#every time I have burnt toast recently it has been because I opened an ask and fell into a hole made of Roger's face

[missmentelle]

Why Smart People Believe Stupid Things

If you’ve been paying attention for the last couple of years, you might have noticed that the world has a bit of a misinformation problem. 

The problem isn’t just with the recent election conspiracies, either. The last couple of years has brought us the rise (and occasionally fall) of misinformation-based movements like:

Sandy Hook conspiracies

Gamergate

Pizzagate

The MRA/incel/MGTOW movements

anti-vaxxers

flat-earthers

the birther movement

the Illuminati 

climate change denial

Spygate

Holocaust denial 

COVID-19 denial 

5G panic 

QAnon 

But why do people believe this stuff?

It would be easy - too easy - to say that people fall for this stuff because they’re stupid. We all want to believe that smart people like us are immune from being taken in by deranged conspiracies. But it’s just not that simple. People from all walks of life are going down these rabbit holes - people with degrees and professional careers and rich lives have fallen for these theories, leaving their loved ones baffled. Decades-long relationships have splintered this year, as the number of people flocking to these conspiracies out of nowhere reaches a fever pitch. 

So why do smart people start believing some incredibly stupid things? It’s because:

Our brains are built to identify patterns. 

Our brains fucking love puzzles and patterns. This is a well-known phenomenon called apophenia, and at one point, it was probably helpful for our survival - the prehistoric human who noticed patterns in things like animal migration, plant life cycles and the movement of the stars was probably a lot more likely to survive than the human who couldn’t figure out how to use natural clues to navigate or find food. 

The problem, though, is that we can’t really turn this off. Even when we’re presented with completely random data, we’ll see patterns. We see patterns in everything, even when there’s no pattern there. This is why people see Jesus in a burnt piece of toast or get superstitious about hockey playoffs or insist on always playing at a certain slot machine - our brains look for patterns in the constant barrage of random information in our daily lives, and insist that those patterns are really there, even when they’re completely imagined. 

A lot of conspiracy theories have their roots in people making connections between things that aren’t really connected. The belief that “vaccines cause autism” was bolstered by the fact that the first recognizable symptoms of autism happen to appear at roughly the same time that children receive one of their rounds of childhood immunizations - the two things are completely unconnected, but our brains have a hard time letting go of the pattern they see there. Likewise, many people were quick to latch on to the fact that early maps of COVID infections were extremely similar to maps of 5G coverage -  the fact that there’s a reasonable explanation for this (major cities are more likely to have both high COVID cases AND 5G networks) doesn’t change the fact that our brains just really, really want to see a connection there. 

Our brains love proportionality. 

Specifically, our brains like effects to be directly proportional to their causes - in other words, we like it when big events have big causes, and small causes only lead to small events. It’s uncomfortable for us when the reverse is true. And so anytime we feel like a “big” event (celebrity death, global pandemic, your precious child is diagnosed with autism) has a small or unsatisfying cause (car accident, pandemics just sort of happen every few decades, people just get autism sometimes), we sometimes feel the need to start looking around for the bigger, more sinister, “true” cause of that event. 

Consider, for instance, the attempted assassination of Pope John Paul II. In 1981, Pope John Paul II was shot four times by a Turkish member of a known Italian paramilitary secret society who’d recently escaped from prison - on the surface, it seems like the sort of thing conspiracy theorists salivate over, seeing how it was an actual multinational conspiracy. But they never had much interest in the assassination attempt. Why? Because the Pope didn’t die. He recovered from his injuries and went right back to Pope-ing. The event didn’t have a serious outcome, and so people are content with the idea that one extremist carried it out. The death of Princess Diana, however, has been fertile ground for conspiracy theories; even though a woman dying in a car accident is less weird than a man being shot four times by a paid political assassin, her death has attracted more conspiracy theories because it had a bigger outcome. A princess dying in a car accident doesn’t feel big enough. It’s unsatisfying. We want such a monumentous moment in history to have a bigger, more interesting cause. 

These theories prey on pre-existing fear and anger. 

Are you a terrified new parent who wants the best for their child and feels anxious about having them injected with a substance you don’t totally understand? Congrats, you’re a prime target for the anti-vaccine movement. Are you a young white male who doesn’t like seeing more and more games aimed at women and minorities, and is worried that “your” gaming culture is being stolen from you? You might have been very interested in something called Gamergate. Are you a right-wing white person who worries that “your” country and way of life is being stolen by immigrants, non-Christians and coastal liberals? You’re going to love the “all left-wingers are Satantic pedo baby-eaters” messaging of QAnon. 

Misinformation and conspiracy theories are often aimed strategically at the anxieties and fears that people are already experiencing. No one likes being told that their fears are insane or irrational; it’s not hard to see why people gravitate towards communities that say “yes, you were right all along, and everyone who told you that you were nuts to be worried about this is just a dumb sheep. We believe you, and we have evidence that you were right along, right here.” Fear is a powerful motivator, and you can make people believe and do some pretty extreme things if you just keep telling them “yes, that thing you’re afraid of is true, but also it’s way worse than you could have ever imagined.”

Real information is often complicated, hard to understand, and inherently unsatisfying. 

The information that comes from the scientific community is often very frustrating for a layperson; we want science to have hard-and-fast answers, but it doesn’t. The closest you get to a straight answer is often “it depends” or “we don’t know, but we think X might be likely”. Understanding the results of a scientific study with any confidence requires knowing about sampling practices, error types, effect sizes, confidence intervals and publishing biases. Even asking a simple question like “is X bad for my child” will usually get you a complicated, uncertain answer - in most cases, it really just depends. Not understanding complex topics makes people afraid - it makes it hard to trust that they’re being given the right information, and that they’re making the right choices. 

Conspiracy theories and misinformation, on the other hand, are often simple, and they are certain. Vaccines bad. Natural things good. 5G bad. Organic food good. The reason girls won’t date you isn’t a complex combination of your social skills, hygiene, appearance, projected values, personal circumstances, degree of extroversion, luck and life phase - girls won’t date you because feminism is bad, and if we got rid of feminism you’d have a girlfriend. The reason Donald Trump was an unpopular president wasn’t a complex combination of his public bigotry, lack of decorum, lack of qualifications, open incompetence, nepotism, corruption, loss of soft power, refusal to uphold the basic responsibilities of his position or his constant lying - they hated him because he was fighting a secret sex cult and they’re all in it. 

Instead of making you feel stupid because you’re overwhelmed with complex information, expert opinions and uncertain advice, conspiracy theories make you feel smart - smarter, in fact, than everyone who doesn’t believe in them. And that’s a powerful thing for people living in a credential-heavy world. 

Many conspiracy theories are unfalsifiable. 

It is very difficult to prove a negative. If I tell you, for instance, that there’s no such thing as a purple swan, it would be very difficult for me to actually prove that to you - I could spend the rest of my life photographing swans and looking for swans and talking to people who know a lot about swans, and yet the slim possibility would still exist that there was a purple swan out there somewhere that I just hadn’t found yet. That’s why, in most circumstances, the burden of proof lies with the person making the extraordinary claim - if you tell me that purple swans exist, we should continue to assume that they don’t until you actually produce a purple swan. 

Conspiracy theories, however, are built so that it’s nearly impossible to “prove” them wrong. Is there any proof that the world’s top-ranking politicians and celebrities are all in a giant child sex trafficking cult? No. But can you prove that they aren’t in a child sex-trafficking cult? No, not really. Even if I, again, spent the rest of my life investigating celebrities and following celebrities and talking to people who know celebrities, I still couldn’t definitely prove that this cult doesn’t exist - there’s always a chance that the specific celebrities I’ve investigated just aren’t in the cult (but other ones are!) or that they’re hiding evidence of the cult even better than we think. Lack of evidence for a conspiracy theory is always treated as more evidence for the theory - we can’t find anything because this goes even higher up than we think! They’re even more sophisticated at hiding this than we thought! People deeply entrenched in these theories don’t even realize that they are stuck in a circular loop where everything seems to prove their theory right - they just see a mountain of “evidence” for their side. 

Our brains are very attached to information that we “learned” by ourselves.

Learning accurate information is not a particularly interactive or exciting experience. An expert or reliable source just presents the information to you in its entirety, you read or watch the information, and that’s the end of it. You can look for more information or look for clarification of something, but it’s a one-way street - the information is just laid out for you, you take what you need, end of story. 

Conspiracy theories, on the other hand, almost never show their hand all at once. They drop little breadcrumbs of information that slowly lead you where they want you to go. This is why conspiracy theorists are forever telling you to “do your research” - they know that if they tell you everything at once, you won’t believe them. Instead, they want you to indoctrinate yourself slowly over time, by taking the little hints they give you and running off to find or invent evidence that matches that clue. If I tell you that celebrities often wear symbols that identify them as part of a cult and that you should “do your research” about it, you can absolutely find evidence that substantiates my claim - there are literally millions of photos of celebrities out there, and anyone who looks hard enough is guaranteed to find common shapes, poses and themes that might just mean something (they don’t - eyes and triangles are incredibly common design elements, and if I took enough pictures of you, I could also “prove” that you also clearly display symbols that signal you’re in the cult). 

The fact that you “found” the evidence on your own, however, makes it more meaningful to you. We trust ourselves, and we trust that the patterns we uncover by ourselves are true. It doesn’t feel like you’re being fed misinformation - it feels like you’ve discovered an important truth that “they” didn’t want you to find, and you’ll hang onto that for dear life. 

Older people have not learned to be media-literate in a digital world. 

Fifty years ago, not just anyone could access popular media. All of this stuff had a huge barrier to entry - if you wanted to be on TV or be in the papers or have a radio show, you had to be a professional affiliated with a major media brand. Consumers didn’t have easy access to niche communities or alternative information - your sources of information were basically your local paper, the nightly news, and your morning radio show, and they all more or less agreed on the same set of facts. For decades, if it looked official and it appeared in print, you could probably trust that it was true. 

Of course, we live in a very different world today - today, any asshole can accumulate an audience of millions, even if they have no credentials and nothing they say is actually true (like “The Food Babe”, a blogger with no credentials in medicine, nutrition, health sciences, biology or chemistry who peddles health misinformation to the 3 million people who visit her blog every month). It’s very tough for older people (and some younger people) to get their heads around the fact that it’s very easy to create an “official-looking” news source, and that they can’t necessarily trust everything they find on the internet. When you combine that with a tendency toward “clickbait headlines” that often misrepresent the information in the article, you have a generation struggling to determine who they can trust in a media landscape that doesn’t at all resemble the media landscape they once knew. 

These beliefs become a part of someone’s identity. 

A person doesn’t tell you that they believe in anti-vaxx information - they tell you that they ARE an anti-vaxxer. Likewise, people will tell you that they ARE a flat-earther, a birther, or a Gamergater. By design, these beliefs are not meant to be something you have a casual relationship with, like your opinion of pizza toppings or how much you trust local weather forecasts - they are meant to form a core part of your identity. 

And once something becomes a core part of your identity, trying to make you stop believing it becomes almost impossible. Once we’ve formed an initial impression of something, facts just don’t change our minds. If you identify as an antivaxxer and I present evidence that disproves your beliefs, in your mind, I’m not correcting inaccurate information - I am launching a very personal attack against a core part of who you are. In fact, the more evidence I present, the more you will burrow down into your antivaxx beliefs, more confident than ever that you are right. Admitting that you are wrong about something that is important to you is painful, and your brain would prefer to simply deflect conflicting information rather than subject you to that pain.

We can see this at work with something called the confirmation bias. Simply put, once we believe something, our brains hold on to all evidence that that belief is true, and ignore evidence that it’s false. If I show you 100 articles that disprove your pet theory and 3 articles that confirm it, you’ll cling to those 3 articles and forget about the rest. Even if I show you nothing but articles that disprove your theory, you’ll likely go through them and pick out any ambiguous or conflicting information as evidence for “your side”, even if the conclusion of the article shows that you are wrong - our brains simply care about feeling right more than they care about what is actually true.  

There is a strong community aspect to these theories. 

There is no one quite as supportive or as understanding as a conspiracy theorist - provided, of course, that you believe in the same conspiracy theories that they do. People who start looking into these conspiracy theories are told that they aren’t crazy, and that their fears are totally valid. They’re told that the people in their lives who doubted them were just brainwashed sheep, but that they’ve finally found a community of people who get where they’re coming from. Whenever they report back to the group with the “evidence” they’ve found or the new elaborations on the conspiracy theory that they’ve been thinking of (“what if it’s even worse than we thought??”), they are given praise for their valuable contributions. These conspiracy groups often become important parts of people’s social networks - they can spend hours every day talking with like-minded people from these communities and sharing their ideas. 

Of course, the flipside of this is that anyone who starts to doubt or move away from the conspiracy immediately loses that community and social support. People who have broken away from antivaxx and QAnon often say that the hardest part of leaving was losing the community and friendships they’d built - not necessarily giving up on the theory itself. Many people are rejected by their real-life friends and family once they start to get entrenched in conspiracy theories; the friendships they build online in the course of researching these theories often become the only social supports they have left, and losing those supports means having no one to turn to at all. This is by design - the threat of losing your community has kept people trapped in abusive religious sects and cults for as long as those things have existed. 

[lordabovehelpme]

What did you say?- Din Djarin x Reader

Request: Hi! I love your writing so much, you do the Lord’s work <3 I just had this cheesy ass little thought about what if before Reader knows Mando’s name she calls him “Tin Can” as a joke-y nickname but Din gets thrown for an absolute loop when she starts just calling him “Tin” for short because of how funnily close it happens to be to “Din” and she doesn’t even know 😭- @starspangledwidow

A/n: Wait this is so funny. I’ve never even thought of this before. I had a blast writing this. I hope you like it! 

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“Come on tin can, it’s not that hard.” He glares at you from where you stand in between his legs. He’s on his back on the floor, squeezing into a panel and trying to rewire a few things. “Red to red, blue to blue.”

“I know.” It comes out harsh and he fights the urge to kick you.

“Well if you knew then it’d already be done.” Patting his knee you lean down to look at what his hands are doing. “Okay here lemme hold that.” You press up against him and slide your arm into the small hole, grabbing a handful of wires and pulling them to the side, giving him more access to the two he needs to fuze together.

“Thanks.”

“Yeah no problem Tin.”

His head slams into the metal and you yelp. His legs flail around and he curses.

“Oh my goodness. What just happened? Is there another one of those ice spiders, because if there is you’re on your own. Actually on second thought, I’m not risking it. Bye!” Pulling your arm out of the now terrifying hole, you cringe. “I’m gonna go get the kid. Okay peace out my man. Good luck with your new friends.”

He just lays there as you walk away. His brain works a mile a minute to figure out what you actually said. How did you even know his name? Or did you even know? Did you just guess?

Not looking at what he is doing with his hands, he curses when he burns his finger. Groaning, he finally gets the wires together and slides out of the panel. Walking over to the fresher he opens the cabinet and pulls some bacta cream out.

“What did you do?” He turns to see you standing with the child in your arms.

“I uh,” He shows you his finger before applying some cream, “uh, burnt myself.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. You gonna be able to fly us out of this desert?”

He hates how he loves the mischievous glint in your eyes. “No, my hand is going to fall off.”

You giggle and the child coos. “Alright well, at least you’ll still have the other one. We’ll meet you up top okay.” Flashing him a smile over your shoulder, you climb up the ladder.

He just shakes his head at you, his own smile hidden by his helmet. Climbing up the ladder a few minutes later he sits in the pilot seat. He was already taught the lesson of not climbing up after you. Smiling under his helmet wider at the memory of how you screeched at him about how “he was a pervert” and he was “looking under your skirt.” In reality he hadn’t even thought of it, but he always gives you a minute now.

“Alright Tin, where to?”

You snap him out of his thoughts and his head quickly looks at you. “What did you say?”

“I asked where we were going next. What’s up with you today?”

“No no no.” His visor stays trained on your face. “What did you call me.”

You look at him weird, eyebrows lowering and your head slightly moving back. “Umm I called you Tin because Tin can, you know? Do you not like it? You just never seemed to mind it before.”

It's like the weight of the world lifted off of his shoulders and he sighs. “No no it’s fine. I was just wondering.” Embarrassed that he hadn’t connected the very simple dots he turns back to the dashboard and plugs in some coordinates.

“Okay, great! So where are we going though?”

“Oh, back to Nevarro, we have to drop off these bounties.”

You nod. “Sounds like a plan!”

***

Every single time you say that nickname his head spins. He’s tripped twice, jammed at least three fingers, and hit his head countless times. He almost has a kink in his neck from it snapping to look at you so many times.

“Hey tin, can you open this for me?”

You walk around the corner with a jam jar and once again his hand slips from where it was cleaning his blaster. The weapon falls onto the ground with a loud clank. “Um yeah, here give it to me.” He reaches out and takes the jar from you.

“Sorry, I tried to do it but I must have screwed it on too tight.”

“No, it’s fine.” He turns the lid and it pops open.

“See these muscles aren’t just for murder!” Giving his bicep a squeeze of thanks you take the jar and walk back into the kitchen area. “Thanks!”

Picking the forgotten blaster up from the floor, he places it back in his holster. He walks over to where you spread some jam on a piece of bread.

“Hey tin, want some toast?”

“So you know how we’re going to Nevarro, and we’ll be around other people?”

“Umm yeah. What about it?” You suck the jam off of your finger, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Well, can you not call me Tin around others. I don’t mind it when it’s just us, but not around others.”

You grin mischievously, “Why? Are you embarrassed?”

His hands do that thing where they clench and unclench, signifying his thoughts. “No, I just… I-” He sighs. “It’s similar to my name.”

“What?” Shocked you wait for him to continue.

“It’s close to my name, my actual name.”

“Oooo.” You smirk. “Are you going to tell me? Or am I going to have to guess?” When he gives you no response you start. “Ain?” He scoffs. “Alright not Ain. Bin? Cin?”

“Are you just going to go through the whole alphabet?”

“Yes. Din?” He tries to stay still, to seem unfazed. But you know him all too well. “Din! It is isn’t it?”

“Don’t go telling the world. You can’t tell anyone, you hear me?”

“Yeah yeah. Oh my that’s so funny. Who would have thought! Man, that must have been super weird for you. Wait, now it makes sense why you’ve been so on edge recently.”

You’re properly laughing now.

“It suits you.”

“It suits me?” You can’t see it but his eyebrows raise.

“Yeah, simple yet unforgettable.” You both just stare at each other for a second. “Don't worry, I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”

“You better not. Or I won’t open anymore of your jam jars.”

You place a hand over your heart, your mouth open in shock. “Hey! That’s like eviler than evil.” You wave the knife you used to spread it. “You’re mean.”

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

Hehe this was such a good idea! Thank you for requesting dear! I hope you liked it! 

As always, please consider reblogging or leaving a comment. I love hearing what you guys have to say! 

With love, Lordy :) 

Masterlist

Taglist: @ficthots @along-the-lines-of-space @jedi-jesi @coldlilheart @remmysbounty​ 

If you want to be added/removed from my taglist- just give me a holler. :)

[what-the--curtains]

Not a Piece of Art

Part 1/4 - A Grudge Like No Other

(Javier Peña x f!reader)

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Summary: You’re tasked with an impossible mission and an even more impossible partner to complete it with.

Authors note: I have never not once seen narcos all I know if based on other fics I’ve read so pls be kind but let me know if anything’s wildly out of character! Also I’m aware forensics wasn’t a solid discipline (especially DNA fingerprinting) but we’re gonna pretend it is. Lemme know if you’d like to be tagged (or untagged) 😊

Tw: Mentions of fake parental death, swearing, mentions of sex

Word count: 4.1k

Tagged list: @agingerindenial @diogodxlot

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The morning sun radiates down on your shoulders as you lock the door to your apartment complex behind you. Despite the early hour it was already far too hot, but at least the humidity wouldn’t kick in until the afternoon. You’d been working in Colombia for a few months now, but the heat wasn’t something you’d ever get used to. You weren’t complaining, most days you preferred it to the frigid temperatures that painted your childhood. The frost bitten noses, wool socks and thick snow falls coating tree branches seemed all but a distant memory now. You’d settled on Columbia after your long time best friend Connie convinced you to take the universities offer. She had recently made the move down south and was eager to have you there with her.

She’d told you about the job and honestly, you wouldn’t be surprised if she had marched down to the university herself and dropped off your resume. She’d flown up to Brown and helped you pack up your life and then unpack it after your arrival to the terraced apartment Connie had picked out for you both to live in. It was a decent size and the balcony was south facing which gave you all day access to the sun. When you weren't working you spent your time out there soaking up the sun and watering the small garden you had been tending to since your arrival. Your days were primarily spent at the university working out the finer details of the forensics lab you were hired to set up. Your PhD in forensic anthropology has left you with various laboratory based skills, including DNA analysis, making you a coveted asset to the campus. Whilst in school you had also completed an art certificate which came in handy when facial reconstructions were needed.

