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jodilin65 · 16 years ago

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SUNDAY, AUGUST 31, 2008 Tom showed me this really cool thing on Google Maps. It tells you the distance between one point to another, as well as the height. Jesse’s 80’ higher than us while the renters in back are 60’ lower. If you drew a line straight from our place to Jesse’s, he’s 271’ away. The renters are over 300’ away, and the people up the hill in back with the goats are over 400’ away. I was surprised to learn that they’re a little lower than Jesse. I thought they were at the highest point from which we can see from our place.

Speaking of Jesse, Tom ran into him on his way out yesterday. I’m surprised it took this long to run into each other. Jesse was in his truck. They just said hello and that was it.

I’ve been thinking of Randy a lot lately. What was it about him that charmed me so? I really miss him at times. I didn’t know much about him, but there was just something about him. For someone who’s more than predominantly been attracted to women, there have only been about half a dozen guys I ever thought were halfway decent looking, including Tom, of course. Randy was tall and wiry. At least 6�� tall or taller. He had thick wavy gray hair, a mustache and light eyes. I never could decide if he was in his late 40s or early 50s. I don’t know if we’d have gotten along as well had we been friends or anything more. Despite his friendliness and easygoing manner, I sensed not so much an underlying hardness about him, but I got the feeling that he wasn’t a very sensitive guy for the most part. I don’t think most of them are, though, anyway.

SATURDAY, AUGUST 30, 2008 I won a $575 Shaw laminate flooring GC in an instant sweep a few hours ago! The question is, does it have to be used for that only? I sent them an email, so we’ll see. They’re going to send an affy of course, which hopefully won’t require notarization or include a tax form. If it has to be flooring only, we could either redo the floors here, give it to Jesse for a rent deduction, or see if Jessie wants to buy it, or sell it online. We’ll see what Tom thinks when he gets up in a few more hours.

The renters didn’t get trigger-happy last week. I don’t know if it was my prayers or someone talking to them that helped, but I’m glad they skipped a week of target practice!

FRIDAY, AUGUST 29, 2008 Jessie said she’d be in Las Vegas in January (a good time to go there since that’s when her weather will be at its shittiest) and asked how far we were from there. Well, we’re 371 miles away, but as I reminded her, the western states are huge. I still hope she can either get here or we can meet her there. That’d be totally awesome!

How do you explain this? I woke up at 144.0 yesterday and said screw it! I took a day off of dieting and ate whenever I was hungry and then some. Yet today I woke up at 142.8!

I had horrible dreams of losing the place, only “the place” was a huge two-story house and so was Jesse’s, and it was on a circular drive. In the dream, I asked Tom if he thought Jesse would accept $825 worth of stuff as payment, was wondering if we should just kill ourselves, and ugh! Just the usual nightmare I have at times. I just hope it’s just that – a nightmare – and not some ominous warning of trouble ahead.

So I’m a bit stressed, though certainly not like in the motel. I hope to hell it doesn’t come to that point either! Tom says we’ll be fine. I’ve been praying every day as well.

I woke up several times during my sleep, afraid I’d get “shot awake.” I noticed that they do their shooting at the end of the week. Twice on Thursday, once on Friday. So far all I’ve heard, though, is this obnoxious dog in the middle of the night that’s almost as loud as Jesse’s.

Tom worked a full shift and will be working tomorrow too, in case he has to take days off next week. I just hope he gets a new job like yesterday!

Jesse may be a bit of a pest and a bit on the dumb side, but when you think about it, he’s just what we wanted. A seemingly easy-going guy who’d probably work with us if we had a problem. This sure beats a management company that treats everyone the same and could care less if all your loved ones dropped dead and you ended up paralyzed or blind or whatever.

The queen is 85 today. Just another year or two and you’re going belly-up, bitch! What mixed emotions Mary and Dave must have about that idea. At last, their “child” will be gone and they can have the whole house to themselves.

THURSDAY, AUGUST 28, 2008 Tom was able to work another full day, though he says he wouldn’t mind having Friday off so he could have a 4-day weekend.

Next week is when he really expects to if not start a new job, then at least get interviews, explaining that after Labor Day is a good time to get jobs since the high school and college kids that have summer jobs return to school.

Wish I had more to write about, but I don’t. Hey, no news is good news! Usually. Guess I’ll go work on my story a little and watch a couple of movies.

WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 27, 2008 Although they sent some people home early today, Tom wasn’t one of them, thank God. This still doesn’t ease my worries. Not until and if we can make it long enough to see him in a new job. I woke up just 4 hours into my sleep stressed out at the thought of him being sent home early.

We were going to list a Barbie lot tonight on eBay, then one tomorrow, but Tom had to stop and play Fix-it instead. He got a hole in one of his tires which he thinks was caused by a nail, and now there’s a corrupt spot on the hard drive of the computer that operates the cooler. Naturally, this has me worried that if something up there wants us back on the path to financial ruin, that part of guiding us onto this path means it’s going to have things break that cost money. So far nothing’s cost us, but it could be a matter of time.

I asked Tom what he thought about Mary’s case and if he thought she’d go home at sentencing or if the state would get its way with the 15 years. He said he thinks she’ll end up with something between the two, saying that the state usually asks for more than they expect to get while the defense lawyers ask for less. So what made the DA in my case so lucky that she got what she asked for? Gee, maybe the defendant was a white Jew! So I guess that she’d be out sometime next year if she got the in-between, but no later than 2010. I’d hate to see her transferred to prison, even though prison can be better than jail in many ways. But it can also be more dangerous, too.

I finally heard from Jessie. She said she’s been busy and dizzy and that her doctors won’t give her a blood test. They’re insisting it’s stress. Yeah, I’m sure the quacks would insist on that. If it is stress, then I guess that means the job isn’t going well. She didn’t say. I’ve asked several times, but it’s like she likes to keep me wondering and guessing or something.

At least I know she’s still alive, but I’m still completely in the dark where Paula’s concerned. As for my folks, they’ve never wanted much to do with their “crazy” daughter, so there’s no mystery there.

Although I just won a $10 Red Robin restaurant GC, I’m thinking of seriously cutting back on the sweeps. There’s just no point in working so hard for so little. Same with the diet. Why be so hungry just to lose a pound that keeps coming back? I awoke at 142.0. How do you gain nearly 2 pounds from a tuna sandwich and an 80-calorie muffin? I was 142.8 after I ate them. I’m simply too old to lose weight without starving and it’s just not worth it. I’m big, this is me, and so be it.

Brownie had finally smartened up and learned that if he doesn’t go home when I tell him to, he doesn’t get let out for a few days. Yet earlier when I was cleaning their cage, they both gave me a hard time, so they’re not going anywhere for a while.

Speaking of things not working, that damn Freecorder quits working every time I reboot the laptop on which I play my radio, so I guess I just won’t record songs for a while. Nothing works with Vista and when it does it doesn’t work for long!

I don’t know how long this will work in XP on the Mac, but we downloaded a counter and installed it on my Kiwi profile page to tell me how many people view that page. So far there’s been 4 in the last few hours.

MONDAY, AUGUST 25, 2008 I can’t write much right now because I’m pretty stressed out. Mr. Everything’s Going to be Okay was sent home two hours early due to lack of work, and being naïvely optimistic as he is, he’s telling me everything is going to be ok and that after Labor Day, which he forgot about, he’ll get a new job closer to home and I can get to a dentist for these fucking teeth that are hurting like hell, etc. But after the nightmares we’ve been through it’s hard for me not to be worried and paranoid, afraid the past is once again reaching out to haunt us. I’ve been praying every day for God to protect us from yet another financial crisis, but I know that if He can fail to care about us in the past, he can choose not to care now, too. I’d like to think He feels we’ve had enough already of being beaten over the head financially, but I can’t count on that. He’s been my enemy as much as He’s been my friend. Nothing up there curses someone with both a sleep disorder and a driving phobia if they want them to be financially comfortable. Instead, we’re two people trying to survive on one income. Tom says we’ve gotten by in the past and we’ll get by again, but the point is that I don’t want to spend half our lives barely making it! I know we’ve got the money for September’s rent, but what about October? He says it won’t be a problem, but what if he’s wrong? And why can’t I just live in the moment? We’re not faced with homelessness right now, so why can’t I just relax and enjoy life until and if there ever really is another crisis? Arrrggghhh!

All I know is this – I’m not going on the streets! I may be forced to play poor-assed bum, but I’ll totally kill myself before I hit the streets. This is as cheap as it gets, so if we lost this place there’d be no place to go! I also know that something up there has been obsessed with me being in places I don’t want to be throughout most of my life, and despite the few flaws here, this is the best place I’ve ever lived, and oh my God! I’ve got a damn good idea! Back in a sec.

Tom and I talked about this before, back in the motel, and have decided to actually do it instead of just talk about it. We’re going to save up $1500 or so and get an RV as a backup. That way if the absolute worst-case scenario occurred and we couldn’t live here, we could load that up, throw our stuff in storage, then live in that for a while. The question is, can we survive long enough to get it? If only my teeth didn’t need so much work!

There is some good news and that’s that I’m down to 141.4. I thought this 1000-calorie diet had stopped working, but I guess it hasn’t. I have no idea how much more I’ll lose. Guess we’ll just have to wait and see how hard it is. Some days are certainly better than others. I’ve been taking multivitamins to help keep from feeling rundown, being stuck, and all those other things that go with dieting.

SUNDAY, AUGUST 24, 2008 And now I’m up almost a whole pound. I did splurge a little yesterday, but only a little. Fortunately, I’m not that hungry today.

Thanks to Tom’s accumulation of Coke reward points, I’m getting a new $40 Oakley messenger bag! At least I think it’s a messenger bag. It’s a bright red Oakley Girl Bag. It also says “swivel mid,” whatever that means. The “mid” must mean it’s a mid-size bag, but it’s awfully big for a mid-size. The pocketbook Nervous got me a million years ago is 9” long and 6” tall, but this one’s 15” long and 10” tall. My current black pocketbook only has two compartments, plus an inner and outer pocket. This one has 3 outer pockets and an inner one. It’s definitely roomy and capable of holding larger items like books.

Their pink metallic Hobo bag was actually the prettiest, but it’s way too small. Smaller than the one I’ve got now.

Later…

Scratch that red messenger bag. In the end, I decided on the Petite Pouchette Medium Hobo bag in pale metallic bronze by Nine West Handbags. It’s a $32 bag and will be here by September 4th. It has an inner pocket and two outer pockets and is almost 14” long and just over 9” tall. It’s ¼” wider than that big messenger bag would’ve been at 4.25”.

At 1:30 yesterday morning, then again at 5:00 a few hours later, I heard this obnoxious barking from down the hill. Heard it before midnight, too. It totally fucking figures, huh? I mean, it just so totally fucking figures! As soon as we get here, in comes this shit. I’m sure I’ll get shot awake at some point this week, too. If I didn’t know any better I’d hope they moved or got evicted, but I do know better. I know that even if they did leave, the same old shit would move right in to replace them. I’m just glad I can’t hear the barking during the daytime. The shooting is bad enough, and I doubt talking to them will help. People like that just don’t respond to words.

A couple of nights ago at around 11:00, I was going to pee when I heard shouts coming from down there. The good thing about it was that it was so faint. You had to literally stick your face in the open window by the toilet to hear anything. I couldn’t tell if they were fighting or just goofing around, but I could certainly tell that I wouldn’t want them living a driveway away, let alone a wall away! I even smiled at the fact that they’re as far away as they are.

SATURDAY, AUGUST 23, 2008 Got a letter from Mary, obviously sent before she could’ve gotten the trailer picture, or hopefully gotten it. She asked that I email her attorney a character reference letter, which I was more than happy to do, even though I don’t see how it’ll help. They didn’t help me, but this isn’t a case of blacks against whites in Arizona either, where blacks are favored by the law. I still don’t think character references help many defendants no matter what they’re charged with, who they are or where they are, and especially not in a case such as hers. If anything she stands less of a chance than I did. On the other hand, the only “character reference” I got was from Miss Perfect in my case. I would think Mary could get dozens of character references.

What I don’t get is how it can help even if the judge were to be impressed with what people have to say about her. She says the DA is trying to get her 15 years while her lawyer’s trying to get her home at sentencing after 10 years. But even if she gets 15 years, has already been there since 2000, and gets a year off for every 3 she’s done, then wouldn’t her sentence be up even if the DA gets his way?

I just hope she stays away from her mother and abusive men whenever the hell she does get out, and that she has no more children. She may love kids, but she’s lost enough of her life as it is. Not only could she do the world a favor by not contributing to the overpopulation problem that’s getting out of hand, but she deserves some freedom for once. But she hasn’t had sex since she was 23, she’s still fairly young at almost 31 years old and hasn’t any discriminations.

Meanwhile, everyone else is disappearing on me. This is the longest time I’ve gone without hearing from both Paula and Jessie. I hope nothing’s wrong with Jessie! As for Paula, she’s definitely got to be either in jail or worse. Worse as in sick, hurt or dead. But my news search has turned up nothing. If she really were dead, that doesn’t necessarily mean it would be mentioned online, though. People pay for obituaries, and I can’t imagine anyone paying for an obituary for her if she really is dead. All I know is that while she may hate to write, she wouldn’t go this long without calling unless something was wrong.

It’s been a month since Jessie’s emailed me and she usually doesn’t go longer than two weeks. My guess is that she’s got job and maybe even man problems. Maybe her hubby had a relapse. Hopefully, nothing’s wrong with her kids.

It’s kind of weird. First my parents disappear, then Paula, now Jessie. That’s a lot of people to have disappeared from your life. I hope Mary won’t be next!

I jumped up two-tenths of a pound to 142.0, and am kind of taking the day off. Everybody needs at least one day off a week from dieting so long as they don’t veer too far off track. I’ve been incredibly hungry! So hungry that there’s not much I can do about it, but wait it out. This is because I let myself get so damn hungry that nothing I eat satisfies me. But I’m also no longer used to shoveling in large quantities of food anymore, so I just try to find a reasonable balance somewhere in between.

FRIDAY, AUGUST 22, 2008 I’m still being woken up at times by that damn motorcycle if he revs it up when I’m lying on my good ear. The way the sound reverberates underneath the house is really fucking annoying. So instead of running the sound machine through the stereo, I created white noise on the stereo by having it on a radio station that isn’t on a radio station. Then, so I have both high and low pitches, I put the sound machine on the bed and will play that on the lowest sound it can make. I’m sure my sleep will still be as cursed as it has been since 1992, but I like to try new things anyway. The problem with the sound machine or the white noise alone is that it doesn’t have a wide range of pitches and so that’s why I need to run both. I need higher pitches to drown out movement Tom may make inside the house, and lower pitches to override the rumbling of that fucking motorcycle.

The good news is that I’m down to 141.8 pounds. I hadn’t bothered dieting for a while and so my usual monthly high was 147.something right before my period, and 142.something right after it. Then I went back on my homemade “Timer Diet,” where I eat 5 times a day with 3-hour intervals in between. All but one of the things I eat has to be 125 calories or less, then I can have whatever I want for a main meal and beverages. I’ve been having 2 fruit cups, 2 low-cal muffins, and a generous TV dinner. I was 147.something 4 days ago, then for 3 days in a row, I was 142.6. Each month, if I can get my monthly high to be my old monthly low, then I’ve got it made. So that means that right before my next period which is due September 11th, I don’t want to be over 142.6 pounds.

I’ve also been jogging through the place in combination with bouncing on my exercise ball for about 20 minutes a day. The good thing about it is knowing that I dropped my weight. Not a poverty spell, not some evil foster mother, nor any nasty jail food, but me! I did this myself.

THURSDAY, AUGUST 21, 2008 My day wasn’t off to a great start. After 6 failed attempts to boot into Windows, I jumped over to OSX for a while. Then I couldn’t figure out how to get back into Windows. Once I finally remembered, it took me two tries before I made it in. There are so many things I hate and love about Windows and OSX. I wish I could have it all in one reliable place! I hate computers as much as I love them and haven’t been able to imagine life without them since ’93.

Our weekly shoot-out began at 6:00 this evening and lasted about 15 minutes. This time I spoke with Jesse, and as it turns out, he’s not such a bad guy, just dumb at times. Unfortunately, though, he didn’t hear the shots because he’d just walked in the door when I called which was several minutes after the last round of shots.

No, there isn’t a hunting season around here, so no, they shouldn’t be shooting, he says. He said we may hear shots on July 4th or New Year’s Eve, but there hasn’t been a problem since a long time ago when some renter in back was shooting and the neighbors, also renters, called the cops on them. Well, as I told him, I don’t scare easily, but this makes me nervous because I worry that they’re going to hit the house. We don’t know if they know what they’re doing or if they’re just a bunch of drunks without a care in the world for those around them. They must not care that much since they’re shooting in the first place, experienced and sober or not. This is the kind of racket you make in the city, so what they’re doing out here is a mystery to me.

Jesse said he’d go and talk to the renters, which he did before coming to talk to me. The renters behind the bedroom side of our place said that new renters next to them, which would be behind the kitchen end of the place, recently moved in and they were the ones doing the shooting (funny how they move in right after we do). So anyway, Jesse’s going to have a talk with them. He said something about finding his dog down there one time where his property line ends. He said he’s the only one in this area with 9 acres (we jumped up an acre) and that the other parcels are smaller. So there are a lot of rentals in back. Another curse we still can’t escape; having to live with evil renters. I’m just glad these aren’t just a few feet away, and I hope the shooting stops soon! He also said the shooters have 3 or 4 dogs, which explains the increase in nighttime and early morning barking Tom insists has been coming from in back. Again, ain’t it funny how trouble moves in if we don’t move in with it first? Jesse says he tries to keep his dogs quiet but hasn’t much luck with that when there’s a full moon because that’s when more things come out.

He said to call the cops if it ever got bad, not that I’d ever want to call those corrupt things. Speaking of those little corruptos, one came knocking on Jesse’s door at 2am the other night, looking for someone. He asked if the cops were here. Fortunately not. What was weird was that the pig walked up rather than drove up. At that hour it sounds like someone must’ve escaped from jail or something. Or a drunk driver booked and ran.

Anyway, I appreciate his taking care of this situation, or at least trying to. As pesty as he can be, and despite the shooting, I’d still rather be here than in the city. I feel like we’re less alone with him just up the hill. So even though I’d still rather have a house of our own, I can’t believe he wouldn’t work with us if there ever was a financial crisis again, though I sure as hell hope there isn’t! Also, it’s hard to believe he wouldn’t put us up in a motel or in a room in his house if something ever went wrong with this place. I even told Jesse I wouldn’t mind being here forever if I never won enough money to buy a house of our own. That got me thinking, too. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could one day buy this section of land from him if we really couldn’t ever buy our own place? I wonder if he’d be willing to work out some kind of payment plan with us. Then once the land was paid for, maybe we could build or buy something newer and nicer and have this old trailer hauled out.

What I don’t get is why I can never see any lights glowing in back at night. Especially when there’s no moon. It’s cool that I can’t, though, as I like it pitch black at night.

I’m also wondering about some of the night sounds we’ve been hearing. We always write them off as animals, but what if the time Tom said it sounded like something was walking across the boards in back was really them spying? What if they drove or walked up the little road that leads to the drive, then walked down here when there was just enough moonlight to see their way around, but not enough to be spotted?

He said the water’s now drinkable, which is good cuz I like to have the option of both bottled and tap water. He said he went down and checked and that the well was doing better. But pests will be pests, so that means he’ll still be coming around. He’s going to install a water filter (yeah I knew there’d be something else once the well was working better), plus he’ll be down in a couple of weeks to finish the roof. Says he’s got to cut the metal sheets first.

I gave him our cell number and explained why that would be the best number to call for non-emergencies, though I’m not sure he gets it. We’ll just have to wait and see.

WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 20, 2008 In the 3 years and 3 months I’ve been sweeping, I’ve had 6 big wins. A Caribbean cruise, $2500, a trip to Italy, a large high-def TV, $9000, and a 3K Apple shopping spree. That’s an average of one big win every 6 months. So I hope this means I’ll win big again before the year is out, seeing that I won the Apple shopping spree in May. I wasn’t notified till June, though.

TUESDAY, AUGUST 19, 2008 Got a surprisingly generous coffee sample from Starbucks. This sample will easily make about 10 cups! I’ve joined a sample site and so every day I sign up to receive free samples in the mail.

I learned how to do headers in my tell-all journal in my word processor so I could set it up to display entry titles (it centers and bolds the text). It doesn’t open that day when you click on it, though, since it’s all on the same page. I just like the idea of entry titles like on Kiwi. I put them under the dates. I’m going back and doing my entire California journal, but not the others. It’d take forever to go through 20 years’ worth of journals!

Tom doesn’t expect to hear from anyone about jobs until next week. I’m just glad paying September’s rent appears to be no problem! It’s always tough when changing jobs, so unless we’re surprised with him landing a better-paying job than we expect, I’m sure I’ll just move on to worry about October’s rent after that.

So far my top 3 favorite Kiwiers are Jasmine, Alison and RainbowLesbian, whose real name is Jessica. They’re all gay. Well, Alison’s bi. Jasmine and I comment on each other’s journals daily, but Alison and Jessica aren’t online every day. Jessica and I have been reading and commenting more on each other’s journals lately, and she just told me she loves my story journal. I was like, wow, really?! So Alison’s not the only one reading them after all.

It’s hard to believe we’ve been here almost as long as we were in motels! The time really does pass by faster when you’re in a better place.

MONDAY, AUGUST 18, 2008 Once again, I was hungry and homeless in my dreams last night, but at least my allergy problems have stopped. I haven’t taken the snot spray in quite a while now. But are they better because the spells worked, or because whatever was out there causing them has ceased to exist? Hmmm…guess I’ll never know for sure. I’m just glad I’m not sneezing like crazy anymore!

Due to the temperature being down a bit I had to hear a few barking spells. And Tom thought it was a time-of-day thing. I’m still pretty sure it’s a temperature thing, though.

I hate these rats. Not enough to dump them, but I sure miss having sociable rats that like to be handled. These things are just way too timid, and trying to get them to return home after running around loose is next to impossible. I’m not even letting them out today. They’ve really gone and abused that privilege. Maybe if they suffer from being cooped up for a while, they’ll realize that abusing their freedom means they lose it, but these rats are just incredibly dumb for rats. We’ve never had rats this dumb before. They may miss coming out, but they’re hardly suffering in reality. They manage to play and keep themselves entertained at home.

I hope that when Tom gets home in a couple of hours he’ll have emails and even phone calls to tell me about pertaining to new job possibilities. Better yet, I’d love for him to get an actual interview!

SUNDAY, AUGUST 17, 2008 Got a missed call this morning from a blocked number, but Tom says he gets those all the time. I still don’t expect to hear from Andy, but whatever’s meant to be will be. Unless Marla didn’t get the letter, though, perhaps she just has yet to get a hold of him to tell him about it, or maybe he’s taking his time to think about it.

Now that I’ve found this really cool online journal, I don’t have much to say lately. I guess that’s a good thing, though, cuz usually, when I have a lot to say, it’s not very good.

