#b always reporting to a in the field

[frownyalfred]

using “Agent A” as Alfred’s code name and using “B” for Batman’s shortened name in the field suggests there’s a world where “Agent A” is shortened to “A” and everyone in Gotham and on the Watchtower is terrified of him. because they’ve met B. and if this is B??

[kaiwewi]

Their First Villain

Secret Santa gift for @the-modern-typewriter Prompt: "Scary villain x hero in a Christmas setting of your [the writer's] choice. Could go spicy, could go whumpy, could go unexpectedly sweet!" Hope you like this! Merry Christmas!! 🎅🎁

“You recognised me,” the villain observes, his tone unnaturally flat. His face betrays no emotion.

“Kinda hard not to, with your…” – the hero tilts their head at where the villain’s magic continues to spread, coiling around their limbs and securely fixing them in place – “…snake thingies?”

The individual tendrils really do vaguely resemble snakes, although the magic in its entirety reminds them more of some writhing alien monster plant from an old Sci-fi B-movie whose title they cannot remember. It’s not a good comparison anyway. The movie hadn’t been scary at all.

They experimentally try to wrestle one of their arms free, but despite the magic’s apparent fluidity, the moment they push or pull in any direction, whatever give appeared to be there all but disappears and they can’t move a millimetre.

“Oh.” The villain’s eyes widen. “You can see it.”

“See it. Feel it. Didn’t expect it to be this hot.”

An awkward pause follows.

They are decidedly not blushing. It’s just warm. All of them is so warm now that the villain’s powers have moulded themselves around the hero like something liquid but alive. Wherever the tendrils touch bare skin – their ungloved hands and that area just above their ankles where their pants don’t quite meet the rims of their boots – the raw energy buzzes, prickles just short of stinging.

They’d been shivering just minutes ago in their much too thin poncho and the not seasonally appropriate Agency office uniform. Well, they still are shivering, just no longer from the cold.

Where the villain’s magic is fever-hot, his scrutiny runs icy.

“You can see it, but not fight it,” he muses. “How curious. The Agency must be understaffed to send their defenceless little office drones out into the field.”

The hero would be glaring if the villain weren’t underscoring the point by pulling his magic tighter with the mere flick of a finger. That small, anxious sound that escapes them in response brings a self-satisfied grin to the villain’s lips.

“It’s Christmas,” the hero says, once the magic has settled again.

The villain raises a brow.

“Most of the regulars are on holiday, Christmas being a time best spent with family … or so I’m told.”

“Yet you are working.”

“Don’t have anyone.” They aren’t technically without family just … Sometimes, family isn’t a place of refuge and welcome. Not a home to turn to for holiday celebrations or company. Some families fashion themselves exclusive clubs with strict rules that refuse or revoke memberships as they please. The hero forces some levity into their tone. “I have nowhere else to be today, so, I’m helping out here.”

The villain chuckles. “Helping is perhaps not what I would call that.”

“Hey, I did recognise you,” they say, defensively.

“And look where that got you.” His smile is sharper than before, meaner. “Am I your first villain? My heartfelt condolences.”

They don’t dignify that with an answer. But the answer is yes. The villains they watched being interrogated through one-way mirrors at HQ don't count.

“Pity,” the villain says with zero warmth, “that you couldn’t just look the other way. What is it with you people that you're always so eager to cause unnecessary conflict.”

“Reporting suspicious behaviour is kind of my job.” It comes out barely above a whisper and carries the distinct cadence of an apology.

“Ah yes, and my mere existence struck you as suspicious behaviour because …”

Admittedly, once they’d recognised the villain, they hadn’t taken the time to consider his appearance beyond the magic he’d been wearing around his shoulders like a particularly weaponizable scarf. The lack of a combat suit in favour of a sleek, dark coat over a woollen jumper and cargo joggers – either an outfit designed to blend in or just what the villain happens to like to wear when he isn’t working – hadn’t registered any more than the total absence of weaponry other than his powers. And while he could have hidden those better, it’s not like he could have simply left them at home.

There hadn’t been time to ponder. It had all happened so fast. Their eyes had met, and a moment later the hero had already been scrambling away from the crowd, past a stall selling mulled wine and into the nearest alley, where they’d scrolled through their contacts with stiff, unfeeling fingers. The villain had caught up with them before they’d managed to call for backup.

Their gaze darts to the remnants of their smashed phone, sprinkled across the muddy snow, mere metres away but entirely useless even if they could reach it.

What if the villain hadn’t had anything nefarious planned? What if the hero’s brain had naturally jumped to the most prejudiced conclusion all on its own?

Of course, it is unfair to treat his mere presence as if it is a crime. But the things he could do ...

They think about the parents with their cameras, filming their ice-skating children, the squealing toddlers on the merry-go-round, the nice old ladies selling tea out of the back of a car.

“You could be a danger to all those innocent people,” they defend their judgement.

“And you could be a danger to me,” the villain replies coolly. “Would be unwise, letting someone roam free who can pick me out of a crowd with a glance. Perhaps I should thank you for revealing yourself. Very ill-advised. But quite convenient. You were so obvious about it, too.”

He has crossed the distance between them while speaking. Close enough now to reach out and tuck an unruly strand of hair behind their ear with his cold, slender fingers. His other hand settles almost gently on their throat, atop the magic that has slivered around their neck at some point during the conversation.

The tip of a new tendril is in the process of worming its way lower, nestling into the collar of their shirt. It laps against the crook of their neck and they cringe away from the touch as much as the magic allows. It doesn’t hurt. It would be so much easier if it did. The touch is light; it kind of tickles and, given the overall direness of the situation, the hero really isn’t in the mood for that. Or, they shouldn’t be.

Unhelpfully, their traitorous mind supplies them with a thoroughly inappropriate image of what else someone who isn’t the enemy could be doing to them with magic such as this.

“Tell me,” the villain says as the power shifts upwards, tilting their chin back with the movement, so his nails can bite into the newly exposed skin below their jaw, “is there anything else troublesome about you, or is it just the eyes?”

He looks most pleased when their breath hitches despite their best efforts to remain stoic. His grip tightens. He’s studying them intently, staring at their eyes like those are priced gems he considers adding to his collection.

Maybe, underneath the mockery, he actually does consider them somewhat of a threat. If he didn’t, why would he be looking at them like that.

It’s stupid, truly and utterly stupid, to feel flattered. This is not respect, they know, just sharp, calculating consideration. His attention promises imminent danger, might turn lethal at any second. It’s not something they should revel in. Still, it feels good, too – being seen.

Has anyone ever really seen them before?

Or perhaps that is the lack of oxygen speaking.

They struggle to focus their vision but all the twinkling Christmas lights in the trees are starting to smudge into dull, red and golden blurs. Vertigo is clawing at them.

There is absolutely nothing they can do against the villain's grip. They're so pitifully out of their depth.

They think about their bland, only half-furnished two-room apartment; their first day at the Agency HQ; their nth day – no more eventful than the first – sitting at the exact same desk in the exact same office and working on the exact same old computer; their colleagues’ looks of pity when their 14th application for a transfer to field work is being denied and their boss tells them, in stern admonishment, that their skill sets just aren’t suited to solo missions. They think about her condescending smile when she finally does assign them the Christmas market job, clearly convinced the worst thing that could possibly happen here is people getting drunk enough on punch to start throwing punches.

They think of their first split-second impression of the villain as just another guy standing by the ice rink with a cup of something steaming in his hands and a mellow, unguarded smile curving his lips.

They hope this montage doesn’t count as their life flashing before their eyes. It’s way too sad a summary of their depressing lack of accomplishments.

They think, with equal parts age-old bitterness and new-found sarcastic vindication, about their colleagues’ infantile, unofficial, end-of-the-year office rankings where flashier heroes with more impressive abilities always receive titles such as most likely to hook up with a hot reporter or most epic battle or best one-liners.

Meanwhile, all the hero has to show for are three consecutive wins of least likely to die on the job.

Which might have been a reassuring sentiment if it weren’t so clearly code for “you’ll never be a real hero”. Real heroes risk their lives on the job all the time.

Well, look at them now!

Will their colleagues manage to come up with a new title for them in time, they wonder, if the villain kills them now, just a week before this year’s poll results will be released?

Most unexpected death has a nice ring to it.

They should be trembling in terror. Might have, if the villain’s magic weren’t encasing them so – tight but soft and deceptively warm, lulling them in. The sticky heat of it leaves them squirming, stuck in a confusing limbo between gooey not-quite-discomfort and hot-bath sluggishness.

They’re drifting. Until they’re not.

It’s impossible to discern how much time has passed or when exactly the villain has released them; but their thoughts are beginning to clear and their brain catches up to the fact that there is air in their lungs again, and that the breathless, hiccuping gasps uncontrollably tumbling out of their mouth aren’t sobs. It’s laughter.

“Are you enjoying this?” The villain sounds incredulous.

They shake their head. “I don’t know,” they manage, between hysterical giggles. “Maybe. Yes?”

“How did you know I wouldn’t kill you?”

“I didn’t.”

That startles a short laugh out of him.

“I’ve never” – they pant, still struggling for air – “felt this alive before.”

“That sounds ... unhealthy.”

There is a long pause in which the villain silently stares at them while they are more or less regaining control over their breathing.

“You wouldn’t get it,” they say then, perfectly aware they must seem most unhinged. “Bet you don't even know what boredom is. Because your life is fun. Mine is not. I practically live at my stupid job, and my stupid job doesn't even pay well. No one there gives a fuck about me. And nothing exciting ever happens. So can I please just have this one damn moment without being judged?”

The villain hums, low. “And here I thought we were ruining each other’s days.” He presses a hand to their forehead. “Did the heat fry your synapses?” he asks, sounding more amused than concerned. His other hand comes up to cup the nape of their neck, as if he can’t help but reach out. Just as they can’t help but lean into the cooling touch. His gaze drops, as if drawn, to their lips. “Or, are you just naturally this unusual?”

They can smell gingerbread and mulled wine on his breath.

“Are you going to kiss me?” they ask, because yes their synapses are definitely fried and they do not care about consequences, awkwardness, or sanity anymore.

“Would you like me to kiss you?”

“I’d certainly much rather be kissed than killed. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” he repeats, smirking. “But we've established I’m not about to kill you. And that wasn’t a yes.”

“It’s not a no either.”

“Not how consent works, darling.”

They scoff. “You didn’t ask for consent first when you strangled me five minutes ago.”

The villain laughs again, in genuine delight judging by how his magic ripples and purrs.

“Okay, fair enough,” he whispers, shifting so his lips almost brush theirs.

The kiss that follows is sweet, surprisingly chaste, and initiated by the hero.

“So, since you mentioned earlier you have nowhere else to be today,” the villain says, afterwards, mischief gleaming in his eyes. “Have you ever had the pleasure of being kidnapped?”

Pleasure, as it turns out over the course of the next few hours, is an understatement.

If anyone at the office were to find out what the hero has been up to during their first (and best) and possibly only solo field mission, not only are they guaranteed to get fired, their colleagues will also surely create an entirely new office ranking category in their honour:

First to be seduced by a supervillain.

[chrissssssmut]

can I request a continuation of yujin classroom 3-B?

CLASSROOM 3-B PART 2

Ahn Yujin x Male OC

AN: Here's Part 2 of the Vampire Ahn Yujin story! Hope yall like this one as much as the first!♥️

PART 1

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The town forgot Y/N quickly.

At first, there was a flurry of police reports, late-night news segments, and concerned PTA meetings. The school held a memorial in his honor—framed photo on a desk, candles flickering in the gymnasium. Some students cried. Most didn’t. They were too used to it by then.

Another disappearance. Another name whispered, then erased.

But not for me.

I was Kang Doyun. And Y/N was my best friend.

He was the one who laughed at my awful jokes, stayed up late grinding ranked matches with me, and shared every stupid conspiracy theory he uncovered like it was gospel. He was also the one who called me three hours before he vanished.

“Doyun… if I disappear—no. When I disappear—it’s because of her.”

“Who? What are you talking about—”

“Ahn Yujin.”

His voice had trembled. Not with fear—but conviction.

“She’s not human.”

And then the line went dead.

I tried calling back. Dozens of times. Nothing. I messaged him all night. No response.

Two days later, his parents filed a report. His seat was empty. And just like that, Y/N became another one of those names no one dared speak too loudly.

But I wasn’t about to let that be the end of it.

So I did what he would’ve done.

I transferred.

The school hadn’t changed much.

The gates still creaked. The hallways still echoed. The walls still smelled faintly of bleach and dust, like someone always cleaning up a mess they couldn’t quite erase.

I walked into Class 3-B, bag slung over my shoulder, heart pounding against my ribs like it was trying to escape.

I spotted the empty desk first.

Second row, by the window. Still untouched. Still his.

The teacher barely looked up as she introduced me.

“This is Kang Doyun. He’ll be joining us for the rest of the term. Please be kind.”

Polite clapping. A few glances. Then silence.

I took the seat behind his.

And that’s when I felt it—eyes on me.

I looked up.

There she was.

Ahn Yujin.

Beautiful. Polished. Poised. Like a perfectly carved doll with just a hint of movement.

Her gaze met mine, unblinking.

She smiled.

“Hi,” she said, voice soft and sweet. “Welcome to the class.”

I smiled back. “Thanks.”

I held her gaze a little longer than I should have, just to see what would happen.

She didn’t look away.

The first few days, I played dumb.

I took notes. Asked boring questions. Ate lunch alone on the rooftop like some anime protagonist. But underneath it all, I was watching.

Yujin was... magnetic. The way students made space for her in the halls. The way teachers praised her like she was a gift. The way she always knew the answer, but never raised her hand unless called on. Perfect attendance. Perfect scores. But no one ever saw her eat. No one ever saw her leave the building, either.

And every time I asked about Y/N, people froze.

Even the ones who used to be his friends.

It was like a spell—his name didn’t just make people uncomfortable.

It made them afraid.

And Yujin… she started getting closer.

Little things. Passing by my desk, fingers brushing my shoulder like it was an accident. Offering to help with notes I didn’t need. Complimenting my handwriting.

It was subtle. Almost sweet.

Almost.

One evening, I lingered behind after school.

Pretended I forgot a book. Waited until the halls were empty, then followed her.

She didn’t take the main gate.

She slipped through a side exit, across the track field, and into the woods behind the school.

I stayed low, boots crunching softly through fallen leaves.

She didn’t look back once.

Eventually, she stopped in front of a house.

Normal. Modest. Two stories, pale walls, and a flickering porch light.

She opened the door.

Didn’t knock.

Didn’t use a key.

Just walked in like she was the only one who mattered.

I waited ten minutes.

Then I followed.

Her house was wrong.

Not messy. Not haunted. Just... wrong.

Too clean. Too quiet. Like no one had ever lived there.

I crept through the front hallway, stepping over the shoes that weren’t hers, past a photo of a family that looked too faded to be real. I moved toward the back, toward the door that stood slightly ajar.

I pushed it open—

And my breath caught.

Lockers. Just like Y/N described. Real, metal lockers. Labeled with initials.

I saw his jacket first.

Hanging neatly on a hook, like he might return to claim it.

His name tag. His scent. His broken phone.

And something else.

A notebook.

His notebook.

I picked it up, hands trembling. Pages filled with scribbles, notes, theories. Everything he’d learned before he vanished. Diagrams. Maps. Drawings of red eyes.

My name was on the last page.

“If anyone finds this… Doyun, run. Or burn this place to the ground.”

Too late.

Behind me, the door creaked.

I turned slowly.

Yujin stood in the doorway.

Her eyes were glowing.

“Curious,” she whispered, stepping forward. “Just like him.”

My pulse spiked.

“I knew it was you,” I said, backing away. “I know what you did to him.”

“Do you?” she asked, tilting her head. “Because I don’t think you really understand what he was to me.”

Her expression darkened. Her voice dropped to a whisper.

“He was special.”

“He was dead,” I growled.

She blinked. Slowly. “Not at first.”

I bolted.

Past her. Down the hall. Toward the door—

She was there.

I didn’t even see her move.

One second she was behind me, the next, in front.

“You can’t outrun me,” she said calmly. “But you can survive. If you stop digging.”

I raised the knife I’d hidden in my sleeve.

“Then kill me,” I spat. “Like you killed him.”

Something flickered in her expression.

Sadness?

No. Hunger.

“I don’t want to kill you,” she whispered. “I want you to chase me.”

And that’s how the game began.

She let me leave that night.

Let me run.

But every time I turned a corner, she was there. Smiling. Watching. Waiting.

In the shadows.

In my dreams.

In the reflection of a train window.

At first, I thought I was imagining it.

