#anyway happy birthday Zone! welcome to the majors

[army-of-mai-lovers]

Comparing ATLA’s Jet to Cowboy Bebop’s Spike

(this is so late, but. Happy birthday @the-hot-zone​, hope you had an amazing day) 

In my opinion, Cowboy Bebop is one of the greatest shows ever created. It hits a lot of my personal favorite attributes in a TV show: cowboys, fantastic music, absolutely spectacular animation, really deep themes and characters with rich inner lives, worldbuilding that’s thought out. Simply put, it’s a masterpiece. 

I started watching Bebop this summer, at the height of the ATLA Renaissance, and the first thing I noticed about protagonist Spike Spiegel is that he looked a hell of a lot like Jet from ATLA. And it wasn’t just the looks either: like Jet, Spike is the leader of a ragtag group of misfits living on the fringes of society. Like Jet, Spike is a smooth talker. Like Jet, Spike is compassionate and cares for other people, and like Jet, the world has hardened Spike to the point where his virtues can still lead him down the wrong path. And while Jet isn’t named for Spike, there’s a character in Bebop named Jet (he sort of plays the right hand person role that Smellerbee plays for Jet in ATLA.) They’re not completely similar--Spike isn’t fighting for anybody’s liberation, whereas for Jet that’s a core aspect of his character--but it was enough to make me wonder about how Jet was designed and how much influence Bebop had on his character design and on ATLA as a whole, and whether looking at Spike can illuminate some of the conversations we’ve been having about Jet. 

A little about the inspiration and process of ATLA: Bryan and Michael were working on shows like Family Guy when they decided they wanted to make something more sincere and more cinematic. They were both really inspired by anime. Bryan said “Back in the late '90s I was getting pretty disillusioned with working on sitcoms -- then I saw Princess Mononoke and I was emboldened. My heart was so much closer to that kind of story, those kinds of characters and that type of tone. After that, Cowboy Bebop really inspired us in terms of being a great example of an epic series that had a wide breadth of tones. Then FLCL came along and rewrote the rules for everything, as far as I'm concerned!” I haven’t seen FLCL, I’ll admit, but having seen both Bebop and Princess Mononoke--yeah, I get that. Both are incredible pieces of art that, for me personally, make me want to push myself as an artist, and I cannot recommend both enough if you haven’t seen them already. 

So, Bryan and Michael decide they want to make something inspired by shows like Bebop and movies like Princess Mononoke, they get a pilot order from Nickelodeon and, as is custom at the time, they start reaching out to East Asian animation studios to help them with the animation. This video is a great source for how ATLA in particular interacted in this environment, but suffice to say that Bryan built a relationship with the studio that did a lot of work for ATLA, JM Animation, and gave them a lot of creative freedom in making the visuals of the show. This included designing Jet and the rest of the Freedom Fighters. 

[ID: An image of Jet from ATLA from the shoulders up against a sky background fading from blue at the top to white at the bottom. He had dark skin, shaggy black hair, black eyes, eyebrows turned way up, a smirk on his face, and some wheat in his mouth. He is wearing a red jacket with a gray popped collar. End ID] 

[ID: An image of Spike from Cowboy Bebop from the shoulders up against a sky blue background with trees behind him. He has shaggy dark brown hair that has a slight bit more curl in it than Jet’s, dark brown eyes, light skin, and a closed mouth smile on his face. He is wearing a blue suit with a yellow shirt that has a popped collar, and a skinny black tie/ End ID] 

So, let’s look at the character design. Both Spike and Jet have these long, angular faces, shaggy dark hair, long necks, broad shoulders, dark eyes, some popped collar element to their attire, etc. While both characters are pretty tall and lanky, Spike’s height is more immediately obvious than Jet’s--in fact, I wouldn’t think of Jet as a tall character had I not seen some fandom height comparisons. The most obvious and immediate differences between how the characters physically look are their clothes, which are very different (likely due to the setting--ATLA is set in a proto-industrial war-torn society and Jet in particular has had to scavenge his clothes from Fire Nation troops, while Bebop is a space epic set in the far future), the lack of mouth wheat for Spike, Spike’s incredibly normal looking eyebrows versus Jet’s adorable long division eyebrows, and, of course, their skin tones. Colorism is something that people bring up a lot when talking about Jet’s character, and I have to wonder why Jet, a character that was so clearly inspired by this light-skinned character who was morally ambiguous in Bebop, was made darker-skinned when explicitly coded as a “villain” in ATLA. 

In fact, colorism is a super important aspect of how Jet and Spike’s stories are told. To its credit, ATLA has two MCs (Sokka and Katara) with dark skin (not that the fanartists who whitewash them notice) while Bebop has just one (Ed). However, it’s important to note that Sokka and Katara are each portrayed in ways that Aang or other lighter-skinned characters in the show simply aren’t. For example, despite both characters being literal teenagers, they are sexualized within the text of the show. Another example of the colorism in ATLA is, of course, Jet, a Brown boy leading a resistance against oppressive colonialist imperialist forces, being so unambiguously vilified. Yes, within the text, Jet has some sense of complexity, especially in Book 2, but even that is undermined by his death at the hands of the Dai Li. Jet is never given the subjectivity of a character like Zuko. In fact, it’s pretty clear that Jet’s redemption and subsequent death happens when it does to demonstrate what Zuko is capable of if he makes the right choice. Whether or not this is a good decision writing-wise is another discussion, but the fact of the matter is that in using Jet to further Zuko’s arc, bryke used a Brown teenage boy/victim of imperialist violence to prop up the narrative of a light-skinned prince/perpetrator of imperial violence. This is not to say that Zuko shouldn’t have been redeemed or that Jet shouldn’t have died or that the narrative shouldn’t have dedicated time and attention to Zuko’s story, but it is to say that ultimately, the writers of the show decided that Jet’s subjectivity was a tool to further Zuko’s actualization. 

Contrast this to Spike. Bebop is about a lot of things, but a core part of it is exploring Spike’s backstory and way of looking at the world. It’s part of what makes the show the show. It’s the thing that keeps you liking the guy even when he says or does something absolutely unconscionable. Nothing in the show is more important than Spike’s subjectivity. The show may have individual episodes that focus on the other main characters, but it’s pretty clear that it’s really *about* Spike. Where does Spike come from? What is his obsession with the past? Why do all these people want to kill him? Who is Julia? These are all prescient questions that I had as a viewer of Bebop, and these were questions that were not only important to understanding Spike Spiegel, but to understanding the narrative that the writers, director, and animators are telling. Bebop is nothing without Spike’s subjectivity, and the people behind the show invest in his narrative even though he does some pretty horrible things! (kills many people, is part of a crime syndicate at one point, says some pretty misogynistic crap, hell, the whole concept of the show is that he and his buddies hunt people down for money.) As I said before, Spike is morally ambiguous, an antihero, and the people behind Bebop run with that, because that is an integral part of the story that they’re telling. 

You could certainly argue that ATLA, being a show for children, needs clear heroes and villains, to be unambiguous in its depiction of right and wrong. And to an extent that would be correct. But let’s not forget that ATLA is not shy in its depiction of morally ambiguous characters. That’s an integral part of what the show is. Characters like Zuko, Iroh, Mai, Azula, and Ty Lee are beloved despite (or perhaps because of) their complex moral frameworks. Zuko, Mai, and Ty Lee in particular move between designations of villain, victim, and hero pretty fluidly (Iroh and Azula are two other conversations in themselves.) I personally am okay, and in fact delighted, to have Zuko, Mai, Azula, and Ty Lee in the show because I think their stories and the ways that they move between evil, good, and morally gray are incredibly compelling. We know why they act the way they do, and we can condemn or validate their actions while always knowing exactly where they’re coming from. 

But then I see Jet. Jet, whose village was burned down by the Fire Nation. Jet, who survived by himself and helped 5 other people survive along the way, while leading an organized resistance against the Fire Nation on wits alone. Jet, who somehow ended up in Ba Sing Se, his new family cut in half, wanting to start over. So much of him is a blank slate. Where Spike in Bebop, or Zuko, Iroh, Mai, Azula, and Ty Lee in ATLA, get fleshed out, have the writers convey specific information that helps the audience understand their actions and motivations, even if they’re wrong, Jet never gets that sort of care in his narrative. Jet never gets to be the center of ATLA, even for a moment, even in his own death. There’s always something more pressing, something more meaningful, than Jet. You could argue (I certainly would) that the show would be better if we spent more time with him, if the writers cared to understand him, but unlike Bebop and Spike, the show doesn’t revolve around the audience understanding Jet. The story is coherent without him. In book 3, despite the fact that Jet sacrificed his life for them, the Gaang only brings up Jet once, and that’s to condemn him. Jet’s story is a tragedy, an important one, but only insofar as it props up other pieces of the narrative. And that’s the most tragic part of it. 

[spideyhexx]

the cookout; b.b. + s. l.

pairing; bucky barnes + sylvie laufeydottir + female!reader

a/n: umm thank @vineridden for talking to me about this and our shared love of Sylvie and Bucky. I couldn't help myself. Pls reblog/comment/give feedback!

masterlist

summary: Sylvie picks up on you and Bucky thirsting over each other and decides to do something about it...and perhaps involve herself.

NSFW 18+ Minors DNI please!!!

WARNINGS: mom's best friend!sylvie. college aged reader and bucky. dirty talk. threesome. grinding. spitting. soft dom!sylvie. some sub!bucky. some dom!reader. oral (female receiving). fingering. unprotected sex. facial. handjob. spanking. kind of edging. some voyeurism. use of the word "whore"

word count: 4.3k (oops)

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Sizzling grills, water splashing, and the loud chatter erupts from your backyard.

Well, more specifically, your parent’s backyard. It’s not uncommon for them to throw huge cookouts, but this one was big. It’s an anniversary, welcome home, birthday, all the major events tied into one.

You didn’t mind these parties, but part of you wished you could just skip it and stay locked away in your room all day.

It was all good and fun, but the amount of people your parent’s would invite could become quite overwhelming.

One of the only good parts was Bucky. You hadn’t seen him in a couple months, due to the two of you attending different colleges, but that never stopped your frequent texts.

He lived in the house next door, your whole lives spent just a few paces away.

Getting through these parties together almost felt like a tradition. But this time, there was something different in the air.

You did not expect to be hit with a wave of awe as you watched Bucky greet your parents. He was always handsome and perhaps not physically seeing him for a bit made him look better, but shit was he gorgeous. His tight t-shirt was hiding nothing, making the muscles he worked hard on strain more prominently.

And you internally rolled your eyes at his swim trunks that had a cat pattern on them. Seems as though he still loved silly designs.

Your breath catches when he spots you, a grin spreading across his face as he jogs over.

“Flower! God, I’ve missed you,” Bucky says, pulling you right in for a hug. You want to tell him you missed hearing that nickname, but decide against it.

“Missed you too, Buck! Are you ready for a long night?” Bucky smirks at your statement.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you clarify and Bucky still has the smirk on his face. His hands have not left your waist and you wonder if he could tell how much of an effect it has on you.

“I know, just teasin’. Did you hear Sylvie is coming?”

There’s the other good part about these cookouts. Sylvie, a friend of your mom’s.

It was only recently you started to develop a crush on her. With her witty comebacks and smooth accent, it was hard not to.

You might’ve drunkenly admitted your crush on her to Bucky during a late night phone call and he has not forgotten. I

t was easy for you to confess this crush, but somehow not the one you had begun to develop on Bucky himself. You felt a little ashamed that you have been developing feelings for your mother’s best friend, but nothing would ever happen, right?

Bucky tilts his head and pinches your waist.

“You’re already gettin’ lost in your thoughts thinkin’ about her!”

“Oh stop, you think she’s hot too,” you tease, your voice a tinge too loud and Bucky shushes you, putting a finger on your lips.

He did think she was hot.

Bucky revealed his crush on Sylvie as well when you first talked to him about it.

Since then, the two of you joked about it pretty often, but now was your first time seeing her since you’ve acknowledged the little (maybe big) crush.

“Hey Bucky!” One of your cousin’s calls out to him and he looks back at them, before turning to you.

“I’ll see you in the pool?” He questions and you nod, watching as he runs off to talk to more people.

He trips in his flip flops and you burst out laughing, not being able to contain it. Bucky whips his head to look at you and flips you off.

You take one last look at how good his back looks in his shirt before migrating to the lounge chairs, hoping there’s a free one.

That is when you spot Sylvie, laid back in one of the chairs, a drink in her hand.

You take a deep breath before approaching the seat next to her. She smiles widely when she notices you.

“Gonna give me a hug, flower?”

Sylvie beamed, placing her drink down to pull you in for a hug.

Flower.

You could not decide if it sounded better coming from Sylvie or Bucky. Relishing in Sylvie’s hug, you have to stop yourself from pouting when she pulls away just a bit too soon.

“How’re your studies going? I know you were practically jumping to get away from here?” She asks, settling back into her chair.

“School’s good, it feels nice to be around so many new people but, I’ve missed being home if I’m being honest,” you say and she nods in understanding.

“I know I’ve missed seeing you around, flower.”

A heat rushes across your face and you’re happy it’s hot enough outside to keep a facade up. You turn your head away from her, fearing you would end up lost in her eyes.

What you did not expect was for your eyes to lock onto the sight of Bucky taking his shirt off. It’s as though he meant to take it off in slow motion as he carefully lifts it over his head and throws it onto a chair. He puts one foot in the pool and retracts it.

You can vaguely hear him yelling about it being cold.

Bucky sits at the edge of the pool, letting his legs get used to the temperature.

He runs a hand through his hair, making it messier than it already is. Sylvie clears her throat and you turn to her.

“He is an attractive man, isn’t he?”

Her question catches you off guard for a moment, but nonetheless, you answer.

“Yeah, he is.”

A slight weight falls off your chest at admitting it, but how could you not?

Sylvie smirks, “Don’t look now, but he’s checking you out.”

You go to look anyway and sure enough, he’s gazing at you. Bucky turns his attention to a bowl of chips once he notices you caught him.

“You two are so adorable,” Sylvie says.

“Are we?”

She scoffs and leans in closer to you, almost whispering.

“Very much. You’re taking turns checking each other out.”

You laugh and look back at Bucky, who’s decided to lay back in a chair, his legs spread just enough for you to squeeze your thighs together.

“You should go over to him and sit on his lap,” Sylvie mused, chuckling at your shocked expression.

“What?! No, no I can’t do that Sylvie!”

“Why not? He was looking at your bum and now he’s rubbing his thigh, glancing at you like he’s waiting for you to take a seat.” You ponder her words for a moment.

Yes, sitting on Bucky’s lap sounded like a great idea, but you were a tad nervous.

“And I could tell you want him, honey. Do you know what eye fucking in? That’s what you’re doing.”

The fact that Sylvie could see so clearly through your lust filled eyes also managed to send sparks around your body.

“If he rejects you, you can sit in my lap. Now go, flower!”

Well, you couldn’t say no to that. Standing up, you adjust your swimsuit, then walk over to Bucky.

You run through what you should say once you’re by him, but you can’t decide on what would be best.

Too many thoughts are running through your head. Sylvie offering her lap. Her words about sitting in Bucky’s lap and the way his hands look even better against his thighs as you get closer.

“y/n,” he addresses.

“Can I..um, can I sit with you?”

Bucky raises his brow for a moment, but nods and pats a spot on the chair next to him.

“No, I mean, on you. On your lap,” you say and Bucky’s heart skips a beat.

“Sure you can, flower” he says cooly and he immediately wraps his arms around your waist as you settle against his chest, on his lap.

His hands feel warm against your skin, yet send a shiver up your spine. You allow yourself to lay your head on his shoulder, shifting around in his arms to get more comfortable.

“Careful,” Bucky mumbles, clearing his throat. It doesn’t take long to realize you shouldn’t squirm too much.

But you want to. You catch Sylvie’s eye and she smiles at you, raising her drink and then sipping from it.

“Did you have a good talk with her?” Bucky asks.

“Mmhm. She told me to sit here,” you confess, wanting to know his reaction.

He’s quiet for a moment before replying “Mischievous, huh?”

“Like always, but didn’t expect her to...help with this...I suppose.”

“I’m happy she did,” Bucky says, pressing a short kiss on your cheek.

You sit with Bucky for a bit, zoning out and trying to memorize the feeling of his hands splayed across your stomach.

How when he speaks, you can feel his breath hit the side of your face and his voice drops to a lower volume when he only wants to speak to you.

Being so caught up in your thoughts once more, you can’t help but squirm a bit, his arms tightening around you.

“You’re gonna cause a problem,” Bucky tells you, a slight smile playing on his lips. You push back against him and he contains a groan.

“Seems as though I already caused a problem.”

He chuckles and sighs deeply as you wiggle against him, reveling in how hard he’s gotten from your movements.

“We should go inside,” he mutters and you turn slightly to look at him.

“And do what?”

You feign innocence, but the smirk on your face tells Bucky you know exactly what you’re doing to him.

“Do I have to say it?”

You nod at him excitedly and he gently pushes your head to the side so he could lean his lips against your ear.

“I want to go inside so you could properly touch my cock, since you’ve had so much fun the past twenty minutes grinding against it.”

His words send a shudder through your body and you take one last glance at him before standing up. Bucky follows suit, placing a hand on your hip and keeping you close to his body to perhaps hide his rather big hard problem.

You lead him through the house to your bedroom. You don’t notice how fast you’re walking until Bucky pulls at your wrist and gently pushes you against the wall in the hallway.

“Slow down, flower,” he starts, bringing your hands up to his shoulders. He dips his head down to nudge your nose against his.

“Are you sure?”

You nod and Bucky, with a tinge of hesitance, presses his lips on yours. At first, the kiss is simple.

Bucky’s fingers rub against your sides gingerly and he’s taking his time to feel your mouth on his for the first time. You pull away first, your lips lingering on his own.

You catch your breath, not even realizing how fast your heart was beating. So many feelings are rushing through you, but the main urge coursing around is the one to smash his lips back onto you.

One of your hands drifts up to the back of his head to encourage his mouth back onto yours in a searing kiss.

His actions are a little more desperate as he nips at your top lip and presses his body closer to you. The strain in his swimsuit is undeniable and you whimper as you feel him pushing himself against your thigh. Bucky grunts and you trail your lips to his jaw.

Someone clears their throat and you and Bucky jump apart. Sylvie stands a couple feet away leaning against the wall, her arms crossed over her chest and a playful smirk decorating her face.

“Don’t stop on my account,” she teases, gesturing for the two of you to continue. You look at Bucky and he’s already got his eyes back on you.

“I’m fine with it...if you are too,” he mutters, his lips brushing yours as he speaks.

“It’s okay,” you reply, kissing him once more.

Heat pools in your belly knowing that Sylvie is watching you make out with Bucky.

“Tug at his hair, flower,” she murmurs and without hesitation you pull at Bucky’s hair, a soft noise escaping his mouth at the sensation.

“Little harder this time.”

You follow her instructions again, tugging hard, causing Bucky to buck his hips against you.

“See? He liked that,” Sylvie comments.

“Why don’t we go to y/n’s room? For more privacy.”

The fact that there’s a party right outside has completely glossed over your mind.

The strong desire to have this moment with not just Bucky, but Sylvie as well was enough to lead Bucky into your room, Sylvie following behind. She closes the door and locks it. She takes a seat in your desk chair.

“Continue...with what you were doing.” Her voice, firm yet soft must’ve been turning both you and Bucky on.

His cock looked like it was suffering from his shorts, while you could feel how soaked you’ve gotten since you first sat on Bucky’s lap.

Bucky sat on the edge of the bed and patted his thigh.

You straddle him, gasping at the feeling of his hard cock right by where you needed him. Bucky kissed your neck, sucking softly around to find what spots made you weak.

“I bet she likes it right under her ear, Barnes.”

He quickly moved his lips to the spot and sure enough, it made you whimper. You shift in his lap, slightly grinding against him.

His hands fall to your ass, rubbing the skin and pushing you forward to continue grinding.

“Now, flower, look at his lips. What do they look like?”

Sylvie asked and Bucky pulled his head from your neck. You hold his jaw in your hand and gaze across his lips.

“Wet. Redder than usual.”

Sylvie hums as a response.

“Do you think those lips would feel good on your clit?”

You gasp at her words and Bucky smirks.

“I know they would,” Bucky remarks and Sylvie tsks at him.

“I’m not talking to you, Barnes. Be quiet.”

That wipes the smirk off of his face, but does not stop you from smiling.