After everything was in place you began running samples, processing unidentified remains by working on dental ID’s and facial reconstructions, as well as testing for drug residue. Despite being run by the University your job wasn’t as research based as you would have hoped with your work often falling under the DEA’s jurisdiction. You weren't involved in their day to day protocols. You mainly just ran the tests, or identified bodies recovered from the crime scene only conversing with them when it was absolutely necessary. Police work wasn’t in your wheelhouse, and it wasn’t a profession you supported or believed in.

Many faces passed through your workspace all demanding your utmost attention claiming their projects to be the most important. One frequent flyer through the lab was Steve Murphy, who Connie had met down in Miami a few years back. His relationship to your friend was the only reason you had bothered to make an effort with him. A friendship was established between the two of you faster than you had expected, due in part to his easy southern charm, but mainly because he and Connie evidently had feelings for eachother. You always found it easier to get along with men who weren't trying to get into your pants which was, unfortunately, a frequent occurrence in the male dominated discipline you worked in. There was only one flaw you could attribute to Steve, his work wife, the other half of the DEAs “dynamic duo”, agent Javier Peña. You’d never been formally introduced to the man, but his reputation preceded him. His was a face that also made frequent appearances in your lab but you'd never spoken more than three words to each other which was, probably for the best. You had what some might deem a confrontational personality and from what you understood Peña was, to put it nicely, an asshole.

He always came in sporting a more casual look and sunglasses which he kept on despite being indoors, a habit that drove you up the wall. He’d tap the file on the glass to get your attention always making you walk the five extra steps to get to him. You didn’t bother to look up when he passed the beige folders to you just grabbed the file from his hands and added it to the pile on your desk. He’d started attaching yellow sticky notes with “put a rush on” scrawled across them in impatient handwriting, as if his case was more important than the remains you were currently working on identifying. Not talking was a strategic move on your part, you’d heard he was quite the charmer when he needed something done, and you weren't going to let him get away with that. You ran this lab, not Javier Peña. Was your dismissal of him warranted? Maybe not, but your gut instinct was usually right and the rumour mill had painted Peña in a very specific manner. You weren't about to let yet another hot headed alpha male who took “too much male energy” to an entirely new level into your life.

Unfortunately, your knack for avoiding him became nearly impossible when you were called out to work on a crime scene. Despite your refusal to work in the field, the remains couldn’t be moved so you had to go to them. The site was just far enough away that a daily commute would have been tedious so you, along with the dynamic duo and your forensic team were booked into a nearby hotel. You weren't sure what you'd done in your past life to piss off the gods but somehow you’d ended up sandwiched between Steve and Peña. Steve wasn’t the issue, apart from the TV which you’d hear blare spanish dubbed reruns of Miami Vice between 4 and 8 PM, he was a quiet, considerate neighbour. Peña, on the other hand, was neither considerate or quiet particularly during the late hours of the night while you were trying to sleep. Sharing a wall with the agent proved to be an issue, so much so that by the third day just looking at him filled you with such intense rage that you'd given yourself lockjaw.

Every night without fail you laid awake as the exaggerated, bordering on ridiculous, moans coming from whoever he'd enticed into bed that night reverberated through your shared wall. You'd tried it all, earplugs, pillows so forcefully wrapped around your head you were essentially smothering yourself, but the sounds still permeated through the plaster and into your head. On the fourth night when you heard the talking start you knew what you had to do. You furiously wriggle free from your sheets and make your way out into the hallway. You walk one door over and inhale deeply before aggressively pounding your fist on the door.

“Hey” you say, through gritted teeth.

“Hey?” a slightly disheveled Steve murmurs eyes squirting into the hallway’s bright lights as his arms cross clumsily over his bare chest.

“Look I hate to ask but can I sleep on your couch, the walls are thin and...”

“And Peña has a thing for loud women '' he finishes for you, shoulders relaxing as he opens the door up for you “surprised you lasted this long, come in i'll grab you some pillows”

“Thanks for letting me sleep here, I think I may have killed him in the field tomorrow if I didn't get at least an hour of sleep. Also this isn’t some tactic to get you to bed so you can stop trying to cover your modesty” You say wiping your eyes, as Steve drops his arms to his side laughing.

“I know, believe me, besides i'm sure you're aware I’m only interested in one person.” So he did have a thing for Connie.

“You should go for it, I think she'd say yes” you offer, even in your sleep deprived state you were still a pretty solid wingwoman.

“You think?” His eyes light up, further cementing your belief that Steve, despite being friends with Peña, was a good guy.

“Thanks” you murmur as he hands you some pillows and a light sheet. It's not long before the AC’s quiet hum draws you into a deep sleep.

The alarm blaring out from Steve’s room pulls you from your dreaming state, groaning as you squeeze a pillow over your head. Why was it that you always felt worse after getting a good night's sleep? You briefly doze off again only waking as the smell of burnt toast convinces your brain that either a fire has started, or you were having a stroke.

“Tryna burn this place down?” you mumble, relaxing back into the couch cushions as you watch Steve scrape the burnt bits off into the garbage before buttering it and taking a bite.

“You think you got enough sleep to not kill my partner this morning?” he asks between mouthfuls.

“No, but I did get enough to realize if I killed him in the field there'd be witnesses” you remark pouring coffee into a cracked mug. “Thank you for letting me sleep here “

“Anytime, though Javi should be the one thanking me considering I basically saved his life. Lucky were leaving today or I’d have to put him into protective custody.”

“And I'll never have to hear him ever again” you say suddenly feeling a bit better. You were glad for Steve being so accommodating to your needs, especially considering he didn't really know you that well. “Well I should go get ready for the day ahead what it's supposed to be out?”

“A balmy 40” Steve offers, as he washes your cup up in the sink.

“Wow I should have packed my snow pants when I moved down here.” you dead pan, the delivery causing Steve to snort as you exit the room. As you exit, Javier opens his door kissing the woman he’d spent the night with one last time watching as she strides off down the hallway. You don’t see him, but he sees you. Specifically, he sees you leaving his partner's room, and in nothing more than an oversized t-shirt, he raised his eyebrows. Good for Steve from what he’d heard half the department had been trying to get your attention to no avail. Your head was always buried in paperwork and your ears were always donning headphones blocking out small talk, maybe he should take a page from your book. He didn’t say anything to Steve in the field, but he did watch you interact with one another. Paying specific attention to how you'd made Steve laugh while photographing the murder weapon. Javi watched as you meticulously gathered up a few finger bones that he'd overheard you saying would be used for DNA fingerprinting. He'd tried to talk to you a few times this trip, but the second he'd stepped in your direction he noticed your jaw clench and your body tense up, not wanting to upset you he decided it was best to back off. After getting what you need you packed up your things and headed back home, with no intentions of ever having to interact with Peña for more than 5 minutes ever again.

Several months later

Your lab was now contracted out full time by the DEA which meant you still got to do research but you didn’t have to teach any teenagers which was quite frankly a dream. Unfortunately, the contract meant you'd now be spending time in two male-dominated fields. The boys club offered little that would qualify as genuine friendship. Turns out the ones brave enough to approach you were only nice to you because they wanted to sleep with you. Something you’d found out after overhearing a less than true story about you from one of the guy’s you’d hooked up with. After that you’d stopped sleeping where you work and started looking elsewhere. Your few short lived romances were mainly found in dive bars only going home with people that had been thoroughly vetted (and vaguely threatened) by yourself, Connie and Steve. Who was now a relatively permanent fixture in your life after finally asking Connie out, and you really didn’t mind it. He was good to Connie and he never minded being excluded when you needed a girls' night without him. You also assumed the decrease in misogynistic talk amongst the agents was Steves doing, you made a mental note to thank him later, as you took another swig of the beer you’d been nursing for the past hour.

Steve was still inseparable from Peña and where he went Javi was sure to follow. Your inability to not become enraged by him meant you often found yourself leaving the room as soon as he showed up, subsequently cutting your Connie time in half. Devastating both you and her.

“You know he’s not really as insufferable as he acts” Connie states, Javi was due to show up any minute which meant it was just about time for you to leave.

“ You're not gonna sell me on this” you say, chewing on a stale nacho chip from food you’d ordered hours ago.

“Seriously, he's almost nice sometimes” your pointed look tells her to drop it. Connie was nothing if not resilient and you were constantly amazed by her. You don’t know how she worked as a nurse. You had a hard enough time with the dead, how she also dealt with the living as well was beyond you. She was a quantifiable saint which was probably why she saw the good in Peña.

“Remind me to never make you mad” Steve says.

“No one holds a grudge quite like her” Connie exclaims

“Awe you say the sweetest things about me” you retort after finishing the last of your beer.

“Alright well I’ve got an early morning shift so we should be heading out, tell Javi I say hi” Connie says kissing Steve before the two of you exit the bar.

“Are you really going to keep up this affront against Javi?” Connie asks, interlinking your arms together as you exit the bar.

“Yes, now please and can we stop talking about Peña even thinking about him gets me riled up”

“I thought you said you hated him” she teases causing you to roll your eyes.

“Please don't make me gag” you say pulling a face that causes you both to break into a giggle fit.

“What up her ass? Seriously, am I infectious or something?” Javi asks, slumping down across from Steve who's filling out paperwork at his desk.

“Well considering your history, probability is pretty high” Steve quips back earning him a thwack to the head with a folder you’d dropped on Peña’s desk earlier that morning.

“You know her, what's her deal, why does she hate me?”

“Everyone hates you Javi, it’s a fundamental part of your personality” Steve laughs.

Javier usually wasn’t one to concern himself with how others perceived him, but his work frequently overligned with yours and he figured his life would be made infinitely easier if he could get into your good books. Sure, at first his intrigue in getting to know you was purely physical. He knew looks aren't everything, but for what he wanted, they played a fundamental part. He wasn’t the only person to have noticed you the day you showed up, all eyes were on you as you walked through the DEA embassy for the first time. Your arrival had sparked a competitive energy amongst the men with the agents often vying over who got the honour of dropping off case files to you. A few were apparently even so lucky to have actually spent the night, at least that's what he’d overheard some agents proclaiming loudly, making him doubt their validity.

He’d cracked down on what some would call “locker room talk” when he thought you and Steve were sleeping together, after seeing you leave his room early that one morning. Though if Steve had been spending nights with you he’d never brought it up to Javi, and after he started dating Connie there never seemed a right time to ask about you, so he let it go. He’d gotten more proactive with stopping it once you’d been hired on full time. He’d upped his guard when he’d caught one trying to cop a feel of your ass the day you had been called in on your day off. You’d come in wearing a skirt shorter than what would be considered workplace appropriate gaining you more attention than usual. He noticed the guys hand drop down low, but any contact was stopped when Javi smashed the guys arm back into the wall behind him. In most cases a move like that would have earned him a swift punch to the face but a simple raise of his eyebrows was enough to get the pervert to sit back down.

Despite the scene playing out a few feet from you, you never noticed carrying on about your day as if nothing had happened, headphones on, paperwork in your arms and various scrawlings across your hand, reminders of meetings he knew you'd be late to anyways. He assumes your chronic lateness was a tactic to spend as little time around him as possible. Your hatred for him was palpable, he wondered if it was as obvious to everyone else as it was to him. He'd noticed how you would stand in meetings when the only seat available was next to him. It was starting to get to his ego. He wanted to know what he possibly could have done to be treated like the scum of the earth by you. He’d heard from Connie that you didn’t like cops, but you got on fine with Steve. Your lives continued on with minimal interaction until the day you were called into the head of the DEA’s office.

“Office now!” your boss shouts from the door. Fuck. What have you done now?

“Hey you need something?” you ask, lips parted and forehead wrinkled, feeling like a child who’d just been called to the principal's office. Your head snaps to the left when you feel eyes boring into you, eyes belonging to Peña. He shifts around in the chair to escape your violent gaze. You turn to Steve who's gazing up at the ceiling.

“I have the dental results here for the missing persons from the case last week, it’s a match, I know it's late but...”

“It's not that,” he gestures his hand to the chair beside Peña and you sit, placing the documents down on the table. Javi cranes his neck slightly, eyes darting over the various statistics strewn across the page surprised you were able to piece it all together.

“You have an art degree right?”

“I have an art certificate” you correct

“and you paint”

“A bit”

“She was featured in local galleries back in the States” Steve pipes up.

“ Good, we need you to go undercover” you snort before laughing aloud. Your amusement quickly fades when you realize no one else was laughing with you.

“Wait you're serious? You want me... to go undercover? I'm not an agent, I can’t use a gun, I don’t think I've even held one before” you say, tearing through all the excuses you could think of.

“You can shoot a bow and arrow,” Steve pipes up.

“Ya very different instrument Steve, also does Connie tell you everything about me” he shrugs his shoulders.

“You won’t need a gun anyways, you'll have a trained agent with you at all times.” Your boss reassures.

“No. No way! Im sorry but this… this is beyond the scope of my work and my skill set” you assert, not budging.

“You’ve been to crime scenes before, you’ve been in dangerous scenarios, excavated mass graves, we need you you’re the only one who can help with this”

“Why? You have multiple agents out there who would kill to go undercover, why me?” you push

“ Your background, and relative anonymity. There's been an increase in art dealing amongst the sicarios.”

“So what? Maybe they just really like art.” you offer

“Does anyone really like art” Peña pipes up

“ Yes, the whole world actually” you shoot back, successfully shutting him up.

“We think they're using convincing fakes to smuggle drugs without suspicion” Steve offered, helping to clear up the situation.

“Okay... then hire an art expert to go in and see if the paintings are real”

“We need you to test for residue on the paintings, and to recreate one in time for the next move”

“Okay im good, but I am not good enough to recreate a painting worth thousands of dollars.”

“From what I’ve seen you are,” Steve says further cementing your fate.

“What if I say no?” you ask, exhaling deeply.

“Then you're fired” Javier pipes up, once again causing your head to turn to him.

“And who, pray tell, made you judge, jury and executioner” you spit “last time I check Javier Peña wasn’t the one signing my paychecks”

“No, but I am, and you will do this” Your boss's backing of Peñas statement makes the smirk on his face even more aggravating.

“Fine, but just know I will be personally mentioning you all in my will so everyone knows exactly who got me killed, and I'm gonna want a raise, more vacation time and a new piece of lab equipment if I make it out alive. ”

“Fine” you smile feeling slightly vindicated.

“So what's my story? Who am I to have a million dollar painting in my possession?” you ask, as your boss pulls up a document on his computer.

“You’ll go by Melanie Alverez nee Smith, you were born in London England to parents Maria and Calvin who passed in a car accident four weeks after your nineteenth birthday”

“Shit” you mutter, thinking about your own parents who were very much alive.

“You dropped out of Oxford where you were undertaking a degree in chemistry and moved to New York where you began painting. You were a struggling artist for the first two years but received funding to attend Julliard. After graduation your first major piece was accepted by a local gallery and put up for auction. It sold for 10,000$. The buyer wanted to meet you after seeing your photo. He’d sent thousands of flowers to your gallery before showing up and asking you on a date.

“Must be nice” you murmur

“After a whirlwind romance you eloped and moved down to Columbia where you continue to work as an artist.”

“Alright easy enough, short live romance is a good call that can be used to explain why we don’t know certain information about each other.”

“You'll be staying here” A huge spanish style house appears on the screen. Its prestige was only overshadowed by the mansion looming over it from across the private beach. Must be the target's house, you think.

“It was built by the target, he lives there with his fourth wife. He’s rich, sources claims from drug smuggling, they think he may even have direct links to Escobar

“Like, as in Pablo?” you ask, eyes widening.

“Apparently he’s his art dealer. We need you to go in and see what he knows, if it's not enough then test the paintings in their homes”

“And if they trace?”

“You'll give them the fake implemented with a tracking device so we can target its route.”

“Okay well I'd say easy enough but the threat of being murdered isn’t lost on me. Who's my husband anyways? Obviously he’s rich but did he tragically fall down the stairs and die, did I kill him?” you ask, smiling as Steve laughs.

“What?” you say looking up

“What...” you say as Steve refuses to meet your eyes as he chokes on his laugh.

“Well you haven’t killed him yet but I give it a week.” He responds.

“Who's my husband” you ask, again suddenly afraid and very aware that there were two men in this room, and one was currently laughing at you.

“Your lucky day sweetheart.” Your head turns comically slow to face Javi, the effect only causes Steve to snicker more.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” you whisper.

“This mission is anything, but a joke.” your boss interjects “If we can trace the arts movement it brings us one step closer to catching Escobar. I don’t know why there's animosity between you two and frankly I do not care. You two must work together. If you are to succeed you have to be believable. Study up on each others aliases the target hasn’t made it this far without being killed by being stupid. We’ve tried to get to him before with no success, he will be on high alert. You two will have to convince him, and his wife, that you’re sincere.”

[xbaepsae]

the ebb and flow | part five

“You wonder what goes on in that head of his—why he’s always popping up out of nowhere and causing your life to become just a tad unbalanced.”

[demigod!jeongguk x demigod!reader]

genre: percy jackson!au, mythology!au, demigod!au, enemies to lovers!au, action

word count: 2.3k

rating: pg-13

warnings: flaming arrows lol, some mentions of fighting (typical camp half-blood stuff, you know), the usual character bickering and tension

a/n: omg sorry this chapter took me two extra days to write lol. idk why it was so difficult. anyway, thanks for all the love for son of poseidon jk and daughter of athena reader :) i love them so much too. xoxo

→ series masterlist!

the second summer – in which it all begins

Mid-summer in Long Island is always hot, and it doesn’t make outside activities any better. Or more bearable. From your cabin, you stare out of a window at the almost noon sun and sigh—you are surely going to turn into burnt toast today.

“Going back to archery class today?”

You turn towards the voice. “Unfortunately.”

“Archery isn’t that bad,” Namjoon laughs.

“It is when you’re kind of bad at it,” you say, to which he doesn’t have a reply.

In your defense, you just picked up archery recently. It’s no longer something that’s a necessary skill to have—especially since you’re better at other things—so you didn’t bother taking the lessons with Chiron last year. Also, at the time, the flaming arrows terrified you anyway. However, now, you figured that you should try and master every skill offered here.

What you didn’t account for was having zero skill in the art of archery. And it’s frustrating, to say the least.

“I’m sure you’ll get better with time,” Namjoon finally says.

“I hope so.”

While Namjoon goes off to climb walls with satyrs, you go off to meet Chiron at the targets. When you arrive, there are already a few other campers armed with their bows. You settle beside Jung Hoseok, hoping that some of his natural skills in archery will rub off on you.

“Hey, y/n!” Hoseok’s enthusiastic as ever.

You offer him a half-smile. “Hey.”

“Excited?” he asks. “I think Chiron’s going to bust out the flaming arrows today.”

You gulp at the mention of fire. Even though you’re not scared of flaming arrows anymore—at least, the idea of them—you’re still a little nervous about actually having to hit the targets with one. “Um, cool?”

“It’s super easy, watch.”

As Chiron’s voice booms over everyone, you do as Hoseok says and watch as an arrow is doused in lighter fuel. Chiron fastens the arrow through his bow before he lights in on fire and hits a bullseye. Your mouth drops at how quick everything happens, shocked at how a flaming arrow seems much faster than a normal one.

The fire is quickly put out, probably to save the target from becoming fully disintegrated, and Chiron calls, “Okay, heroes, line-up behind one another.”

Since there are six targets, the group divides amongst each one. Hoseok immediately rushes into the front of the last target to be first, while you move to stand a few people behind him. You twist your head out of the line to watch as the son of Apollo confidently readies his bow and shoots his flaming arrow in a perfect bullseye. After a quick praise from Chiron, he moves off to the side so another camper can begin.

“Hoseok’s pretty good, huh?”

You jump at the sudden voice. Turning around, you spot Jeon Jeongguk inches away from you. “Oh my gods, what are you doing?”

“Here for archery practice, duh,” he says easily, but you don’t miss the mischievous glint in his eyes.

Last year, when you both arrived at camp for the first time, Jeongguk was relatively quiet and kept mostly to himself. Although, as time passed, he quickly became more outspoken and comfortable around everyone—a little too comfortable. The shyness was definitely a short-lived phase. You kind of miss it.

Now, he never shuts up and it’s starting to annoy you—especially when he pops up out of nowhere like this and messes with your focus. “You’re not in this class.”

“How would you know? Maybe I just got here late?”

You can’t help but roll your eyes. If there’s anything you’ve realized this summer, it’s that Jeongguk is always trying to pick a fight with you. Sometimes, you partake in his antics; however, right now, you’ve really got to focus. “Whatever, Jeon.”

Taking a step away from him, you realize that you’re already next up to shoot an arrow. The other campers are openly staring, which makes you nearly trip over your own feet.

“You’ve got this, y/n,” Chiron says, handing you an arrow.

Taking the arrow from him, you inhale deeply before dipping the tip in the fuel. Slipping the arrow in your bow, your nerves are in a bundle when Chiron lights it on fire and commands you to aim for the yellow center.

Instinct seems to take over as the nock passes through your fingertips. You watch in slow motion as your arrow propels through the air and lands in the red portion of the target. A shocked gasp leaves you lips at how close you got to the center; hitting red is better than what you did yesterday.

“Well done,” Chiron smiles, and you’re so glad he’s so patient with you.

“I’ll do better tomorrow,” you promise, and class is dismissed for the day.