Until I found her handwriting on my desk.

“Getting warmer.”

Until I found red petals in my locker.

Until I woke up one night to find her sitting on my windowsill, legs crossed, eyes glowing softly in the dark.

She didn’t move.

Just smiled.

Then she was gone.

It’s been three weeks.

I haven’t stopped running.

I haven’t stopped planning.

She thinks I’m breaking.

She’s wrong.

Because this time, I’m not just some curious kid looking for answers.

I’m the storm she invited.

And I don’t care what she is.

Monster. Demon. Vampire.

I’m going to find her.

And I’m going to make her bleed.

Doyun called it unfinished business.

The forest was silent.

Only the wind stirred the leaves, brushing them against each other like the whispers of ghosts. The moon hovered low, pale and heavy in the sky, casting long shadows across the clearing.

Doyun crouched low behind a fallen tree, hands trembling as he tightened the final wire.

Every inch of this place had been prepared. Every snare, every line of salt, every sigil carved with obsessive precision. He’d read every book he could find, hunted through cursed forums, contacted whispering voices online that asked for payment in things he could never repay.

And all of it led to this.

“She’s not invincible,” he muttered under his breath, sweat beading on his temple. “She can bleed.”

At the center of the clearing stood an old wooden chair, its legs soaked in consecrated oil, bolted to a rusted iron plate. Chains hung loose beside it, blessed and etched with runes that bit into the metal like teeth. The ground beneath was a trap circle—a fusion of shamanic binding, Catholic warding, and arcane magic no priest would approve of.

And bait.

A worn photo of Y/N, folded and pinned to the seat.

He waited.

And waited.

The air turned cold.

Leaves rustled—but not from wind.

Then she appeared.

Effortless. Silent.

Ahn Yujin stepped out from the trees, barefoot, her school uniform perfectly neat, like she'd stepped out of class five minutes ago. Her eyes scanned the clearing, pausing when they landed on the photo.

“…Y/N,” she said softly, walking toward the chair.

Doyun didn’t breathe.

Her hand reached out—fingers brushing the picture.

That was the trigger.

The trap exploded around her.

A burst of white fire surged up the circle, and the blessed chains lashed around her limbs like snakes, pinning her to the chair. A high-pitched shriek erupted from her throat, raw and animalistic, as smoke curled off her skin where the runes burned.

Doyun rose from the shadows, stepping into the light with a knife in his hand—curved, silver, glowing faintly with holy symbols carved into its hilt.

Yujin thrashed, veins bulging, red eyes burning bright with fury and pain.

“You,” she hissed. “You planned this.”

“I told you,” Doyun said coldly, walking toward her, “I’m not like him. I came to end this.”

She bared her fangs, snarling—but she couldn’t move. The chains held. The runes flared brighter the closer he got.

Doyun raised the knife, aiming for her heart.

“Goodbye, Yujin.”

And then—

“Wait…”

Her voice cracked.

Different.

Soft.

Like a frightened girl’s.

Doyun froze.

“I didn’t want to kill him,” she whispered, her eyes brimming with tears. “I—I loved him. I didn’t mean to… it was a mistake. Please.”

His grip on the knife wavered.

It wasn’t the monster speaking now.

It was her.

The girl everyone thought they knew. The girl who sat in class with a gentle smile. The girl Y/N couldn’t stop thinking about.

“I don’t want to die,” she whimpered. “I’m scared…”

The blade trembled in his hand.

“What… what are you doing?” he muttered, throat tight.

“Please…” she begged, tears sliding down her cheeks, mixing with the blood from her burning skin. “Don’t hurt me…”

He hesitated.

Just for a second.

Just one second too long.

Her eyes snapped open—cold and gleaming.

And then she moved.

With a screech of metal and an unnatural jerk, she lunged forward—chains still burning her skin—but her claws reached him first.

They tore through his side, white-hot pain flooding his nerves.

“Gah—!”

Doyun stumbled back, blood gushing from the gash across his ribs. He dropped to the ground, crawling away, vision blurring. The forest spun around him as his body screamed for rest, for escape.

Behind him, Yujin dragged herself free.

The runes weakened. The chains cracked.

She was burned. Bleeding. Limbs twitching. But she didn’t stop.

She crawled after him—gritting her teeth, eyes blazing with hunger and rage.

“You… almost fooled me,” Doyun gasped, inching backward, one arm pressed to his wound.

Yujin was right behind him now. Her breath hit his skin. Her body pressed against his back, teeth grazing his neck.

“I should’ve killed you sooner,” she hissed.

And then—

He twisted.

In his shaking hand, the silver knife flared one last time, the holy blessing activated by her proximity.

He plunged it backward into her chest.

Straight through her heart.

Her scream tore through the forest like a shockwave.

Not just pain.

But betrayal.

Yujin clawed at his shoulder, fangs gnashing—but her strength was already failing. Her body convulsed, dark veins spreading from the wound. Smoke hissed from her mouth. Her eyes—those hypnotic red eyes—flickered.

“…Doyun,” she breathed, brokenly. “I… I could’ve loved you.”

“I’m not here for love,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “I’m here for justice.”

She collapsed.

Her body twitched once.

Then fell still.

The light in her eyes faded.

Her skin cracked like porcelain, crumbling at the edges.

And then, Ahn Yujin was no more.

Only ashes remained—scattered by the wind.

Doyun lay there for a long time, blood pooling beneath him, stars spinning overhead.

He closed his eyes.

And for a moment, he swore he could still hear her voice in the breeze.

“You’re mine now.”

But it was only the wind.

Only the silence left behind after a monster dies.

Only the price of vengeance.

[mrs-elsie-barnes]

Let The Rain Fall | Bucky Barnes x Autistic!Reader | Short Series - Part 4 of 4 - 2.5k

Bucky isn't the only person looking to talk to you after you rescue the jet. But you're feeling far from heroic. But Bucky's seen you struggle before, and he's going to help you again too.

Warnings: description of a meltdown, angst, workplace bullying, negative introspection, but also fluff, Bucky being the softest and the sweetest, and...a kiss!

A/N: thank you to everyone who has read along, I'm so glad I finally shared this fic with you all and I hope you enjoyed it :)

<- Part 3

Masterlist | Let the Rain Fall Masterlist | Bucky Barnes

The compound was calm again, the debris from the attack was being cleaned up by Stark’s crew and everyone was back to their day jobs as if nothing happened. But Bucky couldn’t move, couldn’t go back to the gym or paperwork, and just forget what he’d seen. 

“She was just standing there, Steve, controlling the jet, she saved them all - I- what happened? What is she?” 

Steve didn’t look up from the report he was reading, “I told you, she has her own skills.”

“What skills?” Bucky paced back across the room and in front of Steve’s eyeline. 

“Can you sit down? You’re making me dizzy.” Steve shuffled up slightly to accommodate Bucky on the sofa as well. “Stop. Pacing.”

“Tell me.”

“I don’t know, her envelope is sealed. You’ve managed to get more out of her than any of us combined. So, I’m sure she’ll tell you in her own time.” He looked up at Bucky pointedly before returning to his report. 

"You know, don't you?"

Steve ran a hand down his face and then back up, ruffling his normally neat hair.

"I do, if I tell you, will you promise to leave her alone?"

"Honestly? I won't lie to you... But I still need to know."

"To save you getting in trouble, opening people's files, I'll tell you what you've already seen. But then you have to leave her alone. I can't fight HR about you again."

Bucky sat down finally, watching the side of Steve's face.

"Telekenisis, that's what I heard when she joined." Steve went back to his paperwork, feeling the pressure of Bucky's stare before, turning to him. "Three years at Xavier's before graduating, she worked there for a while, then college, then here. To my knowledge she's only used her powers during emergencies, no field work, never requested it and always turned down our offers. She just likes being here, doing a normal job, and Stark likes having -" Steve paused, unsure of the word to use, "people with powers, on site, none combatant, just in case."

"She came out in the field with us though? Why?"

Steve laughed, pointedly looking Bucky up and down before slapping his friend on the shoulder.

"Why indeed. Now, keep it to yourself, don't go gettin' yourself in to trouble."

Despite Steve’s insistence that you were left alone, his orders didn’t trickle down to the other swat and tactical teams in the compound. 

For the rest of the week you found team leaders, colleagues and even a few other agencies dropping into your inbox and asking you to help. 

After a few days with no responses the Team B chief tactical officer even turned up at your door, banging on the wood and demanding to speak to you. 

“Come on Agent, you know you’d be valuable in the field -” she’d paused, waiting for you to answer. But your words were gone, your mind foggy, incapable of anything but sitting quietly and staring out of the windows.

You could see some trees waving in the distance and focused on the way the top branches danced together. The view wasn't as nice as the one from Bucky's apartment and you tried to tell yourself that's what you were missing, the view, and not the man himself who would surely distance himself from you after this ridiculous display.

Fresh tears poured as your sub-conscious continued to berate you internally.

“Don’t you think it’s selfish to keep your talent to yourself? Think how many people you could save!” 

You gave the Officer nothing, staying silent, the clouds slowly filled in behind the trees, drifting, drifting, your nails biting into your palms, shoulders bumping the chair as you rocked to and fro in time with the trees.

“Alright, think of how many people will die because you’re too fucking selfish and lazy to help them - have it your way, stay here behind a desk, let your fellow agents injure themselves needlessly doing work you should be doing.” 

With that the Team B Tactical Officer stormed off back down the corridor, and you burst into tears. 

“It’s not selfish,” you whispered to yourself, squeezing the blanket tighter around your shoulders, “it’s not selfish, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.”

Your corridor was quiet, as it always was. No sign if you were in or not apart from the muddy boots left outside of your door. Bucky heaved in a breath, preparing for you to send him away. He knocked and waited. 

Nothing. 

He knocked again. 

Nothing. 

“Look, I know you’re in there.”

“Go.” 

Your voice sounded broken, tired. 

"Just wanted to let you know we caught that guy, so…everything's safe for you to come out now."

"Okay."

“Are you okay?” 

“Fine.” 

Bucky sighed, “please just let me in, we don’t have to talk, just let me make sure you’re okay and then I’ll go.” 

The handle turned and the door cracked open almost imperceptibly. Bucky pushed it further, quickly stepping in and closing it behind him. You were very particular about your space, so he made sure to leave his coat and shoes by the door before slowly making his way to your living room. 

Like your office, your apartment was cosy and comfortable. He found you curled into an armchair by the window, your furniture the same Stark issued items that were in his own living space. But you’d made everything your own with cushions and throws, blankets neatly folded on every arm and a huge, plush rug demarcating the space. You looked small in the chair, a huge fluffy hoody pulled down over your knees, the hood up so you were just a pair of sad eyes, watching him from your personal den. 

“Hey, Doll.” Bucky gave you a weak smile, perching on the coffee table in front of you. It was littered with books and half full mugs of cold tea, multiple packets of your favourite biscuits, crumbs and ring marks where you’d run out of coasters. It wasn’t like you at all. 

He looked back at your doe eyes, red from crying, staring unblinking at a spot above his shoulder. If it was anyone else he’d think you were staring at his arm, but he knew better than that, you’d never stared at him like that, you weren’t even looking at him now. “Do you need to talk about anything?” He offered. 

Your eyes didn’t move from their fixed spot, but you shook your head from one side to the other, slowly. 

Bucky furrowed his brow in confusion. He’d never seen you like this. Since getting to know him he’d found you chatty and buoyant, excited to share things with him and even if you never looked at him for very long, you certainly didn’t stare vacantly through him. He always knew you were listening, despite your tendency to fiddle and fidget, because you asked him about things later, recalled the most minute details of his day, and it struck him how much he already missed talking to you. 

“Can I get anything for you?” You continued to stare, shrinking into yourself, but silent tears began to track down your cheeks. “I’m going to run you a bath, okay, and light some candles.”

Bucky sat on the edge of the tub, scrolling through playlists until he found one that seemed calming. He liked to use music to make himself feel better, relying on tunes from his childhood mostly, and while he wasn’t sure what you’d like he figured something upbeat and instrumental was probably a safe bet. 

When the bath was mostly full, bubbles spilling over the side and candles lit on the shelf, he went to collect you, expecting you to be in your robe or a towel. But you were still there, staring. 

He sat again and reached out, “your bath’s ready, Doll, do you want me to help get you in it?” 

“They could’ve died.” Your voice was a whisper, almost silent. 

“What?” 

“They could’ve died, if I did it wrong. I took a risk. I could’ve killed everyone. I shouldn’t. I promised.” Tears continued to flow and judging from the pinched line between your eyes you were beginning to get dehydrated.

He bent forward and scooped you into his arms, tucking you into his chest while he allowed your tears to pour out in sobs. Your whole body shook as he held you, rocking side to side and hushing gently in your ear. 

"I don't like doing it, I never controlled it right and it's too much pressure, Bucky, I just can't. Every time is like this - this - weight and-" you sighed, inhaling a shuddering breath, "it's just a lot of responsibility and I don't want it. I didn't ask for it, I just want to be me, in my office, with my paperwork, where I can't hurt anyone."

“No one was hurt, no one was hurt because you helped.” He soothed, “let’s get you in the bath, clean up your cheeks-” he pulled back, rubbing his vibranium thumb under the tears shimmering down your face, “you must be tired, you worked so hard.” 

“It wasn’t enough, I nearly dropped it.” 

“You did a wonderful job.” 

“It wasn’t good enough.” You replied, hotly, stumbling away from his embrace. 

“No one was hurt, you saved the pilot and the ground crew. What more could you have done?” 

“I could have put him down in a safer place, found the attacker, got to the airstrip faster, I could’ve been better. I should’ve been better. If I trained, if I was on a proper team…” You stalked to the bathroom, rubbing at your tear stained face. “This is- this is why I can't be an agent. I can't do this every time something happens, I can't feel this guilt that I should've done better and yet -” you sobbed, “they come here and, they tell me I'm selfish. Maybe they're right. But I can't put myself through this every. Single. Time. I didn't ask for this. I didn't want it. I just wanted to be useful.”

“Doll,” Bucky's voice cracked. Is that really what you thought? That you had to be useful to be worth anything? “You don't have to do anything you don't want to. I just want to help, no one has to be useful to be worthy you know and -"

“Thank you for the bath.” You mumbled, cutting him off and shutting the door with a slam. 

Bucky stared at the door and listened to the sound of you climbing into the bath. He’d been ready to help, he’d wanted to help. But he knew this was for the best and he was two strides towards the door, jacket in hand, when he stopped. 

You been angry when you finally went into the bathroom, but before then it wasn't anger. You’d been sad and withdrawn and he thought back to the lonely evenings he’d spent staring out of the windows after his first therapy sessions. The way everyone had left him alone to his thoughts and it had somehow been so much worse. How he'd turned his own anger in on himself, berating himself for what he should've done.

He paused, putting his jacket back and surveying the now dark room. Light, that’s what you needed, the soft light from your many table lamps. He lit a candle on the coffee table and fluffed up the pillows from your nest of an armchair. 

Taking a risk, he peered into your bedroom and, spotting your pyjamas on the bed, spread them out neatly along with a dressing gown and some soft socks. 

You’d be hot after your bath so he made sure there was a bottle of sparkling water in the fridge, and plenty of cocoa in the jar, in case you wanted something hot. 

Then he waited, trying not to listen to the soft sound of water moving over your body or the way you started to hum along with the song.

"You take as long as you need, okay? I'll be right here when you get out. If you need to talk, if you need to just sit. I'll be right here."

There was quiet, the water still, and then your voice floated out, "thank you…I'm sorry."

"Never had to be sorry to me, Doll, beaten myself up enough times to know you're feeling worse right now. I just want you to remember one thing okay?"

"Okay?"

"You're enough exactly as you are right now."

The water moved again, "thank you." You sighed the words on an outbreath and Bucky heard the faint plash of tears again.

He walked away, as much as he wanted to push the door open and wrap his arms around you, this wasn't the time. So he settled onto the sofa, ready to wait.

You had emerged from your bath to the sight of Bucky passed out on your sofa, a book half open in his lap.

The pyjamas he’d left for you on your bed were so comfortable and for a minute you’d bathed in their scent as deeply as you had your bath. But then you were craving something else, something more grounding than floating away in your thoughts again and suddenly all you could think about was Bucky.

You’d been so rude, slamming the door on him, and part of you dreaded seeing him again and facing up to your behaviour. So finding him asleep in your living room was certainly not what you expected. 

“Oh, hey Doll, sorry, must’ve passed out. You alright?” He blinked awake, pushing himself up again and you watched the way his long shirt  rumpled around his waist, exposing the slightest slither of skin before it was hidden again. 