“They would feel good.”

You answer, and Sylvie hums again.

“You wanna make them more wet? Spit on his lips. Don’t open your mouth, Barnes. You don’t deserve her spit in your mouth right now.”

Bucky groans and you swallow hard, suddenly a little nervous.

Sylvie seems to sense this and you feel her presence behind you. Her hands slide up your arms to your shoulders and she leans her lips close to your ear.

“It’s okay, flower. You’re already doing so good. I know you want to see Buck become a mess, so do it when you’re ready.”

Her praise really does things for you. You grip Bucky’s jaw tighter, his eyes blown out as he looks up at you.

You gather saliva in your mouth and spit directly onto his lips. He has a hard time keeping them closed, but he does it.

“Smear it against his lips now,” Sylvie says, still standing behind you. Using your thumb, you rub your spit onto his lips. Bucky takes a deep breath, probably trying to control himself.

“Do it again.”

You go through the motions once more, but as you smear the wetness across Bucky’s lips, he can’t help himself anymore. He takes your thumb into his mouth and sucks on it lightly.

You pull your thumb away from him and he whimpers.

“He didn’t listen. What are you going to do about it flower? Slap him? That would be sexy.”

“He would like it though, so not a punishment,” you say and Sylvie smiles.

“Hm you’re learning, honey.”

Sylvie places a kiss on your shoulder, the first time her lips have touched your skin so far.

“He does want to cum. He’s pressing so hard against me.”

Sylvie nods, “then we’ll edge him. He needs to put those pretty lips on you first anyways, right Barnes?”

“Yeah, right,” he stumbles out after clearing his throat.

“Switch spots and take the swimsuit off, flower” Sylvie commands.

You hop off of Bucky’s lap, slowly slipping off the bathing suit. You felt the stares of Bucky and Sylvie bore into your body, but Sylvie’s soft smile made you feel more comfortable.

You sit at the edge of the bed. Sylvie leans close so she could whisper only to you.

“Tell him to kneel,” she says. Your brow raises at her and she nods. Looking back at Bucky, you spread your legs, noticing how a blush is coating his cheeks.

“Kneel,” you say, not as confident as you would have hoped, but it still affects Bucky.

You could almost see how it made his cock twitch. Bucky drops to his knees, moving in between your legs.

“No touching,” Sylvie tells him and continues “only use your mouth. Make her cum.”

You rest one hand on Bucky’s head, close to tugging at it again when he immediately places his lips on your cunt. His tongue rolls through your folds as if he’s testing what feels good.

“Pull on his hair, flower. Use his mouth to get off.”

Bucky moans against you as you tug at his hair, pushing his face closer to your pussy. His tongue flicks at your entrance, his nose bumping against your clit. You slowly start to move your hips, using his face, just how Sylvie told you.

“That’s it, flower. Fuck he’s really into your cunt,” Sylvie says, sitting next to you on the bed. She was right, even though you were moving against Bucky’s mouth, he was devouring you.

Wrapping his lips around your clit, sucking harshly, moaning whenever you gasped out his name.

“She’s close, Barnes.” Sylvie did not need to say it, but hearing it made you moan louder.

“That’s a bit too loud, honey,” she mumbles before turning your head and crashing her lips onto yours in a messy kiss.

The kiss combined with Bucky’s mouth sent you over the edge, your body exploding in pleasure. Sylvie pulls away and runs her thumb over your lip.

“Such a good girl. That felt good?”

You nod, not trusting your voice. Sylvie smiles, leaning in to kiss your cheek, then the other. She trails wet kisses back to your lips and licks into your mouth.

“Am I going to get something now?”

You pull away from the kiss to look at Bucky, still on his knees, his cock still frustratingly hard.

“Don’t give us an attitude, Barnes. You’ll get your turn when we feel like it. Go sit on the chair,” Sylvie motions to the desk chair and Bucky begrudgingly takes a seat.

Even though he looks a little annoyed, he’s truly loving this. Loving that you were finally getting to do things with Sylvie...loving that he was making you feel good...and now...loving to watch.

“Can he touch himself?”

You ask, as if reading his mind.

“Your choice, flower.”

“Beg for it, Bucky.” Sylvie is surprised at your tone, but she smirks, looking expectantly at him.

“Let me touch myself, please. ‘M achin.”

His voice breaks a little and you can’t tell if he did it on purpose or not, but it does send a jolt of pleasure throughout your body.

“Go ahead.”

“But don’t cum,” Sylvie warns and she rids herself of her shorts and underwear. Bucky follows suit, taking his trunks off and grasping his cock in his hand.

“Do you want to touch me, honey?”

You nod and she points to the ground. Settling between her legs, your lips ghost over her clit. You look up at her.

“Spit on my cunt,” she says.

Bucky groans behind you and you have an urge to look at him.

You let your spit dribble onto her pussy, maintaining eye contact with her. It’s just now that you remember how insane this was, how bad it may be, but it’s felt so good.

Using your fingers, you spread the wetness on her cunt, smiling to yourself at the little noises she’s trying to keep hushed.

You prod one finger at her entrance, then slowly ease it in, locking your lips onto her clit. You suck lightly at first, trying to build up her release.

“You see how good she is at this, Barnes? Bet you want her lips on your cock, hm?”

You can’t see exactly how he responds, but you do catch a hurried curse under his breath and a wet slick of him stroking his cock.

You add another finger, Sylvie’s thighs squeeze against your head.

You curl them in sync with the sucking on her clit until she’s moaning your name and riding out her high. She bends down to kiss you, groaning at the taste of herself.

“Please let me fuck her,” Bucky whines and you both turn to look at him. He’s completely naked and flushed, his cock resting against his abdomen.

“Seems like he learned his manners,” Sylvie whispers to you, making you giggle.

“How do you want her, Barnes?”

Bucky contemplates, then stands up. He helps you up from the ground.

“Want her from behind,” he says, a low rasp in his voice.

“Do you want that, flower?”

You smile and jump on the bed, positioning yourself on your hands and knees.

You wiggle your ass a bit at him and Sylvie playfully smacks it, causing you to laugh.

“Still can’t cum until we say so,” Sylvie reminds him and then turns to you, “but you could cum whenever you want, honey.”

With that, Sylvie sits back at the desk chair to watch.

Bucky holds his cock by the base and rubs the tip up and down your cunt.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he growls, coating his dick in your wetness. You whine as he keeps teasing the tip at his entrance.

A few more strokes and Bucky pushes into you.

You both moan and Sylvie shushes the two of you.

“Please do remember there is a party going on,” she says and Bucky takes a moment to control himself.

The way you clench around him as he pushes himself into the hilt was enough to send him over the edge. But he held that back, focused on making you cum as quickly as possible.

He grips your hips as he steadily pulls out, then glides back in, creating a smooth rhythm. The sound of skin slapping and your short gasps fills the room.

“Spank her a little, Barnes. Not too hard though.”

Bucky does so, softly hitting your cheek and almost doubling over at how much you squeeze him when he does it again.

“Fuck, flower,” he grunts, picking up his pace.

You grip at the sheets beneath you and lower one hand to toy with your clit, still sensitive from when Bucky made you cum earlier.

“Talk dirty to her, I think she likes it,” Sylvie comments as Bucky leans down and swats your hand away to replace it with his own.

He rubs even faster circles on your clit.

“Can you feel how deep I am inside you? Bet you’ve been dreaming about this cock for a while yeah? Just like how you’ve dreamt of Sylvie.”

You whine at that, embarrassment threatening to flood in, but that’s quickly taken away when you hear Sylvie say “That’s cute, honey. I hope you dream of me more after this.”

Bucky pounds into you mercilessly, his fingers never letting up until you cry out his name a bit too loud.

He doesn’t seem to care and fucks you through your second orgasm, watching as you try to catch your breath.

“Help her to her knees, Buck.”

Bucky pulls out of you and you let out a small hiss at the emptiness. You’re tired, but you move quickly anyway, resting on your knees on the ground. Bucky’s cock was dripping with you and the little bit of precum that managed to escape.

Sylvie stands beside him, sliding her hand down his chest, then gripping his cock. Bucky throws his head back in a groan.

“Look at her, Barnes. She’s a little whore, isn’t she?”

Bucky moans, both at Sylvie’s words and the look you’re giving him.

“I think she wants your cum…” Sylvie trails off and looks at you.

It’s crazy how you feel like you know what she wants you to do...without her even saying it. You put your hands on Bucky’s thighs, feeling him tremble slightly.

Soon your mouth is open and you stick your tongue out, pleasantly waiting for him.

Sylvie jerks him off faster. What pushes him over the edge is your hand drifting up from his thigh to cup his balls.

His cum spills out of him, most of it landing on your tongue, but some onto your cheek as well.

“That’s a lot of cum for her, Barnes. Think she likes it?”

Bucky’s eyes struggle to stay open as he’s riding out his high, but he manages to watch as you swallow what was in your mouth. You wipe the rest of his cum off with your fingers and put them in your mouth, sucking them clean.

“Shit,” Bucky groans and you giggle.

You stand up and reach for your blanket, all of a sudden feeling a little cold completely naked. Bucky joins you on the bed.

“You didn’t really get to fuck anyone,” Bucky directs at Sylvie and she shrugs.

“We can’t spend too much time here. Besides, you both did well, I need to give you a reward next time.”

“Next time?”

You ask and she nods, smiling, leaning in close to you, her lips mere centimeters away.

“Of course, if that’s something you, or both of you want,” she mutters.

Sylvie is about to walk out of the door when Bucky says “I know flower here will definitely want more, you don’t even know how many times she’s told me about wanting to kiss you.”

“Bucky!”

You slap his arm and he cackles, laying back against your bed. Sylvie laughs too and sends you a wink before retreating.

Bucky’s gazing at you when you turn to him.

“What the fuck happened,” he jokes and you shake your head, snuggling onto his chest.

“Dreams came true?”

[jamespotterthefirst]

Five Birthdays (Ethan x f!MC)

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Lilac Allende) Word count: 2.4K Warning: Implied adult situations  Premise: Ethan’s birthdays with her in the next five years. 

Author’s Note: A birthday fic that I wrote a while ago and wanted to post on my birthday. Dedicated to @perriewinklenerdie , @scorpiochick8 , and all the beautiful Scorpios out there. November babies, this is for you too! Thank you @aestheticartsx​ for reading through this mess! Hope you like it. 

Year One 

A soft knock pulled Ethan away from his latest patient chart. Interruptions were always a source of irritation but tonight he almost welcomed it. His body ached with exhaustion and his eyelids were heavy after the sixteen hour day. 

The door opened to reveal Dr. Allende, looking uncharacteristically bashful as she entered, hands behind her back. 

“What can I do for you?” he asked, his attention falling quickly to the chart. This he only did as an excuse to glance away because she was biting her bottom lip the way she did when nervous. It was a quirk that always drove him to distraction. 

She said nothing as she approached, and Ethan could see in his peripheral that she did so cautiously. After a small pause, she set a tall to-go cup of coffee on the desk in front of him, successfully getting his attention. 

“I brought you coffee,” she said by way of explanation. She opened her mouth to say more, but closed it immediately, looking uncharacteristically flustered and even a little anxious. She tried again, “The Vienna. From the coffee house you took me to a few weeks ago.”

Ethan removed his spectacles, staring at the cup. “I can see that. Though I commend you on the choice, I am still uncertain why you went through the trouble.”

The pretty intern flushed, looking prettier still, much to Ethan's frustration. 

“I didn't know what else you liked. And I wanted to get you something.” 

Ethan's confusion lasted only a second before realization sunk in. His stomach dropped and he all but groaned. For some reason, this seemed to ease some of her tension. She even looked a tad bit amused. 

“Who told you?” 

“Dr. Banerji,” she responded, not surprising Ethan in the least. “He let it slip while I was drawing blood for that full work up you ordered.”

Ethan huffed, sincerely doubting the old man had let the detail slip accidentally. 

“Happy birthday,” she added and this time, the amusement was undeniable in her voice. 

“You can't tell anyone,” he implored, feeling his face grow hotter by the second. He shuddered to think of the fuss people in the hospital would make if they knew, particularly the nursing staff. “I've worked too hard these past years to keep that a secret. Trust me, it's not an easy feat when Marlene is in charge of the birthday board.”

Lilac laughed, the sound so pleasant he almost forgot to be mortified. “Imagine the parties they'd throw in your honor, Dr. Ramsey. I don't think I can rob everyone of such a good time.” 

“Lilac.”

More laughter. “I won't tell a soul,” she said solemnly. Ethan was still unconvinced and she rolled her eyes. “Just drink your coffee, Ron Swanson.”

___________________________________

Year Two 

Lilac glanced around with interest, pressing her clipboard tightly against her chest. Ethan almost snorted at her feigned attempt to seem invested. There was nothing particularly interesting about the supply closet they both occupied. 

“Interesting choice, Doctor,” she commented anyway, sounding thoroughly amused. 

“I didn't think you'd mind meeting here,” he returned, feeling emboldened enough to flirt with the pretty young resident before him. He had already pulled her into a supply closet with the enthusiasm of an intern. Ethan might as well enjoy the full thrill of breaking the rules. “If you have moral qualms, however, just say the word and we can both go back to work.”

Lilac proved she had no complaints by closing the already small space between them and kissing him fully. The clipboard clattered to the floor as her hands slid up his shoulders and clung around his neck. Ethan responded in kind, his hands settling on the dip of her waist, his lips eagerly moving against hers. 

She hissed a little as their kiss went from passionate to desperate, hands, lips, and teeth tugging at one another. These days, it only took a matter of seconds to reach that level, both growing needier by the day.

“I didn't take you for the type to make out in a supply closet,” she said breathlessly when they finally pulled apart. 

“Honestly? The idea seemed juvenile until I started making out with you.” He gave her a half smile that made her eyes linger on his lips. “I've been thinking of nothing else ever since we broke into Mass Kenmore.”

Ever since that event, he'd had several detailed fantasies that included Lilac in a supply closet with him, but he decided not to disclose them as the majority were irrefutably not safe for work. Then again, the way she pressed her body flush against his, her rosy lips trailing kisses along his jaw, was anything but appropriate for the workplace. 

“Whatever the birthday boy wants, the birthday boy gets.” 

Ethan involuntarily shuddered at the word birthday, which in turn made her pull away in laughter. 

“No one is going to hear us here. You picked the supply closet in a construction zone that no one is allowed to be in.”

She was taunting him but Ethan didn't mind. If anything, he concluded that two could play at the game. With a devilish, lopsided smile that caught her attention again he said in a dangerous, low whisper, “I just thought you'd want to scream my name without the whole hospital hearing you.”

The surprised look that turned lustful in seconds sent a thrill of satisfaction through Ethan. He claimed her lips again without restraint, successfully opening the buttons of her blouse before him. There was no time to admire the black lace that left little to the imagination, when his pager demanded his attention. 

He groaned but fixed his clothes and hair at once. When he was presentable once again, Ethan paused to give her one last, longing look. A familiar, mournful feeling settled in his stomach as another clandestine encounter came to an end. 

Her responding smile was understanding, as though she knew exactly what he was thinking. At this point, he was certain that she did. 

“Happy birthday,” she murmured, lifting herself to press a sweet, tender kiss to his cheek. 

Not for the first time, he wished for nothing more than to be able to kiss her whenever, however he wanted, no matter who saw. 

___________________________________

Year Three

Ethan pressed her against the wall, escalating their usual goodbye kiss after a long day at the hospital. Though a little surprised at first, Lilac quickly recovered and kissed him back just as eagerly. When they broke the kiss for breath, she raised an eyebrow in curiosity. 

“Not that I’m complaining, but what was that for?”

Ethan shrugged, the pad of his thumb trailing the faint freckles on her cheeks. The truth was now that he could finally kiss her without needing a reason to and without caring who was around, he couldn't seem to stop. 

In this particular instance, it was Naveen who entered the office, clearing his throat meaningfully. They didn't spring apart from one another as they used to, pretending (rather poorly) that they were only colleagues. Instead, they remained in each other's arms as they looked at the Chief. The older man did not seem to mind one bit for he watched them with a warm, proud smile. 

“Ready for our meeting with the Board, Ethan?” 

“No.” 

Naveen chuckled good-naturedly. “It'll be a short one. I'll make sure of it lest Dr. Allende hates me for making her finance work late on his birthday.”

It did not go unnoticed by everyone that Ethan didn't exactly have a visceral reaction to the word, unlike the past years. Naveen shot him a fatherly smile and Lilac pressed a loving, chaste kiss on his cheek. 

“I'll wait for you at home.” She waited until the Chief was out of the room to whisper in Ethan's ear, “I have a surprise for you.”

The heady promise stole his attention for the rest of the evening, which was a good thing because the meeting was as useless as he had expected. An hour and a half later, he discovered he was right in rushing home to Lilac. 

She was waiting for him in the living, perched on the backrest of the love seat and clad in the shortest silk robe he had ever seen. Her shapely legs were exposed for his viewing pleasure, save for the sheer, black stockings ending with lace at her thighs. The echo of her previous promise adorned everything from her coy smile to the scandalous patch of lace peeking from the neckline of her robe. 

“Took you long enough,” she teased in a breathy sort of voice that had an instant effect on him. 

She hopped off the sofa, walking toward the dining room, hips swaying with each step. On any regular day, the sight would have been enough inspiration to tease her until she begged him to take her on any given surface of their apartment. In her current attire, he wished to pin her against the wall with primal urgency in ten seconds or less. 

“I ordered us food from—” 

 In one quick stride, he spun her around, his mouth devouring hers in a scorching kiss. Lilac matched his passion, her silk-clad body melting deliciously against his, her arms locking around his neck. 

“Happy birthday,” she moaned as he ran his tongue down her neck and into the exposed valley of her breasts. 

Ethan had never been happier. 

Not only because he was currently peeling the flimsy robe off with his teeth, revealing a lacy black number underneath, but also because of the three words that left her lips, as natural and wondrous as the beautiful sunset through the window.

“I love you.”

He could never tire of hearing them. 

___________________________________

Year Four

Ethan awoke to soft, lazy kisses and a curtain of dark hair enveloping them both. When she straightened with a tired smile, he missed the floral scent of her shampoo at once. He groaned in protest and pulled her body against his for another quick kiss, cutting the small shriek of surprise short. 

“Good morning,” he greeted between slow, delicious sips of her mouth. 

“Good morning indeed,” she sighed in return. At last, when they fully pulled apart, she picked up a tray from the nightstand and set it on his lap. “Happy birthday! I made you pancakes. ” 

He took in the pretty array before him, complete with coffee and a small vase of red carnations. Ethan flashed her a grateful grin, not missing the dark circles under her eyes or the exhausted sigh that escaped her as her head sank into the pillows. 

“Is that what was burning earlier?” 

Lilac laughed dryly, eyes shut. “Laugh all you want, Ramsey, but at least I can actually make them.” 

“Touché.”

He savored her offerings in silence, admiring how her cooking had improved dramatically in her years with him. Lilac continued to rest against the pillows, looking so blissful, he couldn't help but smile. Within minutes, her muscles relaxed and her breathing became more even as she drifted into sleep. 

The crackle of the speaker on their bedside startled her awake. If that hadn't done it, then the wailing that soon followed would have done it. “He's awake,” she mumbled, already moving to sit up. 

Ethan placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, easing her back into the pillows. “I'll go.”

His son's crying subsided as soon as Ethan scooped him up and swayed him gently. He grinned down at his three-month-old, unable to contain the warm pride expanding in his chest.

“Good morning. You're up early after keeping us up for most of the night,” he murmured, kissing his tiny forehead. Ethan would give up all his hours of sleep if it meant holding his perfect son in his arms. 

By the time they returned to the bedroom, Lilac was sound asleep, face buried unceremoniously  in the pillows. Ethan smiled fondly at his wife, making a mental note to lovingly tease her about the snoring later. Quietly, he settled in bed next to her, carefully setting Jonah facedown on his chest. 

Lilac mumbled something incomprehensible, sleepily burrowing into his arm. Jonah, meanwhile, drifted off into an easy sleep against his father's chest. Ethan smiled broadly, the gesture coming much more naturally than in past years, as he enjoyed a quiet morning with his perfect little family. 

___________________________________

Year Five

“Happy birthday!” his wife exclaimed. Ethan wasn't sure what his toddler son had shrieked out. All he knew was that he matched his mother's enthusiasm as they presented the small, thickly frosted cake on the counter. 

Ethan raised his brows at the creation before him. “You two made this just for me?”