Everyone begins to put their bows away; by the time you manage to do the same, Jeongguk is already long gone.

***

“I knew he wasn’t in archery with me.”

You were on your way to arts and crafts with Hephaestus’s cabin when Haru caught up to you. She asked you about your day in archery yesterday, and when you mentioned Jeongguk she was confused.

“Yeah, he’s in sword fighting with me,” she says.

“So, why was he by the range then?” you ask.

Haru frowns for a moment, before understanding fills her face. “Oh, that’s probably because we were scouting outside the area yesterday.”

“For what?”

“I guess our trainer wants us to get field experience? Outside of the arena. I think he decided on the field beside the archery range,” she explains, and you mutter an oh great. “Don’t worry though, we should be some distance away from you guys.”

Though you’re skeptical about that, you can’t really dwell too much about it because you’re already in front of the forge. You spend your hour in arts and crafts thinking about flaming arrows…and maybe Jeongguk too. But not in a way people might expect you to be thinking about him.

You wonder what goes on in that head of his—why he’s always popping up out of nowhere and causing your life to become just a tad unbalanced. Every time he’s around, you feel strange…like you can’t stand him at all. Jeongguk just makes you uncomfortable and you hate it.

By the time you are walking back to the archery range, he has gotten so deep underneath your skin that you swear you can hear his voice ringing in your ear.

“Why am I going crazy?” you mutter to no one but yourself, simultaneously shaking your head in the process. “What is wrong with—”

“Finally admitting that you’re crazy, miss goody-two-shoes? About time.”

Standing up straighter, you turn around and realize that you aren’t totally imagining things—the devil himself was actually behind you. You can’t help but narrow your eyes at him. “Why are you being so nosy, Jeon?”

“Anyone would’ve been able to hear that remark,” Jeongguk rolls his eyes, moving to walk ahead of you.

“Why did you lie yesterday and say that you were in archery?” you ask, but he doesn’t reply. Instead, he just continues on his merry way, past the targets and towards the adjacent field. You watch as he picks up the pace and begins to jog towards his instructor; you realize that you should probably do the same.

Today, Hoseok is, once again, first up to shoot an arrow. Chiron lets him shoot a few, and each one leaves your mouth hanging open. At this point, you think the son of Apollo is just showing off because every arrow that goes through his bow flawlessly hits a bullseye.

“How do you do that every time?” you ask him once the next person is up.

Hoseok just laughs. “It’s natural, I guess.”

“Wish that were me,” you muse.

“We all have different skill sets, y/n,” he attempts to console you. “I mean, you’re great with battle strategy—which is why Apollo always want to join Athena’s team.”

You conclude that he’s right—everyone is skilled in their own way. Besides, you can get better at archery with time anyway. You continue small talk with Hoseok until Chiron tells you that you’re next up. You drag yourself in front of the target and fasten the arrow through your bow. Staring at the target, you clear your mind of excess thoughts—you want to really focus on hitting the center. With a quick exhale, you propel the arrow through the air.

And it hits the center.

When you realize this, you begin jumping up and down. Chiron laughs through his congratulating remarks, before asking if you’d like another shot. “Of course, I want to do it again!”

Just as you begin to aim your bow and arrow, you hear a commotion to the left. Looking away from the target, you notice that things have gotten pretty hectic on the field where campers are practicing with their swords. Except, you realize that swords aren’t being used much—everyone has adapted to using their own special skills.

Demeter kids are sprouting things from the ground, Apollo kids are playing their lyres, and a certain son of Poseidon is blasting water cannons. For a moment, you wonder how this chaos even ensued; but that thought quickly fades when the commotion starts coming closer. Squash begins sprouting right by the range, but that’s not even the worse of it. A cannon of water comes out of nowhere and drenches your entire body, and you notice that everything seems to go silent after that.

Your camp shirt now hangs heavy on your body, and your sneakers feel disgustingly uncomfortable. Opening your eyes, you notice that everyone is staring at you with shock, but you can only see one person.

“Jeon Jeongguk!” You yell at the boy who only stands a few yards away from you. “You idiot!”

Even from this distance, you can see him struggle for words—a surprising feat since he always seems to have something smart to say. Taking a step closer to him, you aim your arrow for his head; it would be so easy to just knock him out. Jeongguk’s eyes fly wide at your stance; you wonder if he thinks you’re actually going to shoot.

Without even thinking twice, you let the arrow fly. But today seems to be Jeongguk’s lucky day because the arrow misses his head, landing in the tree right beside him. You notice him visibly exhale, but that relief quickly dissipates when his instructor practically pulls him by the ear and looks straight at you. “You, come with us.”

“B-But I didn’t do anything wrong!” You look to Chiron. “Jeongguk shot me with a water cannon—”

“I understand that you were only defending yourself, y/n, but you almost hit Jeongguk with an arrow. You’ll have to talk to Mr. D about this, I’m afraid.”

You can’t help but pout. Dionysus is always in a mood. But you obey anyway and make your way to the Big House. There, you find the god himself conjuring up a glass of wine from sunlight. You stare at the deep burgundy liquid before raising your eyes to the god. “I thought you were still stuck here for another few decades?”

Mr. D turns his gaze to you, lazily rolling his eyes. “Oh, my mistake—I seem to have forgotten.”

With the wave of his hand, the wine transforms into a can of Diet Coke. You would laugh at the displeased look on his face, but you know that you’re not Mr. D’s favorite camper right now. He takes a sip of the soda before turning to face you and Jeongguk.

“You and you heroes,” he sighs, “always causing trouble around here.”

“It was an accident, sir,” Jeongguk speaks up first, which is not surprising. He’s always trying to cover his own ass. “I didn’t mean to blast that canon of water towards the archery range. It was completely accidental. However, y/n aiming an arrow for my head is—”

You interrupt him, “Mr. D, how can a canon of water from yards away be an accident? I think it was completely on purpose.”

“The arrow was on purpose!” Jeongguk exclaims, turning towards you. “You were trying to kill me!”

Meeting his gaze with an eye roll, you say, “Oh, please, Jeon like I would ever—”

“Di immortales!” Mr. D suddenly yells. “Can you children shut up?”

Looking away from Jeongguk and towards your camp director, you notice the purple flames dancing in his eyes. An angry Dionysus always makes you tense. Often, you forget how much power this god actually has. He’s one of the twelve. You sink back and notice that Jeongguk does the same.

“Sorry, sir,” you both apologize quickly, and the purple flames lessen.

“I cannot stand mortals,” the god of wine clenches his teeth, “you both are insufferable. I’m starting to resent father for sending me here again!”

You don’t even know what to say. Mr. D sounds like a child right now.

“Ugh, just get out,” he continues, taking a sip of his Diet Coke, “you both are giving me a massive headache, and I’m in need of my daily nap.”

You blink; is Mr. D letting you both off the hook? No punishment? Before he can give you both one, you bid the god of wine goodbye and start walking out. Just as you’re about to push the doors open, Jeongguk’s voice stops you. “Just because Mr. D let us off the hook, doesn’t mean I’m going to forget that you nearly killed me today.”

Turning around, you look Jeongguk dead in the eye. “Are you trying to start something with me, Jeon? Because you shouldn’t start things you can’t finish.”

“Is that a threat?” he asks, a single brow raised.

“I guess you better watch your back,” you say and push the doors open before he can say anything else.

[awrldalone]

17th May 2021, 10.47am

I feel like a spinning top. Going round and round, moving everywhere, dizzy like when you spin on yourself and the world begins to shift.

Saturday was full. Mass was peaceful when I could turn off my brain and neglect the alarms that screamed “hypocrisy” at every word. I discovered Pope Francis changed some of the words to the Padre Nostro, and I wonder why he focused on that rather than actual problems within the church.

Afterwards, we had lunch. My aunt - I had not seen her in a little over a year – said I am too skinny. While I was eating. I have always been told I am too fat, obese, overweight, disgusting. Every family function has been a reminder that I need to lose weight, and now that I have, I’m still not good enough.

Besides, I hate it when people acknowledge my body, or the fact that I am eating. It was fish. A lot of fish. Very tasty, might I add, but my favourite part was the cake.

We got home at around 6pm. I changed, made iced tea and risked to stain my white jeans - they used to be my father’s, but I got them fitted to my waist – and finally I left the house. My little cousin came over, since I was headed to Venice. Yesterday it was C.’s birthday, so she invited a few people at her house, to sleep over (but not to celebrate, since she does not want to recognise that she is of age now.)

On the way, I bought a roll of film. A few days ago, I tried taking out the already-shot film but my camera did not roll it up like it should have. It all got exposed to light. Rendered unusable. Undevelopable. It was sad.

I also bought a cake. An overpriced, over-sweet chocolate mousse. I’m not into that kind of stuff, I’d rather eat something lighter, brighter, fruitier. It almost fell on the ground while I was carrying it. It was cold on my lap, on the bus. 

I went to a café-bar near my school, we often go there to study, but in recent times we’ve also got a spritz or two, and I found everyone sitting near the canal. I was late, but I had already told them, so they were already done with whatever they were eating and drinking. 

C.’s house is near the Hospital, I have learnt the way now, despite the fact Venice always feels similar, every little street blends with the other and it is easy to get lost, or not remember where to go even if the destination is known.

We had fun. Some vodka, a soap-tasting Japanese gin with “delicate layers of yuzu lemon, sake, and a hint of cherry blossom flavour”. I hope no one remembers what was said, because I know that what I said are things I ought to have kept to myself. Things I usually never open up about.

There comes a point in the night when you get the urge to smoke. I’m not a smoker, but the idea of a grey cloud and a cigarette seem a thousand times more appealing when you’re drunk. So we went on the tiny balcony where C.’s mother growths flowers, and we smoked and talked about smoke, and feelings. There also comes a point in the night when talking in a foreign language comes natural. French, English, tous les deux. Slurred Italian words, and a bit of dialect. 

I told C. I cut. She told me she does too. I told her to stop. She told me she won’t. I told her I won’t either. I burnt my hand in three places, tiny red spots still linger like bug bites. That girl who kissed me last summer told me she finds me attractive. She said she likes the veins of my arms and I feel like an asshole writing this. 

I almost passed out with my cheek on the toilet seat, trying to purge but unable to think completely straight, more because of how sleepy I was. I threw my body on the bed.

Sunday I woke up okay. Dehydrated, rotten inside, but okay. 

We planned to study Philosophy. Locke, Hume, Kant. So we went out for breakfast, I tried eating a French Toast but it was too sweet. It looked pretty, sometimes I eat food because of its color colorful (for example, red berries; I like reds and greens). 

I could focus on the words of the book, but Cl. and Ca. were revising out loud, which was distracting. I drunk an americano, it tasted very bad, and I started listening to music. I need to get to know new people. I probably was still a little bit drunk, everything was still in my system. 

At two pm I got up from my chair, the wind was getting colder and I wanted to go home. I said goodbye, they said they were going to leave with me, so we walked. Cl. was not feeling her best because she got vaccinated recently, since she’s diabetic. Thinking about vaccines angers me. A British friend of mine always has to rub in the fact he is fully vaccinated, that he does not need to wear masks in school anymore, and all that shit. It makes me feel black with envy.

At home I studied too. I made myself tea, it tastes like the rose perfume my grandma used to use, in a good way. When my sister and my father left, my mother came into my room to talk to me.

And my heart dropped. Shattered. All the pieces scattered on the floor. She said my sister cried, yesterday night, while I was away. Dangerous shards that can cut flesh. She said it’s because I like boys. She said my older cousin told my younger cousin about a stupid TikTok I made, where I joked about liking men, and my younger cousin told my sister. And she cried. 

Was she ashamed? How can a ten-year-old be so crude? Wrong inside? It still hurts that she would feel that way. 

After dinner, I talked to her. I am grown, old enough to face anything. I asked her about it and I explained that I have nothing to be sorry about, nothing to be scared of, nothing to be ashamed of, and so does she not.

I think everything is okay now, but it still hurts. Broken glass stuck to my feet. I would have told my sister, eventually, I just did not want it to be like this. If my cousins step foot into this house again, I might get violent. 

-c.

[lady-divine-writes]

Kurtbastian - A Dalton Boy Recollecting (NC17)

Summary:

Sebastian wakes up to the smell of sugar and an empty bed, which end up being the first steps down memory lane. (1518 words)

Notes: Warning for a bit of Blaine hate.

Read on AO3.

Sickly sweet and slightly burnt wakes Sebastian from a restful sleep. He inhales deep, tries to place the smell, but it’s not one he can name off the bat. It’s not cloves, which he’d assume, or weed, which he could also assume. He recognizes it, but he can’t identify it for the life of him. It smells like sugar.

Warm sugar.

Cotton candy?

Cotton candy would necessitate a cotton candy machine.

Why would there be a cotton candy machine at Kurt’s house?

Marshmallow?

He breathes in again.

Yes. That’s it.

Marshmallows have a signature smell, especially when they’re cooking.

Or burning.

He turns in bed to ask his Master why the air suddenly smells of marshmallow, but the man isn’t there - his sheets wrinkled but tucked in neatly, declaring he’s done with sleep for the night. Or more accurately the morning (as a glimpse at Kurt’s alarm clock tells him).

Three in the morning.

That leads Sebastian into the Valley of Questions (as Kurt puts it, since Sebastian asks so many), which grows quite nicely alongside Kurt’s Field of Fucks, which lays barren and dead since he’s not too inclined to answer them.

Though Sebastian has his own ways of wriggling information from his Master.

Why on Earth would Kurt be cooking marshmallows at this hour of the morning? And why wouldn’t he wake Sebastian to join him?

Kurt could be planning a scene. Maybe he’s preparing and he isn’t ready for Sebastian just yet. An image of himself covered in head to toe marshmallow fluff with only his eyes visible through the white goop fills Sebastian’s brain, and he snickers. But an after thought of flaming hot food stuffs stuck to his cock knocks the snickers right out of him.

Slowly he begins to rise. With every inch off the bed, he weighs the possibility that him stumbling half-asleep into the kitchen might piss the every living fuck out of Kurt. He doesn’t have express permission to join his Master. Maybe the man needs a moment alone. But Kurt loves sleep. He avoids waking up before his requisite eleven hours if he can. So if he’s awake right now, then something’s wrong.

Sebastian’s heart aches to make sure Kurt is all right.

He pads softly, doesn’t saunter out into the kitchen like he lives there … though he spends so much time at Kurt’s and eats so much of Kurt’s food, he has considered offering to pay rent. Kurt would never accept. He balks at any attempt by Sebastian to give him money, says he doesn’t need charity from his sub. Sebastian does his best to shower Kurt with the tokens and tributes he knows Kurt will accept, along with the odd takeout meal, but Kurt is funny with regard to what he’s willing to accept.

What he doesn’t think will put him in someone else’s debt.

“I hear you, preppy, I hear you.” Kurt sighs. Then he chuckles. It’s a bitter contrast to the scent of sweet wafting through the air. “I knew I couldn’t escape you for long.”

“I’m sorry, Master,” Sebastian says respectfully. “If you’d rather I leave …”

“No, I wouldn’t rather you leave. Sit.” Kurt pushes the chair across from him out from under the table with his foot as an invitation. “Eat. There’s plenty.”

“Thank you, Master.” Sebastian settles his bare ass into the wooden chair and watches Kurt stick another marshmallow onto the tines of his fork. He flicks open his Zippo and starts roasting the marshmallow by hand. Sebastian smiles. When he’d visit his folks on the weekends, sometimes he’d roast marshmallows in the kitchen. The Smythes weren’t what one might call outdoor folk, and Sebastian hadn’t been a scout for a while, so he never got the opportunity. So he’d stand over the stove top and roast himself a few, trying his hardest not to drip on the burner and aggravate their cook. Even though it was a private ritual, it was something he’d hoped to share with someone someday, kind of like this - late night, after sex, talking about life, praying the morning would take its sweet time coming.

Even though standing over the stove top with fork in hand is how he’d expected to find Kurt, sitting at the kitchen table he uses as a submission device and roasting marshmallows over the same lighter he uses to light his joints suits him better.

“I haven’t roasted a marshmallow in about ten years,” Kurt admits, concentrating hard on the ridiculously difficult task of browning his confection evenly on all sides using the tiniest cooking flame imaginable.

“Why not?”

Kurt snorts. “Need to keep an eye on my girlish figure, of course.”

“Yeah. Right.”

Kurt glowers at the marshmallow though it’s meant for Sebastian. “What’s that supposed to mean, preppy?”

“It means you strike me as the kind of person who can clean out a fridge, gain muscle and lose weight.” Sebastian scoffs. “Classic fucking nightmare.”

Kurt rolls his eyes. “Good save.”

“Not a save, Master, but whatevs.”

Kurt glances at his sub sideways. This is new. Is it real? It has to be. Sebastian doesn’t lie to Kurt. But does Sebastian Smythe, hotter-than-fuck-super-athlete-extraordinaire, really have body issues surrounding his weight? Kurt knows his sub has self-esteem baggage hanging around in dark corners, but is this honestly one of them?

Kurt needs to find out. But he tucks that information away, saves it for later. Now’s not the time. “Blaine and I, we’d sneak out of bed-oops …” - Kurt’s marshmallow slips too close to the lighter and goes up in orange flame. He blows at it, trying to turn it out while he continues - “go to the kitchen and make cookies and shit.” He offers the charred and extinguished marshmallow to Sebastian, but doesn’t command that he eat it. He waits while Sebastian looks at it, shrugs to himself, then takes it.

“Cute, Master.”

“Yeah, well, you should have seen us. We were fucking adorable.”

“I believe it. So, if you don’t mind my asking …”

“… and I probably do …”

“… what inspired you to get up and roast some now?”

Kurt doesn’t answer right away, focusing on licking melted marshmallow off his fingertips, not doing the best job in the world since that’s what he has Sebastian for. “I … had a nightmare.”

“And you didn’t wake me, Master?”

“I didn’t want to bother you with my stupid crap.”

“It’s not stupid. Not if it’s you.” Sebastian pulls his marshmallow apart, eating it in pieces instead of devouring it whole. “What was it about?”

Sebastian expects to get reprimanded for asking so many questions, but Kurt doesn’t seem in the mood for scolding.

“I was in New York,” he explains. “I was still with Blaine. We were happy and in love. He wasn’t a big, controlling asshole. I wasn’t everyone’s favorite drugged-up cockpit. I was going to NYADA and working at Vogue. I had everything I ever wanted.”

Sebastian’s eyebrows shoot up. Nightmare? That sounds amazing! “How is that a nightmare, Master?”

“Because part of me knew it wasn’t real. That it wasn’t right for me - not the person I am now. Blaine showed me his true colors a long time ago. No dream will ever change him. And I wouldn’t take him back even if it did.” Kurt’s solemn expression perks up with the right corner of his mouth. “Besides, something was missing. Something important.”

Sebastian considers that revelation as he chews his marshmallow. As much as he would love to speculate over what that means, he also doesn’t want to get his hopes up. Kurt could be talking about his club, how successful it is, the work he does in the community.

He could be talking about Elliott and their tremendous friendship.

Yup, in the realm of reality, where Sebastian finds himself living less and less, Kurt has a lot more going for him than his relationship with Sebastian.

Sebastian should probably start remembering that.

“Do you dream about that a lot?”

“I did for a while. Mostly right after everything fell apart and I started wondering what went wrong, how could I have fixed it. When I came to terms with the fact that there was nothing I could have done, it stopped. But then, out of the frickin’ blue, it started up again.”

“When?”

Kurt glares at Sebastian, hands him another marshmallow. “Recently. Very recently.”

“And why do you think that is, Master?” Sebastian asks, trying not to sound too amused.

“I think that’s obvious.” Kurt snaps his lighter shut and sets it down. He climbs out of his chair and into Sebastian’s lap, straddling his legs, pressing the crotch of his cotton sleep pants against Sebastian’s naked cock. Kurt feeds Sebastian the remains of toasted marshmallow stuck to his fingers. Sebastian nips one of Kurt’s fingertips in the process. The sensation of Sebastian’s teeth sinking into Kurt’s skin shoots straight to Kurt’s groin. Kurt grins, mentally making a list of all the places he’s about to make Sebastian bite. “I’m going through an adolescent phase.”

[jefferoni-quotes]

Stalling Expulsion

Hey, gems! This is my day 13 of @hamiltonholidaycalendar ! I’m super excited and really proud of this. Sorry if the endings a bit rushed, I ran out of time,,,

Rated: Teen Audiences

TW: Mentions of violence, drugs, death

-

Whistled tones whipped down the halls of the large country boarding school, as wind teased the maroon common room curtains through extravagant glass windows. Crumpled currant toned bed drapes lined the circular boys dormitory, and the posts hung bed curtains which were open and crinkled. Clothes lay strewn across the old hickory wood floors, a mix of old socks, pyjama pants and unwanted shoes. The whole school had gathered in the great hall for breakfast, all but four. They were huddled in the dormitory bathroom, slinking around waiting for first class.