“I’m really sorry,” you mumbled, “you’ve been so kind and -” 

“I told you, nothing to apologise for,” he gave you a sleepy, lopsided smile and patted the cushion beside him, “come and get comfy, you want a snack?” 

You stared at him and watched the smile fall from his face. 

“I’ve overstayed my welcome, sorry.” 

He stood to go and your thoughts whirled, panicking, he can’t go, you needed him here, stay, stay, stay. Why wasn’t your mouth working? Stay! But nothing came out, you just carried on staring until - 

Your voice was broken, but your body wasn’t, and instead of asking him to stay you went careening into him, wrapping your arms around his waist and pressing your cheek to the worn material of his Henley. He smelt so good, warm and safe and your thoughts went quiet, your heart stopped racing. You sighed. 

Bucky looked down at you, one arm finding its way around your waist, the other cupping the back of your neck.

You looked up and his lips met yours, gentle, loving, understanding. He tasted of cinnamon and chocolate, his lips perfectly soft against your own.His hands flexed, holding you tighter, pressing into you and drawing you closer against his body.

“Stay,” your voice was swallowed by his kisses and he hummed his agreement, holding you tighter against him. You pulled away, resting your forehead against his. “It’s best -” you twirled his dog tags in your fingers, “if you’re really clear so I understand.” 

“I’ll stay as long as you’ll have me,” he smiled before finding your lips again. 

[cj-schlatt]

Take Me Out - Part One

Pairing: MLB player!Schlatt x gn!sideline reporter!reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Summary: Schlatt is the new first baseman for the New York Mets, and you’re the team’s new sideline reporter.

Content: Fluff!

A/N: I went with the Mets over the Yankees because a.) I’m a Red Sox fan, and b.) the Yankees are strict and only allow mustaches (long live the chops). Enjoy! :)

You feel like a kid on the first day of school. You’ve got that nervous, butterflies-in-your-stomach kind of feeling, but in a good way.

It’s your first official day as the sideline reporter for the New York Mets, and you couldn’t be more excited. All those long nights of studying, all your hard work to obtain your communications degree, have finally paid off.

You can’t help the grin that spreads across your face as you enter Clover Park for the first time. You’re in beautiful Port St. Lucie, Florida, and Spring Training is just getting underway. The smell of freshly-cut grass hangs in the air as you watch the players running drills on the field.

It’s here, as you speak to a member of the production team near the dugout, that you catch your first glimpse of him.

His laugh is what you hear first. Instinctively, you turn towards the sound, and that’s when you see him. He’s standing near first base, facing away from you, showing off the number 99 that covers his broad back.

Schlatt, everyone calls him, despite the surname stitched across the back of his jersey. His reputation precedes him. Everyone has heard the scouting reports, seen the viral videos passed around social media. In the minor leagues, he’s been known for his antics, taunting runners on the opposing team when they reach him at first base. It’s his first year being called up to the majors, and he’s one of the big stories for the team, the player to watch.

You’ve done your homework. You know all about Schlatt and his rather colorful personality. He’s certainly one of the more animated players in the sport, always fired up after a solid hit or a particularly impressive defensive play. He’s cocky, and, honestly, he has every right to be. He’s the Mets’ number one prospect, an above-average first baseman and strong power hitter. You know he’s going to be a handful in interviews, but you’re up for the challenge.

You can’t tell from this angle, but you know that if Schlatt were to turn around, you’d see the infamous mutton chops. Second to his spectacular playing ability, his unusual facial hair has been one of his defining characteristics since he was first drafted. Love it or hate it, it gets the fans talking, keeping that oh-so important spotlight on him.

You’re pulled out of your musings by a shout of, “Look out!” followed by a baseball whizzing past your head, narrowly avoiding you. You look to the field to see a few players standing around sheepishly.

“You okay?” To your surprise, it’s Schlatt who turns to ask you.

You give him a thumbs up. “All good,” you call out to him.

With a satisfied nod, he turns back to face the field.

It’s going to be an interesting season, you think.

You’re packed into the press room like sardines, shoulder-to-shoulder with fellow reporters. You all crowd around the podium where Schlatt sits, an array of microphones and cell phones in front of his face to catch his every word.

The press conference begins, and you’re called upon to ask the first question.

You open your mouth to speak.

Before you can get a word out, an older, male reporter begins talking over you. “What do you think—”

“Hey,” Schlatt cuts the reporter off sharply. “Let ‘em speak.” He gestures to you.

You feel your cheeks heat as seemingly every pair of eyes in the room turns towards you. You take a breath, then, as calmly as you can, ask your question: “What’s your takeaway from day one of Spring Training?”

Schlatt hums thoughtfully before answering, “That we look good out there, but we still have a lot of work to do before we’re ready for Opening Day.” He leans back a little in his chair and adjusts his cap. “That all?”

“One more thing: got any advice for a rookie reporter, as a rookie yourself?”

He grins wide. “Just enjoy it. We’re in the big leagues, baby!” he whoops, and the crowd erupts in laughter and scattered applause.

Before moving onto the next reporter, you swear Schlatt shoots a wink in your direction.

Spring Training flies by. Before you know it, you’re on a plane to New York for Opening Day. The sun is shining bright on Citi Field, helping to warm the chilly air.

You’re trying your best to soak it all in. This is what you’ve dreamed of for so long, and you want to enjoy every moment of it.

What an exciting Opening Day it turns out to be. The Mets and Phillies have gone back and forth, earning runs and keeping the score close throughout the game.

It’s now the bottom of the ninth, and the teams are tied three-to-three. There are two outs, no one on base, and Schlatt is up at bat. The count is full—three balls, two strikes. It all comes down to the next pitch.

You watch with bated breath as the Phillies pitcher throws a blazing fastball towards the plate. Schlatt swings the bat, and—CRACK! Just from the sound, you know it’s gone, and Schlatt does, too. He stands in the batter’s box for a few moments, watching the ball sail into the stands, before beginning his victory trot around the bases.

The crowd is going absolutely crazy. Lights are flashing all around, and music is blaring through the stadium speakers. The Mets dugout empties to meet Schlatt at home plate, where they convene in a huge group, shouting and high-fiving one another.

As the celebration on the field dwindles and players are headed off the field, you’re able to get Schlatt’s attention for a post-game interview. You can hear Gary, the announcer, in your ear, setting it up for the viewers at home.

“Schlatt!” you have to practically yell over the crowd. “That was amazing! What’s going through your mind right now?”

He’s breathing heavily, standing with his hands on his hips and leaning in to hear you better.

You think he starts to talk, but you’re suddenly doused in ice-cold liquid. You gasp and instinctively try to back away, but it’s too late. You realize, belatedly, that another Mets player has dumped the Gatorade cooler in celebration, but seems to have missed his mark.

“What the fuck, man?!” Schlatt shouts at his teammate, instinctively putting an arm around your shoulder, as if to shield you from another onslaught.

You shiver, not completely sure if it’s from the unexpected contact or the fact that you’re soaking wet in New York in early April. Maybe it’s a little bit of both.

The station must have cut back to the booth by now. At the very least, the audio will have been muted momentarily when Schlatt swore. Still, you’re pretty sure that, even though the camera is there, it’s not broadcasting you in all your drowned rat glory.

“Fuckin’ idiot,” Schlatt mutters to himself before focusing his attention on you. “Are you alright? Lemme get you a towel.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” you try to tell him, but he’s already jogging towards the dugout and returning moments later with a clean towel, ironically emblazoned with the Gatorade logo.

“Thank you,” you say, taking the towel and attempting, maybe in vain, to dry yourself off. You’re at least able to get the worst of it so there is no longer Gatorade running into your eyes, which is an improvement.

Schlatt crosses his arms and shakes his head. “I’m sorry about him.”

To be honest, you’re surprised he’s still here, still talking to you. You figured he’d want to get out of here as quickly as possible, but here he stands, looking genuinely concerned.

“It’s alright,” you try to brush it off.

“No, it’s not,” he insists. “I’ll talk to him, make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

You smile appreciatively. “Thank you,” you say again.

He smiles back at you softly. It’s so unlike him, you think—or, at least, so unlike the version of himself that he presents on the field and in interviews. It’s like you’re getting a peek at the real Schlatt, the man behind the persona.

You’re whisked off the field soon after. The production team assures you that you don’t have to stick around for the post-game press conferences, insisting that you go home and get cleaned up, for which you’re very grateful.

One very uncomfortable (but thankfully short) walk later, you’re back at your apartment. You quickly peel off your ruined outfit and hop in the shower, eager to wash off the day (and the Gatorade).

Soon, you’re curled up on the couch, cozy in your pajamas. It’s then that you feel your phone buzz, pulling it out of your pocket to reveal a wall of notifications. Confused, you unlock your phone, trying to make sense of the influx of Twitter mentions.

You nearly drop your phone when you open Twitter.

There, on your screen, is a video of you, microphone in hand as you begin interviewing Schlatt, before the Gatorade shower interrupts you both. The video doesn’t end there, though. You watch in disbelief as Schlatt puts his arm around you and continues talking to you, unaware that the camera is still rolling. Sure, there are a few moments where the audio is muted to cover up Schlatt’s f-bombs, but it appears that SNY aired your entire interaction with Schlatt.

You scroll down, eyebrows raising as you read through the replies. There are screenshots of Schlatt with his arm around you, followed by incomprehensible strings of letters and an impressive amount of emojis. You don’t really know what to make of it, and you try to put it out of your mind as you get up to make yourself dinner.

An hour or so later, you get a text from an unknown number:

can we talk?

A second message comes through moments later:

it’s schlatt

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Let me know what you think! :)

[enchantedflameandflower]

Update! Billy Butcher fic! A little angst and drama with a lot of The Boys and a bit of their comedic shenanigans!

karl urban masterlist

taglist: @2dead2function @nosebeers @vavafaure1994 @weallhaveadestiny @str8-jack-it

@jynx15 @hippo2211 @bvd13 @butchersdarkbird - finally, finally I have this chapter out! @butchersdarkbird I so so so hope you enjoy it, I know you've waited so long and it means so much to me!

Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

This takes place a month after last ep of Season 3! I really really hope you enjoy! The chapter was getting crazy out of hand and starting to overwhelm and paralyze me, so I split it in two. SO this means the next part is already 90% written and will be much quicker! Thank you so so much to everyone reading! Also next part of my Gavin x reader fic will be out in a few days!

direct link to part 1

part 38

Glimmer Part 39

One month later.

The last rays of summer sunshine that could make it over the New York City skyline shone orange through the big windows of the top floor of the Flat Iron Building. In a few minutes they would be gone, hidden behind the tall buildings of the city as the sun made its decent. 

Addison sat with M.M. at his desk going over the stack of files of information she’d collected, analyzed and compiled on a handful of B level supes across the eastern seaboard. She had been supposed to meet with him that morning, but had spent the majority of it too nauseous to even move out of bed, much to her annoyance at the cliche, but her first trimester was nearly over, and it couldn’t come soon enough for her.

And of course they were bent together over a pile of papers of a supe Addison had been tracking upstate when Billy walked in, hanging up his coat on the rack by the door. “Well, don’t you two look cozy there, all huddled over your supe files together.” Billy waltzed past the desk, heading for the coffee pot. 

“Where’ve you been, Butcher?” M.M. asked. 

“Didn’t kill anyone, so don’t worry your pretty little head none. Just tailin’ a low level.”

M.M. and Addison continued to work while Billy made coffee then poured himself a mug and went to his desk. She knew it was always better to just not engage when he wanted to argue about her work, especially with M.M..

When they found a break, M.M. stood up and went over to the coffee pot but grumbled lifting it up to show there was barely any left. “You can’t just make enough for all of us?” he asked, frowning at Butcher. 

Addison and Billy exchanged a look. 

“I ain’t your bleedin’ secretary.” Butcher snarked, looking back to his own work. 

M.M. rolled his eyes, reaching for the bag to make some more. “Addison?” he asked over his shoulder as he picked up the coffee pot. 

“No, thanks, I’m good.”

M.M. turned to face her. “I’ve never once heard you turn down a cup of joe, Addi.”

She shrugged, shifting to look through her files. “It’s getting late,” she said off handedly. Luckily she was saved from having to say more by Frenchie and Kimiko coming in. 

Addison shuffled the files back together, bundling them in order for M.M. to take. “Just call if you have any questions.”

“You know we could really use you on the team -” M.M. said but Addison was already shaking her head before he could say more. 

“Uh-uh,” she said. “I don’t do team ups. And I’m not getting involved...in this,” she waved her hand around the room, somehow managing not to gesture at any one person in particular. “I’m really good at this stuff,” she tapped her fingers on the folders. “And I’m not working in the field. My body count is fine where it’s at.”

Her tone left no room for argument, and she was grateful M.M. accepted it for now. She finished up and went to sit on the edge of Butcher’s desk. He was standing in front of it, drinking his coffee and reading through a report he had in hand. 

“Take me to dinner?” she murmured, quiet enough the others couldn’t easily listen in. 

“It’s hardly 5,” he answered, flipping his papers over to look at his watch, then looking at her. 

“Yeah. Dinnertime,” she grinned. “What this isn’t a 9 - 5 job?” she teased him. 

Billy snorted. “Weren’t you textin’ me you were havin’ lunch just a coupla hours ago?”

“Soooo?”

“Well I’ll have to ask the boss ya know,” he set down his report on his desk behind her, leaning close and letting his hand brush across her hip. “I swear though I could feed you a horse these days and you’d still be hungry…” he teased.

But Addison barely heard the last of his sentence because M.M. had suddenly appeared behind Billy and had clearly heard the last of his words and she watched his face - she could literally see it in his eyes as he started to put the pieces together in his mind…

“Addison.”

She froze. No. Fucking. Way. She wasn’t ready, this wasn’t happening here, in front of everyone, she was not doing this…

“Tell me you did not,” M.M. groaned out loud, finally making Billy turn around and lift one brow.

Addison pursed her lips, subconsciously tugging her jacket closed around her.

“Oi, oi! Great, the whole gangs here,” Butcher grinned as Hughie came in, trying to change the subject but it didn’t work with any of them.

Hughie paused as he reached his own desk setting his stuff down, looking between Addi, M.M. and Butcher. Frenchie and Kimiko were off to the side watching cautiously. 

“Did not what?”

Everyone ignored him.  

“Tell me -” M.M. continued, in his most stern dad voice. “You two morons. Did not do - what I think you did.”

“Excuse me,” Addison huffed, furrowing her brows at M.M.. 

“Whoaaa,” Hughie spoke up walking over to them, confusion and shock in his eyes. “What are you talking about?” he asked M.M.. “What do you think they did?” Hughie turned to Butcher. “What did you do?”

“Nothin’ you haven’t done,” Butcher grinned wolfishly clapping him on the shoulder. 

They all seemed to turn to look at Addison at once and she groaned out loud. “Ugghhhh… fucking fuck…..”

“What is happening?!” Hughie flailed. 

Addison crossed her arms but Kimiko was smiling and Frenchie looked like he was about to burst. 

“Frenchie do not-“ Addison pointed at him, her eyes wide.

“We are having a baby!” Frenchie shouted. 

MM pushed his rolling chair into his desk, turning as if he needed to compose himself while Hughie stood in confusion looking between all of them. 

“Hey!” Annie came in the door then, pausing as she immediately picked up the tension. “What happened?” Her smile dropped from her face. 

“Who’s having a baby - ” Hughie started, more confused then ever then as looked at Frenchie then finally turned back to Butcher, then Addison, then back to Butcher again. “Holy fuck…”

“A baby?” Annie asked, clearly taken off guard and upset. The whole thing was like a fucking cirucs act and Addison was quickly losing any shreds of patience she had left.

“Addison and B -“ Hughie started to say then sort of seemed to just freeze before he shook himself out of it. “Congratulations, you two,” he recovered before he stopped again, looking between the two of them. “I mean…right? You want…”

“Yes, Hughie,” Addison interrupted him before he confused his own brain even more. “The baby is very much wanted. Thank you,” she gave him a soft smile but it quickly fell. 

“Addison we need to talk,” M.M. spoke up again pointedly. 

Addison rolled her eyes but her patience was no competition to Billy’s temper, and he had clearly already lost it with all of them.

“Good,” Butcher glared at M.M.. “You take her to dinner then.” He slammed his coffee cup down on his desk then turned to Addison, sliding his strong arm around her waist and tugging her against his body, obviously staking his claim on her and the whole situation before he left. His mouth met hers in a hot, steamy kiss and she had to curl her fingers into his shirt to keep from fainting away as his tongue flicked over hers. He broke the kiss almost as suddenly, squeezing her ass affectionately, then turned for the door, and reaching to grab his coat on the way out.

