#have this meme made in five minute. i have to move on and CROSS EXAMINE THE PET PARROT. AGAIN

[jidem]

PLAYING PLVSPW AND LIKE WHAT WHAT WHAT I CANT FUCKING BELIEVE IT ACTIALLY HAPPENED AGAIN I HAD TO PAUSE MY GAMEPLAY AND DO A MEME WHKLE LAUGHING OUT LOUT LITTERALLY I CANT BELIEVE IT

[kamari333]

Got tagged by @starsgivemehp for this meme!

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). Then tag 10 of your favorite authors!

I'll go backwards from last update, if thats okay? First paragraph of each first chapter...

mind the tags and be responsible <3

iNVaDeR FeLL: The Nightmare Begins :: The Irken Empire (which had retained its name even after the shift in management brought about by the events of Operation Impending Doom I) was more alive than it had been in years. Signs replayed message after message redirecting convention-goers how and where to attend the Great Assigning in the Main Convention Hall on Conventia, one of the many planets conquered and repurposed for the good of the Empire. The teleporter ring was blazing almost as brightly as it once did before OID1, only this time, it brought to the surface not Irkens, but Monsters; creatures of every shape and size. They came not only from the 'kingdom' that had overtaken Irk (they called themselves 'Fell'), but those from the 'kingdoms' of conquered worlds as well, which had been expeditiously subjugated in a fashion worthy of the Irken Empire.

How Dance Got a Picture of Lust Covered in Kittens :: "there's sammaches in th' fridge," Red mumbled, feeling the lunchbox lid click shut under his claws. "'r if ya want some'n lighter, there's soup in th' freezer. just gotta nuke it..."

Burlesque Noir :: Lust peeked around the curtain to look out at the crowd, as he had done so many times before the last few days. The speakeasy was full and vibrant and alive as it was every night, as swanky a joint as Grillby could make it and still keep it safe. As packed as it was, however, Lust didn't see any sign of his favorite patron.

It Could be Worse :: Life... Could be worse.

An Anthology of Dreams :: Sans was at his desk, as always, analyzing his latest attempt at a synthetic soul compound. His last two-thousand-and-twenty trials had been devastating failures, but even Dr Gaster was intrigued by his steady progress.

The EMV Anthology :: Red had a love-hate relationship with the holiday season.

An Anthology of Nightmares :: Sans stumbled out of his room just in time to escape. He had no idea what was coming, he only knew his years of fighting for his life underground was screaming that he had to move his bony ass if he wanted to live. Just as he crossed the threshold of his bedroom into the hallway, there was a loud crash. When he looked back, his whole room was gone.

A Growing Future :: Red stumbled out of the house, squinting at the glare of sunrise peaking like a glinting knife over the neighbor's rooftops. The air had a crisp chill to it, made all the more shocking by his lack of a shirt, but he knew it would be overly warm in only a few hours, and there was a lot of work to do.

Kinktober 2020 : Kamari333 Edition :: HI FOLKS! Beyond this point you will find 72.5k words of pure, unadulterated, self indulgent, Undertail-themed SIN, ~57.7k of which was prewritten in September, the rest in October, all written and published for Kinktober2020. This year, due to conflicting schedules, the sin was written in September, to be published on time in October. Please note that there may be plenty of typos, although I will/have since gone back and fixed some of them since I'm garbage and read my own stuff, and this year I have been indulging in the use of my lovely betas!

A Night in the Woods :: Red bit back a curse as he once again had to detangle his phalanges from the flimsy tent material. Stupid-ass cheap plastic bullshit, so thin he could breathe on it wrong and watch it disintegrate, but the packaging said it somehow kept out wind and rain, and that was honestly all he could have asked for. That, and perhaps that the piece of shit stop snagging on his claws every five god damn mother fucking seconds, fuck-

Arum :: The room was pitch black, save for a nearly indiscernible ambiance that glowed low and dim like the twilight right before the true darkness of night. The walls and floor of the room oozed with a viscous substance that stank of fermentation and rubber. At the end of the room, upon a throne of black stone, sat a diminutive figure from whence the slime seemed to originate, itself drenched in it to the point of blackness save for the singular glow of one lavender eyelight, shining like poison in the darkness.

