved on.

Dimitri picked himself back up and threw himself back into his videos, breaking the silence with a short explanation video followed by his regularly scheduled videos. By the time Friday rolled around, Dimitri had all but forgotten about his question to Patton. Over the course of the week, both of them had gotten closer, talking about their town and suggestions of places to go, and promises to meet up that hopefully would not become empty.

It was mid-afternoon when Dimitri, who was currently mid-edit thankfully and not mid-makeup mode, got a knock on his door. Confused, he wandered to his front door and opened it, peering through his glasses at the outside world.

Well, attempting to peer, as suddenly Dimitri is met with a blue sweater-clad chest and a happy squeal of excitement coming from the man standing at his door. It takes two seconds for Dimitri to blink upwards at the taller man and recognize him as Patton Sanders, it takes Dimitri two more minutes for his brain to catch up with Patton’s excited rambling.

And to catch up with the fact that Patton is hugging him.

He notices Patton has a few things in one arm, most notably, a couple cartons of eggs. He can’t help but crack a smile, completely flabbergasted that Patton actually thought of going through with this.

Dimitri’s thoughts are going wild, and he’s pretty sure he has a headache coming on, but instead of addressing it, he plays it cool and invites the other in and decides to make tea for the both of them.

When Patton pulls out two black sweaters, one turned inside out,along with a mask and some toilet paper, Dimitri can’t hold back his giggles. He misses the way Patton lights up at the sound, and lets Patton know that they really weren’t going to egg his ex’s house. The relief is evident in Patton’s voice, “Thank goodness! I don’t think we’d fair too well in the dark!”

Dimitri can’t help but agree, adjusting his glasses. No, not even his contacts could save him for the depth perception nightmare that was aiming in the dark, plus, they’d easily get caught. Absently, Dimitri moves to hand the inside out sweater back, flipping it right side out now that the dark interior wasn’t needed, only to pause. His eyes caught on the graphic print on the front of the sweater, adjusting it in his hands so he could see it fully. He paused again, squinting at the familiar design.

It held a cute albino snake curled around a small round ornament, blepping contently with the words ‘It cold’ next to her. Under the graphic, the name of the snake was presented in pretty cursive lettering, ‘Nova.’

“Pat.. is this?? My winter merch??” Dimitri could barely hold back his disbelief, glancing up at a flustered Patton. Patton owned the merch of his pet albino python, Nova, and goodness gracious Dimitri needed to sit down.

“In my defence!! Nova is cute!! And she's even cuter when happily curled around you!” Patton huffed, arms crossed as he blushed, though unashamed at his remark. Dimitri’s mind went a hundred different ways at that, before just putting his face in his hands and sighing.

After calming down a bit, he had an idea, and glanced up at Patton who blinked at him nervously, afraid he’d messed up somehow.

“Wanna hold her?” Patton’s bright grin was worth the brief stuttering of Dimitri’s thoughts.

With permission, a picture was taken of Patton with Nova wrapped around his shoulders, captioned ‘Nova found her #1 fan, it seems!’ and posted on both of their social accounts.

And if the media went a little shipping crazy at the two’s meeting, that was fine by them.

(The End?)

I might draw somethink for this but idk yet.)

[iloveyouthree-thousand]

five times peter parker could hear tony’s heart beating (and the one time he couldn’t)

// one //

“It wasn’t that bad, Mr. Stark, I promise.”

Two months had passed since the Vulture incident, and despite Peter declining an official role on the Avengers, he and Tony had kept in touch.

It helped that when May Parker found out about her nephew’s extra-curricular activities, she marched up to the Avengers Compound and made Tony swear on her grave that he’d look out for Peter.

Even without the lecture, though, Tony felt drawn to the spider-ling.

Half of him wanted to run far, far away, because this felt dangerously close to caring, and he had a nasty habit of ruining things he cared about. All it took was one look around the empty Compound to see that.

The other half of him, though, couldn’t stop thinking about that stupid and reckless teenager fighting crime, all by himself, with no training and an iffy track record at best.

So he invited Peter over to walk through the different functions in his suit, or practice his combat skills, or sometimes just to keep him company (though he wouldn’t admit that to the kid).

And, deep down, he knew that May’s threats were unnecessary, because if anything were to happen to Peter Parker, Tony would hate himself more than May Parker ever could.  

This is exactly why, when Peter admits off-handedly that an entire building collapsed on him while he fought off Adrian Toomes, he nearly has a heart attack on the floor of his workshop.

“Please don’t freak out,” Peter continues, sending imploring looks his way, “I would’ve told you sooner but it didn’t really seem important at the time, you know?”

One look at Tony’s face tells Peter that he does not, in fact, know, and so he continues to ramble.

“Besides, I’m fine, see?” He holds out his arms as if to prove his point. “Not even a bruise.”

Tony keeps breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth, like his therapist told him to do when he feels a panic attack coming on.

“Mr. Stark?” he asks, a moment later.

“Mhm,” he utters, trying and failing to put any sort of strength behind his voice.

“Please don’t freak out,” Peter repeats, softer this time, “because if you freak out then I’ll freak out.”

“I’m not freaking out.”

“I can hear your heartbeat,” he explains, “and it’s racing.”

He could lie, but the kid is right. His heart is beating so hard he wouldn’t be surprised if Peter could hear it even without the superpowers.

“You could’ve died,” is what he settles on instead.

“But I didn’t,” Peter counters, as if that makes it all better, as if Tony isn’t about ready to vomit at the thought of him crushed under a pile of rubble in a pair of glorified pajamas.

“I should’ve been there.”

“You didn’t know.”

“I shouldn’t have taken the suit.”

“I deserved it.”

“God, kid, if something were to happen to you, I--,” he doesn’t finish the sentence, but Peter knows. He can see it in his eyes, can hear in in his heartbeat.

“I survived, Mr. Stark. I’m okay.”

“I just... I should’ve been there,” he says again.

The kid stops and looks him in the eye, and for a second, the terror of crumbling concreate all around him comes flooding back.

“Maybe,” Peter concedes, his voice cracking as he remembers calling out for help, only to realize that no one was coming to rescue him.

Tony tenses as the guilt tightens its hold.

“It’s okay, though,” he continues, “because you’ll be there next time, right?”

It’s not so much a question as it is a plea.

He wishes, more than anything, that he could go back in time and do it all over, but he can’t change the past.

He can only change the future.

“I promise, kid, from now on, whenever you’re in trouble, I’m going to be right there with you. You’re not alone. Not anymore. Okay?”

The fear begins to fade from Peter’s eyes, quelled by Tony’s words, and after a moment his face flips into a smile.

He hears Tony’s heartbeat finally fall into a normal rate, and it’s strangely comforting.

“Okay.”

// two //

“Pete, you’re missing the best part.”

Tony frowns at the mop of hair buried into his sweatshirt, jostling his arm to lightly nudge the boy awake.

“You still with me kid?”

“Mm,” Peter murmurs, neither confirming nor denying Tony’s suspicions.

The fight sequence continues to play on the screen, the screech of metal on metal as the robots battled it out filling the room.

Peter doesn’t even stir.

“Alright, spider-baby, I guess it’s bedtime,” Tony chuckles as he moves to stand, intending to carry Peter to his room in the Compound.

“Mm,” Peter murmurs again when Tony shifts his weight, the single syllable sounding more like a protest this time around.

“Are you going to say any real words tonight or are we talking in grunts from here on out?”

“Mm.”

“Noted.”

The boy nestles back into his shoulder, and Tony begins to accept the fact that he’s going to be stuck in this exact position for the foreseeable future.

It was probably better this way anyhow.

When May had dropped Peter off that afternoon, she’d mentioned that he hadn’t been getting much sleep.

If spending the night on the couch was what it took to get the kid to finally get some shut-eye, Tony was willing to make that sacrifice.

An hour later, Peter is still pressed into his shoulder, and Tony is still wide awake, half-watching a B-list sci-fi movie on the TV.

“Mr. Stark.”

“Oh, good, we’re using English now,” he smirks, looking down at the kid, but Peter’s eyes remain closed.

“Mis’r Stark,” he says more forcefully, slurring the words a little, eyes still shut tight.

“Hey,” Tony pokes at the boy’s shoulder, “is this lucid Peter or sleep-talking Peter?”

The boy just whimpers. And then he starts crying.

“Pete, hey,” he pokes harder, “wake up.”

After a few more attempts, Peter’s hazy eyes spring open, wide with panic.

“Easy,” he soothes, running a hand over the kid’s hair, “it’s just me.”

“Oh,” Peter takes in the situation quickly, “I fell asleep.”

“Didn’t even make it halfway through the movie. But May said you haven’t been sleeping well, so I decided to leave you to it.”

“Ah.”

There’s a beat.

Tony thinks about not mentioning it, because maybe it’ll just embarrass him and who knows if Peter even wants to talk about it. But Tony had also pushed his mental health to the side for so much of his life, and he knew there were consequences. You could ignore the demons all you want, but it doesn’t make them go away.

“Tell me about the nightmares, Pete.”

His eyes go wide again, cheeks flushed, as he ducks his head back into the couch.

“It’s nothing,” he says, the words muffled by the cushions.

“It’s enough of something to be keeping you awake at night.”

“I’m okay.”

Tony reaches down, raising Peter’s chin with his index finger until their eyes meet.

There are visible bags under the teen’s red-rimmed eyes, a pool of tears caught up in his bottom lashes.

“No, you’re not,” he argues, “and it’s okay to not be okay. You should talk to someone about it, though. It doesn’t have to be me, or even May. We can set something up with a professional. I’m just worried about you, kid.”

Peter looks at him, words on the tip of his tongue, but he hesitates.

He wasn’t supposed to know about Siberia. There were protocols on FRIDAY’s database for a reason, because Tony didn’t ever want to see that look in Steve Roger’s eyes again, the look that told him everything he didn’t want to believe. And he sure as hell didn’t need anyone else to see it.

But one of Peter’s fatal flaws is that he’s not exactly known for following protocol.

Tony had never told him about what happened after Germany, but judging by the fact that he and Colonel Rhodes were the only Avengers that ever hung around the Compound, he’d guessed it hadn’t gone well. Every time Peter asked, though, Tony got this sad, faraway look in his eye and promptly changed the subject.

A sane person would’ve left it alone.

Peter was too concerned about Tony to be sane.

Two weeks ago, he’d gotten an idea. If his own suit recorded every single mission, surely the Iron Man suit did, too. He hacked FRIDAY’s database and, sure enough, there it was.

He should’ve turned it off--should’ve walked away when he realized just how personal it was--but it was like watching a car wreck. Peter couldn’t quite look away.

Instead, he watched the whole thing to the bitter end, living through Tony’s eyes. He gasped as the red and white shield came crashing down, could almost feel the weight of the metal in his own chest.

And then the screen went dark.

“Earth-to-Peter.”

He blinks a few times as Tony’s voice pulls him back into the present.

“You went silent on me there for a minute.”

Peter swallows, debating for a second before he decides it’s time to face the music.

“I saw the footage from Siberia,” he blurts. “I know I shouldn’t have but I hacked FRIDAY’s database and I watched it and I’m so sorry, Mr. Stark.”

He bites at his lip and stares at his hands as he twists them in his lap.

“That’s why I’ve been having nightmares,” he finishes, and it’s barely above a whisper.

Peter waits, bracing himself for a lecture on boundaries and invasions of privacy.

He half-expects Tony to lay into him and kick him out right that second.

“Pete,” is what Tony says instead, zero parts angry and one-hundred parts concerned.

“I’m sorry,” Peter repeats, a sob on his lips.

“Hey, shh,” he shakes his head and wraps his arm around him tighter, “no apologies.”

“I was j-just worried about you.”

“I know, kid,” he smiles softly, “you’ve got a heart the size of the sun and I hope that never changes. You don’t need to worry anymore, though. I’m okay, Pete. I promise.”

He stops, running his fingers in circles on Peter’s back.

“It’s time for me to worry about you, now. And I’m going to start by figuring out how to help you sleep.”

Peter gets a sheepish look on his face, and Tony raises an eyebrow.

“It helps,” Peter pauses, looking away, “it helps when I can hear your heartbeat, because then I know you’re okay.”

“But it’s stupid,” he continues, “and kinda weird, and obviously I can’t listen to your heartbeat all the time because even just saying that sounds crazy and--,”

“Kid, please stop talking.”

He hadn’t noticed during his rambling, but Tony’s pulled a blanket around the two them and turned the TV off.

“Can you hear it?” Tony whispers a few moments later, his lips pressed gently into Peter’s hair.

Peter listens, hears the steady thump in his ears, like a gentle rhythm. Ba-bum, ba-bum, ba-bum.

He’s out like a light before he can even answer the question.

// three //

Peter’s intuitive enough to know it’s not going well.

“You know, I live in New York, do I really need to know how to drive?”

“It’s a useful skill, kid. What if you’re ever on a mission and you need to tail someone? You can’t just take the train for that.”

Peter remembers the incident with Flash’s car and his cheeks go red.

“And the next time that happens,” Tony looks at him pointedly, “I’d prefer it if you didn’t total the thing and/or nearly kill yourself in the process.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Yea? Let’s ask Karen about that when we get home, then.”

Peter mutters something under his breath that sounds vaguely like tattle tale and Tony breaks into a smirk.

“Alright, now what you’re going to do is ease off of the clutch and give it a little gas.”

Peter is about to follow his commands when he stops suddenly.

“Mr. Stark?”

“Mr. Parker?” Tony echoes sarcastically.

“How much did this car cost?”

“I would guess somewhere in the hundreds of thousands of dollars.”

Peter’s eyes nearly bug out of his head.

“Oh my God.”

“Relax, kid. You’ve been doing just fine.”

That was a lie. Peter had stalled out more times than he could count. He sent Tony’s stomach lurching every time he accelerated and nearly gave him whiplash every time he hit the brakes.

“Now, up off the clutch while you press down on the gas pedal.”

Peter does as he’s told, but chickens out when he goes to give it gas and promptly stalls. Again.

“Let’s try again,” Tony says gently, restarting the car, “just give her a little more gas this time.”

Peter takes a deep breath and lifts his foot off the clutch.

A little more gas this time.

He pushes his foot down on the pedal, way overcompensating for his previous attempt, and sends the car straight through the grass and into the wall of the closed course.

Peter can hear Tony’s heartbeat spike as it pumps erratically.

Tears well up in his eyes as he braces himself for the anger, the disappointment, because Peter’s really done it this time.

“Peter, are you okay? Look at me,” Tony says, perching himself over the center console to check for cuts, bruises, even a hair out of place.

“I t-told you this car was t-too nice for me t-to drive,” he sniffles, hyperventilating because this car is worth more than his entire apartment and he’s crashed it into a cement wall.

He doesn’t know, though, that Tony didn’t just choose this car on a whim. It’s won every safety award in the last three years, and he’s even added a couple extra precautionary measures just in case. Peter could probably drive this car off a cliff and walk away just fine.

When it came to Peter Parker’s well-being, money was no object.

“Hey,” Tony stops him, “I couldn’t care less about the car, kid. What I do care about, though, is you. That being said, you know the drill. Injury report.”

Peter finally takes a breath and gives himself a once-over.

“All clear.”

“FRI,” Tony prompts.

“My scanners are not picking up on any injuries, sir.”

Then, and only then, does Peter hear Tony’s heartbeat slow down.

“Thank God. I think it’s probably time to call it a day. We’ll pick up the same time tomorrow, though.”

Sure enough, Tony has the car all fixed up and ready to drive again the next day.

They keep practicing, day after day, until Peter can drive around the entire course with Tony’s heart rate remaining fixed and stable the entire time.

When it finally happens, he pulls of the course and puts the car in park, practically radiating giddiness.

Tony just smirks and tries not to look too proud.

// four //

“Mr. Stark, I don’t feel so good.”

Peter takes two steps forward and collapses into Tony.

“I don’t wanna go,” he chokes, “I don’t wanna go, please, Mr. Stark, I don’t wanna go.”

Tony looks into the kid’s pleading eyes and feels the bile burning his throat.

“You’re alright,” he says, and it’s not enough, of course it’s not enough, but nothing else leaves his mouth.

Around them, the Guardians are turning to dust and vanishing and Tony can only pray that the kid is spared from whatever hell they’ve stumbled into.

Tony holds Peter closer, as if that will stop whatever force of nature is stealing the rest of their team away. At the very least, as if to tell Peter that he’s not going anywhere without him, that they’re in this together.

He’s not alone. Not anymore.

They’ve done this before, when Peter’s anxiety ramps itself up to eleven and he gets so scared that he feels like he can’t breathe. 

It helps Peter to hear his heartbeat. He knows that. So he’ll press him up against his chest and tell him to tune out the rest of the world and just listen to him. 

Listen to my breathing, kid. That’s it. Just like that, in and out. Perfect. Hear my heartbeat? I’m right here, Pete. I’m right here. Just listen.

Just listen.