Lilac beamed. “Yep, just Jonah and I.”

The slight pitch in her voice made Ethan chuckle. “I find that hard to believe. One of you barely has the fine motor skills needed to operate in a kitchen.”

“Cachen!” Jonah exclaimed, claiming his father's attention. Ethan bent down and kissed the top of his head. 

“And the other is a one year old toddler,” Ethan finished, earning him an adorable glare from his wife. 

“You think you're so funny, Ramsey.”

“I know I am, Allende.”

“That’s Allende-Ramsey to you.” Without warning, she scooped up a dollop of frosting and smeared it on Ethan's mouth. 

Unfazed, Ethan licked off the excess before pulling her into a kiss. Lilac laughed against his sugar coated lips while Jonah shrieked with happiness, forcing them to pull apart. 

“Either way, thank you for making this for me,” he said, gesturing toward the now marred cake. 

“Antsina!” 

Ethan glanced at his son curiously. “What is he saying?”

Lilac, meanwhile, shook her head comically at their son. 

“Ant sina!” the baby repeated, his short arms outstretched towards the cake. 

“Aunt Sienna?” Ethan guessed with a small laugh, looking at his wife. “Sienna helped you with this, didn’t she?” 

Lilac seemed abashed, looking as though she had half a mind to deny it. Her shoulders dropped in defeat, however, and with a small laugh she said, “I didn’t think my baby would give me away, but yes.” At her husband’s smug smile, she added, “But Jonah and I helped! Jonah tasted the frosting and I helped with the batter.”

Her smile turned sheepish as she thought of something and added, “Actually, your daughter may have helped with that too. This makes for the perfect bowl stand.” Her hands lovingly caressed her very pregnant belly. 

Ethan leaned in to kiss it and Jonah, always mimicking his father, leaned in to do the same. Both parents laughed, kissing their son in turn. 

“Make a wish,” Lilac instructed as she lit the candles. 

A knot formed in his throat as Ethan considered there was no need for that. In the past five years, he had been fortunate enough to find everything he could ever want.

___________________________________

Author’s Note: Thank you so much for reading! I love you all <3

Also, I have hit a major writer’s block when concerning Part 2 of the Miami chapter in the Picta series. Slowly but surely, I am getting there. Thank you for being so patient! 

Finally, if you asked me to add you to the tag list and I haven’t, please message me. I am so disorganized and forgetful. I’m so sorry!

___________________________________

tags: @openheart12 , @takeharryandgo​ , @trappedinfanfiction​, @aestheticartsx​, @aworldoffandoms​, @paulfwesley​, @myusualnerdyself​,  @rookie-ramsey​, @ohchoices​, @colossalpainintheass​, @enmchoices​, @i-bloody-love-drake-walker​, @choicesfanaf​, @openheartthot​, @octobereighth​, @nazarihoe​, @utterlyinevitable​, @kites-in-our-skies​, @maurine07​, @schnitzelbutterfingers​, @doilooklikeiknow​, @snesdudes​, @kingliam2019​, @perriewinklenerdie​, @cinnamonspongecake​, @choicesstan1​, @queencarb​, @ethxnrxmsey​, @missmiimiie​, @jens-diamondchoices​, @adamsdumortain​, @apphia12​, @kalogh​, @lucy-268​, @binny1985​, @queenbirbs​, @honeyandsunfl0wers​, @newcolonies​, @lilyvalentine​, @rigatonireid​, @interobanginyourmom​, @parkerattano​, @custaroonie​, @nikki-2406​, @lilypills​, @chasingrobbie​, @nooruleman​,  @lonely-mxxnlight​, @ruinedbypixels​, @shadynaturehilariouscookie​, @tsrookie​, @mvalentine​, @professorkingslay​, @drakewalkerfantasy​, @casey-v​, @helloblueeyedcat​, @mysticaurathings​, @blossomanarchy​, @thegreentwin​, @togetherwearerapture​, @rookieoh​, @ramseysno1rookie, @rookiemarsswiftie​, @natashajaniphil​, @mysticalgalaxysstuff​, @hatescapsicum​, @choices-lurker​, @kiara-36​, @junehiratas​, @danijimenezv​, @macy-ray85​, @adrex04​, @canigetanawwjunk​, @sanchita012​, @overwhelminglyaquarius​ , @scorpiochick8​, @skylarklyon​, @starrystarrytrouble​, @mercury84choices​, @drariellevalentine​, @ethanrcmsey​, @lion-ess24, @aarisa-frost​, @kaavyaethanramsey​ , @udishaman​, @a-crepusculo​, @quacksonlover​,

[wallstoothin]

Revolution (P5/PJO)

A warm up fic that I'm too nervous to put on A03. Unedited.

At age sixteen, Akira never expected to be part of a war. But then again, life as a demigod is anything but normal to begin with. He’s not even...he’s not even anything in the eyes of the gods but for some reason he was the child of the prophecy, whatever that meant. Akira always considered it a death sentence in waiting. Aren’t prophecies once in a lifetime opportunities?

Since the age of eleven, Akira has been forced to go on all sorts of different quests ranging from petty things such as being an over glorified uber eats for a god or something like preventing a war between two different monsters. Now it was a war.

A war that could be easily prevented if the gods or even some of the camp managers and leaders just opened their eyes and look. Akira would know. He was the son of a minor goddess after all, a mother who never bothered to claim him and a camp that force him into a cramped cabin of a god who is “so kind and merciful to let someone like him inside.”

Children of minor gods are usually one that can live in the outside world without major trouble. Apparently their scent is thinner and are less appealing than children of major goddesses such as his bunkmate Ryuji, child of Hermes and sweet Ann from Aprohidites. They are his best friend and he does not envy them at all. Both Ryuji and Ann has been through s much trouble because of their parent lineage. Left alone to single parents and their own human trouble combined with their demigods' trouble. He would do anything for them. Still, it would be nice to have someone to call as family. The only reason Akira even found out about his parentage is because of Goro.

Goro.

Goro had high expectation placed under him. As the son of Zeus it was expected. But he was never chosen to be in any important quest and spend most of his time training or in his cabin. Goro was one of the first people Akira met when he first came to camp. According to gossip, Goro has been in camp since the age of seven after his mother killed himself, overpressed by the idea of raising a child of god and especially after how lord Zeus practically left the two on their own. Goro was a loner on the outside and very bitter on the inside. When Akira got his first quest a month later, Goro practically ignored him. It was heartbreaking for the eleven year old for his new friend or at least someone he consider his friend to suddenly hate him.

He really wanted to go to the outside world with him but instead went with Ryuji and Ann. When he came back, bruised and bloodied, filled with new fears and deep hatred for salt water. He hoped his time away would have let his friend cool down enough for them to talk again but as soon as Akira laid eyes on the other the boy ran straight for his cabin. It wasn’t long until Akira got his first fetch quest. This time with Yusuke, son of Apollo and Futaba the quirky daughter of Hephaestus. It was a strange team, filled with dumb fights and hiding in the bathroom but it was successful.

Goro still won’t talk to him. Instead he ended up with two Ares girls on his twelfth birthday.

It was after this quest when he was finally given a small break. At this point he was desperate. He was tired,scared and most of all he wanted his friend back. So once he was left alone after dinner, he dragged Goro by the arm from the archery ring and into the Zeus cabin.

“We need to talk.”

They talked and talked and talked way past curfew, maybe they could have reconnect months ago. If only Akira was given a chance to settle down. But now he did.

It was Goro that figured out who his parent was, Goro always did say that whenever he was around Akira he always felt safe, at home. Other people told him that too. Even Akira felt the sense of family whenever he’s with his friends.

They hit the book soon after and came up with an answer.

Epione, the goddess of soothing pain.

Akira’s power seems to work with mental pain and after going on a quest with Goro and Hifumi, he can soothe small physical pain. Anything bigger than a small knife wound would leave him passed out on the ground. But it was better than any ambrosia or nectar, it was a rewarded feeling and an especially tiring one.

It made the quest after a lot easier.

Everything breaks down around the age of fifteen, it was quiet and sudden. Akira knew of camp deserters, they all did. It is often talked about in late night horror stories. Akira may have made one or two up on his own as well. But there has been an increase in unrest between the minor god and goddess children.

“The gods are using you as their playthings aren’t they?” Ten year old Nozoki told him one day. “How long can you keep winding yourself until you break?”

He still hasn't told anyone of his talk with the gods, yet.

It was after that day that people started leaving the camp in groups.

Yukki

Nozoki

And Goro.

The older boy didn’t even say goodbye.

Was it something Akira has done?

Their last talk was another late night one. This time hanging out on the roof of Goro’s cabin. They were talking about school. Akechi was close to finishing high school and Akira was on his way to his last year. When Akechi asked of his future plans, Akira hesitated. Was there a future for him? Akira never thought he would make it this long, even then, he did not have the time to develop any hobbies or focus on school work compared to his peers. Who cared about school when the world was ending.

Maybe it was his defeated tone, he hated it at first he really did. But now Akira just accepts it as another part of life. Demigods don’t get to live long, everyone knows that, that’s why the camp was created in the first place to provide children a safe place to live and to teach them to survive. Akira who's been in and out of the camp in almost all of his teen years has a higher chance of an early death compared to his friends.

“What if everything change.” Goro talked in a low and deep voice. A tone Akira rarely hear outside of anger and battle. He must be serious. “What if we had a chance to go out into the world without any fear of getting killed or being forced by the gods to do whatever they want.”

“That’s a dangerous thought you have there.” He replied.

“Humor me Akira.”

“Well,” What kind of answers would satisfy Goro. He honestly never really bothered to even spend time daydreaming about this. What are somethings the seasonal campers talk about during dinner time?

“I think I want to go somewhere populated.”

“Somewhere populated, Kurusu-kun?”

He nodded. “Yeah like the scramble or Kyoto, maybe even destinyland.”

“Those are tourist traps Kurusu-kun.” Goro replied wirily.

“So? What I want my wallet to get tricked by the many faces of capitalism. Aren’t they places of memories. I don't mind spending my whole day in these places. It seems like fun.”

“You know, I expected someone like you to want something more dramatic. For someone who always lives in the danger zone.”

He shrugged. “Normal is Ok, I think I would like to be that mysterious man behind the bar.”

Goro actually snorted at that. “Are you even able to stay in one place for that long?”

Ok, so maybe Goro has a point. There no why he can stay in one place for so long. But if he gets to meet new people everyday it sure to be just as fun.

“-beside, I can’t see you handling alcohol.”

“Geez Goro, way to crush my dreams. I was thinking of running some kind of underground coffee bar. “

“An underground coffee bar. That sounds like you. I think I might have isted everyday.”

“Oh? A loyal customer ? Thank you for your patronage, good sir.”

“You’re very welcomed overworked barista.”

They sighed.

“Goro is everything OK?| He finally asked. “What you have been saying lately has me worried. You know the people upstairs can hear everything here right?”

“Of course, please do not worry about me Akira-kun, I’m sure you already have lots on your plate right now.”

“But I always have space in my heart for you. Please ‘kechi, I won’t tell anyone no matter what you tell me. On my life.”

“You really shouldn’t be putting your life on the line so easily.” Goro mumbled, mostly to himself but Akira heard it all anyway.

“It’s all part of the job.” He chirp back.

The next day he was gone.

A traitor everyone called him, someone who abandoned the gods to join the wrong side historically and morally. It did not take long for the rumors to start around camp.

“I’ve always knew he was evil.”

“He was always acting so creepy around Akira I wonder if he was ever planning on killing him.”

“It’s good that he left, who knows what he would’ve done if he stayed. “

It was getting harder and harder to face each day with a smile without Goro. His other friends at least one that has yet to publicly disowned Goro stayed by his side comforting him telling him that everything is alright.

But war, war is coming and Akira is expected to be in the front line as a leader. He can’t. He does not want to do this any more. Oh godly parent please give him a sign.

But nothing came.

Nothing but ruin for Tokyo.

They were

Winning

Losing

Dying

...fighting.

They were fighting for their life, each of his friends split up into different groups to try and take back different parts of the city.

Akira was tasked to find the leader of the resistance and to put an end to it once and for all, a fitting task for the hero.

It did not take long to find him, he was exactly where Akira expected him to be and exactly where Goro wanted him to be at.

“Goro,” He mumbled, approaching his enemy with his dagger clutched in his hand tightly. “I came to stop you.”

Goro turned around to face him. Instead of the camp t-shirt and ripped jeans that Akira normally sees him in. He was instead wearing a leather jacket and a collared shirt underneath his regular jeans. It was a strange combination but Akira can’t help but to think it suits Goro well.

“I’m happy you came.”

“This is our meeting place after all.”

Enough with the banter, Akira can’t afford to stall now, not when everyone is fighting for their lives.

“Goro, surrender now. I can get the gods to put you on probation or something bu-”

“You know that’s not true. Do you really think that will pay attention to a mortal even someone like you, since when have they done anything for you.”

“I-”

“Think Akira.” Goro shouted, holding on to his shoulder for dear life. “You’ve been used over and over again. We were just kids. You don’t even have a childhood doesn’t that upset you?”

It did, it still does but Goro knows that he does not like to think about that.

“I used to be so scared.” Goro’s volume went down all the way to a whisper as if talking about this of all things would finally get him stuck down by lightning. “Everytime you come home your eyes would grow darker and darker. I used to have nightmares that the darkness would eat you alive. The trauma you endured. As a son of one of the big three it should have been me.”

Akira shook his head vigorously, he could even feel some of the hair strand stabbing his eyes. It burns a bit, but that’s not important.

“No Goro! I would never wish this life on anyone. The quest, the glory. It’s not worth it! I wanted you to be safe and happy but you ignored me.”

“I know.” Goro’s hand slowly trailed down until they came right above his waist putting the two in some sort of half hug position. “I’m sorry Akira.”

Akira swallowed back a sob threatening to come out. His dagger was right there and Goro was so close and vulnerable. He could end this, he can stop this war once and for all.

“Goro please, end this war. That way everything will go back to normal.”

“You know that’s not what’s going to happen. The gods will use you again and again until you one day burn out and they choose the next unlucky kid to be the hero.” Goro paused. “Akira...why don’t you join me.”

“Hu-”

“Lots of our men need healing. With your powers you can save them! Your mother may not recognize you but we do. We can stop this cycle and give everyone a better future. We would no longer live in fear or worried over someone’s temper tantrum. Akira, I know I haven’t been a good friend to you but I can make it all up now so please.”

Goro reached out his hand and dropped his weapon.

“Join me.”

Akira dropped his dagger as well.

He knows this isn’t the right choice, if they were to fail both Akira and Goro would face harsh unimaginable punishment. But Goro along with everything he ever wanted was right there.

Akira reached out his own hands and-

[finleyjayne]

You Should Care

Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader

1000 Follower Celebration for @justkending​! Happy Birthday~ Thank you for being so welcoming to me. Also, like really hope this doesn’t disappoint.

Text Prompt: “Yeah, go write me a 1000 page essay on it, and maybe I’ll care.”

Warnings: swearing, mild angst.

Summary: You have had enough of Steve overlooking your advice when it comes to reconstruction after his many exploits with the Avengers because you are his girlfriend. So you come up with a plan, and, with Pepper Potts help, you are going to put a solution into place. Hopefully, you can convince him that you know what you’re doing.

There was a definite divide between Captain and Steve in your relationship. It was always there, and usually, there wasn't a problem. It's important to compartmentalize when it comes to personal and work matters, but sometimes... sometimes, you just wish that he would see you as more than just his girlfriend.

Honestly, you have credentials that shouldn't be taken for granted. You had worked in war zones as a medic and relief co-ordinator. This made it increasingly difficult to accept that your sweet and caring Steve wouldn't listen to you when you brought his attention to the increasing disregard for the citizens the Avengers try to protect.

Sometimes his tactics take no consideration to the refugees that will be displaced. People who never ask for the battles to be fought near their homes. They never wanted to be there. They want to live their lives, go to work, go home, spend time with friends. Captain, doesn't see that. He sees an objective and one way to get it done. Determined to do the right thing, even if it leaves the people there worse for wear.

The last time you brought it to his attention, there was nothing that could convince him that there needed to be something to help out after. Nothing that could keep him from doing what he could to take down the HYDRA base, screw the consequences. Even when it meant destroying one of the only schools in the area. He dared to have the gall to say, "well, I know that they need the help, but I don't know how you expect us to do anymore. There isn't anything that you can expect from us."

 You couldn't take it anymore. If Captain America wouldn't change his tactics, you would change yours. After all, he did make a good point, there is only so much a single, lone soldier can do.

So here you are, walking up the front steps of Stark Enterprises to talk to not only Captain Rogers but also his team and CEO Virginia "Pepper" Potts. Taking a deep breath to force yourself to focus, you walk through the doors to start going through the heavy security of the tower. Finally, using the clearance that Steve had you get so that you could come to see him if, read when, he gets injured.

Now though, he doesn't know you're coming,  you are on my own personal mission, and he will NOT be stopping you. He will not ignore you this time. There will be no shutting you out. You are going to make sure that no more innocent people will take the brunt of the Avengers' crime-fighting. There needs to be some type of clean up crew that comes in after the fact to give these people the medical, emotional, and technological help to reconstruct the people's lives after they are hit as collateral damage.

You already know what half of them are going to say. The outlook is bright in this going in your favor, but honestly, there are no reasonable excuses. They may save the world but, if they aren't careful, they may end up breaking it in the process. People are going to start revolting against their help. You want to prevent that, and this plan is just one step in that direction. They do good, but they need to be a little better at managing collateral damage. You know for a fact that the PR department of Stark tech has been up their asses about it. It's one of the main things Steve complains about after his rarely-talked-about missions.

Sighing, you walk into the elevator. "Hello, Future Mrs. Rogers, I take it you are here to see Mr. Rogers?"

"No, Jarvis, I am actually here for my meeting with Ms. Potts and the Team," you state, rolling my eyes at Tony's inability to call me my name, even through his AI. "Will you take me to floor 39? And don't let Captain Rogers know I am here, please."

"No problem, Miss. I will envoke Ice Out Capcicle Protocol 7."

Head held high, you give a slight nod. No time to dwell on the fact that Tony programmed a protocol to keep someone from running into Steve at the moment. You don't even know if you want to know why it needed to be coded.

Stepping off the elevator, you are met by the glorious visage that is Pepper Potts. From her perfectly-quaffed hair to the stylish yet functional clothing, her appearance practically screams I have authority, do as I say.

You give her a timid smile, "Ms. Potts, Thank you for seeing me today. I hope this meeting goes as well as you lead me to believe it would."

"{Y/N}, as I've told you before, call me Pepper. I read your proposal, and honestly, I have been looking for a fix to this problem ever since Tony came out with his alias as Iron Man. It's as if you could read my mind. Now, all we have to do is make the team aware."

Your smile grew more genuine, "Well then, we still have a whole battle in front of us. God only knows what the Captain will think when he knows that I've been working on this. He can be such an old man sometimes."

"Well, even if he complains, he knows full well that this is what you have been trained to do. That's more than he can say about his own beginning." Pepper says with a mischievous smirk.

"Well, let's get this battle underway, why don't we?" you answer, already looking forward to this presentation being over.

Going into the meeting room, you take your place at the head of the table, setting your briefcase down. "Jarvis, can you bring up the folder ARF onto the Holoscreen?"

"Of course, Miss." Was the prompt reply. Soon following, a set of photos, pie charts, graphs, and other little snippets projecting into the air above the table. "The team will be arriving in the next five minutes, along with Director Fury. Would you like anything else in the meantime?"

"Thank you, Jarvis. I don't think I need anything else." You say.

"Jarvis, is Tony's lab still on lockdown from this morning?" Pepper asked from her seat to the right. Her eyes still scanning over something on her StarkPad.

"Yes, Ms. Potts, he is on his way."

"Good." Right as she responds, the majority of the team comes in taking their preferred seats around the table. Their faces show a mix of curiosity, suspicion, and confusion at seeing me there.

Steeling my nerves as best you can, you stand going through the photos and graphs, ordering them for later reference and shrinking them so that they are out of the way until you need them. Chatter fills the room as their conversations continue. With a faint smile, you look up to watch Steve and Tony walk into the room, followed by a cantankerous Director Fury.

With one look, Steve smirks. "Hi, honey, I didn't expect you to visit today."

You smile, "Yeah, I have a meeting for that new project I've been working on." His eyes flash with confusion as he opens his mouth. Before he can speak, you cut him off, "Welcome, General Ross, it's good that you could make it. Now that everyone is here, we can start." Hopefully, Steve didn't ruin this.  