Poignance :: Sans Blueberry pulled on his modified gloves, rolling his shoulders to make sure his makeshift pauldrons were cinched tight enough. The scalemail he wore under his chestplate made a soft noise, not quite the clink of chainmail, but not quite the hiss of cloth or leather either. He fingered at the tiny plates over his torso before pulling his bandanna back on around his neck, grateful to Alphys again for donating her sheds, and Undyne for reinforcing them so they wouldn't turn to dust.

Those Feelings at the Bottom of a Bottle :: Ink carefully managed his supply of emotions, keeping his usual level of orange (excitement) and yellow (happiness) as he made his way back through the house. The crowd of people, with their ever-vivid colors and gold-glittered eyes, made it easy to blend in and keep himself inconspicuous to the ever watchful guardian. It was like a game of hide-and-seek: Ink hid, and Dream looked for anything potentially amiss.

A Skeleton Plague Doctor in Lord Dream's Court :: Falsi woke up from a restful sleep on his examination table, shifting under his thick black blanket (one of the few luxuries he was allowed, usually kept hidden away in his bedroom with all the other small luxuries he had managed to keep, like his collection of skulls, his beast fur pelt, his mask, and the tapes and videos of a more personal nature he had collected over the years). He slid down to the floor, thankful once again for the mercy of a windowless apartment, as he folded his blanket and stumbled into the adjacent room: his bedroom.

Bad Day :: Edge was used to getting ominous messages from Red at odd times. It was just the nature of any relationship Red was involved in.

Burlesque (Censored) & (Uncensored) :: Of all the bars Red frequented in Ebott City, this was his favorite.

Happily Ever Laughter :: It was almost midnight. Papyrus had been sitting at Muffet's bar, enjoying his third (or was it fourth? Fifth? Hard to say) glass of Spider Cider, when he got the call. He pulled out his phone, surprised. That was his brother's ringtone. He flipped it open. "heya, bro. wazzup?"

Egg on Arrival :: Slinky could feel it in his bones: the hum of his future, the tremble of his soul. Even if it was still cold as balls outside the nest, his internal clock said it was spring.

I think I'm Paranoid :: Red came back into the livingroom, popcorn in one hand and a six-pack of coke in the other. He lingered, taking in the scene in front of him.

Another Me :: Lust fiddled with the TV remote idly as he mentally went through the available channels in his head. He didn't dare cable surf, not when He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named was so prominent, and Pink's relentless job searching made his schedule so erratic that he could show up at any minute. The sight of the blackout curtain over the bookshelf (which served as the house's movie collection's honored display) reminded him of how understanding Papyrus had been of the need for temporary censorship.

...oh my some of these are terrible for catching the readers attention XD (why are all my hooks like 3 paragraphs in gdi).

EDIT: i forgot to tag folks! um... @deku-lily @silverryu25 @bonerpuns @msmkcreates @jellyficsnfucks @jellyfish-swims-through-gold @tkwolf45 @nanenna @dana-chan325 @skerbaderbadoo @keelywolfe ...im terrible with names and can't remember anyone else's handles ;-;

[uno-reverse-fic]

Part 2 Chapter 5

Bakugo could feel your tiny body trembling in his hands. He could barely hear your voice, "Please..." Was all you said, over and over, lowering to a whisper, dying down with each breath. He couldn't take you with him, he couldn't do that to you, and so he stood up and began making his way towards the common area.

"Hey bro! Have you seen Surō? She's been gone for like 20 minutes." Kirshima asked Bakugo as he walked in the room. All he responded with was a glance towards his hands that had been cupped against his chest.

"Oh seriously?!" Kaminari exclaimed,

"She couldn't have waited five more minutes?!"

"Bro, she can't control it, its not even her quirk." Kirshima told him, before turning back to Bakugo,

"You found her so you can keep her I guess."