Every other time before, Tony would keep Peter locked in his arms until the panic melted from his face and the rhythms in their chests were synced. Tony didn’t even need to say anything.

As long as Tony’s heart kept beating in his ears, Peter knew he wasn’t going anywhere.

Now, as the world is fading around them, Peter just keeps concentrating on his heartbeat. It’s constant and steady.  

He’s scared, terrified, even, but he knows that as long as he can still hear it he’s going to be okay. He has to be okay.

Except, Peter can feel his fingers starting to crumble as he falls to the ground, taking Tony with him.

Tony’s heartbeat is still strong, but it’s starting to get farther and farther away.

The reality hits him all at once. He’s dying.

He’s dying and the only thing Tony can do is watch him as he goes.

And if you die, I feel like that’s on me.

Peter looks up at him, sees the brokenness seep into his eyes as the reality of the situation hits Tony too.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

Tony’s heartbeat is the last thing he hears before the world fades to black.

// five //

Tony’s heartbeat is the first thing Peter searches for when he comes back.

He has to strain, a bit, because the clamor of the battlefield rings loud in his ears. His eyes scan the hundreds of faces, looking for one in particular.

There.

“Mr. Stark! You will not believe what’s been going on,” he says, getting closer to the man, “do you remember that we were in space just a minute ago and I like, vanished,” he stops, looking at the gray flecks in Tony’s hair.

Those weren’t there a second ago.

“What’s that in your hair?”

“It’s just gray hair,” Tony says lightly, looking at him funny, and Peter just nods and continues.

“Oh. Well, Dr. Strange was there when we got back, and he gave us this big speech and--,” he’s cut off by a pair of arms nearly cutting his air off.

“What’s happening?”

He can hear Tony’s heartbeat now, because it’s pounding right up against his chest.

Ba-bum. Ba-bum. Ba-bum.

“Just hug me, kid.”

Peter swears he hears it skip a beat when he does just that.

It’s all so weird, because they were in space just a second ago and now they’re home, at the Compound, but everything is on fire and there’s a battle raging around them.

Peter doesn’t know what to make of it, his brain is going into overdrive trying to remember the minutes before he got all dusty and passed out, but Tony’s arms cinch around him a little tighter and he decides not to worry about it for the time being.

Right now, he can hear Tony’s heartbeat drumming in his ears. As long as he can still hear that, he’s going to be okay.

Tony places a kiss on his cheek, making no move to let go of him, and Peter doesn’t protest.

“This is nice,” he says.

Everything’s going to be okay.

// six //

The smell of burning flesh hangs in the air, but Peter ignores it, running straight toward Tony.

“Mr. Stark?”

His face is ashy white against the blood dripping down his skin, and Peter feels like he’s going to be sick.

“Mr. Stark, you did it,” he says, holding back tears because he can hear it, can hear his heartbeat faltering, “we won.”

“Mr. Stark, we won,” he thinks that if he keeps saying it then maybe it’ll make it come true, but Tony’s heartbeat is still falling, fading into a dull murmur.

“Tony?” He tries instead, hoping to get some kind of reaction, but it doesn’t come.

Eventually Pepper pulls him away and he’s sobbing now, because the thumping in Tony’s chest is so faint it’s almost silent, and the beats are few and far between.

Peter watches as Pepper kneels next him. He can feel Rhodey’s hand squeeze around his shoulder as she promises Tony that they’re going to be okay.

He wants to scream, because he feels anything but okay, because Tony’s heartbeat was one giant constant in his life and now it’s dwindling into nothing.

For the longest time, he’d known that as long as he could still hear Tony’s heartbeat, he’d be okay.

He needed Tony to hold on, because he wasn’t quite sure what he would do if he lost him.

Please don’t go.

Tony looks so tired, though.

And as much as it hurts, Peter needs to let go.

“You can rest, now,” Pepper whispers, and Peter holds his breath as Tony gives her one last smile.

Peter hears the exact moment Tony Stark’s heart stops beating.

He hears awful silence creep in and replace the familiar ba-bum, ba-bum, ba-bum.

And, for a moment, Peter swears his heart stops beating, too.

[shoeandseok]

ATEEZ as Bodyguards Fic: The Element Part 1

Synopsis: You get invited to a nightclub for the first time, but nothing is easy when you need personal security 24/7.

This is part of a Bodyguard AU series, which I recommend you read first for context (if you haven’t already). Thanks!

Part 2, Part 3 (Final)

You were anxious as you made your way to Hongjoong’s office. For being the head of your security detail, he was remarkably accommodating when you wanted to go somewhere. But you were worried that this time he’d refuse. You understood the necessity of having a bodyguard whenever you went out in public, but that made it hard to do normal things like seeing a movie in theaters, visiting a public beach, or going clubbing.

You looked at your phone again, at the message from Nina Sikora. Because of who you were and the work you did, you had few friends, but you were hoping she might become one of them. Nina was a rising pop singer who you met weeks ago at a charity event. You had been charmed by her down to earth friendliness, and now she was asking you to join her and her friends for a girls night at a club that weekend. You practically squealed when you read it. You immediately wanted to say yes, but your thumb had hovered above the screen. You couldn’t yet, not until you got permission from Hongjoong.

You knew as you walked to his office that this was going to be a hard sell. Nightclubs were crowded, full of strangers and substances that were regarded as high risk by security teams. You reached Hongjoong’s office door, knocked, and opened it when he gave permission.

“Oh- Miss (Name). What can I do for you?”

Hongjoong probably hadn’t expected to see you at this late hour. He was busy reviewing information on a businessman you were working with, making sure his background checked out.

“Do you remember Nina Sikora?” you asked. “Well she just invited me on a girls night out this weekend, and I really want to go...”

“Where to?”

“The Element. It’s a nightclub.”

Your words hung in the air. Then your security head released a sigh. “Miss (Name)-”

“-I know,” you cut him off. “There’s a lot of variables you can’t control.”

“There’s a lot of people I can’t control,” he said seriously. He leaned back and ran a hand through his long hair. “Do you know what types of people go to clubs? There’s pickpockets, con artists, drunks- all sorts of predatory behavior.”

“Yes, but there’s also people like me who just want to go dancing,” you pointed out. “And the guard will be around to protect me.”

He locked eyes with you and you stood your ground, letting him know you were serious. Something in your face made him soften. “Do you really want to go?” he asked, searching your eyes.

“Yes. I’ve never had the chance to do this before and I might not again. Please, Hongjoong.”

He held you in anticipation for a moment, then leaned back in his chair. “Well, you’ve made up your mind.” He smiled, shaking his head. “I can’t stop you now.” You smiled back.

“However,” he held up a hand. “I have some rules. You are going to be disguised, and you can only have one drink.”

“Deal.” You didn’t get to drink much anyways, at least not in public. “I’m sorry I’m giving you so much work.”

“Just repay me by being careful, Miss (Name). You said this weekend, right?”

You spent the next few minutes going through details with your head of security. You thanked him before you left.

After you left Hongjoong made himself a to do list. He needed to do a background check on Sikora, every friend she was bringing, and the club itself. Since this was going to be undercover he couldn’t ask for floor plans, so he’d have to send a pair of guards this week to investigate the layout, memorize faces of the staff, and evaluate the behavior of patrons. He also wanted to acquire several types of drug testing strips for drinks. He wasn’t taking any chances.

The next day, after a night of little sleep, Hongjoong addressed the bodyguards at their morning meeting. They reviewed the day’s itinerary and received the next day assignments, which included a recon task for Jongho and San, listed at the odd time of 10pm. When Hongjoong was asked about it, he braced himself and took a breath.

“This weekend Miss (Name) wants to go to a nightclub with some friends.”

“A nightclub?” Wooyoung gasped.

“You’re lying, boss doesn’t have friends.”

“Jongho!” Seonghwa snapped at his junior.

“What? We’re like friends,” Jongho grumbled back.

Yunho shared a glance with Yeosang “A nightclub sounds pretty dangerous,” he voiced.

“I agree.” Yeosang said. “Sir, there are too many variables.”

“And creeps,” Mingi added.

“Just tell her no.” San calmly spoke up, still resting his chin on his hand. 

At that everyone went quiet, looking to their captain for a response. San’s words gave Hongjoong pause. Why didn’t he tell her no? Then he remembered a promise he made to himself when he first became a security head. He would never make his client feel unable to requesting something. Bodyguards have certain stories they tell, and one of those stories is the tale of clients who escaped from their security detail to do something they didn’t think they’d get permission for. Something like visiting a club.

Hongjoong opened his mouth, the thought forming as he spoke, remembering your conversation from the previous night. “I haven’t seen her want something this much in a while.” The room was silent at that.

“Well, captain?” Seonghwa broke the silence. “What’s the plan?”

Two days later you, Wooyoung, Yunho, Mingi, and Yeosang were listening to Jongho talk about his visit to The Element. You were in the car (Mingi was driving) as you headed to a meeting.

“It’s pretty classy, they don’t let just anyone in,” Jongho bragged. “Honestly they let San and I in because we looked the part and we weren’t being obnoxious.”

“Was San wearing that purple cheetah print shirt?” Mingi spoke up from the front.

“The what?” you asked, intrigued.

Wooyoung turned around in the passenger seat, grinning. “San has a button down shirt with cheetah print on it. Yeosang, you’ve seen it in his closet, right?”

“And it’s purple?” you turned to your quiet bodyguard.

“Yes. He rarely wears it.”

“Yeosang, what are you wearing to the nightclub?” Yunho asked, grinning.

His brows furrowed. “I assumed I could just wear my regular suit..”

“No, you’d look too boring,” Jongho shook his head. “You wouldn’t be let in, and then where would we be?”

Hongjoong determined having bodyguards with you at the club would draw too much attention, so you had to be disguised. Your security would have to go in disguised as regular patrons as well. Yeosang looked distressed. “I don’t think I have anything.”

“Why don’t you just buy something?” Mingi asked.

You lit up. “Can I take you shopping?”

Yeosang looked taken aback. “I don’t want to inconvenience you..”

“Nonsense, I want to. I think it’d be fun, right?”

He felt the pressure of everyone looking at him. “Yes, Miss (Name).”

You easily got permission to take Yeosang to the mall you frequented. You brought along Seonghwa, since he was the closest thing you had to a style expert (and he could help you with men’s sizing). San was your guard on duty. This mall was a fairly safe place, but you always needed someone to keep an eye out.

You figured out early that Yeosang was a man who didn’t think much about style. His suits and shoes were always well kept, but looking back you realized that his off duty clothing mainly consisted of athletic wear in neutral colors. Comfort and functionality were his priorities, so he looked out of his depth as you and Seongwha began hunting in the upscale store.

“Do you like the blue or the stripes?” You held up two options before him.

He looked vaguely stressed. “Which is less expensive?”

“Nonsense, Miss (Name) said she will be paying for it,” Seonghwa assured him, checking the fabric labels of the shirts. “Ooh, silk.”

“It’s my treat, Yeosang. Which do you like better?” you asked again.

“Uh-” He looked between the two, worrying that whatever he chose would be the wrong choice somehow. He wasn’t used to being pampered, especially by his boss, who was still waiting for him to answer. “Um..”

“I’d say the stripes are a bit too much,” San commented cheerily, still surveying your surroundings.

You took a second look at the stripes. “You’re right, I think it’s too loud. San, what did you see guys wearing in The Element?”

Yeosang breathed a sigh of relief as you talked with San. Seonghwa and you made the decision that he’d wear his regular black suit, just with a different shirt and no tie. He endured trying on several things for you two until you reached a white dress shirt with a pattern of little blue diamond shapes. When you encouraged him to look in the mirror, he found he actually didn’t mind it. He balked at the price, but money was no object to the boss. He thanked you for your generosity. To his surprise you thanked him for the fun excursion.

On Friday, Hongjoong called a meeting with you and your away guard. Your security was made up of two teams: the home guard, who kept your residence secure, and your seven person away guard, who went with you when you ventured out. 

Though in charge of both, Hongjoong usually had more prep work to do for the away guard. You were much closer with your away guard anyhow, since they spent most of the day with you and were off duty once you got home in the evenings.

You joined all eight of them in the meeting room, and once everyone was assembled, Hongjoong began detailing the plan for Saturday night.

“I have secured a place on the guest list for all of you, so there shouldn’t be too much trouble getting in. However, since we’re undercover, you will enter staggered in pairs or small groups. Yunho and Mingi, you’re the exception to this. You will be joining Miss (Name) and her friends for the night. We can’t go entirely undercover because Nina Sikora has seen several of you in a bodyguard capacity, so Miss (Name) has informed Miss Sikora that her guard will be present but disguised.”

You nodded. Nina was on board with the idea. In fact, she thought it was exciting to be in on the secret.

“Yunho and Mingi will be posing as friends of Miss (Name), while Seonghwa, Yeosang, Wooyoung, San, and Jongho will be posing as patrons. As “friends” you two will be with the boss. I don’t expect you to be as focused as normal, since you have to act like friends, but don’t lose sight of what’s happening around you. Think of yourselves as a deterrent.”

They nodded. The unspoken part of that was they’d be a deterrent for anyone trying to bother you. Having bodyguards had it’s perks.

“Miss (Name) will only have one alcoholic drink for the night. Yeosang, I’d like you to offer to buy her one, then covertly test it for drugs once you receive it. You’ll have to memorize the charts that come with them.”

You wondered if any of your guard thought this was too much. If they did, they didn’t voice their opinion.

“For the rest of you as patrons, you can order things, but no drinking on the job. You will get in the club before the girls arrive with Yunho and Mingi, so take that time to get familiar with the staff and other patrons. Take note of anyone who looks suspicious or like trouble, and always keep yourselves spread out. Once Miss (Name) is ready to leave, Mingi will get the car and Yunho will escort her out. The rest of you will filter out to your separate cars.”

He paused for the ones who were taking notes, then set down his papers. “Throughout the night I expect all of you to show careful judgement. We don’t want to prematurely remove Miss (Name) from the evening because of an incident that doesn’t affect her. If things are safe for her, then there’s no reason to leave, regardless of what might be going on elsewhere in the club.” 

He let that sink in for a moment, then straightened up. “Yeosang, your turn.”

You learned that since the bodyguard were going undercover, they couldn’t have their regular earpieces to communicate, and Hongjoong recruited Yeosang to solve that problem. The device Yeosang introduced was a set of watches he had found and modified. They each had a concealed button, and when it was pressed a little red LED light would flash on the faces of all the watches. Your seven bodyguards tried them out, and were told to only use it if there was a definite emergency. 

You regarded Hongjoong for a moment as they tried out the watches. He wasn’t going to The Element with you and the away team. He looked tired, and you felt a bit guilty for all the extra work you put him through. You made a mental note to thank him again later. 

The away guard was still busy with the watches, learning how to deactivate the light. Looking at them, a strange mix of emotion came over you. All of them had to put in so much effort, so much planning, just for you to safely enjoy a night out at a club.

Saturday night you spent extra time getting ready. The short, fun dress you never got to wear came out of your closet. You had a few wigs for disguises. Most of them were picked to look average and help you blend in. There was one fantastical wig, however, that was an ombre mix of vivid color. This seemed like an occasion to wear it. 

Your maid helped you get it on securely, and the two of you determined what makeup would compliment the look. Last was a few careful accessories and a clutch. The final person in the mirror seemed like an alternate universe version of you, from a world of glamorous partying. You felt awesome.

That feeling dropped once you stepped out of the safety of your bedroom. Suddenly your heels felt to high, your dress felt too short, and your hair looked too wild. As you reached the staircase of your front hall, you saw the figures of Hongjoong, Mingi, and Yunho gathered near your front door. You prayed they wouldn’t see you yet, and focused on making your way down the stairs. Unfortunately for you, when you reached the bottom and looked up you saw all three staring. You immediately looked away, hands tightening around your clutch.

Mingi was the first to speak. “Woah. You look amazing.”

Yunho was nodding. Hongjoong looked like he was about to reprimand his subordinate, but decided against it.

Mingi was still looking at you, awed. “Your eyeshadow matches your dress and your hair!”

“Mingi, the car,” Hongjoong reminded him.

As Mingi hurried out your maid began helping you into a long coat. You repressed a smile, secretly grateful for his honest reaction.

“Remember you can end the night whenever you wish,” your security captain reminded you.

“I remember,” you answered, allowing yourself to be ushered outside. Excitement and dread blossomed inside you.

[wordbistro-blog]

Timothy Peppers and The Great October King

Part One: Humiliating Day

“Hurry up and die!”

          Eccentric. I know he is, but I wouldn’t want to spend a Friday stumped under the roofline either, looking at a slowly decaying garden. Fair skin, hot suns…father, that sort of thing. Weathermen are liars anyhow. Almost a perfect day, but he can’t get a win out of it which is why he’s telling plant life to choke itself.

           Oh, I suppose I should explain that.