The eldest being sixteen years old, tall and broad, yet far from the most responsible. The youngest was a lanky French boy, who had recently become fifteen. The other two were also fifteen, but one not far off his sweetest sixteen. None of which were very responsible when it came to fun. Smarts, well, you may suppose they contained some sort of brain-cell. Although it appeared to bounce around their head like a DVD screensaver. You may even conclude, that the four shared a brain-cell, taking single turns on it like small children sharing a piano.

The oldest of them all was the one whistling, he was tweeting a soft tune, one that seems to be without meaning or purpose, but instead one you may subconsciously commit yourself to when bored.

Smallest of them, a boy who had his fifteenth a simple month before, tightened his ponytail and swiped a sniffle from his nose. Perhaps skipping breakfast in favour of hanging around like a gang of uneducated delinquents wasn't their best plan, but at the very least they had learned not to do it again. Not that he ever planned to admit his wrong doing.

One boy, who bore a curled ponytail that hung low, sat on a sink, his back against the wall and his feet in the porcelain bowl of it. He piped up with a skip in his voice, "why did we skip morning meal again?" He inquired in his distinct North-Carolinian accent, as his stomach growled angrily at him. He was missing out on his wake up food of three slices of buttered toast and a pile of breakfast potatoes and his body was not overjoyed.

"Because we don't want to be around Jefferson, Jackie," the smallest replied, sinking down. Jackie was not the boys birth name, but instead a curious nickname gifted to him by his closest of friends. The boy who has spoken had his back pressed against the wall, and he crossed his legs as he sat.

"You know," the French boy started, "I don't really see the problem you all 'ave with Thomas," he shrugged and continued leaning against a stall.

The whistling abruptly came to a close, and all heads turned to look at him. "Dude, he's horrible," the eldest started, "like, do you see the way he acts around Alex? He treats him like some sort of dirty scum he found on the bottom of his polished boots."

"The reason he hates me is even worse! Just because I don't have rich parents to go crawling back to for Christmas. He acts like I'm a dirty spot that he doesn't want to touch. Like... Like I'm food at the bottom of the sink, ya know!" Alexander explained, gesticulating as he did so. John, the student who had been nicknamed 'Jackie', leapt from his resting place in the washing basin and patted Alexander on the back gently in a friendly attempt to calm him down. "Sorry for yelling, Laf... It's just... He bugs me so much."

Lafayette shrugged his shoulders, his wine red blazer - part of his uniform forming creases as he did. "I mean, he's targeting you because you're an orphan, non?" Alexander nodded as a silent agreement and response, "well, 'e doesn't know that I am too."

"I completely forgot about that, Laf!" The broad-shouldered, tall boy examined a little too loudly. He found himself being bombarded by rushed hushing. "Sorry, guys," he rubbed the back of his neck bashfully.

Lafayette rolled his eyes. "Stop apologising, 'Ercules, we know you mean no 'arm," he assured and patted Hercules' shoulder.

"If I meant no harm, then why am I here?" Hercules sighed and shrunk into himself. The other three went quiet, they couldn't answer.

The boarding school was technically called, 'Fredrick's School for Troubled Teens and Youngsters,' but everyone just called it, 'School for Annoying Pricks and Rich Dicks.'

Everyone who attended had been removed from public school for one preposterous thing or another. An assortment, ranging from fights to skipping school to just becoming a general nuisance.

Hercules Mulligan had been previously expelled from three schools, for fighting three people and hospitalising two of them. His reputation was ruthless and cutthroat, not afraid to start an attack at any moment. However, he was simply a big softy.

Alexander Hamilton had been ostracised from his school for arguing with the professor, who promptly frog-marched him to the head master, to whom he fought against once more. He was told to leave and not come back after referring to his head master as, "a pompous fool, detecting the frivolous minds of easy moldable youngsters to bend them to his will."

John Laurens was excommunicated from Church, and from his very Catholic school when they discovered his homosexuality. His father had disowned him from home and sent him off to the 'School for Annoying Pricks and Rich Dicks,' in the hopes that it would, "return him to his Godly roots and strip him of his male desires for other men." His father, Henry Laurens had accepted the concept that sending him to a school where he would spend 99% of his time with guys and had imagined that it would 'fix' his brain into lusting over women.

And then there was Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Mortier, Marquis de Lafayette. His exclusion was a momentous occasion. His head mistress had discovered the acute, shimmering pocket knife in his satchel, after demanding a look as another child had accused him of threatening him with said weapon. The child had ridiculed his younger brother who had sadly passed away just mere weeks before. So yes, maybe he should've been thrown out of school for that. He goes back and forth, contemplating if what he did was incredibly illegal or, in fact, the right thing to do.

The four knew fine well why the other people were tossed from school, however, no one else knew anything about no one. Asking why another person was attending the boarding fortress was distinctly taboo. Like a horrid, violent invasion of protected privacy. Only if the student felt astonishingly close to you, and trusted you with their life and prized possession would they ever confine in you the reason they attended Fredrick's.

Another point, everyone came from privileged backgrounds, that were somehow ruined. Lafayette had rich parents before they died, and then he had a rich uncle. Then he was rich. John’s parents had piles of money, and then they disowned him. Alexander was fairly middle class, and then their debt skyrocketed when his father abandoned him and his mother passed in his arms. And then there was Hercules. The other three spoke much more articulated than him. He just simply couldn’t. He wasn’t from a bad family, but they most certainly weren’t the most educated they could be.

"Listen, Herc," Alexander inexorably spoke up, offering comfort, "we're all here for one reason or another! I called my professor a sithering idiot, and them the head master a pompous fool, John's gay and Laf, hell, Lafayette threatened someone's life. Lets be honest, we all deserve to be here," he peered up at Laurens, who had retaken his position of roosting on the sink, "apart from Jackie, obviously."

John defended himself and chortled. "Hey, I'm not complaining. Before I had to listen to homophobic slurs all day, now, I can simply be a homo every hour."

Hercules' solid frown tweaked, and he turned to laughter. "Okay, okay, fair enough," He lifted his arms up before slumping them down, "you got me."

"Yeah we did," Lafayette nudged Hercules harshly, which earned him a shove back.

-

His toast lay burnt and uneaten, and half a sausage rolled around his plate depressingly. A metal fork was lazily tossed by his tray, and the red paper napkin was scrunched up on his plate. His seat was barren now, as was the one across from him.

Reticent nattering echoed all over the spiral staircase as two boys clambered upwards towards their shared dorm. Their room was home to eight boys, all of which they both hated, except for each other and one pupil, a young male Aaron Burr from New Jersey and Thomas supposed that Lafayette wasn’t too awful.

Thomas pushed the oak dormitory door open with a dig. He went on speaking, but was silenced by his friend flapping his hand in front of his face. "James-"

"Shush! Can't you hear that?" James spoke, "there's people here..."

Muffled exclamations voiced themselves from behind the bathroom gateway. Thomas crept over and pressed his ear up to the carved antique door as every ounce of his sixteen year old attention span focusesd in on eavesdropping.

There was a blast of flat laughter that exploded from the room, and he furrowed his eyebrows. “What are they saying?” James breathed serenely as he watched Thomas run his fingers over the door handle.

“Quiet, Jemmy,” Thomas instructed in a low voice, “they’re talking now.”

A despicably mocking articulation voiced itself from beyond the door. “Oh yes, I mustn’t! For I shall mess us my sheep’s wool hair! No! Do not touch that! It was sent to me from a Gucci store from my father!” It was in a false Southern accent.

“Holy crap, Laf! I don’t like how much that sounds like him!” The familiar boisterous tones of Hercules Mulligan exploded out the cracks in the door. “Okay, okay, John your shot.”

He heard the rambunctious crackling of knuckles, and a clearing of throats. “Hello, y’all! Rootin’ tootin’! I’m from the fucking South where the grass grows green and I’m better than y’all! Because I’m Jefferson, and I hate you if you don’t have a rich father!”

James, who had been tuned in to the harmful conversations past the door, soared upwards towards him. “Tommy, don’t-“ he muttered harshly. James had been friends with Thomas since the very beginning, he had been there to witness every hardship and every tantalising moment where the world stopped spinning. He was by the teens side throughout each adversity, and would comfort his best friend without exception.

Yet Thomas didn’t listen. He shoved the door open unceremoniously, the sheer force blowing a gust towards the bed drapes. His stance remained strong and rigid as four pairs of brown and hazel sprinkled eyes darted towards him. With the pupils that burned into his skull, from both in front of him, and James who had settled behind him, Thomas composed himself. He ran a hand through his hair before taking it upon himself to stride back to his bed.

His lips remained stuck together as if to be two birds of a single feather. Alexander looks at his friends, and they rise from their resting places, stiff joints cracking like grandmas getting up from their nap in an armchair. Their stomachs rumble hungrily, screaming for nutrients, but they push past it to ignore it. James looks back at his accomplice, who is rummaging through a antiquated, walnut duffle-bag. He can see Thomas’ look of determination as he pulls his hand from the storage unit and wanders back to the bathroom, past the gang who was previously been loitering in the room. In his hand, is a egg-shell painted cardboard packet of sorts, and a rectangular glass lighter. The lighter is black as a cold winters night, and Thomas carries these into the bathroom with him.

“Thomas!” James exclaimed as he spotted the two items. One of the many reasons Thomas was at the boarding school. The bathroom door slammed closed and the all too familiar sound of a clicking lighter.

The four friends glance at each other, sharing a mutual moment of what the hell is happening, as James pounds on the oak door. “Thomas, I swear to god, open the door. I won’t let you do this again!”

“What’s going on?” Alexander hissed from the corner of his mouth. His dashing attempt to be inaudibly failed, as a result of his naturally vociferous voice it failed. Madison’s head rotated to face the not-so-fantastic four with a choleric grimace.

Lafayette opened his mouth to begin explaining, yet no words escaped. Only a brief swept of breath as he fidgeted with his own fingers, bending them in ways that really shouldn’t be possible.

“Why were you talking about him?” James spoke softly, as if the delinquents were toddlers who needed to be lulled off into slumber.

Alexander shifted on his heels. Why this small student was so intimidating fascinated him. James was always a perpetually timid youngster. Someone who sat at the very back of the class, head constantly bent down over his work, hunched and tired. Yet now, his eyes glimmered with rage and every inch of his body shook with unsheathed emotional torment.

“We-“ Alexander started with confidence, but trailed off quickly into inaudible - protecting himself - mumbling.

James rattles his knuckles off the door again. "I won't let you get expelled from another school!" He exhaled and fiddled with the handle. "Just, open the door... We can talk about this." He grovelled desperately. The door handle moved, and Thomas deliberated from behind the gateway. As the wood cracked open, James spread into a grin.

Thomas exhaled smoke downwards, blowing it down to the very depths of hell. "What?"

"You're smoking," John observed with a light shudder. He planted himself on Alexanders bed, tugging at the wrinkled sheets and grasping for the cream pillow, for the scarlet cover of the cushion had been stripped from it, and thrown somewhere across the room, it had been missing for days. Alex theorised that Thomas had disposed of it out the window, or in a garbage can in the main courtyard. Either way, Alexander and the students residing within that dormitory were lucky that a staff member hadn't inspected their room just yet. If it was found that articles of bedding had been cascaded like dirty wash paper then a worthy punishment would be awarded.

“Am I?!” Thomas took the lot cigarette away from his lips and glared at it. His eyes narrowed, “am I really!?”

“Yo, there’s no need to talk to him like that!” Hercules piped up with a stare. “He didn’t do nothin’ to you,” he spat.

Thomas rolled his eyes and took another quick puff of the cigarette before disposing of it in a sink, and running the cold water tap. “Yeah, he said nothing sure.

“Stop,” Alexander insisted, beginning to rise. He observes as Thomas struts into the dorm and throws his cigarettes packet and lighter onto his bed, before dropping down on James'.

Lafayette hastily crept over to beside Thomas and sighed. "My apologies, Thomas," he confessed, "it was wrong of us to... Eh.... Talk bad about you." He stumbled over his words, a bit like a newborn calf taking its first wobbly steps.

"I'm like, 99.99% sure smoking really breaks school guidelines," Hercules chimed in, twittering away in the congregated background.

"Yeah? Why else do you think I'm here? Because I want to be?" Thomas jeered, messing with his hair absentmindedly.

"Well, because your family bathes in pots of melted gold and dines on silver platters served by their monkey butler," Alexander prompted immediately, the words sliding off his tongue like venom before he could halt them.

Thomas and James scoffed in unison. "I'm here because I was expelled for drug use," the jaws fell to the old floors, "weed, mostly. Over the counter painkillers and anti depressants. That sort of stuff, ya know?" He shrugged, so nonchalantly.

“Drugs?!” John exclaimed in utter shock. “How did you even get a hold of them?!”

“Well,” Thomas gridlocked in his tracks, hitting the breaks on his brain, “why am I telling you this?” He sneered at himself, fanning his face in his own stupidity.

“Because... you want someone else to trust?” James mumbled, “other than me...”

Thomas’ face fell and he grit his teeth in annoyance as he came to terms with James’ unsettling words. He ran a tattered hand through his mop of sheep's wool. He remained mute and simply made a random hand gesture.

“James,” Hercules breathed and was quiet for one of the first time ever. Or ever since the others had met him, “why’d you get sent here? What’s the deal?” They all gasped, the taboo had been broken, and Hercules graced his eyes around the room, his pupils widening with terror. “Wait, no! I didn’t- it’s... it’s just, you don’t seem like the person to be sent to Annoying Pricks and Rich Dicks school.”

Madison blinked rapidly in thought. “No, no, it’s fine...” he took a large inhale, “I was bullied a lot... and one day I just... flipped. I attacked them when they followed me to class through the halls. The kid got away with a slap on the wrist and I was expelled. Then sent here...”

“Yeah, just after I was expelled, James came after me. Missed me that much?” Thomas chortled, stretching his arms and for just a moment, his arms and head placement made him look vaguely like a cactus in the dry Arizona sun.

“Not really, class was much quieter. I did lose my only protection though, because someone decided to get high on marijuana in the boys bathroom!” James really emphasised each syllable of the word, ‘someone.’

Thomas frowned lamentably. His sighs echoed around the room. “In fairness!” He stopped, “I actually can’t justify it. I was just being stupid and impulsive okay?”

Alexander cackled away loudly in the back before taking enough initiative to muffle it with his hand.

“Oh you can’t laugh, ‘amilton! You swore your professor out!” Lafayette teased with a snicker and Hercules let out a soft, ‘ohhh!’ punctuating Lafayette’s words.

“Yeah? And you whipped a knife on someone!” Alexander yelled back playfully. Hercules continued to laugh.

“Oh, shut up, ‘Erc! You can’t say anything! Two people in ‘ospital who?” Lafayette jerked, progressively getting himself more and more worked up. His cheeks were glowing a lipstick red and his eyes darkened with fury.

“‘Two people in hospital, who?’” Hercules mocked in a false French accent. It was awfully stereotypical, and fake as hell. But it annoyed Lafayette to the point where he leapt from his bed and pointed pressingly in his best friends direction.

“Lay off!” John jumped up and separated the two with his arms. “Okay! We all did things wrong, like... I disappointed god!” John beamed with a singsong voice, pleading to cheer those up.

“Disappointed god?” Thomas questioned pressingly, his voice ripe with curiosity.

“I was kicked from Catholic school for my ‘deadly homosexuality that could infect others’.” John chortled and moved away from Lafayette and Hercules, adjusting to the fact that the tension in the room was still thick enough to be sliced with a knife.

“Oh damn,” James whispered mistily to himself, scratching at a scab in his forehead, located just about his right ear.

Alexander rolled his eyes. “Oh no! I’ve been infected by the gay!” He yelled and Thomas exploded with laughter. It made Alex smile, and realise that Thomas, in fact, had a nice, boisterous chuckle.

“You can’t pray away the gay,” Hercules spoke in his often loud voice, smirking for the world to see once more.

“We can sure as hell try!” Lafayette knelt on his bed and placed his hands in a prayer motion. “Be gone, homo!”

John fell backwards dramatically and flopped to the floor. His hand touched his forehead as if fainted.

Alex snorted.

The dormitory door clanged with the pound of a fist. “Get to class, boys!” The familiar booming and authoritative tone of Head Master Washington exploded into the dorm.

“Sorry, Mr Washington!” Alexander apologises with a grit of his teeth.

“Suck up,” Thomas mouths and stands, leaving with James hot on his polished heels.

Lafayette stood and nodded towards the ajar door. “Wanna go hang in the courtyard?”

“And risk getting detention?” Hercules scoffed, “obviously.”

“Let’s fucking go!” John exclaimed, picking up his boots and shoving them on his feet.

From the slightly open door they could hear a yell. “Thomas, I swear to god!” And then the muffled reply, ‘what? She despises both of us, let’s just hang out in the courtyard!’

“Sounds like someone else is thinking about skiving class!” Lafayette sniggered, hoisting the door wide open and heading out. “Coming?” Hercules nodded and rushed after him.

Alexander stuck his fist in the air and clapped. “Anything to skip Mrs Reynolds class!”And they ran down the stairs, leaping down the stairs two or three at a time. It was dangerous.

And they loved it.

[sunsetscurving]

CHASING STARS

Ch. 11

ao3 link

In a world where reincarnation is common and expected, people stopped to care for a reason or how many times they already lived – they have no memory of their past life anymore.

But Lucas Lallemant can feel that this isn’t his first life, some shreds of his former life still present in his new one. He has this feeling that something from his past life tied him so much to it that he has to find it again in his new life.

Something. Or someone.

When Lucas finally woke up again, he was alone, wrapped tightly in a blanket which faintly smelled of something familiar and was still warm from another body. As Lucas opened his eyes slowly, the memories of the past night came rushing in so fast and heavy, that he shut his eyes tight again, wanting to treasure this moment of peace while being wrapped into Eliott’s blanket and his scent in general.

Eliott didn’t ask any question as Lucas just cuddled into him.

He was just there, taking care of Lucas and chasing away the nightmares with his tight embrace.

How the fuck am I supposed to sleep alone again after this?

Eventually, Lucas opened his eyes again, the sun already high in the sky. It had to be around noon and his phone was probably blowing up with notifications and new messages by now. But all he cared for right now was where Eliott was and why fate decided it wasn’t suitable for Lucas to wake up next to him.

Suddenly, Lucas heard some sort of music from the kitchen.

If you could even call this noise music.

He stood up, wrapping the blanket around himself and walked slowly through the hallway towards the kitchen, the music getting louder with every step he took.

And when he arrived at the doorstep of the kitchen, a wide and bright smile was spreading over Lucas’ face.

Eliott was making breakfast.

Well, at least he tried.

The toast he saw on the counter was burnt and the egg in the pan didn’t look so well either. But that was not the thing that made Lucas smile in the first place.

No, it was the way Eliott made breakfast.

He made breakfast while dancing around the whole room. He was so into the music, which Lucas now recognized as some kind of Dubstep, that he didn’t even realize Lucas standing there, watching the other boy swirl around to the steady beat, having a good time by himself. A smile was on Eliott’s face, silently mouthing the sounds with his mouth along with the music. He was still only wearing these boxers and this shirt and damn, was it even allowed to look that good? His hair was sticking out all around his head and Lucas couldn’t even remember a moment which made him smile this much, which made his insides warming up this much.

Lucas slightly shivered.

If someone would ask Lucas when he fell for Eliott, he would always recall this very moment where he was sure that he was in love with Eliott Demaury.

“You listen to Dubstep?”, asked Lucas a little bit loudly over the music, chuckling quietly as he Eliott swirled around and nearly stumbled over his own feet as he saw Lucas standing in the doorway. Eliott turned down the volume immediately, his cheeks surprisingly starting to redden.

Gosh, this is so fucking cute.

“How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to recognize your fine dancing skills.”

Eliott and Lucas laughed unison and Eliott took some steps towards Lucas, looking down on him as he was standing in front of him. If he was kind of embarrassed because they literally cuddled all night long without a real reason to do so, he didn’t show it and Lucas was very grateful for that.

“How are you feeling?”, asked Eliott quietly and the kindness in his voice and the way he looked down at Lucas, made Lucas feel all the things.

“Better, I guess.”

“Good”, said Eliott and the smile on the other boy’s face made Lucas smile too. The events from the past night were quite distant by now, everything that happened seemed like some bad dream or something from a movie. And Lucas didn’t want to continue thinking about it anymore – he had other things to think about, positive things. Like Eliott.

“Would you like to have some breakfast? I—”

Eliott turned around and froze as he saw the “mess” he made with the burned toast and the weird-looking scrambled eggs in the pan which were slowly but surely starting to have some kind of black color too.

Eliott sighed dramatically and Lucas huffed a laugh.

“I really wanted to be a gentleman and make some breakfast for you. But the last time I properly cooked, I burnt the kitchen down.”

Lucas was really holding himself back to not laugh out loud.

“I appreciate your effort”, said Lucas with a grin on his lips and laid a hand on Eliott’s arm. And Eliott smiled this beautiful smile again which made his knees go weak. Suddenly, Lucas’ phone ringed with a new message. He left it on the hallway last night and got it from there before returning to Eliott. He sighed deeply after reading the message.

“My dad wants me to come home now”, said Lucas quietly and gave Eliott an apologetic look. But Eliott only nodded, looking over his shoulder.