"No."

"Huh? But I thought you—"

"No." Bakugo repeated his response.

"She's terrified. I can feel her shaking, she doesn't want to stay with me. Not after what I did last time." Bakugo forced his hand towards Kirshima, who quickly took you into his own hands and slid you into his pocket. You could hear a few muffled whispers from the two of them, but you couldn’t make out much of what they were saying. Bakugo walked off a few moments later, and the second he turned the corner Kaminari began pestering Kirshima.

"C'mon dude lemme see her!"

"No. Not right now. I'm heading up to my room anyway." Kirshima didn't bother asking you first, he figured you'd probably want some alone time today. As he walked up the stairs to his dorm he slid his hand into his pocket and cradled you. His thumb rested firmly against your chest, and you were pressed into his fingers. You could feel him sit down on the bed as he pulled you out of his pocket. He held you in his hands, with his thumb still resting on your chest. He turned you over with his eyes, examining your small features. An awkward silence fell over the room, Kirshima didn't seem to notice it, but you sure as heck did. You looked around the room, impatient, and slightly flustered from the silence. You moved your hand to his thumb, and his eyes immediately lit up with wonder and awe. Sure you trusted Kirshima, but you hated when he looked at you like that. You guessed he figured out that you were uncomfortable because he snapped out of his trance,

"Oh sorry, that was awkward. Uh, do you want something to eat? I can go get some lunch." He asked, you nodded in response. He started standing up but stopped himself,

"Oh, uh. Do you want to come with me and eat downstairs or do you wanna stay up here and I can bring the food up to my room?"

"I'd rather stay here, I guess." You said, your voice timid.

"Alright, here," Kirshima set you on the bed next to him before getting up to leave,

"Don't go anywhere, I'll be right back." He told you before shutting the door and walking downstairs.

A couple minutes later a knock sounded on the door.

"Hey, hair-for-brains. Open up." You recognized that voice, it was Bakugo. The panic immediately began seeping in, and you began searching around for a good place to hide. You decided to slide in between the pillows on the bed, praying that Kirshima had locked the door on his way out. Another knock,

"Come on idiot. Open up," your heart pounded wildly in your chest. You really didn't want to go back with Bakugo, and you were 90% sure thats what he was here for. He spoke again,

"You left your sweatshirt downstairs. I don't have time to deal with your crap, I'm tired." Bakugo stood silently, outside the door for a few more minutes, and you were almost sure he had left, until he spoke again,

"I'm just gonna leave this outside the door." He said, and you finally heard his footsteps trudge away down the hall. You stayed hidden for a few more seconds in case he came back, and to let your trembling body calm down a bit.

You stepped out from behind the pillows just in time to see Kirshima open the door with the sweatshirt in his hand.

"Do you know who dropped this off?" You shook your head, you didn't want him to get worried over nothing.

"Huh. guess I'll just have to ask Kaminari if he knows. Oh, here's your lunch." He said placing a small bowl with some ramen in it next to you, before sitting down on the opposite side of the bed with is own lunch. The bowl was about 3 times your height, in length, and it reached just above your chest in height. You were ecstatic, for a couple reasons, one being you had a lot of ramen to eat, and two being you weren't going to be eating the same thing for a week straight.

"OH! Wait I almost forgot!" Kirshima said, quickly pulling a broken toothpick from his pocket.

"Its not the best, but look! Mini chopsticks!" He said handing them to you. The only problem was that each piece was about half your size, so they were a bit hard to use as chopsticks. Instead you decided that stabbing and fishing out, a noodle with one of them was a better approach. Kirshima laughed,

"Or that works too!" He said as you shoved one end of a noodle in your mouth, and looking at him with wide eyes. You bit off part of the noodle and continued eating. The two of you began talking a bit while you ate, swapping jokes and stories. Not even five minutes into the conversation and Kirshima was already snorting ramen broth up his nose with euphoria, and you had almost choked a few times while laughing.