"Thank you for having me, Ms. Potts said that you had a solution to some of our concerns?" His brow scrunches in concern as he folds his arms over his chest.

"Indeed, she has. {Y/N} has been a lifesaver with a new project that Stark Industries is undertaking to proactively increase the security of the world's opinions on the Avengers. It will also help with reconstruction after world catastrophes like the Invasion of New York, should something like that happen again." Pepper explains, "Not to mention, it will be a big help to the Avengers PR team."

You give Pepper a thankful smile before turning to start the meeting only to have my mouth filled with Tony's voice.

"Wait? Roger's Housewife is the Humanitarian Aide-specialist you've been talking to and raving about for the past month? Really?" Tony barks as you smirk, finding his eyes shine with intrigue as he looks you over.

"Tony, your misogyny is showing," Natasha probes with an eye-roll.

"But she..."

"Don't worry your pretty little head about it, Mr. Stark. Anyway, as Ms. Potts was saying, I've noticed a negative trend, and I want to help." Flicking your hand, you shower the table with images of towns, both before and after Avengers' battles have taken place near, or in them. "The Avengers do essential work, but every time there is a battle or an operation, many innocent people are harmed or injured. People that don't have anything to do with the conflict. Some of those people will never be able to save themselves from the devastation that has been rained down around them. Between the buildings that have been crushed, the people who are injured, and the emotional and mental trauma that comes from not being safe in your own home, full economies have collapsed. As of right now, there is nothing in place to clean up after the Avengers take down whatever big bad comes out of the shadows."

Looking around, you see the director is following along with a skeptical look, Natasha is smirking like she already knew what you were going to say and approved. Clint is wholly zoned out; upon further inspection, you see his hearing aids on the table. Tony is glaring, probably thinking about his own solutions to the problem, while Rhodey is smiling in encouragement. Skimming over the rest, your eyes catch Steve's glower. Notably pissed at you for bringing this up in a more formal environment.

"That is where I come in. As some of you know, I used to be a wartime medic, and as Mr. Stark has previously stated, I am now a certified Humanitarian Aide Specialist. It used to be my job to take care of the people displaced by wars like those in the Middle East. In my time there, I have been able to help many people by rebuilding their little pieces of the world. I have put together a team of Medics, Contractors, Therapists, Teachers, Farmers, and others to go in after the Avengers to play clean up. To make it so that we don't cause more harm than good. To keep us as the good guys in people's eyes."

After you were done speaking, the room was silent. You met their eyes, keeping your breath even as you waited to be interrupted. After a few beats, you realized that they were all intently listening, even Steve looked like he was listening intently to your compromise.

You have to swallow the lump in your throat before speaking, "The first response team consists of Trauma Specialists with field medic experience lead by myself. Along with a crew of Hotshots and Firefighters. The secondary response depends on what is needed, all focusing on rebuilding affected infrastructures and betterment within the economies of these countries. They will be working with the respective governments to help not only restore but also improve upon what was lost. I recruited them from many places. Most of them are personal contacts from my time overseas and locally. All of them are cleared by both Jarvis' background check and SHEILD's screening. I don't know if this is going to work, but I cannot stand aside and let you devastate the lives of any more innocent people without at least trying to help."

 Taking a deep breath, you look up into their faces. Their expressions were a mixed bag of emotions. Pepper was smiling at me encouragingly as the rest of the Avengers' faces seemed very accepting of this proposal, Rhodey, Natasha, and Tony looked the most impressed. Steve was glowering at a graph set hovering by his seat, trying to figure out exactly how bad he should feel for ignoring your expertise. Fury was the only one who seemed unsold on the benefits of this situation.

"And why exactly should I be interested in this, Ms. {Y/L/N}. From what you've said so far, none of this concerns SHIELD or the work that they do.

"Well sir, although they are an independent organization, they do tend to reflect on the world's view of America-"

"- I am a very busy man and don't have time for this. Write me a 1000 page essay on it, and maybe I'll care." Fury interrupted.

"One step ahead of you. Here is my thesis on defense by building infrastructure. A 1,297 word debrief on why you should give this your stamp of approval and help. And finally, A contract with stark enterprises to co-operate and co-fund ARF or the Avenger Relief Foundation. Already gone over by Agent Hill, all you have to do is sign it." You calmly reply, sliding him a folder of the stated documents on top of a bound copy of your thesis.

Fury glowers at you through his one healthy eye. "Well, I see you've done the leg work. I'll give it a once over and be back with you." He grumbles, grabbing the folder and leaving the thesis. "I don't have time for that." He calls over his shoulder on his way out the door.

"Well, whether or not fury gives his okay on this project, Stark Industries has already started preparations to pick up and implement the ideas you've presented to us, {Y/N}." Pepper states. "I look forward to working with you and can't wait to see your successes."

With that, everyone nodded, giving their congratulations and well wishes. Leaving just you and Steve, who is still enraptured in the data you had put together.

Unwilling to start this conversation, you walk around the conference table to pick up the thesis.

"I owe you an apology, {Y/N}," Steve stated.

You look at him through your lashes at the corner of your eye. "What exactly for, Captain?" you ask, busying yourself with your briefcase as he stood there looking apologetically at you.

"You were right, I just didn't want to listen. I didn't want you to be right because it would mean that for the last couple of years, I've been ignoring the people I've vowed to protect." He says, going back to looking at the images still being projected over the space. "I am sorry that I didn't listen to you when you told me that there were ways to change. I still don't really like the idea of you putting yourself into more danger, but I can see why we need this.  I am proud of you for following your heart." Steve says, looking at you, earnestness filling his blue eyes.

"You did save them from the big bad, and sometimes it's harder to admit we are wrong than we would like it to be. I forgive you, but next time I say something, at least try to be open. I may act like your typical 50's Housewife, but I can assure you I will kick your ass. We are a team, I am here to help you, just as much as you are here for me." You tell him as you come over to him, brushing your arm down his arm sweetly.

" How did I get to be such a lucky man?" He asks, giving you a dopey grin.

"You didn't do anything. You are just Steve. Now that I know you aren't going to skin me alive for fighting this battle, do you wanna go out to lunch?" You blush, picking up your briefcase.

"Whatever you want, sugar. I gotta show the world how beautiful and smart my best girl is. I mean, she is going to save the world, one village at a time." Steve says, wrapping you in his giant arms.

[max-is-tired]

With This Dream, I Inflate (Painted Skies In My Brain)

Pairing: Logince, Sleepxiety

Characters: Logan Sanders, Virgil Sanders, Roman Sanders, Patton Sanders, Remy Sleep Sanders, Dr. Emile Picani (mentioned)

Words: 2.631

Warnings: Some homesickness at the beginning (not major, but it’s there), swearing, nothing else I can think of

Notes: I am incredibly late, but finally @adultmorelikeadolt ‘s birthday fic is done!!! Happy very belated birthday Rem!!!

I started this fic three weeks ago, fully convinced this was gonna be a short thing... I never learn, do I? Nonetheless, I’m proud of how it turned out, and I’m 99% sure this is getting a second part because I just fell in love with this AU

Thanks to my amazing beta @tigertigertigger  who makes sure the English language doesn’t kick my ass to the moon and back, you’re the absolute best

Hit me up if you want to be added to the taglist and let me know if you liked this, reblogs, comments and asks are always very welcome and much appreciated!

(P.s. Since Roman is Italian in this fic, translation for those few Italian expressions he uses can be found at the end of the fic!!)

Read on AO3!!   Buy me a Coffee!!

When his best friend wins a scholarship for a one-year exchange in Europe, Virgil doesn’t think much of it.

Logan is incredibly smart, without a doubt the most gifted student their college has to offer -and he’s double majoring in Astrophysics and Chemical Engineering, so that’s no small feat.

So yeah, he’s not surprised when Logan -who’s also his roommate, since they’re both broke, caffeine-addicted college students- gets home one evening, a strange envelope in his hands, and announces he has been given the so agonized scholarship. Virgil simply raises an eyebrow at the barely-concealed look of relief in the other’s eyes, mumbling a smug “I told you so” accompanied by the best shit-eating grin he can muster and finger guns.

Their third roommate, on the other hand, is a totally different story.

Patton basically throws himself at Logan, squealing in delight while rambling about how proud he is. He then insists on celebrating, and they end up having an impromptu movie night, complete with pizza and a batch of Patton’s infamous cookies -which end up in Logan’s stomach after not even an hour, for the hidden amusement of his two roommates.

After that, it’s a blur of finals to take, forms to fill and planning to get done -because it’s Logan we’re talking about, and Virgil’s pretty sure he’s already got at least half of his year abroad panned out.

Before they know it, the semester has come and gone and they’re standing in the middle of the airport, Patton bawling his eyes out on Logan’s shoulder while basically smothering him in a hug. Virgil limits himself to an amused smile, to which Logan answers with an exaggerated eye-roll -even him, always the logical, can’t really hide the fondness in his eyes as he tries to calm Patton enough to at least be able to breathe properly.

Logan’s parents watch from afar, letting the boys have their moment. Then, the intercom calls Logan’s flight, and it’s time for the very last goodbyes.

+++

It takes them a while to adjust.

Patton and Virgil, now being each other’s only roommates, work to find a new routine that doesn’t have a Logan-shaped hole in it -easier said than done, that’s for sure.

As for Logan, well, his first weeks are a jumble of moving in, unpacking boxes, visiting the campus to get accustomed with his new surroundings and figuring out his new schedule -not considering the quite influent change of time zone, which takes him a while to get used to.

But the three of them are nothing but determined, and it doesn’t take them long to figure out a somewhat solid schedule for video calls that doesn’t force any of them to wake up at the ass-crack of dawn or staying awake until some ungodly hour of the night.

With this system put in place, it’s certainly easier to deal with the distance. They’ve never been separated for so long, their trio having been an integral part of their life since middle school. It’s hard for all of them, even if Virgil often tries to brush it off and Logan downright does everything he can to ignore it.

It helps more than they like to admit, having somebody like Patton in their group. He barely conceals his feelings, openly expressing them and giving both Virgil and Logan a chance to talk about their own emotional conundrums without directly addressing them.

And so another year comes and goes, they’re juniors in college, Virgil has somehow gained a boyfriend who’s more caffeine-addicted than him, and Logan is finally, finally home.

Everything’s fine, right?

Not quite.

+++

“Look!” Virgil whispers, shaking the person sitting next to him, “he’s doing it again!”

Remy grumbles, raising his head from its place on the desk to glare at his boyfriend, “what is it now?”

“It’s Logan!” Virgil explains, gesturing to the boy sitting a few rows in front of them. Remy doesn’t get what all the fuss is, really. Logan looks pretty normal to him, sitting straight -the only straight thing about the guy, probably- as he seems to be diligently following the ongoing lecture. How does he even do it anyway? It’s just so boring, the teacher has been talking incessantly for more than an hour now and the only thing Remy wants to do is take a fucking nap-

“He’s using his phone-” Virgil keeps going, completely oblivious to his boyfriend’s wandering thoughts- “and he’s texting someone!”

Well, now that Virgil has pointed it out, Remy can see the corner of Logan’s phone peeking out from between his notes. Huh, that’s strange.

“Wait just a sec, how do you know he’s texting? I can barely see the phone as it is, let alone guess if he’s actually using it or not.”

“That’s because you’re exactly behind him, idiot,” Virgil grumbles, eyes still fixed on his best friend’s back, “he’s got an app open, I can’t tell which one exactly but it’s definitely for texting. I’ve known Logan since middle school and he’s never used his phone in class, not once. What the hell?”

“Chill, Vee,” Remy yawns, settling his head back on the desk, “ maybe he’s finally loosening up a little. It sure as hell looks like that year abroad was good for him, uh?”

Virgil mutters something unintelligible under his breath, clearly still displeased, but he knows he really can’t, in good conscience, dispute Remy’s claim.

Because it’s obvious that, while it can't be denied that the previous year has been a stressful time for all parts involved, the Logan who has come back is different from the Logan they said goodbye to, that day at the airport.

It’s not a bad change, per se.

He’s just- softer, around the edges. He looks calmer, more perceptive of the world around him. His temper seems to have subsided -for the joy of literally everyone, doesn’t matter what Patton says- and he’s obviously much more patient.

He looks… content, Virgil thinks that’s the word he’s looking for. And that’s a good thing, don’t get him wrong! But no one can deny that Logan has changed, and change isn’t exactly something Virgil works well with.

It scares him because Logan has been a constant in Virgil’s life for almost as long as he can remember and now he’s different, somehow.

But he also looks happy, so Virgil just deals with his anxious discomfort, because he sure as hell won’t be the one taking that away from Logan.

He just wishes his best friend would tell him what the hell is going on.

+++

When they’re finally let out of the lecture -for the immense joy of Remy, who had immediately dashed out of his seat and yelled “Starbucks time, bitches!!” before bolting out of the door- Logan is obviously still in whatever conversation he has been keeping up for most of the class, checking his phone every few minutes.

The two of them are standing near some benches across from the science building, waiting for Patton to get out of his last class. It’s the perfect opportunity to ask Logan who exactly he’s talking to, but alas, anxiety is a bitch and it very much likes to make Virgil’s life a living hell.

So Virgil resigns himself to standing in silence beside his friend, wallowing in his curiosity as he begrudgingly watches Logan text the mysterious person with a strange smile on his face -which only makes Virgil more curious because he’s never seen Logan smile like that before, damn it, and he just wants to understand what the fuck is going on.

“V, Lolo!” Patton’s voice startles them both out of their thoughts, giving Virgil half of a heart attack and making Logan almost drop his phone.

“Hey, Popstar.” “Salutations, Patton.”

“Sorry, I’m late,” Patton giggles, quickly approaching the two, “Dr. Picani got us so invested in today’s lecture, we all forgot to check the time!”

“Lucky you,” Remy grins, coming up behind Virgil and draping an arm over his shoulders, “our lecture was so boring I slept through most of it.”

Virgil -who really doesn’t like getting startled every five minutes, thank you very much- turns around and punches his boyfriend’s arm, glaring.

“Ouch!” Remy yelps, fumbling with his coffee, “What was that for?!”

“Maybe next time you’ll think twice before sneaking up on me like that, asshole,” he grumbles, “also, you always sleep through our lectures.”

Cue the Offended Gay Noises™, completed by Remy dramatically draping himself over his boyfriend. “The slander! The Betrayal!”

“Stop being a drama queen, you know I’m right. And get off of me!”

Patton watches the two bicker with a smile on his face, far too used to their antics to be worried.

“Ah, young love,” he sighs dreamily, “they’re just too cute, right Lo?”

Logan, however, seems to be completely unaware of what is happening. He’s frowning at his phone as if it has somehow offended him, typing message after message at an alarming speed.

“Logan?” Patton calls, trying to catch the other’s attention, “you okay?”

“What?” Logan startles, his head shooting up in confusion, “oh, my apologies Patton, I was not paying attention.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” Patton chuckles, “is everything alright? I’ve never seen you use your phone so much, and you looked quite troubled back there.”

“Ah, no-” another chime from his phone makes Logan pause, groaning in clear frustration as he quickly answers yet another message.

“Apologies for worrying you, Patton-” he finally says pocketing his phone and pointedly ignoring its continuous chiming- “but I assure you, there is nothing to worry about. I’m just dealing with a rather obnoxious person who apparently enjoys making me lose what little patience I have.”

Patton cocks his head on one side, looking deep in thought before an all-too-familiar smirk slowly starts spreading on his face.

“Don’t you mean-” he says, barely keeping his laugh at bay- “that your patience is-”

“Patton Morgan Hart don’t you dare finish that sentence or so help me-”

“-infinitesimal?”

Logan lets out a loud groan of despair, Patton becoming a giggling mess beside him.

“You will never let this go, will you?” he asks, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Nope!” Patton grins.

“Are we making fun of Logan?” Virgil pipes up, “because I want in on that.”

“Can we change the subject? Please?”

“Don’t worry gurl, I gotchu,” Remy grins, eyes glinting behind his dark shades, “because I just remembered what I came back for, and this is a juicy one guys.”

“What do you mean?”

“Apparently we got a new entry from the exchange program and let me tell you, the guy is hot. He’s very good looking, smooth as fuck and I’m like, 90% sure he’s ripped or something. Like, totally illegal, I swear.”

Beside him, Virgil visibly stiffens, arm tightening around the others side, “and you know that because…?”

Remy huffs out a laugh at that, visibly amused by his boyfriend’s sudden jealousy.

“Relax babe-” he basically purrs, kissing his cheek- “you’re the only one I want. I just saw him in front of the main building earlier, he was very difficult to miss. Almost the whole campus was ogling him some way or another. I think he was actually searching for someone, I didn’t pay much attention.”

Logan looks at Remy with a thoughtful expression, clearly pondering something in his head.

“Out of curiosity,” he finally asks, choosing his words carefully, “could you describe this new exchange student?”

“Why, you interested?” Remy grins, wiggling his eyebrows, “careful Logan, your gay is showing.”

“Remy,” Logan growls -actually growls, what the fuck gurl- in annoyance, glaring daggers at him.

“Okay, okay!” Remy relents, raising his hands in surrender, “sheesh gurl, no need to get so worked up!”

He then taps his chin, thinking about his earlier encounter, “he’s on the tall side, wide shoulders, pretty sure he’s a theatre kid because he really looks like one. Brown hair, green eyes, I think he may be either Spanish or Italian? I don’t know, he had somewhat of an accent but I was too far away to be sure.”

“Thank god you  didn’t pay much attention, uh?” Virgil mutters, rolling his eyes. Remy snorts, shoving him lightly.

Too busy with their playful teasing, the couple doesn’t notice the way Logan has suddenly stiffened, eyes wide as his mind seems to have suddenly screeched to a halt. It, however, doesn’t go unnoticed by Patton, who gives him a concerned look.

“Lo, are you alri-”

“Aha! Ti ho trovato finalmente!”

Four heads snap up in unison, turning towards the new voice. Standing a few feet away, the infamous new exchange student shoots them a grin, hands on his hips and green eyes trained on their group.

“Niente ‘ciao’? Did I finally manage to leave you speechless, nerd?”

Logan lets out something akin to a squeak -which he’ll forever deny having made- cheeks blazing red as he scrambles to regain his composure.

“R- Roman? What- what are you doing here?!”

Roman lets out a laugh, approaching the group until he’s standing right in front of Logan -the others seem to be too dumbfounded to react, one, because wasn’t kidding when he said the guy was hot, damn, and two, because they’ve never seen Logan so flustered before and honestly they’re more than a little confused right now.

“I may or may not have made a request for a semester abroad like, a week before you had to fly back? I got everything confirmed and ready to go just a month or so ago, so I decided to surprise you,” he shrugs, looking somewhat unsure, “so, uh, sorpresa?”

Logan blinks owlishly at him, clearly still trying to make sense to the situation. Then, he lets out a groan, hiding his bright red face behind his hands.

“You’re a pain in the ass and I hate you, stronzo.”

Roman laughs, shoulders slumping in relief, “God, how much I missed you.”

Then, under the three’s identical stunned gazes, he grabs Logan -who lets out a startled yelp- and dips him with a flourish, before winking and kissing him square on the lips.

Logan, who until that very moment had been as stiff as a wooden board, immediately melts in Roman’s arms, hands moving to gently cup the other’s face as he starts eagerly kissing back.

Snapping out of his stupor, Remy lets out a loud whoop, joined by Virgil’s sputtering and a very flustered Patton.

“Hello there, luce dei miei occhi,” Roman murmurs when the finally separate, smiling widely as Logan looks at him through half-lidded eyes.

Huffing in mock annoyance, Logan rolls his eyes and wiggles out of his arms, pointedly ignoring his still burning cheeks.

“Stop being so mushy,” he grumbles, fixing his tie.

Roman grins at that, looping an arm around Logan’s side, “Please sweetheart, we both know you love it when I'm mushy.”

“Okay okay okay, what the everloving fuck is going on here?!” Virgil suddenly screeches, breaking the little bubble that had formed around the two in a million pieces.

Finally recalling that his friends are, in fact, present and have probably seen the whole scene, Logan suddenly looks like a deer caught in the headlights, blush coming back full force as he takes in Remy’s shit-eating grin, Virgil scandalized expression and Patton flustered face.

Seemingly unfazed by the whole scenario, Roman presses their bodies together and gives the three a dazzling grin, green eyes twinkling in barely hidden amusement.