I just hope Tom gets a job real soon and that we get our savings back up. I’d like to always have at least a couple of grand after the rent’s been paid. That way, if the transmission went out on the car or something like that, we’d be covered. If it went out right now, though, we’d be pretty damn screwed.

I just wish I could stop worrying that the past is going to return to haunt us! Nearly losing your life really leaves your emotions pretty tangled up. I’m more appreciative of the good things, but I’m always paranoid and worrying, too. I’m still having “motel nightmares,” and I know it’ll probably be a while before they back off. The same thing happened after jail. I had all kinds of dreams about being stuck back there, and now I’m stuck back in that damn motel room all over again, writing my “death note,” giving details of what happened and family contact info for whoever was to find our bodies.

sighs I think I’ll go try to work on my book for a while.

SATURDAY, AUGUST 16, 2008 Finally, a good win! Not a biggie, but a goodie. I got Flirtatious perfume worth $35. What’s interesting is that the contest ran for a long time, 6 months, and I was the only winner! Guess that’s the difference between a 1½-star non-premium sweep and a 5-star premium sweep. It’s got a nice sweet, sugary smell, and reminds me of cotton candy. I wonder if these are the same people who were supposed to send the Glamourazzi perfume. Maybe they sent this instead by accident, but it doesn’t matter either way, cuz this one smells great.

Tom tried to install and run parallels on my computer so I could use both OSX and Windows, but it corrupted my word processor and we had to reload it. That’s when I said fuck OSX! I’m not going to bother with it at all. I’ll just stick with what’s been working for me, and Tom seems to have solved the boot-up crashing problem I was having. He just needed to update a certain program.

FRIDAY, AUGUST 15, 2008 Another scorching hot day. I wish it was this way year-round. Keeps things quieter, too. Of course, I can’t say what’s been going on at 3am, since I haven’t been up that late in a while. It wouldn’t surprise me, though, if the dogs were going at least a little crazy. I still think it’ll be just the opposite in the winter with the dogs barking during the daytime and quiet at night.

I haven’t been winning much lately which is a real bummer. Is it compensation for winning big a couple of months ago? Or is it compensation for another big win to come?

THURSDAY, AUGUST 14, 2008 Alison gave me positive feedback when reviewing Angel Eyes. I’m surprised she liked it so much! If I had to judge my stories, I’d vote it as one of my worst. Even Tom couldn’t get into it. I’m glad she pointed out the few mistakes I made, too.

I hope the dork up the hill will tell us when he’s switched us back over to the well. Judging by how clear the water in the toilet bowl looks, I’d say there’s a good chance he did. I just wish he’d call to say so if I’m right so I can drink the tap water again, but no, he has to come down in person and bug us that way for everything.

Tom says they’re now short one person on the third shift and that they hope they switch him to it so he’d have more time during the daytime to look for a new job. I can’t believe they even have a third shift still with all the business they’ve lost!

I just hope whatever’s up there won’t let us suffer financially until he does have a new job. I’m tired of money being an issue so often in our lives. Enough is enough!

It was really hot today, around 100º.

WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 13, 2008 Tom passed the DMV test, which is good, but he has to wait till his license is mailed to him. I just hope it doesn’t take long, even though he’s already got proof enough that he’s an Auburn resident and can therefore start hauling shit to the dump. More importantly, I hope he finds a job closer to home with benefits! He can start putting in applications early next week, which he says is the best time to submit them.

TUESDAY, AUGUST 12, 2008 I still do what I’ve been doing best since we came here – worrying about money. That’s the sucky side of having a tragic experience nearly kill you. While you appreciate things all the more if you survive, you always fear the past is going to return to haunt you. Unless we struck it rich, I think I’ll always worry that we’ll one day be faced with either the streets or death, but at least we’d be a lot more comfortable dying here than on a motel room floor, if God forbid, we were ever cursed enough to have our only other choice be to live on the streets. We could go right here in bed without having to worry about interference as long as we did it at night when Jesse was less likely to show up. I just hope God wouldn’t allow us to ever again be put in such a terrifying predicament! He’s allowed enough shit to happen to us as it is! And I hate to think of what He may be putting Paula through right now. Jessie, on the other hand, is no doubt just busy as hell.

Tom decided to go to the DMV here in Auburn tomorrow, rather than by the Carmichael box today because from what he could see online, he should only have a 10-minute wait. Then on the 15th, he’ll return one last time to Carmichael and close that box out for good. Then he shouldn’t ever again have to go to that area.

I hope I’ll feel better once he’s settled in a new job somewhere and that we don’t struggle too badly until he is! Right now I feel like we’re never going to have any real security in life. If only I could win a few grand right now. Our savings is just about gone so a cash win would help. A fellow Kiwier recommended a couple of paid email/survey sites that really do pay you for your time without telling you that you don’t qualify after you waste time on their surveys, but it doesn’t pay much. Them making Tom lose nearly a week of work really hurt us probably more than he’ll ever admit for fear of me worrying even more. I still fear that money will be a problem for us for the rest of our lives. At least for the most part. If God hadn’t gone and cursed me with such a freak sleep disorder and driving phobia, then we’d probably hardly ever have any problems. None that serious anyway. I still have to wonder, what kind of God does this to a person? Why does He hate me so much to inflict that upon me along with all the other problems I’ve had? I keep thinking there’s got to be a reason, that I’ve got to have done something to deserve it, but I’m not sure what. There are people out there with faults far worse than mine that have much easier lives.

Alison said she’s in the middle of Angel Eyes and likes it very much, and I have another subby for my day-to-day journal.

Later…

I was laying around thinking that it was a bummer that my friends are so far away and that our families are the way they are, not just to help us out of any jams we may get into, but because it makes me feel we’re all the more alone in this world. Tom doesn’t feel as I do, but sometimes I just feel so alone.

Then I burst into tears, not so much because of that, but because feelings of guilt over dumping Andy nearly a decade ago hit me like never before. I’ve had my guilty moments over the years and have thought of contacting him at times, but always figured he wouldn’t want anything to do with me, not that I’d blame him. Walking away from my family was one thing as they were abusive to me, but walking away from Andy simply because he could be annoying at times and we’d grown so different was cruel and I’m sorry I ever did such a thing.

So I searched online, got nothing new in Massachusetts, and 3 addresses I’ve known him to live in Phoenix that I can’t imagine he’d still be at after all these years. That’s when I struggled to remember Marla’s last name. Fortunately, I did and found an address for her in Hayward where I remember her to live. I don’t know if she’s still there, but I decided to send a letter there, letting her know how bad I feel over what I did, and asking that she pass along my contact info. I enclosed my email address and cell number, and of course the address is on the envelope. Not knowing if she’d get the letter, I didn’t go into much of what’s gone on with us but simply said we left Arizona, lived in Oregon, and are now in California. As I told her, if all I could do was say “I’m sorry,” that would be better than nothing even if he chose not to contact me. I asked her to tell him that I love him, think of him a lot, and hope he’s happy and healthy in every way possible.

So what do I think will happen at this point? Well, if Marla gets the letter, I’m pretty sure she’ll pass it on to Andy, but I’m not sure Andy will respond. Guess all I can do is leave that to fate and hope for the best. Maybe add a few prayers, too.

MONDAY, AUGUST 11, 2008 Once again I tried OSX, Mac’s operating system, and once again it sucks. I should’ve known better than to bother paying for its pitiful version of Robo I thought I might be able to fine-tune. We’re going to get the $35 we wasted on it back. It’s only got a couple of cool features like the webcam and the reader. The reader not only reads text right in the document rather than copies it to a clipboard, but it also has some pretty funky voices. One sang a letter I typed to Mary to the tune of Pomp & Circumstance. I also liked how you can put it to sleep rather than shut it down, whereas the best I can do with Windows is hibernate it. Other than that, everything else sucked. I can’t think of one other good thing about it. The things that are normally such simple tasks to perform were either a bitch or totally impossible. You can’t even do color schemes or change cursors!

I’m swapping comments with Jasmine just about every day in regards to entries, and in the last two days, I’ve heard from Key too, regarding my bitching about OSX, which she herself uses.

I just get sick of those Kiwiers that always have to be on top. They constantly “edit” their journal just so it’s in the top 20, which is all they show.

One girl left an entry that included a couple of sites that pays people to read emails. She said she got $60 that she transferred to her PayPal account. They pay every month. I sent a note asking how long she’s been a member. If she had to read 10,000 emails to get the $60, then I’m not so sure it’s worth it. But it is free, so the worst I can get is spammed to hell and I already do, thanks to those running contests that feel obligated to pass people’s emails on to everyone in the world.

Haven’t heard from Jessie in ages. No calls, no emails, no nothing. I hope she’s just busy and that nothing’s wrong.

Tom and I went to Walmart and shopped to the usual tune of unruly kids.

Now that he got his birth certificate, the next step is getting a license. That means it’s off to wait forfuckingever at the MVD tomorrow. Then hopefully – hopefully – if God is with us Tom will get a new job closer to home that offers benefits that won’t cost half his income to receive!

I should add that I haven’t heard from Paula in ages. She’s always been a little out of it, but she never used to go this long without writing or calling. I hope she’s ok, too. I checked for any news online and came up empty. I hope she’s not sick or in jail! She no longer has her cell phone.

SUNDAY, AUGUST 10, 2008 I hate this Apple PC! Better yet I hate running Windows on it cuz it takes forever to boot up! It boots and crashes, boots and crashes, over and over again. I’ve got to have him switch me to the Mac’s own operating system. The only sucky thing is that the Robo that works with it is beyond shitty. I’m basically going to have to fill out forms myself because it’s so half-assed, and practically give up everything else I do. I’ll edit my sweeps down a bit, but it’ll still be a huge amount of work.

Two nights ago I dreamt I won $500. Hope that means I’m sitting on a good one!

FRIDAY, AUGUST 8, 2008 Tom has the next 4 days off, and this time he’ll be paid for it!

No one called back about the shooting, but I wonder, could it be Jesse? He’s got to own at least part of the ditch area to have a well there, he wasn’t home when I called (although I heard someone drive in not long afterward), so it makes me wonder. Tom doesn’t think so and he doesn’t think there’s a hunting season around here either. I hope he’s right and that someone puts a stop to whoever it is. If it’s a bunch of crazy drunks having a good time, then I not only have to worry about being woken up and annoyed by the noise when I am awake, but then I also have to worry about the house being hit as well.

I wonder why no one called if only to say they didn’t know anything about it. Maybe because it really was him or they were offended by my complaining about there being barking “all around here,” and knew that I was talking about his dogs. I was, but there’s one in back somewhere that can be just as annoying.

Anyway, it’s been dead quiet all day today.

In case I haven’t already said so, I’m done updating my autobiography for who knows how many years. I just hope that the next update won’t include anything nearly as bad as last fall!!! I still wonder how we survived it.

Alison hasn’t been turned against me by the immature assholes on KB. In fact, she’s had issues with Amber, too. She was not only busy but unable to access kiwinotes for a while. Yeah, some people were complaining about that, but fortunately that wasn’t one of the many problems I had. I still love Kiwi as much as I hate it. I mean, I hate the site’s layout, it’s very tricky to navigate and is set up by a bunch of dumb-ass amateurs, but it’s still lots of fun. I just wish they had a better prize selection and a more straightforward setup.

Alison subbied to my main journal and says she’ll catch up on my stories soon. She and Jasmine are definitely my favorites there.

The Olympics are to be held in Beijing this year and I’m looking forward to watching the gymnastics online. That’s my favorite of the summer games, as figure skating is of the winter games.

Won a $20 Kmart Gift Card from the Kmart Hulk Text2Win Promotion.

THURSDAY, AUGUST 7, 2008 Oh, that fucking rude asshole up the hill! The dog’s fucking whining its ass off. How utterly rude of him to let this happen every single fucking morning! He lets the big one bark at 3am, and the other one whines early in the morning. It is so damn obnoxious! How can he stand it himself? And how can he not give a damn about us? He knows damn well Tom sleeps in. Just because Tom’s a heavy sleeper doesn’t make this rudeness ok. It’s annoying as hell to hear even when we’re up. I was a little worried my music was too loud, but you know what? I don’t give a damn anymore if he hears me or not! I just don’t fucking give a damn! I hear his motors, his dogs, so fuck him. Just fuck him!

I knew this place seemed too good to be true. I’m already looking for other places. Not actively seeking to move, but just keeping my eyes open as to what’s out there. If we can get a place that doesn’t have a well or the owner living on the land, and that has direct mail and trash service without the nearest neighbor being an arm’s length away, it may be worth looking into if it’s comparable in rent. I hate to move again, but I can’t ask my own landlord to shut his dogs up and leave us the hell alone to live in peace. The best I can do is enclose a note with the next rent payment asking that he call when it comes to non-emergencies and hope he has the decency to do so. It’s just that 90% of the things he’s coming down for are emergencies and I’m getting sick of his little emergencies, real or not, and the fucking dogs! He’s coming down here more than Scot came to the Maricopa house! More than I ever had any invited company in Phoenix or back east. Part of the reason we wanted seclusion was to keep people away from our door like religious and salespeople. Instead, we’ve got this little shit bugging us every 1-2 weeks. Yet if I complain he’ll probably just be like, “Well, I own this place, you don’t. So if you don’t like it, leave, and I’ll find new renters.” I personally would try to please my renters just as I would my customers if I had a store, but that’s just me and I know most people aren’t like that. They’d rather simply not deal with those who aren’t happy. Period. I may not be unhappy, but I’m not happy lately either, and you know how Tom is. He’d rather me be annoyed than open my mouth. He’s paranoid that complaining, no matter how kindly we went about it, would get us tossed out. Yeah, but WE’RE the ones paying HIM!

I know one thing for sure and that’s that he’s full of shit about going back to work. Yeah, when? When has he been working? Unless he’s working an hour or two each day or smashed another finger, we see vehicles up there all the time when we come and go.

And the motorcycle story Maryann told us when we first came to see the place just doesn’t jive. I don’t know why it took 4 months for it to hit me, but if someone was going to steal his motorcycle, why would they leave it at the end of the road? Wouldn’t they take it somewhere else if they were going to keep it, or sell it if they wanted to sell it? That sounds like a revenge thing. Like Jesse did something to piss the last people off. They may’ve been jerks, but it sounds like Jesse did some shit himself.

Later…

The trigger-happy psycho’s back in the ditch. Yeah, I figured it would be. There were only 3 shots fired this time, but what if I was asleep? I’d not only be woken up for damn sure, but it’s so damn annoying to listen to when I’m awake! It puts the Maricopa shots to shame, right along with Jesse’s ATV and beasts.

I really wanted to know if Jesse knew what was up with this, so I called up there but got no answer. So I left Maryann a message and added that lately there’s been “barking all-around” late at night and early morning. I figured that was a good time to subtly yet obviously let them know it bothers me. I added that I was “surprised” and wondered where it came from, hoping it’d stop soon. I told her there was no hurry getting back to us and that she could call either the landline or Tom’s cell. Anyway, I’d guess it is legal and that hunting season started after the 1st. Nice of them to tell us if that really is the case, huh? Now I’ll have to deal with that as often as I have to deal with dumb shit coming down here. Wish he could be a gorgeous woman to make his visits a little more worth it!

I told Tom why I thought the motorcycle story sounded like a crock, and he thinks they did try to steal it and that they wheeled it down the drive. But once they realized it was too heavy to lift up into a vehicle, they just left it there.

I’m sorry they failed to succeed, even though he’d have just gone and gotten a new one.

WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 6, 2008 Once again we’re back to playing water games. Starting late last night the pressure has been low. Right on time, too. No wonder he can’t keep renters for long. I can hear him on the ATV going to and from the well, but I still wonder how much of these near-weekly problems are of his own fabrication as an excuse to come down here. If he’s that paranoid of us, why doesn’t he just plop a hidden camera on the hillside and keep an eye on us that way?

And I’m getting sick of the late-night/early-morning barking, too! Arrrggghhh!

Well, I’ll be damned. I just up and peed and found the water pressure back to normal. Ah, but I’m sure he’ll just have to come down anyway.

Later…

Right on time. Yeah, dumb cock came ATVing down to tell us he filled the tank with ditch water (though we haven’t been hooked up to the ditch), so don’t drink the water. Tom then asked if he had the landline number so he could “save himself a trip” next time, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he were too stupid to get that what that really means is STOP COMING DOWN HERE! Yet I’m sure he’ll be back anywhere from a few days to a couple of weeks to hook us up to the ditch as he continues to be too stupid to get his floats straight. That’s what Tom’s pretty sure is the problem. What I didn’t know myself was that when we were hooked up to the ditch, that was actually a shallow well. I had thought it was just a pump sitting down in the ditch itself. Anyway, living here is still way better than being in the city, but between his stupidity and the barking I’d really love to thread the dog’s tails down his throat and out his ass, then bury all 3 of them in the hillside and take over the land ourselves! Man, I wish we owned it. The only good thing about not owning it is not having to pay to fix things.

Meanwhile, if he continues to come down for non-emergencies (although it’s quite a coincidence the amazing amount of emergencies he has), I’ll call Maryann and explain to her that hey, I don’t think he understands that one of us is on nights half the time and a very light sleeper. And so I get woken up half the time he comes down. I’ll also see what she has to say about the barking too, though if they barked last night I wouldn’t know it. I slept until 5am. One of them whines for a few minutes every morning between 6:30 - 7:30, presumably because it hears him getting up. The barking’s not nearly as annoying as him coming down here (as long as it doesn’t go on for hours or many times a day) because my sound machine is loud enough to keep it from waking me up. The ATV, however, is not.

I just wonder how much longer this shit with the well is going to go on, and what will come next after that? Even more so, I wonder how much of it is intentional so he has an excuse to come down.

Tom’s allergies are bugging him today. Mine, amazingly, isn’t going off today even though I went out yesterday. Maybe this snot spray really does help!

We went to pick up the mail yesterday. The package was just a light bulb. Man, I ain’t winning shit lately, and when I do, it seems I don’t get the prize! The question is, is this compensation for the Apple win? Or am I sitting on another biggie?

TUESDAY, AUGUST 5, 2008 I got the lip gloss from Kiwi. It’s just so-so, right along with the temp tat and rings I got. I almost wish I could get back the points I used for these things, but I wanted to try them anyway. The lip gloss is flavorless and doesn’t provide much moisture at all, the tat wore off almost as fast as I applied it, and the purple ring is too dark.

Another night of scattered barking. I’m getting closer to calling up there and asking what’s up with that and seeing if he can put the damn dogs on the other side of the house if he’s not going to take them indoors. I just hope it isn’t a temperature thing! If it is it’ll be like being back in the city from December through February.

I received another OLS friend request after commenting on this lady’s personal quote that I liked. Something to the effect of being happier when she’s worrying about what’s going on in her own life versus the lives of strangers. As I told her, I not only totally agree, but I don’t understand why so many people think things should be one way or another. Take gay marriage and abortion, for example. Why not let those who want these things get them, and those who don’t not get them? We don’t only sell one flavor of ice cream simply because not everyone likes other flavors.

Anyway, I had to laugh (not directly to her, of course) when I read that she’s been sweeping since 1985 and her biggest prize was 5 grand. And here I’ve been sweeping since 2005 and my biggest prize was 9 grand! Once again, not everyone’s psychic. I just wish I could get good enough to win a house or at least enough money to buy one outright! The first of 3 home giveaways just expired. On the 15th will be another one, then a million-dollar house in Florida expires on 9/30. They’re all dailies.

Nothing exciting in the mail, though there is an oversized package awaiting us. It could be anything from a package to a large envelope containing these damn travel packages I get to his birth certificate. Unless it’s something way good, we hope it’s the certificate for which they finally took the money. Hopefully, soon enough he can get the hell out of the shithole he’s working in now and into something closer that’ll provide benefits. Again, we don’t care if it pays shitty. Sure we’d rather it didn’t, but getting him closer to home so we can save on gas and getting me to a dentist and ear doctor is more important right now. Wish I could win at least a grand just to cover all the co-payments when this finally happens, if it ever really does, before I’m 65 and automatically insured in 23 more years!

MONDAY, AUGUST 4, 2008 The rats got so huge that we decided to move them into one of the bigger cages, the first one we got. So Tom pulled it out of the shed and I cleaned it in the tub with the shower massager and set it up for them. They seem much happier now that they’ve got more room to play in. It’ll be a little more work for me cleaning-wise, but they’re worth it, even though these aren’t the greatest rats we’ve ever had. They don’t bite which is most important.

It was a bad dog night there for a while. Around 2:00 the dogs went off for about 10 minutes, plus there were scattered barks afterward. I don’t think it was just them either. I still think someone recently moved down in the ditch somewhere, so Jesse must not own that entire area. That’d explain the lunchtime food smells Tom’s smelled lately, the gunshots, and increased barking. I know most people think it’s A-OK to leave dogs outdoors 24/7 and to make as much racket as they want, but how do people sleep through such noise? And how can they have no courtesy to their neighbors whatsoever?

SUNDAY, AUGUST 3, 2008 I’m almost finished updating my autobiography. It’ll be a few more days before it’s all posted on Kiwi.

Last night I dreamt Tom was working the numbers and said the money was “dwindling.” It’s dreams like this that can be scary to someone known to have dream premonitions, but he assured me everything was fine. I hope so! Especially since it wasn’t here. It was in a big old house in New York of all places.

While I still don’t believe there’s any future with the horses, Tom’s learning a new programming language that runs on the new Mac. He’s encouraged, saying he’s learned that it’s not as complex as he thought it would be.

I had my first two wins of the month already. A sample of Colgate Total toothpaste, and an $88 beauty kit. It contains shower gels, lotions, cleansers, toners – stuff I love.

SATURDAY, AUGUST 2, 2008 I was pissed today, now yesterday, for a couple of reasons. First, I was woken up by gunshots of all things. Yeah, there’s always got to be something cursing my sleep. It sounded like a pistol down in the ditch, but I never saw anything. As far as we know you’re not allowed to fire a gun in this area, and also, hunting season would never be during fire season. Fortunately, it didn’t go on for long, but now that’s one more thing I gotta worry about waking me when I’m on nights.

Jesse said the tank still wasn’t filling well when Tom called to let him know the rent was in his box. He didn’t say anything about the roof or anything else, but I’m sure he’ll be down here for something soon enough.

I still hear a few scattered barks here and there between 11pm – 7am, but nothing overwhelming lately.

The other thing that pissed me off was the mail people at the jail. I sent a letter with a sheet of 7 small pictures on it and specifically enclosed a note asking that they not return the letter to me if the enclosed picture sheet wasn’t acceptable due to the cost of stamps these days and that they just disregard the picture sheet, but what did the assholes do? Well, they returned the whole thing of course. They enclosed a little note of their own saying “pic size.” Tom said I should’ve cut them up so it wouldn’t be seen as a collage, but how could they have seen it as a collage? The pictures in a collage touch and overlap. This was clearly several pictures on one sheet of paper, not one big picture. Would it really have been all that hard for them to pick up a pair of scissors and cut them out if that was the problem? I don’t think that was the problem, though. Remember, I was kind of famous too, so they no doubt recognized my name and are going to fuck with me no matter what.