“Perfect excuse to flee from my delicious breakfast.”

Lucas halted and started to protest but Eliott only laughed, silencing him with that.

“I’m joking. Of course your parents want to see you.”

“I’m sorry…”

Eliott shook his head.

“Don’t be.”

“I…” Lucas didn’t know how to start.

“I just want to thank you. Again. For everything”, Lucas said quietly, quiet satisfied with his words but it still wasn’t enough.

“I would always do it like that again”, said Eliott with a serious voice, Lucas believing him every word and his heart was beating faster at that. Eliott was still taking another step towards Lucas, the scent of him and the presence of his body so close to his own making Lucas go dizzy.

“I don’t regret any decision. I don’t regret coming to that party, I don’t regret drinking with your friends, I don’t regret dancing with you and I don’t regret staying behind to get you and to hold you while you were sleeping. So don’t think that I only did it because I thought you wanted me to. I did because I wanted to do it.”

Lucas couldn’t say anything at all. He was speechless. A very rare occasion, to be honest.

And before he could overthink it, he was standing in Eliott’s arm, hugging him and snuggling into his chest. It felt right at that very moment. It felt right because Eliott apparently was feeling familiar things when being around Lucas. It felt right because Lucas felt safe in his arms, words not being enough of how thankful he was for the very fact that he came into his life like some kind of thunderstorm. Eliott didn’t wait a single second before laying his arms around Lucas.

Don’t make me fall even harder for you than I already did, Eliott.

But it was too late for Lucas anyway.

.

The next days passed and Lucas was under really high protection.

His parents didn’t allow him to leave the house after it went dark, at least not alone. His parents, and also Lucas, were still slightly shocked about everything that happened. Lucas actually wanted to talk with them about the attack, discussing how what they should do now or how they could prevent something like this from happening again. But his parents kept their opinions and their words to themselves, processing the events on their own. Their only reaction was to keep an eye on Lucas the whole time, forbidding to go out at night without even telling him what they knew of this attack. So he also kept his feelings to himself too, only talking with his friends about the events.

But no one was there with them as Lucas lost it, panic so intense in his body, that he couldn’t even breath for some minutes. No one understood what had happened back there.

No one but Eliott.

He really wanted to see Eliott, to talk with him. He wanted to be in his arms again and feel as safe as he felt back then on the couch with only an inch between the two of them. He wanted to see him dancing to this dumb dubstep music again and he wanted to hold his hand, their fingers fitting together perfectly.

But instead of messaging Eliott, Lucas kept dreaming about leaving his golden castle for one night, spending time with Eliott. All of that while being too afraid to message the other boy because he didn’t want to be some kind of annoying.

y4z4s: anyone up for drinking some beers at my place?

basile_simple: when where how

monvoisintuturo: you could at least try to hide your excitement, bas

Lucas was laying in his bed, his usual place since that mess happened, staring at his screen and the messages from his group chat. He sighed deeply as he typed a reply, desperately wishing that his parents wouldn’t occupy him 24/7. Sneaking out had been easy in the past, but it was unthinkable right now.

lucallemant: I’m still under protection

y4z4s: oh c’mon lulu, it’s been a week

lucallemant: tell this to my parents, yann

basile_simple: mec, we’ll drink a beer for you

lucallemant: how heroic of you, basile

monvoisintuturo: another topic: has eliott messaged you recently?

Lucas looked up from his phone. Since he told his friends that Eliott kind of saved his life, they literally formed an “Eliott-Demaury-Fanclub” and under different circumstances, Lucas being more than a friend for Eliott, he would be very happy about all of this and the acceptance his friends finally had for Eliott. But Lucas was still not sure about Eliott’s feelings towards him, afraid, that he misinterpreted the signs between them, that he interpreted too much in all of this. His friends, on the contrary, were one hundred percent sure, that Eliott was totally into Lucas. And Lucas secretly hoped, that they were right.

lucallemant: nope

monvoisintuturo: have YOU messaged him?

lucallemant: nope again

basile_simple: lulu, you should definitely message him and ask him out. he’s probably losing his mind because he’s missing his bby

lucallemant: and then he can save me from my lonely tower or what? I’m still not allowed to leave the house, if you forgot about that

y4z4s: then you need to find another way

Suddenly, his phone vibrated with another message and his heart stopped to beat for a moment.

lucallemant: he just sent me a message

basile_simple: HA THE LOVE MASTER WAS RIGHT AGAIN

monvoisintuturo: what did he wrote?

y4z4s: aw, eli misses his boy

I think it was better when they hated him.

lucallemant: I’m gonna update you later

basile_simple: GO GET YOUR BOY

Lucas took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a second before opening the message from Eliott. This boy had such a strong effect on him, it was not even normal anymore.

srodulv: hey biker boy ;)

lucallemant: hey hero

srodulv: oh, from stranger to hero, that’s what I call development

Lucas quietly chuckled to himself. The sun was slowly setting and another days was over where he just sat around in his room, his only adventure the way from his room to the fridge and back.

srodulv: you up for an adventure with your hero?

lucallemant: an adventure?

srodulv: I would like to kidnap you

lucallemant: I actually have enough from these kind of adventures

srodulv: come on, it will be fun – you’ll love it

Time with him alone. Something like a date. Only Eliott and him.

This is what dreams are made of.

But then Lucas remembered some tiny, little problem.

lucallemant: my parents forbit me to leave the house at night because of reasons you know

srodulv: oh

Lucas never thought that you could feel so many emotions through only one word.

srodulv: can’t you sneak out?

lucallemant: they’ll know

srodulv: you are surely not allowed to be out at night ALONE, right?

lucallemant: yeah, why?

srodulv: because when I’m picking you up from your house, you won’t be out alone

Lucas had to grin. Eliott was right – Lucas could just bent the rules a little bit.

This could actually work.

lucallemant: when will you be here?

srodulv: look outside

Lucas frowned, nearly falling out of his bed while trying to get to his window as fast as possible. As he drew the curtains aside, his jaw literally dropped. There was a car in front of his house and a tall and slender figure was leaning against it, the hood hiding his messy hair but not the grin on his lips as he looked up to Lucas now, the light from his phone screen illuminating his face.

And Lucas was grinning now too.

lucallemant: how did you know I wouldn’t say no?

srodulv: I just hoped so

lucallemant: I’ll be there in a second

Lucas never got dressed this quickly, throwing his Romance hoodie over himself and nearly tripping over his feet, as he made his way over to his own balcony. He usually never sneaked out this way but drastic times asked for drastic measures. He took a deep breath, aware, that Eliott was watching him the whole time, while Lucas started to climb down the ivory twine which was thankfully all over the façade of his whole house. He surprisingly didn’t had any difficulties getting down, the adrenaline rushing through his veins by the thought of being alone with Eliott. He jumped down the last few meters and suddenly felt hands on his waist, catching him slightly.

Lucas’ heart skipped a beat as he turned around, taking in Eliott who looked fucking hot again.

Is it even allowed to look this good?

“Are you ready for our little adventure?”, asked Eliott quietly into the tiny space between the two of them. And Lucas could only nod, a smile slowly spreading over his whole face.

“Let’s go.”

.

“No fucking way, Eliott Demaury.”

“Oh c’mon Lucas, it’s gonna be a lot of fun. You’ll love it.”

“Now I know how you murder people – you’re bringing them here and then they kill themselves by accident.”

“You can really be a dramatic little bitch.”

Lucas huffed a laugh while staring at the roller skate track in front of him, the music loud and the people dancing on while driving round after round on their roller skates. But Lucas had no fucking clue how to stand on these things, which were dangling from his hands, in the first place. He had to admit that he always wanted to try it, being a sucker for adrenaline and for everything connected to speed. But Eliott couldn’t possible know this and Lucas never tried it at all so…

“I’ll hold you, I promise.”

Lucas sighed and turned his head to Eliott who was grinning at him with light in his eyes.

The fucker knows which strings to pull.

“Okay”, said Lucas now with a resigned sigh, “Okay. I’ll do it.”

Lucas was not sure if he imagined it but it looked like Eliott made a little jump, excitement really clear on his face. And it made Lucas’ heart skip a beat to see the other boy so happy.

Lucas pulled on the shoes, Eliott being way quicker and it took him a lot of time to even stand up from his sitting position these devils on his feet. He slowly made his way to the entrance of the track, Eliott holding his hand the whole time while being fucking graceful on his roller skates as if he was born with them. And Lucas must have looked like a little kid who just tried to walk for the first time next to him.

Lucas stood at the entrance of the track for some seconds, his heart beating fast as he saw all the people rushing past them, being all safe on their roller skates.

“Eliott, I cannot—”

“You can. Trust me. I’ll catch you.”

Lucas looked over to Eliott now and the reassuring look in his eyes made him brave, made him sure that this was going to end well.

And after Lucas took a deep breath, Eliott was slowly pulling him onto the track, clutching his hand the whole time.

The first few meters were hell for Lucas. He had the feeling to fall down at any moment and he probably would have been on the ground numerous times by now if Eliott hadn’t been there. But he was. And he never let go of Lucas’ hand, speaking reassuring words and encouraging Lucas to keep going. He was very gentle, maneuvering him through the crowd of people having fun on the tracks. But for Lucas, it was like they were alone in this hall, just the two of them, feeling safe around the other one.

“Lucas?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re driving on your own.”

“What?!”

Lucas hadn’t realized that Eliott had let go of his hand after some time, Lucas moving on his own, driving on the roller skates and with the flow of the other people. And Eliott was driving next to him, a big smile on his face and something like pride in his gaze. And Lucas felt like cheering.

But his sudden mood change weren’t that good for his balance.

“Eliott!”

Lucas lost balance, stumbling as he tried to gain it back but he couldn’t find it anymore and was about to fall down backwards. But Eliott was there, again, catching him and holding him gently but tightly in his arms, making sure that he was okay with one quick glance over his body. The music was loud, the beat throbbing in Lucas’ head but he could still hear his rapid heartbeat over all the noise, looking straight into Eliott’s eyes.

“Should we quit for today?”, asked Eliott gently, his gaze all soft.

And Lucas started to grin, shaking his head.

“I ‘m just getting started.”

.

“This was fucking amazing”, said Lucas with a laugh, his hands buried into the pockets of his hoodie. They had spent several hours in the roller skate hall and Lucas nearly forgot the time and everything around him, like he always did when he was with Eliott. They were on their way back to Eliott’s car now, the moon high on the sky, shining down on them.

Eliott laughed his beautiful laugh, making Lucas’ smile even more.

“I knew that you would like it. You’ve always been a sucker for things like this.”

At this, Lucas frowned slightly.

“How do you know this? I haven’t told you about it yet.”

Eliott stopped in his tracks for a moment, seeming to think about what he just said. Lucas was not able to see his impression since Eliott’s back was turned towards him. But instead of being confused, Eliott looked over his shoulder, a smirk on his face.

“You’re flirting with poles while biking, coming out of it with a wound and you still keep biking. If your need for adrenaline isn’t obvious, I don’t know what is.”

Lucas laughed and looked down, being slightly embarrassed by the fact that this was Eliott’s and his second real conversation, the other boy still talking about it.

They were still some meters away from the car, when a lightning stretched over the sky and thunder could be heard in the distance. Lucas looked up, squinting slightly.

“Oh, I think it’s going to rain s—”

And before he could even finish his sentence, the sky was opening up. Eliott stared at Lucas and Lucas stared at Eliott and they both started to laugh loudly, shifting towards each other as if they were two sides of a magnet.

“We should probably run back to the car”, said Eliott with a laugh, standing close to Lucas while saying so and turned around, ready to go.

But Lucas laid a hand on Eliott’s wrist, holding him back from walking away.

This is it.

Lucas looked into Eliott’s eyes, both of them already wet to their bones from the rain. The drops were running down Eliott’s and Lucas’ face, blinding his sight slightly. But Lucas didn’t care. He only cared for the boy in front of him, for the light in his eyes and the smile on his lips and his slightly pink-tinted cheeks and the way he held Lucas on the roller skate track and the way he picked him up from his golden prison and how he saved his life and…

Lucas didn’t want to wait anymore.

Lucas would be brave now.

And in the next second, their lips were crushing together.

Lucas felt that Eliott wanted all of this as much as he wanted it. He felt it in the way the other boy’s arms wrapped around Lucas immediately, in the way Eliott kissed the fucking life out of him, in the way he could feel Eliott smiling at his lips, as if had waited all the time for this exact moment.

As did Lucas.

Lucas’ eyes were closed the whole time, his body flooded with happiness and joy and…

Oh my fucking god.

Lucas’ eyes opened rapidly during the kiss, their lips still locked while Lucas’ mind was suddenly flooded with pictures and moments and memories and…

Everything shifted into place.

It’s him.

And suddenly, he remembered.

[marvelsbestsuperheroine]

NatSharon Request - Legendary

Words: 1,848

Prompt: Hi, could you please write natsharon? Where they are introduced to each other by Peggy just after Clint brings Natasha into SHIELD and they start feeling things for one another since day one, they try to keep it a friendship because they don't know what the other wants but at the end the feelings are so strong that they end up confessing their feelings and in a secret relationship. Thank you in advance, you are really nice and talented! Please keep it coming! 😘

A/N. Thanks, Anon, for the request :) I’ve never written NatSharon before and it’s a little rushed. I apologize. I hope you like it!

The legendary Peggy Carter opens the door and smiles. Her hair is long and grey, her face sunken in with wrinkles, but her eyes and smile are warm. She ushers them inside, saying something about the rain and how dreary the weather is today when it had been so sunny just yesterday.

Natasha takes it all in. The little mahogany table with a bouquet of orchids and a set of intricately carved coasters that look vaguely African. The Chinese-style rugs and tapestries that adorn the walls. The toasted yellow paint. Peggy Carter has lived a life well-travelled, almost as well-travelled as Natasha’s, though she doubts it.

Agent Carter leads them down a hallway to the kitchen with white cupboards and sleek dark marble countertops. The tiles are cold and Peggy wears fuzzy slippers that flap about her heels when she moves around the house. Natasha and Clint make do with socks.

“Would either of you like a cup of tea?” Peggy offers.

Natasha raises her hand to decline but Clint jumps to answer first. “Yes, please, Agent Carter.”

She makes a scoffing noise but somehow more polite, more British. “I’m not an Agent anymore, son. Just an old woman now.”

Clint smirks and doesn’t argue, as if he’s tried that before and lost.

“Please,” she says, gesturing to the stools around the island. “Have a seat. It won’t be a moment.”

They sit and Natasha notices the trinkets behind glass cabinet doors. There’s an assortment of eclectic teacups, no one matching another. There are ceramic figurines of a dancing couple, the woman in a red dress and the man in a green military uniform. There are wine glasses cut from thick crystal and then there are cheap shot glasses you’d find in the tackiest souvenir shops around the world. There must be at least thirty shot glasses in that cabinet.

Peggy follows Natasha’s gaze to the display case. “Which one would you prefer?” She points to the teacups. There’s one of every colour, each with a beautiful design.

“The... yellow one.” She had been about to respond with ‘red’ but then she remembered. She’s supposed to leave her past behind. No more Red Room. No more Black Widow. No more Natalia Alianovna Romanova. Just Natasha Romanoff. Yellow is a happy colour despite how close it sits to red on the colour wheel. It was the first colour that came to mind.

“Purple,” says Clint, drumming his fingers on the counter idly. He keeps glancing at Natasha and she keeps wanting him to stop.

“Complementary colours,” Peggy muses as she reaches up to grab them. She wears black pants and a white blouse with a bright blue cardigan over her shoulders. It’s not quite business casual, not with the fuzzy slippers, but she looks sharp. Natasha wonders if a woman like Peggy could ever look anything less.

“How are you, Peggy?” asks Clint, tilting his head.

“I’m perfectly alright,” she answers, detecting the concern in his tone. “I still remember your name, if that’s what you’re worried about, Barton.” Clint opens his mouth to object. “Let’s not start on this. Not today.” She’s focused entirely on collecting the sugar, honey, and milk from their respective spots in her kitchen, not looking at either of them.

Clint closes his mouth.

Natasha squirms on her stool. She wants to say something. Anything. Clint didn’t bring her here to bask in the glory that was Peggy Carter. “It’s an honour,” Natasha manages to say. Her hands fold themselves together on the ice cold counter.

Peggy regards her, kicking the pantry door shut behind her as her hands are full of honey and sugar. “I could say the same, Agent Romanoff.”

Natasha blinks. She doesn’t have to hide her surprise, not in front of these people. You’re safe. “I...” She swallows. “Why would you say that?”

Peggy sets the containers on the counter as the kettle begins to whistle. “You’ve accomplished many things for a girl your age,” she says and turns to remove the kettle from the stovetop. “Admittedly, probably too many things.”

Natasha stares at her own hands. The cold from the counter is seeping into her skin. She can hear the water sloshing into the cups, the metal spoon clinking against ceramic. Peggy delivers two teacups on saucers to Clint and Natasha. The steam looks inviting and Natasha reaches for it.

“Do you take anything in your tea?” Peggy asks, gesturing at the honey, milk and sugar.

Natasha hugs the cup with both hands. It’s scalding. “No thank you.”

Peggy eyes the cup. “Dear, that’s what the plates are for.”

Sheepishly, Natasha sets the cup back down and grabs the plate and handle instead. She no longer feels hot or cold. She doesn’t feel anything.

Clint flicks his gaze between the two. “I’ll have sugar please.”

Peggy turns to him. “How much?”

“All of it.” He grins.

She rolls her eyes but obligingly dumps too much sugar in his tea. After putting a dollop of milk in hers, she picks up her teacup. “Let’s find somewhere more comfortable to chat, shall we?”

They find themselves in Peggy’s living room. Natasha would describe it as cozy. There’s a small TV that’s playing the news on low volume. There are two windows that would normally let in sunlight, but now only reveal the misery of today’s rain. The window is framed by dark red curtains and there are photos adorning most of the opposite wall, some in black and white and some in colour, all framed in different wooden frames. Natasha stares at one, arguably the centrepiece of the whole wall.

It’s Captain America but... not. It was him before. Before he was big and strong and red, white, and blue. The photo is torn and wrinkled and yellow with age but still good. He’s squinting, probably from being in the sun.

For the second time that day, Peggy follows Natasha’s gaze. “Everyone always stares at that photo. It’s like they’ve never seen him before.” She tsks into her tea and takes a sip.

Natasha looks away. “Not everyone’s seen him like that.”

“Why should it matter that he looks different?”

“It matters that you have a picture of him. Like that.” Natasha purses her lips and looks away. She was stepping out of bounds.

Peggy doesn’t seem bothered. If anything, she seems encouraged. “How so?”

“Well... you wouldn’t frame it unless...”

“Unless I had a shrine to him in my living room?”

Clint snorts into his tea and then promptly burns his upper lip.

“Unless he meant something to you,” Natasha finishes.

Peggy smiles wistfully. “He changed the course of my whole life. Whether he knew it or not. And I’m so thankful for it. For him.”

Natasha nods. Around the photo of Captain America are photos of Peggy’s husband and three children in various stages of life. There are also more recent pictures of Peggy with her grandchildren, everyone smiling so brightly.

“Natasha.” She turns at the sound of her name. Peggy has an amused twinkle in her eye. “Maybe I’m not the best person you should be talking to.”

“What do you mean?”

“Yeah, Peggy?” Clint echoes, still dabbing at his burnt mouth with a napkin.

Peggy sets down her tea onto the coffee table. “Give me your phone.” She gestures at Natasha. “I promise I won’t steal it. Come on then.”

Natasha reaches into her pocket and deposits it into Peggy’s hand. After fiddling with it for a minute she hands it back. “There,” she says. “I’ve put in a new number. My niece. She’s a SHIELD agent as well. Very down to Earth. Great listener. Different perspective. I’m very proud of her. You should give her a call. You’re obviously uncomfortable talking to me.”

“Agent Carter,” Natasha tries to protest.

Peggy waves the words away. “I take no offence, honestly. Though I am a little tired of people being tongue-tied around me, truth be told.” She smiles again. “More tea?”

~

It took years before Natasha ever gave Peggy’s niece a call, less than that to fall in love with her. Clint had thought it would be good for Natasha to meet Peggy, see what a SHIELD legend was like, what she could aspire to, and maybe convince Natasha to say anything at all. Those first few years at SHIELD after he recruited her were tough. She’d had a lot of shit to work through. Peggy had helped, in some small way, but not as much as Sharon.

They met when they were assigned on a mission together. They clicked immediately, bantering and debating and even going so far as maybe flirting. But she’s dating someone - some guy - and it’s not the right time. They go their separate ways.

They meet again right before the Chitauri invasion and again on some other mission. Sharon is bright and warm, easy to laugh, easy to love. She can be fierce, too, when she needs to. But what Natasha loves about her most is how positive she is. Sharon never gives up hope, never loses faith. Does she doubt? Sometimes. But her strength always returns full force.

But Natasha doesn’t deserve someone like Sharon. Steve does. And Sharon deserves someone like Steve, not Natasha. That’s why she tries to set them up but they’re too similar, both stubborn. It falls apart.