“I’m calling you tonight,” Addison yelled after him as soon as she caught her breath. “You better fucking answer!” But she knew he’d more than likely be sliding into her bed before the night grew too late.

Butcher waved his hand in the air and Hughie finally seemed to snap out of it as he breezed past. “Wait, Butcher!” He stood up to take off after him but paused and turned back to Annie. “I’m fine,” she said but Addison could tell she was annoyed. And then Hughie was chasing Butcher out the door. 

Addison decided she couldn’t deal with Annie right now and anyway M.M.’s intense stare was not leaving her space to worry about anyone else. 

“You’re not my father, for fucks sake,” she snapped, exasperated by they whirlwind of events, even though her lips were still tingling from Butcher’s fierce kiss. “I slept with Billy. We fucked up. I want this baby - more than I’ve ever wanted anything else in my life. There’s nothing to talk about.”

Annie turned around then and left too, the door closing hard behind her and Addison slumped, dropping her head in her hands. Annie was her friend. She knew how much she hated Billy and honestly she mostly understood. She only wished she could’ve explained first before the news broke like this.

But at least Frenchie and Kimiko seemed to be on her side. “She is happy,” Frenchie spoke up and Addison lifted her head to give him a grateful look. “Surely that is what matters, no?”

M.M. finally seemed to soften a little. “Yeah, fine,” he agreed. “But I still want to talk.”

Frenchie nodded in concession and squeezed Addison’s shoulder reassuringly before heading back over to sit with Kimiko. 

“Let’s go,” M.M. nodded toward the door. “Monique always loved those double chocolate brownie shakes when she was pregnant with Janine. My treat.”

~*~*~

“I know what I’m doing,” Addison said quietly. “Billy and I have talked about it. At length. The baby comes first no matter what. I can do this on my own if I have to. And I can protect - the baby…if I have to. Even against him,” she added.

M.M. glanced up at Addison, with a raised eyebrow, but shook his head while he arranged his napkin and his burger on his tray. “You won’t have to. He loves you. And he might be a gigantic asshole. But he’s an asshole with a heart. He’d take himself out before he let himself hurt you.”

Addison used her spoon to take a big mouthful of her chocolate shake and hummed gratefully while M.M. gave an affectionate smirk. 

“Told ya,” he said. 

Addison smiled, remembering that conversation they’d had so long ago at that little diner on the road. It seemed like a life time ago now. 

“Remember when you asked me if I ever thought about having kids? I lied a little.”

M.M. glanced up at her studying her for a moment. 

“I really, really want this,” she continued. “And if I have to, I can handle it on my own.”

Finally M.M. nodded. She knew this wasn’t going to placate him entirely, but it was enough for now.

“Thank you,” she murmured, in between bites.

“For what.”

Addison shrugged. “For everything. For being a friend.”

“You know I’m just looking out for you, right? I’ve got you, Addison.”

And she knew he did, she just didn't know how much she would need it in the months to come.

~*~*~

Notes: I want everyone to know, no matter what happens in the show this WILL have a happy ending (but of course with tons of h/c, drama and angst along the way.) But I only do ultimately happy endings. Next up: Addison's conversation with Annie does not go as well and Billy and Addi have a heart to heart over the start of that baby bump ♥ Let me know what you think!

Karl Urban Masterlist

[its-quiet-colter]

Mile High Club.

Agent Whiskey x Agent Pisco - Male! Reader

Word Count: 3926

Warnings: NSFW smut (18+), implied switch!whiskey & reader, friends with benefits, blowjob, handjob, thigh fucking, denial of feelings, semi-public sex (kinda) they b fuckin' in the plane.

Notes: this is apart of the Pisco and Whiskey series so i'll link part one. they're stand alones but meant to be read together :) i'm hoping for five or six parts in total !

| Part One | Part Two |

| archive of our own |

The Statesman’s private jet rumbles low and smooth as it makes its way towards Kentucky above the cloudline. It’s warm inside, with the faint smell of the distillery still lingering in the plane’s interior. The leather chair you’ve claimed as your own for the journey home is luxurious, the leather worn and high quality with its soft finishes and suede accents. The Statesman emblem embroidered onto the arm of the seat. 

Turbulence does little to unsettle the plane as its engine – high grade and expensive – keeps the ride graceful. It’s almost enough to lull you into a gentle sleep. And lord do you need it after your latest mission. There’s an ache in your shoulders that’s been there since this morning and a nasty bruise on the right side of your ribcage, left there from a chase through an underground marketplace. Turns out the selling of illicit drugs and illegal weapons was a high enough priority  for you and Whiskey to be sent out on a wild goose chase after the suppliers. But you were left empty handed, with nothing but battered bodies, bruised egos and both of your positions compromised to show for it.

You’re exhausted as you slump against the cushioning of the armchair, the scotch on your drinks tray having already been refilled twice over. You needed something to settle your nerves after such a long and grueling day out on the field. 

Ginger’s voice sounds muffled, distant and far away. Even as she only leans against the pool table in the middle of the room, folder in hand as she recites the debrief and talks you through the next steps. You fiddle with your tie again and look over to see Whiskey’s already pulled his free and has discarded it somewhere, undoing the buttons of his once crisp white shirt. It's there you realised he also stopped listening sometime between Ginger’s report of missing firearms and the serial numbers you found on the crates. 

Whiskey’s always been a little bit restless, always wanting to get out into the field and fix things himself– to not get bogged down in the paperwork and the meticulous details that Statesman requires of their agents. And he certainly never entertains Ginger when it’s her turn to run the post-mission debriefs.

Being an agent, much less one with a partner like Whiskey, has always been a cause for trouble. You’re exhausted and wrung out more often than you’d like to admit. But you love him, in your own fond way. Even if he landed you in Champ’s office more times than you can count for cutting corners and not listening to the intel provided. Convinced he can do it all himself. You remember Champ’s clear advice on the day you two were first paired together. Back when you were fresh out of the academy without the slightest idea of what Statesman had in store for you.

“He’s your responsibility, Pisco. Kid’s as reckless as you are. And I can’t have both my young bucks in trouble. I need you to be the level headed one– watch each other’s backs and keep the other out of trouble. Do that, and I think you two will do just fine here.” Champ had said with his classic southern drawl, rolling a vintage cigar in his fingers as he had gestured to the seat at the table that would always be held for Pisco. 

You’ll never forget the fond but expectant look he had given you when he welcomed you to the Statesman and told you Whiskey was yours as much as you were about to be his. Champ hadn’t meant it like that, of course. Partners in crime, the one to keep each other safe. Statesman could provide all the surveillance and intel you needed, but out there in the field– where explosions and bullets are occupational hazards rather than one-off incidents, it’s you who’d be out there covering his back. Partners, but not of that kind.

But then again, Champ didn’t think you two would end up frotting in the back of Tequila's jeep not even a year after being assigned together.

Lost in the thoughts of the good old days, you’ve completely given up on trying to pay attention to Ginger’s speech. I’ll apologize later, you think. Ginger’s always been a friend, and she puts up with your and Whiskey’s bullshit more times than either of you can count. You watch the jet pass through a thick layer of clouds, idly noticing the dew on the outside window and the way the landscape below disappears and reappears in quick succession. It’s rhythmic and soothing and enough to take your mind off things for a while.

Whiskey watches from his own seat opposite you. 

He notices the slight scuff on the side of your cheek from the chase during the mission, the way your suit is slightly askew and wrecked, and the way you’re reclined in the soft leather of the armchair– exhausted under the guise of being relaxed and boneless. He knows your appearance is due to the fact you’ve been running around all day, narrowly escaping every dangerous threat thrown at you. But in the soft lighting of the jet, he can’t help but think you’re not too far off from the dishevelled state he often leaves you in. When you’d both sneak away from those dry and boring meetings. Hidden amongst the barrels in the cellar that hoards Statesman’s finest collection of bourbon, Whiskey would be down on his knees, your cock taken down his throat as he milked you for all you had.

The sight of you now is all but a reminder of the taste of you.

It’s only been a week since you fucked him over the couch in that Seattle hotel, your hands holding onto his sides as he took all of you with his back arched and mouth left open in a drawn out moan. He can still feel you, the way you tugged on his belt to pull it loose, your hands moving him in whatever way it suited. He remembers the feel of your lips around the base of his cock, and the way you nailed his prostate which never failed to send him over the edge. 

Any other man would be flushed and embarrassed by the memory. But not Whiskey. All it does is serve to make his slacks grow tighter and his eagerness for you all the more intense.

You watch as he glares at Ginger, almost bothered by how methodical and well rounded she is with her research. Like he can’t wait to be done with this meeting and you wonder what’s gotten him so restless. It can't just be boredom, he’s always found a way to entertain himself through debriefs before. But then you notice it.

There it is. The slight shuffle of his body across the armchair as he tries not-so-subtly to hide his hard on by crossing one leg over the other and placing his hat over his lap. It takes all that’s in you not to laugh at the sight. Whiskey doesn’t know what subtlety is if it hit him square in the face.

You watch with satisfaction as Whiskey shifts, and then shifts again. The slight squeeze of his thighs and the way his ankles lock together. Awkwardly, he tries to alleviate the pressure in his pants, the faintest hint of friction enough to bite his top lip and lick the bristles of his just-barely overgrown moustache. He’s overdue for a trim, you think idly as you watch the movement of Whiskey’s mouth. The smallest of movements is more than enough to flood your mind with thoughts of him– lips around the head of your cock– and suddenly he’s not the only one suffering through Ginger’s debrief.

By the time she’s finished, clicking the off button on her clipboard and standing up straight, it feels like hours have passed. In reality, it’s more like twenty minutes or so, but it’s enough for you to settle your arousal and not embarrass yourself in front of your colleagues. Whiskey on the other hand has no such luck with his predicament, and you watch with a bitten back grin as he bolts to the bathroom the second she’s done talking. Almost tripping along the way as the door slams a little too harshly in a desperate attempt to separate himself from the rest of the plane.

“What’s up with Whiskey?” Ginger asks, standing beside you as she watches him go in slight confusion. There’s a gentle curiosity in her voice, along with an underlying tone of concern. She might not always see eye to eye with Whiskey, but she does care about him. You all do.

“No sé,” You say softly with a shake of your head, your hands stuffed in your pockets to hide the urge to fidget uncomfortably. “He’s probably just got flight sickness.”

She knows you’re lying. 

Ginger’s always been the perceptive one and it’s so blatantly obvious you’re not telling the truth since Whiskey has never been known to get sick whilst flying. Hell, he’s one of the few Statesman agents who is qualified to fly their F-22A Raptor Fighter Jet, Silver Pony. Something that Tequila never lets any of you hear the end of whenever he’s in a bad mood from having failed another pilot’s test.

The sound of a thud comes from the direction of the bathroom and you take it as your que to leave.

“I should check on him,” You say, the concern in your voice is only mildly convincing. You know exactly what’s wrong with him.

“Alright.” Ginger says with a final nod of her head, her fingers holding her clipboard like it’s suddenly become more interesting. She’s read the room, and she knows whatever is behind that bathroom door is a Pisco problem, not a Statesman one.

You watch as she makes her way to the bar, taking a seat and reaching over the counter for the closest bottle she can reach. She knows, you think. You have half a mind to ditch Whiskey and turn to her. Maybe you’d defend yourself, deny it. Try to assure yourself and Ginger that there’s nothing going on between you two. Nothing serious anyway. This thing you have with Whiskey– it’s professional. It won’t compromise either of you. You swear it. But even as you think the speech over in your head, the words sound unconvincing even to yourself.

The tick of your watch goes off. Another hour passed, and another hour closer until you’re back in Kentucky. It’s distractingly loud for such a small device as you shuffle your weight from one foot to the other. But maybe you’re just hyper aware of every little sound on the jet, too worked up to focus on just one thing. Undecided which direction you should walk as the silence rings out heavy in the room. You bite the inside of your cheek, considering both options before another thud is heard from the direction of the bathroom and your mind is made up for you.

Before you know it, you’re knocking on the door of the bathroom as you swear and fuss under your breath.

The lock clicks open, and Whiskey’s hand reaches out to tug you in with a handful of your shirt, shuffling awkwardly against the small counter to make room for you.

“Coño, could you have been any louder, Whiskey?” You grumble half-heartedly but he’s quick to bring you in for a searing kiss, well past the point of wanting to hear the lecture about public decency and professionalism in the workspace. Not when he’s preoccupied with the feel of your tongue over his teeth and your hands sliding up under his shirt to feel hot skin.

“Pisco.” Whiskey groans your name, bottom lip caught between his teeth as his head falls back against the bathroom wall. You go with him, following the movement until he lets your lip go as his mouth falls slack in a moan. God, he wants you.

It’s the first time you’ve taken a decent look at him since entering the bathroom. His suit’s ruined; blazer discarded against the lid of the toilet, his shirt rumpled and untucked with only half the buttons undone. Whiskey’s slacks are undone, belt still left in the loops as they rest around his thighs along with his underwear. One hand is wrapped around his cock, stroking himself desperately as he bucks and hisses into his palm. Desperate, you think. His eyes half-lidded and wanting as he looked at you expectantly.

Whiskey’s always been a show off. He’s come more times than he’s willing to admit, showing off for you. He loves to lay back and stroke his cock, arching and moan as he almost dares you to come over and make a mess of him. Whiskey is a man that loves to rile you up and play dirty, but you’ve seen how his own arousal betrays him. When his eyes widen and he tenses up when he realises he’s come too early and left spoiled in front of you.

“Pisco–” He moans again, this time his voice carrying a slight whine. Impatience is getting to him after being so worked up for a majority of the plane ride.

Whiskey reaches out, grabbing hold of your lapel. His thighs part as much as they can underneath the fabric of his slacks, wanting you closer so he can feel the press of your body against his own. He abandons his own leaking cock, needing both hands to tug at your belt and tug at the offending fabric keeping your arousal hidden.

“Come on, sugar.” Whiskey urges you on, tugging on the waistband of your to pull your member out from its confides. His hand, calloused and warm and already coated in his own precum, strokes you with a long drawn out movement from your base all the way up to thumb the tip.

Your head falls on his shoulder, groaning into the fabric of his shirt as your hips jut into his fist. It’s hasty and hurried, but the heat around you both from your breathy moans and body temperature has your head feeling light.

The bathroom is relatively simple, barely enough room for one person. There’s a small shower, a sink with a washer and cabinet mirror and a toilet in the corner. Everything is the same cream colour, but with the light off it's hard to notice so much– such an afterthought compared to the rest of the jet’s luxurious amenities. But you distinctly remember overhearing Champ telling Ginger all the planes are due for a remodel soon anyway.

“Switch with me,” Whiskey moans against your cheek, his hand moving fast around your cock. His own desperation making him more than eager. “Please darlin’.”

With a nod, you pull back enough to let Whiskey shuffle awkwardly around you. Trying to step over your leg without banging his tailbone against the counter. He can’t help but buck his hips when the movement has him grinding his oversensitive cock against your hip and he has to take a moment to just grip your shirt and stave off his orgasm. You can feel his hands flex as he clutches at your clothing, the way he tenses and he grinds his teeth together with his eyes squeezed shut. Frustrated at how close he is already as his hips roll forward.

“Steady.” The confidence in your voice surprises even yourself, sounding more put together than Whiskey, even if you feel just as riled up. “We’re good.”

You both shuffle around until your back is pressed up against the wall, your slacks down around your ankles. Whiskey spits in his palm, heavy and warm, his tongue lolling out lazily as heat pools low in your stomach at the sight. He rubs the insides of your thighs, feeling warm skin and strong muscle as he takes his time with all of you on offer.

Whiskey moves forward, his chest flushed against your own as he puts his cock between your thighs and thrusts languidly.

“Squeeze 'em for me, darlin’.” He moans, head tipped forward against your neck with his forearms planted either side of you.

The feel of Whiskey all around you, the smell of arousal and the warmth in your gut. It’s everything you love about him. How you two fit together perfectly. You do as you're told, thighs squeezing around his leaking cock as he bucks forward and thrusts against you frantically. His pace set early as he chases his own pleasure.

You can feel the weight of him against you, the way he thrusts into the heat between your thighs and you’re reminded to let him fuck you again the next time more space allows for it. He’s left you sated and properly wrung out more times than you can count.

“Yeah, so good, sugar.” Whiskey huffs under his breath, the praise delivered right against your ear. You can feel the brush of his moustache, the warmth of his soft little pants as he kisses down your neck and sucks a dark mark.

“Whiskey– below the collar.” You complain, pulling him into an open-mouthed to keep him from making it any less obvious between you two. Tongues roll together and the bristles of his facial hair against your top lip have you shivering as he whines into your kiss.