Tom suggested I cut them up and try again, but no way! I’m not going to play games with these people. As long as it’s me sending pictures in, they’ll be returned no matter what. Hell, they’ll say the colors are too damn bright or something, and we don’t need our time and money thrown away like that. I totally should’ve known better. I really should have. Therefore we’re back to waiting for her to get out of there if she ever does. They’ll look so much better on a computer anyway. If Nathan can get some in to her from Webshots, more power to him.

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iamprchung · 4 months ago

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Dancing in the Moonlight 8/?

How in the world could I not post a new chapter of this story on Friday 13th?

Synopsis:

Mulder and Scully’s investigation takes odd turns as they uncover a hidden path linking a series of brutal attacks to the exclusive community. While Mulder heads into the heart of the mayor's domain, Scully is left wondering if accepting the mayor’s hospitality comes at a cost. As for all those missed calls from Skinner, who else has complained now?

Notes:

I swear this is a Skinner/Scully fic. I know it really doesn’t seem like it considering that we’re eight parts into it at this point… but it really is… I promise. Trust me, I’m as frustrated and disillusioned as the rest of you at this point.

That said… fun retro stuff going on in this story that’s required research. Cell phones back in the day were crappy and unreliable, regardless if you worked for the government or not. But what great plot devices, right?

Oh yeah, and you’re probably wondering what the hell is going on with the intro… Good, keep wondering. It’s going to be fun and wild.

Dancing in the Moonlight 8/? - A Well-Worn Path

By PR Chung

Albuquerque, New Mexico AVF Transport Trucking Depot

Chuy Perez stepped back after a final check of the truck, satisfied it was ready for their next load—the last delivery. Clean, running smooth, and locked up tight. In this area, especially at this depot, he thought looking around, nobody could be too careful. Rigs being stolen weren’t unheard of.

With the end of the line so close, they couldn’t take any chances.

He checked the door once more before turning. “Safe and sound, Ar—” His words trailed off as he noticed his partner already halfway across the depot lot, heading toward the office trailer. “Damn, he’s fast.”

Chuy hurried to catch up, calling, “Hey, hey, Arlo, hold up, man.”

Arlo Gutierrez didn’t break his stride, moving with the same steady confidence, his focus on the office and their next job—the last job.

“Arlo,” Chuy panted, finally catching up, “I was thinking, when we get to Boise—”

“Salt Lake City,” Arlo corrected, his tone firm but calm.

“Right, right,” Chuy adjusted his ballcap, “I keep mixing those up—Idaho, Iowa…”

“Salt Lake City, Utah,” Arlo repeated, emphasizing each word as he removed his driving gloves with precision.

“Utah, yeah,” Chuy said quickly. “So, I was thinking, you know, Salt Lake City doesn’t have really good Mexican food. We could get one of those food trucks and sell authentic Mexican food.”

Arlo paused, turning the idea over in his mind. “A food truck…” he said thoughtfully. “And a custom car shop? We’re going to run both?”

“Uh, yeah, you know, the truck could be for the down times at the shop.”

“There won’t be any down time, Chuy.” Arlo assured, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, nearly hidden beneath a thick, dark, well-manicured mustache. “Not in our shop.”

As Chuy and Arlo stepped into the depot office, the dry heat outside seemed almost preferable to the oppressive stillness within. Just like this last delivery, they were caught between two worlds—one they knew, and one they were about to leave behind.

The office was a claustrophobic cave of stale cigarette smoke and burnt coffee, where the air seemed to cling to your skin, sticky and suffocating. The hum of the struggling air conditioner was a distant whisper against the oppressive heat. The man behind the cluttered desk looked up, his gaze settling on Arlo.

“How can I help you guys?”

Arlo smiled broadly. “AC Hot Shot,” he announced, carefully pushing his gloves into the front pocket of his dark denim jeans, the heavy starched crease barely shifting. “We’re here for the delivery to Aspen.”

---------------------------- xXx-------------------------------

The Rio Grande Trail was a scenic multi use path stretched along the Roaring Fork River and meandered through groves of cotton wood and golden aspen trees, then deepening into rockier terrain, hills and heavy woods.

It was here, just off Perry's Prowl spur of the trail, where Shannon Mitchell was torn from his bike before dawn on an August morning. His body had been located just after dusk the next day, up the hill, within the brush where he’d been dragged. The location of his body, hidden within the low brush had been what convinced Sheriff Lopez that it had been a mountain lion attack.

Kessler got everyone checked in with the park’s department office, apprising the superintendent that they’d be visiting the site, an area only recently reopened to the public. Taking the service road to the site allowed them to bypass the throngs of visitors using the trails and lessen their hike and the picturesque views.

“Are these the trails you were tracking the motor bikes on earlier today?” Scully’s brow furrowed as she scanned their surroundings.

Less groomed and tended, the foliage lining the road was overgrown and crowding the maintenance equipment and vehicles parked up and down the roadside, while piles of gravel, mulch, and debris dotted available open spaces.

“Pretty close, actually,” Kessler answered her, taking a map from the SUV that he spread open across the hood. “We’re here,” he pointed out on the map as Mulder and Scully gather to watch. “This is the area, just a bit further into the trail, is where they’ve been having all the illegal motorized vehicle activity.”

“Is all of this the same trails system?” Mulder asked, gesturing at the twisting series of pathways on the map.

“It is,” Kessler answered, reaching back into the vehicle to retrieve his handheld radio and secure it on his belt. “Over forty-two miles. We bypassed the paved section and a majority of the visitor traffic, but out this way, it gets more rugged, less hospitable for the casual vacationer with a camera.”

“Are trail cams in place in any of these areas?”

The man shook his head, answering Mulder. “Very few. Their bulk and the film not holding up in weather makes mass use too expensive.”

Scully traced one of the trails on the map. “Is that the Silver Ridge?”

Kessler glanced at where she pointed and beamed. “It is. You have a great sense of geography.”

She nodded uncomfortably and gave a thin smile in acknowledgment of his flattery.

“A spur of this trail runs to the resort,” Mulder observed, leaning in for a closer look.

Kessler nodded. “The trails connect to many of the area resorts and neighborhoods.”

“A regular predator highway,” Mulder remarked.

“Predators don’t generally use trails,” Goodman interjected. “Except at night or during low traffic times when it's the path of least resistance. They prefer the edges, avoiding human noise and scent.”

Mulder turned toward him. “Only coming out when they’re… provoked?”

“Takes a lot to provoke an animal,” Goodman replied. “They will defend their offspring, hunt when hungry, or act out of pure survival instinct. But they’ll run from a threat more often than not.”

“How far to the site?” Scully asked, eager to get moving.

Taking her cue, Kessler motioned toward the incline along the roadside. “Right this way.”

The group began their ascent, the thickening woods gradually swallowing them up. As they moved, the conversations started to drift apart like echoes in the forest.

Kessler pulled the two-way radio off his belt, holding it up for Scully to see. “If you ever need to reach me and the phones aren’t working, use this—frequency…”

A few paces ahead, Goodman quickened his step to catch up with Mulder. “Tell me something, Agent Mulder, in all seriousness—werewolves or dogmen?”

Mulder glanced at him with a chuckle. “What, like which one would win in a fight?”

“There’s a difference between them?”

“There’s a difference,” Mulder paused, savoring the moment before he continued. “Werewolves are cursed humans, historically documented for centuries. Over seven feet tall, with massive teeth and claws, and glowing red eyes. The dogman, though, is more human-like and a newer entry in cryptozoology. One of its notable features is one blue eye, the other amber or sometimes emerald.”

“Like a mixed-breed dog or cat,” Goodman mused.

“Or a glam rocker from the seventies.”

Goodman frowned, puzzled. “Excuse me?”

“David Bowie had the same condition—heterochromia.”

“David Bowie’s a werewolf?”

“No,” Mulder chuckled, “it’s dogmen have been described with similar eyes.”

“So, Bowie’s a dogman…?”

Mulder’s laughter faded as the trees closed in around them, the conversation trailing off into the deepening woods.

---------------------------- xXx-------------------------------

“…literary scholars have often explored the sexual connotations of the Little Red Riding Hood tale,” Mulder said, seamlessly picking up where they’d left off. Goodman, now thoroughly invested, nodded along. “Interpretations range from the innocence of puberty to more romantic fancies, and… darker concepts.”

“And here I thought it was just a cautionary tale about listening to your elders,” Kessler muttered, casting a glance at Scully. His patience was wearing thin.

Mulder and Goodman’s conversation had been trailing them since the Mitchell site, during the ride, and now all the way up to the Steinman camp area.

“…the original tale—where the grandmother and Little Red Riding Hood outwit and defeat the wolf—got twisted into an allegory about female passivity and obedience.”

“They made them less badass,” Goodman observed, shaking his head in disapproval.

“Way to ruin a perfectly good fairytale,” Scully added, her tone flat, as she pulled her trilling cell from her jacket pocket. “Scully,” she answered, and waited. “Hello…?”

Receiving no answer, she pulled the phone from her ear, seeing the call had cut off… lingering on the display screen the call contact name: ‘SKINNER.’

“…great,” she sighed, her thoughts inventorying the possible reasons for him calling again. Who else had been offended, spooked, or concerned? Had Joseph Raven called the bureau in defense of the entire Ute Nation?

“Important?” Kessler asked, taking notice of her irritation.

“Possibly” she half-explained, distracted by the concern that there had been additional complaints. Looking at the phone, she was amazed to see she had bars. “Why have I got a signal out here?”

“Better coverage,” Kessler explained, “The towers are better the nearer you get to the pricier homes around here, and we’re getting pretty close to some of them.”

“The cellular customer you’re trying to reach is unavailable,” a recorded voice answered Scully’s attempt to return Skinner’s call.

She put her phone back in her pocket, dejected. “Great.”

As they approached Alice Steinman’s attack site—a mile away from that of Mitchell’s, nestled near a wooded camping area—nature had begun reclaiming the ground, erasing the final traces of the violence. The ground rubbed bare of grass by a long history of tents and foot traffic, a weathered wooden picnic table positioned on a chipped and cracked concrete slab, all showing few signs of recent use. And like the Mitchell site, it held little new information, only the significance of its proximity to the other attacks.

Kessler settled his backpack on the picnic table, its surface a testament to years of late-night gatherings. As he retrieved the map and began to lay it out, Scully scanned the table noting the initials carved in uneven hearts, crude drawings, dates in no particular order from the 80’s to just a few weeks ago— a chaotic mosaic marking a moment in time when the table was the center of someone's world, even if only for a night. In Alice Steinman’s case, her last night.

“Alice Steinman had reportedly been visiting her ex-boyfriend at the Sonder Hill rehabilitation facility, how far is that from here?” Scully asked.

Kessler traced a finger along the map, “That’s a good way from here, at least five miles. Seems like a long way for her to walk that night.”

“The distance by foot isn’t impossible, but seems improbable,” Scully considered.

“Maybe she got a ride,” Goodman suggested.

“No one’s come forward with that information in the Sheriff’s investigation.”

“If someone was the last person to see her alive, how likely are they to volunteer that information?” Goodman questioned.

“There shouldn’t be any reason not to unless they had something to hide,” Scully countered.

“I don’t think Alice Steinman was walking all the way from Sonder Hill to the camp site,” Mulder commented as he pulled back low hanging tree limbs.

Pushing aside the low branches, a well-worn path was exposed. It climbed up a slight incline, growing more clearly defined as it dropped out of view down the other side of the hill. “Is this part of the trails system?”

Kessler stepped up beside him, Scully and Goodman joining to view the path. “No, this is a route of less resistance through to this area.”

Mulder studied the path for a moment, his brow pinching. "But from where?" Without waiting for an answer, he started following the path.

His pace quickened as the path narrowed, the incline steepening ahead. The thickening trees and low-hanging branches swiped at him as he pressed forward, his focus sharpening on the rise that hid whatever lay beyond. Behind him, the others followed, but Mulder barely noticed as he surged ahead. The sounds of their footfalls and rustling foliage faded as the distance between them grew.

Mulder reached the top of the path and froze. Below, nestled in the forest’s grasp, stood a walled community, its pristine rooftops and manicured lawns a jarring contrast to the wildness around him. The path he’d followed snaked down toward the gated entrance, a hidden route leading straight into the heart of this secluded enclave.

He stood there for a moment, absorbing the implications. This path, hidden and forgotten, had led directly to the heart of privilege, cutting through the rough edges of the world outside its walls.

Behind him, he heard the others approaching, their pace hurried as they struggled to catch up. Scully’s voice called out, slightly breathless, “Mulder, what is it?”

“This path—” He gestured, his voice lowering as if the trees themselves were listening. “It’s a connection, straight to that gated community.”

Kessler and Goodman joined the agents, looking out at the community below the rise where they stood.

“Windspire Estates,” Kessler declared. “High-security and high-dollar. Very exclusive, and just happens to be where Mayor Gunderson calls home.”

Mulder turned from Kessler, looking at the community below, his thoughts churning on the implications of this discovery.

As he began to take a step forward on the path, his intention clear to follow it down to the estates, Scully placed a hand on his arm, stopping him.

“Mulder, I know you want to go down there,” she said, her voice carrying that familiar edge of concern. She’d seen that look in his eyes before—the one that meant he was about to dive headfirst into something, damn the consequences. “But I think we should wait, take the mayor up on his invitation.”

---------------------------- xXx-------------------------------

“So, the mushroom says to the bartender, ‘Why not? I’m a fungi.’” Goodman finished his joke, his boisterous laugh filling the air as the Department of Fish and Game SUV approached the entrance of the Silver Ridge Resort, every eye drawn to it. “What,” Goodman asked, his laugh dwindling as he looked around, realizing no one else was sharing his cheer.

“Not big mushroom fans, Jake.” Mulder proclaimed; his attention focused on the stares they were drawing from front entrance area of the resort.

“Well, well,” Kessler chuckled, fully aware of the spectacle they were making. “Fish and game shows up and they all think there’s a critter problem.”

A particularly anxious valet was waving at the vehicle hastily, motioning for Kessler to veer hard to the left, and far from the main entrance.

“All right, this guy is having an aneurism,” Kessler grumbled as he obeyed the valet and pulled over to let the agents out.

“Thanks for the tour, gentlemen,” Scully sighed, climbing out of the SUV.

“Wait—” Kessler called out and held up a large manila envelope. “Scene photos, Agent Scully.”

“Thanks again,” Scully said as Goodman passed the envelope to her through the open window.

“Hey, check back in with us after your visit with Gunderson.” Kessler requested, his attention on the valet now urgently motioning for him to leave now that his passengers were clear.

“Let’s hope your new buddy the mayor keeps his word.” Goodman added as the SUV started away.

Indeed, did they still have rooms here in the resort, Scully and Mulder exchanged glances, wondering—and at what price. Was this stroke of luck, a clever distraction, or a calculated move on the mayor’s part? They knew that accepting his generous hospitality might cast a shadow over the case’s integrity, especially if it turned out the mayor had any involvement in the case.

“I’m still not convinced he’s actually taking care of this,” Scully murmured.

“Maybe Gunderson’s idea of ‘taking care of it’ is sticking us with the bill,” Mulder smirked as they stepped into the lobby. The cozy surroundings—the hum of conversations, the crackling fireplace—seemed too perfect, adding to the lingering sense of uncertainty between them.

Before they could dwell further on the implications, Leslie, the desk clerk who had so efficiently checked them in earlier that day, approached them midway across the lobby, her smile a bit brighter, her tone more cordial.

“Agents Mulder and Scully! What a pleasure to have you back,” she greeted, her voice warm and vibrant. “I’ve been informed that you’ll be extending your stay with us. Everything’s been arranged.”

Scully exchanged a brief glance with Mulder, her skepticism softening. Leslie’s energy and professionalism were impossible to ignore. “So… it’s all been taken care of?”

“Oh, absolutely!” Leslie beamed. “Your rooms are just the way you left them. And a driver and car are at your service whenever you’re ready—just ask the concierge to call them around. However, time is of the essence. The mayor has suggested your arrival by four this afternoon.” She checked her wristwatch briefly, tapping its face lightly. “And it’s now three-forty-eight.”

“Uh,” Mulder chuckled, “Sounds like we shouldn’t keep him waiting after all this generosity.” He glanced down at himself, noting the smears of dirt on his jeans and mud on his biking boots. “I should probably change though…”

“Oh, certainly not,” Leslie said with a lilt, her smile deepening, “you look very rugged.”

Purposefully inspecting the envelope in her hand, Scully pursed her mouth struggling against a smirk that threatened a full out laugh.

“Uh…” Mulder hesitated, at a loss for words for once.

“If there’s anything extra you need...” Leslie said, and glanced at Mulder, her smile deepening, “just let me know.”

As she turned to leave, Scully cleared her throat, casting a sideways glance at Mulder. “Looks like the mayor’s not the only one being charitable around here.”

Mulder grinned. “Scully, is that jealousy I hear?”

“Keep dreaming, Mulder,” she quipped. “You go see the mayor; I’m staying here.”

“Spa day?”

“I wish,” Scully moaned. “I’m going to do some research on our ‘benefactor’ and note my report while things are still fresh.” She checked her phone and frowned. “Another missed call from Skinner.”

“I don’t have any missed calls,” Mulder mocked offense as he checked his phone.

Scully’s lips curled. “Is that jealousy I hear in your tone, Mulder?”

“No, not since you two started going steady.” He baited her, holding his cell up with a grin on his lips. “Oh wait—turns out he did call me. Twice. Guess I’m more popular than I thought.”

Scully whined at him, “Mulder—”

“The mayor is waiting,” he declared turning toward the concierge kiosk, “Find out what you can, and make sure to call me if you think I’m in danger of becoming a werewolf…”

Scully twisted her mouth, watching Mulder stride away. “Monster boy…” she muttered turning toward the elevator.

---------------------------- xXx-------------------------------

Continued… and continued, and continued…

There’s a definite pattern here…

#dancing in the moonlight #the x files #xfiles #the xfiles #xfiles fanfic #skinner scully fanfic #skinner #scully #mulder #walter skinner

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jonathankatwhatever · 8 months ago

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The number of ideas this process has sparked is intense. Or is that dense? It’s both, sometimes, right? Intensity is more and more is density in that constructed space. Amplitude is more or less of, which if I have this correct maps the ordinal character which orders more or less of, which translates into a mapping which stacks horizontally. Note that integration is obviously then horizontal or vertical because then we’re ordering the count. I just realized I tend to call that cardinal because I’m thinking about or am manipulating infinites which leave marks we can see.

I’ve noticed my writing has become much choppier as I spend more time with a small keyboard. Telegraphic.

Anyway, this strategy of not listening and now I admit barely reading has been working very well. Made me think about Cole Porter: how many people know that he like it in the butt and wrote that into a lyric? They don’t get the joke but they still love the song. The details of its creation, of anything much about Cole’s life, have faded, even though we get fairly regular movie versions of his life. It is such a great story. The problem to me is the movies get lost in the story and miss that it’s about him, not the events of his life. They can never capture the artist at work. They never get his incandescence. And a lot of that is simple familiarity: we imagine him knowing the songs, while the people who knew him saw him make the songs for the first time, knew him before they came out. That’s the experience. I don’t think anyone has ever captured on film the mind of the maker at work and the work. They never even cover how he worked, that he’d play constantly and then take time off to recharge the creative battery.

Here’s one. I heard a friend of Picasso’s talk about his book. He said the friends would entertain Picasso all day, working to find and do things which would interest him, and then he’d take that energy, and he’d paint all night while the others were exhausted. I tend to think it’s more that keeping him interested acted as a distraction so when he’d come to the work again it would have the different perspective generated by the identification shift. It is 1-0-1, focus then away to whatever people can find to amuse him, then focus, and that means a different perspective underneath or within the idealization. That last refers to the 1-0Segment and the grid squares space this generates.

Go into that. I forget how good the work is now that I feel more confident in me and toward you or toward you and in me. I love that this builds to D24. And that is a day. Just take an identity check, with its inherent shifts, and to work that out fully takes D24. Oh, I had a thought about 60 again. Just slid by in the D24 as well: the construction of SBE2. But my question remains: why the mag10? Didn’t we figure out that’s mag10 of a Hexagon, which is SBE2 counting each step in the chains as a bT. And mag10 is SBE3+1, which is really (1+(SBE3)+1) because mag10 goes up and down. The mag10 became notation for a reason, other than it goes up and down. It goes up and down in Attachment, meaning it relates 2T.

Just had a thought that Pi is a view of 2T as well. It’s not new to me, but I’ve been unable to get past the generation of all the potential relations of center to edge. I could always see the point versus rim, so the rim is a ring. That hit me because I’ve been trying to connect the visuals for ring. I got here before but it didn’t stick: this is 1-0-1 where the 0 is the disk. It also maps to points at infinity or to a point at infinity, because that stands for the disappearing character of Pi being transcendental. I love the idea of Pi as the ratio of shrinking and expanding the hole or the object because it disappears at every point. That is if you measure around a unit circle or halfway along an imaginary unit circle, counting by Pi, then you reach almost to where you started, in whatever modularity (including unit 1), with that almost being infinite. To see a point become a larger object is cool.

I just realized it’s after 1AM on 21 Apr 2024. Still not done with the mag10. Went to a place from a time warp: Pleasant Cafe. The decor is 1940’s. Immaculate, but worn. I asked how they keep up the booths: they have an upholster and extra cushions and bottoms, so they rotate them out. I had a Saturday special of prime rib, which I got cooked medium to make what I assumed would be lesser quality meat taste and eat better. It was delicious. Came with a huge, delicious baked potato (in foil, of course), and steamed broccoli in cheese sauce, which looked like a frozen meal. For $20. A whiskey sour was like $9. Debbie had swordfish kebabs and could only eat half. Also very good for like $18. Place was crammed with families. For some, I can see it being about as cheap to eat there as to make a good meal at home.

Ruining my life. How many times have I said that? Remember me trying to get away. That is a perfect example of the kind of obvious error I can make: I knew the lesson was that I can’t un-entangle myself. Or rather, that any movement I make to get away, to get around, to return home cannot work and only entangles me further. I did not recognize when the same thing was happening again because I was in it. Hard to see what swallows you. But to show how the ring works, I now see these tangles create pairings across the barrier and that these pairings can be aligned, which makes us mutual tools. This idea will develop, I’m sure. Rather startling to see the untangling concept take mechanical form. Oh wow, that directly translates into D3-4//4-3: sufficient tangles, sufficient pairings make an object. The step from D4-3 to D3-4 object is then done remotely.

I surrender.

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honestlywtfisgoingon · 2 years ago

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When You Weren’t Looking — pt. 7/?