It’s not until after, after the civil war, after hiding in Wakanda for so many months, that she gives Peggy’s niece a call. She had forgotten the number was there, had refused to dial it out of self-pity. But now, at the end of her rope and needing someone to talk to - anyone - she dials.

And Sharon picks up. Natasha feels so stupid because of course the most righteous person she knows besides Steve is Peggy Carter’s niece. Peggy hadn’t put a name in Natasha’s contacts and Sharon had never said and Natasha had never put two and two together.

They have a good laugh about it and then...

Then the confessions happen. Over video chat, of all places. “I’ve liked you since I first met you,” Sharon says. “Teasing me about being blonde. Now, look at you.”

Natasha laughs and touches her own hair, pale blonde instead of bright red. “Do you like it?”

“It’s hot,” Sharon admits and Natasha feels warm. “But I liked the red better.”

~

When all is said and done and the world restored to its former glory, Natasha pays a visit to Peggy’s grave. “You were right,” she says as she kneels in front of the tombstone. “You were right the whole time and I should’ve listened to you.” There’s no answer. “Did you know? That we would fall for each other? Start a secret relationship during the end of the world? Were you really just playing matchmaker the whole time?” She laughs and shakes her head. “Either way, I just wanted to say thank you. You said you couldn’t help me but you were wrong. You saved me.”

Natasha walks away from the grave, hand in hand with the legendary Agent Sharon Carter.

[theendlesssummerstory]

Endless Summer, Chapter 3/44 - Small talk is for small minds

That night, I was haunted by that dream again.

“Stay down! It’s coming this way!” warned Sean.

“Taylor! Give me your hand!” said Jake.

“You don’t understand yet… do you?” taunted Everett Rourke. “Of course not. But you will… in time.”

But this time, there was something else. At the end of the dream, I was being stalked by a predator. I turned around, but before I could see who, or what, was following me, I woke up, sweating.

Feeling hungry, and it being eight o’clock already, I made my way to the restaurant to have breakfast.

When I entered the restaurant, I saw that Grace, Aleister and Zahra were sat together at one table, Sean and Craig at another, and Michelle and Quinn at another. Jake and Raj sat at the bar, close to the other students. All of them were talking to each other.

Estela sat on her own, a fair distance away from everyone else, but still watching (and listening to) them. Lila and Diego hadn’t arrived yet.

They were all having breakfast, in the form of a buffet cooked by Raj, which included bacon, scrambled eggs, toast and a mixture he called the ‘Raj Hangover Special 9000’.

The conversations died out as soon as everyone noticed I was there. They turned to face me.

“Hey!” said Jake, smiling. “If it isn’t the boy scout who cried monster.”

“Yeah, Taylor, you shot down the party faster than the cops back home.” Raj complained.

“That’s what you care about?” Estela asked him, furiously. “Don’t you realise that if there were a predator, Taylor could’ve gotten hurt? Or killed?”

I was about to apologise to everyone for lowering the mood last night, when I realised something... Estela was right! My life was far more important than their party. And I was going to defend myself.

“Estela’s right. If you want an apology for last night, that’s not gonna happen.” I told everyone, Jake and Raj especially. “I’m not going to pretend everything’s okay. Regardless of whether I saw something last night or not, there is something going on in this island, and we need to find out exactly what that is.”

“I was only tryna lighten the mood...” said Raj, despondently. Everyone gave me annoyed looks, but Estela looked at me, impressed... with admiration.

I grabbed some breakfast, and sat at the table with Grace, Aleister and Zahra. I would’ve sat with Diego, however, had he been here.

“I found something really interesting at the beach this morning.” Grace told us.

“Already, nerdette, you have 60 seconds ‘till I die of boredom. What did you find?” Zahra asked her.

“Well, I was walking on the beach this morning, and found some sea shells that I’ve never seen before.” she explained. “I even went back to my room to look them up in my marine biology textbook, but... nothing. I couldn’t find anything close to them-”

“Hold up.” Zahra interupted her. “You brought your textbooks on holiday?”

“Um, yes?”

“Congrats.” said Zahra, sarcastically. “You’re officially the dorkiest person I’ve ever met.”

Aleister exhaled deeply.

“What a sad world we live in.” he lemented. “Seeking to be informed is deemed ‘dorky’ by today’s youth. I, for one, find Grace bringing her textbooks commendable.”

“You do?” Grace smiled at him, which caused Aleister to blush.

“Well, I... I do. O-of course.” replied Aleister, flustered.

“I agree. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with bringing your textbooks on holiday.” I spoke to reduce the resulting awkwardness for Aleister.

It was then that Lila and Diego entered the restaurant, looking somewhat triumphant. Diego sat down next to me, and Lila stood at the front to address us.

“Good morning, everyone!” Lila greeted us. “I hope you’re enjoying breakfast in our 5-star restaurant! Diego and I were searching the reception area, and we think we’ve figured out what happened to the hotel guests!”

She paused for a few seconds, and looked at us expectandly, as if expecting us to answer, or clap... or maybe she was just creating tension.

“Spit it out then, dimples.” said Jake, impatiently.

“Well, on the evening the day before yesterday, someone triggered the emergency evacuation procedure!” she told us. “It’s a custom feature in Rourke International Hotels to protect our guests from natural disasters!”

I looked out the restaurant window and saw a volcano at the far end of the island.

“When you say natural disaster, do you mean a volcanic eruption?” I asked Lila, which sparked an outburst of energy from her.

“Yes! Precisely!” she beamed. “If Mount Atropo were to erupt, all our hotel guests would be burnt to ashes!”

“Why do you sound happy about that?” asked a stunned Zahra. I found it slightly funny that Lila’s over-cheeriness was having the same effect on Zahra as Zahra’s gloominess had on Lila.

“Look, I know nothing about geology, or science in general.” Jake confessed. “But I’m pretty sure there wasn’t an eruption two days ago.”

"We have a designated shelter on the island, for our hotel guests, in case something like that happens.” Lila explained.

“Then the hotel guests may still be there.” Estela uncharacteristically spoke up. “This shelter... where is it, Lila?”

“I don’t know.” Lila confessed. “But the signs on the trail say we’ll find it if we hike east for five kilometres!”

“I’m going to find it.” Jake decided. “There’s a good chance Carlos will be at the shelter, and while you lot may be having fun playing Home Alone 2: Island Boogaloo, I’m losing money every day I’m stuck here. Are you joining me, boy scout?”

I hesitated, weighing up my curiosity versus my experience last night with the predator. Realising my uncertainty, Jake spoke up.

“You don’t have to come, if you’re still shaken. Stay here and-”

“I’m coming.” I interrupted him, quickly, before he could say something that would change my mind.

“Really? Why?” Diego asked me.

“I want to find out what’s going on.” I replied. “I mean, aren’t you a little curious as to why the hotel guests went to the shelter, when the volcano clearly didn’t erupt?”

“Well, yes, I’m curious.” Diego admitted. “But I’ve also, you know, seen a horror movie.”

He tried to put on a sarcastic voice, but it didn’t work nearly as well on him as it did on Jake or Zahra.

“Hey, guys! Let’s go to this creepy shelter on an abandoned island! What could possibly go wrong?”

“But I’m going with you, Taylor. So if anything goes wrong, I can say that I told you so.”

“I’m going too.” Aleister announced. “I’d like to get the lay of the land around here.”

“Me too!” Quinn joined in. “There are waterfalls on the island, which sound perfect to me right about now.”

Twenty minutes later, after finishing breakfast, Lila, Jake, Diego, Aleister, Quinn and I were hiking to the shelter. We passed some odd flowers, ones that glowed, probably what Grace was referring to when she said that the island had rare flora.

Lila, who saw me observing the flowers, couldn’t help but fall into one of her tour guide speeches.

“Due to its geographical isolation, La Huerta has one of the most unique ecoystems in the world, with flora and fauna not found anywhere else in the whole world!”

Jake couldn’t help but smile. “Sure thing, Minnie Mouse. Recite Rourke International propaganda all you want. I ain’t buying any of it.”

“What do you mean by that?” asked Aleister.

“I mean that all the leaflets for La Huerta advertise it as a Disney Paradise.” Jake replied. “But if you drink in the right bars in Costa Rica, you’ll hear all sorts of rumours about what really goes on here. Employees going missing, illegal experiements, etc.”

“That is preposterous.” snapped Aleister.

“I’m not going to let some conspiracy theories stop me from enjoying the beauty of nature.” said Quinn, plucking a particularly radiant purple flower and holding it to her nose, inhaling deeply.

I, however, inexplicably found myself beliving Jake. I stepped away from the flowers.

“I’m not sure what to believe, but better safe than sorry.” I told the others. “Unique ecosystem or not, flowers should not glow like that.”

“I knew I could count on you, boy scout.” said Jake, before turning to face Quinn. “As for you, Pippi Longstocking... don’t blame me when you grow two noses.”

We walked on, and I found myself walking next to Aleister. Despite his antisocial and offputting personality, I decided to try and make small talk with him.

“Hey, Aleister, have you seen any good TV shows recently?” I asked him.

“Does it look like I’ve been accepted for a Master’s degree in law because I spend my days watching reality TV about overly-tanned simpletons?” he snapped back.

“I’m just trying to make small talk.” I told him.

“Small talk is for small minds, Taylor. And I don’t associate myself with either of them.” Aleister told me.

I turned away, thinking that was the end of the conversation, but Aleister went on.

“My father never believed I had what it takes to get a PhD.” Aleister continued. “Despite my flashes of academic brilliance, including, but not limited to, Level 6s in my SATs, 10 A*s at GCSE and 3 A*s at A Levels. So that’s why I only tolerate intelligence, Taylor - because after my Master’s, I’m going to get my PhD, and prove that bastard wrong.”

“You’re an intelligent young man, Aleister.” I complimented him. “If anyone can get a PhD, it’s you.”

Aleister just blinked. “I know.”

We reached the shelter about an hour later. Lila pushed open the doors, revealing it to be as abandoned as The Celestial.

The left wall had mostly crumbled away, revealing a large hole. I cautiously approached it... and involuntarily screamed when something jumped out of it!

That something was a blue fox, who, panicked, ran to the far corner of the shelter. Frost formed on the wall behind him.

“He-hello?” I asked the fox, stunned and not sure what to say or do.

“Can we agree that’s not a real animal?” asked Jake.

“What... is it?” asked a confused Aleister.

“Um, literally the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.” replied Quinn, beaming.

“But what is he scared of?” asked Diego.

I didn’t have much time to make sense of the situation, because when I looked back into the hole, some eyes had suddenly appeared - the same predator that I saw last night!

The predator, which turned out to be a tiger, leaped out and started to approach the fox!

“That!” replied Aleister. “It’s scared of that!”

“You think?” Lila asked him, sarcastically.

“Maverick, what do we do?” I asked Jake, figuring that he was the one here most able to deal with the situation.

But for the first time, I saw him scared.

“Don’t... move.” he managed.

[labgrownsteaks]

Chapter 3

My initial reaction was to sell it. If I could fetch 320 grand that would significantly change my life. On the other hand, considering I could print anything I wanted, I could make far more than 320k. I had to focus on the road because I was so excited. Erin was screaming and dancing and saying something, but I could barely hear any of it. I could print anything in the world. 

“How could you not know you had a CZ101?!” Erin exclaimed. 

“I don’t know. I used it last night to make a lab grown steak and then this morning Siri asked me if I wanted anything for the picnic”

“Wait, why did Siri ask you if you wanted anything? Since when does Siri give advice?!”

I was a bit baffled by this question. Siri always gave me advice. I literally thought that was what Siri did

I hesitated, and then asked. “Doesn’t Siri always do that?”

“lawl no! Siri’s not Hal! She basically just googles questions and figures out the best answer”

“Erin. Does your Siri ever joke around?”

Erin laughed. “What do you mean? Joke around? I’m sure if you ask her to tell a joke she’ll tell one”

“Does your Siri ever change her accent?”

“What are you talking about? No. You can change it manually in settings though.”

“Ha! Gotcha!”

“You bitch!” Erin shrieked while smiling. 

She hit me a few times in the arm, right before our turn to Burnt Dock boat landing. It’s where we’d have to park the car. The idea that my Siri was different kind of bugged me, but my mom was always buying me the knockoff versions of things. Who knows if I even had a real Siri. I remember Christmas in 1989 when I was super excited to get a pair of Reebok Pumps but they turned out to be Reeback Pomps. I took a sharpie and blacked out the center of the  “a” so it looked more like an O, and then used White Out to finish the job. 

I pulled the Mustang onto a gravel road. Erin had taken the beautiful mushroom out of my backpack and unwrapped it on her lap. 

“Oh I don’t want to break you. I know you are so beautiful” she said to it, speaking as if it were a baby kitten. 

“Hey, keep it down. God knows these fishermen aren’t too keen on a couple hippies eating shrooms and wandering around the banks”

I turned the car, and in the next moment I looked over to see Erin stuffing a substantial chunk into her mouth. 

“Damn, slow down! That’s like 6 grams there!

Mouth full, she said  “probbubly 6 gwams et”

“What?”

She completed chewing and swallowed. 

“Probably 6 grams wet. It isn’t dried, so you have to eat more than you normally would”

With that she snapped the stem and handed me a piece. I grabbed it and ate it like a normal human. The distinct taste of burnt popcorn and pumpkin seeds filled my mouth. I washed it down with some blue Powerade. I was picking some bits out of my mouth when Erin lifted up a chunk of the orange cap and said “Let’s make a toast” I took a bit into my hand as well, smiling and looking her in the eyes. “To.......” we both sat and stared at each other for a bit. “To....Biodiversity” I responded ‘lawl ok, to Biodiversity” and we clinked our mushroom caps together and then scarfed them down. The sun was shining beautifully through the leaves, and they were already like water ripples at dawn. Erin hopped out of the car as I through all the food and stuff into my backpack. I pushed my alarm button and a voice stated “Viper Armed” . Erin laughed “VIPER ARMED! “ making fun of my totally badass car alarm. She was kind of skipping towards a trail that lead into a thick grove of Cottonwood trees. I had to jog a bit to catch up with her. There wasn’t a lot of really foresty areas in Chisuwick, so when we finally entered the grove it felt like we were in a different world. The sound was immediately just quieter. There were some red winged black birds fluttering about and squawking. We both walked in relative silence just looking and waiting for the mushroom to kick in. It was always good to trip with someone else because you’d come up at the same time generally. Erin walked up to a cliff which looked out at the river. “Look, a beaver!” she yelled. “Ummm, that’s a duck” I replied. Seeing the mallard duck’s distinctive green head even from a distance. “Maybe it’s a beaver in a duck costume!” Erin said as she began to giggle. “What benefit would a beaver have for dressing up like a duck?” I stated, trying to bring some much needed logic into the conversation. Erin looked at me seriously, then started laughing. And then I started laughing too, and every time we looked at each other the other would start giggling again. The duck was up by the shore now, probably thought we had some food or something. “I love you duck!” Erin yelled. The duck was unmoved, staring at us. I just sat for a bit “God, I fucking love nature! Nature must be a woman because she looks sooooo good!” she continued on. Erin was always a bit more extroverted when she tripped, I was the opposite. I got caught up in all my thoughts. I thought about the beaver in a duck costume and smiled a bit and Erin kept on babbling about something. I was staring at the reflections on the water and could tell that I was definitely feeling the effects at this point. Visually everything was turning into large blobs which were intersecting with one another and making up these blobby impressionist paintings. Erin was picking flowers and putting them into her hair. They weren’t arranged neatly. Her head looked more like a flowerpot than her wearing a crown of flowers. I looked back at the blobs of light on the water slowly vibrating and intersecting with one another. Then back at Erin, now the flowers were in a perfect crown on her head, and they were getting more and more vibrant. I couldn’t help the words coming out of my mouth, and I blurted out. 

“Jesus, you’re fucking beautiful”

Erin looked back and smiled and stated “You’re in the spirit world” a nod to the scene on Young Guns where they all take peyote and Lou Diamond Phillips says the same to Emilio Estevez. It was unironically our favorite film and we had watched it together countless times. Somehow the area where we were sitting felt more like a clearing now. It was opened up, and more expansive.

“How’d we get here?” I stated, kind of freaked out that I had lost time or something. 

“We walked” Erin said plainly. 

I could feel my breathing get a little strained, and I took a couple deep breaths and recentered myself. 

“Doesn’t it feel more open?”

“Hmmm, yes. it does..” Erin stated, sitting on a tree trunk which had fallen down. I unzipped my bag and grabbed the blue Powerade and took a swig before handing it to Erin. 

We spent the next few hours investigating the forest. We found a bunch of cicada cases on the ground which made no sense to us and seemed totally alien, and then sun was coming down pretty intensely. I looked at my Casio watch (gold metal band) and it was already 2 o clock! We had been in the forest for almost four hours now! I could feel the effects beginning to wane, and Erin was the same. We wandered back to the car, still giggling occasionally or stopping to see an ant colony. 

[cromulentbookreview]

Binge! Part 2: The Re-Binging

I’m often put off by long book series - considering how often I complain about being suckered into the first book of a series, this isn’t surprising. However, sometimes I’m willing to put in the time to binge a whole series.

Like, for example, the Barker & Llewelyn series by Will Thomas.

So I binge-read the first 10 books of this series (well, 10.5, there’s a novella called An Awkward Way to Die ) in one long, dizzying binge last year. And, lucky for me, there’s a new book out: Lethal Pursuit! Pretty much exactly one year from the release of Blood is Blood! 

But! If you haven’t read the first 10.5 books, here’s a review:

BOOK 1 - Some Danger Involved: Your average detective enquiry agent-duo origin story featuring brilliant detective and his new snarky Welsh sidekick!

BOOK 2 - To Kingdom Come: Barker & Llewelyn go undercover and build bombs for the Irish!

BOOK 3 - The Limehouse Text: Barker & Llewelyn face big trouble in London’s 19th Century Chinatown!

BOOK 4 - The Hellfire Conspiracy: Barker & Llewelyn fight human traffickers, secret societies and such!

BOOK 5 - The Black Hand: Barker & Llewelyn fight the Italian mafia!

BOOK 6 - Fatal Enquiry: Barker & Llewelyn fight Barker’s almost comically evil arch-nemesis!

BOOK 7 - Anatomy of Evil: Barker & Llewelyn fight Jack the Ripper!

BOOK 8 - Hell Bay: Barker & Llewelyn Present: Agatha Christie’s And Then There Were None!

BOOK 8.5 - An Awkward Way to Die: Barker & Llewelyn solve a case in, like, 20 minutes!

BOOK 9 - Old Scores: Barker & Llewelyn Present: Japonism in Late-19th Century England!

BOOK 10 - Blood is Blood: Barker is put temporarily out of commission by an explosion! Llewelyn must solve the case himself! Who should show up to help but Barker’s long lost brother??

BOOK 11 - Lethal Pursuit: Barker and Llewelyn are hired by the Prime Minister himself to transport an ancient manuscript to Calais. Sounds easy enough! Except Barker seems more interested in investigating the death of the man who brought the manuscript to England in the first place…

So! Lethal Pursuit! It begins with Hillary Drummond, recently arrived to England from Germany (somewhat newly united! Kind of!) he’s on the run from some blue uniformed youths after the satchel he’s carrying, which contains this book’s MacGuffin an ancient, and very valuable manuscript. Drummond almost, almost makes it to the Home Office when, gasp! He’s run through with a sword. Then he walks into traffic and is run over by a cab.

Or, as it’s known in London traffic: Tuesday.

Meanwhile! It’s January! 1892! Llewelyn is a happily married man, as he loves to mention roughly every two pages. Along with being a happily married man (did he mention that he’s married now? Because he is) he’s also now a partner in Barker’s Detective Private Enquiry Agency. Barker has been moving a bit slower since his leg injury during the events of Blood is Blood, but, instead of treating Llewelyn like a full partner, Barker continues to treat him like an assistant. Which rankles Llewelyn a bit but hey, at least he’s married to the love of his life Rebecca. Only they still live in Barker’s house - he’s renovated the first floor for them and everything. Anyway, Barker and Llwelyn receive a summons from Prime Minister himself! The British government has the MacGuffin, and they want nothing more than to have the manuscript sent off to the Vatican archives and forgotten. But Barker is more interested in the mystery of who killed Hillary Drummond and why. Rather than immediately deliver the manuscript to Calais like the Prime Minister asked them to do, Barker hangs onto it. See, this manuscript is, apparently, a new gospel. Which is important because...reasons?