           It's almost September equinox. Summer is supposed to be over, yet it lingers like a hangnail that won't fall off. You can almost see the scratch marks of fall trying to force itself in, but life is holding on in this garden. The tall kempt trees shimmered with its leaves in the sun, not one falling, and the maze garden hadn't turned a different shade yet either. All that lay on the cobblestone porch were bits of grass. And little Timothy Peppers loved fall the most, hence why he wants it to hurry up and die.

           His squeaky little voice rustling across the garden can make him seem a little odd, and sometimes annoying, but you have to work with me. Give me a chance to defend him, because the kid really isn’t all that bad, he’s just a little bumpy in the brain, you know? I’ll spare you the details, but his father is in the foyer speaking with his teacher on the phone.

           “He’s…” He sighs so exasperatedly that you can almost see smoke come out of him. “We discussed this, he’s dyslexic. OF COURSE HE CAN’T READ IN CLASS YOU IGNORANT FOOL!” Elias Peppers had anger issues that made volcanic eruptions look like an ant’s temper tantrum. With losing an election and switching Timothy to homeschool, this guy was severely overstressed.

           Timothy poured his attention back to the garden. He missed the days when he and his parents would run through the crunchy leaves, carve pumpkins, and harvest all the unique flowers that his mother would order from all over the world. Her favorite was the Chollyleman, which she had to travel to Greenland to acquire. Not all their flowers produce seeds if they can’t bloom, so they’re on the brink of extinction, but his mother was able to score one flower before they became truly exclusive. I’ve never seen one bloom myself, so I apologize for the lack of detail.

           I would strongly advise you to avoid this garden at all costs. I would love to say more, but Timothy is getting bored, which is where our story truly begins.

           He stood up from the porch and turned around to his father, who had just finished vocally wrestling with his phone. “Father, when can I play in the garden again?”

           His father turned at him, as red as a dodgeball, and said under frustrated breaths, “I’m sorry but not right now. I’m waiting for our…” He paused, took a deep breath and continued, “I’m waiting for our gardener to come clean it up. There are vines growing, one of the trees is uprooting, the grass is too thick. I have to see if any of the vegetables are even salvageable. It’s just not safe, okay?” He pointed at him with a hand straight as a blade.

           Timothy brought his gaze down to the floor, disappointed and muttered, “Yes sir.”

           Elias turned back towards the front of the house and his old leather jacket crunched as he ran his hands through his thick black hair. The slender giant was slowly beginning to cool down. This altercation with the teacher may cost him a dip in the pockets, but he can’t let his son go without an education.

           And with a small plea, Timothy stated, “But I can be extra careful…?”

           “Timothy, not right now.” He retorted, his heart rate increasing.

           “But I don’t want to be in the house all the time! If I could just have one day where we can play like we used to-”

           Elias turned quicker than a badger prancing on an earthworm, “I SAID NOT RIGHT NOW!” he boomed across the foyer, so loud that his mustache almost flew off.  

           The shock made poor Timothy’s eyes flood with tears and he ran up the spiral staircase to his bedroom. His father has never been this angry before, and lately, Timothy was believing he may be the cause. He felt embarrassed, ashamed, and sadly I wish I never had to say, unwanted. He threw his shoes into his closet and he thrust himself onto the bed and he cried his tiny little heart out.

           I suppose I can fill you in now while he’s wailing. Don’t worry, I can tune it out. Timothy was always a bright kid. He primarily watched wildlife documentaries and studied herbology with his mom and had dreams of becoming a “Life Preservist.”. He was taken out of school for almost a month, though, when his mother passed. She was always sick, and I guess the beast finally brought her under. Timothy couldn’t read as well anymore and became despondent. He sometimes mixed up his letters, and when he was looking at a book, they all jumbled together and had some sort of word-like fog over it.

           Today was his first day back��as you can see, it didn’t go very well. Elias had warned the teacher but she paid no mind to it, thus resulting in Timothy’s embarrassment. Today was also supposed to be his family’s festival tour of the garden maze since it was the first day of fall…thus resulting in Timothy’s sadness. His room was already decorated for it. He had a string of pumpkin and bat lights all along the top of the walls, plastic and ceramic skulls on his bookshelf and desk, and a thick comforter on his bed with an autumn leaf pattern.

           On the corner of his bed sat a small handsome pumpkin doll. He had buttons for eyes and his head was a stripe pattern of creamy white and swamp green, with a long curvy stem. He wore blue denim overalls and a maroon sweater underneath, with one green hand and one white. And finally, two brown boots tucked into the overalls.

           It stared at him as Timothy cried. After a time, he felt it’s lifeless eyes boring into his skull, and he looked back at the doll with contempt. “This is the worst season ever.” He said, tears still welling in his eyes. “I’m broken, my family’s broken, and I can’t stop…” He stopped himself. Looking out the window, he saw the moon hovering above the garden “And now it’s too late to play ANYTHING!”

          He looked back to the doll. “I never wanted you anyway…” He grabbed the pumpkin farmer, opened the window, and aimed at the moon. It flew across the courtyard and into the maze. Then he tore down his lights, his decorations, and shoved them all in a box far back in his closet. Hopefully, he thought, I’ll never see it again.

           After a humiliating day, he removed his school day clothes and put on his light blue checkered pajamas and went to sleep.

           That night, he dreamed of his mother taking him into the maze. She still had hair then, orange like his, but hers was long and curly and resembled the color of autumn leaves. It was dyed, but she made it look so natural. Her freckled cheeks were almost flying off her face as she gave him a big warm smile. She blipped his bottom lip, which made a cute little popping sound and said something to him but he couldn’t hear the words. Then the scene changed. Her hair was gone, her face was pale, and she was in a wheelchair. “Come push me…” she asked, but her voice sounded reserved, almost like a megaphone with a pillow stuffed in it. Timothy shook his head. He didn’t want to, he didn’t want to push her. Then her eyes rolled back and she began to float out of her chair.

          He woke up screaming, sweating, panting. It was like his face was covered in slime, but he saw that he left his window open, which let in the hot and stupid summer air. He closed the window, stripped down to his underwear, and sat in front of his box fan on the floor to cool off.

          It was daylight already, but he felt like he didn’t get a single bite of sleep.

          Elias ran in with a concerned look, “You okay son?” he asked.

          Timothy wiped the fear from his face and said, “Yes, I’m okay. I just had a bad dream.”

          “Yeah me too.” His father relaxed and leaned against the doorway. “So I noticed you fell asleep pretty early. I’m sorry I scared you, I didn’t mean…” he faltered.

          “It’s okay dad. I understand.” Timothy stood and gave his father a hug.

          “Cheese and crackers.” He swore like a man. “Did you sweat all night?”

          “I accidentally left my window open,” Timothy admitted.

          “Oh, I’m sorry bub.” He rubbed his son’s cheek with his palm and thumb. It smelled of his peppermint soap. It was nice and cool. “By the way, the Principal called me last night. He said you could enter a special needs class to help adapt to your condition.”

          “Oh…” The embarrassment still stung from the previous day. “That’s good. I can’t wait!” He said as excited as he could.

          His father smiled warmly. “Thanks for being so understanding. We should go get some ice cream later!”

          “Yeah!” Timothy cheered.

          His father began to leave the room. “I know this is still a sore subject because it’s hard for me too, but I have to ask,” Father’s face was hidden from the doorway, and his voice was low, “Have you seen your mother’s wheelchair?”

          The thought of the wheelchair immediately brought him back to the dream. He shook it out of his mind, and replied, “No, I haven’t seen it.”

          There was silence for a moment. “No worries, son. I’m sure it’s somewhere.” He came back into the room, planted a kiss on top of Timothy’s head, and left.

          I am not going back, Timothy thought. The embarrassment was too much for him, and he didn’t want to be a burden any longer.

          He redressed himself in an orange tee with black horizontal stripes, a pair of tan cargo shorts, and grey tennis shoes with a green stripe.

          I know, he didn’t even shower before. Gross, right?

          He emptied his backpack of books and stuffed in some spare shirts, pants, a few pairs of socks, a handful of granola bars he had tucked away in his closet, and an extra pair of shoes. Before sneaking out of his room, he grabbed a bamboo walking stick and a picture from his wall of him and his parents, smiling playfully in the garden.

          The door sounded like a hungry cat as it creaked open. He peeked down the hall to his father’s room, whose door was slightly open. Elias was on the phone with someone. Probably his secretary. Then he tip-toed to the top of the staircase and slowly walked down, trying to be as light as he could without also leaning against the wobbly rail.

                When he reached the foyer, he could hear that his father already had his favorite cartoon on the television “The Great Adventures of Snerly James.” He could smell bacon, blueberry bagels, and warmed maple syrup waiting for him in the living room, and it made his stomach grumble like a mouse pining after some chocolate.

          He paused for a moment and thought Where am I going? When it came to family, this was it. He turned around to the French double doors to his father’s extravagant garden. Lush and full of life, and far out past the maze was a humongous field of green hills and tall trees. I know I don’t want to be here.

                He truly wasn’t thinking logically and sometimes I wish I could have turned him around. He opened the doors and slipped into the garden. His father wanted diversity in his backyard, so part of the garden had vegetables, like corn and pumpkins and carrots, and part of it was flowers, like daisies, roses, and tulips. In between the two was a circular fountain that had four otters across from each other, spouting water between their teeth to the top level of the fountain, which then trickled down to the bottom. Just a few steps away encompassed the rectangular maze that stretched over fifty yards and was twenty-five wide.

          Timothy knew the path to the gate, but as a surprise to him, some of the decorations from last year were still up. There were cow skulls embedded into the grassy walls, terrifying portraits of regular people with ghastly faces. No, I don’t just mean ugly people. And spiders, real and fake, were everywhere.

          It tugged at his heart because this was what they did every Halloween. He didn’t want to look at it, so he hefted his walking stick, kept his head down, and ran through the maze. This was his home, I could do this with my eyes closed.            Confident, right?

TRIP.

          He opened his eyes and saw gravity pulling him in for a hug, but first, it politely kissed his forehead. You know those cartoons where when someone gets hit in the head, rubber ducks start to float around their noggin? That’s kind of what Timothy was seeing at this point.

                Crunch crunch.. “I think you rather deserved that.” He heard someone say.

                Timothy slowly opened his eyes. He expected to his father, or even the gardener, but when he turned skyward, he saw no one.

                “You’re thinking too tall.” He turned to the right, and there he saw his pumpkin doll leaning against the wall, pulling a scorpion with a chewed up tail out of a crab apple. “Is this why they call them crab apples?”

[insidewanderland]

Traffic Light

When the traffic light turned green, the engines would start and their sound would fade in the distance while other cars were slowly approaching the red traffic light again. This would repeat itself throughout the day. Sometimes there were more cars than at other times, but if you wanted to look at something that was a constantly ongoing thing, this was perfect. Unlike the life of an individual, life itself would always go on. You would expect that this ongoing phenomenon, this routine, would start to get boring to look at after a while, but it never does when you are dead. Alive and well, you sometimes may feel fed up by everyday life and the same dull people and the same scenery and the same alarm clock going off every morning, but when you are dead and all, all you can do is watch this happening without any participation in it. And you could say that you start to really miss it. At least, I do.

After being dead for a while, you could start to bash yourself for the ungratefulness that you felt towards life. Perhaps it would have been better if you tried to see routine in a more positive light, or simply anything in a more positive light. The thing is however, when we are still alive, as well as when we are dead, we may often look back and wish we would have done something differently, but would we really have done it differently if we get a do-over? And if we could do it differently, if we could do it the ‘right way’, then maybe we would not learn anything from it. Perhaps doing it wrong at some point in our lives makes us a better person, while if we were doing it right, there would have been no progress. Though if we did it right in the first place, perhaps there was no need for progress. But who knows what right or wrong means? It has a different meaning to everyone, right? When I saw this sixty-eight year old lady (I assumed she was sixty-eight years old) smoke her first joint, just for the hell of it, she surely seemed to feel like she had done something wrong afterwards. Though in my eyes, she didn’t. ‘This isn’t me’, she was mumbling to herself. 

She didn’t know I was there – I’m dead, after all – but something inside of me wished she could sense my presence. When I just discovered that I was dead, I was seeking for recognition all the time, hoping that someone would notice my presence. I tried to scream, touch them and move things, but none of it worked. Apparently, I have no influence or whatsoever in the visible world. So I gave up. I gave up trying to be noticed. I didn’t care no longer. Except for now. I wonder if the sixty-eight year old lady would have been freaked out if she knew a dead person found her interesting, and was following her around everywhere she went. I did have the decency to wait in a different room when she was using the toilet or whatsoever. I’m a decent dead person. Mostly have been.

I think being bored with being dead caused me to follow her around. Normally I just watched people go by and never really focused on just one of them. I once followed a family though, but they were rather dull at some point. This lady however, she had my genuine interest. I wanted to understand why she decided to smoke a joint for the first time, and I wanted to understand why she would feel so wrong about it after she did it. If anything, I was jealous she was able to smoke a joint, because when you are dead, you can’t, you know. You could say it is easier to have lost the ability to be hungry and thirsty and sleepy, but at the same time you also lose some of the senses, such as taste and touch. Although smell is still there, which is a curse and a blessing. I think that the gods, if there are any, granted those who are dead at least that much. On a side-note, I have no clue who those who are dead are, because I have literally not met another dead person on the other side. I don’t know if that’s for the best or not, because if I don’t like them I would be stuck with them. You can’t kill someone who is already dead, now can you? Nor can you send them to some sort of ‘ghost’ prison, as they can go straight through the walls.

I keep straying away from my story about the weed lady. I think that’s what happens when you have been dead for a while. You have no sense of time any longer;  it doesn’t matter to you what time you need to be home for dinner or what day your brother’s birthday is again. I’ve literally got all the time in the world, so why rush?

Anyhow, during my little stalking session I discovered that the old lady conducted a lot of curious activities. I suppose they weren’t curious in themselves, but her reaction to it was.  Once, for example, I watched her get undressed and she spend the rest of the day walking around the house naked (until the moment the mail-man knocked on the door), dancing to some really crap music, if you ask me. It was the type of music you hear on the radio and all the cool youths are listening to. Now, there is nothing wrong with being comfortable around your own house going all crazy, but she seemed to be very uncomfortable in this situation. It was as if she forced herself to do it. Sometimes she stopped dancing and looked at herself in the mirror doubtfully. Sometimes she seemed to become conscious something or someone was watching her, and slowly opened the blinds to see if anyone was there. Little did she know someone was indeed watching her. Me! But I surely wasn’t the source of her paranoia, because no one has ever noticed my presence before. I am not even certain if I should be calling myself a presence.

Another curious thing she did - which wasn’t curious in itself - was going to a lounge on a Friday night. Her silver-grey, sleek hair was pulled back and she wore a deep red lipstick. I can’t deny she looked stunning. Whenever I hear passing-by humans talk about older people being ‘gross’ and ‘liable’, I just want to smack the image I have of this old lady in their face. Sadly, I am not capable of doing so. But if I could, I would. Before she took a step inside the lounge, I saw her take a deep breath and straighten her spine in as far as she was capable of. She looked confident. Even thought she may have feigned it, she looked confident. Turning heads, she did. She ordered a glass of red wine. I don’t remember which one she got, because I’m more of a beer-type-of-ghost. She was sat at her table, alone. Was she meeting someone? I don’t think so. I mean, I was always there, so I would have known if she made plans with someone over the phone or something.

She was looking about the room, like a predator would look out for its next victim. Eventually I saw her gaze fix on another woman, around forty-two years old, I’d say. Keeping her gaze fixed, the forty-two year old woman eventually met her gaze and looked away again, then met her gaze again and smiled. I am not entirely sure, but I suppose this is what is called flirting? I never understood how this worked, but perhaps if I just had gazed a bit more often at other humans I would have had a more eventful life, if you get me.

The forty-two year old woman got up from her seat and walked over to my old lady. ‘Can I sit here?’ she asked. My old lady gestured her to sit, and so she did. I may have a lot of time on my hands and go into detail about what they were talking about, but it isn’t relevant. What matters the most is what happened next. My old lady took the forty-two year old woman home. They continued to drink wine together in her living room, sharing some of their life stories and stuff. Eventually the forty-two year old woman kissed my old lady, who seemed a bit shocked at first, but she allowed it. When the other woman tried to go further though, my old lady abruptly got up from her seat and told her it was time to leave. The forty-two year old woman seemed really offended and left without a word of goodbye. When my old lady was left by herself, she was walking up and down the room, awkwardly laughing and mumbling to herself ‘What am I doing? I’m not even into women’. Was she just lonely? I mean, I understand. I could do with a companion.  