PROFESSOR!OBI-WAN KENOBI x READER

PART 6

an au where you and you literature professor realize you both have things to learn about love, and yourselves, outside of class. (as we all know, this can only be done through a big scoop of angst and a smutty cherry on top)

description: we finally learn what that phone call obi-wan made was all about, but he’s gonna have to do more than make a phone call if he doesn’t want to lose you

warnings: language, everyone is straight up not having a good time at some point

a/n: i just started college so schedule has been rough but we’re back, and believe it or not, for the last 4 chapters i’ve actually struggled bc i haven’t written in a long time and i’m finally getting in the groove, so my style is actually pretty diff (at least imo, i think it’s better idk) also i am living for the confrontation and i already have the next few chapters written and they get real good…

words: 4,164

reblogs + feedback welcome :)

You had gone to the library with the intention of studying, but the good mood you had woken up with persuaded you to spend some time finding something to read for your own pleasure and nothing more, no gritty assignment attached to the words. Dragging your hand along the shelves, you felt the spines of the new books, hard and glossy, promising you crisp pages and a fresh smell. It didn’t matter where you went, but none of those quite captivated you much like the older ones. You continued to peruse, instinctually making your way to the back of the library. The soft, cloth-bound spines of well-loved books told you that you had arrived, almost welcoming you into their stories.

With older books, you enjoyed the connection you imagined with its past readers; whoever bent the edge of this page, spilled on that one, wore out the cover, or whether multiple people were part of the progression. The smell of the new books was amazing, yes, but you didn’t exactly have much of a connection with the printing press that came before you.

At the end of the better half of an hour, you had found six or seven books that appealed to you. Ready to go back to your table and enjoy them, you stacked all of them up in your arms. Your little journey wasn't even halfway completed before you crashed into someone who was rounding the same corner you were. The old and rather delicate books lay strewn across the floor. Your focus should have been gathering them and assessing the damage, but it was stolen by the freshwater blue eyes hovering just above you. Hints of silvery grey ran through them, something you hadn’t noticed before. You thought it made them even more beautiful.

“Bollocks!” Professor Kenobi huffed, just before he realized exactly who was underneath him. He, a grown man, had never in his life experienced petrification of this caliber before. His eyes went impossibly wide as he stared down at you. He had imagined you in this exact position last night but under very different circumstances. The shame he felt then was nothing compared to what he felt now.

I’m going to die. This is it. I’m prepared to meet my maker.

You were silent, eyes as wide as his as you held your breath, recollecting your version of events from last night. The arms currently holding him up would’ve been wrapped around you, pulling you flush to him. A furious blush erupted on your face, fearing that he would somehow read your mind and expose you to further embarrassment… if that was even possible.

Why are your eyes open? If you close them, maybe he won’t see you.

“I, um…hello there,” it took him a second to speak, his voice having been lost in shock. When he finally found it, he felt as though he might choke on the words that were being forced out of his dry throat. If you asked, he would blame his struggle on the warm and sweet smell of your hair, the menthol chapstick swept over your lips that he could almost taste, or the smooth expanse of your neck, which he immediately designated as a perfect space for him to fill with kisses. You had effectively taken over his senses.

If these were to be my last moments, would it truly be so bad?

“Obi-Wan—“ you opened your eyes, still processing the experience of being in such close proximity with him. Even through your mortification, you couldn't help but notice the red in his beard, the perfect slope of his nose, or the creases in the outer corners of his eyes that only deepened when he laughed. Of all your observations, the one you loved the most was how he smelled: warm, woody, and crisp, like a mix of fresh forest earth still coated in dew, tea made from the spice and sweetness of cloves, and sheets still holding the heat from the dryer. the scent filled your nose and felt like a comforting embrace. Scent was supposed to be the sense most directly related to memory, and you found yourself imagining moments so clearly that you could've confused them as past events. But no, they weren't memories, just more fantasies created by someone who dearly wanted the man above them.

As you broke away from your false recollections, you remembered the real thoughts you had: thoughts about what you would do if you were to see him again, deciding that you would once again act aloof or give him a piece of your mind. Yet, out of all the responses you could’ve given, the only one that managed to get out successfully was: “did you just say bollocks?”

Your rather unexpected inquiry caught him off-guard, but he relaxed at the fact that your first words were not full of loathing. He only looked away with a sheepish smile. Here he had been thinking that he would never be able to look you in the eye again after he came to the thought of you, but you had lessened his anxieties considerably, something only you seemed to be able to do. Just hearing your voice again, even if it was a little teasing, reminded him that he was safe with you, something he had never really felt with another person before.

“I did,” slowly coming out of his trance, he removed himself from you, although he would’ve been content to lay there with you for a little longer. You shared the same sentiment. It may have shown in the slight frown you adopted once the warmth of his skin left you. “Are you offended?” he joked, smiling as he offered his hand to you. Taking it, he lifted you off the ground. What may have looked like a minor interaction to others was a very successful milestone, at least to the both of you. Before he let your hand go, you noticed how much larger they were than yours. He really could hold your entire face in one of his palms if he wanted.

I wonder how good it would feel if he used them to pin me down while he–

“Oh, um,” he bent down quickly to pick up your books of choice that littered the ground. You crouched to help him, but he put up a hand to stop you. “No, please, let me,” he told you. It was kind of him, but you weren’t just going to let him pick up everything on his own, especially when they were your books. It was when you put your hand on a book that he stopped you once again, placing his over yours. You made eye contact as he insisted once more, “Darling, please, it’s the least I could do,” You rose as he collected the last of them. Perhaps it was something he felt he was called to do as a gentleman. Regardless, you realized how much you missed hearing him refer to you as darling. It rolled off his tongue so sweetly, making your heart beat just a little faster each time he said the word. You didn’t care about acting like you didn’t anymore, and you didn’t feel scared. Somehow, when it came down to just the two of you together, it all seemed so natural and simple again; like everything just fell into place once more.

“Where are you sitting?” Obi-Wan asked, carrying all of the books in his arms. You reached to take them from him, but he pulled away. “Where are you sitting?” he said with an arched brow. you knew that if you asked again he would probably give you the books, but he genuinely seemed like he wanted to help you, and you found yourself appreciating him deeply for it, so you pointed to the table adjacent to you, tucked away in the very corner. He nodded and you both made your way over, Obi-Wan setting your books down next to your datapad and textbooks which were already laid out.

It was after you had pulled out your chair and taken a seat that you realized this was the end of your very brief interaction, and you couldn’t help but be saddened by it. He stood next to you, opening his mouth presumably to say his goodbyes…but it closed, then opened, then closed again. The professor seemed to be at a loss for words.

How could he not be? He wanted so badly to continue this moment, hoping to mend what he had done. With an exasperated sigh, he gave up trying to form the right sentences and simply sat down next to you. You watched his actions, recognizing the same feeling you got when he decided to shut you out. Before he could continue to hurt you further, you spoke.

“Professor please, you were clear enough before,” you said flatly, covering up the apprehensiveness in your voice. He knew your meaning, and once again felt deep regret.

“No no, I would like to…apologize,” he was quick to soothe your fear that he was going to make you relive that conversation. Your brows raised in surprise. “I’m sorry. So very sorry my dear one,” he said those words with such care, not wanting to leave even the littlest piece of room for you to doubt them. He looked down at the floor, “I regret my words the day I sent you from my office far more than the words I said at the bar. I know it wasn’t just the words too I…I’ve been so cold to you,” His eyes flicked back up to yours, his head still lowered penitently.

“Thank you for saying that. It means a lot to me. very much so, and—” you pressed your lips together for a moment, almost scared to say give him the forgiveness he was pleading for.

what if he doesn’t mean it? just wants me to help clear his conscience? he pushed me away first, so maybe I should keep him at arm's distance…

And there it was: that connection that told you it was ok, that you wouldn’t regret it, that he meant every word. You remembered why you were drawn to him in the first place: he listened to you and responded with intention. Maybe it was your turn to do the same for him. It wasn’t that what he did was ok, it was because you didn’t wish for him to continue to carry the guilt with him, as most good people do, and Obi-Wan was a good man.

“—and I forgive you,” you said softly. He beamed up at you, and you were tempted to place your hand on his cheek to let him know you truly meant it, that you were going to allow him to still be close to you. You didn’t let yourself, realizing that he was still your teacher, that even if you allowed him, you could never get close in that way. you didn’t dwell on that though, and continued, still not having asked your most important question: “But why?”

“I was immature, and embarrassed,” with every word he had to lower his pride. He wasn’t supposed to feel such things, he was someone who people looked up to, didn’t expect to act that way, and admitting it would mean he failed them; but with you all you required of him was honesty, and your expectations mattered to him far more than anyone else’s. It took a lot of strength for him to tell you as much, but it was worth it to confess, “I am a grown man and yet I still need affirmation, and I desperately wanted yours,” you blushed at the thought of him thinking so highly of you. “and when I felt like I lost it by acting like a total drunken idiot, I reacted poorly, which was even more idiotic,” he rolled his eyes at himself and you were happy to see the less serious side of Obi-Wan once more.

“Far more idiotic,” you both chuckled. “But it’s not bad to need affirmation, it’s human. What matters more is where you’re looking for it, and never doubt that you have mine,” there was so much admiration in the way that he looked at you. In his eyes, you were nothing short of an angel.

Honest, kind, understanding… there’s no one like her. Even her heart is beautiful.

“Thank you, y/n. it seems like you have more to teach me,” you laughed lightly, and it was at that moment that he realized he wanted to keep hearing it again and again; to be the one to make you laugh mornings and nights. Seeing you like this again was making him reconsider taking the risk.

“What are friends for?” you said in a bright tone, shrugging. You were content with your choice of words, deciding that to be friends was best. Even after this conversation, your heart would still be in the process of healing, haunted by the thought that he could just change his mind again. It would hurt far less to fear a friend leaving than a lover, at least that’s what you reasoned, so you would try viewing him in a platonic light, and only in a platonic light. Another valid point was that if you were simply cordial and uninvolved, he would just flow into your life, not take it up. You were confident in your thought process, both very practical and precautionary, and you patted yourself on the back for it. Obi-Wan could not be counted quite as content as you were.

“And I am happy to have you as one of mine,” his smile was fighting against the small grimace he wanted to let out after your statement. This battle in both his heart and mind was getting tiresome, and just when he was deciding that maybe he was on the wrong side…

Friends. Exactly what you had wanted before isn’t it? And yet it hurts to hear her say it.

He could not complain though, as being your friend was still a highly valued position in his eyes, and he was grateful for your lives to once again be connected.

“Professor, y/n,”

A moment with Obi-Wan. A moment with him, that’s all I ask.

Didn’t I make arrangements for you not to be around her?

You knew the cause for your dropping your smile so immediately and Obi-Wan knew his, but the two of you were clueless about the other’s. The fact both of you had reason to dislike Ferus’ presence right now was a surprise and one that would definitely be pondered later.

You doubted that Obi-Wan’s had anything to do with you, but in reality, he desperately hoped that you couldn’t see that it was. He was afraid that if you recognized his jealousy, it would only paint him as childish in your eyes, especially when he had just apologized for behaving so. Things changed a little when he realized you were obviously unhappy about the situation as well. He became more concerned over what offense Ferus had committed in order to warrant such a cold greeting on your end. He had enough faith in you to assume it was justly deserved, and the poor boy had once again earned another mark against him in Kenobi’s book, still unaware that he had a first. Mingled with the protective spark Obi-Wan had for you, he was ready to defend you should you ask it.

“Can I steal y/n away for a moment?” There was a hesitation in his request that indicated he might have sensed how unwelcome it was. It would actually be impressive if he didn’t…considering the harsh stare from you that he was met with.

Obi-Wan wanted to stay by your side, but he knew he had to play his part as your professor with no attachments at all. “Of course, you may, Mr. Olin,” he responded with all the cordiality he could muster.

“No you may not,” You suddenly spoke just as Obi-Wan was about to rise from his chair. He was more than happy to settle back in.

“y/n—“

“I’m busy, Ferus,” you responded bluntly.

“I just want to say sorry,” your back straightened in surprise. Two men were apologizing to you today and you were used to the men in your life apologizing, well, never. You would have enjoyed it more if it weren’t for the fact that they have to fuck up first just to have a reason to.

You gave Obi-Wan an apologetic look, signaling for him to leave. He didn’t like it, but he pursed his lips and nodded to you anyway. You watched him walk away and began once he exited the building completely.

“Look,” you sighed, “I’m not mad. I just really didn’t appreciate it.”

“Yes but—“

“Yes but what?”

“I’m sorry, but you don’t understand,”

“But I don’t understand?”

How dare he? What excuse could there be that made some of it my fault for not understanding?

You were planning not to make a big deal out of this, but no matter the issue, if he was gonna pin it on you too, like hell you were gonna let that happen. you raised your voice a little loudly, Madame Jocasta shushing you. You gathered your things quickly and strode out of the library. “what could I possibly not understand?” you said harshly, not even bothering to look at him as he trailed behind you.

“There are some things that you don’t know, and it’s just…it’s hard,” You raised your brow even further. Ferus went rigid. “You know what? you wouldn’t understand,”

“How did you not understand when I was clear about being just friends? And then your apology comes with an excuse attached?!”

“You don’t even kno–” Ferus raised his voice.

“y/n, what’s wrong?” Anakin rushed to your side.

“Stay out of this Skywalker,” Ferus glared at the new arrival.

Anakin just looked at you, asking silently if you wanted him to leave. You were going to tell him to go but when Ferus beat you to it, you changed your mind and told Anakin to stay for that reason only. It was a little petty to do something just to spite Ferus, but, well, fuck that.

“If y/n’s in it, I’m in it, and I’m telling you to leave it now Ferus,” Anakin’s loyalty was showing so clearly, and you saw how real of a friend he was. It was a bond that was invaluable to you.

“Always in the way, Skywalker,” Ferus turned to leave, “and you know what? I finally got the recognition I deserved. I earned it, unlike you.”

“What do you mean?” you both looked at each other and then back at Ferus. Your reaction was of genuine confusion and curiosity, past hostility.

“Kenobi spoke to Professor Mundi. Got me a position as his TA and into his program; and you thought you were his favorite, huh?” Ferus had a smug smile as he walked off, no doubt feeling like he had won, even though the battle he was fighting didn't really exist. He just hated Anakin because he got what Ferus felt entitled to. You held the same loyalty Anakin had just shown he had for you, and it made Ferus’ mindset even more sickening than it usually would be.

“I don't understand.” you shifted your attention to Anakin, “like I heard what he said, but I don't get it.”

“I’ve gotta ask Obi-Wan about this,” he said, just as perplexed. When he started to walk away, you started to go with him, but he stopped, giving you a look that he wanted to do this on his own, no doubt because Ferus had made this a problem with him first. You nodded and patted him on the shoulder, releasing him to seek out your professor by himself.

As per usual, Anakin made no effort to enter subtly once he got to Obi-Wan’s office. His teacher was well-accustomed to his habits by now and didn't even look up from his desk. The heavy steps and the sound of the door closing loudly when he pushed it back with too much accidental force, was just another “hello” to him by now. The only difference today was that the steps were quicker and more urgent.

“Why would you help him? why would you get him that position with Professor Mundi?” Anakin asked, both in concern and alarm. There was no way this decision made sense.

Obi-Wan didn't need him to clarify who he was talking about, although he did wonder how he found out. “You said he was bitter, so I gave Professor Mundi a call a while back. I thought that maybe this would clear the bad blood between you two,” he said with a casual wave of his hand.

“Since when did you care? leave the blood. this isn’t like you!” Anakin wasn’t angry, just frustrated, and part of him felt mildly betrayed. Obi-Wan gave Ferus, the person who’s been on his ass for how long, exactly what he wanted. “There’s some other reason I know it,”

“No there's not,” the other man denied.

“The only reason Ferus popped up is because of y/n” Anakin was beginning to piece things together for himself, but he wanted Obi-Wan to be the one to come clean with it.

“Well, I can’t help who he associates with,”

“Oh yes, you can. What does he get out of this?”

“Just some credit,” Obi-Wan hummed.

“Actually,” Anakin pushed harder.

“He’ll still get credit for the assignments that I said he can be exempt from while he spends time helping Professor Mundi; and we’ll both write him a glowing recommendation,”

“‘exempt from’ as in exempt from the group project,” it was presented as a statement rather than a question. “And he’ll be with Professor Mundi most days after class now so you'll know where he is, and it’s not with y/n,” Obi-Wan ran a hand over his face. There was no point in continuing to try and lie to Anakin, he was caught.

“I know you’re not mad about it though, he did cross a line with you,” Anakin felt a little accomplished now that he had finally broken down his professor, but more than that, he was touched by his words. Obi-Wan cared about both of you and had been listening to Anakin all along. He had been waiting for this moment, excited to finally shit talk about Ferus with Obi-Wan.

“So you agree he’s been a dick all along!”

“Anakin, you know I would never say that…out loud,”

“You do!”

“You’re not going to get me to say it out loud,” Obi-Wan kept an unbothered face, but Anakin didn’t miss the twinkle in his eye. “but he crossed a line with you and y/n and that’s not okay,”

“So does this mean you’re going after her?” the younger man raised his voice excitedly.

“No it does not,” Obi-Wan said firmly. Anakin looked dumbfounded. Here his professor was, so obviously head over heels, but willing to do anything but actually go for it.

“Did you ever think that you could lose her?”

“What?”

“That you could lose her. Taking Ferus out of the picture doesn’t mean she’ll stay. She could move on just fine without him,”

He could see genuine fear in Obi-Wan. Anakin had the same fear with Padme. He was scared that if he waited to tell Padme how he felt, he might lose his chance. If her feelings went unencouraged and unrequited, would they last long enough for him to finally build up the guts? He didn’t even want to think about that possibility again.

Obi-Wan’s mind was reeling. But no, that was a risk he wasn’t willing to take. He made progress today, and he wasn’t headstrong like Anakin. All he wanted was for you to be in his life, and he was content with that.

“I talked to her today. We’ve decided to be friends,”

“And friends is what you want?”

Obi-Wan pursed his lips. Maybe he wasn’t so content.

“I— there’s nothing else for me to do,”

“Talk to her,”

“It's not right,” Obi-Wan was holding his head in his hand, speaking frustratedly at the desk.

“Talk. To. Her,”

“I don’t even know what to say. I don’t even know how I feel,” he threw up his hands in exasperation.

“You don’t have to know,” Anakin moved around to place his hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder, “ If you try, it’ll come out naturally. She’ll get it”

“And what if she doesn’t feel the same?” The TA was starting to see the vulnerability in his Professor.

“What if she does? How long do you think she’s gonna feel the same if you keep her waiting?” Anakin put a clock on it now, and Obi-Wan felt the pressure.

“I—I have a lot to think about,”

guys had to add this in order to use the first gif. it’s the law.

PART 8

tags:

@bakerstreethound @heyhawtdawgs @mcbenson25-blog @heyitsaloy @stanny-uwu @venus-armote @ohworm-writes @songoficecreamandfireworks

#obi wan smut #obi wan kenobi #obi wan #star wars #obi wan and anakin #obi wan kenobi x y/n #anakin skywalker #obi wan x reader #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan au #professor!obi wan #professor au #star wars au #ferus olin #obi wan fluff

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radiosandrecordings · 4 years ago

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I would love to try and take a stock of the types of diegesis used in audio fiction and how it’s changed over time. It feels in more recent stuff like it’s fallen out of trend to have an in-universe reasoning for the story like “It’s a radio station you’re listening to” or “It’s old recordings you found!” just because that was such a saturated market towards the start of the AD boom that I feel like if you do that now people are going to presume you’re just trying to ride on the coat tails of one of them now (To the point where Night Vale and King Falls AM crew got in a twitter spat about similar themes). I think another reason it’s often passed over these days is just how much it confines your story, to the point where classic AD’s that had schtick’s for How We’re Hearing This like The Bright Sessions or Wolf 359 just gave up halfway through because it became too much of an inconvenience to justify the diegetic formula while still maintaining a good story and not having to shoehorn recording devices in, and this is something newer ones have learned from.

Giving an in-universe explanation really shapes your story for that reason if you commit to it. Night Vale always stuck to it to my knowledge in some form or another, wheras TMA made the tapes not just a fun layer of meta but crucial to the plot itself. Wheras you might have Zoo or Jar of Rebuke be tape recordings but the reasoning for them seems to be to justify the narrative style of having the main character sharing their inner thoughts diary-style, which creates engagement that you wouldn’t get if they weren’t airing their thoughts to something rather than just having us observe them living their life.

This can also play into sound design because if you have A Device That Is Recording, your whole soundscape is gonna be based around that. How close are people standing to it. Do they move closer or further away? Does the recording device itself move? Can you use panning here? Does the recording device itself emit a noise?

BUT these things do also come into play in something without an in-universe recording device, where often one character will be chosen as the POV and audio will be centred around them. This can be especially cool in something like Juno Steel or Kane & Feels where they lean into the noir genre and have a character monologuing for reasons that aren’t actually explained, you’re just expected to run with the non-naturalism because it allows you an insight into the character’s mindset. This can even involve panning and stuff such as the opening of Kane & Feels episode 2 where one character is monologuing to the listener and the other cuts in, interrupting their train of thought because, and they’ve recorded further away from the mic than the close up of the one monologuing because the character is on the other side of the room from the first, giving a sense of spatial proximity and immersion by letting us experience things how the POV character does.

Then you have things that sort of straddle the line of diegesis because they won’t have a reason they’re being recorded, but they’ll often have fourth-wall breaking elements like The Silt Verses being primarily read as if it’s a story being told to the listener by the character, even if there isn’t an explanation for this, it just is how the story is structured. It leans into being first person and supplements it with actual scenes scattered between. Or Paired, where it’s never stated but from the fact that we move with the character, and you hear bits of static and glitching when needed you’re lead to assume you’re hearing whatever is picked up by the recording device that is the character, but weirdly that’s never a confirmed thing because despite some scenes that mess with the formula and go for second person adressal to whoever is listening, it’s still a bit unexplained and not directly To An Audience

But of course these are just my personal insights from the AD’s I’ve consumed so I’d love to map it all out and see what the trends are for these sort of things, if creators give specifics reasonings for why they chose a justification or not. Because it’s not something that’s common in film or TV? At least to the extent of prevalence that it is/was in podcasts, and it’s not even really a holdover from radio dramas so I want to know what caused this surge when it came to podcasting. Was it just a case of looking at what everyone else was doing and copying a trend? Found footage was by no means a new genre when podcasts were starting to get big (Using 2012, Night Vale’s start date for lack of a better timeframe) but it did seem to have an uptick in popularity in 2013 in film according to wikipedia. It seems to be a technique almost always used for horror so the fact that a lot of AD is horror could contribute to it, but I think it might share a reason with why movies started to be made like that around the time, and it’s that it was cheap. It was a low budget way to frame things because it excused other production values. Your camera could be shaky, and your sound could be shoddy, and it was fine because you were supposed to believe it was recorded on a handheld camera or phone, it was all part of the framing. Most AD’s started recorded in someone’s bedroom on a tiny budget so they were gonna be poor quality, if you say “well it’s supposed to be, the character could only afford a £10 recording device (I could only afford a £10 recording device)”, or better yet you slap a tape whurring or radio static filter over it to mask the background fuzzy from an uninsulated room and you’re good to go.