“Ciao a tutti! My name’s Roman, I’m a theatre major and I’m also Logan’s very handsome Italian boyfriend!”

“You have a boyfriend and you didn’t tell us?!”

Logan groans, hiding his face in Roman’s chest as his asshole of a boyfriend lets out a boisterous laugh.

Ooh boy, this is going to take a while.

+++

Translations:

“Ti ho trovato finalmente!” => “I found you at last!”

“Niente ‘ciao’?” => “No ‘hello’?”

“Sorpresa?” => “Surprise?”

“Stronzo” => Italian insult, I honestly can’t think of an accurate translation :’)

“Luce dei miei occhi” => “Light of my eyes”

“Ciao a tutti!” => “Hello everyone!”

[impracticaldemon]

Traffic Duty

Hakuouki fanfiction by impracticaldemon for Eliz1369 ~  Happy Birthday!

PART II of the Okita-Chizuru story Parking Ticket, in which Detective Okita Souji was demoted to traffic duty both as a punishment, and in order to go under cover to locate a mysteriously missing murdered man.

Summary:  In Traffic Duty, Okita discovers that the policewoman who got him into trouble in the first place - by being right about ending a police pursuit - has been given the task of making him maintain his cover role by performing his duties as a traffic cop.  But things heat up even before they hit the streets, when Okita begins to suspect his new partner of withholding information critical to the investigation.

Traffic Duty

“You’re Yukimura, right?”

Sōji eyed the young policewoman with more attention than he’d given her the first time they’d met. He was more observant than most people realized, but the circumstances had been less than optimal.

“Yes, Detective—that is, Okita-san.”  She ducked her head apologetically.  “Please excuse me for not using your proper rank, sir, but I was instructed not to give away your cover as a member of the regular forces.”

“I don’t care either way, but that’s ridiculous.  If it’s a small-scale operation, it will sort itself out whether they know who I am or not—plus, I doubt they’d have ears on us here in the station.  If it’s something worth my time, then there’s a good chance they already know me.”  

He turned away, fighting the urge to vent his bad mood on the too-serious Yukimura.  He was pretty sure the whole ‘traffic cop as cover story’ thing had been set up just to irritate him, but that wasn’t her fault.  To his surprise, since she seemed rather timid, Yukimura pursued the issue.

“Most respectfully, Okita-san, it seems useful to me to retain any advantage we might have.  And even if you are recognized, it is not—that is, I’m told it is not—entirely unbelievable that this is an actual punishment detail for you, rather than a covert operation.”

Sōji shut his teeth on an expletive before looking back at her.  If his expression scared her a bit, too bad; at least he was being civil.  Besides, it irked him that she was right.  He brought his hands together in silent applause.

“You have a point there, Yukimura, good job.”

To his dismay, his new ‘partner’ gave him a tentative smile.  He groaned inwardly.  This was what came of being too polite; people like her took it the wrong way and tried to get to know him.

“Thank you, Okita-san. Welcome to the station.  I hope we will work well together.”  She bowed, then picked up a take-away cup from the counter behind her, and held it out to him.  What was with this kid?  She had to know she’d gotten him into trouble, and he’d made it pretty clear he didn’t want to be here.  Plus, his reputation usually preceded him.

“I don’t like coffee,” he snapped.  That was stretching the truth, but good enough for an overly-helpful and temporary working acquaintance.  Besides, even Hajime-kun had been known to (silently) agree with Shinpachi’s declaration that the stuff he drank could no longer be called coffee.

Yukimura looked cast down for a moment, but persevered.  “I—I inquired into your preferences, Okita-san, and the coffee has extra cream and triple sugar.”

He stared at her.  Big brown eyes, way too innocent and hopeful for any kind of cop; trim figure, a bit on the smallish side, in a buttoned-to-the-collar regulation uniform; dark hair, neatly pinned up under her peaked cap. Nothing to indicate that she was trying to attract, seduce, or play up to him.  He hated not being able to identify a person’s motivations.

“Are you a waitress, or a cop?  I’m not here because I want to be, or because I think anything will turn up.  If you’d bothered to listen to the gossip about me, you’d know that I’m not out to be buddies with anyone, especially a kid who’s never worked a major crime in her life.”

Yukimura bowed again, small hands still clasping the rejected coffee.  Sōji found he had to squelch an unusual sense of guilt, but told himself she’d be better off learning to be less… less personal… with her colleagues.  He ignored the feeling that Hajime-kun would be looking disapproving right about now—his partner was a good man in a fight, and he trusted him to the hilt, but he had his flaws.

“I apologize if I offended you, Okita-san. Please come this way, I was told to discuss the details of this assignment with you before we went on duty.” She was apparently more composed than he’d thought.  He could usually get a read on just about anyone, if he bothered to try, but although his instincts said she was upset, the set to her shoulders suggested irritation rather than tears.  Not that he cared.

They made their way into a small meeting room, and Sōji was relieved to see a file on the table with his name on it. He flipped it open, hoping for updated information on the missing body, then sighed, and ran his eyes over his new patrol route.  His not-nearly-temporary-enough official job was to be on the lookout for traffic infractions and major parking violations, especially those that impeded emergency vehicle zones and public transportation.

When he looked up from the file, he automatically reached for his coffee and took a long swig.  It wasn’t bad, though he preferred it hotter. Then he glared at his deceptively innocent-looking companion, who had obviously put the cup down beside him the moment he wasn’t paying attention.  After a few seconds of that, he decided to ignore the whole coffee skirmish, so that they could get on to the more important part of the briefing.

“Okay, so I’ve got the gist of my cover.  I figure you’ll handle any actual stuff for Traffic, and I’ll just keep an eye on you in the unlikely event somebody tries to get at you.  What I want to know—”

“I apologize for interrupting, Okita-san, but my instructions were to ensure that you handled all aspects of the job.  Otherwise, it would be clear that I wasn’t training you.”

He leaned across the scarred wooden table, and used his height to glower down at her.

“Officer Yukimura.  I know for a fact that a suspicious individual drove off from the scene of a shooting, in a highly identifiable car, carrying the swiss-cheese version of a corpse.  I know that said car drove through the intersection at which you were stationed.  I know that you gave me the signal for ‘do not pursue’, but to be honest, I assumed you got the signal wrong.  You directed me to turn right, when the fleeing vehicle was going straight, and at that point I admit I stopped paying attention.  I was trying to overtake a probable murderer and the evidence of his crime, and you seemed like an idiot.  I want to hear your version of events—you were a little vague at the time of the incident.”

Despite his attempt at outright bullying, there was a stubborn set to Yukimura’s lips that boded ill for both of them.  “I would be happy to discuss the case with you, Okita-san.  We just need to go over the patrol route first—I have a few extra details to pass along about the neighbourhood, and what we do.”

Okita crossed his arms so as not to bang a fist on the table.  Like hell he was going to listen to the warblings of the local Neighbourhood Watch Association, and all the petty information that was important to Yukimura’s job, not his.

“You seriously expect me to play traffic cop?  Do I at least get to drive, or is that too much to ask for a lowly officer like myself?”

It was a dumb gibe, since ranking officers usually didn’t do the driving, but Yukimura finally looked a little panicked.  “I think you must already know this, Okita-san, but my division patrols on bicycle, or on foot, depending on the exact area and problems expected.”

“Ah, so if we spot any potential gangsters, or wanted murders, then we’ll pedal madly in pursuit! I think there’s some anime about the power of the pedal, isn’t there?  Never watched much of that kind of thing myself, but I have a colleague who does. It’s all too rah rah and cheerful for me.”

“Anime is not necessarily known for being cheerful, Okita-san.  Um, I mean—”

“Oh, you like anime, too? Well, I suppose it’s okay for kids like you and Heisuke.”  If she’d known him better, the sudden gleam in his green eyes would have warned her that he knew just how to wind up anyone who cared about anime.  As it was, she suspected him of making fun of her, but wasn’t sure what points to argue.

“I don’t watch a lot of anime, because so much of it is dark, disturbing, or violent!  Some of the artwork is nice, I suppose, but there isn’t a lot of anime suitable for children.”

“Awwwwww…  Well, how about slightly serious historical dramas then? But not too serious, because true love must triumph over annoyances like money and power.  You ever notice how they rarely have epilogues for those shows?” He snickered.

“Is Okita-san a fan of historical drama?”

“No!  Oh for the gods’ sakes, what the hell are we even talking about?!”

Yukimura took a deep breath. “We will not be pedalling after—or running after—any gangsters or murderers, Okita-san.  Assuming we come across anything, you will be contacting Detective Saitō, and then your headquarters, and I will be taking notes.  The problem last time was that we missed certain details—”

“Such as?”

“Well…”  Yukimura pulled a map from the folder she hadn’t left sitting out for him.  

Where did she get that? Ah—he could see that there was a semi-concealed, spring-latched drawer on each side of the table.  Convenient if you wanted something handy, but out of sight, or had to leave in a hurry and needed a quick place for your notes.  Most people would know about the drawers, of course, but ‘out of sight, out of mind’ was surprisingly effective—for a lot of things, anyway.

“Oi—why didn’t you give me that from the start?”  He cranked up the glower again.

“Because I was told to focus on your cover first, and the case second—in case you ignored the first part!”

Were her cheeks a little red?  He was finally getting to her.

“Right, got it.  Look, aside from our slight disagreement about what I’ll be doing, I don’t think there will be a problem with our so-called work.”  Leaning forward, and holding her gaze, Sōji rattled off a summary of their assigned route, the major landmarks and hazards—he was curious about a bookstore with the notation ‘does not sell books—dislikes customers’—and the heavy-traffic areas. He then pointed out the key emergency and public transportation lanes, and finished with an overview of the two low-income housing projects, which were prone to drug and prostitution problems. In deference to his desire to move things along, he didn’t add his usual comment that the high-income neighbourhoods had far more serious problems, but got to pay society in tabloid stories and ‘contributions’ to public salaries, rather than jail time.

Yukimura was visibly impressed, but it suddenly dawned on Sōji that he’d been showing off—which wasn’t his usual style.  Never let anyone see your whole hand.  He covered his discomfort by stabbing a finger into the map the girl had set between them.

“So?  Tell me about the case.  What did we miss?”

To her credit, she stopped staring at him immediately, and got with the program.

“Well, that particular area has automatic weighing scales at two hard-to-miss points, to ensure that only light trucks use the streets that are mixed residential-commercial.  The car didn’t set off any alarms, of course, but if you get there fast enough there’s a video record of all vehicles, with the digital weight shown beside them.  We were able to find and compare the weights of the car at the two points and it was definitely lighter by the time it hit the checkpoint just past the intersection where I was stationed after we got word of the chase.”

Ah—that would be the intersection where Sōji had ignored her clear, but apparently useless signals, in order to pursue, pull over, and—in the words of the complaint—harrass a prominent citizen without due cause in order to uncover absolutely nothing of interest in the man’s trunk or backseat.  The way the guy had grinned at him made it a cinch that Sōji hadn’t gotten the wrong car, but the police force had been officially embarrassed, and that was that.

“So we have a potential lead for where the body was transferred.  Good thinking.”  All business now, Sōji frowned.  “But you said you discovered this after the fact.  So how did you know I was following the wrong guy at the time of the pursuit?”

For the first time, Yukimura—what was her first name again?—looked a little shifty.  Or she would, if her face were able to express anything so sordid.  Honestly, he could see her in Hello Kitty pajamas with little pink bows on the sleeves. …And where did that come from?

“Um, well, Okita-san, I just… I just knew.  The driver of the car was far too care-free for a man with a body in the trunk.”

Sōji’s mind switched from Hello Kitty nightwear to the utter garbage this girl was suddenly trying to feed him.

“Bullshit.  No rookie traffic cop would try to signal an unmarked police car away from a hot pursuit on a hunch.  Is this seriously the line you gave your boss?  And they’re mad at me?”

“Well—well—it’s not just that—um, you see, I’d seen a hearse turn at the lights shortly before the sportscar, and it seemed suspicious!”

“Why?  What made it suspicious?”

“Er… well… there was no procession?”

“Duh, lots of hearses travel on business picking up stiffs from homes and hospitals and so on. Hell, maybe the mortician was out looking for donuts and a coffee.”

“No, he only drinks tea, and his partner is forcing him to watch his weight right now.”

“Come again?”

“Um, I mean, we do deal with the undertakers quite often, you know, because of funerals, and of course there are several, but I’ve gotten to know them, and only one of them—because he owns the business—sometimes goes out for coffee in the hearse.  Only, he doesn’t drink coffee.”

She was babbling, and they both knew it.  Sōji walked around the table, and perched himself right beside the struggling policewoman.  He leaned down into her face, which was undeniably red, and stared silently at her until she met his gaze.

“Cut the crap, and tell me what you know.  Otherwise I’ll refuse to work further with you on the grounds that you’re hiding something from the police about this case.”

“Okita-san!”

“Yes, Officer Yukimura? Care to try me?”  It was a sign of how serious he was that Sōji didn’t smirk at the possible innuendo.

“I know this whole neighbourhood very well.  I’m a—a community liaison officer.”

“Goody for you.”

“The car you were following—I recognized the driver as one of our recent trouble-makers.  He’s rich—or his father is—but his friend is even richer, and I have a feeling—"

“Like the one about the hearse being suspicious?”

Her face darkened, but she ignored him.  He was impressed, despite himself.  He’d gotten into her space, and as uncomfortable as she was, she was still fighting.

“I think they’re trouble. They’ve been in the neighborhood for just over six months, and our general crime rate’s been rising steadily, and too fast to be coincidence—”

“Do you suspect drugs? That was the case I was following.” Great, now he was talking to her like a real cop, instead of a glorified meter-maid with hunches and feelings about serious crimes.

“Yes, I suppose drugs could be part of it.”  She said it almost casually, as though dangerous drugs weren’t already way above her pay grade and experience.

Frustrated, Sōji leaned in even further.  He knew the kind of effect he had on people, especially impressionable young women.

“Spill.”

The girl stood up abruptly, faster than even Sōji’s reflexes could account for.  Predictably, the back of her head caught the point of his jaw, and they both stumbled.  Funny really. He could usually see these things coming a mile a way.  It was probably her weird conversation—it had distracted him.

“Holy mother of a duck that hurt!”  Gingerly testing his chin and lower lip with his fingers, Sōji glared at his assailant. “You really do have rocks in your head, don’t you?!”

“Aaaah!  I’m so sorry!  I’m so sorry!”

There was a sharp rap on the door.

“Yukimura-kun?”

The door opened immediately to admit a big man with all the hallmarks of an old-school cop, starting with his build, and ending with a nose that had clearly been broken more than once. He was sizing up Sōji the way a protective older brother might eye his youngest sister’s bad-boy date.

Yukimura hurried to put a smile on her face.  “I’m fine, Shimada-san!  Um, um, Okita-san was looking at the m-map with me, and I moved too quickly, and we bumped heads!”

Wait—why was she lying for him?  He’d been a bit of an asshole, and she’d reacted to him invading her space.  Not that he trusted her answers yet, by a long shot, but she was a cop (somehow), and he was treating her like he’d treat a suspect.

“Hmm.”  Dark, thoughtful eyes assessed Sōji from a height that easily topped his own unusually tall five foot ten.  “I understand.  I apologize for interrupting, sir.”  He nodded to Sōji, and gently closed the door behind him. Or Sōji thought he had, until he reappeared briefly to add:  “Yukimura-kun is one of our best analysts, Okita-san.  She is currently working in a couple of field areas in order to give her more insight into how data is gathered, and how best to train our future investigators.”

The moment the door was firmly shut again, Sōji narrowed his eyes at Yukimura.  It occurred to him—for no apparent reason—that he’d been glaring at the kid for most of the time they’d known each other.

“More mysteries, Officer Yukimura?  I read your file and—”  No, wait, he hadn’t read her complete file.  He’d been suspicious of her, so he’d checked her out, but there’d been a lot going on, and it hadn’t been a priority.

“Okita-san?”

“And anyway, why did you lie for me?  I told you, I don’t need any favours.”

Yukimura reddened again, but murmured, “…I thought it would be complicated and take too long to explain…”

“I guess.  So back to your highly-accurate suspicions and the hearse and so on.”  He made a ‘come on, hurry it up’ gesture.

“The man you were chasing was Shiranui Kyo—”

“Yeah, I know—highly identifiable guy in a bright red sports car.  He was carrying guns, but had a permit—though I’d love to know who he bribed for it.  Car’s not his.”

“Right, so, as I was saying, we’ve had cause to suspect a problem, but nothing tangible.  But it means I tend to, um, pay attention, when I see him around.”

“Oh?  It’s not just the long hair and tattoo?”

“No—that is, he does stand out, I suppose, but that’s not the point.  Except that maybe that’s why they use him for distraction, don’t you think?” She ignored, or didn’t notice, any personal implications.  Grudgingly, Sōji came to the conclusion that she was focussed on her story—or was such a pro that he couldn’t tell she was lying.  Gods, if she was a pro, he’d eat his hat.  He glanced sourly at the uniform cap he’d tossed onto the table—he wasn’t looking forward to wearing that again.  Unaware of his bizarre inward musings, Yukimura had continued with her story—or thoughts—or feelings.

“The thing is, about a month ago, something strange happened.  Most of the new crime has involved property theft, although the scope has ranged from wallets to full-scale house clear-outs.  In this case, some unusual, and expensive, scientific equipment was stolen, and although the perpetrator was spotted leaving the scene of the crime, in a red sports car, when we finally pulled the man over, the car was empty.”

“Okay?”  But she had his attention, now.

“So when the report came in about your case—that there had been multiple shootings, and a probable murder, and you were in pursuit—I was paying close attention.  More than I would anyway, I mean—um, that sounded wrong…”

“Why?  I mean what made you pay special attention other than a mere shooting and probable murder?”  He really couldn’t help the irony.

“Because something was bothering me about the original crime—the one with the science equipment—but I couldn’t explain exactly what.  Fortunately, I’d figured it out by the time you arrived in pursuit this time.”

Sōji waved at her impatiently to continue—again—trying not to wince as he replayed the rest of the scenario in his head.  The truth was, he’d written off her signals, and then gotten the Department into a legal brangle with the Shiranui guy over the way he’d dragged the punk out of his car. Dragged him, my ass.  The guy’d been smirking at him the whole time.

“Well, you see, the exact same hearse made the exact same turn on the day the scientific equipment was stolen.  And… that alerted my suspicions.”

Sōji suddenly felt a little better.

“So you did still signal me to change directions on nothing but a hunch.”  When she hesitated, he cuffed her lightly on the shoulder.  “Aw, come on, I’ll admit it was a hunch backed up by a strong coincidence.  And I probably should have stopped.”

“Well, there was one more thing to back up my… my hunch.”

“Oh?”

“I didn’t recognize the hearse.”

“And you recognize every hearse in this city?”  He grinned at her, hoping a more friendly look would finally convince her to come clean.

“Well no…”

“I didn’t think so—”

“But I do know most of them.”  When he looked skeptical, she shrugged.  “I have a good memory for, um, details.”

“You pay attention to hearses?”

“Er…”

She wasn’t a good liar. But Sōji couldn’t imagine what she could be hiding, and wherever her guess about following the hearse had come from, there was just enough, barely, to make it worth looking into.

“So, to sum up, you saw the same guy, driving hell bent for leather in the same direction as in crime one—the science equipment—and you saw the same hearse—you think—turning in the same direction as in crime one, and that made you try to direct me away from the sports car and in the direction of the hearse?”

Yukimura appeared to be thinking hard.  What was so hard about it?  She had him half-convinced there might be a connection, and he’d stopped making fun of her—mostly.

“Oh! And there was one other thing!”

“…Okay?”

“The license plate of the hearse was unreadable both times.  It was all covered in dust and mud.  But the rest of it was really clean, as you’d expect in a business like that.  So it looked deliberate.”

Sōji rolled his eyes.

“Why didn’t you start with that?  I mean it’s small, but it’s highly suspicious.  It’s the kind of concrete stuff prosecutors love in court—or when we need a judge’s order to examine private property.”

He almost shook his head when he saw the girl’s expression.  Her eyes were shining as though he’d given her a commendation, instead of less praise than she probably deserved.

“Well then, let’s get to it.”

Silence.

“But, um, I’m sorry, Okita-san… We’re supposed to follow my regular patrol schedule, not go—”  She trailed off abruptly, no doubt because he’d turned to bang his head against the wall.