In fact, earlier that night, when the two ladies were drunkenly passing the Charles Dickens statue on the big square, I lingered for a while. I tried to communicate with the Charles Dickens statue. That’s how bad my loneliness gets sometimes. ‘Where is your spirit then? If there is anyone I would not mind being stuck with in this realm of spirits, ghosts, whatever you like to call it, it would be you!’ I then thought about it for a moment, and came back to it. ‘However, just because you wrote wonderful books does not make you a wonderful person. Maybe you were a complete asshole! Maybe you thought that you were better than everybody else. Maybe.. Well, I don’t know, Charles! Show yourself! Tell me how it is, if you dare.’ I didn’t mean any of this, of course. There is no way I could believe Charles to be a complete asshole, but I hoped that if I provoked him he would show himself and disprove my doubts. As expected, nothing happened, and I continued my little stalking session.

Now, as I said, there is nothing extremely curious about human-beings going out to a lounge on a Friday night and taking somebody home, but the real curious thing was that it seemed so out of character for my old lady. Not that I knew her character very well, but her whole demeanour showed me that it was something she would not normally do. The rest of that night, my old lady was wide-awake. I could see her staring at the ceiling, with her hands locked on her chest. She got up and went to the bathroom and leaned forward on the sink, staring at her face in the mirror. ‘What’s the matter with me?’, she whispered. She felt guilty, like she did when she smoked a joint. I did not really understand. Why do those things if they are not really you?

The following morning I watched her walking around the house, seemingly without a goal. I had no idea what was going on in that mind of hers, but it seemed to be working overtime. Suddenly she threw on her white coat and stormed out of the door, walking towards, what seemed, the beach. At one moment she was waiting to cross at my favourite traffic lights, where I often spend my time looking at the ongoing movement of traffic. What I like most about this particular crossing, is that the people always cross the road when they think the lights are about to jump to green, but are then utterly surprised by the cars coming from around the corner. You may ask me now: why do you like watching people almost getting hit by a car? Let me assure you that I would not enjoy it if this would happen for real, but it is simply amusing to me because it reminds me of my old self - they always cross when they shouldn’t.

Anyhow, my old lady was quite aware of this crossing’s trickery and waited patiently for the light to turn green. After fifteen minutes of following her, she arrived at the beach and sat on a bench that kept her protected from the wind. She had a very pondering look on her face and was completely fixated on the ocean. I wanted to know so badly what she was thinking about, because I failed to understand her. It seemed to me that she was experiencing a deep dissatisfaction with her life, but what can you do? She just sat there for three hours straight, ignoring the people passing by. It started to become very cloudy, but that did not seem to bother her. Eventually a stranger sat next to her, and I listened closely to their conversation, hoping it would give me some more insight. 

‘Evening’, the strange man of seventy years old said. My old lady gave him a nod.  ‘What brings ye here tonight?’ ‘I was hoping that the sound of the ocean waves would quiet the noise inside of my head’, she answered in an almost melancholic whisper. I was surprised she was so open to this stranger. Or perhaps it is easier to talk to a stranger, just like I find it easier to talk to Charles Dickens’ statue – he cannot judge me anyway. Besides, I’m a ghost. My life has already been judged, and that’s probably the reason why I’m stuck in this realm. Or maybe this is some sort of limbo. Maybe I’m in a long queue, waiting for my judgment. I expected they would have better time-management in the afterlife, but they sure are taking their bloody time. Then again, does time matter here?

‘And how’s that working for ye?’ the seventy year old man asked. ‘Not well. It’s all so dull.’  ‘What is dull?’ ‘My life. I am sixty-eight years old now and I don’t even feel like I have lived,’ she answered. Meanwhile, I was triumphing because I guessed her age right. ‘Ye feel an emptiness that cannot be filled?’ ‘Yes. Lately, I’ve been trying to do things I’ve never done before, but nothing seems to fulfill me.’  ‘Well, how about I invite ye for some of my cooking. It will surely fill yer stomach.’ ‘I don’t think…’ my old lady stammered, ‘I don’t know. That is very kind of you.’  The seventy-year-old man cackled. ‘Ye needn’t worry about my intentions. I really am just an ol’ man passionate ‘bout food.’   My old lady finally took the stranger’s face in properly, and internally seemed to debate his trustworthiness. My judgment never has been that good when it comes to the intentions of people, so I had no clue. I became worried for my old lady, though. What if he was some weirdo and put something in her food? Yet she took the offer and they both took of. I stalked them, of course, to his dwelling.

He lived in a reasonably nice apartment on the third floor near the sea. Regardless of his age, he was physically fit enough to walk the stairs, and so was my lady. For me, as a ghost, I could effortlessly move around. It did not tire me. Honestly, I don’t even remember the sensation of a tired and exhausted body any longer. I forgot what certain things tasted like, what they felt like. I can tell when there’s a breeze by the moving of the trees, by the fluttering of hair. Yet, I cannot feel the breeze. I remember that in my past life I enjoyed being outside on stormy days. My mother always warned me against it, but I did not listen – I never listened.

They say recklessness is bad. I used to disagree, but now I can safely agree. Recklessness is what brought me excitement; it is what brought me adventure. But look at me now. There is nothing I can do, but follow people around with a seemingly interesting life. It is depressing, I must say. It makes me long for life – any life. I don’t care if it’s a settled down life with a spouse, kids, a house, and a dull job. Anything better than this never-ending torture! I try not to think about it, I try to distract myself. Alas, that is why I’m following this lady now, but also because I recognize something of my past self in her. I used to do all this crazy stuff so that I didn’t have to think about any serious stuff. From what I can tell, my old lady always lived too safely, never questioning, never thinking about her purpose. So although we differ, I was the same as her in that aspect. Now I am stuck in this realm, and all I am left with are my own thoughts. Even if I did come to some sort of conclusion about the meaning or purpose of life, there is nothing I could do. It is torturous.  

Anyhow, to come back to my old lady and the ol’ grandpa: nothing happened. That is – nothing bad. He did not poison her. They ended up becoming lovers though, so maybe he did put something else in her food. Anyway, you understand, it became a bit dull to follow my old lady around – her dissatisfaction with life had temporarily been resolved after all.  Meanwhile, I am still roaming, wandering, lost. Perhaps other people’s dissatisfaction attracted me, because it would distract me from my own. Maybe that is why I am stuck in this limbo. They don’t want my grumpy, dissatisfied ass up their in Heaven. Or Hell. They banned me. You gotta be a real pain in the ass if they decide to ban you from both!

And so, I returned to the traffic lights, once again looking at the never-ending ongoingness. Is ongoingness a word?

[coombayayaya]

Crush 10/11/2018

Crush 10/11/2018

WARNING: There MIGHT be some bad language... MIGHT...

So... I messed up... In contrast to what happened two days ago, today I just went for it and uuuh... I messed up... This morning, I had so many thoughts bottled up in my head about the situation, and I decided to confront him about it... Well... I did it alright... In the book of “Things You SHOULDN’T Do To Be A Decent Human Being”, this was definitely one of them... I was sat in English class first period, and I saw that he was on Discord. I decided for some reason that this was the best time to do it. A few messages later, and I basically tell him that I think he’s a player. *piano crashes, Crystal jumps into a lake of fire, etc* Needless to say, he didn’t like that... He said that everyone saw him like that and that he was done with me... I’ve learned that telling the truth is the best thing you could possibly do, and well... This wasn’t the moment that was applicable... If I could go back in time I would’ve asked if I could talk to him in real life, tell him something else, but I didn’t... I told him what I thought and that somehow I still loved him. Yes, I said it, I love the kid, but... That’s not going to fix anything... I continued on with my day, and when we transitioned from first to second I tried to talk to him... He ignored me... I f*cked up... I f*cked up REAL bad... So then lunch comes around and at that point, I tell my friend what had happened... Now she’s the girl who Kito paid for, so she said “He’ll listen to me” and I was forced to apologize to him... NOT THAT I WASN’T GOING TO, heck I was DYING because I couldn’t, but she dragged me to him, and with eyes shut tight, I went with him, and surprisingly, he didn’t ignore me. I don’t know why he didn’t, but I apologized, and all he said was “alright”... He was also smiling the whole time, like not the kind of smile that’s weak, but the kind of smile that’s... Genuine... It was the kind of smile you’d see a child have when he’s at Disney... It was the happiest smile I’ve ever seen him have, and I don’t know why... Later, we walk into the Bible room and he seems happier, so I say “Someone seems happier” “Not with you” and I honestly don’t know what I was expecting. Heck, I don’t know what I’m ever supposed to expect with this kid, but that was said, and he told me “Remember, I HIDE my pain” and he points to his head. Do you know what I said? “F*CK OF-” nah that’s not what I said. I told him “Yeah, I know, do you really think that hasn’t been rolling around in my head all day?!” and then he went places to see where our class could go since the air conditioning was out, and we ended up going to the lobby of one of our multi-purpose rooms. I go ahead and take a seat by the window on the far side of the room, and at this moment it was raining a little bit, so it matched my mood perfectly. I also couldn’t help but think the whole time that I could totally break through the window and fall to the ground and die... Just a thought... Anyhow, the rest of the class walks in and Light surprisingly decides to sit at the other end of the room away from me and Kito takes a seat close to me. I DON’T KNOW WHAT I WAS EXPECTING QUITE HONESTLY. Then the teacher says the magic words “get into pairs of two” and of course, as usual, immediate eye contact. He shakes his head, but me being me, I raise my eyebrows to resemble either a “Are you sure?” or a “You don’t have a choice” face because he nodded afterward, and guess who just couldn’t take the hint. LIGHT. I swear... He walks over to my side of the room and he says “You and me?” “Sorry, I already chose Kito” “You always choose him, pick someone else”. At this point. I decide to toss down all my things and walk out because whilst Kito and Light are quarreling about, and a friend of mine said “She’s not going nowhere” and he was right. I walked out of the room, almost went back to the classroom, but I turned around and went back in. “OKAY, I AM A HUMAN BEING WHO CAN MAKE HER OWN DECISIONS AND IF YOU CAN’T ACCEPT THAT THEN SCREW OFF” or something like that. I then hear my friend behind me say “Oh yeah Jane is looking at Crystal like ‘YAZ QUEEN’” and it’s true!!! I hate it when guys objectify girls. We are humans too, and if you can’t accept that then I hope the next girl you f*ck is your mom. Anyways, I digress. It seems like he cares for me like he says... I mumbled something and apparently he caught on because he asked me if I said something. Of course with me being me, then I quickly dismissed it since it wasn’t important. He’s being... Passive aggressive... And I’m walking on thin ice... If I fall in... Will he save me?... Well that happened, then after class, I wanted to talk to him... Heck, I still do, and I want to sort things out, but I can’t... A few hours ago, he sent me something on Instagram, and it was a video that had a song behind it. Here’s a transcript:

“Love is not something you can pick up and drop the moment you catch feelings those feelings never stop you can say you’re over someone but you’re really not ‘cause in reality, your feelings are just caught up in a knot. See it’s hard for me to love you ‘cause my insecurities but it’s clear for me to see I wanna be with you”

Now why he sent this, well... There are several reasons I think. One, he could be trying to prove that he’s not a player because it says that once you love someone you can’t stop... Now, this could be something referencing his ex... He’s not over her so he can’t love me... Two, he loves me and he wants to be with me... Three, I’m overanalyzing this again... I just don’t want to lose him... That’s all... He hasn’t forgiven me... I’m not going to say “yet” because heck, I wouldn’t forgive myself... I just want to have a sit-down and figure everything out... I miss him, I’ll admit... I miss when we used to talk over the phone over whatever, and whenever we were in class and we didn’t do any work because all that mattered was us... *sigh* Well tomorrow’s the make or break of everything I guess because tomorrow’s Friday and I don’t see him over the weekend... Wish me luck... Bye.

[blackcoffeeandteardrops]

I don’t know how I had the brain space post-Ghouli to write something that is both sans-William and also pre-revival, but here you go. Basically, if the break up had to happen, I wanted it to count for something. Under the cut, but also available on AO3:

Pack a bag.

Aside from leaving, packing will perhaps be the most important step. Timing will be important with this. Pack it as soon as you know there's no other option. Any delay will cause you to rethink things and possibly change your mind, and having your belongings already packed will make it a fraction easier to say goodbye.

Tell them.

This step will hurt. You’ll stand in front of him, tears clouding your vision, and tell him it's the right thing to do, all the while wondering if you're making the right choice. He’ll either raise his voice or shrug and say it's inevitable, and either way you'll turn away wishing things had been different.

Leave.

You will cry. Maybe not right away, maybe not for the first few days, but this fact is inevitable. As you back away from the home the two of you have shared, turn the music up or find a good podcast to listen to, and lose yourself in the miles that slowly begin to separate you.

The urge to turn around will occur more than once. You’ll envision the look of surprise that would be etched on his face, imagine the words he’ll say, and you’ll want so badly to go back. Press your foot on the gas pedal and surge ahead instead.

Resist the urge to contact him.

In the days and weeks that follow your leaving you’ll be tempted to reach out to him, but try your best to resist.

In the dark of night, you’ll whisper your fingertips across your lips, pretending it's his mouth on yours. You’ll slip your other hand under your waistband and you’ll close your eyes and bring yourself to the edge, and when his name leaves your lips it’ll feel like a prayer. You’ll go to sleep feeling sated. For a while, it’ll be enough.

Date.

This will be difficult. You’ll try on several outfits--the first too revealing, the second too professional--before settling on something practical. He’ll pull out your chair and he’ll call you beautiful, and you’ll feel flattered. Don't feel guilty. Embrace it.

Still, when he leans in to kiss you at the end of the night, you’ll turn just slightly so his lips land on the corner of your mouth instead.

When he texts you the next morning to ask when he can see you again you’ll be tempted to politely decline, because it all seems so strange, this whole dating thing. You can say no if you want, maybe there will be opportunities along the road, but feel a small sense of pride either way. You're trying and while it's not much, it's a start.

Try something new.

Sure, going on a date just to prove you could is something new, but go a step further than that.

Go to the book club the nice nurse who always seems to be in surgery assisting you has told you about. Be surprised when it's an actual book club and not just an excuse to hang around and gossip. Remind yourself that it's okay so have friends. They might call on a Friday night and ask to go out for drinks, and maybe you’ll say yes. Maybe you’ll apply some lipstick and dab some perfume behind your ears and you’ll convince yourself that this is okay. But if at some point you find yourself thinking the music is too loud and the drinks are too pricey, retreat to your apartment and know that at the very least, you tried.

Talk about it.

Your mother will ask, because of course she will, and at first you won't know what to say. She’ll insist that the two of you will work things out and that it will just take time, and for a second you’ll catch yourself wondering if she's right.

Sure, you might have a good time apart from the relationship that has consumed your life for over twenty years, but there's an itch in the back of your mind that begs to be scratched. You deserve to be happy, you know this, but if you find yourself longing for the way things were, know that it's normal.

The man you went out to dinner with will send you flowers at work and on the card he’ll call you Dana. While the nurses are cooing over them in the staff lounge you’ll duck into the bathroom and splash cold water on your face, because while it's a nice gesture it still feels wrong, and you think you might get sick. You might go out with him one more time out of pity or to test the waters, but you’ll send him a message shortly after explaining that whatever he's looking for you can't provide.

You’ll book an appointment with your therapist and you’ll spend the first few minutes explaining your urge to get back on track. It's been too long, and while the therapist aims for the proverbial elephant in the room, you’ll draw in a deep breath and pretend it doesn't feel like they're pressing on a bruise. Talking about the most important relationship in your life proves difficult, but it helps.

Spend time alone.

You tried meditation once, years ago, when your sister insisted it helped clear her mind like nothing else, but for you it doesn’t work. You lace on an old pair of tennis shoes instead and pound the pavement, running until your lungs ache and your pulse races. There’s something thrilling about pushing yourself to the brink and then pushing even farther that allows you to clear your head and think.

In the weeks leading up to your departure, you might as well have been alone, but this is different. When you open the door to your apartment, you know that no matter which room you walk into, you’ll be the only one there. It’s nice in a lonely sort of way. There’s no one else to clean up after or account for and there’s no one to put on a show in front of when you’ve had a bad day, but as you burrow into bed after a long day you’ll remember how nice it was to have someone to share that warmth with. You’ll pull your wedding ring from your bedside drawer and slip it on your finger, twirling it around a few times, and you’ll miss him.

Branch out.

Time, it’s said, heals all wounds. And maybe this one won’t be healed, but when you press the phone to your ear and listen to the phone ringing, you’ll find yourself hoping it’ll at least be a start.

Your therapist has said severing ties might be a good thing, and you’ll think for a while that they’re right. Maybe what you did by leaving was the right choice, but maybe reaching out and trying to fix things is a good choice, too.

He’ll act suspicious when you call, so don’t be surprised. He’ll say that it’s been so long and that he’s missed your voice, and before you have a chance to stop yourself, you’ll let it slip that you’ve missed his, too. Still, he’ll ask what you want, and you’ll say how you just wanted to see how he’s been doing, but you both are old enough to know it’s more than that. Maybe it’ll be the wine that gives you an extra shot of courage, but you’ll down the last of what won’t be your first or final glass of the night, and you’ll tell him the story you heard once about how fate ties you together to the one you’re destined to be with. The line will go quiet for a few seconds, but then he’ll tell you he feels the figurative string tugging, and how he’s glad you haven’t cut it, at least not entirely. It’ll take everything you have not to grab your keys and drive straight home.