.... Oh, what you thought there was going to be a summary or conclusion for this? Yeah so did I when I started writing it but genuinely I went down so many research rabbit holes I’ve forgotten what it was, so now it’s just an infodump <3

#My Post #Long Post

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fanficimagery · 4 years ago

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When Enough is Enough pt. I

Imagine being let down one too many times by your best friend, only to end up making some new ones in the process.

Words: 7.7K

Sometimes when you had a moment to yourself, you often found yourself looking back on how easy things were when you were just in high school. College wasn't a walk in the park, but it did somewhat prepare you for the real world after school. And with you now being a nurse and Peter still doing the superhero gig, you and your best friend hardly had time for each other which left you feeling bummed about it.

But you've finally taken a much needed two week vacation and you couldn't wait to dress in sweats and drink the night away.

Grabbing some fruit from your refrigerator, you set it all out on the counter and get to work. The strawberries need washing and to be sliced, but the black berries and blueberries are fine with just a quick wash. You grab one of the beer mugs from your kitchen cabinets and fill it a little less than halfway with ice. You toss in some strawberry slices, black berries and blueberries. Then turning to the refrigerator, you grab the Malibu Coconut Rum and the Minute Maid Berry Punch. You pour about three shots of the rum into the glass, followed by another three shots of the punch. Then grabbing a Smirnoff Ice Original, you twist off the lid and place the bottle upside down in your mug.

Satisfied with your drink for the time being, you shove a straw into your mug and take it with you as you walk over to your sofa. You groan happily as you take your first sip and then settle down to binge watch some shows you need to catch up on.

Halfway done with your drink, your apartment door opens but you already know who it is since there's only one person with a spare key. Peter jumps over the back of the couch, landing next to you and stealing your mug from your hands. He takes a long sip, grinning as he hands it back over to you. "That drink is dangerous. Tastes too good to stop just at one."

"Hence the reason why I'm drinking it, Parker." You clutch the mug between your hands once more, leaning out of his reach when he makes a grab for it again. "I'm on vacation and I plan to drink until I can no longer keep my eyes open. Hands off."

"Mean. And here I was going to invite you to a party." You freeze mid-sip and raise an eyebrow at your best friend. Peter smirks. "We've both been kind of busy and now that you're on vacation I figured I'd ask and see if you want to be my plus one for Tony's party."

Your lips purse. "Hmm. What kind of party?"

"A normal one?" He shrugs. "It's just the team and close friends of the team. Everyone needs to decompress and they decided to do that with drinks and music."

"Fine. I'm game. But you're packing up the fruits and all my beer mugs, and then we're stopping by the liquor store and Quick Mart to pick up more Smirnoff, Rum and Berry Punch."

"Y/N," he chuckles. "Tony's got drinks there."

"Yeah, but does he have all the ingredients to make my favorite drink?"

"Uh, probably not?"

"Exactly. So chop, chop! Pack it up while I change into clothes worthy of being out in public."

- - - - - - - - - -

As you ride the elevator up to the upper floors of Stark Tower, you're at complete ease. Anyone in your position would be a nervous wreck, but you've heard enough stories about them from Peter that you're not.

As the elevator dings open, you and Peter step out with your arms full of bags. Almost immediately, you're approached by Tony Stark. "Parker, you sly dog! It's about time we meet the girlfriend." You and Peter snort, and immediately try to deny his claims, but he bulldozes right over you. "What's with the alcohol? I got everything you could need here."

"First off," you muse, elbowing Peter aside, "I'm the best friend, not the girlfriend." Tony's eyebrows raise before he chuckles. "And secondly, I was already drinking this at my apartment before Peter asked me to come with him. I doubt someone with expensive tastes such as yours has Minute Maid punch and Smirnoffs sitting in the fridge."

"Point," he gestures to you. "Well welcome. Any friend of Peter's is a friend of ours. And I see you got blueberries so I want one of whatever you're making."

"Sure thing, Stark, but just know this was something we came up with in college."

Peter gestures for you to follow him when Tony gets called away and you keep close to him as he leads you to the kitchen. He finds an empty space along the kitchen island and the two of you work on unloading the bags.

"Get me three mugs of ice," you tell him. Peter takes three mugs to put some ice in as you open the containers of fruit. You earn a few curious glances, but you merely grin and nod, and continue to twist open bottles and cartons. Then once you've assembled everything, you toss the fruits into each mug and start pouring the shots of rum and berry punch into them. You put one Smirnoff upside into the first mug and hand it off to Peter. "Take that to Mr. Stark. I'll assemble ours."

Peter grins and heads off, doing as you've said.

You get the remaining two poured very easily and Peter rejoins you just as you insert the straws. Taking his own mug as you pick up yours, you clink your drinks together before taking the longest sip you can. When you need to breathe, you let go of the straw first and Peter fist pumps in victory. "Dick," you mumble.

Two females approach- one with a shy demeanor whereas the other one has a very energetic vibe about her. You're proven correct when she says, "Hey new girl, are you the one making the Smirnoff drinks?"

You nod. "Yeah."

"Mind making one for me and friend here? Stark won't share." You chuckle and nod again. "I'm Darcy, by the way, and this is my friend Wanda."

"Y/N." You introduce yourself as Peter grabs two more mugs to put ice in. "I'm that idiot's best friend," you say while gesturing to Peter's back.

"I heard that!"

"Well I wasn't whispering it." He mockingly pouts at you over his shoulder and you laugh some more.

"Damn. We owe Sam and Bucky twenty bucks."

You glance at Darcy as she begrudgingly starts pulling money out of her back pocket and you raise an eyebrow at Wanda who's grinning. "We thought you were Peter's girlfriend." Her accent makes your smile widen. "Sam and Bucky said there was no way Parker got a girlfriend as beautiful as you."

Your eyes widen and the seemingly shy girl laughs aloud. "Wait, what?" You nervously chuckle. "I'm not drunk enough to be taking compliments from pretty boys like them."

"Boys." Darcy snorts. "Don't let them hear you call them that. They'll be determined to show you how manly they are then."

Peter sets down the mugs in front of you before taking his back up. "You good here? I want to go say hi to some people."

"Go." You shoo him away. "Go mingle. I'm fine."

"Yeah, Spidey. She's good. We'll keep her company," Darcy says. "Go away now."

Peter frowns and you can't resist pinching his cheek, cooing softly at him. "I'm a big girl, Petey. I'll be around. Plus you're walking me home, remember?"

"Fine." He gently swats your hand off his face as you laugh at him. "But please stay with the girls, and don't listen to anything Sam or Bucky says. They're mean to me."

"I'll try my best. Now go away. I have drinks to make."

As Peter leaves with his drink in tow, you finish making both Darcy and Wanda theirs. They happily accept them when you slide the mugs in front of them, groaning in delight after they take their first sip.

"Come on. Lets go get comfortable with the boys and Nat," Darcy says. "Kick off your shoes though. We're sitting in the pit."

You glance around for a place to kick off your shoes until Wanda gestures you towards the corner where other pairs of shoes lie. Then following them over to what they've deemed the pit, you walk down the carpeted stairs and take a seat near Wanda as Darcy hands over some money to Sam.

"Ha!" Sam laughs. "Knew that little twerp couldn't land a lady as fine as her."

Your nose wrinkles at the compliment and Wanda laughs. "Everyone, this is Y/N. Y/N, that's Natasha, Sam and Bucky." She points to each respective individual as she names them and you nod at each of them. "Y/N also doesn't take compliments well."

"It's weird." You're quick to defend yourself, sheepishly shrugging. "I don't like being put on the spot."

Darcy plops down between Bucky and Wanda. "Well too bad. You are a beautiful woman who makes fantastic drinks." She wraps her lips around the straw to sip some more. "Janie is going to be pissed she missed these."

You chuckle and start sipping your own drink.

"So how do you know Spider-Boy?" Sam asks.

"Uh, we grew up together," you say. "I lived next door to his uncle Ben and aunt May, and when he moved in with them we were just drawn together. Been best friends ever since."

"Never once hooked up?"

You splutter at Darcy's question. "N-No!"

"You're lying." Bucky's eyes squint at you and resist the urge to flip him off. After all, you only just met him.

"I'm really not. There might've been a slight crush once upon a time, but no. No hookups."

Natasha grins at you before sipping her beer. "You're a great liar." You gasp in mock offense.

"Who didn't hook-up?" Peter lands next to you, his arm going around the back of your shoulders.

Darcy waggles her eyebrows at you and you snort. "Apparently all your friends-" Bucky and Sam scoff, "and co-workers think you and I have hooked up."

Peter laughs. "Well there was that one time-"

"Peter!"

"WHAT?!" Sam and Darcy shout.

"Knew it." Natasha preens at being right.

You swat at Peter's chest repeatedly. "Dick. I just finished telling them we hadn't."

"What? But how?!" Darcy wonders. "You had me believing you when you said you didn't hook-up. You had Bucky believing it!"

"Y/N is a phenomenal liar," Peter muses. "We got away with so much in high school."

You crack a grin then, you and Peter sharing a fist bump. "Way to make me sound like I lie all the time." Then looking out at those in the conversation pit, you say, "I don't lie on the important stuff. Just the stupid stuff that got us out of school or whether or not Peter and I hooked up. His girlfriends are usually intimidated by me so I had to convince them Petey and I never slept together."

"Are you two.. together?" Wanda then wonders, but you and Peter shake your heads. "How do you remain such good friends afterwards?"

You shrug. "We know each other's deepest secrets. We won't ever not be friends."

"Hold on. Let's get back to the lying thing," Bucky says. "Give me two truths and one lie. I wanna see if you can do that again. And stare me straight in the eyes when you say it."

Sam snorts as you and Peter laugh. "Okay. Hold on. Let me think." You take a moment to think of the three things you're going to say. When you figure it out, you meet Bucky's steely gaze head on. "I was engaged once. My sister married my ex-boyfriend. I swam with sharks where a young shark took a chunk out of my side."

Everyone seems to hold their breath and you can't help but smirk when Bucky's eyes narrow. After a brief moment, he says, "The sister and the ex-boyfriend. While you seem young, being engaged is believable. As is the shark. But there's no way a sibling would marry another sibling's ex."

Your smirk falls and Bucky grins victoriously, only for Peter to burst out laughing. You follow soon after. "If this were a drinking game, you'd have to take a shot."

"What? No way!" Sam exclaims. Bucky looks grumpy once more and Natasha looks impressed.

Peter nods. "It's true. Y/N dumped him for being clingy and not wanting her to speak to me, and he went crawling to her sister months later. They married a couple years after that."

"And you were okay with that?" Wanda frowns.

"I was fine with their relationship. It's not like I was in love with the guy," you admit. "I just hated that she moved him in with us. It made our already cramped apartment even more cramped, which then led to lots of sleepovers at Peter's."

"So that's when the hook-up occurred." You grab a couch pillow and throw it at Sam who catches it with a laugh. Darcy pats Bucky on the shoulder and Sam laughs at his expression. "Well if that wasn't the lie, what was? The engagement?"

"Oh no. I was engaged." You laugh. "For about a month before I realized I didn't actually wanna spend the rest of life with an idiot."

"The lie was the shark bite," Peter tells them. "Y/N's is terrified of the ocean. She can only make it into ankle deep water before she starts to panic."

"Well the ocean is huge!" You defend yourself. "Have you seen those documentaries with the strange noises and shadows at fuck thousand feet below? No thank you."

The group sitting around you all laugh. You decide to get more comfortable then, angling yourself towards Peter and throwing your legs across his lap. He doesn't bat an eye, instead he just raises his arms and sets them back down atop your legs, his free hand tapping a random rhythm on your knee.

The conversation flows easy after that, Tony dragging Clint, Steve and Bruce to be introduced. Once everyone is seated, the group waste no time in asking what it is you do after you refuse to offer up any embarrassing stories about a pre-teen Peter. Darcy is snapping pictures every now and then, getting your Instagram username afterward so she can tag you in a few of the ones she was posting. And when you get the notification on your own phone, you go through liking the photos and following back Darcy, Wanda, Sam and Bucky who had all followed you.

Not even five minutes after of the pictures being posted does Peter's phone ring. You hear his sudden intake of breath and you glance at the screen, your smile dimming at the name and picture there. "Take it," you murmur. He quickly glances at you and you remove your legs from his lap. "It's been what, a couple of months since you last spoke with her? Take it."

Peter grins and then hurriedly stands up, answering the phone call on his way to a quieter portion of the room. Your newly found friends look at you and you paste on a smile. "It's his on again/off again girlfriend. Darcy posted a picture of Petey and I, and I have no doubt in my mind Leslie saw it."

"So she called him?" Steve frowns.

"Yep. And if Petey's still wrapped around her little finger, he'll be leaving in five, four, three, two- and there he goes." You all watch as Peter rushes towards the elevator, a little excited skip to his run. "It never fails. She doesn't necessarily want to be tied down to Peter, but she'll be damned if Petey and I have a good time together."

"Well that's shitty," Darcy mumbles.

"Preaching to the choir, D." You go to sip your drink, only to realize it's empty. You sigh. "And I need a refill."

"Ohh. Me too!" Tony holds his mug up in the air and Darcy grabs it with a laugh.

She and Wanda follow you into the kitchen, and you waste no time in preparing all four drinks once again. Then when the three of you make it back to the conversation pit, Pepper Potts has finally joined the party. Tony is quick to make her try his drink after Darcy hands it off to him, and you can't help but laugh when she wants to keep it for herself. Tony quickly introduces the two of you and then once again Sam and Bucky are needling for anything embarrassing on Peter.

"Knock it off. I'm not going to do Peter dirty like that."

"You mean like he did you dirty by bringing you to this party and then leaving you for another girl?"

"Oh shit."

Everyone goes quiet, eyes wide as they glance between you and Bucky. "Low blow, Barnes. Just for that, you ain't ever getting anything out of me for blackmail on Peter."

The conversation picks up again, you glaring at Bucky every now and then as he smugly grins at you. Steve, Tony, Clint and Bruce end up wandering off again which leaves you, Wanda, Darcy, Pepper, Natasha, Sam and Bucky in the conversation pit.

It's been nearly an hour since Peter has disappeared, so when the elevator dings to signify someone approaching, everyone readily glances in the elevator's direction. The doors slide open and Peter practically skips out.. with Leslie following on his heels in complete and utter awe.

Pepper is too focused on her phone to see those in the pit staring at you with oh shit expressions and you roll your eyes as you finish off your drinks. "Watch it with that one," you mumble. "She's a clout chaser."

Those words catch Pepper's attention, her focus immediately on the girl then and you barely feel any regret uttering those words. You figure Pepper's used to dealing with clout chasers after dealing with Tony Stark's one night stand's so long ago, so you smother a grin when Pepper winks in your direction before getting up and introducing herself to the girl.

"Well that's my cue to head on home." Darcy and Wanda frown. You huff a laugh at them, shaking your head. "Sorry. I've had three of these," you say while gesturing to your empty mug, "so my tongue's a little loose. If she even looks at me wrong, I have a feeling we're going to have a repeat of my junior year in high school."

Sam ooh's. "What happened your junior year?"

"Got a month of in-school suspension." You shrug. "Some bitch kept making cruel remarks to Peter, so one morning I borrowed my sister's class ring and used it to beat the girl's face in. Then when we were separated and our parents showed up, the same girl had the audacity to call me a crazy bitch to her parents when we were walking down the same hallway. I jumped her again."

"Nuh uh. No way," Darcy muses. "You're so nice!"

You snort and Bucky turns around in his seat. "Parker!" You bite your tongue when both Peter and Leslie turn towards your general direction. "What did Y/N do her junior year in high school to earn in-school suspension?"

Peter barks out a laugh. "She broke the ruby stone on her sister's class ring when she punched a girl in the face. Repeatedly."

Story confirmed, Bucky turns back to you and salutes you with his bottle of beer. "Okay. I did not expect that."

Your nose wrinkles as you laugh. "I was a mean girl. College mellowed me out and real life made me a lazy bitch. I'm too stressed to be a petty asshole."

"I'll drink to that," Darcy says.

You try to stay a little longer, but out of the corner of your eye you see Leslie taking selfie after selfie. Her phone is purposely raised too high and the camera's aim is off so she can capture everyone in the background rather than herself. You quietly groan as you roll your eyes. "I really need to go or I'm going to say something and make things awkward."

The group doesn't try to stop you, instead Natasha leans forward to address you. "How you gettin' home?"

"I can walk. It's actually not that far from here."

Bucky shakes his head. "I'll walk you."

"What? No." You frown. "I'm good. You stay and enjoy yourself."

"Give it up," Natasha muses, "he won't take no for an answer. We like you. Let us keep you safe."

You glance at Bucky. "Are you sure? I can honestly get home just fine. I don't want to put anyone out."

Bucky finishes off his beer. "Nah. You're good. I need some fresh air anyway."

Seeing as you're not fighting him on it, Darcy and Wanda get up to bid you a good night. They walk with you back into the kitchen to grab your shoes while Bucky walks over to Steve to tell him what he's going to do. Darcy takes your phone to enter her and Wanda's phone numbers, and she makes the suggestion that you do this again when you're free. You agree and then they make sure to tell Bucky to keep an eye on you when you end up tripping over your own shoelaces.

With her arms crossed over her chest and staring over your shoulder, Darcy says, "You weren't kidding when you said she had him wrapped around her finger." You look to where Darcy gestures and you shake your head in disappointment. "When Bucky mentioned he was taking you home, Peter didn't have anything to say. He looked at you like he wanted to say something, but then his attention was drawn right back to Leslie when she let out an obvious huff that someone needed to walk you home."

"That's Leslie and her magical vagina for you."

Darcy and Wanda giggle, and your eyes widen. You can't believe you just said that.

Bucky swings an arm around your shoulders then, chuckling. "C'mon. Let's get you out of here before we have a girl fight on our hands." He leads you into the elevator and you flip off Wanda and Darcy who are both waving and wiggling their eyebrows.

The ride down is quiet, as is the first couple blocks on your way home. Bucky's arm had lowered from your shoulders to hooking through your own arm when you tripped over the curb.

"I didn't peg you as a quiet drunk," he suddenly muses.

"Oh you'd know if I was drunk."

"Yeah?"

"Yep. I'm a sleepy drunk. If I were drunk, you'd be carrying me home." You trip over a crack in the sidewalk, giggling, but Bucky is quick to tighten his hold on your arm so you don't fall. He laughs.

"So what? Is this you tipsy?"

"More or less. I'm a bit more bold for a little while and then I'm on the hunt for food before finding a place to crash."

"A bit more bold? You looked like you were one look away from startin' a fight back there at the tower, sweetheart."

You shrug. "I don't like her."

A beat passes and then, "Is it because you're in love with Parker?" You don't answer right away and take a moment to gather your thoughts. "And answer honestly. I really am curious. Your secret is safe with me," he tells you.

Elbowing Bucky lightly, you say, "I love Peter, but I'm not in love with Peter. He's my best friend. But I don't have to be in love with him to be jealous," you say quietly. "For the longest time it was just Petey and I, then Ned came along and finally MJ. We both had our relationships, but Peter had a habit of choosing his girlfriend over his friends, and that- that hurts."

"Have you told him how you felt?"

"He knows," you admit. "Well not from me, but Ned and MJ confronted him about it. MJ got tired of it first and distanced herself. She said she had better things to do than wait around for a friend who didn't want anything to do with her while he was getting his dick wet." Bucky snorts and you grin. "Well those weren't her words exactly, but you get the drift."

"Yeah I do."

You sigh. "Then Ned told him it wasn't cool to just drop us while his full attention was on a girl who only wanted him hanging out with her friends. Peter tried to do better for a couple months afterwards, but alas Leslie wins. Again."

"I'm sure he was just excited to hear from her after so long. At least that's what I heard you tell him."

You glance up at him, eyebrow raised. "Who are you and where is the real James Buchanan Barnes?"

"What?"

"I don't know, man. I didn't peg you as someone this talkative." Bucky chuckles and a few minutes later you're glancing up at a familiar building. "Well this is me." You unhook your arm from his, smiling at him. "Thanks for walking me. I'm pretty sure I would have either scraped my palms or busted my chin had you not been there to catch me."

"Don't even worry about it. You okay taking the stairs?"

"Pft. Too much cardio. I'll take the elevator."

"Well then I guess this is where I leave you." You mockingly salute him and he shakes his head at you. "Drink some water."

"Yes, sir. See you around, Barnes."

"See 'ya."

Over the next couple of days, you don't really hear from Peter. You text him to grab some dinner with you and to watch a movie, but he ends up telling you he's busy and that's that. Darcy ends up adding you to a group chat with Wanda, Natasha and Pepper, and you end up talking to them more than your own best friend. Surprisingly, none of them are fans of Peter's Leslie. While they can admit the two of them look good side-by-side, it's obvious Peter does anything and everything to keep her in good spirits even if it means putting him in an awkward position.

Admitting you and Peter were backed into two very different corners and not talking at the moment, Darcy suggests another night of drinks. You tell her you have one more week off, but Pepper's too busy running Stark Industries and Natasha is about to go off the grid for a mission. Darcy and Wanda are free, so Darcy says she'll text you the deets.

You had reached out to Peter once more, sighing when he gave you the excuse of spending time in Stark's labs. His hesitation rubbed you the wrong way, so one text to Pepper later confirmed your gut feeling that Peter had not been by all day and, in fact, had texted Tony for date night suggestions instead. So when your night out with Darcy and Wanda comes around, you walk into the bar and quickly find them, then marching up to the table and downing one of the shots there.

You cough, cringe, and then, "Is that vodka? Fuck! You should have warned me."

"You looked like a woman on a mission," Darcy says. "Who am I to get in the way of that?"

You glower at her and then accept the drink Wanda pushes towards you. It's then you notice Sam and Bucky at the table, and you narrow your eyes at them.

"If looks could kill," Sam chuckles. "Don't worry. We're designated bodyguards and drivers tonight. Just pretend like we're not even here."

"Mhm. Move over."

Sam scoffs as Bucky immediately starts pushing him further down the bench seat they're on and you take a seat on the edge. Your knee bounces anxiously beneath the table and Bucky nudges you with his arm. "What's got you so worked up?"

"Peter fuckin' Parker." Darcy and Wanda's nose wrinkle, and you sigh. "I'm just.. so over waiting for my friend to realize I still exist. It sucks to be forgotten about until the one he's devoting all his time to drops him. Then it's like he remembers I still exist and it's back to normal as if nothing ever happened."

"I like Peter," Wanda starts, "but he isn't a good friend."

You shrug. "He's been doing this since high school. It hurts, but I've gotten used to it."

"Screw that. Drink up," Darcy urges you. "No moping tonight."

"I'm down." You salute her with your glass. "To no moping."

"Aw hell," Bucky mutters. "You girls are going to be a handful," he says as he watches you down the complete drink while Darcy and Wanda cheer you on.