“Did you—does Hajime-kun—Detective Saitō—know all this?”

She hesitated. “Mostly?  I assume?  I mean, the summary of all this is in my final report…  Except I’m not sure I added the bit about the license plate—because… because your questions are what made me suddenly remember about that.”

“Just to be clear: everyone but me has a copy of your final report, which is the folder in front of you, which you were told to discuss with me only after we’d discussed my duties as a traffic cop.”

Sōji kept his face to the wall for a little longer.  He wanted to murder somebody, preferably Hijikata, and he suspected—call it a hunch!—that it showed on his face.  When he finally turned around, he was all business, and he saw the optimism rise again in Yukimura’s pretty face.  He still had the sense that something was off, but until he knew more, he was going to do what he was told, mostly.  Besides, that in itself would make Hijikata uncomfortable, with any luck.

~~~~~

Yukimura Chizuru was doing her best to stay calm, but it wasn’t easy.  For one thing, she’d heard all about Detective Okita’s good looks and bad-boy attitude, but she hadn’t expected to be, maybe, a little impressed with him.  Or affected by the good looks.  She’d never noticed anyone in that way before—that she knew of—and it was disconcerting.

More importantly, she was wondering how long she could keep coming up with reasonable explanations for knowing things she shouldn’t.  She was quite proud of having remembered the license plate anomaly.  Not that it wasn’t true!  She had noticed the dirt, exactly as stated.  The problem was that she’d only started putting together all the details after she’d suddenly realized that the police should be following the hearse, not the sports car.  And she didn’t think Okita-san would be keen on ‘I could sense a man dying from trauma injuries in the hearse’ as the real reason she’d wanted him to change directions.

[END of PART II]

Author’s Note:  Will this be continued?  Probably.  But when I got to 5000 words (a mere 5x what I’d planned), I decided I had to stop somewhere.  So there’s more already drafted, but other stories waiting to be written!

I hope you have/had a wonderful birthday, Eliz!!  And I hope you enjoyed the story! :)

[ashes-and-ashes]

So, apparently it has been 6 months since I first started posting my stuff on Tumblr.

6 months! It feels so long and yet so short, all at the same time. Tumblr has become such a huge part of my life now, and I am so grateful that this community is so welcoming and accepting.

I remember when I decided to first write this. I always wanted to post my stuff on Tumblr, always wanted to be able to share my writing, but by God, I was so damn scared. I always made deadlines for myself, “I’ll post over Christmas! I’ll post on my Birthday!”

That was actually the major deadline for me! I always told myself that I’d start posting on my birthday, that it would be like a present to myself. At the time I set that goal for myself (August Something), March 11th seemed so far away, and I was basically procrastinating.

And one day, I was watching he Winter Soldier and I was thinking about Stucky. And it was 12 at night and I don’t know what happened, I just thought to myself, “Screw it. I want to write something and I’m going to post it.”

So I did. I spent 4 hours on this semi-decent fic and I got a grand total of 12 notes. And I was ecstatic because holy shit, 12 people like my stuff?

So I kept going! And now here I am! I think it’s pretty funny that the first thing I ever decided to write was an angsty fic about Stucky and their relationship.

Anyways, here it is down below! Thanks for supporting me, and encouraging me to keep writing! :)

Thoughts

Bucky’s falling, wind whispering in his ears, snow covering his face, the screeching of the train on top of him. A scream rises in his throat, as he stares up at the sky above him.

And suddenly, he’s 9 years old again, cracked shoes and dirty clothes, sitting on top of the swing set in the park. It was a hot day, a dry summer. He sees dead grass drying in the cracks in the pavement, hear the wind whistling through the trees.

And he hears them. There’s Ricky King, 3 years older then him, towering over all the boys in the neighborhood. He’s laughing, a group of older boy around him, all kicking at something hidden in the middle of the throng. Bucky finds himself leaning forwards, trying to catch a glimpse of what lay in the middle. The crowd shifts, and Bucky sees a tiny figure, all bones and cuts and the bluest eyes he’s ever seen. The boy is bleeding, marks all over his face, yet he still pushes himself off the ground, glares at Ricky, and says something that makes Ricky flush and punch him square in the jaw. And Bucky is angry, because surely the boy knows that talking will only get him more hurt? So he sits there, and watches the fight.

After 10 more minutes, the boys leave, and Bucky hops down off the swing set and heads over to check on the boy. He’s curled into a ball, yet when he glances up, his eyes are filled with defiance. Pain fills his every move as he slowly pushes himself to his feet, still glaring at Bucky. And Bucky is speechless, because why would you let yourself be tortured like that?

He doesn’t know what to do, so after a while, he says, “Um...are you ok?” The other boy nods his head, tears welling up in his eyes, desperately trying not to cry. Bucky is still frozen, helpless. He puts his arms around the other boy, because that’s what his mother did when he was sad, and gradually, the boy stops crying. He lets go, looks at the other boy in the eyes and says, “Hi. I’m Bucky.” The other boy smiles back, eyes red from crying, and says softly, “Hi. I’m Steve.”

And they are 13 now, young and careless and rebellious. Steve is still small, bones protruding from his chest and half a foot shorter then everyone else in school. Bucky is taller, broader, dark hair and darker eyes, and they are inseparable. They spend the days at school, learning math and english and science. Afterwards, they go to Steve’s place, into the forest behind his house, and Steve draws and Bucky climbs trees and they are happy. And he’s 13, getting looks from the girls in his class. They giggle, hide behind the gates at recess, and he sometimes hears them whispering when he exits the classroom. He’s confused, because he’s never noticed these things, never noticed anything besides Steve, and he wonders if something is wrong with him.

They’re 14. Bucky is tall, towering over Steve, who is still skin and bones and blue eyes. It’s winter, bitterly cold, and they can’t light the fire because logs cost too much. They lie huddled in the narrow bed, Steve against the wall and Bucky pressing close to him. Steve is barely breathing, his last asthma attack not even 10 minutes ago. He shivers, the movement shaking the entire bed, and Bucky presses closer. He hesitates, because he is 14 and should he really be sharing a bed with his friend? And he hates himself for it, hates that little voice of doubt in his head because Goddamn it, he’s your best friend for Christ sakes Bucky! but he can’t shake the feeling that something’s wrong. He’s noticing things, the curve of Steve’s wrist as he turned the page on the sketch book, the way his hair fell over his face, how his cheekbones and nose casted a shadow over his lips when the sun was in the right place in the sky.

And Bucky is scared, because this wasn’t the way things were supposed to be like? He almost edges away from the sleeping figure of Steve, but another wave of coughing overwhelms Steve’s thin body, and Bucky is back to his old spot on the bed. He reaches over, wraps an arm around Steve’s bony ones and holds him tight.

And they are 15, and Steve still can’t fade from Bucky’s mind. He tries to hide it, destroy it, burry it with wine and women and dancing. He takes his shoes, shines them until you couldn’t see the cracks in them, smiles to hide the holes in his heart. He spends the days working at the docks, hauling box after box after box. The money is barely enough to get by, the work exhausting, but Bucky can’t quit, because he now has to support not only himself, but Steve as well.

And it hurts. Everyday, 5 in the morning until 7 at night, hauling boxes and tying knots, until his back is screaming and his fingers are bloody. He waits outside of the apartment that him and Steve share, looking at himself in the shard of mirror hanging outside of the front door, pasting a smile on his face and he clenches his teeth hard. He knows that if he breaks down, Steve would be out on the streets, and he would not, could not abandon Steve. He’s 15, working his ass off, trying to support 2 orphans, and still when he falls asleep, all he can see are Steve’s blue eyes in his dreams.

They are 16, the world going to absolute shit around them, and all Steve wants to do is fight for his country. “They are ENSLAVING people over their Buck,” he says one evening, glaring at the radio set in front of them. “I need to help. I can’t...I can’t just stay here and do nothing!”

Dread pools in Bucky’s stomach, because how can he protect Steve if he is somewhere in a goddamn war zone? but he holds it together, smiles, manages a small “calm down pip-squeak,” and exits the room.

He’s scared, because he knows that while the army may never take Steve, they’d sure as hell take him, and then Steve would be on his own. He can’t handle that, the thought of leaving for some separate country, and never seeing Steve again. It’s worse though, because despite all that’s happened, he can’t stop having those dreams. Dreams of Steve’s hands on his body, and those blue eyes, and kissing him, Bucky’s hands tangling in his hair. He’s disgusted with himself, knows that this is wrong, but he can’t decide if he is relieved or wrecked that he may leave without ever telling Steve Rogers the words I love you.

They are 17, now, the war still raging around them. They’ve been lucky so far, but Bucky knows that this luck can’t hold for much longer. Steve is at the recruiting station everyday, a different state on his form every time, and yet all Bucky can do is stare at the envelope placed in front of him at work. His name is printed in bold letters on the paper, James Buchanan Barnes, and the only thing that runs through Bucky’s head is Steve. Because the day had finally come, the clock had run out. He knew that they were on borrowed time, knew that every moment was another moment lost, but goddamn him, he thought they would have more of it. And he knows he’s going to die there, die without ever saying goodbye to Steve, and he can’t think, his breath coming in tight bursts. He stands up, shoves his chair underneath the table with a violent jerk, and somehow he is standing outside the apartment, in his uniform, his hat cocked to one side, and trying not to fall apart.

He opens the door, finds the window open and sees a note saying On Roof. He climbs out the window, sees Steve on the roof, and his heart catches in his throat because he is so freaking beautiful, all golden and shadows, and all he wants to do is to kiss him. Steve comes over, smiling, greets him with a simple “Hey Buck.”

He leans over, puts his arm around Bucky, and Bucky feels his heart hammering in his chest. Steve notices this, turns his head towards Bucky, a confused expression on his face and goddamn him in hell, but Bucky can’t take it. They are only a short distance apart, and Bucky leans forwards and meets Steve’s lips with his own.

And Steve stiffens for a moment, and Bucky nearly pulls away, petrified because shit, shit, shit what if he didn’t like me in that way?? And he is about to apologize, beg his forgiveness when Steve pulls him closer and kisses him again.

They are 2 boys, rain pouring down on top of them, buckets and buckets of it, and yet all either of them can do is breathe each other in. And Bucky pulled away, looking at Steve Rogers in the eyes, and thinks how can I let this go?

And as Bucky falls, he remembers. Days and days of golden summer, crisp fall. Lying in beds as boys, pressing Steve against his body. Sitting in trees, Steve drawing and Bucky reading. Snowball fights and sleepovers and campfires and how the light reflected off of Steve’s face. 2 boys kissing on the rooftop, not giving a damn what others thought as the skies opened on top of them. And he was grateful. Grateful for all that stolen time, those early days and late nights, that hot summer day long ago, because without Steve, Bucky knew that his life would be meaningless.

So Bucky fell, thousands of miles off a steel train, and the last thing he saw was the blue eyes of the boy he loved best.

[smalltimetravellers-blog]

Disney’s All Star Sports Resort

Hello fellow Disney enthusiasts. I’m going to start this review off backwards..

In conclusion, would I stay at the Disney All Star Sports Resort again? 

Yes. 

It’s great for the price, the theme is amazing, the buildings, the details are all still on par with everything else you find at Disney. 

If I could change something, what would it be? 

To be nearer to the main pool and main building. 

Would I look into getting a dining plan next time? 

Yes. Especially if there’s an offer for free dining. If there’s no offer at the time of booking I think I’d look into staying at a hotel that offers more kitchen amenities so we could at least make some of our own food. 

Is the location good? 

Yes. Longest bus ride is about 10 minutes (complete guess) with no traffic. 

 My partner and I have just touched down back in the UK after 2 glorious Disney filled weeks at the Disney All Star Sports Resort. 

So, whether you’re aware or not there are three Disney All Stars Resorts - Sports, Music and Movies. 

We happened to choose Sports because it was the best financial choice for us at the time, it being the cheapest choice (and we all know there’s no cheap when it comes to Disney). We managed to get the package for £1702 for the both of us with TUI. This price was standard luggage and extra legroom for my long leg beau. This did not include prices for park tickets or any type of meal plan. 

The checking in process was easy. We were given our free magic bands that I had pre-chosen on the Disney website - if anyone would like more information about how to do this let me know because I had a few people messaging on Instagram asking for help. 

We were offered the option not to have housekeeping for the duration of our stay in return for a $130 Disney gift card that could be used anywhere in Disney World, so we opted for the gift  card. We were regularly checked on by housekeeping if you were in need of anything throughout the duration of the trip. 

I also received my Happy Birthday badge upon request at the check in desk. We were handed a map of the grounds that held 5 different sport themes buildings. There is surfing - nearest to the Surfs Up Pool (larger pool of the two) nearest to all amenities like front desk and food court, basketball, tennis, baseball (nearest to the children’s pool) and football. 

We were allocated to tennis. Tennis was a 5-7 minute walk away from the main building which isn’t ideal but not a concern either. 

 The overall theming to every building was sensational. Gigantic sport equipment engulfed the buildings and the colours are so vivid and bright. Like everything at Disney the detailing was beyond anything you’d ever expect. 

Tennis included enormous green tennis rackets over the buildings, giant green umpire chairs either side a large tennis court where Huey, Dewey and Louie played baseball and an angry Donald stands with his tennis racket on the opposing side. 

Unfortunately we did not get the glorious views of the Ducks playing games but views of the tall greenery over the opposite side of the building. We were allocated ground floor which in some cases is more accessible and easier after a busy day at the parks. 

Our room was basic. I mean basic, but what more can you expect from a budget hotel. I did think that with other budget hotels you would at least have a kettle and or a microwave if you’re staying for 2 weeks. We were equipped with an iron which I am very thankful for, a mini fridge and a safe. No kettle, no microwave. 

We also had Disney toiletries like face soap, body wash, shampoo and conditioner which are all attached to the wall, I found this really convenient and handy (also relieves the temptation to take the free Disney bottles home to show the relatives). We were provided with towels, small ones, even smaller ones and flannels. The bathroom was petite and had a bath shower and of course a toilet. 

We had a small flat screen TV with many, many sports channels (to which we didn’t understand for the first week until Josh clicked and reminded me, we are staying in the SPORTS resort). We had the usual Disney information channels and some regular TV and movie channels. Two double beds took up the majority of the room (not the larger double beds you’d find in hotels but regular ones). 

At night you could hear other guests flushing their toilet or going in the shower. You could hear the TV in the next room if you were quiet in yours. At one point I heard somebody snooze their iPhone alarm 3 times at 7am. My point is the walls are thin. It didn’t bother us, we were up early and the housekeeper would come and knock around 9am anyway to see if you needed anything. Shortly after that the maintenance guy would knock to check if the toilet flushed and your room lock was working correctly (this didn’t happen everyday but it felt like it). 

The food at the hotel was near enough the same menu everyday. It changed throughout the day, breakfast, lunch and dinner but I feel everytime we ate at the foodcourt it was the same food being offered. All the meals are available on the My Disney Experience App, the menu, the price and the times of day that meals change. I found the prices were reasonable. Reasonable for Disney. Although this time we didn’t have a meal plan because we just missed out on the free dining offer with Attraction Tickets Direct and I didn’t have enough information on whether or not the dining plan is actually worth doing. I do feel like now we’ve been and we spent so much of our money on food it would be worth doing obviously if you’re staying onsite. 

Another option we used throughout our stay was UberEats. I really believe we spent more money on UberEats due to pure convenience, than we would have spent if we ate at the foodcourt. I mean, one morning I spent $40 on Ihop for Josh and I, once the delivery fee, the tip and the service fee is applied it all adds up but it literally gets delivered to wherever you want. We got it delivered to the nearest car park to us and walked maybe 30 seconds to get our food.  

So from that experience I will be keeping my eye out for the free dining plan offers with various ticket venders. We did find some great deals with UberEats so we will probably still use them in the future for something different to eat or if we’re craving a McDonalds at 4am. 

The Disney transport that is included in the stay when you stay onsite is brilliant, can’t fault it. Some days there would be no time for buses being displayed and we’d be waiting there 40 minutes to find out when our next bus was, this was usually Typhoon or Disney Springs. I found it so easy getting from park to park and back to the resort. It’s more convenient than having to wait around for the ferry, locate your car and queue to leave the car park. The buses ran every 20 minutes and you were back to the resort in no longer than 10 minutes? The furthest park away from us was Magic Kingdom. You could locate bus times either via the app or on the screens located at the bus departure zones. 

I hope this review gives you some sort of insight of what our experience was like. Of course everybody’s experiences are different. I’ve written this honestly and openly and in a way I, as a blog reader would want to read it. 

All comments, help, advice is always welcome and be sure to check out the Instagram page @smalltimetravellers. It’s not the best but we’re growing and learning and we’ll get there someday.

Second star to the right and straight on ‘til morning. 

Tay x

[westywrites]

The Orphan Experiments

Chapter 1

Time for a new multi-part story! Updates on this one will be every Wednesday and Friday similar to the last one. Once again, this is not the newest story in terms of how recently it was written, but it has, like the others, been under continual editing. I think this is one of my favourites because I really the characters.

I’m going to try out something new and put little excerpts from the chapter at the top above the Read-More and see how that works. 

Next

Excerpt: “Now I need to make sure you understand why exactly these kids live here instead of with other foster parents." Mr. Kleary nodded. "They are problem children, very troubled. They all have been kicked out of multiple homes and schools. They don't get along well with anyone and certainly not each other. What these children need is a heavy hand, do you understand?"

The house was large and foreboding; three stories high and very plain. The dull lawn and perfect off-white paint seemingly screamed that nothing good happens there. A young man with messy hair stood on the front porch, biting his lip. Shortly after he knocked the door was opened by a girl with curly black hair. She stared at him, deep brown eyes making quick judgments of the tie on his neck. The man smiled.

"Hello!" He bent a little to get more on eye level with the small girl. "My name is James Kleary, may I come in?" The girl said nothing in response. "I'm to be your new skills teacher here, it's very nice to meet you." The man put out his hand as if to shake the girl's. At this motion she flinched and ran up the stairs against the right wall of the entryway. Mr. Kleary stood awkwardly for a moment before calling out the name he had made note of before he came and bracing himself to meet the kind of woman he expected to run a place like this. A clattering of footsteps was heard from a room down the hall. A stout woman, easily in her fifties, hurried to the door; her face was kind as she invited him in. The lady led him down the hall and into a bright kitchen. The cheerful atmosphere contrasted to the rest of the house and did a great deal to ease Mr. Kleary's nerves.

"Okay, so here are m-" Mr. Kleary began to pull out his resume but was quickly interrupted by the lady.

"When can you start?" She was buzzing about, pulling things out of cupboards and putting things away, seemingly randomly.

"But you haven't even seen-”

"Doesn't matter! These children just need someone to put up with them for some time during the day. Lord knows I can't do it on my own all the time. The old skills teacher, he was tough but this batch is bad." She made a judgmental sound. "Those savages got the man in the hospital this time."

"Oh my," Mr. Kleary responded less to what the lady had said but more how she had said it. She talked about the children as if they weren't human beings. "I'll start immediately if you'll have me."

"Oh good, good! My name is Ms. Singer." She smiled tautly and extended a hand for him to shake. "I am the homeowner and head caretaker of the children here. I do all the cooking, cleaning and disciplining." She tossed a wooden spoon into the drawer and began to walk off. Mr. Kleary followed silently as Ms. Singer gave him a quick tour of the house. It had a simple layout with dull furniture and duller walls, just a standard four-bedroom home with three washrooms and a study. The children shared rooms; two girls in one and two boys in another. Ms. Singer lived in the master bedroom and the adjoining washroom was all hers. The final bedroom was small and unkempt with a tiny ensuite.

"This will be your room. You'll spend nights here but the rest of your time will be spent with the children." She pulled the door closed as they left. "You will teach in the study; history, English, math, all the usual subjects, taught following a strict curriculum. You will show up to meals on time, you will report any infractions to me immediately, no matter how minor. Are you even listening to me?"

"Huh? Oh, yes, definitely." He had zoned out entirely before they had even entered the bedroom. "Can I meet the kids now?"