Take a chance.

When you get an opportunity to work together again, you’ll feel scared. You might consider saying no, especially in light of how easily the both of you have descended into darkness before. But the two of you are like a binary; you can’t have one without the other.

It’s not exactly like you won’t be spending time together anyhow. The phone calls will become more frequent, and you’ll stay the night a time or two. He’s getting better and so are you, and not just in a manner of speaking.

Work will be different though. You’re not as young as you used to be, and neither is he, and so when he’ll suggest a day in the park you’ll leap at the chance. You’ll meet him on a cold gray Saturday morning, and the two of you will go running before sitting at a cafe and eating breakfast. He’ll reach across the table and grab your hand, and he’ll ask if you think you can do this. You’ll steal a few seconds by drinking your coffee, because you won’t be entirely sure if he means working together or being together, but you’ll want him to mean both.

You’d be a fool to think it would come easy, though. When he’ll take off after a suspect (without backup, no less), there’ll be fear in your gut. You’ll trace his last steps and you’ll keep calling despite the fact he won’t answer. When he’s finally found and you’ve had the chance to check him out, you’ll realize that this time is different. He’ll say sorry, which is something he never used to do. Taking your feelings into consideration won’t be an entirely new thing, but the fact that he acknowledges it before you do will be.

Find a common language.

A night here and there will turn into a weekend, and then a week, and then suddenly more of your belongings will be at the house than at the apartment. You’ll get a notice saying your lease is up soon and you’ll consider renewing, but things between you will feel great, so what if you don’t? What if, instead of sticking with the status quo, you push the envelope a bit?

Work will be good, better than it ever was, and you’ll remember how fun it used to be. Going home at night will be different, too. In the past he’d be sitting in the same position that he was when you left that morning, but now he’ll walk through the door with you.

You’ll still have disagreements and you’ll still have pain. You’ll realize there’s a lot you never talked about, at least not really. Yelling and crying and actually hashing things out will feel foreign at first, but it’ll also be refreshing. Whether age or simply time will be to blame, you’ll appreciate things more, and so will he.

The darkness will still remain, lurking in the periphery, but it’ll be different. Together, the two of you will move forward, walking jointly as ever towards the light.

[yaelsstory]

Product Of A Murderer - Chapter 3

Summary: Yaël, a twenty-four years old girl with the powers to control the four elements, lost all her memories after a terrible incident. While trying to get her memories back, she somehow befriends Wade Wilson and Peter Parker. It’s a bumpy road,  because after being gone for almost a year, everyone thinks she’s dead and there are many different reactions to her comeback. That …and while struggling to remember her life as it was before, she discovers that she isn’t who she thought she was. Maybe there are a few things she doesn’t want to remember at all… .

Note: This story is the third part of the Sweet Child of Mine-serie. You can read the other parts of this serie on AO3 on my account (Caspinn) or on my friend’s account (kalkoenvsneoklak).

If you want to read more about the story of Peter, Tony and Steve, you should read part one of the series: Being a Stark.

If you’re interested in the story of Natasha Romanoff and James “Bucky” Barnes, I suggest you to read part two of the series: Golden Locks, Silver Arms.

The next morning, Yaël got a call from Diego with the message that if she didn't show up today, she'd be fired. In compensation, she worked a lot of extra hours in the following few days. On Friday, when she finally got home, she took a shower and put her pajamas on along with her fluffy socks. Once seated on the couch she received a text from Wade. A bit ashamed for not texting him earlier, due to her long working days, she opened it.  

- Yo, Sugarmuffin. Chasin the Squirrelgirl took me a few more days than I expected. Or maybe my decapitation did after I fell from a tree... on an electric fence.  Ukno, the sort with the sharp pin-thingies on top? Like in a jail? Not that I ended up in jail during the 6 days we didn't see each other. Hehehe. Well, anyhow, I somehow ended up in Death Valley, ukno, that place with all the sand and rocks? It took me until 2day to grow back arms and hands, so now I'm able to text again. I'm still laying in the sand at the moment, since I still only have grown back baby legs... But I think I'll be back by tomorrow evening. So, what do u think? Wanna hang out?

Yaël grinned as she read the text. So, this man really couldn’t die? How was that even possible? Or was he joking? How does a man get immortal? She received a following text.

- Because I'm a mutant, you know, like mutated. Like, really badly mutated so I have this stupid face now

Then he send her a selfie, making a peace-sign with a freakishly small hand. In the background there was only sand and rocks, like he had said. Yaël typed an answer.

- How did you even know what I was thinking? Dude, so if I shoot you in the head, you still won’t die? I had a lovely date with X a few days ago and worked long shifts after that, but I think your life has been a bit more adventurous in the past few days. See you tomorrow, moron. Xoxo.

Yaël sighed as she put her phone away and jumped on her bed which bounced back a little. Maybe Wade was a few hundred years old?Did being immortal count as a superpower? Wait a minute, was she mutated too?

She should call Cap and ask him… Yaël used to discuss everything with the man, because it always seemed he had some kind of answer to all of her weird questions and his patience was golden. She could ask these mutant-questions to Wade too, but the whole point was that she missed calling Steve for the simplest things. And having a conversation with Wade could go anywhere instead of getting answers.

She wanted to call Cap as soon as she remembered him, but then she discovered Wade had been right. X and Fury were keeping things from her. When Yaël had asked X for Steve’s number, he had shaken his head.

No, I’m afraid I can’t let you do that yet. You see, everyone that once knew you, thinks you’re dead, X had explained.

Of course, Yaël had asked him why.

That’s a decision Nick made. I think he sort of wanted to test you, see what you are worth without anyone around you to influence you. Maybe he wanted to see your true colors.

But Yaël was smart enough to understand. Fury put her in a cage like a wild animal to see if she’d become the beast he thought she was.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I want you to see your friend again. I’d be a shame if we’d keep you separated, but I want to talk to Nick first. So that he has a chance to prepare Steve and the others, if he wants to.

So, everything was actually in Fury’s hands… Great!

To distract herself a bit from her frustrations against Fury, Yaël took her phone back and went on the Wi-fi of the hotel next to the apartment-building. She researched about rosin for her bow and checked the prices for a new cello again. She had already done that a few times and every time she was disappointed again in how pricey these instruments were.

Without knowing it, she must’ve fallen asleep, because suddenly she was standing in the woods again.

“Jesus, am I going to have these dreams daily now?” she mumbled to herself.

“That’s strange, your beliefs never laid with Jesus.” Yaël turned her head. There he stood, not Steve, but the black-haired man. He was wearing some kind of brown, worn cloak which covered his whole body, so she couldn’t see what else he was wearing underneath. She couldn’t even see his feet by the length of the thing. Yaël had the feeling that Steve wouldn’t enter these kinds of dreams anymore now that she remembered him.

“How would you know that?” she asked him after she remembered he had said something. The man just shrugged as an answer. “Okay, then who are you?”

The man’s lips turned a tint lighter as he pressed them together after that question. For a split-second, it seemed like Yaël hurt him. But then, a smirk ran over his face as he answered.

“That’s not important now. What is of importance is that you break out of that cage.”

“Why?”Yaël asked. Not that she wanted to stay in that glass box, of course. The guy lifted his eyebrow sarcastically.

“How fast do you think you can get your memories back when you’re stuck in a doghouse?” he asked.

Yaël looked around. The cage was sealed with another glass plate that also looked like it was unbreakable due to its thickness.

“Don’t tell me you don’t know how to get out?” she heard the man mumble bitterly. He made her feel dumb.

“I have the feeling this cage was specifically designed to keep people like me in. It’s protected against my powers, somehow, I think,” she whispered these last two words, as she wasn’t really sure why she thought all of this. The man sighed, but his face softened.

“They once were, in the real world, when you were really stuck in it. But this is a dream, remember that. You can manipulate it.” Yaël nodded. Yeah, he was probably right. The problem was, Yaël knew well enough that she wasn’t trained at all. Controlling her powers was a big challenge. But she had to try.

Yaël breathed on deeply and rubbed the palm of her hands against each other. It had been a long time since she had done this, from before the accident. She sped up and as she breathed out again, she opened her hands. At that exact moment she steered a massive amount of fire against the glass wall.

Flames shot around and rebounded from the glass. Within a second, Yaël had the feeling she turned the cage into an oven and she was getting baked in it. The smoke started to suffocate her as she tried to take the flames back.

“Not your smartest move, Yaël,” the man said dryly, but he did nothing to help her. After a struggle, Yaël got rid of the flames, but was still stuck with some smoke and she was oh, so cold from using fire as she used a lot of her own body temperature to create the flames. She coughed and rubbed her eyes. Her heart raced as she started to panic.

Stones, she was in a forest, there are stones and rocks. Her lungs itched as she stumped a foot against the bottom glass plate. She shoved her feet apart from each other and bended her knees. As she quickly launched her fist into the air, she heard the dirt outside the cage, in front of the man, split open. Calmly, he took a step backwards with his hands against his back, to stay out of the reach of the giant rock she pulled out of the ground, like he had seen her doing that trick a million times before.

Yaël made pulling movements with her arms, her hands were formed into fists. As she kept moving, the rock rammed and smacked against the glass wall. It made a few cracks, but it went way to slow. Yaël had trouble with breathing from all the smoke.

“It’s just a dream, you can break it!” the man yelled at her. She almost didn’t hear him, with all the noise the rock made while smacking against the glass.

Yaël’s eyes itched so badly, she felt tears running down her face. Being cold while standing in warm smoke was a strange feeling. Moving her fingers started to feel weird. All her instincts yelled at her, she needed to do something or she’d die in that stupid cage. With one hand, she kept knocking the rock against the wall, with the other, she wiped away her tears.

Her tears.

Within a second, Yaël was steering water into her hand, froze it in her fist into a sharp shape and started throwing these pieces of ice, one by one against the cracks she was making with the rocks she was steering with her other hand. To be able to keep making ice, Yaël needed to distract some water from her own body. Which made her, by the time the glass shattered into pieces, dehydrated, cold and exhausted.

Yaël expected to be smacked by a pile of falling glass so she bowed and put her arm in front of her face, but it never came. When she looked up, there was no glass, not even a splinter. It looked like there had never been a glass cage in the middle of the woods.

“Oh shit,” Yaël mumbled, she looked around while rubbing her sore hands and could finally breathe again.

“Told you,” the black-haired man said proudly from behind her. But she didn’t hear him. There was another man, she just saw him when she turned around to search for any sign of the cage that had just caved in. He was sitting on the chair Cap sat in last time in her dream, when he was guarding her.

So it seemed this man was guarding her too, but he didn’t notice the missing cage, like it was still there, like Yaël never even used her powers. He just sat there, frowning at the screen of his tablet. It reminded Yaël to her last dream, when Cap didn’t notice the rain. Maybe her memories overlaid in this dream-world, but it was freaking confusing her. What parts of this dream belonged together? The man had dark hair, a goatee and dark eyes. His knee went up and down nervously.

Yaël heard something to her right and saw… another man. Great. He looked like a professor that needed a big coffee. He had a stubble, like he hadn’t shaved in a few days. His brown eyes looked tired and his hair was turning grey.

Yaël thought she saw something move to her left this time. She immediately knew who it was: the read-haired woman. She had seen her in the memory of Steve she had during the session with X. The professor also had shown Yaël a picture of the redhead. The woman looked at her nails for a moment and then crossed her arms. She shone out arrogance, but it made her look kind of badass.

Yaël scratched her head, she was a bit surprised. “Why are there suddenly so many of you?”

Everyone looked up, a bit confused, except for the cloaked man. He was the only one who reacted.

“We are all different paths, different memories you can chose to follow. You can choose who you want to follow tonight.”

Somewhere Yaël heard knocking.

“Will everyone come back next time after I followed someone in this dream?”

“I’m not sure… but…” The man looked confused and stared to the sky, like he was searching for something. Did Yaël just hear her name somewhere? He looked back at her and threw her a sad smile. Yaël frowned at him, blinked and when she opened her eyes, she was staring at the ceiling. For a second, Yaël felt dizzy from the sudden change.

“YAËL, GET UP AND OPEN THA DOOOOOR!” she heard a familiar voice yell from the hallway, crawled out of her bed and stumbled towards the door. “Yaël, sweet muffinpoodle!” Wade said as she opened the door. He immediately hugged her, but he hadn’t grown back to his full height, so he planted his face between her breasts. Yaël somehow had the feeling he had planned that, as he didn’t retract for a few seconds.

“Has your brain been ripped out too?” Yaël growled as she walked backwards into her apartment and shut her door while Wades face was still planted against her chest. Wade mumbled something. “What?”

As he finally let her go, he said “I just missed you!”

“Is that why you’re so early?”

“My legs suddenly had a growth spurt.” He grinned. “Oh, and I brought you something, because your hair really looks like shit…” he mumbled while digging into his ninja-turtles bag.

“Thanks,” Yaël answered sarcastically “I haven’t had any money to take care of it.” Wade was right. Yaëls blue hair was turning lighter and lighter and her darker hair started showing again at the roots.

Wade finally found what he was looking for: a bottle of hair dye. He raised his hand, holding the bottle, with full glory. Yaël raised an eyebrow.

“Wade… you bought purple dye,” she stated. Wade nodded enthusiastic.

“Cool ammiright?”

“My hair is blue,” she continued.

“Yaël, sometimes you need some change.”

“Do you see how much hair I have? You can’t do it all with one small bottle of paint!”

“Oh…” Wade looked a bit disappointed at his bottle. Then he looked back at her with a wide grin “Let me try it!”

“No.”

“We can binge-watch a series while I’m taking care of you. I have,“he started digging in his backpack again and pulled out some DVD’s, “Grey’s Anatomy, Supernatural or Rick and Morty!”

A few episodes of Grey’s Anatomy and Supernatural later, Yaël stepped into the shower to rinse her hair. When she got back out and dried it with a hairdryer, she grinned widely. Wade somehow managed to make the purple blend into the blue, so her hair was half-purple and half-blue. At some random places, the purple stood out more and on other places, blue, but Yaël thought it looked pretty cool for being an experiment.

Wades eyes shone like the eyes of a little girl when she stepped out of the bathroom. He was almost back at his normal length, Yaël noticed as he stood up.

“You need a cute name, like the characters from My Little Pony! Because girl, you look like an adorable, tasty cupcake.” He said while he was checking her hair.

“Are you flirting with me?” Yaël wiggled her eyebrows and smirked.

“What?! Hell no! Eew. My heart belongs to Parker and Parker only, girl.” Wade saved himself with some arrogance. “By the way… I’m going to invite Peter to join us this evening,” he added quickly. Yaël rolled her eyes.

“Oh, poor boy…” she mumbled.

“Yeah, so maybe you should put on some clothes,” Wade told her. Yaël looked down. She was still walking around with only a towel bound around her body from getting out of the shower.

“What? Are you afraid Peter will be attracted to me instead of you?” Oh, Yaël loved teasing her raisin-friend.

Yaël got herself dressed and a few hours later, after ordering some pizza, she heard a knock on the door.

“You go,” she said as she pointed at Wade “You invited this innocent soul, now you let him in, nah!” Wade jumped up and danced towards the door. Yaël put out the TV . She had seen enough of hospitals and the Winchester for today.

“Parker and pizza, best combination ever!” Wade joked, but he didn’t get a smile back. Instead, the teenager looked somewhat grumpy. He probably wanted to fill his evening differently, but he was trapped by Wade now. Peter dropped the pizza boxes on a small table that was meant as a post-table, but Yaël never got any mail, so it was permanently empty.

She saw the teenager stare at her hair while mumbling something to Wade about bringing his own pizza so he’d have something to eat if Wade started to probe him.

“You like it?” Yaël asked after Wade reacted fake-insulted by bringing his hand to his mouth.

“It’s artsy,” Peter answered a bit doubtful. He looked so uncomfortable that Yaël automatically threw him a wide grin. She stood up to get her box of pizza and planted her butt on the couch again with her feet on the small table in front of her.

“Hey, Petey, think fast!” Yaël looked up to Wade, who had yelled, while nibbling on her pizza. She was trying her best to keep the cheese out of her hair.

There he stood with a cheeky, almost evil-looking grin on his face and… her plates in his hands, which he was already throwing at Peter. What the actual f- HER PLATES!

Yaël dropped her pizza and made a movement with her hands. This way, she used air to make the plates fly over Peter instead of flying right in his face. The boy also seemed to have massive reflexes as he jumped back from the plates and before Yaël even noticed Wade pulled out a gun, Peter already had jumped up. Wade started shooting at the boy’s feet and out of reflex, Yaël stomped her feet. The tiles of her floor flew into the air. Using her powers, Yaël built a wall with the tiles. This way, she used it as a shield for her and Parker.