Bucky and Sam, being the best designated bodyguards, keep the drinks at a decent pace so none of you over-do it. The second they notice the annoyance drain out of you and you're all lazy smiles, Sam and Bucky sag in relief.

"Okay so FMK," Darcy says. "Y/N, you're up first."

"Ugh." You groan. "Do I really have to answer?"

"Yes. But don't worry, Sam and Bucky won't be one of the candidates." You smile at their offended heys! "We don't need to feed their egos."

"Alright. Hit me!"

Wanda giggles as Darcy offers up your choices. "Tony, Clint, and Thor."

"Oooh," you drawl. "Fuck Thor because you know, he looks like he'd dom the shit out of you behind closed doors." Sam snorts and Bucky glances at you, eyebrow raised. "Marry Clint because he's goofy as fuck. That'd be a fun marriage. And sadly kill Tony because you know, he's got Pepper. Hoes before bros. You don't do that to a fellow lady."

"I think you got the saying backwards there, Y/N." Sam laughs. "It's bros before hoes."

"Is it? Is it really?" You take a long sip of your drink, eyes twinkling in the low light. "Wanda's turn!" You then muse. You look at her, smirking. "Your choices are Steve, Peter, and Bruce."

She pouts at you and you can't help but laugh. She sighs. "Kill Bruce just because he's definitely not my type." You and Darcy giggle. Wanda hums. "I'm sorry, but I'd do Peter just so it's a one and done. And then marry Steve."

You coo at her. "Wanda Rogers. It has a nice ring to it."

Wanda blushes, but then she turns on Darcy. "Your turn. Sam, Bucky, and Peter."

"Hey! We're not supposed to offer up these two idiots as candidates," she says while gesturing to said two idiots.

Bucky and Sam merely grin, awaiting her answer. When you or Wanda don't budge, she rolls her eyes. "Fine. Kill Peter, fuck Bucky and marry Sam."

"You answered that way too quickly." You laugh, Sam and Bucky's smugness not going unnoticed. "But you know, same. Cheers to good taste!" You and Darcy tap your glasses together, breaking down into giggles afterward.

Bucky shakes his head fondly at the three of you. "You girls have no shame when you've got liquor in you."

You, Darcy and Wanda all share a look before you're laughing once more.

- - - - - - - - - -

The night goes on with Darcy asking the most asinine questions she can think of. This group of people you've only met days before now know several of your sexual preferences and kinks thanks to the giggly brunette, but it was all admitted in good fun and no one teased you about it. You also know them on a more personal level and you can't believe some of the stories that leave Bucky or Darcy's mouths.

Wanda seems to be the photographer of the night and her favorite picture to take is you getting into Bucky's personal space and attempting to earn a smile from him. You managed to get one after a couple of hours- hours spent threatening to lick his face. You ended up face to face with him, staring him down, and when he said you wouldn't.. you did. It was nothing more than a kitten lick to the tip of his nose, but it was enough to send everyone into hysterical laughter. Wanda was just grateful she managed to catch the whole thing on video instead of a picture.

As Sam and Darcy went to grab another round from the bar, you glanced around the cramped building and leaned into Bucky. "I'll be back."

"Where you going, doll?"

"Bathroom. There's always a line for the ladies bathroom so it might take me a while."

"Need an escort?"

You chuckle and shake your head. "I'm fine. Don't you worry that pretty little head of yours about me."

At his nod, you squeeze his arm with assurances that you'll be back soon before scooting out of the booth. You make your way towards the back of the bar, sighing at the line down the hallway. So taking your spot in line, you lean against the wall and immediately pull out your phone.

Scrolling through Instagram, you like the few photos Darcy and Sam have posted. Wanda even posted the video of you and Bucky, and it makes you grin as it plays over and over. Although as you look at the number of likes and comments, you kind of wish the Avengers didn't have public social media.

After nearly ten minutes of waiting in line, it's finally your turn. It's a great relief to be inside the small room and then after doing your business and washing your hands, you're on your way back towards your booth. Only you've barely exited the hallway when there's a body sliding in front of you.

"Hey." You jerk to a stop, frowning at the stranger before you. "So not to be creepy, but I saw waiting in line earlier and I was wondering if I could buy you a drink."

The guy is good looking, but under the current circumstances you just want to get back to your booth. "Sorry, but my friends have me taken care of." You step aside in order to go around him, but he reaches out to capture your wrist. You jerk out of his hold. "Don't touch me."

Though you're obviously disgruntled, the guy laughs. "Come on, sweetheart, don't cause a scene. It's just a drink."

"First off, I'm not your sweetheart." He huffs. "And secondly, this scene could have been avoided if you took no for no instead of trying to pressure me until I say yes. I was willing to let your sudden introduction slide, but now? Now this is creepy. This is actually borderline harassment!"

"Whoa. Calm down, you fuckin' harpy. All I wanted was to buy you a drink and talk."

You take a step towards him, eyes glaring. "And I told you my friends had me taken care of."

Whatever Stranger Danger had planned to say dies on the tip of his tongue as an arm wraps around you from behind. But not just any arm. Oh no. A very infamous metal arm.

Bucky's arm reaches around in front of you from your left side, his hand then encompassing your right shoulder. As Stranger Danger seems to gape in fear, you can't help but lean back into Bucky's chest as your hands reach up to hold onto his arm as it rests across your chest. "Is there a problem here, doll?"

"I'm not sure. This guy can't seem to take no for an answer and that apparently makes me a fuckin' harpy now," you say.

Bucky gently squeezes your shoulder. "Hey asshole, we still got a problem here?"

"Oh, uh, no." He steps back. And then takes several more steps back. "Sorry."

As soon as he turns tail and books it back to his own group of friends you burst into laughter. You feel Bucky's own laughter against your back and you lay your head back against his shoulder while glancing up at him. "Should I feel special? I feel special," you say. "You took your sleeve off in order to scare the piss outta some douchebag."

"Yeah, yeah. Let's get back to the table. I'm pretty sure Sam, Wanda, and Darce started recording the moment I stood up."

"I can see the caption now," you say as Bucky starts to lead you to the table in question. "Sergeant Barnes saves drunken fool from being creeped on. Ovaries are going to explode all over the world. There's going to be so much fanfiction about this moment."

"Fanfiction?"

"Uhh.. don't worry about it."

"I wasn't, but now I'm interested given your reaction."

"Oohh." Darcy perks up. "Interested in what?"

"Nothing!"

"What fanfiction is?" Sam snorts as Wanda frowns, and Darcy practically bounces in her seat. Wanda scoots down the U-shaped bench towards Sam's side and Darcy scoots down as well. Bucky nudges you into the seat and he plops down right next to you before placing his arm on the back of the seat right behind you. "So what is it?"

"They are stories written by fans."

"Darcy!"

"Usually about fictional characters, but some people write about real life people. It's almost always a fantasy of theirs."

You groan and then reach over to pinch Bucky's nipple when he asks, "You write any fantasies of your own, Y/N?"

"Shut up."

He laughs at you, placing a hand over his pec to keep you from pinching him again. "No? So you read them. You obviously must do if you know what fanfiction is."

"You know Tony pays someone on the down low to write smut about him?" Darcy admits.

"What?!" You turn towards her, laughing hysterically. "If it's on the down low, then how do you know?"

"Mama's got her ways." Sam snorts at her. "And FRIDAY is one of my bff's."

For a moment all is well and then Bucky nudges you again. "So which ones did you read?"

"Oh my god," you groan. "You're not going to let this go, are you?"

Bucky smirks. "Not a chance."

"Then fine. Yes I read some fanfiction back in my high school days. I was really into vampires back in the day, the whole fangs really did it for me, so I read a lot about the Lost Boys. And Twilight even though they didn't have fangs."

"Twilight?!" Sam guffaws.

You hide your face in the palms of your hand. "I know! But to be fair, I was all about that Jasper guy and that werewolf dude Paul. I didn't really care for the other characters."

Wanda grins. "Jasper was the most handsome of the Cullen coven."

"Yes!" You look up at her. "Thank you."

"Now that is something I will cheers to." Darcy passes you a drink and you raise it alongside hers and Wanda's. "To Y/N's fang festish!"

"Hey!"

- - - - - - - - - -

Sam and Bucky call it a night a couple hours later when you can't quite keep your head up and move between laying your head on Darcy and Bucky's shoulders.

Between the two of them, they manage to herd you, Darcy, and Wanda into a car that was parked around the corner. However the second you were pushed into the middle seat, you lean forward and tap Sam on the shoulder. "Can we get some chicken nuggies?"

"It's three in the morning!"

You sniffle. "But I want some nuggies."

"We'll get you some nuggets," Bucky says. "Now sit back so Sam can drive."

"Yes, sir."

Darcy and Wanda giggle as you sit back, and that's the last thing you remember.

The next time you wake up, you realize you're on the floor. But given the plush carpet beneath your cheek, it's not any floor in your apartment. You groan as your temples throb and you can already feel the bile in the back of your throat threatening to come up.

"What the fuck," you mumble. Your stomach lurches and you clamp your mouth shut.

"Well it seems I missed one hell of a night out." You angle your face towards the voice, stomach lurching once again when you see Tony eating a plate of food not too far from you. "Barnes and Wilson brought you back here because you were totally wasted. They didn't want you to choke on your vomit."

You gag. "Please don't say- say that word." Tony laughs at your pain. "Where are the girls?"

He points with his fork. "Behind you. You might not be able to see them over all the McDonald's trash. You girls really packed away all those nuggets. Even Steve was impressed when he got back in."

"Ugh. I'm never drinking with them again." You roll onto your side, but the movement makes the room tilt. You stop and inhale, then exhale deeply. "Mind if I sleep it off right here? If I move I'm gonna barf."

"Knock yourself out. I'll have FRIDAY warn everyone off for a few more hours."

"Yesss. You're a good man, Stark."

He gasps. "FRIDAY, did you catch that? Send the recording to Pepper. She'll be so proud."

You did not break your vow of over drinking again, instead you stuck to early evening dinner with Wanda and Natasha (when she was in town) after Darcy got called away to take some readings out in a desert. And since that night where Bucky saved you from a drunken fight, he had somehow ended up with your number and would text you randomly throughout the day. Part of you played it cool, but the other part of you was very flattered that Bucky Barnes was sending you good morning and good night texts.

Then the weekend before you are to return back to work, you decide to treat yourself to brunch before you have to go home and clean.

You're sitting on the outside patio, waiting for your food to come out as you sip on your orange juice. You take a selfie, tagging your location as you post it to Instagram with the caption that you're treating yourself to all the food you can stomach before you have to return to adulting come Monday morning. Then when the waitress comes out bearing your honey raspberry and banana ricotta toast, and your breakfast casserole, you happily sigh and thank her for the quick service. You take another picture, post it, and then dig in, laughing at the comments and texts from your friends who sarcastically thank you for the invite.

You haven't even made a dent in the casserole when a shadow falls over you. You glance up mid-chew, grinning at the sight of Bucky. "This seat taken?"

You shake your head, swallowing the food that's in your mouth before addressing him. When it's gone with a little help from your juice, you ask, "What are you doing wandering around?"

"Peter's girl was at the tower, waiting for him to finish up something with Tony," he says. You snort, already figuring out something must have gone wrong. "She was mooning over Stevie and Sam said my bitch face was too obvious, so they sent me out."

"And you just happened to find me?"

"Well you did tag your location which is something we're gonna have to talk about soon."

"Oh whatever." You playfully roll your eyes. "Now shut up and help me eat this food. I see you eying the toast." Bucky smirks and readily takes one of the toasts, eating half of it in one bite. His eyes widen as a slight groan escapes and you chuckle. "Right? It's so good. I think this is going to be my go-to place from now on."

Bucky picks up a spare fork, then digs into the breakfast casserole and you laugh at his willingness to eat your food. There's very little talk as the two of you finish the food, and only after it's gone does Bucky ask, "Is Parker still a no-show to your hangouts?"

"We actually hung out two days ago," you say, "but he was only there for ten minutes before Leslie needed him to escort her to her friend's party." Bucky shakes his head and you shrug. "It is what it is. At least I got you guys out of this whole ordeal."

"You totally got the kids out of the divorce."

You snort and then glare at Bucky for making you do so in the first place. "Shut up. Petey and I are good. He's just preoccupied at the moment."

"If you say so, doll."

Clearly done with the food and ready to move on, you wave down your waitress for the check. However, before she can hand you the small folder, Bucky snatches it and shoves a single bill in there while telling her to keep the change. You know the bill he shoved in there must have been a large one given the widened eyes of the waitress when she sees it.

"Smoothe, Barnes," you muse as you stand. "But you do know I could have paid for my own food, right?"

"Yeah, but I figured I'd pay considering I crashed your alone time." He stands as well, gesturing for you to walk ahead of him. You take off walking in the direction you know your apartment is. "So you got any plans for the rest of the day?"

"Cleaning and laundry. Apparently ever since I've met this new group of people, I've put off my household duties." Bucky huffs a quiet laugh. "I plan to clean today and laze around tomorrow before I go back to work on Monday."

"Laze around, huh?" He pauses a moment and then asks, "Want some company? I'll bring the food."

You glance up at him, right eyebrow raised in amusement before you hook your arm through his. "Bucky Barnes, a man after my own heart." He chuckles as you mockingly swoon. Then straightening up, you nod. "Sure you can come over. I don't mind."

"I'm coming over for lunch and dinner, so what are you going to want?"

"Won't the others wonder where you are?"

Bucky shrugs. "Stevie's been buggin' me to get out. He'll be ecstatic."

You laugh. "Barnes, when they tell you to get out I think they mean out and about in public. Not from one enclosed space to another."

"Baby steps."

"Baby steps my ass," you muse. "But yeah, bring whatever food you like. Surprise me."

He smirks. "Okay. Will do."

#marvel gen fic x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #peter parker #bucky barnes #wanda maximoff #sam wilson #darcy lewis #the avengers imagine #marvel imagine #the avengers #marvel

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spideymarvelws · 4 years ago

Note

Playing truth or dare with college!Peter and MJ dares you to give him a (private) lap dance

This turned out to be much longer than expected

Main Masterlist / Add Yourself To My Taglists

Warnings : SMUT! (Lap dance?ish?kind of? i went a bit of script im sorry, thigh riding, grinding, dirty talk, dom!peter, innocence kink, corruption kink?, masterbation, oral[male rec], mild degrading), alcohol consumption, everyone is 18+, kinda fluffy in the beginning but we do be getting smutty real quick tho, MJ being your personal wing woman

Also please dont take drinks from strangers this is fiction and not real life, always drink responsibly :)))

Word Count : 4.8k

Behind Doors

Fratboy!Peter Parker x Fem!Reader

You tried to keep your staring to a minimum, you really did. But how could you when he stood in the middle of the crowd, glowing like an angel amongst everyone. He was laughing with his friends, his head tilted back with his eyes squeezed shut and a smile that could make anyone's day so much brighter. You wanted nothing more but to run your hands through his floppy brown hair bouncing on his head as he told his mates a story, his facial and hand movements lively when he moved them around, accentuating the words falling from his mouth.

His fit didn’t help either. A tight white t-shirt paired with blue jeans and a gold chain that hung from his neck, begging to be played with in any way. It was simplistic but made you swoon all the same. His muscles printed through the fabric didn’t help much either, his biceps almost tearing through the sleeves a mouth watering contrast to his cheerful face.

It was like staring at a greek god that radiated puppy dog energy.

“You’re not being subtle you know,” MJ whispered into you ear nudging your side with her elbow, “Just go talk to him,”

You shook your head, heat rising to your face as you averted your eyes from the brown eyed boy, turning to face your best friend, “You know i can’t do that,”

“Not with that you aren’t,” she pointed at the red solo cup you held in your hand filled halfway with orange juice. She quickly snatched the cup away from you, dumping the contents in the grass of the backyard.

“Hey!” You gasped, but made no effort to stop her.

“You need to loosen up,” she stabbed her finger into the middle of your chest, shoving her drink into your hands, “All of it, now,”

You took the cup hesitantly swirling the contents inside around for a bit, watching as the liquid moved smoothly around the sides of the plastic. You looked back up at MJ, feeling small when she stared you down with a stern look. You knew you weren’t finding a way out of this one.

“Fine,” you grumbled before tilting your head back, chugging the alcohol down. You let out a few coughs afterwards, giggling as MJ started to cheer.

“That’s my girl!” She wrapped her arm around your shoulder, pulling you into her side, “Now for about five more,”

Two hours and four drinks later, or maybe it was six you weren't keeping count, the party finally started to die down. The liquor running through your system did its job well in letting you loosen up so you could enjoy the party without being distracted by a certain brown haired boy.

You had lost MJ halfway through the night, your mind finally processing that she wasn’t by your side when you reached for her to dance with you. As you busied yourself by looking around the room, you felt someone place their hand on your lower back, sending shivers up your spine with the touch. You whipped your head around, expecting your equity intoxicated friend but only to be met with the same brown eyes you’ve been fawning over at the beginning of the night.

“Hey,” he said into your ear so that you heard it over all the noise. He moved his hand off your back after he got your attention. You tried your best to keep the tiny whine from escaping your throat at the loss of his touch. The free feeling you felt with the alcohol completely vanished with the sound of his voice turning you into that shy nerd all over again.

“Looking for someone?” He said, pushing the tips of his fingers into the front pockets of his pants.

You stood speechless, you mouth agape that Peter Parker, the Peter Parker was talking to you. MJ was wrong, no amount of alcohol could’ve prepared you for the moment. At least you didn't scurry away like a mouse like you would’ve if you were fully sober.

“I- uh,” you coughed, trying to get some words out but failing miserably.

“Sorry, It’s just I saw you looking around,” he scratched the back of his neck, chuckling at your flustered state. His cheeks starting to turn a light pink which made you swoon even harder, “I assume you’re looking for MJ, since you were with her for most of the night,”

“Oh, right,” you mumbled, laughing awkwardly, looking down to the ground, “How did you know I was with her?”

“You guys are always together!” He smiled showing off his pearly whites, “Around campus you know? I’ve seen you guys together in my classes as well,”

“You noticed me?” You whispered, mainly to yourself but he managed to pick up your words, making you even more embarrassed than before.

“Of course!” He passed his hand through his hair, looking straight into your eyes, “How could I not Y/n?”

You stood speechless, your mouth opening and closing as if you wanted to say something but changed your mind last minute. Millions of thoughts ran through your brain per second, the most frequent being your name rolling off his tongue.

“Anyways, uh, the main reason i came was to bring you to MJ,” he chuckled nervously, seeming just as flustered as you, “She’s in one of the spare bedrooms with some of the boys, we’re playing a good ole’ game of truth and dare,” he voice raised adorably, making you giggle lightly, “You don’t need to join or anything, but i don’t think you would want to be alone out here,”

“Yeah!” you replied a bit to quickly, shaking your head at your enthusiasm, “I mean, yeah, I would like to join you,”

“Sick!” He smiled brightly, grabbing your hand. Your eyes widened at the action as he pulled you through the crowd, you looked down at the ground, allowing him to maneuver you around the mass of bodies.

“Just so you don’t get lost,” he said, looking back at you, pointing out your intertwined hands.

“Of course!” You said back, holding back your squeals of excitement.

You were honestly surprised with how sweet he was acting towards you. Despite his status as part of the biggest frat on campus, his reputation upholded him as the good boy of the group, the one who helped old lady’s across the street or bought lunch for you when you didn't have the money. Sure, you saw this on multiple occasions but to experience it for yourself was a nice change, and just solidified your crush on him even more.

When he reached the stairway vacant of anybody, he still didn't let go of your hand, only tightening his fingers around yours. He walked down the dark hallway and approached a door ,giving you a reassuring smile before turning the knob and pushing it open, revealing around eight or nine people. Some laid on the bed, beers in hand as they laughed while others sat on the couch. You spotted MJ on the floor, laughing with Harry Osborn.

“Who’s the chick Parker?” One of the boys said, silencing the room and putting everyone's attention on you.

“This is Y/n,” he gestured towards you, “Y/n, everyone,” Peter finally let go of your hand, popped himself on the edge of the bed, picking up a beer from the side table and nodding his head at the empty space besides him.

You looked towards MJ panicked, but all she did was mouth ‘go’ with a shit eating grin. You sneered back at her, rolling your eyes as you walked up to the bed, bending your right leg back to sit on your calf while the other dangled over the edge.

“You’ll be fine, don’t worry,” Peter leaned into your ear, whispering gently, “Again, you don’t have to do anything you don’t have to,”

You pouted at his actions, melting at the fact that he was so observant with you. You looked down at his beer, before looking back up at him. If you were going to get through the rest of the night, you needed to be absolutely wasted.

“Do you have another beer?” You asked him, pointed to his bottle.

“You could just have mine,” he offered his drink, passing it off to you.

You bit your lip, taking a long swig of the liquid, “Thank you,”

Before the both of you could converse any longer, a girl with short blond hair you knew from English, called out from the corner, “Okay, okay, who wants to go next?”

“I think Y/n should go,” flash said, holding up his bottle towards you, “She’s the new one isn’t she?”

Peter looked at you, silently asking if you needed him to say anything. But you decided to take things into your own hands for the first time that night.

“Yeah, I’ll go,” you said, taking another swig of beer.

“Alright Y/n,” Harry said smugly, leaning back on his forearm, “Truth or dare?”

You thought about it for a bit, missing the smug look on MJ’s face as you muttered, “Dare”

“I dare you to give Peter a lap dance,” she said immediately, leaning back as she held in her laugh at your washed out face, “I mean we could send you to the other room if you want more privacy,”

You sat speechless and once again wanted to melt into the sheets beneath you. You felt Peter’s hand wrap around yours, giving him your attention.

“Only if you want to,” he muttered, giving you a soft smile.

“I-,” you took a deep breath, trying to gather the little confidence you had left, “Which room?”

Hollers and shouts bounced off the walls, as everyone hyped both of you up. Peter stood, pulling you up with him, leading you out the room.

“Take as much time as you need!” You heard MJ shout after you before the door closed, leaving you and Peter alone once again.

Your heart pounded inside your chest as Peter guided you once again to another room. You gulped, wondering if you had made the right decision so give a lap dance to your crush. He didn’t say anything as he knocked on a door, opening it when he didn't hear any noise come from the room.

“After you,” he said politely.

“Thank you,” you said shyly, walking to the middle of the room.

Peter closed the door behind him, leaning against the wood, “Sooooo,” he dragged looking you up and down, “I- uh, didn't expect you to say yes,”

“Me neither,” you chuckled, looking down to the floor.

“I mean if you don’t want to, it’s just a silly bet,” Peter said, fiddling with his fingers.

“Do-,” you coughed, “Do you want me too?”

“It’s up to you really,”

“But would you mind if i-“

“I mean I wouldn’t be against it-,”

You both laughed nervously falling into silence after that. You looked around the room, finding interest with everything besides him. You were fidgety, playing with your fingers while tapping your foot on the floor rapidly to calm your nerves. It was stupid, you’ve been dreaming about him for so long, and now that you were finally in a room together you clamed up, not knowing what to do in his presence.