“You know that’s not how this works.” You’re left panting when you pull away, looking at him as your noses bump against one another.

“I heard ya, darlin’,” Whiskey says, his voice wrecked and as equally disheveled but the slight undertone of disappointment is there. You know him too well not to notice it.

You press an apologetic kiss to his lips, something soft and tender to cut through all the arousal and heat. His breath gets lighter, caught by something in his throat as you tug his buttons open and reveal his collarbone.

Whiskey’s cock twitches between the warm press of your thighs as you bite at his collar and leave a sprawl of little hickies and love bites. There’s the distinct taste of his sweat, his skin warm and smooth under your lips. If you could, you’d lay him out on a bed and kiss over every little bit of skin offered.

“Happy?” You ask, and his triumphant grin tells you all you need to know.

“Course I am, sugar.” Whiskey purrs against your lips as his eyes flash with excited arousal. His hips pick up their pace and he’s moaning against you. Precum beads from his tip, making the slide of his cock between your legs feel that much better.

Your hands move down his back, making him shiver as you brush against his waist. He thinks you’re going to settle on his hips, ease the movement of his thrusts– he loves when you set his pace, making him thrust at the tempo you want. a real cowboy through and through as he rides his stallion– but no. Your hands slide lower, down to Whiskey’s cheeks where you cup warm muscle in your palms and squeeze.

He moans, loud and filthy. 

Whiskey bucks forward into the tight heat of your thighs and then pushes back against your hands. The soreness in your bodies and the bruises littered all over you both are forgotten in the hazy fog of arousal. All he can think about is the heat of your muscled thighs around his cock and the way you hold him open. Whiskey can’t help the choked noise that falls from his lips at the brush of cold air against his hole. 

You kiss his temple, his cheek, whatever you can reach as his head rests against your own– almost like a warm and intimate embrace. Whiskey moans against your skin as he feels your finger against his entrance, not pushing inside but merely as a reminder of what will come later.

Heat coils low in Whiskey’s gut and he tries to push back on your fingers, wanting you. Needing you. Whatever you can give him. 

“Pisco–” He groans, his body tensing as his hips stutter forward and lose their rhythm.

Whiskey’s eyes go wide and he watches you, mouth slack as his orgasm hits hard. You feel warmth between your thighs, his come making a mess of you as he rides out his pleasure. The heat in his gut finally gives way as he calms down.

He’s boneless against you. Dishevelled and messy, Whiskey slumps forward so his chest is pressed against yours and his face is tucked against your neck.

“Mh,” He hums happily, eyes closed in blissful afterglow. “That was good, darlin’.”

Your hand finds its way to the back of Whiskey’s head, fingers sliding through his short sweaty hair on the back of his neck. Both of you stay like that, wrapped in a half-embrace, pressed together in a little bubble where the outside world is long gone.

As you’re catching your breath, Whiskey’s hand falls from your waist down to your neglected cock. He thumbs the tip, dragging his hand down in a languid pace now that he’s come. There’s no rushing in his movements.

It's here where you two forget you’re not a couple. Whiskey is your partner in everything to do with Statesman. But at the end of the day he heads to his own apartment, and you go to yours.

Sometimes you wonder if you two should just rip the bandaid off and talk about it. But that would mean talking about this. All these intimate little moments where Jack’s cocky persona is gone, his eyes half lidded as he watches the way you grind against his palm and he collects the precum leaking from your tip like it’s his prize for making you feel good.

“Jack.” You moan softly, your fingers curling at the nape of his neck as you twitch in his hand. He’s moaning too. Quiet little noises as his soft brown eyes are glazed over and his gaze is trained to the movement of his hand over your cock.

Your orgasm rolls through you, easy and relaxed as pleasure washes over you. Jack brings you in for a kiss as he strokes you through it. A soft, intimate gesture as you both hold each other.

There’s a long beat where neither of you move. Your back against the wall as your hands rest on his sides. Both of you are content to stay where you are despite the drying come on your thighs and the state of your crumpled suits.

It comes as a startle when there’s a rapt knock on the door. Two quick taps.

“Plane’s landing soon.” Ginger’s voice calls out, curt and quick. Like she’s practiced it in her head and now she can’t wait for it to be over with. You can hear the embarrassment in her voice. Apologize later, you remind yourself for the tenth time today.

Whiskey chuckles quietly against your shoulder, looking up at you with a raised brow. “Come on, sugar. We can’t keep 'em waiting or Champ’s going to chew us out again.”

Your eyeroll is to be expected, but so is your playful grin as Whiskey gives you a chaste kiss and pulls back to try and make himself look presentable again. Lord knows how difficult that will be, but a part of you– that quiet little part deep within your thoughts– honestly doesn’t mind the idea of you and Whiskey being seen like this together.

[csuitebitches]

How do you ACTUALLY network? Like the idea of a coffee chat always baffled me. Like a stranger would agree to get coffee with me for me to essentially interview and then what? I guess my bigger question is how do I provide value to them besides buying them coffee? And the whole concept just feels cringe and transactional

I’ll give you two recent examples, one of work and one of a social event.

A friend invited me to a party. I don’t know said friend very well, but we’re on good terms. I said yes cause why not.

I met a girl there who happened to do some very interesting things and had similar interests to me. How did I find that out? I asked her about herself, I found out where she was previously residing, I learned what she did for a living, and I began associating it to the things that I do. She’s from the same city that I want to move to, she now lives 20 minutes from me, and she’s interested in spirituality. My work happened to organise a similar event a week later, which I immediately invited her for. I asked her for her number so that I could send her the invite.

What she immediately liked about me and expressed, was that I don’t use social media, when we agreed to exchange contact info. I explained to her that I’d have to connect her on iMessage/ WhatsApp and not instagram. That allows us to stay in touch much better than on social media.

I left the party earlier than everyone but I looked for her and told her that we should catch up next weekend or whenever she was free. She agreed.

So this is what you learn from example 1:

1. Learn to associate.

When someone tells you that they work in XYZ company, in B city, start by connecting things in your head. Who else do you know works in the same field, could they know each other? What do you know about the work that they do, and if you don’t know much, can you find out more? Most people, including myself, love to talk about what we do at work and what our job entails. Has their work allowed them to travel a lot? If yes, where?

In order to associate, you need to read a lot and learn a lot. You have to understand what’s happening in the world, what the latest news is, because how the hell are you going to continue that conversation?

2. You have to snowball the conversation. The goal is to try and understand WHO this person is. If someone asks you, have you met CSB and you have, you should be able to say yes, this is what she’s interested in, this is what she works in - you should be able to pitch CSB to another person.

Not every single conversation has to be valuable. You also have to decide whether the person in front of you is worth your time.

3. Exchange numbers, not social media. Nothing is going to come out of exchanging instagram or LinkedIn.

4. When you’re leaving the event, look for the person you met and tell them that you’re leaving and that you guys should catch up sometime. If you haven’t exchanged contact info yet, that’s the best way to do it. “Oh let’s catch up again soon! Can I have your number? We can grab a coffee or drink whenever.”

—-

Example 2. I’d gone to a conference a few months ago. I met a young guy, around my age, who works in an accelerator. I’m very interested in the start up world, and he’s working in one of the best ones in the world, at a decent position. He immediately began telling me about recent funding that they did, what sort of start ups they’re looking for, etc. I asked him for more information, which he was super happy to talk to me about.

We’re on very good terms but we live in different cities. I often send him reports because I work in media, and he sends me PDFs and pitch decks. Whenever we’re in each other’s town, we message each other. Otherwise, I make it a point to reach out to him once a month, just casually, to find out what’s happening.

Takeaways from example 2:

5. Scratch each other’s backs. You can’t just get value from the other person, provide them with the same. It doesn’t have to be work related. Let’s say the person you’ve connected with is interested in indie music and you learn that an indie band is playing somewhere - send them a link to the event and tell them that you remembered that they like this genre, and you just wanted to share the info.

6. What’s important to learn is maintaining relationships. I reach out to all my mentors, all my latest connections once a month. That doesn’t mean that I’m necessarily going to meet them face to face, but I just check in and ask how things are going.

So.

Approach. Associate. Snowball. Exchange info. Maintain.

[strangebiology]

Paleontology Job Opening!

If anyone is looking for a paleontology job, this one in the Green River Formation in Wyoming is hiring! It's a lot of 52-MYA fish. TONS of fish. Very occasionally, there's other stuff like bats, birds, and very early horse ancestors.

$19/hour

Full time with federal benefits

App due November 25, 2024 or when they receive 80 applications (whichever comes first, so hurry!) Requirements:

One year of experience required (paid or unpaid, professional or volunteer) in "the fields of paleontology, geophysics, or geology; assisting fossil preparation, field work in paleontology, paleontology research, paleontology database management, paleontology monitoring, paleo art, or specimen management of fossils; assisting with natural resources research projects; compiling and analyzing scientific data into reports; operating complex sampling, monitoring, and laboratory equipment; or using computer programs such as databases to compile, store, retrieve, analyze and report resource management data. Experience as a laboratory mechanic or in a trade or craft may be credited as specialized experience when the work was performed in close association with physical scientists or other technical personnel and provided intensive knowledge of appropriate scientific principles, methods, techniques, and precedents."

Successful completion of at least a full 4-year course of study leading to a bachelor's degree (a) with major study in an appropriate field of physical science, such as paleontology, geology, earth science, earth history or (b) that included at least 24 semester hours in any combination of courses such as physical science, engineering, or any branch of mathematics except for financial and commercial mathematics. 

I don't know if paleontologists usually have to have higher levels of education, but I think this job is called "physical technician (paleontology)" to evade that.

If you're interested, go ahead and send in an application sooner rather than later. You can always withdraw later.

This is very close to me, so if you have questions about life here (that aren't easily Googlable) I'm happy to help! It's quite rural. If you're wondering what the rental market looks like, here's a Facebook group where people post rentals. I'm mostly JTM (just the messenger) but I may have a little more insight.

[the-cat-and-the-birdie]

*steps on stage nervously*

Uhh.. umm. Uhhhhh

Spidey Academy AU!!

Like Xavier's School for Gifted Children, Miguel - a Spider-person fond of kids, opened a Spidey-Science Academy, for the Spidey-people of the universe

It's not like a high school. There's five years and the years are not really sorted by age - but by experience.

So Hobie would be a year 3 - a middleclass-man

Pavitr is a year 1 - a freshman

And the classes, are all based on honing your Spider-powers and senses.

There's assignments, things you have to take home and do.

They're give you a fake evil Doc Ock chip and have you decode it and make it good again (like Peter in No Way Home).

Or they ask you to stop a petty robbery without using your webs. You have to bring in the Daily Bugles article on you the next day and they grade you on that.

(Hey say what you want but Jonah reports the facts he just talks a lot of shit)

Any class a Spider-person needs, they have.

You name it-

Home Ec? No. Sewing and Suit Repair Class

Gym? No. Swinging & Strength Endurance

Science? ALL ADVANCED. Freshmen's take Advanced Spider-biology and have to learn ALL the different Spider-variations and illnesses Spider-people can get. Multiversal Physics.

All of the honor classes are FULL.

There's also other helpful ones like Firefighting Training and Sign Language (both mandatory), hence how Insomniac!Miles is completely fluent in ASL.

Oh - also. Because Miguel is such a tight-ass -

UNIFORMS. Sweater vests over pants or shorts. (No skirts cause they still be upsidedown and shit)

You have to bring your mask everyday. It's like your ID card

y'all ever had that? Like y'all needed an ID to get into school and if you didn't have it they charged you? Like money? My school did that we also had metal detectors like the airport I'm so deadass this was just a normal public school - I'm getting distracted, anyway-

Of COURSE Ms.Jessica Drew is Assistant Principal. OF COURSE she also teaches Advanced Combat and Strategies class.

And YES she's a hard-ass grader. Has never given a 100% in her life. On some 'This was the best thing I've read in my entire teaching career but you forgot to indent on paragraph 5 so 99%'

She doesn't give a fuck about your GPA!!!

Unlike Mr.Peter B. Parker.

He makes people call him 'Professor PB'. He wants to be the cool teacher.

His classroom is SO FUN during lunch time. Probably runs the anime and manga club. He's that really nerdy teacher that you don't expect to be like "I know what anime is! I grew up on Dragon Ball 😁

His class are always fun but SO chaotic. Still wears sweatpants sometimes. He's the Science teacher.

And every year they take class photos and there's a Spidey homecoming where everyone parties on the walls in cute outfits.

CAN YOU SEE IT?

Swinging Team instead of Track and Field???

CAN YOU IMAGINE IT?

MIGUEL AS PRINCIPAL???

LYLA BEING THE LOUD SPEAKER ANNOUNCER?

[tacticalhimbo]

TRANS DAY OF REMEMBRANCE 2024

Don't have the spoons to make a spiel about how solidarity in and out of the community is important, but wanting to highlight that as is. We need to speak out and show up for those who fight alongside us, and for those we've lost*.

*Remember: Any concrete numbers you see statistics wise are not 100% accurate. The violence against us, especially our BIPOC siblings, are majorly under-reported.

Here are some organizations and resources to share around, with attributions and pronouns (as of writing the post). I'll section this off based on what type of resource/org they are... more or less--

Archival.

2600 Pages of Hate: Transphobia and Fascism by maia crimew (It/She)

Black Trans* Oral History Project by Blu Bachanan (They/Them) and Naomi Simmons-Thorne (She/They)

Digital Transgender Archive by K.J. Rawson (He/Him) et al.

LGBT+ Intersectionality, a Google Drive full of Resource Books

The Mirror Memoirs by Amita Swadhin (They/Them), Jaden Cervantes-Fields (He/Him), and Bilen Berhanu (She/Her)

NYC Trans* Oral History Project

The Trans* Library (Carrd)

University of Victoria Transgender Archives (Canada)

Varied.

Baltimore Safe Haven, established by Iya Dammons (She/They).

Bklyn Boihood, established by Black masculine-of-center queer and trans people of color.

Black Trans Femmes in the Arts, established by Jordyn Jay (She/Her)

Black Trans* Travel Fund, established by Devin Michael Lowe (He/They) and Morticia Godiva (Her/Shey)

Brave Space Alliance, established by trans and gender non-conforming individuals.

FedUp Collective, established by Zain Lugay (They/He), Sam (They/Them), Cody (He/Him), Ian (He/Him), JO Walduck (She/They), et al.

For the Gworls, established by Asanni Armon (They/Them; Sources Vary)

The Gender Affirming Letter Access Project, established by transgender, nonbinary, and allied mental health and medical providers.

"The Gender Binary" is a Misnomer; Gender Has Always Been a Hierarchy by Talia Bhatt (She/Fae)

Privilege, Power, and Pride: Intersectionality within the LGBT Community by Kittu Pannu (He/Him)

The Okra Project, established by Gabrielle Inès Souza, Max Rigano, and Celyna Jackson (Pronouns Unknown).

Organización Latina Trans in Texas, , established by Anandrea Molina (Ella/She, Rigoberto Reyes/Monika Adams (Él/Ella/She/He), Gia Pacheco (She/Ella), Danny Lopez (Él/He), Noemi Garza, Barby Ledesma, Vanessa Garcia, and Kassandra Rivas (Pronouns Unknown).

Princess Janae Place, established by Jevon Martin (He/Him) and Dani Farrell (He/They).

The Transgender Education Network of Texas, established by various BIPOC trans community members.

Trans*, Gender Variant, and Intersex Justice Project, established by Janetta Johnson (She/Her), zy'aire nassirah (He/Him), zen "zee" mills (She/Her), van dell (They/Them), Valentine McClain (They/She), eli b. (They/He), et al.

TransgenderNI (Northern Ireland) / Belfast Trans Resource Centre, established by trans community members.

TransInclusiveGroup, established by Tatiana Williams (She/Her/Goddess), Krys Gordon (She/Her), Adrianna Tender (She/Her/Diva), Mei-Lan Diaz (They/Them), and Na'stacia Buchanan (She/Her).

Trans Latin@ Coalition, established by Paolo Coots (She/Her/Ella), Arianna Inurritegui-Lint (She/Her/Ella), Alexa Rodriguez (She/Her/Ella), et al.

Trans* Needle Exchange, established by Oliver (Pronouns Unknown).

And remember, community is what keeps us alive.

It is important to call out bigotry in our spaces; important to let those here know we value them and their existence. Do not solely fight for those who are gone, fight for those who are living with us here and now.

Let the folks in your lives and in your communities know you care about them. Listen to them. Learn from them. None of us are free until all of us are free.