"That all your gonna eat?" He asked after you finished, you nodded in response.

"Wow, you really don't eat much at that size do you." He mused. You looked the other way in embarrassment.

Kirshima didn't notice your change in demeanor as he grabbed the dishes and set off downstairs. About 20 minutes later he came back upstairs with a few movies in his hand.

"Hey so I know you've probably already watched a ton of movies and stuff today, but its a good way to pass the time, so I grabbed a few that I thought you'd like." He said, a nervous look crossing his face. He walked over and spread the moves out on the bed, before sitting down cross legged on the other side. There were about ten movies, most of them being Disney films, you ended up settling on one of the newer Disney movies.

"Thats funny, I was actually hoping you'd lean more towards that one." Kirshima commented, gathering up the rest of the movies and tossing them on his bedside table. He popped the CD in the side of the mini TV in front of his bed, and pushed play. He slid back onto the bed next to you, and lowered his hand down, gesturing for you to climb on.

"C'mon, I wont hurt you or anything, I just figured you'd get a better view on my shoulder or something." He reassured you. For a moment you hesitated, but eventually you climbed slowly onto the palm of his hand. You felt the force of gravity push down on you as Kirshima's hand ascended towards his shoulder. You slid off his hand, which hovered around you until you settled down next to his neck. You grew tired throughout the movie and found yourself slumped against Kirshima's neck in exhaustion by the end of the movie. You completely missed the way he tensed up with every movement you made. He decided to put another movie in, this time of his choice. He didn't want to bother you too much so carefully he stood up and replaced the CD in the movie player, all while you laid slumped against his neck. By the time the second movie was over, about three hours had passed.

Kirishima nudged you awake,

"Ok, so as much as I would love to watch movies all day, we have to do something else, I was thinking of hanging out downstairs with everyone else until dinner. Sound good?" He asked.

"Mhm." You replied tiredly. All drowsiness was quickly swept away when you felt giant fingers wrapping carefully around your body. You let out a small yelp in surprise, as Kirshima lifted you away from his shoulder and slid you into his sweatshirt pocket. You could feel his movements as he walked downstairs. Almost as if he was waiting for it Kaminari ran up to him.

“Hey bro! How’s Surō?! Is she here?! Can I see her?!” He word-vomited.

“Not right now, she’s a bit tired, and I don’t think she wants to be bombarded with questions.” Kirshima replied.

“What are you? Her personal voice box?” Kaminari quipped.

“Wha— no! I just don’t think— never mind .” Kirshima stuttered.

“Fine. Can we at least talk about memes?” Kaminari asked.

“Heck yes bro!” Kirshima enthused. The two of them sat and talked for a while, you listened to every word, and laughed along quietly with a few of the jokes. You would have loved to participate in that conversation, but just like Kirshima, you didn’t completely trust Kaminari.

“Ill be right back dude, gonna get a drink of water.” Kirshima said.

“Get one for me too!” Kaminari shouted. You felt Kirshima take his sweatshirt off, and could heater his footsteps retreating. Not even a second after he turned the corner did Kaminari quickly reach into his sweatshirt pocket and pull you out. You let out a small cry of fear, as he brought you up to his massive face.

“Woa, your so small!” He exclaimed, but his astonishment was short lived, because as soon as Kirshima walked back into the room he quickly ran over towards you.

“C’mon dude, I leave for two minutes and this is what I come back to?” Kirshima said.

“Well I figured she was probably more awake by now.” Kaminari replied.

“Whatever just give her back.”

“Aww cant I hold her for a little longer?! She’s so cute!” Kaminari pleaded

“Yea, she is, but she’s still a person.” Kirshima told him.

“I know! I’ll be careful! Its not like I’m gonna hurt her or anything.”

“Fine, but not long.” Kirshima said, giving into Kaminari’s begging. You really didn’t like the way they talked about you like you weren’t there, but it couldn’t be helped. Kaminari was careful not to hurt you, and for that you were grateful. Soon you found yourself settling closer into his hands, as the two if them talked.