Peter on the other hand kept his gaze on you, his eyes racking your body up and down. He wasn't going to lie to himself and say that he’d never thought of this moment, the moment where you and him were finally together, in a room, all alone.

You were different from the girls he was used to in the frat. You were untouched, well to his knowledge, you were a clean slate and from the small confrontations he’s had with you, he could tell you were obedient too.

He wanted so bad to just have his way with you, to absolutely ravish you like he did in his dreams. But he wanted to savour it. After so long of watching you pin over him, purely to feed his ego, he was ready to take things to the next level and what better way than with a good lap dance. Sure he was the good guy, both as himself and as his alternate persona as a hero, but when it comes to you, all his morals were thrown out the window.

Besides, you were both intoxicated and he didn't want your first time together to be at a stupid party in a room he was barely familiar with.

After a few more seconds of silence, Peter decided to take things into his own hands, to make his fantasy a reality, or to just get it started at least. He was the first to make a move, walking right up to you, taking your chin between his fingers, tilting your head up to look at him while his other hand made its way to the side of your waist, pulling you closer.

“Y/n?” He asked, swiping his thumb across your lips. He may have an unhealthy obsession with them but it didnt matter because in the next few moments he would make them his, “I’m not stupid you know,”

You blinked rapidly, tilting your head to the side at his statement, confused and slightly hurt.

Peter only chuckled, slipping his thumb between your lips for a split second before pulling it back out and resting it back on your plump lip, testing the waters, “I said i noticed you, and when I mean I noticed you,” he leaned forward, placing his lips near your ear, “I meant everything, down to the constant heart eyes,”

You held your breath, not knowing how to feel, what to think. Peter Parker, the Peter Parker, was standing in front of you, playing with your lips with such close proximity, telling you that he was aware of your existence. That there was a chance that he might feel the same way about you.

You had to remind yourself that this was just a bet, that he didn’t mean anything he was saying. He was only doing it because he had to. Even if he was a sweet boy by heart, he still had a reputation for sleeping around, that to him you were just another girl to add to his collection.

But when he pushed his thumb into your mouth, you knew you'd fall victim as well.

“Mhh,” he hummed, “such a good girl, just like i knew you’d be,” suddenly, he pulled his thumb out of your mouth and sat back down on the bed, pulling you to straddle his lap, “Now, i believe you have a dare to fulfill,”

“I- uh,” you stuttered, hesitantly placing your hands on his shoulder as you settled into his hold.

“You’ve never done this before, have you princess?” Peter mumbled, hovering his lips over yours.

“i-,” you shook your head, lost for words when he called you princess.

He hummed, one of his hands gripping your waist while the other laided on your cheek, rubbing the soft skin with his thumb, “Let’s start off slow then,” his thumb moved to your mouth once more, playing with the bottom lip. You sat frozen, letting him take control. You didn't trust your body to move, you could barely even talk.

“I’ve always wondered what it was like to kiss these perfect lips,” he whispered, moving to kiss your neck, trailing his way up to the corner of your mouth, “I’d imagine you’ve though the same,”

You nodded, tightening your hold on his shoulders. Peter laughed, his breath hot on your face.

“You’re going to need to say something if you want me to continue princess,”

“Yes,” you squeaked, clearing your throat, embarrassed by your quick response, “Yes, I-uh, I’ve thought about this, yeah,”

“Hmm, good,” he mumbled before finally latching his lips on yours, keeping your face close with his hand.

His lips were rougher that you imagined, probably from constantly licking them for most of the night. But the more you kissed, your mouths opening and closing with each other like its own dance, the more wet and lustful it became. You could feel your body begin to relax into his, melting into the warmth. His confidence only grew with the soft moans escaping your mouth, quickly slipping his tongue inside when your lips parted, exploring your mouth with vigour and purpose.

Your breath hitched in response, using your own tongue to match his movements and tangling it with his, fighting for dominance you were sure he was going to win. Your fingers ran through his hair, tugging at the short curls at the base of his neck, smiling when he groaned into your mouth. You beamed at him when you finally pulled away, a string of spit connected your lips.

“This seems more than just a lap dance,” you let out a shaky sigh, resting your forehead against his.

He chuckled, using his hands to bring your hips closer to his crotch, your dress rolling further up around your waist.

“Then what are you waiting for,” he said cockily, leaning back on his forearms, looking back at you expectantly.

You let out a breath, readjusting yourself on his lap before moving your hips slowly. Your pussy barely made contact with his now hard cock poking through his jeans, teasing it ever once in a while when your panties brushed the tent. You smirked, despite not knowing what the hell you were doing, it seemed like you were doing a decent job.

“Don’t get to cocky princess,” he groaned, squeezing your waist tightly, “You forget that I’m the one in charge here,”

You bit your lip, muttering a soft sorry.

He hummed, nudging his nose with yours, “Let me help you then,”

He grasped your hips, pulling your it closer to his crotch, grinding it against your core. You let him guide you with his hands, following his lead supporting yourself with your own hands clutching on to his shoulder.

He let out a long sigh, his head falling back. You took that as the queue to grind faster, enjoying the effect you had on him with such a simple movement. Your confidence grew with the noises escaping his throat along with the occasional praise only fueling your need.

In a rush of the moment, you moved your hands to the back of his neck, pulling him into a needy kiss. It was much more sloppier and messier than the previous one, your focus more on moving your hips than keeping your lips in sync with his.

But you wanted more. As much as you enjoyed Peter’s eyes trailing your body, his hands exploring your waist and the angelic look on his face, you couldn't help but wonder if it stopped there. If you could make his moans louder, his hips jut against your with need, just as much as you needed him.

After a few more moments, an idea popped into your head with the faint sound of music coming from downstairs.

“Peter,” you decided to purr in your ear, biting your lip when his eyes fluttered open, dark and filled with lust.

“Yes princess,” He cooed, moving his hands back to your waist while keeping eye contact, brushing his lips over yours. But before he could fully kiss you, you pulled away, giggling at the little whine he let out.

“What is it?” he pouted, rolling his eyes when you didn’t respond, only biting your lip in thought. He grabbed your jaw, focussing your gaze back on him, “You were being such a good girl, what happened hmm?”

“I- I have an idea,” you gulped, the confidence you felt seconds ago melting away under his stare, “Do you have a speaker?”

He nodded his head, pointed to a desk in the corner with a small black speaker sitting on top. You smirked, hopping off his lap and running to the box. Peter leaned back on hands, watching with curious eyes as you pulled out your phone from your jacket pocket, tapping it open and typing in your password.

“What’s going through that head of your princess,” he mumbled, but loud enough for you to hear.

You only giggled in response, playing around with the speaker to turn in on. After a few more seconds of fiddling, you spun around with your phone in hand and a teasing smile on your face. Your finger pressed down on the screen, the room filling with the song Love Is A Bitch by Two Feet.

He scoffed, “And here I am thinking you were just an innocent little thing,”

You bit your lip, looking down shyly and placing your phone on the table, your back facing him, “I just wanted to set the mood,”

“Was grinding down on me not enough?” he teased, “Are you always this greedy?”

You let out a breath before turning around, your heart practically beating out of your chest, “Only with you,”

You glanced up at the brunette face, nervous that maybe you took it too far. It was just a simple lap dance, nothing more and nothing less and you should've kept it that way. But the kiss was addicting, keeping you in a daze where all you wanted was more. More of his touch, his mouth, his taste.

You’ve wanted him for so long and now that you dipped your toes in the waters, you wanted to dive in and never come out. What really kept you going was his reactions to your touch, the small grunts and moans escaping his mouth because of you. He wanted this as much as you did or else he would’ve shut you down by now, right?

You were just getting ahead of yourself.

“Come here Y/n,” he almost growled, his eyes never leaving you while you shuffled your way between his legs, yelping when he gripped your waist and pulled you back down. Instead of straddling his waist, he moved you so your legs were on either side of his left thigh.

You went to speak but the gripped your jaw with his forefinger and thumb, forcing your eyes on him.

“You never fail to surprise me princess,” he whispered, his free hand trailing up your waist, brushing past your breasts, “I thought I had to treat you like a good girl, take my time with you” he chuckled darkly, “Turns out you need this just as much as I do, my greedy, desperate little thing,”

You bit your lip, tucking your head in the crook of his neck to avoid his stare. The pet names he gave you was already enough to leave you a mess but adding ‘my’ in front of it made you melt. You wanted to be his, you wanted him to take control of your body and use you as he pleased. He adjusted his thigh, having it bump against your clothed pussy. Heat rose to your face when you let out a small whimper, settling back on his leg, craving the friction but you didn’t move, waiting for specific instructions.

“You weren’t so shy before, what happened?” he kissed the shell of your ear, “Go on princess, ride my thigh like the desperate whore I know you are,”

Without thinking you began to grind your pussy along his thigh, your face growing hotter when you felt the wetness seep on to his jeans. Peter kept his hands on your waist, keeping your movements at his own past, occasionally bouncing his leg, enjoying the little whines you let out. When you started moving faster, he knew you were nearing your high.

“Princess, look at me,” he grunted,“I want to see that pretty face when you cum,”

You let out a shaky sigh, pulling your head up to face him but you could barely keep your head up, too concentrated on moving your hips against the rough fabric of his jeans. He quickly recognised this and wrapped his hand around your throat, squeezing lightly to get some of your attention.

“Peter,” you whimpered, near to tears with how close you were to climaxing, “Peter please,”

“What is it princess? You want to cum? Is that it?”

You nodded quickly, “Please,”

“Go ahead princess,” he grinned, smashing his lips against your to swallow your moans as you came on his thigh, your hips moving in slow strokes to prolong the feeling. You pulled away after a few moments of feverish kissing, your arms falling limp around his shoulders.

“Fuck,” you sighed, your forehead falling against his with the breathless laugh, “That was-”

“Great? Amazing? The best experience of your life?” he laughed, falling back against the mattress, pulling you down with him. You giggled, shoving your face in his neck and inhaling his comforting scent.

“Yeah,” you turned your head to face him, pouting when a piece of his hair fell in front of his stunning eyes. You moved it out of his face, kissing his nose in the process, “I liked it a lot,”

“That’s good, that’s good,” he whispered, tightening his arms around you.

All of a sudden you felt something poke at the inside of your thigh. It took you a few moments to realise that he was hard and was probably aching to get off at this point in the night.

“Do- do you want me to help?” you said shyly, sitting up on your hands to fully face him.

“You don't have to princess,” his hands passed up and down your waist, “Seeing you fall apart from my thigh is all I needed tonight,”

The twitch of his eye and dryness of his lips told you otherwise.

“Are you sure?” you bit your lip, moving your hand slowly down to his hard on, “because I don’t mind helping Petey,”

You didn’t know where the nickname came from but it was too late to take it back. Judging by the dark look in his eyes and the almost cynical look on his face he didn’t mind.

“You want to help me princess? Are you sure you know what you’re in for?”

You shook your head eagerly, “Just tell me what you want,”

“And what if i want you to suck my cock?”

“I would do it,”

“Do what?”

“Su- suck your cock,” you replied bashfully looking down at your hands now intertwined on his stomach.

“Aww, is my princess getting shy?” he fake pouted, “After getting off on my thigh like a slut, you’re getting shy about taking me in your mouth?”

“I-”

“It’s alright princess i’ll guide you through it,” he reached down to unzip his jeans, shuffling awkwardly to push them down so he could get his member out. You watched as his hard dick slapped against his chest, big and throbbing.

He moved your hips back so that you straddled his legs this time, taking your hand and raising it to your mouth.

“Spit,” he instructed, looking up at you with hunger, “Now,”

You hesitantly spit into your hand, watching in awe as the wad fell into your hand.

“Good girl,” he sighed, moving your hand to wrap your small finger around the base of his cock, “Have you ever jerked someone off princess?”

“Just two,” you respond hesitantly.

Peter gritted his teeth, trying to get the idea of you touching anyone else out of his mind, “Well let's make this your third and final guy hmm?” his breath hitched when you started to move your hand up and down his cock, “You’re mine now princess,”

In the spur of the moment you leaned down, licking the red tip of his member, “Only yours,” you whispered before taking him halfway in your mouth, gagging and pulling yourself back up.

“Take your time princess,” he gulped, “fuck but you could do that again if you’d like though,”

You giggled, licking and kissing the sides of his cock and taking it once more, reaching further than this time than you did the last. You bobbed your head continuously only raising your head to take a breath and going in again.

“Fuck princess, I knew your mouth would be good,” he groaned, “You’re doing so well, taking my cock so good down your throat, fuck!”

You smiled around his length, the back of your throat contracting around the tip making him moan your name. Before he could praise you even more, someone's voice cut his words off.

“Everything alright in there?” MJ said through the door but you were too lost in your daze to answer or recognise her voice.

“Yeah, we’re good,” Peter smirked, pushing you to take the rest of his cock, “We’re just going to take longer than expected,”

...

Part two maybe??

Permanent Taglist : @jadegill @joyleenl @sarcastic-sunset-7@wakeupandsmellthelavender @kaithezaftig @theliterarymess @thirstiestpotato @i-love-superhero @lovewolfspirit @lowkey-holland @miltifandoms1019

Peter Parker Taglist : @ietss @itscaminow @dummiesshort @seutarose @cebaratn16 @lanceyfancypants @clara-licht @sadassflatass @usuck @yeah-seems-legit @lolasm0nst3r

Crossed out means i couldn't tag :(

#peter parker #peter parker smut #peter parker x fem!reader #peter parker x reader #frat!peter #fratboy!peter #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n #fratboy!peter paker x reader #marvel smut #marvel imagine #tom holland smut

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a-soul-full-of-stars · 2 years ago

Note

“almost saying i love you before stopping themselves”

(this one got a little away from me, so I've stuck most of it under a cut! thank you so much for the ask @umbralaether! this matchcred moment takes place about halfway through their story, post-stormblood, pre-shadowbringers)

...

Match stares out over the midnight streets. Another night in Ul’dah. How long has it been since the last one? His months away in Ala Mhigo and Doma have added up; the still-fresh bruises and cracked ribs speak to that.

It is good to be back and not recognized. The title of champion has always sat funny on his shoulders, but since Ishgard it has sat heavy indeed. What good is a champion if where he champions never grows, never changes? And what if there is no place for him there anymore?

But these aren’t questions to ponder alone. Match stares out over the balcony, and awaits his company.

He doesn’t have to wait long. He hears the balcony door creak open behind him. “Evening, stranger.” Match turns, unable to keep the awkward smile from his lips. There he is, Thancred, with that same mop of tousled white hair, that same sly grin. “Momodi said I’d find you up here.”

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself.” Thancred moves closer, joining Match at the balcony. For a moment, Match thinks about going for a hug, embracing him like he has so many times before. But no. Better not. After all, there’d be too many words in that hug, too many things that need saying that have been left unsaid too long already. Thancred watches him a moment longer. “So,” he says at last, grin fading. “To what do I owe the pleasure of the Champion’s company?”

“Har har.”

“Sorry. Would you prefer warrior of light? You do seem to accrue the titles these days.”

“I didn’t ask for any of them.”

“I know you didn’t.” Another moment’s silence falls between them. Thancred looks around. “A pleasant enough night. Reminds me of the last time we were up here.” He glances sideways at Match through his pale fringe, as if measuring the miquote’s response. “A few years back now, of course.”

“I remember it,” Match replies, blushing. How could he forget? That perfect day followed by a perfect night, followed by a perfect kiss…

“Is that why we’re here? To reminisce?” There’s something new in Thancred’s voice, a note of scorn that hadn’t been there before. “Because if so there’s a few memories that aren’t so pleasant.”

Match cringes. “I know, I know. What I did back then-”

“What you did back then, you did back then. It’s done,” Thancred interrupts. “No point going over it now.”

“But I should! Let me apologize at least!”

Thancred watches him levelly. “…Alright. What do you think you need to apologize for?”

“For… For running away. For leaving without telling you where I was going, or why. For you having to come and pull me out of a jail cell.” Match looks away, unable to hold the hyur’s piercing gaze. “I was an idiot. I didn’t even think. All I cared about was saving my own skin.”

Thancred watches him for another second, then exhales a long sigh. A weary smile tugs at his cheeks. “Well, I won’t deny it’s nice to hear you finally say it. The way you’ve been acting I was starting to think you were blaming me for the whole mess.”

“What? Why?”

“Why?” Thancred says, raising an eyebrow. “You didn’t exactly welcome me back into the fold with open arms, Match. We never talked about it when I handed you over to the Scions, and we never talked about it all over again when I met up with you and the others in Dravania. Then you pull another disappearing act and the next time anyone sees or hears from you you’re waiving a Doman sword around and going on about this Musosai fellow, and we still don’t talk about it.” His face grows darker. “Not to mention the few times I did see you, you constantly made those little comments.”

“Little comments?”

“You think I don’t hear you? That I don’t see that judging look in your eye when I speak to Hilda, or any woman for that matter that you happen to be in earshot of? You were never any kind of master of stealth.”

Match cringes again. “When you put it like that, I guess I have been pretty shitty to you, huh?”

“That’s one word for it.”

“Well I’m sorry for all that too.” Match looks away, unable to look Thancred in the eye. “For what it’s worth, I didn’t mean any of it. Not really. I’ve just been… It’s like…”

Match trails off, words leaving him again. Thancred watches him, his eyes widening in surprise as his companion’s shoulders start to shake, as tears start to tap onto the balustrade. Thancred reaches out and places a hand on Match’s shoulder. “Hey now… No need for that. You said sorry, no need for tears.”

“It’s not.. I meant, it’s not just that. Oh gods.” Match wipes his eyes with his arm. “Gods, Than. It’s all gone wrong. None of it makes any sense anymore.”

“What doesn’t? Talk to me, I’m here.” He leads the shaking m’iquote back to the stone bench set against the back of the balcony, sitting him down gently. “It’s alright, Matchstick. Talk to me.”

Match sniffs. “I should never have told you about that nickname.”

“Too late now. Now, what’s caused all this?”

Match takes a long, slow breath. “I just. I’m supposed to be this great hero, right? Everyone’s expecting me to save them from whatever the next horrible thing to show up is. Ultima Weapon. Nidhogg. Thordan. Every damn Primal, over and over. But how long am I supposed to keep doing that, you know? When do I get to stop? Haven’t I done enough yet?”

“I suppose we’re a little over-reliant on you sometimes. But you know you’re valued more than any of us.”

“I know, I know… It’s just… I still don’t remember anything from before this, you know? None of it. I’ve been so many places, seen so many m’iqote tribes now, and every time I do I walk in with part of me hoping that this is it, this is the one. This is where…”

He trails off. Thancred watches him, his expression unreadable. “Where you’re from.” Match nods. “I see. You still haven’t found a family.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I love my life with the Scions. I’d die for any of them. But with all this business with Doma and Ala Mhigo… I don’t know. It’s just been hurting more lately. It’s like every time I get something solid its all snatched away. And not like for the others.” He gazes despondently out over the city lights again. Below, a pair of lalafel courters stroll arm in arm through the quiet street. “Everyone else has gone through stuff, sure, but they have that surety. They know where they’re from. Raer and Muirrean, they have homes and lives they could go back to, if they wanted. I think Muirrean might even stay in Doma, the way she and Hien hit it off. But there’s nowhere for me to go except back to the Rising Stones.”

“Is that so bad? It’s a damn sight better than Pearl Alley at least.”

Match sniffs again, managing a weak smile. “And I’d definitely be able to hold onto a box better these days.”

“Exactly.” Gingerly, Thancred puts an arm around Match’s shoulders. His foolish, perfect Matchstick. How can he even begin to comfort him? How do you sum up so many years of gratitude, of resentment, of the mess they’d left behind them right here in Ul’Dah?

Another moment passes. At last, his voice slow while he searches for the words, Thancred speaks. “For whatever it may be worth… There is far more to family than tribe or name. Those back at the Rising Stones, they miss you when you’re gone, you know. They worry every time they ask you to step into danger. We all do. We ask the impossible of you, and you make it look easy. And more than that…” He squeezes a little tighter, his other hand turning Match’s face so that his despondent eyes are locked with his own. “Were you ever to ask for a reprieve they would grant it. You are more than an ally, Match Munroe. You are more than simply those titles of yours. You are family. You are so, so loved. We all love you.” A moment passes. “I…”

But he can’t say it. Not yet. Those last two words die in his throat, choked by the bitter ghost that still haunts him, that echo of nights on this very balcony that whispers on the desert wind what if, what if, what if. Still too soon. Still too late. When? When will it ever…

All of sudden his thoughts are interrupted as Match presses his lips against his own. Just for a moment. Then, Match breaks a way, his eyes still closed, his forehead still resting gently against the hyur’s.

For once in his life, Thancred doesn’t know what to say. “Match…”

Match’s eyes do not open. “Yeah. I know. Me too.”

And there, on that balcony in Ul’Dah where they’ve left so many words unsaid, three more words remain silent thoughts, as warm as that endless desert wind.

...

unresolved feelings prompts!

#matchcred #thancred x wol #thancred #match #ask me about match #ask me about my wol #umbralaether

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bitsandbobsofwriting · 3 years ago

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Twin!AU Part 2:

Gwaine is ecstatic to find that he’s technically dating Royalty (Arthur still isn’t best pleased), and Merlin begins to recover his true heritage.

Part 1 Part 3

Gwaine stares at the two of them open-mouthed from where he sits on the edge of the bed.

Re-telling the story had re-ignited Merlin and Arthur’s anger, but they do a good job of keeping it in as Gwaine tries to process that his partner and The Prince of Camelot are... twins. Gods this sounds like something out of one of Leon’s ridiculous fiction books: long lost royal twins and insane Kings and emotional reunions with long-dead, ghostly relatives. But to be fair, Gwaine has found that in all of his travels, Camelot has definitely been the weirdest place he’s ever been. Or perhaps it’s just the people.

He finally shuts his mouth, nodding slowly as he takes a deep breath and stands. He wipes his sweaty hands down his trousers briefly before stepping forward and pulling Merlin into a hug, making pointed eye-contact with Arthur over his shoulder. The only thing that Gwaine and Arthur had ever agreed on was that Merlin’s safety was of the upmost importance; this whole ordeal had just strengthened that agreement:

“That’s... you guys have had one hell of a day, huh? You said Gaius, and your mo- Hunith, and that bloody Dragon knew?”

Merlin tenses in his arms before pulling away, and Arthur’s expression turns stormy once more as he nods. Gwaine frowns, keeping one hand on Merlin’s shoulder as the servant (Prince?) responds bitterly:

“Hmm. We haven’t spoken to Kilgharrah or Hunith yet, but they’ll be getting a bloody mouthful from me, when we get time.”

Gwaine nods sympathetically, muttering his reply more to himself than the others:

“...Bastards.”

Arthur nods, but takes a deep breath as he puts his own hand on Merlin’s other shoulder:

“Agreed, but we’ve been gone too long; Leon’s been dealing with the council for at least half an hour and we need to go explain things sooner rather than later. News of my- The King’s arrest will spread like wildfire once it gets out.”