Which is why I'm also going to drop broader-focus organizations and resources for the global community:

alQaws for Sexual & Gender Diversity in Palestinian Society

Canadian LGBTQ+ History

India's LGBTQ+ Movement

LGBTQ+: A Troubled History in Mexico

LGBTQ+ Orthodox Jewish Education (PDF)

LGBTQ+ Narratives in Pakistan

LGBTQ+ Rights Ghana Support Fund

Nigeria's Queer History

Queer Activism in Africa

Queer Nigerian Emergency Fund

Feel free to add onto this (preferably with more grassroots kinda stuff/individual spotlights; anything goes long as it's vetted really).

[deadpresidents]

Waking Up In Dallas: November 22, 1963.

Two American Presidents woke up in Dallas, Texas, on November 22, 1963. Neither of them were the two men who actually served as President on that tragic day -- John F. Kennedy or Lyndon B. Johnson.

The 37th President of the United States, 50-year-old Richard Nixon, had arrived in Dallas on November 20th for a conference of the American Bottlers of Carbonated Beverages on behalf of Pepsi-Cola, a company that his New York law firm was representing.  On November 21st, Nixon sat down with reporters in his room at the Baker Hotel, where he criticized many of the policies of President Kennedy, his 1960 opponent, who would be arriving in Dallas the next day.  That night, Nixon and Pepsi executives including actress Joan Crawford, who had been married to Pepsi's chairman, Alfred Steele, until his death in 1959, were entertained at the Statler Hilton.

In the early morning of November 22nd, a car dropped Nixon off, alone, at Love Field, the Dallas airport that would host President and Mrs. Kennedy, Vice President Johnson and Mrs. Johnson, and Texas Governor John Connally and his wife in just a few hours.  Nixon later remembered the flags and signs displayed along the motorcade route that Kennedy would soon follow.  Nixon approached the American Airlines ticket counter to check-in for his flight to New York City and told the attendant, "It looks like you're going to have a big day today."

Nixon landed several hours later in New York at an airport that would be renamed after John F. Kennedy a month later.  He described what happened next in his 1978 autobiography, RN: The Memoirs of Richard Nixon:

Arriving in New York, I hailed a cab home.  We drove through Queens toward the 59th Street Bridge, and as we stopped at a traffic light, a man rushed over from the curb and started talking to the driver.  I heard him say, "Do you have a radio in your cab?  I just heard that Kennedy was shot."  We had no radio, and as we continued into Manhattan a hundred thoughts rushed through my mind.  The man could have been crazy or a macabre prankster.  He could have been mistaken about what he had heard; or perhaps a gunman might have shot at Kennedy but missed or only wounded him.  I refused to believe that he could have been killed. As the cab drew up in front of my building, the doorman ran out.  Tears were streaming down his cheeks.  "Oh, Mr. Nixon, have you heard, sir?" he asked.  "It's just terrible.  They've killed President Kennedy."

The close 1960 Presidential election changed the relationship between Richard Nixon and John F. Kennedy, but they had once been very close.  When they first entered Congress together in 1947, they considered each other personal friends, and when Nixon ran for the Senate from California in 1950, JFK stopped into Nixon's office and dropped off a financial contribution to Nixon's campaign from Kennedy's father.  Nixon would later write that he felt as bad on the night of Kennedy's assassination as he had when he lost two brothers to tuberculosis when he was very young.  That night, he wrote an emotional letter to Jacqueline Kennedy:

Dear Jackie, In this tragic hour Pat and I want you to know that our thoughts and prayers are with you. While the hand of fate made Jack and me political opponents I always cherished the fact that we were personal friends from the time we came to the Congress together in 1947.  That friendship evidenced itself in many ways including the invitation we received to attend your wedding. Nothing I could say now could add to the splendid tributes which have come from throughout the world to him. But I want you to know that the nation will also be forever grateful for your service as First Lady.  You brought to the White House charm, beauty and elegance as the official hostess of America, and the mystique of the young in heart which was uniquely yours made an indelible impression on the American consciousness. If in the days ahead we could be helpful in any way we shall be honored to be at your command. Sincerely, Dick Nixon 

••• On the morning of November 22, 1963, the 41st President of the United States also woke up in Dallas, Texas.  George Herbert Walker Bush was the 39-year-old president of the Zapata Off-Shore Drilling Company and chairman of the Harris County, Texas Republican Party, and had stayed the night of November 21st at the Dallas Sheraton alongside his wife, Barbara.  Bush was planning a bid for the U.S. Senate in 1964 and making the rounds to line up support amongst many Texans who considered him far too moderate.  One of the groups that was strongest in opposition to Bush was the ultra-right wing John Birch Society, which had recently been lodging vehement protests against President Kennedy's upcoming visit to Dallas.

Conspiracy theorists claim that there were far more sinister motives for George Bush being in Dallas on November 22, 1963.  Some claim that Bush was a secret CIA operative involved in planning or even carrying out the assassination of President Kennedy.  Some even argue that a grainy photograph of a man resembling Bush taken shortly after the assassination proves that Bush was actually in Dealey Plaza at the time of Kennedy's shooting.

He wasn't.  He wasn't even in Dallas.  We know where George Herbert Walker Bush was at the time of JFK's assassination -- we have plenty of eyewitnesses who can confirm it.  While Lee Harvey Oswald was shooting President Kennedy, George Bush was about 100 miles away from Dallas, in Tyler, Texas, speaking at a Kiwanis Club luncheon.  Like Nixon, Bush and his wife, Barbara, had also boarded a plane that morning in Dallas -- a private plane that transported them to Tyler for the Kiwanis Club event.  While Bush was speaking, word of the President's assassination reached the luncheon and the local club president, Wendell Cherry, leaned over and gave the news to Bush.  Bush quickly notified the crowd, and said, "In view of the President's death, I consider it inappropriate to continue with a political speech at this time."  He ended his speech and sat down while the luncheon broke up in stunned silence. 

Bush's wife, Barbara, wasn't at the Kiwanis Club luncheon.  While her husband was speaking, Barbara Bush went to a beauty parlor in Tyler to get her hair styled.  As her hair was being done, Barbara began writing a letter to family and heard the news over the radio that JFK had been shot and then that the President had died.  In her 1994 memoir, Barbara included the letter, part of which said:

I am writing this at the Beauty Parlor, and the radio says that the President has been shot.  Oh Texas -- my Texas -- my God -- let's hope it's not true.  I am sick at heart as we all are.  Yes, the story is true and the Governor also.  How hateful some people are. Since, the beauty parlor, the President has died.  We are once again on a plane.  This time a commercial plane.  Poppy (George H.W. Bush's family nickname) picked me up at the beauty parlor -- we went right to the airport, flew to Ft. Worth and dropped Mr. Zeppo off (we were on his plane) and flew back to Dallas.  We had to circle the field while the second Presidential plane took off.  Immediately, Pop got tickets back to Houston, and here we are flying home.  We are sick at heart.  The tales the radio reporters tell of Jackie Kennedy are the bravest.  We are hoping that it is not some far-right nut, but a "commie" nut.  You understand that we know they are both nuts, but just hope that it is not a Texan and not an American at all. I am amazed by the rapid-fire thinking and planning that has already been done.  LBJ has been the President for some time now -- two hours at least and it is only 4:30. My dearest love to you all, Bar

As Barbara Bush noted in her letter, the Bushes did not stay another night at the Dallas Sheraton on November 22nd, as they had originally planned.  They returned to Dallas on the private jet that had transported them to Tyler earlier in the day, and caught a commercial flight home to Houston.  The "second Presidential plane" that took off while Bush's plane circled Love Field was the plane that had transported Vice President Lyndon B. Johnson to Dallas earlier that day, Air Force Two.  Johnson was already heading back to Washington, now on Air Force One, with the casket of John F. Kennedy.

••• The 37th President of the United States and the 41st President of the United States woke up in Dallas, Texas on the morning of November 22, 1963.  The 31st President, 89-year-old Herbert Hoover, was in failing health in the elegant suite he called home at New York's Waldorf-Astoria.  Within the next few weeks, he would be visited by the new President, Lyndon Johnson, and President Kennedy's grieving widow, Jackie, and the President's brother, Attorney General Bobby Kennedy.  The 33rd President, 79-year-old Harry Truman, learned of JFK's death in Missouri, while the 34th President, 73-year-old Dwight D. Eisenhower, heard of the assassination while attending a meeting at the United Nations in New York.  Truman and Eisenhower would squash a long, bitter personal feud that weekend while attending Kennedy's funeral in Washington.  The 38th President, 50-year-old Michigan Congressman Gerald Ford, was driving home with his wife Betty after attending a parent conference with their son Jack's teacher when they heard the news on the radio in their car.  Two days later, President Johnson would call on Ford to serve on the Warren Commission investigating the assassination.  

The 39th President, Jimmy Carter was 39 years old and had just gotten off a tractor near the warehouse of his Plains, Georgia peanut farm when a group of farmers informed him of the news of the shooting.  Carter found a quiet area, kneeled down in prayer, and when he heard that Kennedy had died, cried for the first time since his father had died ten years earlier.  Ronald Reagan, the 40th President, was 52 years old and preparing for a run as Governor of California.  A little more than 17 years later, the now-President Reagan would also be shot by a lone gunman in the middle of the day.  While Reagan would survive the attempt on his life, it was very nearly fatal and reminded his wife, Nancy, of November 22, 1963.  As she was transported to George Washington Hospital following Reagan's shooting, Nancy would later note, "As my mind raced, I flashed to scenes of Parkland Memorial Hospital in Texas, and the day President Kennedy was shot.  I had been driving down San Vicente Boulevard in Los Angeles when a bulletin came over the car radio.  Now, more than seventeen years later, I prayed that history would not be repeated, that Washington would not become another Dallas.  That my husband would live."

The 41st President, Bill Clinton, and the 43rd President, George W. Bush, were both 17 years old and in school -- Bush at the Phillips Academy in Andover, Massachusetts, and Clinton at Hot Springs High School in Hot Springs, Arkansas.  Clinton was in his fourth period calculus class when his teacher was called out of the room and returned to announce that President Kennedy had been killed.  Four months earlier, Clinton had traveled to Washington with the Boys Nation program and, during a ceremony in the Rose Garden of the White House, pushed his way to the front of the line and shook President Kennedy's hand.  The 44th President, Barack Obama, was a 2-year-old living in Hawaii.

••• The 35th President, 46-year-old John F. Kennedy, would die in Dallas on November 22, 1963.  Lyndon B. Johnson, 55, would become the 36th President in Dallas that day.  But they woke up that morning in Fort Worth at the Texas Hotel.  Kennedy had slept the last night of his life in suite 850 on the eighth floor, now the Presidential suite.  LBJ had slept the last night of his Vice Presidency in the much more expensive and elegant Will Rogers Suite on the thirteenth floor.  The Secret Service had vetoed the Will Rogers Suite for the President because it was more difficult to secure.  It was raining in Fort Worth as they woke up, but the skies had cleared by the time they landed in Dallas.  Before breakfast, President Kennedy, Vice President Johnson, and Texas Governor John Connally headed outside and briefly addressed a crowd that had gathered long before the sun had come up in hopes of seeing JFK.  Jacqueline Kennedy didn't accompany them outside and President Kennedy joked to the crowd, "Mrs. Kennedy is organizing herself.  It takes her a little longer but, of course, she looks better than we do when she does it."

Afterward, they headed inside for breakfast in the Texas Hotel's Grand Ballroom with several hundred guests.  The President sent for Mrs. Kennedy to join them, and her late arrival to the breakfast excited the guests in the ballroom.  When the President spoke to the group, he joked again, "Two years ago I introduced myself in Paris as the man who had accompanied Mrs. Kennedy to Paris.  I'm getting somewhat that same sensation as I travel around Texas."  Then he noted, "Nobody wonders what Lyndon and I wear."

When the breakfast ended, the Kennedys headed upstairs and had an hour or so to wait before heading to the airport for the short flight to Dallas.  It was during this time that Jackie Kennedy saw a hateful ad placed in that morning's Dallas Morning News accusing President Kennedy of collusion with Communists and treasnous activity.  Trying to calm Jackie down, the President joked, "Oh, we're heading into nut country today."  But a few minutes later, Jackie overheard Kennedy telling his aide, Ken O'Donnell, "It would not be a very difficult job to shoot the President of the United States.  All you'd have to do is get up in a high building with a high-powered rifle with a telescopic sight, and there's nothing anybody can do."

••• Even though the trip from Fort Worth's Carswell Air Force Base to Dallas's Love Field would only take thirteen minutes by air, the trip to Texas was first-and-foremost a political trip -- a kickoff of sorts to JFK's 1964 re-election campaign -- and a grand entrance was needed.  So, JFK and Jackie boarded the plane usually used as Air Force One, LBJ and Lady Bird Johnson boarded the plane usually used by the Vice President, Air Force Two, and the huge Presidential party took to the skies, covering thirty miles in thirteen minutes, in order to get the big Dallas welcome that they were hoping for.  They landed in Dallas at 11:40 AM, and President Kennedy looked out the window of his plane, saw a big, happy crowd, and told Ken O'Donnell, "This trip is turning out to be terrific.  Here we are in Dallas, and it looks like everything in Texas is going to be fine for us."

At 2:47 PM -- just three hours and seven minutes later -- everyone was back on Air Force One as the plane climbed off of the Love Field runway and into the Dallas sky.  John F. Kennedy, the 35th President, was in a casket wedged into a space in the rear of Air Force One where two rows of seats had been removed so that it would be fit.  Lyndon B. Johnson had officially been sworn in as the 36th President about ten minutes earlier on the plane by federal judge Sarah T. Hughes.  On one side of Johnson while he took the oath was his wife, Lady Bird, and on the other side, the widowed former First Lady, Jackie Kennedy, still wearing a pink dress splattered with her husband's blood and brain matter.

Two American Presidents woke up in Dallas on November 22, 1963 -- Richard Nixon and George H.W. Bush -- but they weren't in town when John F. Kennedy was assassinated, no matter how many ways conspiracy theorists try to twist the story.  The President who died in Dallas that day, John F. Kennedy, and the man who became President in Dallas that day, Lyndon B. Johnson, woke up in Fort Worth on the morning of November 22, 1963.  But they'll be forever linked with Dallas -- and the world that woke up the next morning would never be the same again.    

[siriuslychessi]

For the @jilychallenge a bit late since this was for July.

Partners: @tedwardremus and @thecasualauthor

AO3 | FF

Summer trip to (uninhabited, remote, idyllic holiday) island but by accident A & B are left behind alone (or they miss the boat back to main land or a shipwreck (boat wreck??) happens

James Potter could never stay still, it was a blessing and a curse. He could be bored to death in a class and he would always be restless somehow. He would either bounce his leg, write on the corner of his books and parchments, or play with a stolen Snitch when professors were not looking. 

It wasn’t James’ fault that he was so full of energy, he did try to stay still, he did try to seem like he was paying attention, but in reality he was bored in many of them. Having eidetic memory and an abundance of energy really played against him. 

However, when it came to classes outdoors James became much more serene. He loved Care of Magical creatures, going to the grounds exploring, or how he needed to get his hands dirty with Herboly, but what had gotten his attention lately was Astronomy. 

Professor Pruitt had a hands-on approach to teaching, he rarely liked the Tower for his teachings and was always testing their knowledge in the field (near the Forbidden Forest), which James was always excited for. And even if at first he took the class for an easy O, now it had become one of his favourite ones. 

For his 6th year students, Professor Pruitt had a surprise; they would travel to the coast to be able to watch a comet that passed near earth every 60 years, and this time around it would be visible in the southern part of the country. 

It meant a trip with the Astronomy class for two nights, maybe if the weather would allow it they might be able to enjoy a bit of the beach before returning to classes and tests, and all the things they needed to overcome before the end of the school year. One last trip of fun before going back to the responsibility of the upcoming reality that awaited them back home. 

James and his friends were beyond excited. Even if Sirius already knew the sky like the back of his hand, Remus was so determined to get as many O’s as possible that he learned everything he could from the book the Professor used for class. Peter was something to admire, he might not know every star, but knew every constellation name and their stories, and how they related to magical events. It was a thing of wonder.

All they could do was plan for the trip and hope that the usual group of bigoted students wouldn’t make things worse. 

Once they finally arrived at the Isles of Scilly the weather was amazing, it screamed to ditch the group and just got to the beach, however Professor Pruitt had other plans. 

“Before I lose you lads to the island, I must remind you that this is not a leisure trip, we are here with a purpose, and thus I must give you these.” The older man handled everyone a parchment with a copy of the assignment, “The comet will be visible around 4am, so we must get there before that and settle, some muggle bystanders might be around, so please refrain from using magic.” he explained, as he finished handling the paper, “You have been randomly paired, no you can not swap, and I expect a full report by the end of this trip. That is all.” 