Dinner came and went quickly, and soon you found yourself waiting for Kirshima to return to his dorm from showering. You heard chatter outside the door, but couldn’t make out any words or specific voices. And when Kirshima finally opened the door you caught a glimpse of Bakugo walking the other way. Kirshima took note of your tense demeanor when he picked you up.

“Oh I was just thanking him for getting my sweatshirt earlier, he told me he found out on the couch in the common area, and recognized that it was mine. Nothing to worry about.” He reassured you. He didn’t put you down until he was sure you had calmed down. A few more hours passed where the two of you talked, before the two of you finally grew tired.

“I’m gonna go to sleep now. If you need anything just wake me.” Kirshima said with a yawn. You nodded and watched as he laid down on the pillow next to you, his hand coming up to rest against your back. You tried your best to fall asleep but you were freezing, and after a few minutes you decided you couldn’t take it. You stood up and slowly stumbled over to his face, but in your tired clumsiness, you ended up tripping and falling into him.

“You good?” He asked. You steadied yourself against the bridge of his nose before stammering out an answer.

“I-I was just c-cold.”

“Oh, here.” He said, his fingers wrapping around you and pulling you downward. He pressed you into the base of his neck, and you felt the warmth flood around you.

“Geez you’re shivering, sorry bout that, guess I didn’t think you’d get so cold.” His voice vibrated and flowed through you, and soon enough you were drifting off to sleep.

————————————————————

I GOT THIS DONE ALMOST ON TIME!!! Good for me I guess. Well i broke my arm so thats why this chapter came out on Thursday instead of Wednesday. But thats fine I guess. Also!! I’m trying my best to make an update schedule!! I will try to update every 2-3 weeks on Wednesdays! With that said have a beautiful day you beautiful person.

MASTERLIST

[exyjunkies]

Hi can you do JereJean + 88?

okay i decided to write this one out as a teeny brain exercise so… enjoy my crappy writing

trigger warning: light homophobia

fic meme 1-100: jerejean + 88. “Don’t panic, but I think we might have accidentally gotten married…”

send me a ship and a number and i’ll write you a drabble (1-50) (51-100)

The first thing to register in Jean’s mind was the searing pain in his left eye. Which burned even more, as he attempted to open it.

Crap. That’s going to be one hell of a shiner.

The second thing to register in Jean’s mind was the fact that the light coming into his only functioning eye was too sunny to be familiar. His body, too heavy and groggy from sleep, failed to come to terms with the expected panic. So instead, his initial response was to stretch out on the (yet again unfamiliar) extremely comfortable duvet.

As awareness took over him, Jean stretched out his legs, wriggled his fingers. Rolled his shoulders, inhaled and exhaled. Listened to the quiet rumble of his stomach, awaiting some breakfast.

As he blinked himself into wakefulness, he saw the ring around his left ring finger.

His heart dropped.

“Putain.” He jolted upright, examining the ring. There was no doubt about the legitimacy of the gold band around his ring finger, holding it captive as if it meant something.

Beside him, a voice drowsily said, “Come on, Jean. You know I don’t speak French.”

In that moment, Jean was doubly mortified. He couldn’t bring himself to look to his right.

“J..Jeremy..?”

The striker turned his head on his pillow, looking up at Jean with droopy, peaceful eyes. He yawned and stretched into the bed, looking to get even more comfortable. 

“What’s the matter?” Jeremy asked, already in the middle of another yawn.

When he saw what Jean’s shocked expression was for, he struggled to get up and over the covers. It took half a minute for the both of them to be sitting upright, and the other half of that minute for Jeremy to be able to properly speak.

“What. Is. That.” Jeremy’s eyes goggled at the sight of Jean’s ring.

“Well, I guess,” Jean was at a loss for words himself. “This is what happens when we drink as much as Kevin.”

“Um.” Jeremy blinked once, twice, thrice, then he brought out his own left hand from under the covers.

On Jeremy’s ring finger sat an identical gold band, solid and glinting against the morning sunlight.