Merlin sighs, sagging slightly where he stands, and Gwaine steps even closer to him, moving his arm to be over his shoulder in a side-hug:

“Hey, I’m sure Arthur and Leon can deal with this if you’d rather hide out in here for a little peace. We could always set Morgana loose on the council, she’s bound to whip them into shape.”

(Yes, this fic is ignoring the timeline both in terms of the knights AND Morgana. She knows about Merlin’s magic, and Merlin, Arthur, and Gwaine (and Lance) know about hers.)

Merlin lets out a quiet huff of laughter, leaning into Gwaine’s side slightly as he looks up:

“No, I can’t. Arthur’s right, we need to sort this out sooner rather than later. I’d be perfectly content to not tell anyone about who I really am-”

Gwaine raises an eyebrow and Arthur narrows his eyes, ready to protest, but is interrupted by Merlin’s loud continuation before he can say anything:

“-but I know neither of you will let me get away with that so... here we are.”

Arthur nods decisively and Gwaine hides a grin, clearly thinking about how he’s technically courting a Prince. Arthur rolls his eyes at Gwaine’s expression, a small part of him cursing himself for letting the drunkard stay in Camelot, but the rest of him is grateful, knowing that Merlin needed more than Arthur on his side, especially now he had lost, or partially lost, Gaius, Kilgharrah, and Hunith.

The blonde Prince lets out a deep sigh, looking towards the door despondently as he decides that they really can’t leave Leon to fend for himself any longer. The three of them make their way from the room wordlessly, but Arthur halts the group again at the end of the corridor, turning to Gwaine with a thoughtful frown:

“Go find Elyan, Percival, Lancelot, Morgana, and Gwen. Gaius is a member of the council so he should already be there but double check he isn’t in his chambers, and Leon may have fetched Morgana himself, but I don’t know.”

Gwaine turns to look at Merlin and speaks quietly:

“What should I tell them?”

Merlin’s frown deepens and he glances at Arthur, but he just shrugs slightly, giving the choice to Merlin:

“They’ll all find out in the meeting anyway, so it might be best to pre-warn them so they aren’t blind-sided. Tell them the truth, I was born with magic, and am Arthur’s long lost twin brother, confirmed by Igraine’s ghost and then Gaius.”

He looks bewildered as he says it, almost as though he doesn’t fully believe it quite yet; Arthur nods in agreement and continues his instructions to Gwaine:

“Have everyone meet us there as soon as possible, I want to get this sorted now and I’m going to need as many people on my side as I can get.”

Gwaine nods seriously, pressing a brief kiss against Merlin’s forehead before rushing off in the other direction, hurriedly knocking on the knights’ doors down the corridor as Merlin and Arthur turn the corner.

They make quick work of the journey back through the castle, stopping just outside the doors to the Throne Room with sweaty palms and shivering lungs. The two of them listen to the annoyed sounding murmurs coming from inside for a few moments and the guards try not to give them odd looks as Arthur glances to Merlin—stood at his side instead of behind him—with a fond, though nervous smile. He puts his hand on the other man’s shoulder:

“We’re about to cause one hell of an argument, you ready?”

Merlin takes a deep, calming breath, smiling briefly as he hears Leon pleading with the council to be patient for just a little longer, looking to Arthur with anxious eyes and pale cheeks:

“Yeah. Come on, I think Leon might hurl himself from the window if we make him wait much longer.”

Arthur chuckles quietly, and the guards quickly divert their gazes when he looks back to the doors, taking one last fortifying lungful before walking forward and pushing them open with a bang, Merlin at his side.

The room goes suddenly quiet and Leon visibly relaxes when they walk in, bowing briefly before stepping aside and allowing Arthur to take his place in front of the thrones. There is no table in the Throne Room, so the council stand gathered in the middle, staring up at Arthur incredulously as he runs a hand down the arm of The King’s throne absent-mindedly. He was grateful to see Gaius present, despite not being in any sort of mood to talk to the man; he holds a smirk in when he sees several of the councilmen raise eyebrows at Merlin, still stood at his side when he technically shouldn’t even be in the room. There was even further incredulity as Sir Leon moves to stand guard behind him, as opposed to The Prince.

One of the Lords nearer the front of the small crowd finally breaks the tense silence:

“My Lord, what is the meaning of this? We were told it was an emergency, that we were meeting in the Throne Room as opposed to the council room, and were then made to wait for almost a candle-mark. The King has yet to arrive, what is going on?

Arthur turns to look at them with a raised eyebrow, back straight and face impassive:

“Patience, Lord Angar, The King will not be joining us, though we are waiting for a few more-”

The doors open before he finishes and every head turns to see the remaining knights, Gwen, and Lady Morgana enter, led by a serious looking Gwaine. All of them give Merlin a small smile and a bewildered nod, bar Morgana, who looks nothing short of furious as she moves to stand protectively at his side, glaring at any councilman who dares to look their way. The knights spread out, standing to attention with hands on their swords around the edge of the room, whilst Gwen moves to stand against the wall behind Morgana, Merlin, and Leon. Only Gwaine, Leon, and Lancelot are in full armour, but all the knights are armed and angry looking.

The councilmen, looking more confused and annoyed, look back to a still impassive Arthur. He fixes a short glare on each and every one of them before turning to face them properly and speaking confidently, his tone inviting no argument:

“The King has been arrested and confined to his chambers for the murder of the late Queen, and gross crimes against the Kingdom.-”

The room immediately explodes into angry and incredulous yelling, and Merlin flinches away from the sudden noise. Morgana squeezes his wrist comfortingly, knowing that it was only going to get worse when the rest of the truth is revealed, and Leon steps out from behind him, moving to be at his side with his sword halfway out of it’s sheath.

The other knights and Gwen all tense in place and Gwaine has to resist the urge to run to Merlin, knowing that the council’s disdain for both him personally and his courtship with Merlin would just make things worse. Arthur rolls his eyes at the cacophony of noise and slams the metal part of his gauntlet against the arm of the throne with a bang:

“ENOUGH! You’ll find, gentlemen, that remaining calm and quiet will make this conversation much easier.-”

He glowers at everyone until the hall is drowning in another tense silence before taking a deep breath, forcing himself to keep his hands from fidgeting as he continues:

“-It has come to my attention, through the Witch Morgause-”

A few murmurs of dissent go around the room, but they quickly cease when even the ever-calm Sir Leon begins to glare at people:

“-and further confirmation by The Court Physician, that King Uther used sorcery, against The late Queen’s wishes, in order to conceive a child. He was warned of the dangers, and went ahead with his plan anyway, which resulted in not only the birth of twins, one of whom was magical, but the death of the Queen.-”

At the mention of Gaius, the elderly Physician gets a few confused glances, and even more glares; no one likes being kept out of the loop, especially when everyone there is a Lord except Gaius. At the mention of twins, everyone’s attention is abruptly back on Arthur, and the knights have to resist the urge to look at Merlin, in fear of giving anything away too early.

Before he can continue, Arthur is interrupted by Lord Angar again:

“My Lord, I very much doubt the validity of anything you have just said, but either way, is this really the sort of meeting to be had with servants, a Lady, and your peasant knights present? I know you’re oddly fond of them but-”

Arthur, Leon, and Morgana have to resist the urge to punch the Lord in the face at his words. Gwen, Percival, Lancelot, and Elyan manage to keep their faces neutral, though Gwaine glowers openly. The knight does however hold in his smirk when he notices the fury on Arthur’s face. The Prince takes a threatening step forward but doesn’t lower himself from the dais as he speaks, his tone cold:

“Lady Morgana, Guinevere, and Merlin have proven to be better advisors to me than you ever have Lord Angar; Sirs Percival, Elyan, Lancelot, and Gwaine are amongst the best knights this Kingdom has ever seen, and you will show every one of them the respect they deserve, or you will excuse yourself from this room, and this council. Am I understood?”

The red of Angar’s face gets more severe as he splutters:

“My Lord you can not be-”

“Am I understood?!-”

Arthur’s voice cuts through everyone in the room, despite it’s low volume, and where Leon hides his proud smirk, Morgana doesn’t hold back at all, especially when Angar takes a deep breath and nods his purple head in embarrassment. The rest of the council seems to finally have grasped the seriousness and severity of the situation and play close attention to Arthur as he continues, no one daring to interrupt again:

“-This information changes everything we know about sorcery; my father started a genocide against an innocent group of people because he was too much of a coward to admit his mistakes and refused to take the rightful blame for killing his wife. I will not stand for this, and things will change very soon. If you are not outraged at the unjustness of his actions, at the death and suffering he has caused our people, the people we are meant to serve and protect, then you are more than welcome to leave. Meetings to organise and begin the process of legalising magic will start early tomorrow, and I will be accepting no excuses, this is non-negotiable. As for the matter of my twin brother...-”

Arthur glances back to Merlin, and at his slight nod, Arthur shoots him a small smile and holds his hand out to him. Merlin walks slowly forward to the sound of the council gasping and muttering to themselves, Leon stays barely a hair’s breadth behind him with his sword fully drawn:

“-may I present Prince Myrddin Pendragon.-”

Lord Angar, among others, looks seconds away from bursting once more, so Arthur hurries to continue, though still manages to keep his voice forceful and confident:

“-This information was unconfirmed for both of us until around a candle-mark ago; I have never believed in fate before now, though I think we can all be grateful that The Prince managed to return to Camelot all on his own.-”

He settles his hand on Merlin’s shoulder, but doesn’t pull him forward too much, understanding that his serv- his brother, probably wants to be as far away from the centre of attention as he can get.

“-I want him presented to The Kingdom and crowned before the month is out, this matter is also non-negotiable. Any questions?”

Lord Angar looks desperate to start yelling, but he also seems to have finally accepted that his influence over this room, and now the council in general, was tenuous at best. One of the newer councilmen, a young Lord who Arthur has a slowly growing respect for, steps forward slightly, bowing his head before meeting Arthur’s gaze and quietly asking:

“And The King, My Lord? Should we plan for your coronation as well?”

It was clear that the question was unexpected and Arthur frowns at the realisation that he had... arrested The King. Uther may have deserved it, but Arthur couldn’t bring himself to order his execution, and knowing Merlin he’d argue against it endlessly anyway.

Morgana senses Arthur’s hesitation after a second or two, thankfully before the council becomes restless and annoyed:

“You could always take over as Regent whilst we sort all of this out; that way we can revisit the issue of actually crowning you King later. Though we can’t confine Uther to his chambers forever, we’ll have to deal with him at some point.”

Arthur hums and nods, giving her a thankful smile before looking back to the young Lord:

“Lady Morgana’s suggestion is sound. I’ll take over as Regent,-”

He nods at Geoffrey of Monmouth, who takes a note down in the giant leather tome he perpetually has under his arm. If Arthur thinks about it for too long, he might come to the conclusion that the older man looks proud:

“-and we can revisit the issue when the dust has settled.-”

He rubs his eyes tiredly, as though the last day or so of drama had finally landed with it’s full weight upon his shoulders:

“-I think it goes without saying that, for now, none of this is to leave the room. I trust only Sir Leon with assigning who is to guard The King,-”

He glances to Leon, who nods seriously at his words:

“-keep it discreet Leon. I want to keep as much of this under wraps for as long as possible to avoid public panic; this is going to be a lot of hard work gentlemen, but I mean to see it through with or without your support, the choice is yours. The first meeting will take place in the normal council room tomorrow, two candle-marks after dawn. You’re all dismissed.”

The councilmen—including Gaius, after he sends a forlorn look Merlin’s way—slowly trickle out of the room, some looking angry, most looking resigned, but a few looking rather content, happy even (Arthur and Morgana take mental notes of who is who). The door shuts quietly behind the last man, leaving only Arthur, Merlin, Morgana, Gwen, and the knights left, all of whom understanding that the dismissal did not include them. Arthur lets out a deep sigh when the room quietens, looking back up to Merlin with a tired smile and even more tired eyes:

“Ready brother?”

He quirks an amused, but hugely pleased eyebrow as he says it and Merlin grins, rolling his eyes fondly:

“Not even close, but that’s never stopped me before.”

Arthur chuckles as the others all move closer, an odd mix of exasperated, because Merlin turning out to be Arthur’s long lost magical twin is exactly the sort of insanely dramatic thing that’s likely to happen in Camelot, and hesitant, because... how do they even deal with that? Other than with a great deal of confusion?

Gwen is the first to reach him, pulling Merlin into a tight hug that is very well received:

“I’m sorry Merlin, I can’t imagine how difficult this must be, and I’m so terribly sorry for all the horrible things I’ve said about magic.-”

She pulls back but doesn’t let go of his shoulders, staring up at him with tears in her eyes and a desperate look on her face:

“-You know that we all love, and trust you, don’t you??”

Merlin rolls his eyes fondly and pulls her back into a hug with a wide smile on his face:

“Of course I know that, I love you too Gwen. And don’t worry about it, you believed what you were taught, it’s not your fault.”

She looks like she wants to argue again when she pulls back, but Merlin just pats her cheek softly and gives her a warning glare. She huffs but dutifully steps back, allowing Gwaine to take her place as the rest of the knights pat his shoulders and run soft hands through his hair as way of apology and comfort.

Merlin smiles at them, but sobers quickly when a particularly horrible thought re-occurs to him. Gwaine squeezes his shoulder in question and Arthur furrows his brows:

“Merls?”

Merlin just sighs and leans into Gwaine’s side slightly:

“I need to talk to my... Hunith. And Kilgharrah, but I really don’t have the energy for him right now.”

Arthur nods in understanding, thinking for a moment before looking up to the huddle of knights (most of whom look marginally confused at the mention of whoever the hell Kilgharrah is):

“Percival, Lancelot, you know where Ealdor is?-”

The two of them nod, remembering the route from visiting with Merlin a few months ago:

“-Leave at dawn, take an extra horse and bring Hunith back with you. With all that’s going on, me and Merlin can’t afford to be gone for even a day and it’s a four days’ journey there and back.”

They nod, but Lancelot quickly responds with a quiet:

“We can leave now if you like, it’s not like the journey will take much prep. What should we tell her?”

He looks to Merlin, who frowns slightly as he replies, his words slow:

“Don’t tell her anything, Arthur and I need to have that conversation with her. She’ll panic when you turn up without me so feel free to tell her that we’re all alive and uninjured and not in any danger but... just don’t tell her the real reason.”

Their smiles are understanding, and just a little pitying, but they turn and march off the moment Arthur nods at them in approval, determined to do everything they can to make things go smoothly and easily.

It’s Elyan that breaks the now slightly uncomfortable silence a few moments later:

“So... do we still call you Merlin? Or is it Prince Myrddin, My Lord?”

Merlin grimaces the moment Elyan mentions what would soon be his official title, and the others grin at his reaction, chuckling as he runs a hand through his hair:

“No one’s called me Myrddin since I was about five, and I think it would be a little odd if that changed now, so Merlin is just fine.”

The others nod in agreement, though Arthur sighs as he responds, faux annoyance in his tone:

“Paperwork’s going to be bloody confusing.”

It takes Merlin all of three hours to figure out that Arthur had subtly assigned him a constant guard. The guard consists of Sirs Leon and Gwaine, so he isn’t... complaining, per se, but it's annoying, to escape company for a quick piss to find his partner and friend casually hovering right outside the door.

But to be fair, Merlin only notices when his brain registers that Gwaine isn’t there, and how odd that is. Whilst Merlin is interrogating Leon, Arthur is cornering Gwaine in a seldom used corridor, though the rambunctious knight beats Arthur to the punch:

“I think we’ve been here before, Princess.”

Arthur raises an amused eyebrow at Gwaine’s teasing grin, before sagging slightly in place and sighing. Gwaine sobers immediately, putting a hand on the blonde’s shoulder and trying to meet his gaze:

“Arthur?”

Arthur sighs again, looking up to him with tired eyes:

“This goes without saying, but Merlin.... he is everything to me. As far as I’m concerned he and Morgana are my only family, though I suppose I believed that before all of... this; but that’s besides the point. I know you won’t ever mean to hurt him, and I do trust you, as... difficult as that is to admit, but I need to you understand, Gwaine,-”

Gwaine nods in understanding and agreement:

“I do understand, Arthur. He’s everything to me as well.”

Arthur shakes his head and steps back, bringing himself to his full height:

“No, you don’t. He is my brother, and he was taken from me. He has suffered, more than I think either of us will ever know, and that stops, this Kingdom is now being built for him. But I would burn it all down if it would make him happy. Everything is for him, for Morgana, for my family. Do you understand?”

Gwaine nods, only once, before holding his hand out. Neither his hand nor his voice shakes as he responds:

“I’ll pour the oil, you light the match.”

Arthur pauses for a moment, as if trying to gauge his own trust in the other man, before clasping Gwaine’s hand strongly.

The seriousness of the moment ends when Gwaine lifts his other hand to tug sharply at Arthur’s hair before ducking under his arm and skipping down the corridor towards where they’d left Merlin and Leon. Arthur just huffs and follows him, definitely not sulking.

Merlin turns to them both with a scowl when they enter, immediately taking note of the residual gravity in the tightness of Gwaine’s shoulders:

“And what have you two been doing all of sudden?”

Leon bites his lip to stop himself from snorting in amusement, but fails miserably the moment Gwaine shrugs and opens his mouth:

“I don’t know, some sort of mutual arson pact I think.”

Arthur rolls his eyes first at Gwaine subtly, then at Merlin, far more obviously:

“Honestly Merlin, we’ve spent practically every second with you all day, you can’t go a few minutes without us?”

Merlin huffs noisily and turns around to grab Leon’s wrist, dragging him from the room and not looking over his shoulder as he snarks:

“Leon’s always been my favourite knight anyway.”

Gwaine and Arthur just look outraged, both speaking at the same time:

“Hang on, what about me?!”

They fix each other with narrow-eyed glares before shoving each other childishly, fighting over who could shoulder their way through the door first.

The next conversation, a few days later, is... a lot harder.

With Kilgharrah’s odd ability to seemingly know about everything that happens in Camelot, Merlin couldn’t get away with putting off speaking to him for long, especially with how The Warlock could feel the way he was angrily clomping about in his cave.

The short journey down through the dungeons, made by Arthur, Merlin, and Gwaine, was made mostly in silence. The oppressive feeling of Kilgharrah’s mishmash of emotions bouncing around in Merlin’s head made focusing on any other strain of thought impossible, and Gwaine and Arthur were too busy stewing in their own anger and worry to want to disturb him.

They pause momentarily outside the large iron gates leading to Kilgharrah’s lair, none of them looking to each other as they take deep breaths in an attempt to gather some bravery. Arthur and Gwaine have never said anything, but Kilgharrah terrifies the shit out of both of them; Merlin normally takes these trips alone—Arthur and Gwaine’s fear wasn’t difficult to pick up on and he never wanted to make them uncomfortable—allowing the other two their blissfully ignorant beauty sleep as he sneaks away to argue with a Dragon. But that’s obviously not in the cards today; no way either of them would let him face this alone.

Kilgharrah is waiting for them when they push open the gate and stalk out onto the ledge, and he raises himself to his full height, sparing barely a glance in Arthur’s direction and sparing Gwaine even less as he stares at Merlin with aloof, golden eyes:

“You have discovered who you are, Young Warlock, at long-”

Merlin interrupts him with a scowl and a held up hand:

“You had no right,-”

His voice is echoingly deadly, and the two knights find themselves being reminded of Merlin’s seemingly endless power. Merlin being angry at Gaius was... was like a child being heartbroken at a parent’s betrayal, which it was in some ways. But Merlin being angry at Kilgharrah... that was much more; like a God being angry at a creature of His own design. Merlin stands before The Great Beast, centuries old, full of unimaginable knowledge, and he stands tall, and proud, and angry.

“-no right, to keep this from me. You claim that no one can know their destiny, and then proceed to prattle on about mine in riddles. In my search for answers, you gave me more questions. In my search for comfort, you gave me fear. In my begging for help, you gave me nothing but pain. I’m done, you’re just as bad as Uther.”

Kilgharrah bristles, flaring his arched nostrils as his furious reaction ripples across his hardened scales:

“How dare you compare me to-”

Merlin interrupts him with a yell, his voice growling in it’s reverberation, a hidden power more ancient than the mountains themselves echoing in his words:

“You separated my brother from me and you had no right! You whine about how Uther took your kin from you, but you took my kin from me! You suffered so you made it your greatest goal to make everyone else suffer just as much. You are cruel, and cowardly, and I am done. You will not manipulate me anymore, you will not lie to me, or mislead me. You tried to get me to kill the boy, but I didn’t, and I forgave you. You tried to get me to kill Morgana, but I didn’t, and I forgave you. You keep trying to get me to free you, but I won’t. You will rot in here until you can tell me the truth, a truth I deem worthy, on why you kept my heritage from me.”

He doesn’t wait for a response, turning on his heel and marching out of the gate without another word, Gwaine following closely behind. Arthur stays, just for a few moments, though with Merlin’s sudden display of power over the beast before him he finds himself significantly less frightened:

“He’s right, you know. Every one of my brother’s successes has come to pass because he ignored you. You have haunted him every step of the way, causing nothing but grief; you should be grateful, Merlin has offered you a chance of redemption that I would not have.”

Arthur doesn’t wait for a response either, jogging up the steps to catch up with the other two just exiting the dungeons.

Merlin doesn’t ask what was said, though Gwaine does raise an eyebrow in The Prince Regent’s direction; Arthur gives him a short nod, acknowledging Gwaine’s need to know, need to keep a tight hold on everything so he could keep Merlin safe and happy. Or as happy as he can keep him in this situation. Gwaine relaxes when he understands Arthur’s promise to tell him later, trusting the blonde to have Merlin’s best interests at heart.

The slight relaxation doesn’t last long however; Merlin heads up through the castle towards the large doors leading into the courtyard. The other two follow him, knowing that the younger man likely needs some fresh air to recover from the pressing darkness and power and heaviness of Kilgharrah’s presence, but they quickly tense when he suddenly halts on the steps just outside the doors.

When they peer over his shoulder, they are abruptly reminded of the amount of time that had passed since Percival and Lancelot had left. And apparently returned.

Hunith dismounts her horse quickly, her mouth stretching into a relieved smile as she runs towards him. Merlin doesn’t move, just stares at her with blank eyes, and Gwaine’s eyes shift nervously between the two of them. Hunith’s relief is quickly dropped when she notices Merlin’s non-reaction, and she slows just before she ascends the steps, looking up at Merlin with her brow creased in worry:

“Son?”

Merlin’s expression hardens; his hands clench and his eyes and tone turn icy as he responds:

“I’m not your son.”

END of part 2!!!

Sorry to be a teeeaaasssee :))))) (Not really)

I’ve recently got a BUNCH more hours at work (which is like... good for me personally but not so great for my social life or hobbies lol) so things might take a little longer to come out from now, but I promise this blog is still ultra active and going!! I’ll just only have time to write in the evenings nowadays.

I’m not sure when part 3 will be, but it’s in the works and won’t be too long!! Two weeks at absolute MOST I imagine :D

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