Wade lost his senses, Yaël was sure about that. Why would that freaking psycho start shooting at this boy?! With a few steps, Yaël put herself and her shield in front of Peter. Yaël checked on the teen, hoping he wasn’t hurt. Her mouth fell open and she stared at him, hanging on a wall like he pasted his hands and feet to it.

Okay, so, whatever. Peter Parker is a sixteen years old boy who can climb and stick to walls. Yaël surely didn’t saw that coming, but that was the least of her worries at that moment. She focused back on Wade.

While she was still keeping her wall of tiles up with her hand, she simply stared at Wade, more specifically at the hand that was shooting around and aimed with her other hand.  

“Hey!” Wade yelled as his hand froze. Yaël was perfectly capable of steering this power without using her hands, but using them was easier and made her more in control of her powers. Fire and water she could steer the smoothest. She could use these with just a blink of her eyes. Earth or stone was a bit harder, because of being a literal hard element. With this element, she always needed to move a limb as it felt heavy to manipulate this element. But air… that was a complete shit-element. Whatever she did with it, it always ended with a struggle, a fail or tiredness.

So after using air to change the course of the plates a bit so they wouldn’t fly into Peter’s face (she couldn’t even steer them to softly land on a table or shoot them back or anything), and after using it together with earth to make a shield for so long, she felt completely drained. She was trying her utter best to land the tiles back on their place, but some of them just fell and clattered against the floor, so she just let go of the air and fixed them quickly by using her earth-powers.

Peter and Wade didn’t even notice her clumsiness, because while struggling with the tiles, Yaël had already frozen Wade up to his neck without even noticing it. Yup, that’s exactly why Fury said she wasn’t trained enough. She quickly stopped the freezing procedure. Wade looked at her sheepishly, but she didn’t feel sorry.

Who did this guy think he was, tossing her plates around and shooting holes in her floor like that? Maybe Fury should pay him less after this act of insanity.

“What the hell is going on?!” she barked at him. She might be exhausted after trying to use her air-powers, but this man made her freaking rage! Yaël really didn’t have the money to buy new plates or to pay Peter’s hospital bills if he’d get hurt.

“Well, he’s Spider-Man, of course!” Wade said it like it was an obvious fact, like those words would justify his actions. Well, Wade could go screw himself.

“So, what? You just decide to throw my plates and start shooting at my floor to proof that this guy can swing from one building to another? There are other ways to do that, Wade!” Yaël barked, Wade flinched a bit.

Yaël was still giving Wade a death-glare as Peter asked: “I just want to know how you figured it out?” He looked confused and a bit stressed out. Was the Spider-Man-thing supposed to be a secret? Yaël understood, she didn’t want the whole world to know what she was capable of either. And Wade just gave away this boy’s biggest secret.

“I just know things; how’s MJ by the way?” Wade asked casually. He was way too relaxed for someone who just almost got frozen to death. On the other hand, Yaël knew she couldn’t have killed him. But right now, she wished she hadn’t stopped freezing him, so his head would be frozen too, because he didn’t look sorry at all.

“Who’s MJ?” Peter asked.

“Oh, you haven’t met her yet? Come on, I want pizza. Yaël, get me out of here!” He tried to wiggle his way out of the ice, but that was impossible. He’d have to wait until Yaël freed him or until the ice was melted.

And Yaël wasn’t going to help him. She took her box back from the table and sat down in her sofa again, signing at Peter to follow her. While they were eating, Wade made enough noise to talk for the three of them. He whined about his pizza and being hungry.

If she could just call Steve and rage about this new friend to him, because Wade surely still was her friend. Yaël was sure she’d find it hilarious tomorrow. And Wade was her only friend at this point. Was Peter a friend? Does kidnapping someone make you friends? Well, if Peter wanted to leave, he could, Yaël wouldn’t stop him. But he stayed, which made her kind of glad, because she didn’t want him, the only normal guy in her company right now, to reject her.

Yet, having a Steve would be fun too. He’d be so mad at Wade, well, he would’ve preached to the psycho until Wade would’ve fallen asleep or something. But right now, her dear friend still thought she was dead…

As Wade was still being grumpy about his pizza and rambled just to annoy them, Yaël took a look at Peter. He was just staring at the wall with glassy eyes, while eating his pizza.

“There’s something on your mind,” Yaël noticed. Oh, did she just say that out loud? Maybe she shouldn’t have said that, she didn’t want to break into the guy’s privacy. She saw Peter turn a bit in his seat, he looked so extremely uncomfortable that Yaël wanted to tell him he could ignore her statement, but he answered instead.

“I-I just don’t know you guys. Nobody’s supposed to know, but yet here we are, Wanda knows, you know. I wonder who else does.” Who’s Wanda? Whatever, Yaël wasn’t supposed to know this boy’s secret and now she did, thanks to dickhead Wade.

“There’s that old guy in the restaurant, with his moustache!” Dickhead Wade pointed out. Yaël cocked her eyebrow and glanced at him as a sign that he should shut up with his weird answers that no one understood. And then she got an idea, a way to make Peter feel better.

“You know, they send this idiot to me because they figured I need friends?” Yaël pointed with her thumb to Wade, who acted like he was offended, but nobody cared.

“Who are they?” Peter asked friendly.

“Two men, they introduced themselves as Professor X and Nick Fury.”

Peter’s eyes grew bigger “No way! You know Nick Fury and Professor X?” First,he spoke a bit louder and faster out of excitement, but then… he started rattling.

“Everybody’s heard of them, Nick Fury is like the most secretive guy-“

And he’s a complete ass, Yaël thought, but she didn’t interrupt Peter

“-we even thought him dead for long until he showed himself again during that Ultron-disaster! But Professor X! Man what’s it like, having him in your head?”

“Well,” Yaël scratched her head “It’s weird, man. He helps me remembering stuff by triggering my memories or something like that.” Peter lifts an eyebrow to Yaël, but it was Wade who explained it to him.

“Her brain’s scrambled and she doesn’t remember a thing.” She remembered Steve, but he might not remember her anymore, she thought sadly.

“I just figured out my dad wasn’t really my dad, and there’s a slight possibility that my real dad is still alive, and now I’m waiting for the DNA results,” Peter suddenly said. Did he say it to make her feel better about her mind-error?

Somehow, Yaël had the feeling that this boy couldn’t talk about this problem to anyone. It must be so damn frustrating, waiting to find out who really is your dad. But on the other hand, the way he spoke sounded like the man who had raised him, had died. So maybe, just maybe, if he finds his real dad, the man can be his new father figure.

Yaël sometimes missed someone like that, or someone like a big brother, like when she had troubles with the drains, or when she didn’t know what to read or what to play on her cello. Yeah, it must be great to have someone to fall back to.

But Yaël wasn’t naïve, she knew that if Peter figured out who his real das was, it still didn’t mean the man would take care of him or even want to know him. This man wouldn’t make Peter’s life all rainbows and cupcakes, per se. But when Yaël looked at his young face with eyes that show that the boy has already been through a lot, she could only be optimistic for him.

“Wow, but if he’s your dad, that’s kind of great, right?” she asked with a big smile. But Peter just shrugged.

“I’m not sure I want to know the answer to it,” he answered. Then he stood up, whiping his pants so that he was clean from pizza-crumbs. He was ready to leave, Yaël noticed, as she saw him looking around for his backpack.

“Well, if you want a daddy so badly, you can call me ‘dad’. Daddy Deadpool, wouldn’t that be great?” Wade suddenly said with a grin. Yaël sarcastically slapped her forehead after that. She did her best to keep her face straight, because she didn’t want to give Wade the pleasure to see her laugh at his dumb joke. Wade was still punished for being an aggressive dick, after all.

But Parked seemed shocked. Yaël had thought the boy would be used by Wades jokes by now. The boy seemed like he was boiling.

“Deadpool?!” He groaned. “Out of all people that have to stalk me, it has to be the one who would be able to send me to an early grave.” Oh, so that was his problem.

“Hey, I take that as an insult!” Wade shouted back. But Peter just ignored him with a hard face.

Oh, boy. Yaël needed to find something to distract these two before they’d kill each other. Not that Deadpool was able to move, nor did Peter look like someone who easily killed people.

“Hehe, funny, you both have superhero names!” Yaël muttered. Wow, nice work, Yaël, she thought sarcastically. Peter threw her a questioning glance and it was Wade, of course, who got distracted immediately.

“Yeah, cool, right? We should team up, become Spideypool!”

Peter shook his head “No way, are you even a hero?”

“And what if she joins us?” Wade nodded to Yaël, ignoring Peter’s biting question, still frozen like a popsicle. Yaël saw the curiosity in Peter’s eyes as he turned to her, also a bit distracted now, just a bit.

“Well, what’s your, eh, other name?” he asked.

“I don’t have one.” Yaël said. She didn’t want some kind of special name either.

“Why not?” Peter lifted an eyebrow.

“I’m not a hero, Peter. I work in gardens and play cello on the streets.”

“But you can be one, with powers like yours!” What could Yaël say? That she didn’t feel like a person to look up to? That she had the feeling she has done some horrible things in her past? She was no example, no hero. Yaël couldn’t even fully control her own powers.

“-the Mighty Sorceress, or The Element, or maybe The Rainbow Pony, or…” Wade’s chatter about finding a fitting name for Yaël pulled her out of her thoughts. Peter was even smiling a bit. What a weird group of friends have they created.Yaël grinned. Yes, Peter clearly had become a friend.

“You pay me new plates!” she growled at Wade as soon as Peter had left. She wasn’t finished with Wade just yet. It surprised her that nobody came knocking on her door yet to check if she was still alive after all the noise of gunshots and shattering plates. But she guessed everyone just minded their own business in this building. They hadn’t come on between when they heard her neighbor had fought about drugs with a dealer in the hallway, either. Luckily, only a few of Wade’s shots got through the floor, but Yaël didn’t know how to explain this all to Fury. He’d be so pissed.

Wade nodded quickly. “Yes, my German butterfly, I’ll buy you the fanciest plates ever made.” He answered her demand with some fear in his eyes. Yaël wasn’t sure if he was acting or not, but she didn’t care.

[radioactivepeasant]

Fic Prompts: Folklore Friday

Briar and Rose: The First Giant, part III

The half-elf Rose had not been gone more than five minutes before he came scurrying right back out of the cave with a ghastly look on his face. Princess Briar was certain this meant a fight was on the way and took a ready stance with her sword. Of course, when she thought further on the matter, one smallish human with a hand-and-a-half sword wouldn’t be much good against a giant that was reported to be as tall as four men standing on each other’s shoulders. But no daughter of Lady Thorn ran from a fight.

As it turned out, Rose was quite alone and had not been followed out after all, and the deep, snoring breaths still echoed evenly out of the cave. “He’s in there, alright,” he spluttered as he skidded to a halt beside Briar. “Sleeping like a babe and surrounded by bones!”

“Well what’d you come back out here for?” Briar asked, “You could’ve blinded him or something at least.”

“With what?” Rose raised his hands to emphasize that he hadn’t been carrying anything with him. 

Now, Briar thought it plenty admirable that her companion had decided to go in and investigate the cave alone. Very Stormhedge. But even Lady Thorn didn’t go walking into places like that unarmed! But she decided to let that lecture rest for the time being and return to the matter at hand.

“Well,” said she, “Has he got any sort of treasure in there? Maybe a sword up on the wall we could slay him with? Heart hidden where it oughtn’t be? That sort of thing?”

Rose hadn’t seen any treasure in the shallow and musty cave. What he had seen, besides a huge, lanky giant who smelled like decay, was bones. Lots and lots of bones. There were, for certain, the expected bones of oxen and swine, but there were a few suspiciously humanoid remains as well and that was what had sent him flying back to his companion so quickly.

“His skin appears to be very thick, a bit like leather, actually,” Rose said once he’d caught his breath, “I’m not so sure a sword will be much use, provided we can even reach a vital spot anyhow. We may have to try something else.”

“Well whatever we do, best do it soon,” Briar replied, “He’s liable to be up and about come sundown.”

A few ideas were bandied about and subsequently eliminated. They hadn’t time to go and fetch livestock to be bait, and there were no boats big enough to fit a trebuchet onto at the moment. Poison was out of the question, considering they had no practical experience concerning poison and giants. What might kill a man might do no more than inconvenience a giant, after all.

“Suppose we were to dig a trapping-pit, right in front of the cave?” Rose said at last.

“And just what, pray tell, are we meant to dig with?” Briar asked, a little amused, “I hope you don’t mean my sword. Mother would be frightfully cross at me if I blunted it like that.”

“That’s true,” Rose admitted, “But there are plenty of bones about that might do the job in a pinch.” This seemed like a satisfactory solution to them both, and they began the laborious process of creating a pit.

Of course, nowadays you probably wouldn’t expect a pair of teenagers to clear some eight or nine yards of sand and dirt in only seven or eight hours without proper equipment and without the resident giant noticing. But to be perfectly fair, the people of Stormhedge had gotten somewhat used to accomplishing the absurd, and this was by far not the strangest thing to happen in their land within the last ten years. Thus it was that by the time the sun was just beginning to sink low on the horizon, Briar and Rose completed their trap. There had been talk of filling the pit with sharpened stakes, but they dismissed the idea. Ten foot sharpened stakes anchored in the pit before nightfall? That would have been ridiculous.

“Wait a moment,” Briar said as they retreated into the trees to wait, “What’s our plan for how to dispose of the giant? I know I didn’t make one. At least, nothing past trap giant in pit.”

“Um...” And at this point Rose realized that they probably ought to have thought of something. It wouldn’t be very nice to just leave the giant in the pit to waste away, but they also couldn’t risk him just getting out and going about eating livestock and neighbors again. 

“Well,” Rose said after a long pause, “There’s still an hour or two before he usually comes to the coast. I could sail back and get some of your mother’s knights and they could bring a ballista. That might do the trick.”

“Yes, it might, but suppose he gets up early?” Briar pointed out. “I think we’ll have to search the boat and see if we can’t come up with anything ourselves.”

And that is precisely what they did. The most the pair could come up with, in the end, was a pair of oars, some rope, a barrel, and a slightly rusty mattock. Someone coming at the problem from a fresh perspective might’ve made some sort of rudimentary machine with these and the trees in the area, but it must be remembered that Rose and Briar had just spent seven hours digging a pit and they were already tired. Asking them to expend too much extra mental energy would not have resulted in terribly creative ideas. In the end, they simply tied the mattock to the end of an oar and went back to watch the pit.

Then Briar had the idea that if they woke the giant before he was ready to go hunting, they might have the advantage of disorienting him a little. And so, cupping her hands to her mouth, Briar let out her very best Stormhedge banshee wail.  Now I don’t know if you’ve ever heard a Stormhedge banshee wail, and if you haven’t you may hope you never do. But if you have, then you know that it will chill the blood and rattle the teeth of every living thing in a mile radius. Even the ones that haven’t got blood or teeth to speak of. And really, Briar ought to have warned Rose before she did it. But it certainly had the intended effect of waking the giant.

There was a crash and a clatter of bones from within the cave, and a gruff, booming voice uttering a long string of curses in several different languages, most of which no longer exist. Out stumbled the giant, waving his hands before his face as the setting sun shone directly into his eyes. With a cry of pained frustration, he squinted against the glare and did not look down at his feet, which was lucky for Briar and Rose. Down he went, down into the pit with a crash as he landed on the pile of charred bones that the diggers had thrown into it.

“Ah-ha!” cried Briar, and she leaned over the pit. “We have you now, my good fellow! It’s time you stopped stealing our livestock and leaving their messy bones in the fields!”

The giant looked mighty displeased about this, though his displeasure might just as easily been because he’d fallen into a pit upon stepping out of his front door, and that would make anyone irate. “See here, human girl,” he growled, “I’d leave your bitter herds alone if I’d the option, but I ain’t as fast a giant as I once was, and my other choices are somewhat limited.”

“Well why don’t you try fishing?” Rose asked.

The giant gave him a withering look, and Rose realized that on reflection that would probably be even harder for someone of that size.

“What do you eat other than livestock?” Briar asked, genuinely curious.

The giant grinned a great ugly grin, full of sharp teeth and a nasty little gleam in his eyes, and he said, “Human, when I can get it. But ye all run a bit to quickly nowadays. Cattle are easier to sneak up on.”

Well then. 

“I don’t suppose you’d be willing to perhaps not do that?” Rose asked. “We don’t especially like having our neighbors get eaten you know.”

“Well,” said the giant, “Ye look tired enough. I figure I’ll climb up out of here and just eat the pair of ye, and then you won’t care anymore, will ye?”

Briar and Rose didn’t particularly care for that idea. With a heave-ho they swung their upgraded mattock and that, really, was that.  “I can’t help feeling that shouldn’t have worked as well as it did,” Rose remarked, looking down at their now broken mattock-spear.

“Shh, best not to question it,” said Briar. “Let’s just throw some rocks in with him, just in case. And then we can go and tell Mother.”