“I suppose." The judgmental tone had crept back into Ms. Singer's voice. She led him to a living room where four kids were watching cartoons and looking bored. She stopped before she entered the room. "These are the kids. Now I need to make sure you understand why exactly these kids live here instead of with other foster parents." Mr. Kleary nodded. "They are problem children, very troubled. They all have been kicked out of multiple homes and schools. They don't get along well with anyone and certainly not each other. What these children need is a heavy hand, do you understand?"

"Loud and clear, Ms. Singer, or may I call you Andrea?" Mr. Kleary smiled.

"No, you may not." Her curt response made Mr. Kleary flinch a little. "These children need to learn respect so under no circumstances should they think of you or me as anything other than Ms. Singer and Mr. Kleary." She looked at him as though talking to one of the children of whom she thought so lowly. He nodded quickly. He was starting to doubt his choice in going to that house, but these children obviously needed someone who actually cared.

"The one in the corner, the little Mexican who answered the door when you knocked, her name is Rosa Falto, 10 years old, though she will not shut up about her birthday next week. She is a major flight risk, ran away from all the homes she's been in within the first few weeks. She’s scared of the world and incredibly shy but easily the most tolerable of the children. The girl laying on the floor is Willow Harrington, 12 years old. She is attention craving and overly emotional. She broke the nose and arm of the owner of her last home because he tried to comb out that Afro of hers. The ginger boy is Jacob O'Neil, 12 years old. He is a thief and a liar who lives to cause mischief. He was responsible for the prank that put their old skills teacher in the hospital. The little black boy is Tanner Cole, 11 years old. He claims to hate everyone and acts like it too. He is an angry child who will stay silent until it all comes out screaming." Ms. Singer gestured inside. "Now it's time for you to meet the devils."

The children all turned and watched silently as Mr. Kleary entered the room. He could tell by their faces that they had heard everything Ms. Singer had to say and that they had heard worse before. After an awkward moment of silence, the children went back to watching their cartoons and seemed to pretend that Mr. Kleary wasn't even there. Mr. Kleary shot a look back at the doorway, smiling and shooing Ms. Singer away. She sighed and left, her footsteps receding to the kitchen. As soon as she was out of sight Mr. Kleary sighed and plopped into an empty spot on the couch. The boys, on either side of him, looked shocked and kind of afraid.

"Man, she's got a stick up her ass, doesn't she?" Mr. Kleary said to Tanner. "A stick so far up it hits her brain!" The children laughed slightly in surprise, disbelief on their faces. Except for Rosa, she just stared with wide eyes.

It took a while but each of the children eventually came to enjoy Mr. Kleary's antics. He was the strangest and happiest adult any of them had ever met. He pulled pranks on them as often as they tried to pull any on him and his lessons were taught in badly sung songs or horribly drawn cartoons; he drove Ms. Singer up the walls. The children loved it and Mr. Kleary loved the children. He came to understand them as so much more than Ms. Singer had made them out to be. Rosa was brilliant, Tanner wanted to be an artist, Willow wanted to play hockey, Jacob was an aspiring stand-up comedian. Each of the children was able to shine and every time they did Mr. Kleary was filled with pride. His strange ways even seemed to brighten Ms. Singer at times and she began to give him some leeway with how he taught. Though this was partly because she knew he would ignore the rules anyway.

One day, rain and a boring history lesson had the children complaining and fidgeting in their seats; it gave Mr. Kleary an idea.

"Ms. Singer!" Mr. Kleary half shouted as he ran down the hall, the children staring after him in confusion. "Ms. Singer, I had an idea!"

"Good lord, Mr. Kleary how many times must I tell you not to run?" Ms. Singer stepped out of the kitchen, her polka dot broom in hand. "You are going to fall and break something."

"It's a dreadful day." Mr. Kleary was smiling and bouncing slightly as he talked; standing far too close to her.

"I guess..." A bit of worry crossed her face. "What is it that you want?"

"I want to go to the museum!" Mr. Kleary put a hand on her shoulder. "I have a friend who is in charge of the guided tours there. If I call her she can arrange something by the time we get there!"

"What does a dumb museum have to do with it being a dreadful day?" Tanner asked, alerting the adults that the children had snuck down the hall.

"Dreadful days are museum days, of course!" Mr. Kleary said it as if it were obvious. "Do you want to come, Ms. Singer? It'll be fun!" He continued to bounce slightly.

"No, thank you." She looked at her watch. "There's too much to be done around here." She turned back towards the kitchen. "Be safe and don't do anything stupid."

"She said yes!" Mr. Kleary was halfway up the stairs before he paused to look back at the children. "What are you waiting for? We're going to the museum!" The children ran after him.

"Hello and welcome to the Richardson Street Museum. We first opened our doors to the public in 1962 with only..." the tour guide droned on in an unenthused voice.

"Don't bother with the script, we won't be listening." Mr. Kleary smiled as he slid a small bottle back into his shoulder bag. "If you just lead us around and tell us some cool facts every once in awhile we'll be happy." And so it went on like that, the children ran ahead and pointed to cool things and the guide seemed much happier to say the things he found fascinating. Mr. Kleary ran about with the children at times, but mostly he followed along, walking and chatting with the tour guide. After close to three hours, the tour guide stopped Mr. Kleary for a second.

"Melissa, the guide coordinator, told me I should take you guys up to where we're storing the exhibit that's gonna be set up soon." The guide seemed excited. "Well, she said I could as a favour to you if your group was well behaved. It's really important that they don't touch anything up there."

"Of course. I promise you they'll be the best of any children you've ever seen." A smile grew on Mr. Kleary's face. When he called them, the kids quickly came over and stood attentively as Mr. Kleary explained where they were going. “Nothing there will be behind glass yet, so you have to be very careful not to touch it, okay?"

"What's the new exhibit about?" Jacob asked as the others nodded.

"It's about Native art and technology from before the Europeans came." The tour guide replied quietly. "You'll be the first to see it who doesn't work here." This was met with quiet excitement. The guide led them over to the back corner of the museum where there was a second, older styled elevator marked staff only. The guide put his arm out, blocking the door until everyone was in. He stepped in after them and pressed a button with no marking on it. Suddenly, something put Mr. Kleary's nerves on edge, something wasn't right. He looked to the children, they were all there. He looked back to the guide; when he wasn't looking the guide had pulled a mask of some sort over his mouth and nose. Mr. Kleary shouted for the children as he whipped around to face them, but before he could he fell to the floor and everything faded to black.

[academiakrp-blog]

SCHEDULE: Comparative Politics,  Speech Science, Statistical Mechanics, Modern Language: English

EXTRACURRICULARS: Honor Society President

SUNGWOL UNIVERSITY BULLETIN, 05.06.17: New student Jeon Hyunwoo has officially been accepted into the Sophomore class! Hyunwoo is twenty years old and plans on majoring in Political Science. He has been reported to be knowledgeable, hard-working,  and self-reliant but also harsh, cynical, and domineering. His personality will take him far as a president of the honor society. Let’s welcome Hyunwoo to the school and wish him a good year!

OOC!

Name and pronouns: AJ

Other muses: Park Jaehyun

Time zone: PST

IC!

Muse name: Jeon Hyunwoo

Birthday (or age): 20 // June 8th

Faceclaim: Park Hyunsik

School:  Sungwol University

Grade: Second year

Desired clubs: Honor Society President

Positive traits: knowledgeable, hard-working,  self-reliant

Negative traits: harsh, cynical, domineering

Proficiency:  Due to his father being one of the most renowned CEO’s in most of Asia, Hyunwoo is known for having inherited his same intelligence, dedication and way of thinking that aids him in achieving whatever he puts his mind to. Because of that, Hyunwoo easily soared through his classes in high school, earning him a scholarship to Sungwol University in hopes of majoring in Political Science and becoming a lawyer in the long-run.

Electives: Speech Science, Statistical Mechanics

BIOGRAPHY!

They say that money is power and power could give a man anything he wants in life.

Whether it be luxury, education or love —- money can provide it all and for some, being rich is the only aspiration they know in order to achieve happiness. And perhaps,  many would assume, that’s why Jeon Kyungsoo became as powerful as he was now. Maybe that was the reason why he left behind his family in the small island of Jeju and moved to Seoul, climbing from a poorly paid intern up until he reached the capabilities to run his own company.

They say that the Jeon household was living the perfect life, because it was ran by the CEO of Asia’s number one vehicle manufacturer.

Jeon Hyunwoo, on the other hand, could beg to differ.

Being the only child to such a well-off family would mean that he got everything he ever wanted and more. His clothes were bought from personal designers, his elementary education came from the best tutor South Korea could offer and he never went a single minute in his existence knowing what hunger felt like. The Jeon boy was spoiled and everyone, even himself, could not deny it.

But the appreciation for such a lifestyle had only lasted for so long, when his first year of high school came around.

Chunghwa was a wealthy school full of mostly wealthy and intelligent kids — much to his satisfaction. It was the kind of place his parents — wherever they were — would have wanted him to attend, in hopes that the school’s reputation would give him a boost in life to get him to where THEY were now. Rich, rich, and rich. And that was exactly what the naive fourteen year old wanted as well.

Hyunwoo went about his first year scoring fantastic grades and his reputation soared due to both his looks and status as the KYU car company’s “prince.” He relished in the rumors — both good and bad — and he could care less about those he called his friends, since he was smart enough to know that they only hung around him because of who he was anyway. His high school life was almost mechanical, consisting of him attending school and heading home to do his homework and scouring through mail that he knew he would not receive. Because what busy CEO and his trophy wife would want to check up on their adolescent son while on a business trip in another country, right? Which was alright, since they were bound to come home for a week or two at the minimum, before having to venture off again. Hyunwoo was fine with that. At least, that was what he thought and such a way of thinking had helped him move through the empty and much-too-large manor as days went on.

Jeon Hyunwoo was somebody and nobody at the same time.

Whatever happiness he felt, he didn’t care about whether or not it was real. He just wanted to feel SOMETHING and sometimes, that would come in the form of his own cruelty inflicted on fellow peers he assumed were “beneath” him. Within a year, Hyunwoo’s smile had brightened and his grades had improved, despite his harsh behavior.

As time went on, he managed to convince himself that if he, at least, could handle feeling something  — whether it be sadness, pain, self-hatred — it meant that he was still alive and capable. He was still someone who could live without his parents telling him that they loved him but instead of sending one of their maids to do it in their place.

They say that a man is not born to be cruel, but rather made through life’s obstacles.

At twenty years old and caring not for others, but only for himself and making his distant parents proud of what he can achieve — Jeon Hyunwoo believes he is the one exception.

His parents had created a monster from the moment they brought him into existence.

club form

MUSE INFO:

Muse name, age, and grade: Jeon Hyunwoo / 20 / second year

School attending: Sungwol University

Current clubs (leading or attending): N/A

CLUB INFO:

Starting or joining: Joining….I think…

Club name: Honors Society

Additional Notes: I’d like to apply for the president position, por favor <_>

WRITTEN:

Jeon Hyunwoo’s very smart and I figured, if he could have one of the highest GPA’s in high school, then he should do just as well in college. He’s hard-working and dedicated, despite being a little abrasive sometimes, but school has always been something that remained steady in his life and thus encouraging him to keep it that way.

[demonsonthemoon]

There’s No Time For Toeing Waters

Fandom: Vikings Word Count: 3578 Pairing: Lagertha/Ragnar Note: The original idea for this fic was coined by Caro A.K.A. @anastasiapullingteeth. I started screaming to her about it a few years ago, and it stayed in the back of my mind all this time without ever getting set to paper. Now it's set, or at least part of the story is. Happy birthday Caro! Summary: Athelstan liked his routine. He was perfectly happy going to university, spending most of his time studying, and staying in his comfort zone. Until his comfort zone almost got set on fire and a bunch of weird people tried to buy his silence with coffee (kind of).

Also available on AO3.

The question they always ask in interviews is this : How did you all meet ?

For most of them, the answer is obvious. It was Ragnar who decided to put the band together, and it seemed logical to bring in his brother Rollo and his childhood friend Floki. Then, when he started dating Lagertha and it appeared that she had the voice of a murderous goddess, it had also made perfect sense to have her join the whole thing.

Athelstan was the enigma of the group.

The first time someone asked, he replied that he had been trying to stop Floki from burning down a library. The interviewer had laughed and passed it off as a joke in her article.

Since then, all of the group members have been giving completely different and ridiculous answers.

Nobody ever realised that that first time, Athelstan had been completely honest.

It happened like this :

Athelstan enjoyed spending time in the library. Yes, even his free time. And if that made him the perfect stereotype of a student majoring in History with a minor in Theology, well... He had accepted his fate long ago. He even had his favorite corner, one hidden away in the far end of the Theology section. It was almost always empty, except the weeks right before exams, but then Athelstan just studied at home anyway. The library didn't feel like his if there were too many people around.

He was doing some assigned reading for his class on Jewish mythology when a strange smell made him look up from his book. Was that... smoke ?

He carefully marked his page and stood up, taking a turn at the end of the aisle to see where the smell was coming from.

He stopped dead in his tracks.

There was someone there talking on the phone – Athelstan quickly turned off his iPod, which he just realised was preventing him from actually hearing the person talking – and that person also had a burning stack of paper in their hand.

« Yup, it's done. ... No, I'm actually... Yes, I know, I can actually be careful from time to... »

« What are you doing ? » Athelstan didn't think before he asked the question, but he wished he had, because this was clearly some kind of lunatic, and what if he got the flames too close to the books, the whole library could burn down, he had to do something he-

« Oh, shit. Call you back. »

The pyromaniac turned off their phone, looking Athelstan up and down. The sheets of paper were still burning, almost reaching their hand.

« Hello, » they said, voice calm and elegant.

« Um. You're... You're gonna burn yourself. »

« Oh. » Athelstan watched as the person distractedly threw what was left of the burning papers in a metal bin. When they looked up and crossed his eyes, he desperately thought that he should say something, though he had no idea what.

The stranger's phone started ringing. They sighed and picked it up, rolling their eyes. « It's done, Ragnar, OK ? Calm the fuck down ! ... I'm in the Theology section. It doesn't have a fire alarm. ... I can't. I ran into someone. ... Nooooo. We're just gonna have a little chat. » They grinned at that, and a cold sweat started running down Athelstan's back. He slowly took a step away from the stranger, without even realising. « Yeah, see you. » They locked their phone again and put it in their pocket. The smile they turned towards Athelstan was predatory, and the eyeliner around their eyes only highlighted the weird glint that was in them.

« Um, » Athelstan started. He had no idea what was happening. This was the Theology library. Shit like this wasn't supposed to happen here. « I didn't see anything ? And I'm not gonna tell anybody about it ? »

The stranger started giggling, which did nothing to reassure Athelstan. « Oh my god, you're about to pee your pants, aren't you ? »

« Um... No ? » Athelstan replied, failing to muster up any kind of dignity.

Their mouth twisted up in a feral grin. « Yeah, sure. »

Athelstan managed to get an ounce of composure back, just enough to ask. « What were you doing ? »

« I thought you hadn't seen anything ? » the other responded with a raised eyebrow.

Athelstan bit down on his lower lip, trying to judge what his options were, here. He really didn't want to piss off someone who was used to burning stuff in the middle of a library.

He was saved from the dilemna of finding an appropriate answer when a blond woman appeared behind the stranger.

« Floki ! Leave this poor kid alone, he's gonna pee his pants ! »

« I'm really not, » Athelstan managed to grumble as the first stranger – Floki – errupted into giggles again.

The woman rolled her eyes at them as she came closer and extended a hand towards Athelstan. « I'm Lagertha, » she said. « Sorry about all of this. »

Athelstan said his name as he carefully shaked her hand, still unsure of what exactly was going on and how his life had managed to deviate so drastically from its usual routine.

« Um. It's okay? I'm still not sure what's going on, though. »

Floki smirked. Lagertha shaked her head, then smiled at him. Athelstan feared that it was pity he could see in her eyes.

« It's complicated. It involves my boyfriend Ragnar and getting rid of evidence, and a whole lot of shit you probably don't want to get involved in. Trust me, I'm telling you this for your own good. »

If Athelstan had been terrified of Floki before, he wasn't sure there was a word to describe how much fear the casual way Lagertha was speaking put in him.

« Can I take you out for coffee, though ? » she asked. Then, gesturing towards Floki : « As an apology for their attitude ? »

Athelstan quickly took in the pronoun used, but hesitated before giving an answer to the offer of coffee. On the one hand, he was broke, and could really use the caffeine. On the other hand, terrified. But if he refused, he probably wouldn't be able to focus on his work again anyway, so in the end he nodded, and was rewarded with a beaming smile from Lagertha.

« Great ! »

« I'm gonna leave you losers to it, 'kay ? » Floki said, already turning back and waving with one hand. The movement made the sleeve of their shirt that had been hanging just under their shoulder fall back towards their neck. « Have a nice day, Athelstan ! »

The history student could only stare at them as they walked away. Then he felt Lagertha's hand tap his shoulder. « Coffee ? »

He nodded, dumbly, and followed her towards the exit of the library, after having quickly picked up the book he'd been reading and his backpack.

They had barely taken a few steps outside when a voice started shouting Lagertha's name. They both turned around as a man jogged towards them, a huge grin on his face. His hair was shaved on both sides, with the central part tied in a plait that reached his shoulders. « You've got company ? » He asked, looking Athelstan up and down. The young man instinctively tried to make himself smaller under the scrutiny. The light blue of the man's eyes was almost electric, he noticed with a shiver.

« I do, » Lagertha replied. Her voice was warm, somehow reassuring despite the weird situation he was in. « This is Athelstan. I think Floki traumatised him, so I'm taking him for coffee. Wanna join ? »

Athelstan felt like he was being used in some kind of private joke, but it was easier to just go with the flow and not ask questions. He was too tired and confused to protest anyway.

The man in front of them shrugged with an easy smile. « Sure, why not. I'm Ragnar, by the way, » he said, extanding a hand just like Lagetha had done before. Athelstan repeated his own name and they shook on that. « Sorry you had to meet Floki first, » Ragnar continued. « They can be... a bit intense. »

Athelstan nodded, though he didn't comment on the fact that he was fairly sure Ragnar and Lagertha were definitely capable of the same level of intensity.

They reached the campus' coffee stand. Luckily, since it was the middle of a class period, the queue wasn't too long. Ragnar ordered a caramel latte, Lagertha a capuccino, and Athelstan asked for a small black coffee, but Lagertha immediately told the barista to make it a large one.

They took a seat in the empty cafeteria, since it was still early in the year and too cold to sit outside, and Athelstan thanked Lagertha as he took a gulp of his coffee.

« You're welcome, sweetie, » she replied. Athelstan almost choked at the pet name, but she didn't even seem to notice she had said it. He looked at Ragnar to see how he would react, since she was his girlfriend, but the blond man was frowning at him, thoughts elsewhere.

« Hey, totally random, » Ragnar started, « But you can play the guitar, right ? »

Lagertha seemed to perk up at that, immediately interested, and Athelstan blushed under their combined attention.

« Yeah, well, I play a little. »

« Nah, I saw you, you played for Thyri when she did the open mic thing, right ? »

Athelstan nodded. He had befriended Thiry the year before, when they were both in their first year of uni. Since then he had played with her a few times, mostly to help her practice, though they had done two songs publicly at an open mic night a month before.

« Oh, when she sang Patti Smith ? » Lagertha asked enthusiastically.

Athelstan nodded.

« I thought I recognized you from somewhere ! And don't sell yourself short, from what we saw that night, you're really good. »

« Thanks. » Athelstan blushed again.

When he looked up, Ragnar and Lagertha were exchanging a gaze that lookd like it was a conversation in and of itself. Ragnar shrugged, with a smile that his girlfriend then mirrored. They both turned back towards Athelstan with perfect – and eery – synchronicity.

« Can you play punk ? » Lagerthat asked.

« And metal ? » That was Ragnar.

« And celtic music ? » That was Lagertha again.

The caffeine had woken him up a bit, but in that moment, Athelstan felt as confused as he had been before. « I guess it depends on the song ? I never tried metal because I only have an accoustic and a classical guitar, but I've dabbled in folk punk and played some celtic tunes before ? Why ? »

He had a feeling he was getting into something he had no control over. This should have been frightening, but maybe he had used up all of his fear earlier, because instead it only left him exhilarated. He could feel his heart beat loudly in his chest as Lagertha and Ragnar exchanged another look.

« Do you want to be in a band ? »

« You don't have to say yes immediately, » Lagertha had immediately reassured him. « I mean, you should at least hear us play once before you give us any answer. »

« And of course you can change your mind whenever you want, » Ragnar had added. « it's not like we're gonna have you sign a contract or anything. »