James was sure that whomever he would be paired with it wouldn’t be too terrible. 

As he scanned the paper he heard a familiar voice exclaim: “Potter?!”

Lily had read the list of things they needed to measure and how to better calculate the trajectory of the comet to get accurate readings and optimal experience. She knew that celestial events affected living beings and that might affect the ingredients and steps in potion making, so she was taking this class fairly seriously, as she wanted to pursue a career in Potions. 

Everything seemed in order, instructions were straight forward, and she could actually picture herself relaxing before going to the top of the nearby mountain for a better view.

That was until she saw the name of the person she was paired with: James Potter.

The gods did not smile upon her, Lily had had a weird relationship with the fellow Gryffindor, they weren’t on bad terms at the moment, but she felt that they were not exactly friends. And in spite of him being a great student, and probably a great teammate, she just remembered how he could not stay put for more than 5 minutes. Which might infuriate her at the end of a long evening. 

After she, unintentionally, said his last name out loud, everyone in their group turned to her. The tone of her skin matching the one of her hair. 

“All right, Evans?” she heard James Potter asked.

Lily blushed harder. 

“Yes, just didn’t expect us to be paired.” she admitted, putting the parchment inside her back. 

James seemed like he was mulling over something, was she really that loud? Was her tone that annoyed? She didn’t want to go back to the awkward phase they were in after 5th year, once was enough. They have so many friends in common she did not want to go back to weather talk. 

“I thought somehow you would charm the papers to be with Sirius, we all know you two can not be apart.” she tried joking, making some eyes roll. 

“He knows he can’t have me forever, Red.” Sirius chipped in, “I should find McKinnon to sort the schedules.” he explained, patting James' shoulder, who looked disheartened, he was not looking at Lily, nor at Sirius leave. James was just nodding to his friend’s statement.

One by one they all went to their partners trying to come up with a plan where they could all enjoy and do the assignment. Leaving James and Lily alone to speak. 

James ran his hand through his hair, messing it more than it already was. Something she had noticed increased near herself. 

Did she make him nervous?

“We should also try to schedule our times.” she offered, hoping that it would be an olive branch more than anything. 

Every interaction with James and Lily seemed weird, they were not on bad terms, they were amicable towards each other, but it seemed that as much as they both changed (individually and as friends) things weren’t smooth. James was always afraid of saying the wrong thing, and Lily always believed she was too hard on her fellow classmate, when lately she could see more of his point than she cared to admit. 

After a lot of fidgeting from James, not knowing what to do with his pent up energy. And Lily’s rambling and blushing, they decided that they would each pack a bag with different things, a thermos of warm tea, and met in front of the hotel at 3am when the classroom decided to leave with the Professor. 

Both of them tried to enjoy their day with their friends and did a bit of exploring around, enjoying the different view from Scotland and Hogwarts grounds. And one would say that they would be exhausted after a day at the beach where they did anything but lay down and sunbathe. 

However, James’ restless energy was too much to be contained. He did try to get a few hours of sleep, tossed and turned in bed as his mind went over the things in his bag, making a mental list trying to not forget anything, if he did he was sure that the awkwardness between him and Lily would be more palpable. But in spite of double checking that everything was correct, he could not find rest. 

Checking the watch on his nightstand he saw that it was around 2am. He still had one hour to meet with Lily, and the rest of the class, and judging by how awake he really was it would be almost impossible to fall asleep.

Suddenly an idea formed, it wasn’t a particularly bold one, but it was better than staying in bed looking at the ceiling.

Gathering his things, leaving a note in the nightstand and trying not to wake his best mate sleeping in the bed next to his, he climbed down the room to the front of the little hotel and to the street. 

The night was chillier than he expected, the day was so warm that he forgot that they were still in the United Kingdom and not some tropical place. It was good that he decided to bring a jumper. 

During the day James and his friends went exploring around, they found the place where Professor Pruitt had decided to take his students to see the comet. It was a nice mountain that overviewed the island. He figured that he had enough time to go up there, set the equipment in the best spot; gain some points with Lily, and go back before they needed to meet. 

Some people might think he was crazy and he would be beyond exhausted when he would get back with the group. Hindering the project in the process. But James knew that it was the opposite, he would be the right kind of tired, where he would be useful instead of trying to stay still and failing in the process. 

That’s how his journey started, with a positive attitude and considering if he should get snacks after he got back. 

The moon was half full, making it ideal to see the sky but also to not trip over the walk, and the path to the viewing spot wasn’t steep, with a good pace anyone could make it up and back. 

Due to the hour James imagined the path to be deserted, he figured he could transform into Prongs once he was more hidden by the surrounding trees, enjoying the freedom of running around a new landscape. It would be a great way to go and come back, doing even better time; not wanting to be late in case Lily decided to be there earlier than what they had agreed upon. 

Closing his eyes he focused on the familiar shapes of Prongs; the long legs, the white fur, the itchy antlers that were about to shade. Everything to evoke the perfect transformation. 

Feeling the familiar pull in his gut he let every other thought out from his head…

“What are you doing here?” a familiar voice asked.

Of all the times that James expected to hear Lily Evans’ voice, in the middle of a transformation was not one of them. He knew things could go wrong if he did not focus and he tried his best to stop the spell as it were. It seemed that his body listened better than his brain.

“I couldn’t sleep.” he admitted, turning to look at her. 

Lily’s cheeks were sunkissed, James could see that she had spent a day at the beach. She would probably have a few more freckles after the trip. James found himself thinking. 

“So you decided to sneak out and go for a walk,” it wasn’t accusatory, it was matter-of-fact.

“If I stay in, I'll start waking everyone up, figured it would be best if I did something useful with my energy.” he shrugged, readjusting one of the straps of his backpack. 

“Seems we were both thinking the same thing.” 

Lily smiled at James, and it seemed all of the tension and worry from earlier had vanished; his shoulders relaxed, and he found himself smiling back at her. Maybe this wouldn’t be a disastrous pairing after all.

“Where were you planning on going?” Lily asked.

James blushed, he really didn’t want to be seen as the dork that wanted to be prepared, but it was true that was what he was thinking. “I thought maybe I could go and grab us a good spot to watch the comet.” he admitted, hoping she wouldn’t think he was the biggest dork in history. 

“Oh,” she sounded surprised, James was not sure how he felt about that. 

“That sounds like a great idea.” Lily added, as she was wondering why she didn’t think of that herself. She just wanted to get rid of some energy before the class gathered. 

They started walking in silence uphill, there was nothing much to distract them from the awkwardness. It was not that they didn’t have anything in common, just that Lily believed that everything she said sounded like a scolding, when she didn’t mean to. And James believed every word he uttered around Lily (unsupervised) was terrible or misconstructed. 

His body reacted oddly to that silence. He needed to say something, do something, other than just walk straight in that slow pace, so instead of following the boring old path he decided that he should skip along the logs that delimited the path from the woods. 

Lily looked at James as he balanced on each log precariously. “Don’t you ever do something normal?” she asked, genuinely curious, he never seemed to just follow a straight path or instructions, there was always a work around. Something that the other people would not do or think about. 

“What do you mean?” he asked, still walking, feeling his anxiety lower when he had to focus on balance.

Lily chuckled. He looked a bit childish, but in the best way, she didn’t remember the last time she played at anything like that. She had too many responsibilities and expectations in her to let go. 

“You never do what’s expected, if you go on a path instead of going through the designated area for walking you go on the sidelines. If a professor asks you for an assignment you always ask a million questions on the importance of said work, like you never do just what is expected of you, you are always too curious to just follow what has already been set up. It’s a bit unnerving.” She admitted, making James’ heart sink a little. “It is also refreshing.” she admitted finally, not really looking at him, she believed that even with the darkness of the night he would still see her blush.

James chuckled at her words, “Why don’t you try it?” he offered, “Who is to say that you are not supposed to walk on these if you want a less taciturn experience?” he continued, “There are a few things that can only be looked from one point of view, my parents taught me that, they always taught me to ask a lot of questions.” he admitted “Besides, if you don’t come up here, you wouldn’t notice there is a stream below that looks gorgeous under the dim moonlight.” 

Lily was surprised by that, it seemed great to ask a lot of questions when facing things that seemed a bit unfair and out of touch, but some things were too straight forward for you to be questioning them. However, at James’ mention of a different view she now was eager to see what was to look at things under his perspective. 

She climbed on the log as he did, looking at the creek below them, and as James said it was gorgeous, like something unperturbed by the humans that passed through that path every day. It made Lily wonder what else James saw that the rest of them did not. 

The walk got easier from them, at least in terms of conversation. It got easier to understand each other after that, setting aside past prejudices and trying to see things from each other’s perspective. 

Lily learned that James’ parents asked him as many questions as he asked everyone else, trying to have an open and interesting relationship with his son. James learned that Lily put a lot of other people’s expectations on her shoulder trying to be the perfect friend, sister and daughter, and understood a bit better why she always seemed to be so stern even when in reality she was funny and witty, and as curious as James.

They continued to chat amicably, conversation grew easily the more time it passed. James was glad for it, and Lily seemed to be relaxing a bit more now that there was nothing more than a walk. 

At some point Lily got distracted, she was not sure how he lost her footing, if it was a tricky log, slippery, or her body was too tired and she did not realise it. But all in all she knew she was falling to the creek and she could just hear herself scream and trying to hold on to something to stop it. 

“Lily!” James was heard yelling after her. And then she felt something warm and soft around her, making her fall soft as she rolled downhill. James had stopped it. 

“Are you okay?” Lily heard James ask, and she took account of her body. She was a bit sore, and she knew she would hurt more later on, but it all seemed okay at the moment. 

“Yes, I think so. Just a bit wet.” she admitted, as she knew they got to the creek by unconventional ways, all she wanted to do was get up and dry herself, get back to the path so they could get to see the comet. However, life had other plans.

As soon as Lily put weight on her foot, a searing pain went up her leg, making her scream at the top of her lungs and falling back down on her bum. 

James hurried to duck next to her and looked all over to see any injuries, “Where?” he was frantic as he saw the colour drained from Lily’s face. 

“Foot.” was all she could muster, as she breathed the pain away. Slowly managing to get the unbearable pain to a low throb.

“Okay, it’s going to be okay,” he moved his hand, a little wince as he pulled his wand and showed it was broken in half. “Fuck.” he muttered. Lily’s eyes went as wide as they could. 

“Oh no, James your wand, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He was panting as her, maybe he hit something as well, they took a pretty nasty fall, but he seemed okay in spite of not having his wand. “Maybe we can use yours? I know a few casting spells to keep that not moving until we get back.” he explained, but as Lily went to retrieve her wand she felt nothing in her pocket. 

“I think it might have fallen.” she said quietly, hating that she hadn’t learned yet how to accio it back, she had been trying but there was so much on her plate at the moment. 

“We can come back with light and try to find it. But first we need to get out of here.” He took off his backpack, wincing again, making Lily worry.

“Are you okay yourself?” Lily asked worriedly. 

“Brill, just sore.” he lied, but Lily did not have to know that on top of her nasty sprain, he had sprained his wrist as well. He could endure, he had had worse with Quidditch matches and Snape’s & Co. hexes. “You do know how to fall.” he tried teasing her worries away, instructing her to put the backpack herself. “You’ll carry it, I’ll carry you.” 

Instructions were easy enough, Lily just had to lay off her foot, and James was already turning around so Lily could climb onto his back, arms around his neck, legs around his waist. Making Lily feel a bit embarrassed. 

“Isn’t it too heavy? You could go up and get someone.” she offered, worried that he was doing too much. 

“I won’t leave you here all alone in the middle of the night.” James was not taking no for an answer, he was just waiting for Lily to feel secure to start climbing the steep hill himself. 

Lily could hear the grunts from pain and effort coming out of James, she was not sure why he was going above and beyond for someone that he wasn’t as close with, even though she was grateful that he didn’t leave her in the middle of nowhere with a swollen ankle. 

It took longer than if he had gone alone to climb back to the path. They almost slipped back a couple of times but James managed to get them up safely. 

“We are closer to the viewing point than the hotel.” he explained as he sat Lily on one of the logs for a moment while his breath evened out. “We should wait there for the others, not sure if they’ll take this path or the one that goes around the beach.” he said, looking down the path hoping to see or hear something, but he didn’t.

When he turned around he could see Lily was still a little pale and shivering from the soreness and dampness of her clothes. “Here,” he said, offering his jacket.

The redhead looked at him and shook her head, “You’ll need it, the temperature is lowering.”

James chuckled, a bit uneven, “I’m carrying you around, I’m actually a bit hot.” he admitted looking her in the eyes, something he didn’t dare to do often. “Take the jacket, Evans, I’ll be warm enough I didn’t fall in the water.” 

Lily didn’t need too much persuasion, soon she was putting the jacket and getting the backpack on once more, before they parted towards the comet viewing place. 

It didn’t take long for them to reach a spot. It was exactly what was marked on the map the Professor gave them. 

James had prepared some blankets for them to sit on, he put one below them so they would not sit on the cold hard floor, and grabbed the second one to replace his jacket. Noticing Lily still shivering he sat behind her, allowing her back to be up to his chest. 

“What are you doing?” she asked, not putting too much of a fight, she was exhausted, in pain but she needed to admit that James’ warmer body behind hers felt nice. Even if the position was a little odd for two friends to be in. 

“Relax, we just have one blanket left, and your back is all wet. Don’t want you to catch a cold, but don’t want to catch my death either.” he mumbled behind her, reaching out for his bag, wincing a bit as he got a hold of it. 

“You got yourself hurt too, why didn’t you say anything?” she said holding his hand, examining his wrist, that looked swollen from a sprain and the effort to carry her. 

James blushed knowing exactly why he didn’t say anything, she would argue with him that they could both wait by the creek, but that would mean she would be colder and it would be almost impossible for them to be seen by the others. She would insist that they should both rest, or that he would go without her, and he would not have that. 

“I’m used to it, I get injured in Quidditch all the time. Don’t worry about it.”

“Of course I worry! I care about you, you bloody idiot, we could have come up with a different plan!” she could not believe he had been that careless, he could endanger his Quidditch career because of it. It wasn’t like they were in mortal peril, they could wait for morning, their grades were not that important, his well being was more important than that.

“You were going to suggest to leave you there, or to wait there while you get even wetter, colder and with less and less chance of us getting found by the group. And I was not going to risk you for a sprain that I’m sure Sirius will heal as soon as he gets here." There was no discussion to be had, she was not going to convince him to have left her behind, no amount of Quidditch and future prospects he had, a human life was more important. 

Lily tried to argue as she saw him taking a thermos out of the bag, she helped him with it since she knew he would be hurting even if he did not show it. “I still deserved to be told, I’m not a damsel in distress, I can think for myself, even come up with something other than staying behind. I don’t appreciate not having a say.” She opened the thermos and poured what seemed to be hot tea. 

James felt embarrassed, of course she should have had a say in all, but he was thinking on his feet more than dismissing her ideas. “Drink, it’ll do you good.” he added softly. 

“It’ll do you good as well, you must also be cold.” She gave him the cup and waited for him to drink to pour herself a cup. 

After they drank the tea they just stay there, next to each other, keeping the warmth of their bodies by proximity and hoping that sooner rather than later they would be found. 

After a while Lily murmured “Thanks,” back to James, “for not leaving me behind.” she added, for good measure, to which he replied “No need.”

Their bodies’ tiredness won over after they made themselves as comfortable as possible, and soon enough slumber took over, each other enjoying the safe company of the other. That is how the class found them: sound asleep, dirty, and hugging each other.

[valyrianfreehold]

Silverwing

Silverwing is mentioned frequently in the beginning of F&B simply because her mount, Queen Alysanne loved to fly and utilized Silverwing fully until the very end of her life. Silverwing was the symbol of Alysanne's independence and freedom. Much like Dreamfyre was to Rhaena. Both sisters flew across Westeros on their dragons from childhood up to the very ends of their lives. These similarities are where it begins and ends, as the directions both dragon's lives took upon the deaths of their first riders part ways. Dreamfyre was eventually claimed by Helaena Targaryen when she was a child. A Targaryan princess and eventually queen just like Rhaena. Silverwing, however, went riderless for some time until the most unlikely of people bonded with her. Instead of a Targaryen princess, a lowborn dragonseed man took to the skies on her back.