OK, so after 11 books, I’ve noticed that the Barker & Llwelyn series involve a lot more religion than I know anything about. I mean, when it comes to the religious category on Jeopardy, my answer is always “Jesus.” I’ve never read the Bible the whole way through - I read Acts of the Apostles in high school for an assignment, for which I had to actually go out and buy a Bible because the one we had was a family heirloom that couldn’t be opened without falling to pieces. In my lifetime I’ve attended a grand total of two church services - one when I was baptized at the ripe old age of 7 (I guess from ages 0-7 I was naught but a sinful hellbeast) and once in Germany I attended an Easter mass in a thousand year old cathedral because it was literally the only thing open on Easter Sunday in the whole town. Upper Franconia is suuuuper Catholic, you guys. Anyway, I took communion at that mass just to see what the body of Christ tastes like (burnt toast, I was disappointed). Does that mean I’m Catholic now? Hurray for gold-plated everything and indulgences? I mean, I’m not even 100% sure what I was baptized as back when I was a 7-yr-old unbaptized hellbeast…Lutheran, maybe? I think? I do enjoy posting lists of complaints on peoples’ doors. I mean, I could check, but that would require getting up and I both don’t want to and really don’t care all that much. Anyway, long story short: religion is not my strong suit. I don’t know the difference between a Baptist and an Episcopalian and a Methodist. Perhaps I should but honestly…eh. My point is, when Will Thomas writes about a manuscript that might be a new gospel written before Luke or Matthew or whoever...I just sort of smile and nod and go "yeah sure OK" and have zero idea what that might actually mean or its religious significance. I just hear “1000 year old manuscript” and think “that sounds awesome, gimme.”

Back to the book: this manuscript is so valuable, the people after it are willing to kill for it. Which puts Barker & Llewelyn in an awkward position. Even more awkward is the fact that Rebecca’s family, who seemed so cool in the last book, have now decided to shun her for marrying Thomas, a gentile. As usual, Barker & Llewelyn are caught between a rock and a hard place. Can they deliver the manuscript safely to the Vatican? Can Thomas repair the relationship between himself and his in-laws? Will Rebecca ever learn how to make a decent Pain au chocolat? Will we ever, ever meet Thomas’s massive Welsh family? Will Rebecca ever demand to get to know her small army of brothers- and sisters-in-law? Will Barker ever propose to Philippa? Will I ever learn the difference between various sects of Christianity? Find out tomorrow in Barker & Llewelyn: Lethal Pursuit!  Same bat time, same bat channel!

I love this series. I am well and truly hooked. Barker & Llewelyn are a more down-to-earth Holmes and Watson. There is just the right amount of action, historical detail, and mystery to satisfy any Sherlockian desperate for some 19th century English mystery. I don’t know of any other book series, save Meg Cabot’s Princess Diaries series, where I’ve stuck around past the 8th or 9th book. So many books! Not enough time for serieses! I mean, sometimes I entertain the thought of binging all 900,000 Discworld books, but there are so many other things I’d like to read, too…I wish I were a faster reader. Better yet, I wish I could be like the Doctor and just flip through a book and absorb all its contents at once. That’d be awesome.

Still. I adore Barker & Llewelyn - I will absolutely be there for any book they’re in, even if the series goes the full Anne Perry and goes on and on for like, 20+ books. I’m here for it. And I am on pins and needles for the next book. I really, really, really want Thomas to reconcile with his family in Wales. I want Barker to actually acknowledge that Philippa Ashleigh is his girlfriend. I JUST WANT MORE, DAMN IT!

OK, for lack of anything else to say, let’s fancast this thing.

OK, so Barker would obviously be played by Graham McTavish, aka Dougal from Outlander.

Admit it, he’d be absolutely perfect, right? Come on. I mean, just look at that face.

Thomas Llewelyn would be played by Taron Egerton because he’s Welsh and  absolutely pretty and tough enough to be Llewelyn

Yesssss.

Mac would be played by Paul Ready because Paul Ready is beautiful and I love him and would cast him in anything. Plus, I could see him as the finicky perfectionist Mac. Plus, I still ship Mac/Thomas, and I think he’d play well against Taron Edgerton. By which I mean they’re both gorgeous and I’d enjoy watching them.

Jeremy Jenkins would be played by Adam Nagaitis because he’s awesome and he’d be perfect as the squirrley / drunk half the time Jenkins.

Ho would be played by Benedict Wong because he would be perfect, though I’m not sure if my fantasy BBC/ITV/Netflix series budget would have enough money to get Benedict Wong. He’s got Marvel money now.

Rebecca Llwelyn nee Cowan nee Mocatta would be played by Jessica Brown Findlay because, eh, why not. I’m still traumatized/pissed off about Sybil’s death on Downton Abbey.

Tchéky Karyo as expert chef Etienne Dummolard because I can seriously picture him going into a long French tirade and throwing shit whenever Barker disrespects his cooking.

Michelle Gomez as Philippa Ashleigh, Barker’s Girlfriend, because I would love to see her and Graham McTavish as Barker snipe at each other.

Gemma Chan as Bok Fu Ying aka Miss Winter, Barker’s ward, because she is the perfect combination of elegance and badass.

Gaten Matarazzo as Soho Vic because I’m absolutely sure he could pull off a British accent and annoy the shit out of Thomas,

And this dog as Harm. Look at this dog!

Awww!

RECOMMENDED FOR: Anyone fond of a fun 19th century mystery-solving duo.

NOT RECOMMENDED FOR: People who dislike mysteries, detective private enquiry agent duos.

OVERALL SERIES RATING: 4.5/5

TOTALLY UNBIASED VICTORIAN MYSTERY / MURDERINO FANGIRL RATING: 5/5

LETHAL PURSUIT RATING: 4/5

RELEASE DATE: November 12, 2019

ANTICIPATION LEVEL FOR NEXT BOOK IN THE SERIES: Olympus Mons

[peaky-yamyam]

Breakfast - John Shelby

- @johnsheiby  “Show me what’s behind your back.” With John please x - John Shelby 24 plz ( “It’s six o’clock in the morning, you’re not having vodka.” ) - Please do more like suit up, I've read part one and 2 and love them. Do more with the family please!! 

Despite the sun only recently rising, John and I have been awake for hours. A grizzly baby, a sick dog and six other children who never miss an opportunity to be out of bed means that our house has dissolved in chaos.

“Want me to have Dotty?” John asks, glancing at me from the floor as I cradle Dotty to my chest.

“You're just offering because you don't want to clean up the dog sick.”

He flops back on his knees, knocking the bucket of soapy water away from him.

“There's just so much of it babe, I mean the dogs not exactly big is It? Where the fuck has all this come from?”

“He's ill!” I say with a chuckle, kicking the bucket back towards him. “It's just a bit of sick, most of its congealing now anyway, should be able to scoop it right up.”

He pales and gags a little, clutching the cloth tightly as if it'll somehow protect him.

“You know what, i’m glad you're finding this funny.”

“Oh John, I'm just focusing on the massive glass of vodka I'm going to have when she-” I nod at Dotty who’s balling my nightdress in her fist and whining despite her closing eyes, “-goes back to sleep.”

“Are you having a laugh? It’s six o’clock in the morning, you’re not having vodka. Besides, it's going to be fucking havoc out there, just because we've locked ourselves in here and can't see them, doesn't mean the others are behaving.”

“They do seem rather quiet…” I comment, only now noticing the strange calmness that seems to have taken over the rest of the house. “Everything alright in there?” I shout through to the kitchen, not daring to look.

“Yes!” comes an immediate response from the six of them.

“Anyone hurt?”

“No!”

“Have you made a mess?”

“No!”

John looks to me with a smirk.

“You know what that means don’t you? They have fucking destroyed that kitchen. Harry’s probably emptied the cupboards again… Wouldn’t surprise me if Bill’s scaling the walls trying to reach the biscuit tin-”

“Go and see what they’re doing,” I interrupt, visions of the destroyed garden and the days of work it took to sort it rushing back to me.

“No no no, I’m cleaning this,” he replies, dunking the cloth in the bucket of water.

“You’re fucking not, you’ve been trying to get out of it for the last fifteen minutes!” I start to argue, but when he turns away and starts scrubbing at the floor, I realise I’m never going to win, so I turn with a huff and head for the stairs.

“Right you lot,” I call over my shoulder, “I’m going to put Dotty back in bed and then I’m coming into the kitchen, so you’ve got one minute to sort out whatever’s going on in there, you understand?”

I hear a scuffle and a few mumbles between them before they all shout back, “yes mom!”

Thankfully Dotty settles quickly, and I spend a few seconds appreciating the quiet before I head to the chaos that has undoubtedly consumed the kitchen.

I shout another warning as I reach the bottom of the stairs but this one is met with silence and as I throw open the kitchen door it takes me a second to realise that there’s no actual mess. Sure there’s some pots and pans in the sink and the counters are dirty, but on the table sits two plates of scrambled egg on toast, a pot of tea with two cups and a single flower - that I’m fairly sure is from the neighbours garden - in one of my grandmother's antique bone china vases.

“What is this?” I ask, completely dumbstruck with the scene in front of me.

“We made you and dad breakfast,” Marcy says, hands clasped behind her back, clearly incredibly proud of her handy work. “Well me and Jack did most of it, Billy and Katie sorted the flower. James and Harry just sort of sat there and played with the burnt bits of toast.”

“Well it looks absolutely lovely, so thank you, all of you. But…umm... why have you made us breakfast?” Despite loving the kids to pieces, I’m not so blinded to think this is anything other than a way to get on our good side.

“It was Jack’s idea.”

“Was it now? Jack, why have you made us breakfast?”

He pales a little and keeps his hands clasped tightly behind his back his jaw tensing as he tries to think how to reply.

“Because... I love you?” he answers after some deliberation.

“You know what Jack, I actually might have fallen for that, if you hadn’t just asked it as a question. JOHN!”

John rushes in, but freezes as he takes in what’s going on.

“What is this?” he asks eventually.

“The kids have made us breakfast,” I answer. “It was Jack’s idea. Because he loves us? He thinks, he doesn’t seem that sure though.”

John’s face drops and he turns his attention to Jack.

“What have you done?” he questions.

“Nothin’!” Jack shouts back, far too quickly for it to be the truth.

“What’s behind your back?” I cut in, noticing him fiddling with something nervously.

“It’s nothin’. I’ve not done nothin’...”

“Show me what’s behind your back.”

“It’s… it’s just a letter… from school…”

He begrudgingly pulls the envelope from behind his back and I can see from the other side of the table that it’s wax sealed with a neat script on the front addressing it to Mr and Mrs J Shelby. Never a good sign.

John nudges me, a prompt that he feels I’m the best one to deal with this and I take the letter from Jack.

“I assume you know what this is about?”

He nods.

“Well before I open this and read it for myself, do you want to explain what’s going on?”

He clamps his bottom lip between his teeth and takes a deep breath.

“I’vebeenexpelled,” he mumbles, but John and I both catch it.

John grabs the letter from me and tears it open, scanning it quickly.

“He fucking has as well,” he says, handing the letter back so I can see for myself, before he starts pacing the room. “Fucking expelled! Expelled from a school I managed to make it through! That Arthur manage to make it through. Jesus Christ boy what the hell did you do?”

I seem to have read more of the letter than John has and managed to make it to a very eloquent description of the exact reason for his expulsion.

“He set up a load of rigged boxing fights, which he was getting the other kids bet on…” I explain through gritted teeth.

“No-one got hurt I swear, not properly. It was only kids who wanted to fi-” Jack interrupts.

“Go to your room Jack. I’ll deal with you later, and believe me you are in big trouble. Marcy, Katie, Billy, thank you for helping to make us breakfast, but can you go and play in the other room please - take the little’uns - I need to talk to your dad.”

They all file out and when we’re alone I turn on John, who’s sat at the table with his head in his hands.

“Well at least-” he starts, but I don’t give him the chance to continue.

“Shut up. This is all your fault you know that?”

“This isn’t because of the hair-”

“This is exactly because of the haircut! He thinks he’s a fucking Peaky Blinder now. And what a classic Peaky Blinder thing to do. A rigged boxing ring for fucks sake...”

“You’ve got to give it to him-”

“John! Stop! You do not get to be proud of your eleven year old son setting up fights between his classmates! What are we going to do with him now? He can’t leave school at eleven. He's going to end up working with you lot- oh god, he’s going to end up like Michael. And I’m going to end up like Polly, at my whits end every time he walks out the door. I thought I had a few more years to prepare, he’s still a little boy John, he needs to be at school!” I babble, only stopping when John grasps my shoulders and forces me to look at him.

“Calm down, I will sort this. I’ll get him back in school, I promise you, okay?”

I’ve learnt now that when John promise he’ll sort something, one way or another, it gets sorted and I trust him to fix this.

“Okay,” I answer.

“Good, now sit down and lets eat this while everything’s calm for a minute.”

[imagines-hoarder]

Breaking of the Bread- Alfie Solomons

*Gif by @bonniebirdsgifcentre. So I’m going to start spreading out my PB posts now that I’ve officially finished the work I fell behind on fo Peaky Week, but don’t worry. There’s still much more to come! For now though, I have a couple Teen Wolf request I need to fill. I will also be moving back into TVD/TO and possibly even shadowhunters, so be on the lookout. Lastly, I’m fastly approaching 1K followers so when that happens, I already have a super cool Derek series planned, but I have to meet my goal first. Stay on the lookout! xoxox*

Masterlist

Bread. The most common and essential food in the daily life of a Londoner. It was one of the only thing the wealthy and poor ate alike. It was toasted for breakfast and served for supper. You liked your meals, but in your opinion, dessert was the best dish. You had grown up with a severe sweet tooth and ardent parents who would indulge in all your desires since you were there only child. The results of being given what you wanted could have been disastrous, but you think it turned out quite well considering you now owned your own bakery.

After being open for three years, business had steadied and you would even consider it to be going well. Well, enough to put food on the table and allow you to move into an apartment of your own. You found your social- and perhaps romantic life- take a turn for the better as you rung up the evening rush, customers taking goods home for their families and special occasions. You continued going through the motions until I burly pair of hands laid themselves down on the counter.

“Ye, I’ll have one of those pies back there,” he said without hesitation as he looked through the display.

You finally looked up to see the man and stilled at you took him in. He was definitely not one of your usual customers. He was larger in every sense and his beard didn’t make him look any more friendly. He looked rather dark and rogue even though it was midday, but there was something appealing about how he presented himself.

“Uhh..do you mean the Bakewell tart?” You pointed back at it, hoping not to irritate him. You were in no mood to deal with another sour Londoner.

“That’s what I said, in’nt?”

You let out a small sigh before grabbing one of the tarts and beginning to neatly package it. You could feel his eyes burning into you as you worked but tried to ignore it in order to keep away from an awkward situation.

“So, plan on taking this home to your family?”

“I don’t think that’s much of ‘ur fucking business.” You looked up, eyes wide and mouth agape. You weren’t a stranger to foul language, but to use it in front of a lady that he didn’t know was barbaric.

“Watch your bloody mouth.” You pointed to finger warningly at the man. “If you can’t show me respect then I won’t sell you anything.” You held up his neatly wrapped package unsure of whether to give it to him.

While most men you had know would be enraged that a woman talked to them like that, the man in front of you did something most bizarre: he smiled at you, shaking his head in humor subtly.

“I do apologize mizz. Not used to a woman wanting much respect.” You weren’t sure if the comment meant something more lecherous than first appeared, but you chose to shake it off.

You pushed the package towards him with a shrug. “You’ll know better for next time.”

“Who said they’ll be a next time?”

You felt you face warm as he gave you a crooked grin, kicking yourself for assuming such an allegation. “Have you ever had one of my pies? Can’t say I’ve seen you in here before.”

“No mizz, can’t say I have.”

“Well once you have, I expect to see you back here soon, sir.” You wiped your hands down your apron nervously, trying to wipe the sweat from your palms. It had gotten much warmer behind the counter since the conversation had begun. You jumped a little as he set a florin down on the counter hard. “A Bakewell only cost a shilling, sir.”

“Then it seems yuv made a little extra today.” Before you could think of a response, he collected his goods and exited onto the busy London streets. It all had happened so fast, yet passed by so leisurely. You knew nothing about the red-headed man but found yourself hoping he would stop again.

He had stopped by sooner than later. In fact, he began to stop by every evening, getting treats of various natures. Over small conversations, you began to learn more about one another. His name was Alfred Solomons, but he allowed you to call him Alfie. He owned a bread baking business though it was on a much larger scale than your bakery. You expected business must have been going well for him since he never seemed to have trouble with money.

It took about a fortnight before he asked to see you outside your shop. Even as you got to know Alfie better, he seemed to evolve into an even larger conundrum. Along with his bread business, he also had seemed to be well known for his business on the racetracks, though that didn’t explain much of why many feared him.

He liked you. You knew it for a fact because he told you. ‘You know what you want but aren’t too stubborn about it. Not a quality many women possess’ was how he stated it, and just like that you became ‘Alfie’s Girl.’ He’d try to spoil you with jewelry and flowers like a good gentleman would, but you rebuked him gently, reminding him that pearl necklaces would surely be disastrous in a baker’s messy kitchen. He tried to convince you to wear them anyways and refused to take back the gifts, leaving them for a special occasion. So, that’s exactly what you did.

Alfie had been going through an extremely stressful time lately, dealing with business that he wouldn’t let you in on. You would have pushed for answers, but knew that has temper had shortened in recent months, so instead, you did what you could to help him.

Once he entered the house, it didn’t take long for him to work his way to the kitchen. “Surprised you ‘aven’t burnt the house down yet.” You turned to smack his chest as a chuckle came from deep in his throat.

“You won’t be eating anything I make if you keep up the cheeky attitude, Alfie,” you playfully scolded him.

“Awe, you know I only joke, love.” His hands snuck their way to the front of your dress, pulling up the fabric impishly as he scattered kisses along your neck. “Beautiful pearls if I may say so. Must know the finest jeweler in all uf London.”

You laughed it his playful remark, tilting your head to give him more room to explore. “He’s quite handsome too, if I may say so.”

“Well I better not see this lad around. No man but myself should be talking to Alfie’s Girl.” You rolled your eyes before pulling away to finish making the potatoes and beef. “Have you got something else cookin’ babe? It smells like the bakery.”

You looked over your shoulder and gave him a mischievous smile. “I'm testing out a new recipe. If all goes well, I should be making it for customers by next week.”

He grunted in acknowledgment as he sat down at the small table. You swore to tell no one, but you found it funny that the gruff and large man had a sweet tooth himself. “What’s it this time? A pie or scones or-”

“Actually,” you began as you pulled the good from the oven. “It’s a bread.”

You could tell he was thrown by his silence, but he quickly gave you a hearty chuckle. “A bread? Isn’t that my job?” He came closer to see your creation. “Not only as the bread baker but the breadwinner.”

“Well, it's more like a loaf. They just call it bread. You can make all kinds. Lemon, blueberry, chocolate.” You twiddled your thumbs as he observed the confection.

“And what kind is this?”

“Blueberry. I knew you'd like it best.” He gave you a knowing smirk and you bit your bottom lip. “You’re not my harshest critic, but the one I am to please the most.”

Before you could say anymore, you were pushing his grubby hands away from the loaf, though he managed to take a piece from the top and pop it into his mouth before you could stop him. You watched him chew slowly and taste critically, trying to evaluate your newest creation.

“I think you've got yourself a best seller right here, Y/N,” he stated as he pulled you into his arms, where you belonged.

“You're not trying to spare my feeling are you, Mr. Solomons?” He chest vibrated in approval at the name.

“You know I’m not one to spare feelings, love.” He gave you a rewarding kiss as he moved back to the table. He seemed to be in a lighter mood already and just as you hoped, breaking tension was just as easy as breaking bread.

Peaky-taggers: @thinemineours @buckybarnesisalittleshit @w0nderlxnd @kill-thy-zombie-babies @roliepoliegirl

[aquabrie]

You Don’t Scare Me I Trust You

Rating:

Not Rated

Archive Warning

:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category:

F/M

Fandom:

The Avengers (Marvel Movies)

Relationships:

James "Bucky" Barnes/Original Female Character(s)

James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader

James "Bucky" Barnes & Reader

Characters:

James "Bucky" Barnes

Tony Stark

Steve Rogers

Clint Barton

Natasha Romanov

Pepper Potts

Sam Wilson (Marvel)

Reader

Additional Tags:

Minor Violence

Amnesia

Falling In Love

Having a Crush

Tony's cousin is the Reader

Mention of Coma

Past Character Death

Mild Language

---

Summary:

You are Tony's youngest cousin and he takes you to the tower. When you meet the Avengers a certain supersoldier catches your eye.

You and Bucky are both quiet and unsure of your pasts. Some of your memory is gone.

---

Chapter 1

It had been 1 year, 2 months and 5 days since that horrible car accident. Tony had blamed himself but it was just fate… His aunt and uncle in law died while his favorite cousin, y/n, was stuck in a coma. With Tony’s money and the money from Y/n’s parents estate Tony made sure Y/n’s would be taken care of. He missed her laugh, sarcastic sass, and her unbelievable mind. She had just graduated from college and her parents picked her up from the graduation ceremony. The car was side's wiped on a small bridge, the car landed in the ditch by the bridge. Pepper, Nat, Bruce, and Clint were the ones who knew about Y/n… She had been chosen to work with Tony at Stark industries. --- The phone rang… Pepper answered it. “Tony! It’s for you.” Tony smiled and took the phone from Pepper. “Yellow, this is Tony… uh huh… She is? Okay I’ll be there in about ten minutes!” Pepper looked at him silently questioning who had called.

“It was the hospital. Y/n is awake! She’s asking for me… I’m gonna pick her up and let her stay here with all of us!” He smiled and practically ran out the door.