Jeremy looked between the two rings and made a not bad face, while Jean flopped back down on the bed in disbelief.

“Bordel. Out of all the things we could’ve done.”

Jeremy sighed and patted Jean on the arm. “Calm down, Jean. I didn’t think it would be like this either. At least not with–ow–my right hand hurting like a bitch.”

“What do we do now? Vegas was supposed to be a stopover, not some major life turning point.”

“We can talk about it if you’re ready.”

“And what about the team?”

“Oh. Well. I guess we… tell Coach. Or Alvarez first, because she’s always known how to get out of sticky situations.”

Jean nodded, slowly reaching for his phone. His notifications were one after the other, several missed calls after a bunch of messages after Twitter alerts after mentions on Instagram. He shook his head in disbelief.

“Hey, Laila? Is Alvarez there?” Jean said, grateful that the pick-up was on the third ring. “Yeah. Can you get her for us?”

“Mornin’, lover boy,” Alvarez greeted, the sound of a door closing soft in the background.

“Uh,” Jean looked to Jeremy, who mouthed an I don’t know and stood up to look out the window. “There’s a problem.”

“Why, what’s wrong?” Her amused tone seemed suspicious, but Jean pushed through with it anyway.

Jean put the phone on speaker, and took a deep breath. “Okay. Well. Don’t panic, but I think we might have accidentally gotten married…”

A beat of silence, then Alvarez laughed out loud on the other end.

“What?! What was that for?” 

“So,” Alvarez said, in between gulps of air, “you guys… hah! really don’t remember? Oh God, this is hilarious.”

“Of course I don’t! We had…”

And then Jean remembered. The nightclub, the pulsing lights. The series of shots that the entire team had participated in. How he had opted to stop after two, and Jeremy had backed out after three. The two of them separating from the team sometime around midnight. The two of them laughing at scenes on the dance floor, talking about anything and everything in between. Jean getting punched by a homophobe, only for Jeremy to come to his defense and knock the guy out. The two of them holding hands, getting another drink at the bar. The two of them stumbling into a storage room, mouths against each other, drunken confessions in between moans.

Oh, Jean, you don’t know how long I’ve wanted–

Jeremy, yes, please–

How one of them had slurred let’s get married and the other had dragged the both of them to the wedding chapel just a couple of blocks away.

“And you didn’t care to stop us?” Jean exclaimed, having Alvarez burst into yet another laugh.

“Okay, okay, slow down, drama queen. We got your invite. We were there. Unfortunately, you– yeah, babe, they’re panicking right now,” Alvarez broke off, and Jean heard Laila laughing in the background.

“Not funny, Laila.”

“You’d actually be pleased to hear that Laila sponsored your rings, so I think you should spare us the hostility,” Alvarez shot back, high-fiving Laila.

Jean groaned. He looked at Jeremy with a frown. Jeremy rolled his eyes and decided to look at the room service menu.

“You were saying?”

“Unfortunately, we did try to stop you, but you got all… serious and lovey-dovey.”

Jean could hear Laila cooing in the background.

He narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean–”

“What she means is,” Jeremy cut in, eyes boring into Jean, “that you were the one who insisted on pushing through.”

“Jean, you said some… really nice things last night,” Alvarez said, her voice growing softer and more serious. “I think I’ll leave you and Jeremy to talk about it.”

The line went dead, and all Jean could do was look at Jeremy. His throat went dry.

“I…” Jean didn’t know what to say. He let out a nervous chuckle.

“The first day of our marriage, and the first thing you do is panic to someone else?” Jeremy jokingly scolded, crossing his arms and sitting on the edge of the bed. “That screams trouble.”

“Well, maybe if you hadn’t suggested telling Alvarez–” Jean sighed, and looked up at Jeremy’s amused face. “You know what. It doesn’t matter.”

Jeremy shook his head and smiled. He offered his hand and waited until Jean reached out and held it.

“Drunk or not, I think you meant those words you said,” Jeremy said, and Jean avoided his eyes.