“She’ll be disappointed she missed the chance to fight him.”

“I expect so, but there’s nothing to be done about that.”

This was, as they would later learn, just the beginning of a series of strange adventures. But for now, Briar and Rose retrieved their splintered oars and made for the boat, ready to return to the castle and a well-earned rest.

[emerysaks]

Unfaithfully Yours, Chapter 2

If you haven't read chapter 1, I suggest going here:http://archiveofourown.org/works/5051467/chapters/11616229

NOTE:This is the continuation of a story that Sarah_Dude and I began working on a few years ago. She gave me her blessing to continue it and even suggested I take her name off it as I continue to finish it. However, I cannot, in good conscience do that. Everything in this story was discussed by the both of us along with the talented Cassiopeiasara, and I can't claim credit for it. Without these two ladies, it wouldn't exist. So, if you like what you read, please do let these two wonderful writers know.

Chapter 2

It’d been two weeks since Peggy had departed and Angie had been left fuming. But after a week of being angry, she’d had another week to reflect on everything that had happened and cool off a bit. So putting off the inevitable, Angie finally sat down one evening and began composing a letter to Peggy. After all, she had news to tell her. A mere three days after Peggy had left, Angie had gotten the call that she’d been cast in the chorus of the off-Broadway production she’d auditioned for four weeks ago. Angie had pretty much resigned herself that she’d never make it big, but she had made a career out of being a chorus member and more importantly, she enjoyed it. She still got a thrill every time the curtain went up and the lights shone brightly on her. When she’d hung up the phone, a pang had shot through her. She wished Peggy could be there to see her on stage. That was followed by a scowl and a rush of frustration that Peggy had left so suddenly. Angie had spent the rest of the evening with a bottle of schnapps and a few more days of brooding before finally realizing the only person she was torturing was herself.

Between that realization and a new rehearsal schedule (which always cheered her up), Angie figured it was time to extend an olive branch of sorts. She chewed on her pen for a moment as she debated on how to begin. After a few false starts and wadded up papers, she took out a fresh sheet and began to write in earnest.

Dear English,

You’ll never believe it, but remember that play I auditioned for a few weeks ago? The one I’d pretty much given up on? Well, they called me on Friday and told me they wanted me for the chorus. It’s a good show, and I think it’ll be a lot of fun. Who knows? Maybe you’ll get back in time to see me perform. I know you can’t tell me much when you go on these missions, but I’ll keep my fingers crossed that this is a quick one and you’re home soon, safe and sound.

Angie paused and pressed the end of the pen against her lips. She wasn’t quite sure how to continue. After all, how did you say you’re sorry for sort of telling someone you wished you hadn’t practically married them? Taking a deep breath, she decided to simply plunge ahead and hope for the best.

Boy, did we make a mess of things. I won’t apologize for being upset at you for missing our anniversary. You were in the wrong for that, but I guess I could’ve probably handled it better on my end. Anyhow, I am sorry for the harsh words I threw at you when you left. I wish I hadn’t said some of those things – especially that I might have rethought my decision to be with you.

Peggy, I am glad we’re together, but I feel like we’ve been drifting apart these last few months, and I don’t know why. I want us to fix that, but I’m not quite sure how. What I do know is I love you.

Come home soon, English. I miss you.

I miss us.

All my love, Angie

***

Russia, 10 a.m. local time

Peggy Carter had been in godforsaken Siberia for almost five weeks and had just finally reached some semblance of civilization early that morning. After managing to catch a few hours of sleep, she’d headed to what passed as the mess hall, gotten some real food in her and managed to get an outside line to the States.

She was frustrated that she hadn’t heard a peep from Angie. Peggy briefly wondered if Angie had decided to give her the silent treatment. She bristled at the thought, but then quickly deflated, acknowledging that if she were, she most decidedly deserved it. She’d forgotten their anniversary and handled the aftermath rather poorly. Peggy didn’t blame Angie for being upset. At least, she didn’t blame her now.

Lifting the receiver, she gave the operator the familiar number for their New York City penthouse and waited. After a few minutes filled with the crackle of static, Peggy heard the familiar ring on the other end of the line. She took a deep breath and waited not quite sure what she would say when Angie picked up.

The line continued to ring.

Peggy bit her lip and frowned. It was almost 11 p.m. in New York. Surely Angie was home. Light sleeper that she was, it wasn’t like her to not pick up the line. Be that as it may, Peggy knew she couldn’t to tie up the line, especially if nobody was on the other end. With a disappointed sigh, she reluctantly returned the receiver to the box, effectively ending the call. She was frustrated, perhaps even more so than earlier.

With all their constant moving in and out of the field, God only knew when she’d have another chance to try and reach Angie. And if Angie was still upset with her that would only work against her and make things more difficult than they already were.

Peggy sighed and stood up, shoving her mitten-clad hands in her pockets. She took a deep breath and braced herself for the bitter cold before pushing open the door.

Stepping back out into the frigid air, she wondered why she’d ever chosen to allow herself to love again.

***

Angie dropped her key on the kitchen counter and plopped into a chair. Her dogs were barking, her throat scratchy, and she could’ve done without the sudden downpour that began only two blocks before she reached the apartment. She needed to get out of her wet clothes, but first, true to form, she sifted through the mail she’d grabbed from the hallway table on her way in and searched for the familiar handwriting she’d been missing for the last month and a half.

A sigh fell from her lips when she realized – yet again – there was no letter from Peggy. Shoulders dropping, she stood and made her way upstairs to their bedroom, trudging into the bathroom and stripping off her clothes. A moment later, she stood naked under the spray of hot water and closed her eyes in relief. The methodical pelting against her shoulder blades felt wonderful. Angie imagined she could feel the tension melting off her body and swirling away as it disappeared down the drain. When she finally turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, she felt loads better.

Wrapping a terrycloth robe around her, Angie made her way to the small desk that nestled against the wall of their bedroom. She sat down and reached into a drawer for a clean piece of paper and retrieved a pen from the tiny jar that set next to the mirror. She stared at her reflection and wasn’t surprised to see a tiny frown furrowed between her eyebrows.

It’d been more than a month since she’d written Peggy, and she’d heard nothing from her. No letter. No phone call. Angie knew there was a good chance Peggy hadn’t been anywhere near civilization to make a call or post a letter, but it didn’t make the lack of communication any less painful.

Still, Angie decided she’d write again. At least if Peggy was able to receive letters, she’d know Angie was thinking about her and missing her. Angie’s heart tightened and a brief flash of pain lanced through her as she wondered if Peggy missed her, as well.

“Can’t think like that, Angie,” she scolded herself aloud. “She’s just busy. Behind enemy lines and all that idiotic saving the world crap.”

She sighed and began writing.

Dear Peggy,

It’s Saturday night and we’re smack dab in the middle of a downpour. Silly me got caught in it on the way home, and I’ll be lucky if I don’t come down with pneumonia because of it!

Anyhow, I haven’t heard from you, so I figure you’re somewhere top secret, protecting the good old US of A and keeping all of us safe. You big knucklehead.

If you got my last letter, you’ll know I’ve been performing in the show I was so convinced I didn’t get. Well, good news! One of the principals came down with the croup (not so good for them, but it worked out well for me) and since I knew all their lines, I got tapped to step into the role. Can you believe it? My first real role in a Broadway show. Okay, so it’s off-Broadway, but I don’t care. It’s a role, and my name is in the Playbill. Take that, Arlene French!

One of the perks about that role is now I’m stepping out with some of the dancers and cast after the show a few nights every week. It’s really nice, Pegs. It’s been a long time since I’ve done that, what with our lives and S.H.I.E.L.D. and the need for secrecy. Don’t worry – I’m not spilling the beans on any of your top secret missions. We mostly talk about the show and who’s sleeping with whom in the show. Stop frowning at me. Gossip is an integral part of theatre life. Besides, I’ve heard you and Howard before, so it’s not just me!

I should keep this short. I know you don’t get much free time when you’re out in the field. But I miss you. Stay warm and call me when you can. Come home soon, English.

Love, Angie

[maidenariana]

Ari Beats the Gatekeepers Part 1 or.. Ari Knew She Was Right So She Went Around Those In Her Way

Unfortunately, due to the lack of clear guidelines and training in all levels of government regarding policy on transgender name and gender changes.. transgender people need to be prepared, they need to know more than 'the supervisor,' they need to be polite, but confident and assertive, and maybe someday, the gate-keeping will stop for all of us. Well, we can dream!

Today was a difficult day filled with aggravation and disappointment.. however, today was also a wonderful day topped off with a victory over red tape and a would be gatekeeper.

If you have been following my story long enough, you may remember I legally changed my name and updated my driver's license and social security card information in May of 2016. Well, I was also in the midst of my divorce during that time. I wanted to apply for a passport since I never had one before. I filled out the paperwork over the summer and set it aside. I wanted to be able to apply with the divorce date filled in so the records were accurate. I decided, "no rush, I can wait until my divorce is final." I did not anticipate it taking 11 months for my divorce to be final. It was not contentious.. my ex and I handled ourselves in the best manner possible in my opinion. Still, due to all of the built-in delays (30 days to respond here, 30 days to respond there) and some rather inept lawyer-ing from her representation.. it took 11 months! 

Guess when it was finally final? The irony.. it was Inauguration Day! That's right, I waited to send out my passport application due to that one little box not being able to show that I was legally divorced and in doing so, I am one of the transgender people now holding my breath to see if I sent it in time. In time for what, you ask? In time to be treated like a human being rather than be treated like a criminal by the wretched hive of scum and villainy that is now the white house.

Anyhow, one of my loved ones had to be admitted to the hospital on the 19th, just one day before my divorce was final.. this threw a new wrinkle in things as I took the needed time to care for my loved one. She had to be top priority. My passport application waited another two weeks for me. (My loved one is due to be released tomorrow - yay!!!)

Finally, yesterday I went into my local post office which is also an acceptance facility for passport applications. I asked the woman working the passport desk to take a new photo for me because the Walgreens employee made me look like a grandma in my first attempt at getting an acceptable picture. This woman had kind eyes and she was also very knowledgeable and patient. She went through all of the paperwork I brought... my physician's statement, my legal name change court order, my photocopy of my id.. then she paused.. 

"Is this the only birth certificate you have?" she asked. I said, "Yes, Why??" (as my heart began to sink)

"I'm sorry, but you need the long form and this is the short form. They will reject it immediately if your parent's names are not on the copy."

My heart sank as she told me I could get a copy the same day if I went to one of the Cook County Vital Records locations. I thanked her and decided I would just take the next day off (Friday) and take care of it. I double-checked the website when I got home and confirmed that the nice woman at the post office was correct. She had not given me bad information. I just missed that detail in my research. 

I started Friday morning at the dentist getting my newly prepared crown put in place of the temporary crown I got 3 weeks ago. Once that was complete, I was off to the Vital Statistics room of the Bridgeview Illinois Court House. Of course this involves going through a TSA like security (only not as invasive). They had the lines split for men and women. I of course went through the women's line. They were nice enough and there were no issues. I found the right room, took a number and waited. I got called up to a station and told the woman that I needed a long form birth certificate. I showed her the short form one that I had (with my original birth name), my court order for my name change, and my current license. She started punching things into the computer then went to get a supervisor. Of course, I could already tell this was not going smoothly, but I hoped the supervisor knew the drill and knew that everything I brought was more than sufficient to prove who I was. NOPE! She told me that there was no way they could issue me MY birth certificate since my driver's license now stated a different name. She said that I could be anybody. I had given her a stamped and sealed COURT ORDER for the name change and she told me she could not help me. 

I was so dumbfounded by the inept logic that I did not have the words to argue as she handed me a form to fill out and ship to Springfield Illinois so that I could have my birth certificate updated (a process that takes 4 to 6 weeks) BEFORE they could help me. Of course, as you can tell from the title of this post, I knew this supervisor was wrong. I decided then and there that I would visit each of the 5 other Cook County locations that day until I found a supervisor that knew the actual guidelines. Of course, because of the extended conversation about my gender and my name change with many people behind me waiting for their turn.. I had about 12 pairs of eyes looking quizzically at me when I turned around to leave. That's okay though, because I smiled at them all, knowing I was right and that this was not a true road block. I imagine I had a rather determined look on my face..

It turns out, I only had to visit one more location! That's right, after another twenty minutes of driving, the helpful people at the nearby Markham, IL location sorted me out in a matter of minutes (well, after I waited in line for about 25 minutes). The clerk did ask for a supervisor, but she returned just to tell me that I should make sure to also send the right form to Springfield, IL so that my birth certificate would match my ID in the future. I promised her that I would. I paid for two copies of my birth certificate and thanked the woman.

I glided out of there, feeling like I had just won a major victory. I knew I had enough time to get to the post office and still get my passport application out that very same day. I drove straight there (an hour drive back by that point). It was the same woman who had to turn me away the day before. I said cheerfully, "Hello again! I have the correct long form birth certificate, although I had to go to two different locations to get it!" I explained what had happened to her and she basically shook her head and lamented that it was sad I had to go through all that. She carefully went through all of my documents and told me that everything looked good and that I was all set. I paid for expedited processing and my passport application is now on an airplane.

I went home, filled out the form I was given to change my birth certificate and went back to the post office to get that sent out along with another physician's letter and legal name change court order. This should not impact my passport application, because with expedited processing it should be finished by the time they get to my birth certificate change in Springfield (a slower process by all accounts). If my passport gets rejected because the birth certificate I sent has my old name and the system gets updated and shows my birth certificate has changed.. then resubmitting will be fine and less complicated because my birth certificate will show the correct gender and they will have no reason to question it or to deny it. What a tangled web.

By this point it was late in the afternoon and I was elated to have all of that done, but I also had several stress knots in my neck. I looked across the street and saw one of the salons that I frequent. I decided to get a blow out (they also give you complimentary neck and shoulder massages). The girl doing my hair did a great job and had some suggestions for a cut as well. I plan to go back on Wednesday for a cut, but went with just the blowout for today.

The point of writing all of this out is that I hope it is helpful for anyone else dealing with this. Even if you have only one county court house you can visit, perhaps going on a different day and getting a different clerk will get you different results. It is unfortunately a toss of the dice every time we as transgender people have to deal with changes to identification documents. Be in the know, do your research, know more than the supervisors, be prepared to politely but assertively stand up for what you know to be the correct process. You could also even suggest that they call another location to ask how they handle it if they are unsure. 

I titled this post with "part 1," because I am fully aware, that there is a strong chance that either my passport application or birth certificate update request will be denied. As long as one of them comes back as expected, then I know the next attempt should be the last to get this all finalized. Of course, Mr. Drumpf could sign an executive order on Monday that calls all of this into question and both of my requests could be halted. If that happens I will immediately contact the lawyer who represented me for my divorce (she is also a transgender woman) and together we will take on the U.S. Government if we have to. 

I will keep standing up for myself and keep going to any lengths to make sure I am not denied. You should do the same 😉

-Ari

My goal in sharing my transition is to represent transgender people in the positive light that we all deserve. Re-blogs are always okay if they are for this purpose, but if you are a fetish blog or fetish website then I want nothing to do with you and you do not have my permission to use my images.