--- You woke to a weird beeping sound and looked around the room. “What the fuck?” your voice was raspy due to lack of use. The beeping on the machine became frantic. You became frightened and were confused.

A male nurse ran to your room… thinking you were done for. But it was quite the opposite. He smiled at you and was really calm. He pressed the call button to get other people to come into your room. You grabbed your throat and ripped out your oxygen tube and started to freak out.

“hey…shhh… it’s okay. You’re okay.” You stopped fidgeting and looked at the man. He grabbed a cup and got you some water. Taking a sip, awkwardly, you tried to remember what happened.

--- Tony rushed into the ‘permanent patients’ wing and went to the desk. The secretary smiled sweetly and stood up, taking him to your room. He knew where it was he just was worried that maybe you hadnt woken up… maybe it was just a ploy to get him to leave his home.

“We’ve been waiting for you Mr. Stark. She asked for her parents… was told what happened to them then she asked for you.” She walked him to the room and stood at the doorway. “Here’s the releasement papers… before you both leave please bring them back to me at my desk. I’m glad she’s okay.” Tony walked in the doorway and saw you sitting up looking out the window. You were thin… and quite pale, living on liquid food for over a year with no sunlight you looked sickly. The hospital was kind enough to get all the tubes, IV, and and the stupid cathater out of your body… you also were able to take a shower… luckily since you were still out of it, it was a sit down shower and a female nurse helped you. They gave you some new clothes and let you get dressed.

Tony grinned seeing you up and out. You used to be so loud and rambunctious. Now… he just wanted to see you laugh again.

“Hey little bug!”

You turn towards him and smile. “Hi Tony.” Your voice was still painfully hoarse and Tony winced slightly seeing how pale and thin you were.

“They said you get to come home with me. You can meet the team!”

“Team?” The doctors said you had some physical therapy to work on, but other than that you were able to leave with Tony. You had slight amnesia which was reasonable for your coma and head injury. Tony helped you out of your bed and into the wheelchair the male nurse gave him…

You tilted your head and raised an eyebrow. “Yes… team, the Avengers… you already met some of them.”

You sigh and look away. Tony pushes you out of your room and stops at the counter giving the signed forms to the secretary.

“Okay Mr. Stark… she will need physical therapy everyday for at least a month. Since she’s only had a liquid diet you’ll have to slowly give her more solid foods… her stomach has shrank, but it will come back and she should regain her strength in time. Good luck.”

He nods and walks out with you still in the wheelchair. He helps you get into his car and he takes the wheelchair back to the hospital.

The ride to the tower was quiet. He didn’t like it… he missed you and your wit. You and he were like 2 peas in a pod. You had looked up to him, and actually helped design a few of his gadgets.

--- Pepper had told everyone about the new arrival and that you had been in a coma for a year and two months… They set up a room for you right near Nat’s room.

Everyone was excited… and nervous. Tony talked about you a lot. He recently stopped because it was too hard knowing you might never wake up.

--- It was strange coming to the tower. You had been there before but couldn’t remember it. Tony told Bruce to bring a wheelchair and he was waiting out by the driveway for you. Everyone was talking when Jarvis said you were here. Tony followed Bruce who was pushing you in the wheelchair.

Pepper opened the door smiling brightly. You side-smiled and shrunk in the chair, noticing everyone was watching you. They were all intimidating. Pepper let you all in and Tony introduced you to everyone. It was nerve-wracking.

They all sat and waved to you as each of there names were called. The one you noticed right away was watching you quietly with a curious expression. He was in the corner with… Steve? Like you would ever remember their names. It seems impossible. “okay… so… what does everyone want to eat?” Tony says excitedly.

Bruce knew about your diet and decided to make you a smoothie… it was delicious. “Can I go to my room now?” your voice was soft and raspy. Tony took you towards your new quarters. You had to get new clothes but didn’t think of it. You just were exhausted. You got up slowly from the wheelchair and sat on the bed. You laid down on your side your back facing your doorway. Curling up in a ball you fell asleep. Tony was worried you’d fall into a coma again, even though he knew that it was impossible. He watched you sleep and walked up to your bed and slipped the blanket from the foot of the bed, on top of you.

--- Bucky watched you curiously over the next few weeks. You had gained some strength back, and finished physical therapy… Tony let you practice some things in the gym. Nat helped you do some yoga which helped stretch your neglected muscles.

Bucky watched you stretch. You smiled at him as you thought he was staring. He was gorgeous, bright blue eyes, shoulder length dark hair, slight five o’clock shadow, and a shiny arm?

The memory of the winter soldier was gone… you just knew Bucky. He was nice and helped you whenever your feet were unsteady.

Slowly your appetite came back and you were able to enjoy solid foods again. Even though you had a lot of smoothies, You enjoyed having them every morning with some cinnamon toast.

You were still more quiet and kept to yourself, Tony missed your loudness… Bruce let you help him in the lab and you enjoyed it. You laughed at something he said about Tony doing something stupid. “Another great idea Tony!” he smiled as you said that. “Yeah he always thinks he’s so smart…” You glance around the lab, swearing you had seen Bucky outside.

“Bruce… what is wrong with Bucky’s arm? Is it like a cast or something?” You were curious. Bruce frowned and scratched his chin. Well… it’s actually his new arm. Tony helped fix it up to make it work better than his previous one. You raise an eyebrow. “huh?”

“Oh he lost his arm got captured by hydra, was made into the winter soldier then Steve found him… now he’s here back on our side.”

“Oh… okay.” You pretended to understand which was not true at all… now you were even more confused.

--- Since your strength is coming back you head for the gym. You keep an eye out for a certain supersoldier.

You grab a jump rope and start jump roping. This was good exercise and Bruce even said that it would help ease your body back to shape.

Bucky came thru the gym door, talking with Steve when he saw you with that damn jumprope. You were a goddess who was tugging on his heart strings even though you didn’t know it.

Steve smiled at Bucky, he knew that Bucky felt something for you. “Go… go to her.” “I can’t.” He freezes and looks at Steve.

“Damn it Bucky. She doesn’t remember your hydra past… only knows you now. Go. Or. I. Will.”

You stop jumping rope and grab your hand towel wiping your sweaty forehead and face. Sometimes your sweat would go into your eyes and so it stung… you didn’t want that to happen so you made sure to stop and wipe your face whenever you needed to. You open your water bottle and chug it down. Man you were so thirsty and now kinda hungry. You sigh and grab your stuff heading to the locker room. Luckily the showers had curtains so you didn’t worry about one of the guys seeing you naked.

After your shower and getting dressed you grab your bag and walk out of the room. In the corner you see your knight in shining armor. He was hitting, punching, and kicking the sand bag while Steve was near him on a weight machine.

“You might want to close your mouth…” Nat chuckled.  Your cheeks burnt and you knew you were blushing.

“You want to go have some lunch? I think Clint said he was making BLTs today.” “Well yeah… of course! Thanks.”

--- In the kitchen you watched Clint make bacon, Sam cut up the tomatoes, Pepper got out some lettuce, and Tony grabbed some cheese from the fridge.

“I got some extra sharp cheddar slices for ya, y/n! Since you always like that on your sandwiches.”

“thanks.” You wondered if Bucky and Steve would come and eat with you. “You okay kid?” Tony said as he set the cheese slices on a plate.

“Yeah. Just tired. I know, I know… I shouldn’t be tired after sleeping for a year but I still am exhausted. Is that weird? But I’m starving right now. But I might just take a nap after lunch. Sorry if I’m a debby-downer.” You shrugged and looked at the counter.

“Hey. It’s fine. I’m just glad your back and starting to be your old self.” He smiles and comes around the counter and gives you a side hug.

--- After lunch you took a nap. Bruce had told you that it would take while for your body to heal. So resting was for the best.

You slept for two hours until there was a knock at the door. The door opens and you see the two super soldiers out in the hallway. You rub your eyes and stretch sleepily. “ummm… hi?”

Steve clears his throat and practically shoves Bucky in your room. Steve blocks the doorway so Bucky can’t escape. “Tell her.” He crossed his arms and motioned for Bucky to talk to you.

“Um… well I just wanted to thank you for treating me like a normal person and not the winter soldier.” He scratches the back of his neck as you sit up on your bed motioning for him to sit and keep talking.

You smile at him. “um… truthfully I didn’t know or remember the winter soldier. I did look up some stuff… but it’s not you. You’re not him. You’re Bucky!”

Bucky smiled and motioned for Steve to leave, as Bucky sat on your bed near you. “Thanks… um… you’re very pretty, Doll.” He looks down and back up to you.

“Oh…” You blush and tilt your head. “You’re pretty too.” You shake your head. “I mean you’re handsome, but I’m sure your girlfriend tells you that all the time.”

Bucky frowns at this and combs one of your stray hairs behind your ear. He leans closer to you and whispers, “I don’t have a girlfriend. Dames don’t really like me. I’m not like I was in the past, when Steve was the smaller one. I was a bit of a flirt back then.” You giggle and look down tugging on an invisible string on your shirt.

“thanks Bucky, you’re very sweet. I don’t understand why no one would like you. I mean I like you a lot. Is that weird?”

Bucky’s smile grows bigger. “Doll if it’s you, then I like that. You’re pretty fantastic yourself. I… I like you a lot too… more than friends.” He nervously looked into your eyes. “Buck. Me too.” He smiles and holds out his hand.

You shake your head. “No…your metal one. Is that okay?”

Bucky’s elated that you would prefer his other arm.  “okay… whatever you want. I’ll do anything for you, Doll.”

He stands up and helps you up. You continue to hold his left hand.

As you walk out of your room and into the hallway you’re bombarded by questions. “Are you two official?”… “Are you together?” …”Finally! I knew you two would hit it off!”

You look up at Bucky and whisper, he bends down to hear you. “Are we officially a couple? If not it’s totally okay, I mean I get it. I was in a coma, I’m still not like how I was before and I’m …”

He grabs your waist and pulls you closer and leans down and puts his flesh hand on your cheek rubbing your chin with his thumb. He lifts your face closer and his lips meet yours. You stiffen at the touch but suddenly melt into his touch. You put your arms around his neck and continue kissing him. He bites your lower lip and rubs his tongue over it. Oh God what else can he do with his tongue? You both break for air and touch forehead to forehead. “Does that answer your question?” He pulls back and you let go of his neck but go back to holding his metal hand.

Tony is not amused. He still doesn’t trust Bucky, especially around you. Maybe he’s jealous and misses being with his little cousin… he knows you’ll be around Bucky more than ever and it worries him.

Pepper notices Tony’s stance and she whispers, “She’ll be fine. She’s a big girl, she can take care of herself. You’ve seen the progress she’s made in the gym. She can give him a run for his money!” She lightly chuckled but Tony just glared at Bucky. “She’s my favorite person next to you, and just want her to be safe.”

You frown at Tony and shrug at Bucky who seems to be glaring at Tony.

“Come on boys… I’m a big girl. I lo… I really like Bucky, I’m sorry if that upsets you Cuz!” phew that was close you almost said you loved Bucky… but would he ever feel that way towards you? Probably not since Tony doesn’t seem to like him.

Later on after some awkward silence, Clint and Sam suggested to order pizza and have a movie night. There were some movies that you had yet to see. Bucky and you were on the couch. Pepper gave you a blanket which you gladly took and snuggled closer to Bucky, letting the blanket fall on both of you. You leaned on his shoulder and got comfortable.

You don’t remember much about the movie. The pizza was good, really good, how long had it been since you had pizza? Your hand was on Bucky’s chest drawing lazy circles around it. Bucky sighed and held his arm around you, pulling you closer, he kissed you on the top of your head. You soon drifted off to slumber land.

---Bucky’s POV

I started combing my metal fingers thru her beautiful hair and rubbing her back with my flesh arm. Y/n moaned lightly at my touch. This made me smile and wonder what other sounds I could get her to make…

*Bucky don’t…she’s not like that she’s more innocent. Oh God now I’m fucking talking to myself in my own head! Man she’s so beautiful and she seems to enjoy having me around. I haven’t felt this way since high school. How is this possible I barely know her yet I want her, need her, crave her touch, her lips against mine. Oh shit, everyone’s looking at me! Did they say something, ask something? Shit. Shit. Shit.*

“Sorry, what?” my voice comes out gruffer then I want it to be.  Steve, Sam, and Nat smirk at me.  “I said that she’s fallen asleep.” Steve replies calmly.

“I’m not going to wake her, Stevie!” Again with the gruff voice… why is this happening? Steve shrugs and turns to watch the movie. I try to watch it but can’t help but look down at the beautiful goddess asleep on my chest. She’s warm, feels like home. How is it possible that one person can make me feel like I’m not worthless, that I’m a good guy?

[omgnsfwisnsfw-blog]

5: Nice Catch!

The housekeeper had drawn the short straw on Sunday morning. It was 10am and thus time for the occupants of these motel rooms to vacate. She went through the motions as she pushed her cart of cleaning chemicals, rags, and motel room necessities (including a spice candle she liked to light to drive away any of the more pungent odors) down the row. Her ‘gold’ name tag that read Mary glimmered in the sunlight. Something out of the ordinary made her pause the music streaming from her cellphone. Room 126’s door was completely open. The sturdy door’s bronze chain clattered against it in the gentle breeze. She apprehensively peeked inside. The room was as if no one had been in here at all. It was a total reset. The bed was neatly made. No wet towels on the floor. No suspicious tissues in the trash bin. Just nothing out of normal. Except that wasn’t totally true. She observed that the right hand side night stand drawer was open and its previous contents were missing. John’s favorite shoes hit the pavement - one in front of the other - and very carefully inside the solid white line that separated him from thousands of pounds of steel repeatedly passing him. His blue gym bag swung too and fro from his side in rhythm to his steps. It had been three days since he had turned over the vehicle into the hands of Mike Maguire. She had told him that there was a motel about two miles from her shop and offered to call him a ride. He had declined in a polite fashion, left her his phone number, and departed on foot. He disappeared into the darkness and perhaps Mike wondered if she was suffering from a fever. From there, he went inwards. The book with no cover ended up being rather trite. A love story with very little love at all. He would have probably guessed that the cover was illustrated to show a man with long luxurious blonde locks and chiseled bare chest. Perhaps on a horse. There was a lot of allusions to animals in there - rutting like animals, it said. John closed the book and tossed it back into his bag with little thought. On the second day of seclusion, someone who represented his employer, the mustached man, insisted that they were onto something. The previous session had netted over two million views and a whirlwind of positivity - ultimately they clamored for more. In the text message, he provided credentials for an official account and that he should just go live every once in a while and tell the world what he was thinking about. John didn’t understand why anyone would care but he wasn’t about to argue at this point. Nothing came to him that day but on the third day, his mind opened up with something to share. The shop’s sign was now just in view as he pressed the little F icon and then the button to go ‘live’. The picture from the phone’s camera jumped up and down as held it front of his face at arm’s length. “Good morning all.” A semi-truck whizzed past him - a little close for comfort. He danced sideways off of the pavement all while trying to maintain the shot. “Maybe this isn’t very safe to do. Anyway, I am on my way to see you all and I wanted to make more of an effort to share myself.” John stepped back onto the pavement and continued walking towards the shop. He had contemplated what just to say. John was listening to them. So far they said the same thing and as always it was a total character assassination. John had built the garden for that very purpose and as much as he liked to visit — there was only one way in. “Combat sports are no doubt fueled by aggression and so it is no surprise that the overwhelming traits are anger and hatred for one’s fellow man. So I am sorry that a warrior feels the way that he does. I hope that he finds peace in his soul. What he said was meant to provoke a response. And so I ask everyone I am sharing this with now, what should I say? Should I dispute what he said? Should I jump to the defense of the other man in this equation?” John shook his head. “There really isn’t the need. There is only one thing I need to convince him of. He needs to ask himself what truly will be the intrinsic entertainment value of what could happen that night? Will the boredom seep through his body as both of his carotid arteries are compressed? What will his mind consider enjoyable as it goes through cerebral ischemia? And through that would he learn a great lesson: if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.” The corner of his mouth turned up into a brief smirk before returning to his normal … almost blank expression. “Today and what it is — well that is not lost on me and I don’t want to waste any more of your time so I will leave you with this: A deer cannot eat hay. I found that interesting.” John turned off the live feed and pocketed his phone. He quickly crossed the road and entered the parking lot of the auto body shop. He observed that the only car in the front lot was a loud yellow sports car. It had white fuzzy dice hanging from the rear view mirror. He had received a voicemail yesterday afternoon about the completion of a repair but hadn’t felt like communicating with anyone that day. He pulled on the handle of the shop door and surprisingly it opened. He hadn’t noticed the other day the loud chime that was omitted throughout the shop when the door was opened and faintly he could hear the same noise echoing throughout the attached garage. He set his gym bag on the red plastic chair and waited patiently with his hands in his jeans pockets. A voice cut through the silence, “Ay, we’re not open today. This an emergency?” John thought about that for a moment and posed in a raised but still calm tone, “What really constitutes an emergency?” “Oh, it’s you…” A few moments passed. He could hear metal clanking and finally the owner of the shop entered the shop floor. She was not in uniform and instead wore the same baseball cap, a green and white jersey with the number 3 on it, a pair of oil-stained baggy jeans, and a pair of work boots. How come you’re just comin’ in now? Messaged you yesterday.” “Your door was open.” “Yeah, that was my bad. Forgot to lock it after me.” “I can come back tomorrow. I didn’t realize what day it was until a little while ago,” for John, time seemed to blur and it was difficult to understand that other people kept different schedules than him. “Nah, you’re fine. Just wasn’t expectin’ much of a rush today, so I took the opportunity to just catch up on some stuff around here.” John looked at her with a blank expression perhaps not understanding the ebb and flow of small talk, “I read a book this morning. I never really liked it before but his last message certainly was inspiring. He said to spread the good news to everyone and everywhere.” The woman looked at him in a confused manner before smiling at him and then to the area where she kept all of the completed work orders. She looked back up at John as she found the clear folder with the order and keys, “Anywho. Your car’s all shipshape an’ seaworthy. Was about three hours work, so… seventy-five for the rim repair, same for a new tire, and ninety per hour for yours truly… I’ll call it an even four hundred. Just try to be more careful in the future, yeah? That coulda been a heckuva lot worse. Could’ve wrecked your axle, not to mention your whole suspension.” John reached into the envelope and dumped the remaining contents of it onto the counter: 12 one dollar bills, 1 quarter, and three pennies. John looked at the funds and then back up at Mike. He guessed that the rest of his bonus had gone towards the motel room, “That’s, uh, what I have.” “Well, I take credit, you know. You got a Visa? MasterCard? Anything like that?” John held up one finger to Mike and then retrieved his wallet. He held it open. On the forefront, it contained only his recently issued New Mexico driver’s license. He slipped his fingers under the clear holder and retrieved a credit card. “This card has credit for a free meal at Shoney’s. They burnt my toast last week. I think it’s only good for the one in Fort Myers.” “Hmm,” She tapped her chin, a slightly wry smile slowly crossed her lips, “What were you doin’ out there?” “Well, having breakfast.” “At Shoney’s, yeah. But what else? Sure you didn’t go all the way down there just for toast an’ jam with Shoney Bear.” “Oh, I started a new job. I haven’t officially got paid yet and I don’t know if I’m very good at it. They gave me that envelope a few days ago in Atlanta but I think they were handing them out to everyone.” That wry smile grew just a bit bigger, a spark of recognition flashing in her eyes. “You, um, mind tellin’ me what that new job is? Just outta curiosity.” “I fight people…” John said that quietly, “ … I have to be in Pittsburgh next. I’m a little early, sure, but I don’t mind,” at this point he started to talk himself as if the orange-haired woman was not there,“and they said I should open a bank account but I’m not sure that I would like that very much. It’s almost like it doesn’t exist. How can I trust 0s and 1s?” “I thought so,” that wry smile turned into a bit of a warmer one, a kind smile that seemed both clashing and complementary to the woman’s rough exterior, “I think I know who you are. Saw you on the internet. That video was freakin’ great. And… heh. I used to fight people too. We got that much in common.” He pointed at the picture above her. “So that’s you?” She gave a big fat grin. “Yep.” “Cool,” John looked at the bill nervously, “So I don’t have any way to pay this but I signed a piece of paper and they have to give me more if I show up I think. I know this sounds lame but can I get an IOU?”he reached into the wallet and lifted out a pair of tickets stamped ‘Monday Night Brawl’ where the money would be, “oh, they gave me these. I don’t know why I got these because I’m going to be working there. Maybe if you show up I can pay you after its over.” “Sweet! Okay, Mister Bishop Church, you got yourself a deal. But you better not try an’ welch on me. I got a punch that can lay out guys bigger than YOU,” she grinned playfully. He slid the tickets over the counter. She grabbed them, looked at them intently, and slipped them in her back pocket. “Your ride’s around back. I’ll go unlock the gate for ya.” She fished out the keys from the clear folder and tossed the keys to John. He snatched them out of the air with one hand. “Nice catch!” He grabbed his gym bag from the chair and slung it over his shoulder. And once again, John followed Mike out.