Jean couldn’t remember all of it, but it was sappy enough for him to be sure that he was blushing a little right now.

Defensively, he replied, “At least I had wedding vows.”

“Well, inebriated me isn’t exactly the most literate.”

“Yeah. I would have to agree.”

They laughed, and Jean found it more than okay when Jeremy moved closer to him on the bed. It was even better when Jeremy put his arm around him and let him lean on him.

“Is your eye okay?”

“Still bruised, thanks for asking.”

They sat there for a while, just holding each other. Jean wondered if they needed to be anywhere at this time. Jean realized he didn’t really care if they did.

“Do you think these cheap-ass Vegas weddings are legitimate?” Jeremy murmured, looking at their hands loosely holding.

“I think so. I remember the certificates and the signatures. Why?”

Jeremy turned to face Jean. He brought his other hand to Jean’s face.

“That’s too bad,” Jeremy said, a soft smile on his face. “I would’ve wanted a more memorable wedding.”

[tearbos]

UPLIFTED

I originally posted this on my LJ back in 2011. I corrected a few editorial issues but refrained from making any major changes. :) This was written as a humorous fic that ended up becoming more angsty, but it still shouldn’t be taken too seriously.

This was written for Criminal Minds Kink Meme IV prompt: Reid is captured by an unsub (it's a cliche for a reason) who uses his victims for experiments. When the team finds him they expect the worst, but Reid seems relatively unharmed except for the fact that he now has wings.

Spoilers/Warnings: None, really.

The screech of tires rubbing against slick asphalt filled the early morning air as the large, black SUVs jerked to a sudden stop. The calm silence was broken by thundering footsteps as four agents hurriedly unloaded from the vehicle and converged on the small office building followed closely by a SWAT team and half a dozen DC police officers. Once the perimeter was surrounded, the team members quietly entered the front door and efficiently cleared the lobby area. SWAT and several officers came in as spread out to finish securing the rest of the building. The air was stale and dust covered every surface; the decor of the entryway was easily a decade old and gave no indication of the brilliant yet completely delusional scientist being searched for inside. The FBI agents began following the officers down a dingy, dimly lit hallway when a loud commotion echoed from the end of the corridor. They ran ahead to fine SWAT team members dragging a disheveled, protesting Dr. Brians from a small office.

“Wait,” he screamed angrily, “I’m almost finished! I just need to see if they work properly. That is the final step. Please!”

Hotch stormed over to the distraught scientist and demanded, “Where is he?”

The doctor looked up mournfully and pleaded, “Please?”

“Where?” Hotch insisted.

“In the lab,” Dr. Brians muttered bitterly.

The team members wasted no time, leaving the handling of their former Unsub to the police. As the hallway behind them had been cleared, and Dr. Brians was found in the only office to the left, the agents began checking all of the doors to their right. They found only empty rooms until they reached the last door. It was firmly locked and secured with an alarm, but a few blows with the SWAT team’s battering ram easily remedied that problem.

The space was pitch black, which made their flashlight beams reflect off of glass jars and metal tables around the room. No light sources were turned on in the front, so the team cautiously spread out as they slowly moved forward. The air was thick with tension and the quiet sounds of moving bodies. A switch was finally found near the back, and the florescent lighting crackled to life. The agents took in their surroundings in disgust. The room was a macabre cross between an Unsub’s trophy room and a horror movie mad scientist’s lab. Along the left wall were glass jars filled with ‘experiments’-both animal and human it seemed- in various stages of whatever processes to which they were subjected. The middle of the room held autopsy tables modified with leather restraints and smeared with dried substances. The right side was lined with shelves stuffed with books and a large desk piled high with lab reports, blueprints, and numerous other papers. There was no sign of the object of their search, though, until someone noticed that the back of the room was still dark behind large glass windows and a solid steel door. Applying force to the door and shining light into the glass both had no success. However, it took the considerable intimidation abilities of Hotch, Rossi, and Morgan less than three minutes to pry the security code from Dr. Brians.