The story of Ulf and Silverwing is a short one. During the Dance of Dragons they first flew on the side of the Blacks before Ulf and his partner Hugh defected to the Greens. Ulf did not die in battle, but was assassinated, a rare example of a dragonrider dying far from dragon battle. Silverwing simply circled the Tumbleton battlefield, and flew away after a crossbow was shot at her. This is also unique, as reports of dragons in or near battle do not flee but seek it out and often on the side of their deceased rider. Silverwing was noted to be the most docile of all the dragons on Dragonstone while she was riderless, there are no recorded examples of her ever killing anyone that tried to ride her. Upon the end of the Second Battle of Tumbleton, it is reported she returned to the field by the bodies of Vermithor, Seasmoke, and Tessarion. Singers claim that she attempted to stir her old mate Vermithor. Lingering to explore aimlessly and feast on the flesh of dead soldiers, she eventually flew off and was last seen roosting in the Reach at Red Lake. Her death is never recorded, but it was between 136AC and 153AC. You can read me theorize more about the death of Silverwing and how it ties into Morning's timeline here.

Dragons tend to draw riders with similar character traits. There are some examples of this not always being the case, such as Aemon and Daemon who both rode Caraxes. But the personality differences between Ulf the White and Alysanne Targaryen are massive. Thinking of why Silverwing would bond with two such different people can lead to some fun thought exercises. I personally could think of a few different reasons this might have turned out the way it did, but I don't have any strong feelings towards one correct answer because every possibility is fun to chew on and play with.

The relationship between Vermithor and Silverwing is noted, as they are an example of dragons pairing off with their rider's partner's dragon along with Syrax and Caraxes. What makes Vermithor and Silverwing's relationship interesting is that there are semi reliable examples of how Silverwing and Vermithor's bond lasted past the deaths of their riders. The implications behind dragon sentience and relationships if Silverwing really did linger by her mate's side and tried to get him to fly with her once more is pretty interesting!

Silverwing could have been as old as 117 upon her death, making her one of the older dragons recorded on Dragonstone. We are given no real detailed descriptions of her appearance. The name says enough. I put Silverwing in civilian clothes, trying to match the austere look Alysanne might have had if she was alive during the heyday of Old Valyria.

I apologize for how poor quality file itself is, I lost a long and very annoying battle with Procreate and I had to take the L.

[myl0v3l1f3]

Jecka x Emily British hcs?? 👉🏽👈🏽 (holy fuck I need a creative ship name for them)

I mean, I just call them jeckily but il he’ll think of a more creative one 😋

- Theyre very “popular cus theyre pretty/nice but disruptive/misbehaving x popular cus she starts on everyone, has been suspended three times consistently, disruptive but funny “

Does that make sense idk

- They dgaf abt year 7’s, they SHOVE in the lunch lines, in the hallway, on the stairs. They don’t care 😭

- Emily is always copying off of Jecka’s work, when they’re not in English, science or maths (because of sets), Emily’s in b1, b2 and b3 for them, and Jecka’s in a1 or a2. But during things like history or geography Emily copies.

- Emily is mooching off of Jecka’s fancy stationary (when she’s on her own shes using floor loot 💔 but lwk same)

- Getting detentions/iso together (jecka was doing her makeup and Emily shoved a year 7 down the stairs)

- Jecka turns up presentable, pretty and such, maybe half an hour late (cant b too late or she’ll get beat), or not coming in at all. Emily rolls up at lunch or later, trainers, missing blazer, no tie, untucked shirt, buttons missing from said shirt, no bag, no equipment, smudged makeup, messy hair and a tenner in her bra running off of red bull.

- Redbull winter edition x Watermelon monster (mainly redbull x monster)

- They skip things like PSHE to run around the building.

- The opinions on teachers: “I hope that fat bitch fucking kills herself,” “aww, no, shes actually sweet you just don’t like to listen cus you have odd or some shit”

- Emily actually does struggle with school a lot, which is why her attendance is like 50% and below. Whenever something happens she goes straight to jecka for emotional support ( when they’re separated in the seating plan it’s normally: “im not allowed to move because she had separation anxiety” “yeah, I have separation anxiety, im not allowed to move,” which is somewhat the truth)

- the amount of times they’ve been put on report.

- Jecka brought vodka in her water bottle and Emily brought cigarettes and they got drunk on the field. Until they got caught by SLT and got a 17 day suspension, with internal exclusion for a week.

THATS all I can think of rlly 💔💔

[gx-gameon]

Gx rewatch - school duel arc

Episode 20

The introduction of the school duel.

And the introduction of Blair. (Or Rebecca 2.0) And her crazy stalker tendencies

Syrus is already worried about being replaced.

Jaden being willing to keep Blair’s secret as long as she duels him. “A duel always reveals the truth”

Not the first time we hear Avians voice is him being in love for Blair’s card

Not Sparkman to!!

Zane roasting Syrus for having a crush on Dark Magician Girl.

Jaden is very lucky Burstinetrix is either A) loyal to Jaden only. On B) that she’s not a lesbian. Also he calling the boys pathetic is a mood.

Jaden not making her tell him her secret because “I learned everything g I need through your duel.”

Oh thank you Alexis and Zane for letting the kid down easy.

Not her leaving with a crush on Jaden.

I know in the dub she’s 8 but in the sub she’s 11 and that feels a lot better considering she comes back in season 2 (12) as a student in year 3 (13)

Episode 21

It’s announced that North academy is using a 1st year and Zane nominates Jaden to be their competitor. Everyone agrees but Crowler (of course) who wants Bastian. (Not like their are several other obelisk students who could do it)

Love the friendly rivalry between Jaden and Bastian.

Not the reporter dressing up as a Slifer and getting disrespected. Jaden calling him old right off the bat. (Au Jaden knows this is a spy/reporter as soon as he sees him and keeps him close so he can’t mess with Oto-San’s school)

Oh no he’s got beef with Skyscraper.

Jerad is such a mess.

I love Chumley saying that he got good at dueling because he started hanging out with Jaden and Syrus.

Jerad asking about missing kids and Jaden almost giving everything away before he catches himself.

Jerad you are a full grown man don’t sneak up on Alexis (14) at the abandoned dorm in the middle of the night with no one around. I don’t like this at all. Like I know he’s just looking for his story but this situation makes me very uncomfortable.

Zane Simms it up best. “Instincts vs Intelligent”

“We teach the Slifers well when they don’t skip class”

Again why couldn’t we have more chemistry dinosaurs from Bastian’s deck? Maybe it’s because I love chemistry and have a special interest in dinosaurs but I want this.

Bastian dealing Jaden’s fusion card is such a good move. What a way to shut down Jaden’s deck.

Episode 22

Not the reporter hacking in to find the missing students

Zane being impressed by Bastian and repeating Syrus previous statement “fusions are how Jaden wins all his duels” the brother really are more a like then they think

Jaden excited for the new challenge of finding a new way to win. Love the positive attitude buddy

The reporter having second thoughts about ruining duel academy because Jaden got into his head

“You make your moves at home I make mine in the field” Jaden I love the confidence.

I forgot about his carbon and diamond card. Yugioh give me more chemistry cards!!!

Jaden getting out blade and using skyscraper to help out. I love the strategy! (Also him giving the reporter war flashbacks

I forgot how fun this duel is. It’s a good back and forth I love how Jaden is still having fun.

Not Jaden winning with a hyper specific equipment spell. Only in the anime would you get the hyper specific equipment card with the particular monster.

I love Bastian’s respect as a duelist.

Not the reporter falling in love with dueling again. And giving Alexis the info about the missing students.

Jaden is representing the school.

I know au Jaden had told his dads about the match before hand. The probably steamed it and watched with the whole family/friend group. Joey and Tristian were cheering. Serenity Téa Mokuba and Mai are cheering but not as obnoxiously as the prior two. Seto, Yugi Atem, Duke and Bakura are all discussing strategy and how well both Jaden and Bastian are doing.

They are all thrilled about Jaden completing big the school duel. (Maybe Kaiba will have to schedule a trip to watch the school duel in person this year. It’s his school after all)

Maybe in the au Jaden tell his Zoro-san about the reporter and Kaiba picks him up. He’s original going to pay the guy off to stay quiet but because of his passion to find the missing students he lands a job with Kaiba Corp. (I’ll have to see if the reporter pops back up, I don’t remember)

Episode 23

I love everyone offering their favorite cards to Jaden to use in the school duel. Very classic yugioh. But could we not phrase it as “you have to win or you’ll embarrass the school.” And phrase it as “we’re here to support you, you’ve got this.” Like Jaden’s obviously feeling the pressure already. Don’t compound it.

It’s an obvious difference between DM and Gx in DM in a scene like that they would offer Yugi the cards and build up his confidence and reassure him, they believe in him. But in Gx they remind him of the pressure and how he can’t fail. It makes them offering their cards feel more like they want credit for helping him win and not because they genuinely want to support him.

Although “I want to help you be alone.”-Bastian and “you can’t be alone all by yourself.”-Alexis are iconic

Belowski! He can see duel spirits and speak Kuriboh which is great.

I love that he starts talking about how the colors are just the man’s way of keeping them down and Jaden is over it so fast. “Whatever let’s just throw down.” Aka please stop talking (about my too-san’s color system)

Is Belowski using ‘shadow powers’? Since his Moki Moki cab makes people sleepy.

I love how annoyed Jaden is with his friends fawning over Moki Moki and how great the other duelist is

“Who are you rooting for?” - Jaden “isn’t it obvious Moki Moki” - Bastian

Honestly that has to hurt. To have all of your friends root against you for seemingly no reason.

Love that Jaden realized that their weird behavior was caused by Belowski

I’m sorry but the kid was left at Duel Academy as a baby? This school is less than 10 years old how does that work? Is that the back story in the sub?

He is the first duelist who can summon real monsters in this series which is very cool. Not loving that he lives in a jail cell on campus

Au Jaden has so many questions for his Oto-san. Why is this kid kept in a cell for the same ability Atem and Yugi have?

Love that Jaden is the only student not affected by Moki Moki powers. I’m going to check it up to his own powers. Jaden is the supreme king and user of the Gentle Darkness. I think he has more power than Belowski. I also love that Belowski is surprised by this.

The explanation that Jaden loves to duel so much he just got ramped up he couldn’t sleep. No. Dark powers.

Episode 24

It’s the Chazz episode!!!

He is stranded in the ocean and he imagining Jaden with a pink and floral background? And a rainbow background? Incredible

Him falling into the ocean and blaming figment Jaden

It’s the intro of Ojama Yellow!!!

Not Chazz getting rescued. The ‘rescuer’ dumps his cards in the water the ruin them and then starts asking about Jaden. How does he know about Jaden? Chazz talks about him in his sleep.

I’m living for figment Jaden.

“Talk is cheap.” “Ya well I’m rich!” You go Chazz live up to Kaiba’s crazy rich boy talk

Dude just tried to drown him, shot him out of a submarine into a frozen wasteland. Are you trying to kill this boy?

The answer is yes as they send him in a quest through the tundra to get 40 cards

Not Chazz trying to buy the cards.

Like is the the best way to teach Chazz that money isn’t everything? No they are trying to kill him. But it is effective. He’s going to learn to cherish his cards.

Chazz found 41 so that he could give the old guy the extra. He’s a sweet heart. Though he did try to get ride of Ojama Yellow. Love this duel spirit.

“I have two brothers who are lost!” Love the set up also the reflection of Chazz’s own family. He is one of three brothers as well, but his brothers don’t treat him well. The ojamas really are the brotherhood Chazz could have had.

Oh no he only had forty! What a sweet boy. Figment Jaden “when you do nice things nice things happen to you.” And Chazz getting his last card from the ground.

50 man duel gauntlet! Chazz isn’t even fazed. Oh that’s all?

Also him winning against 50 duelist with a deck he cobbled together with cards he found in the tundra is mad impressive. Not to mention taking on the top 5-2 duelist at the same time to prove a point.

Chazz finally respects his cards!! And is talking to duel spirits!

Chazz as much as you say you don’t like Jaden you sure think about him a lot. He’s literally your inner voice.

Not the Chancellor saying he never liked his top student Czar

Is there only 50 kids at this school? Or is that just the freshman class? Or is it just the dueling gauntlet

Episode 25

Chazz it up! Chazz is up!

Love him getting not only his iconic black coat but also the ‘best deck’ from North Academy.

Love Jaden just summoning his monsters because “I have the best monsters!” Yes king I love how much he loves his deck.

Runs right in up to the two chancellors. “Where’s my opponent?!?” He’s so excited.

Chazz came with a squad “I transferred when I stoped getting the respect i deserved!” He’s read for a verbal smack down and is ready to be king

Jaden over here “I think the match is sold out.” “Oh are you the referee?” “Wait when did you switch school?” The whole grudge has flown over his head. He’s just happy to be dueling and to see Chazz again. They are here for two very different events

Au Jaden sees the helicopters fly in and thinks “my Dads are here? I hope uncle Joey doesn’t blow my cover.” The. He sees Chases brothers and is confused but sure we’ll roll with this.

Then they tell him they are live streaming the duel. And in cannon he’s excited but in the au he’s so stressed. He spent most of his childhood abounding being on camera. What if someone recognizes him and puts together he’s the Prince of Duels? Play it cool Jaden. Play it cool.

The Princeton brothers suck. Not them calling Chazz a slacker and putting all this stupid extra pressure on him. And throwing a deck at him he’s never played talking about how it’s expensive so it will win. Good sirs he already has a deck and strategy he’s been working on the whole way here and you want him to change it last minute? That’s not how you win.

Not Jaden think about how he should have brushed his hair. Or shower. Hah to be empty headed

Not Chazz having a panic attack and break down and Jaden just watching

Cannon Jaden might be starting to understand why Chazz is the way that he is but Au Jaden understand right away. He also feels pressure to succeed but his family never puts it on him. It’s all internal. Chazz is getting it externally and it’s crushing him. Too-San doesn’t talk about his childhood but from what Jaden’s leaves together from Uncle Mokuba Seto was in a sillier situation growing up

Crowler get your fake butt out of here. “I love both of these duelist.”

Chazz really does know how to work a crowd. And I’m glad the North academy kids respect him.

The armor dragons are here!!!

“I’m sorry Burst. My bad.” Not Jaden apologizing to burstinetrix I love this.

He also just got Yeeted and laughed it off. Your doing great Jaden

It took his brothers THIS long to realize Chazz isn’t using the cards they gave him.

Jaden being giddy at how great their duel is. Chazz repeating his brothers’s mantras is so sad. Can’t wait until til you learn to be silly

Chazz I love you but “you go bye bye” isnt as threatening as you think it is

Episode 26

Winged Kuriboh is here and so is Ojama Yellow!

Love Jaden immediately asking about Ojama Yellow.

Chazz you just yelled about a spirit and chasing it all over the stage in live tv. You’re not doing a great job hiding.

Jaden you shouldn’t be talking about people being weird for talking to themselves. But way to put it together that Chazz’s brothers suck.

He just wants to show Chazz that dueling is fun.

Chazz just trashed Jaden and mocked him on live tv and Jaden just laughs and talks about how much fun he’s having even though he’s losing and that Chazz should have fun to since he’s winning.

Not them cutting the feed when Chazz loses

Not Chazz’s brothers publicly disowning him. And roughing him up in front of both schools!

Way to go Jaden! Stand up to these guys.

And the whole crowd cheering for Chazz! I love this

Au Jaden is so over these two. He’s grown up around the best siblings of all time (the Kaiba brothers and the wheelers not to mention Yugi and Atem.) he knows how siblings should act. And while all the siblings he met at Duel academy so far are all crazy and different (I’m looking at you anti-Kaiba bros the Trusdales) these two are a new low.

He knows his Dads watched the duel. He’s sure he can reach out and explain somethings about the situation.

He still stands up to them and tells them off for Chazz.

But he also reaches out to Oto-san and questions how quickly they can buy their whole company. (The answer is very fast) He makes sure it won’t negatively affect Chazz before he unleashes his over protective Oto-san/#1 big brother Seto Kaiba on them.

I love Chazz deciding to stay and he was so polite talking to chancellor Sheppard.

“See you next year!” And we never see them again

Ahhh Chazz got dropped down to Slifer

I love how casually Jaden and Syrus mention the cockroaches and rats in the dorm.

“My new family is already difunctional” Chazz I love you.

Over all the school duel arc is pleasant. I’m glad we will know have silly Chazz and I have a tone of ideas for my future fics.

The DM cast were absolutely pumped for Jaden taking place in the school duel. They flew out to watch him duel. None of them were impressed with the Princeton brothers b it they were impressed by Jaden and Chazz.

Jaden sneaks away from his friends to go celebrate with his family after they get Chazz all set up in his room.

Chazz it up!