[ddrkirbyisq]

Things have been pretty okay!  I think the past few weeks have been some steps in the right direction, which feels nice. General Stuff I saw Kiki in a dream the other day.  I really wonder, what they think of me, how they are doing, and if I really will ever see them again.  Haha, well, not like that's anything new, anyways.  Only time will tell. It's better to prove yourself by following through, rather than offer promises. I've been thinking a lot about regaining more of a sense of my old self, and I think I've really started to get in touch with some things and made some realizations.  Perhaps most importantly, I have remembered that feeling of calm and peace that I carried in myself.  Not all the time, for there were also many periods of uncertainty, but those times when I would be content to just be.  I think that feeling is perhaps a large part of what I have been missing in recent times.  That mode where you are conscientious about everything you do, carefully placing your movements and actions as if you were performing tea ceremony.  I tried on Friday to return back to a time of quiet in my dance as well, and I think it taught me a lot.  It amused me a bit because it went against quite a few things that I have been preaching generally when I work with others on their dancing, yet I understood so clearly that this was also an essential duality of my nature, not something to be left behind entirely. Hoping to maybe mark the return of OHC and Monthlies next month =O Tactics Ogre Stuff Tactics Ogre (specifically, the One Vision mod) is proving to really be something that I have been sinking myself into...it's been pretty great.  Despite the fact that there are no sort of "cross-job skill combos" as there are in FFT (one of the funnest parts of FFT, IMHO), there is a LOT of opportunity for customization and flexibility in how you build out your squad and characters.  I've recently been exploring a bunch of these options to see what makes sense, and have learned quite a number of things along the way. One of the main customization options is equipment.  First off, there different =types= of armor, and you can only pick two at a time to wear: Body armor which offers the best defense but is heavier, Helms which are a bit lighter but still offer good defense, Legguards which focus more on evasion, and Gauntlets/gloves which forego defense in favor of upgrading your offensive stats.  But past that, there are different classes of each, with some jobs being limited to what they can wear.  The Ninja class, for example, only has access to light armor and caster robes, so he can't go in wearing heavy tank armor.  You could focus instead on boosting evasion, but that would still probably leave you soft to magic damage.  Knights, on the other hand, can wear heavy armor, and they can't use 2-handed swords, so they also have a shield to help with their defense. But wait -- there's more!  There are "sidegrades" (not upgrades) for both armor and weapons that let you make specific tradeoffs.  For example, you can craft gloves that sacrifice some of their strength bonus and give you a bonus to magic stats instead, for mage knights.  You can take a 2-handed sword and make it deal more damage, but at the expense of speed and accuracy.  You can take the avoidance bonus from legguards and replace it with a magic resistance bonus.  There's all sorts of flexibility! It's pretty interesting because in general when thinking about equipment, you want to maximize the unit's strengths, but also want to cover its weaknesses.  Previously I was taking a bit too much of a min-maxing approach and as a result many of my units were a bit too frail.  I tried to forego defense in favor of speed (allowing my units to act faster) and all-out offense (everyone had gloves!), but I've since had to scale back on that to avoid my units dropping like flies. Recently I've changed up a few of my builds significantly.  My two Valkyries/Spellblades (Rune Fencers), for example.  Valks are sort of a tricky unit to deal with since they can be front-line units but also can cast a limited selection of magic.  Previously I had them equipped with a one-handed sword or spear, and had them basically casting support buffs, as well as throwing items around -- basically full-on support units.  That worked out sort of ok, but the problem is that they were never super great at any of their roles -- if I wanted melee damage, my warriors and knights did better, and if I wanted healing, my priest can just sit in the back and heal from afar.  The support buffs were useful for a while, but nowadays the Sword dancer can actually apply them in a huge area (and I have him do that at the beginning of most battles to cover my team).  So right now I've changed things up so now my valks both have staves, as well as mage gloves and rings which boost their magic, so they are essentially mages, but a bit tankier so they don't have as many problems being in the front line.  This works pretty well because my lineup was actually fairly low on magic damage output, so this balances that out a bit. My priest (actually called a monk) sits in the back and pretty much just does healing.  Healing doesn't really scale with stats (confusingly enough) which means I'm actually optimizing her for speed, so she has no weapon!  That said, sometimes she also casts a speed buff on herself or someone else (very nice), or casts sleep on an opposing unit (also very useful). One unit I really haven't figured out how to work with is the Familiar, which is a faerie-exclusive unit.  This unit had problems in the original game as well, apparently.  It can cast healing magic, which lead me to basically use it as another cleric...though it can also cast a bit of offensive magic.  It also has a bunch of neat TP-requiring abilities, such as some nice debuffs and a large area heal...but the problem is that in order to gain TP you need to either deal or receive *physical* damage.  Unfortunately the Familiar is also really squishy and often dies if you put it in the front lines.  So it's sort of a weird conflict that I haven't figured out.  Right now I've tried giving it a dagger and shield, and an evasion cloak to boost its survivability.  It's still a bit awkward though, as if I need a heal, it's probably more important for it to heal.  And if it's attacking with its dagger, it's not doing a ton of damage or anything.  I could give it a one-handed bow, but again, that wouldn't really do a ton of damage.  It's a weird unit. Update: I've actually had a short discussion with the creator of the mod regarding the Familiar!  He says he hasn't gotten around to a full proper rework of the class and so right now it's a support-type unit with some mediocre stats, but also neat abilities, haha, which is sort of in line with what I figured out already.  I also discovered that besides faeries, you can also have gremlins (didn't realize for some reason they are a different race altogether) and pumpkinheads (!) become familiars, so perhaps I just have the wrong stats for the unit to be effective.  I'll have to try and recruit some more faeries/gremlins to see. I've changed up my winged human Canopus, which uses the "Vartan" class, as well.  Canopus has a pretty great mobility advantage in that he can fly, which makes a huge difference in many maps.  Previously I just gave him a two-handed axe and called it a day, but unfortunately as I got further on into the campaign, that led to him flying into the enemy, getting a great attack in, and then dropping dead soon after since he was super exposed and didn't have much protection -- Vartan can't equip heavy armor!  I also realized that it didn't make quite the most sense (?) to equip him with a melee weapon as he can't equip heavy gauntlets, so he can only wear the armguards that boost dex.  It's a bit confusing because dex DOES still increase melee damage as well, just not as much (well, it depends on the weapon, really).  It would be great if he could use a 2-handed bow or crossbow, but that option ended up being overpowered so it's actually not allowed in the mod (good reasoning).  Instead of a 1-handed bow I've actually just gone ahead and given him a throwing weapon -- so still a dex weapon, and still 1-handed so he can have a shield, but does more damage than a bow at the expense of having less range...which works out because he can easily fly behind enemy lines and get up close to the squishy units at the back anyways. Anyhow, I'm actually near the end of chapter 4 (on the "neutral" route) at the moment, ready to go into the hanging gardens and deal with the dark knights.  Not sure how long until the end of the game, but that's where things really start to get crazy as you can essentially newgame+ back to the other storylines and finish other sidequests and such.  There is like infinity hours worth of postgame content so...yeah, we'll see! Melee Stuff I've realized that I need to be a little more dilligent in what I am focusing on when I am playing, lest I just keep on doing the same silly bad things over and over.  My current biggest thing is working in empty jump -> grab into my game for all characters, but here's some other notes for things that I need to work on. All characters: - Stay shielding on a platform when they are below you, angle shield down, WAIT, don't just drop through asap (I really suck at this situation right now, every time I prep for a shield drop and either get shieldpoked or fall into a waiting uptilt because I did a braindead timing) Marth: - Empty jump grab - Backthrow on platform to shield->shield drop uair - Look for fsmash out of uthrow - Uthrow to reverse fair - Fsmash on tech away when under a platform - Upair strings out of upthrow on FD - Some random edgeguarding things Fox: - Empty jump grab - Upthrow -> use up on control stick to fulljump ff upair - Upthrow -> drill reset Falco: - Shinegrab - More uptilt in neutral, and in combos Falcon: - Dthrow at edge -> REACT, either turnaround sh ff knee if close, or run out dj uair if far (we'll see if i can get the actual timing right on the dj uair, if it keeps on clanking and they're too far to hit before starting, then maybe sh out is better than run off) - Fastfall timing for sh knee to cover missed tech (I miss this like every time right now and it sucks) - WAIT before back sh knee to cover tech roll in Sheik: - Mixup between sh nair and run off dj nair to edgeguard - Empty jump grab Peach: - Waveland on platforms to catch techrolls - Upthrow -> dash attack instead of trying to regrab - A lot of float stuff

Other Stuff

Been itching to play Space Alert again at some point, haha.

Tried Baldur's Gate 2 multiplayer a bit...the BG2 interface definitely takes a bit of getting used to and...I feel like this is definitely a game that needs to be played singleplayer, really.  I feel like it also requires a lot of knowledge going in already, like if you don't know what all of these gajillion spells do, good luck trying to figure out how to use them.

[amongushq]

Welcome to Among Us, RAL! ECATERINA BRÂNCOVEANU ( with the faceclaim of ALIA SHAWKAT ) has found shelter in NEW ATHENS, where we hope SHE will fit in nicely. Please make sure to check the “after applying” section of our navigation here!

Hunters of Artemis being immortal, there’s always a great opportunity for a deep, well-researched, intense backstory and this is exactly what you have delivered with Ecaterina. The immersion into the different time periods shown in her app was excellent, both technically and in terms of writing style. Not to mention the spot-on Artemis and Apollo, who added levity to the whole thing -- thus reinforcing Ecat’s anger, outrage, and trauma. The latter isn’t discarded or handled too lightly, instead becomes an inherent part of who she is while not defining her completely. Her personality shows through both the backstory and sample parts of the application, and we can tell she’s someone the others can count on to fight back and take action. Because of her terrible experience, her opinion of the Recall is logical, a cold rationale we wish didn’t make as much sense. While it makes no doubt more people share her point of view, we’ll be watching as this Hunter tries to wake people up around her, and make her voice heard over Zeus’ order.

AND YOU ARE…?

Somewhere in a small village in Lesser Wallachia, December 13th, 1568

“Have you heard? That gypsy girl Amira is in labour.”

“Gypsy? I thought she was one of those blasted Ottomans.”

“I heard her skin darkened after she copulated with the devil. The child will have skin dark as the night and black demon eyes.”

“Does it matter? That cursed coloured witch is about to give birth. On Friday the 13th. If she survives the birthing, it’s clearly blood magic. God would not spare such an abomination during childbirth unless there were dark power involved. The child won’t last long, that’s for sure. God will damn her and her spawn, may He save us all.”

Amira’s baby girl wasn’t born with ash black skin or completely black eyes, but with light brown skin, a face full of moles and freckles- “marks of the devil!”- and deep, brown eyes. She nor her mother were neither gypsies, Ottomans or witches, but descendants of a family of Arab traders. The father was thought to be a young Wallachian man with a family too ashamed to be associated with “a gypsy whore” or a demon lover. Neither options were right, but no pious man or woman would even consider the father to be the Greek god of music.

The mother named her newly-born girl Ecaterina, a beautiful Wallachian name, in the hope she could blend in easier. It did not work.

Amira and her daughter went on to live in a caravan on the outskirts of the village, close to the woods, far away from the villagers with their sharp tongues and judgy eyes, where Amira could raise Ecaterina in peace, where she could teach her the secrets of nature and the art of palm reading. They might not have been gypsies, but Amira was smart enough to play on their reputation. Tarot cards, palm readings, medicinal herbs, you name it, they had it. And the villagers, despite their gossip and prejudice, couldn’t resist a glimpse into their future or something to delay their journey into an early grave.

–

The same village in Lesser Wallachia, January 4th, 1587

“They’re witches, clearly,” a farmer says to the crowd of people around him. It started off with mostly curious, nosy women and a couple of Godfearing maligners, but slander attracts all sorts of people, quick.

“The girl is possessed by a demon! That’s why she has such accurate predictions. I’ve seen her tremble and black out- a possession! She’s possessed!” a furious woman shrieked, almost delirious.

One by one, people joined in accusations- who cared if they spoke the truth or not.

“They make potions under the disguise of medicine!”

“The girl is a sodomite. And she has the devil’s marks all over her!”

“They can transform into black cats!”

A loud shout pierced through the murmur of the angry mass of people. “They belong in Hell!”

The whole crowd erupted into madness. “In Hell,” they all screamed. “In Hell!”

–

Amira’s caravan burned down the same night. No one bothered to go looking. No prayer for the dead was uttered.

Soon, Amira and her daughter were forgotten.

–

Somewhere in the woods close to the small village in Lesser Wallachia, January 5th, 1587

A list of things Artemis expects to find in the Eastern European woods: wild blueberries, a sizeable deer population, coniferous trees.

A list of things Artemis does not expect to find in the Eastern European woods: her shirtless brother dancing with naked nymphs, a priest in the middle of self-chastisement, a young girl rolling around, groaning in pain.

Unfortunately, the former happened more often than she would like it to. Actually, she should expect it by now.

Finding Ecaterina was a first-time experience. Artemis could smell burnt skin. The girl was covered in dirt and old leaves, letting out deep grunts of pain, breaking out in cold sweat. Even though she undoubtedly was in an immense amount of pain, Artemis could feel the girl’s strength, her determination to die with dignity. The pain didn’t allow the girl to speak, but the Goddess understood. It was a cry of help.

Artemis could use her.

–

“Salutations, sister of mine. How can I be of service for you today?” Apollo was shirtless and glowing, far too happy to be in the presence of an injured human.

“Aide her.”

“No, ‘if you please?’” All he got as an answer was a silent glare. “No? Then let us help this young lady. I can never resist a beautiful damsel in distress.” Apollo crouched down next to Ecaterina and poked her cheek. Again he was met with a glare, albeit this time with more pain in the expression. “Touchy. She shall survive, however. I will tend to the wounds on her back and give her ambrosia, that will suffice. It will stop her physical distress. I cannot prevent scars however. The burn runs deep. What happened, did they tried to burn you at the stake?”

He meant it as a joke, but the girl’s glare and attempt to punch him was a clear indicator that he’d just truck a nerve. As long as he did not hit any literal nerves later. Not that he would, ever. He was a genius.

He missed the times where there were shrines dedicated to him everywhere. Those were the good times. Now they all believed in only One God, who was good and sinless and boring.

–

“I pledge myself to the Goddess Artemis. I turn my back on the company of men, accept eternal maidenhood, and join the Hunt.”

“Welcome, Hunter Ecaterina. May you enjoy the company of your fellow hunters and always remember the oath you recited.”

–

Bethel, New York, August 17th, 1969

A list of things Apollo expects to see at the Woodstock festival: good music, drugs, Dionysus talking three girls into an orgy with him.

A list of things Apollo does not expect to see at the Woodstock festival: right-wing conservatives, all-black outfits, his sister.

“Yo, sis! What are you doin’ here? And you brought your pretty Hunters too!” He shook his golden curls and gestured animatedly with his hands. Once again he was shirtless, but he was not the only one by far. Apollo was pretty sure he’d spotted a topless girl just five seconds ago. He loved it here.

“Dad sent me to look after you again, and Dionysus. See that you don’t get into too much trouble.” Artemis was wearing a long, flowy dress, round glasses and beads in her hair. He felt the need to document this so he could taunt Artemis with this for the years to come. Her Hunters were dressed similarly, blending in seamlessly with the rest of the hippies. They all were trying to look like they weren’t excited to be there, but most of them failed- their eyes were twinkling, one girl was tapping her fingers on the rhythm of the beat, another one was staring admiringly at the musicians on the stage.

Apollo scoffed. “I’m being a good boy. I’m just enjoying myself. As should you. This is a historical event, so go and be part of history.” He took off his sunglasses and winked at the nearest Hunter, a freckled girl with wild curls in an oversized floral shirt. “Hey, I know you. You’re the girl I helped in the woods. Wanna help me with some wood now?” He waggled his eyebrows and ignored the shouts of protests of Artemis and her followers. “You’re all so boring. Go have fun, sis, if you’re even capable of doing such thing.”

With a short huff, Artemis turned around- in the direction of the crowd, not towards the exit. Ha, Apollo thought victoriously. Got ya. Her Hunters followed suit, except the one he winked to. “Ah, so you are going to help me with my w- no hitting immortal deities, dear. Or anyone, actually. This is a no violence zone.”

The girl sighed. “What did you mean earlier? You helped me?”

“Yeah, I did. When Artemis found you, she asked me for help, and you should thank me, because otherwise you’d be dead by now! Well, I mean, of course you’d be dead by now if you hadn’t been immortal, three decades have passed, but anyhow-“

“You healed me? But you’re incompetent.”

Auwch, that hurt. “Incompetent? What kind of crap is my sister telling you? I’m incredibly smart! I’m a walking work of art. I’m a genius and incredibly handsome, I’ve invented all the instruments and then some, and I’m a true lover at heart.“ He paused to wait for the applause. The girl just raised an eyebrow. "It’s a limerick. I visited Ireland a while ago, and a quick tip, avoid the North. But you see? I’m a genius.”

The girl stared at him, her eyebrows furrowed. She did not look impressed. “You really are as annoying as Lady Artemis has claimed.”

“That hurts, girlie.”

“Ecaterina. Not ‘girlie’.”

Apollo waved her comment away. “Yeah, yeah. Any more questions, Kitty Cat, or are you done?”

She looked ready to yell. Apollo grinned widely.

“Yes,” she said through gritted teeth. “I am- having these visions. Lady Artemis said you could help.”

“Visions? Like prophecies? Don’t tell me you are my next Oracle.”

“Not prophecies. I just see quick flashes, like someone I know doing something, and then I faint. I excelled at palm reading and tarot cards, however.”

“Hm.” Apollo tapped his chin. He felt like he was missing something. “What else can you do? Music? Healing? Archery?”

“I’m the best archer we have. I don’t seem to have a musical talent, except some basic rhythm. And every hunter heals easily.”

“And when were you originally born again?”

“1568. In Romania- well, Lesser Wallachia at the time.”

“Did your mother’s name start with an A? Arianne or something?”

“Amira.”

Apollo clapped in his hands. “Amira! Right! She was one foxy lady. Well, sorry to tell you, kiddo, but you’re one of mine. Seems like you have an aptitude for divination and that’s what the flashes are.” He spread his arms wide. “Now come and give your father a hug!”

Ecaterina looked absolutely shocked. “You are my father?”

“’Fraid so.”

The realisation was visibly sinking in. When the girl finally understood that he wasn’t kidding- even though he had a great sense of humour- she promptly turned around and walked away.

“That’s no way to treat your father, young lady!” Apollo laughed. Artemis was going to be so pissed when she found out.