Athelstan had agreed to go see one of their rehearsals. After all, he had already taken coffee with them, and if Lagertha had wanted to kill him, she could have done so in the library.

He hadn't quite expected to be invited that very same day, but in the end it was probably a good thing, because knowing himself, Athelstan would probably have been too anxious to go if it had been later in the week.

« When do your classes finish ? » Ragnar asked.

« 6 PM. »

« Okay. We usually start aound five, but you can come in later, that's no issue. » He bent down and rummaged in the messenger bag he had at his feet. He brought out a sheet of paper and a pen. « Here... is my phone number, and the address. Just call me when you're at the door. We don't really hear the bell when we're in the basement, but I'll have my phone on vibrate. Is that okay with you ? »

« Sure, okay. » Athelstan still felt like he was being carried away by strong currents instead of sitting in a cafeteria chair, but he was also becoming more and more intrigued. « Is it your place ? » He pointed at the address.

« Nah, Floki's. Their parents own the building. They and Helga have the ground floor and the basement for themselves, the two other floors are being rented to other people. And we use the basement as rehearsal space. »

« Okay. So... Who's actually in this band ? You two, Floki, Helga... ? »

« Helga doesn't play, » Lagertha replied. « Though she mixes awesome cocktails and has earned an honorary membership in our hearts with them. » She laughed. « But otherwise, I sing, Floki plays the drums, Rollo – that's Ragnar's brother, by the way – plays the bass, and Ragnar is mostly on the violin, though he will play whatever he can get his hands on if you let him. »

The blond man raised his shoulders with a grin that showed he didn't feel one bit guilty. « We've been talking about getting someone to play the guitar for a while now, » he added. « Lagertha does it sometimes, but it's harder for her to focus on her voice if she has to play at the same time. So if you're into it, it could be great to have you around. »

Athelstan felt a bit anxious of what Floki's reaction was going to be if he came to the rehearsal, but curiousity had taken the better of him this time. He promised the couple to see them in a few hours, and said his temporary goodbyes as he quickly walked to his next class.

Athelstan stopped in front of the building and considered what to do next. His day had been a mess. A complete destruction of his comforting routine. But it had been exciting to mean new people, and Floki, Ragnar and Lagertha all looked interesting, if all slightly terrifying in their own ways. And, hell, he was a college student. College was about getting out of your comfort zone, right ? Making new experiences ?

Athelstan took a deep breath, and called Ragnar on his cellphone. The man didn't answer though, and Athelstan was about to try again when Lagertha opened the door, a bright smile on her face. « Come on in ! » she said, sounding like a little kid on Christmas. He followed her into a hallway/staircase, and immediately through the door of the ground floor apartment. Inside, she turned to the left towards a steep and narrow wooden staircase and let him to the basement.

He could hear someone playing nonsense on the bass as he carefully walked down the wooden steps. He was feeling more and more certain that the stairs would break down under his weight with each step he took.

« Ta-da ! » Lagertha exclaimed as she showed him the rehearsal space. It was crammed, a complate drum kit as well as several amps taking up most of the place. They had still managed to add a three people couch and two chairs that had apparently been salvaged from scap heaps. The whole place had a quality to it that could only be associated with the feeling of home.

Floki was there, sat behind the drums, still wearing their black long-sleeved shirt that left one of their shoulders uncovered. Ragnar was only wearing a t-shirt above his jeans, which Athelstan completely understood, because the atsmophere of the room was suffocating. The second man, Athelstan assumed, was Rollo. He probably wouldn't have guessed that he was Ragnar's brother. While one of them was blond with clear blue eyes and radiated easy charm, the other had brown hair, dark irises, and greeted Athelstan with only a cold gaze and a vague grunt that could have been either « hello » or « fuck off ».

Lagertha clapped a hand on his back. « Go sit down ! Hopefully we can play you a few songs without messing up too much, and then you can tell us what you think ? »

He nodded and sat down on the couch, then gratefully accepted a water bottle from Ragnar.

« Sticks and Bones first ? » he asked, turning towards the rest of the band.

« Okey-dokey, » replied Floki, picking up his drumsticks.

Lagertha took her place behind a mic, and Ragnar picked up an electric violin already hooked up to an amp. Athelstan didn't really know what he had expected from the music. After all, « punk », « metal » and « celtic » had been the only description he'd had of the band style. He could understand why they had chosen those words, though. While the drum and bass lines were reminiscent of hard punk and early metal, Lagertha's voice leaned more towards symphonic metal. He was surprised when Floki was the one to take on the backup voices during the chorus. Then there was Ragnar on the violin. He was the one bringing in the more celtic vibe, his instrument adding to the melody as much if not more than Lagertha's singing.

They ended that song and quickly moved on to another.

All in all, the music was as confusing as Athelstan's day had been, and in that it was perfect. The melodies were fairly simple, though the interferences between the two melodic lines definitely gave them something special. And at least all band members seemed fairly confident in what they were playing. He could understand why they wanted to add a guitar to their mix. While it already worked fairly well – and the complicity obvious in the looks all members would exchange while they played definitely helped with that – the background beat was only supported by the bass and the drums, which made the interplay of melodic lines come on a bit too strongly at time. Adding a guitar could help balance the whole.

Athelstan wanted to say yes. He liked playing. It had been one of the only things that his parents encouraged when he was a child that he had actually been enthusiastic about, and this past year and a half in college, it had been one of the only remnants of his old life, as well as a way to sometimes escape the pressure of classes. He liked playing, a lot, and he was interested in what this band was doing, genuinely so.

But they already had their distinct style, and Athelstan wasn't sure he would be able to follow it. That, and all the people involved already seemed so close to each other. It wasn't hard to imagine that Athelstan would be the odd one out in their relationship. And sure, Lagertha and Ragnar had both seemed enthusiastic and welcoming (frighteningly so, Athelstan thought, considering he had only met them a few hours before), but he still didn't know what Floki and Rollo thought of his presence here.

The second song stopped, and Lagertha picked up a bottle of water from the floor.

« Just one more song and we're done. Good ? »

Athelstan nodded. He was glad they weren't asking for his opinion just yet. It would give him some more time to think.

Well, that was what he had thought, but the third song was the fastest one they had played yet, and it ended in less than two minutes on a high-pitched scream from Lagertha.

She ran a hand across her brow and put a few strands of hair that had escaped her ponytail behind her ear. Ragnar carefully unplugged his violin and put it down.

« So ? What do you think ? »

Ragnar and Lagertha were both looking at him with what he could only describe as puppy eyes. Even Floki looked expectant. Rollo was the only one pretending to ignore his presence, but he was probably still listening too.

It was an awful lot of pressure.

« I like it, » he said, completely honest. « You're good. You have your own style and all, it's great. » He tried for a small smile, but wasn't certain he had actually managed it.

« So you're in ? » It was Floki who asked the question from where they were still seated behind their drum kit. Athelstan must have gaped a little, because they added : « Don't look at me like that. We need a guitar, and those two- » He gestured at Ragnar and Lagertha. « told me you're good. »

« I... » Athelstan looked around at the small but cozy rehearsal space. He wanted to say yes. Oh, he wanted to say yes so much. But then what would happen to his routine ? What would happen to his quiet life ? This wasn't only about playing one or two songs with a friend at an open mic night. This would mean rehearsing at least once a week – probably more, because they seemed to be serious about this – with people he barely knew. For what ? A chance to play interesting music ? A chance to get to know those people ?

He shaked his head.

« Yes. I'm in. Well. I'm willing to try. »

Lagertha and Ragnar gave each other a high-five.

« I can't promise anything, though ! I mean, you've barely heard me play. And... Well, I don't want to mess up your dynamic, because you've got this great thing going and... »

« You'll fit in, » Ragnar said. « And if you don't, we'll think of something. That's not just on you, it's on us too. Trust us. It may not look like it, but we've actually thought about this. »

Athelstan wasn't 100% convinced, but well. He had already committed. He was going to try.

[fashiontrendin-blog]

So Sorry I Was Stuck in Traffic: Your March Horoscope Is Here!

http://fashion-trendin.com/so-sorry-i-was-stuck-in-traffic-your-march-horoscope-is-here/

So Sorry I Was Stuck in Traffic: Your March Horoscope Is Here!

Illustration by Cynthia Merhej. 

My favorite meme-theme in the whole wide world is the one that taps into the old “I’m on my way!” lie when you haven’t even left yet and are definitely going to be late.

Speaking of late, horoscopes on the 9th of the month, eh?

Look, Mercury’s gonna retrograde on March 22nd, so I’m going to go ahead and blame my tardiness on that planet. Susan Miller basically told me to do as much (Astrology Zone plug!!!) and you know that I do what she tells me to. But just in case you’ve found yourself frozen, unable to move without the star’s guidance, how about I make it up to you — right now: you, me, a little astrology? There’s that toothy grin!

Let’s get this party started! Oh and because I literally fall asleep while typing about Mercury being backwards-ass, allow me to throw out a blanket statement here: do all your electronics shopping and ticket-purchasing now. Otherwise, you’ll be fine.

Aries

HAPPY BIRTHDAY MAGICAL (F)ARIES! I hope a thousand sprinkles and sugar balls tumbled out of your cake the moment you cut it, like they do from those viral Flour Shop ones, and I hope you caught it in time for social media documentation.

A recap of the last nine days: Thanks to the full moon, you probably finished a major project that resulted in great success. An annoying health-related matter likely came to a happy end. You may have received some cash. (God bless the grandparents who still include “walking around money” in birthday cards.) You also may have been invited to a party!

What to expect for the rest of the month: the need for a nap — and after March 17th, you’ll be able to get some rest; a serious career growth spurt is set to last until May 15th (“the coming weeks will be the most important of 2018 for career growth and progress,” per Susan, so make sure you act fast on the open positions you want); and finally, a hot-n-heavy (sorry) love life. Did “hot-n-heavy” make you think of Hot Pockets? Just wondering, also just wondering if you’ve had one lately and if they were under/overrated? They seem like a fast snack so why not, honestly.

Taurus

Welcome to March or should I say, “Mooarch,” in Taurus-talk. Mooarch is going to be our favorite time of 2018, fellow bull-human-jelly-beans.

A recap of the last nine days: We had “wonderful developments to our emotional lives” thanks to the new moon (good lord, thank you), a romantic March 3rd and 4th weekend — kindly tell me all about it down in the equally romantic comments section, and one or more of you may have proposed to someone. I did not because I am trying to play it cool!!!

What to expect for the rest of the month: a moment of, “Oh shit, I’m spending money like I’m drunk at a bar and in a good mood, as in ‘SHOTS ON ME, PARTY FREAKS,’ only my bank account just told me I’m grounded”; a financial chill-out in response, probably around the 17th; a chance to travel (take it if you can); new romance around the 28th (if you’re not single, maybe just a lot of “REKINDLING THE FIRE” wink-wink-have-fun-be-safe); and on March 30th, thanks to Venus, an absolutely prime opportunity if not excuse to get our hair done and do a little or a lotta shopping.

Gemini

Hi Geminini in a Bottle, Baby! I’m on a plane and the person next to me is snoring. Thought you’d like to know that detail about me.

A recap of the last nine days: You had a “joyous family event” at the start of the month (family barbecue or an aunt’s 90th birthday as celebrated on a cruise, perhaps?); you may have moved; you’ve hopefully been very happy.

Susan keeps saying that everyone is happy this month which makes me happy and I hope it’s true because if there’s one movie character in the history of the WORLD who’s me, it’s that woman who doesn’t even go here in Mean Girls with the rainbow cake and…whoa. IDK if you read Aries’ intro but I just had a life-changing realization and think that Flour Shop cake might be the manifestation of the cake that Mean Girls girl wanted to bake.

You’re lucky I’m able to keep doing horoscopes after that kind of revelation but I AM!!! Snoring seatmate on a plane, remember? He’s both distracting and motivating.

What to expect for the rest of the month: the best time in 2018 for career progress; a serious relationship commitment and a finally-completed major project.

Cancer

I didn’t have one crab cake in Paris, I hope you’ll know.

A recap of the past nin days: You may have taken (or be planning) a short trip. If you’re planning a big one, however, wait until after March 17th. That’s it with the back-at-it stuff. Let’s look forward.

What to expect for the rest of this month: you’ll be “hungry for new experience and information,” so bring a toothbrush wherever you go just in case you’re chewing more than usual; romance — especially if you do plan that little bit of travel; a really exciting “media project” (sometimes Susan is vague and it’s nice to let it happen); a little home construction situation; your health or an ex driving you up a damn wall; a resolution to the last thing I just wrote that results in a “strong, nearly unbreakable union”; and who knows, you might just get back into waffles. Remember waffles???????

Leo

Susan wants you to pay attention to your finances, to which I say, “BOR-ING.” You might say “MEOW-RING” since you’re related to a cat, but if there’s one thing I was reminded of in Paris, it’s that everyone prefers you to just speak English if you’re going to accidentally give the wrong address three times in a row because you confuse the “teens” with the “twenties.”

Here’s what to expect for the rest of the month: Susan is “especially enthusiastic about your prospects to get a great deal on a mortgage or refinanced mortgage; talks of shared expenses between lovas; an opportunity to turn your creativity into a profit; a bump forward in your career reputation; romance as in romuntz-untz-untz, and romance of the TRUE LOVE variety. At the end of the month you’ll need a little nap, but you also might go to a rock concert. Susan said. I just sat here and binge-ate Meow Mix.

Virgo

The beginning of the month has been busy for you! That must be because your star sign, Virgo, collaborated with Virgil Abloh of Off-White which means you’re a celebrity now. Don’t you worry about me, I’m not really keeping track of what I’m saying.

A recap of the last nine days: you may have seen “the fullness of a desire that is deeply important to you reach fruition” (ooooo-ie!); you may have proposed; your home life may have, out of seemingly nowhere, FINALLY started to feel “lighter, easier, and more enjoyable”; and you may have started to really focus in on a project that means a lot to you.

Here’s what to expect for the rest of the month: a permanent-good mood because of Mars in Capricorn from the 17th through May 15th; an itch to redecorate your home; a positive outlook on love; a readiness to find “the one,” have a baby child, or build a business; and, on the 28th, a big fat wad of money!!!

Libra

Hey Libra, so Susan seems to think you have feathers? Do you? That’s so cool, but she seems to also think they’re dragging. Are you hibernating? That’s okay!!! We all need to take a time out on occasion, stick our beaks under our wing-pits and fluffle for a bit until we feel cozy enough to come out on someone’s outstretched index finger again.

I used to have birds growing up! Rainbow and Webster, double-RIP.

Anyway, doesn’t mean you’re totally antisocial. If you get invited to a getaway situation before the 17th, you should definitely go.

Here’s what to expect for the rest of the month: March 17th through May 15th is the best time to sell your apartment if you’re thinking about doing that kind of thing; you’ll be supremely creative around the new moon of the 17th; go to the gym and the dentist at the end of the month; Libra will put “a big accent on your dreams and desires” toward the end of the month — you might feel overwhelmed in other areas, so breathe here, because these are exciting things, and see if you can’t get help; you may start taking piano lessons. Susan didn’t say anything about them but I thought it seemed like a nice note to end on.

Scorpio

Hey Stinger Pants! Better than Stinker Pants, am I right?

“When you eventually look back on 2018,” Susan writes, “you will view March as a magical month, one of your most romantic months of the year.”

A recap of the last nine days: You started with an enchanting full moon on the 1st; everything supposedly went your way thanks to the lineup of the planets; the full moon shone in your eleventh house of hopes and wishes; life was all around flowery and romantic. (Yes? No? This sounds lovely so I’m rooting for this truth.)

Here’s what to expect for the rest of the month: Susan really wants you to travel, if you can getaway; Neptune, the Sun and the new moon are going to work together to “set the stage for love”; if you want to have baby chickens of your own, now might be the time; your career will shoot forward like the star that it is and you are; there’s a “blue moon” at the end of the month that might make things a little tiring, but per Suz’s verbatim advice: “Certainly this is a month given over mainly to love and fun, so for once, let work take a back seat so you can enjoy those precious moments to the fullest.”

Sagittarius

Oh Sagittarius, I brought a celestial apple with me, your favorite!

Did you read that in a sing-song voice? Do you think it’s weird how much I like your sign because I like horses so much? At first I was mad about Sagittari-ii because you guys get all the good astrologically-related logos and calendars and doodles, but then I realized, “If you can’t be them, join them,” so here I am offering you sugar cubes out of my palm and wondering if I can play with your horsetail.

A recap of the last nine days: Your career is more up than the Pixar movie (hey-o!) and everyone knows your name; you’ll make a lot of money; the man next to me is blowing into his nose so hard I’m scared for his brain.

Here’s what to expect for the rest of the month: Susan wants you to “toot your own horn” and celebrate your accolades, because it will lead to more of them — you’ve got a competitive edge right now; you’ll focus on redecorating and nesting; you’ll negotiate a beneficial contract (nice ’n’ vague); you’ll start getting into party mode even though you’re a little sleepy (take naps, please); you’ll need to be a brainstorming partner to a friend; and finally, on March 28th, you’ll “enjoy lighthearted mirth,” a sentence I am so glad Susan Miller wrote because we could all stand to work mirth back into our vocabulary!!!

Capricorn

I’m not saying you don’t, but if you had Capricorn horns IRL, would you pierce them, or would you let them be their own accessory?

A recap of the last nine days: the full moon of March 1st was “tailor-made for you” and made you smile a ton, apparently; your ninth house of long-distance travel sparkled; you may have gotten into grad school or something in that vein.

Here’s what to expect for the rest of the month: Hopefully better food than the weird airplane chicken teriyaki I just ate; a “big competitive advantage over the other zodiac signs,” thanks to Mars in Capricorn from March 17th through May 15th for the first time in two years (from Susan: “Use this time to launch an initiative that requires you have a lucky edge, such as a big interview…”); a lit-up career toward the end of the month and the culmination of a stressful, all-consuming project; a costume party that Susan didn’t really suggest I write about so much as she didn’t not tell me to mention it, so anyway, I think you should throw a costume party because why the hell not. I’ll brainstorm costumes with you down below if you want.

Aquarius

AQUARIUS I wonder if your name is to blame: I have had that “Barbie Girl” song stuck in my head for four days and I want it gone! I keep wanting to talk to you and Pisces about The Shape of Water and this so-called “fish sex.” I haven’t watched it yet which bums me out because I feel like it’s ripe fodder for these horoscopes, although this month’s batch has been a bit of a dead fish when it comes to the blatant innuendos. Oh well. There’s always next month to talk about Uranus and golden showers unnecessarily!

Anyway, here’s what to expect for the rest of the month: Ask for a raise on the new moon of March 17th — “it looks like you will get it,” writes Suz; you’ll begin opening talks for an exciting career move; your social life will be like PARTYPARTYPARTYDINNERHANGFRIENDPARTY, and you’ll be into it; after March 17th, you’ll be given the opportunity to go off the grid for a bit, which might be nice after that sentence I just wrote; use the end of the month to reflect, avoid travel if you can (Mercury in retro-lame) and reconnect with old flames — romantic or platonic. And hang out with your Barbie World friends!

Pisces

Hello you golden fish! I literally just said this to Aquarius but my hands feel like hooves today (I am a Taurus, after all) so don’t mind the copy/paste and pretend instead that I put both of you on a group text:

I keep wanting to talk to you and [Aquarius] about The Shape of Water and this so-called “fish sex.” I haven’t watched it yet which bums me out because I feel like it’s ripe fodder for these horoscopes, all though this month’s batch has been a bit of a dead fish when it comes to the blatant innuendos. Oh well. There’s always next month to talk about Uranus and golden showers unnecessarily!

Work smarter, not harder, am I right, bubble breath?

That was a compliment!!! It’s the cutest thing I’ve ever come up with. I can’t wait to use it as a term of endearment again.

A recap of the last nine days: You may have gotten married, or you proposed, or you DTR’d — Venus is in Pisces so there was and is a lotta love and romance happening; you were very inspired, or at least the buds of inspiration began to bloom; you might have started to find someone to partner with professionally, too.

What to expect for the rest of the month: Start sending out your resume and making the most of ye old network; expect great news on the 11th (about something!); prepare for a cool opportunity in ~*media*~ on March 13th; you’ll have the best day ever on March 17th thanks to gift-giving, luck-distributing Jupiter getting the new moon all excited, which will result in a special new moon that you can use in any way you choose. “The actions you take immediately after that new moon appears will have far-reaching, positive ramifications,” Susan Thriller said. That sounds so exciting! I hope you’ll send me an old-school newsletter that I can tape to my fridge because if there’s anything I love more than good Suz and good news, it’s mall photos of my friends in turtlenecks!