Once the door was finally open and the room lit, the team stared in horror at the sight in front of them. Their missing team member was perched facing them on a pedestal about a foot above the ground. He was unconscious and supported under the arms by leather straps suspended from the ceiling. His head hung forward and his messy hair covered his face. A concerning amount of blood had formed a puddle around his feet and next to the pedestal. The blood appeared to have originated from his upper back or shoulders and flowed downward from there. After several moments of shock, the team jumped into action. Emily began searching the rooms for controls or keys to the straps and Rossi and Morgan grabbed Reid to hold him upright so Hotch could check Reid’s vitals.

“I have a strong pulse,” Hotch announced, and each agent let out a sigh of relief. While Rossi and Morgan worked on unlocking the straps with the keys Emily located across the room, Hotch moved around to check Reid’s injuries. What he found was something he never would have imagined-ever.

“What the Hell!”

His exclamation caught the attention of the others who shifted closer to see what had Hotch so surprised. They all had a similar reaction when they saw Reid’s back. Attached to his shoulder blades was a pair of feathered wings-actual, full-sized wings with real feathers that were cream with intricate detailing. They were folded up to lie flat against his back, but appeared to be nearly three feet in length and about a foot wide, not necessarily large but certainly not natural. A cursory examination didn’t reveal how they were connected to Reid, but the skin around the area was inflamed red and had obviously bled at some point. Silence filled the room until Emily finally spoke up.

“Are…these what Dr. Brians wanted to see working? He said something about a project…”

“It’s probably safe to assume this is what he meant,” Rossi replied.

“What the hell should we do now,” Morgan asked?

“Let’s get him down and to a hospital for starters, then we can figure out what to do from there,” Hotch decided. “Prentiss, let the paramedics know the situation and make sure they know to take him to the base hospital. We have a better chance of discretion there.”

“On it,” she stated as she pulled out her radio to inform the medics of the issues. With a combined effort the remaining agents managed to get Reid down from his stand and lying face down on the floor with his face propped against Morgan’s legs. They all studied the wings silently until help arrived.

-------------------

Gathered anxiously in Reid’s hospital room, the team members crowded around the x-ray images displayed on the lighted board while Dr. Alison described what they were seeing. The base structure of the wings was steel, and Dr. Brians had fused and wielded the metal to bones and reconfigured tendons until it was almost a part of Reid’s skeletal system. He had even tediously connected the nerves, and by all appearances the wings should be fully functional. It was painstaking work, and quite the scientific achievement, yet the whole idea was sick and horrifying. Perhaps the ‘test subject’ being an unwilling member of their team skewed the perspective somewhat.

After consultations with orthopedists, physical therapists, and a plastic surgeon, Dr. Alison confidently reassure the team that the wings could be removed with little or no permanent damage to Reid’s original arms and shoulders. The surgery, however, would have to wait a minimum of two weeks so that the current incisions and additions to Reid’s body could heal properly before undergoing further trauma. Reid would remain under careful observation during that time so that the doctor could monitor for infections or complications. The agents knew Reid would be unhappy with the delay and amount of time in the hospital, but the risk of serious injury was too great to avoid it. They would just have to do their best to support him until the time for the ‘wingectomy’ –as it was jokingly referred to.

Other than the obvious changes, Reid managed to escape his captivity without any major harm being done to his person. During the five days Reid was in his care, Dr. Brians had fed him and allowed him to rest when lapses in the experiment came around. The details were diligently logged in records in the lab, which was fortunate as Reid wasn’t awake to tell them and Dr. Brians was too busy mourning the loss of his project to cooperate. Neither the logs nor the physical exam by Dr. Alison revealed any further experimentation, and the team was relieved that Reid had only one serious physical issue to cope with. Only time would tell if he suffered any psychological distress from the ordeal, and Dr. Brians’ notes made no mention of Reid’s mental state during the process. The team members collectively decided to prepare for the worst possible scenario just in case.

Nearly ten hours later as the BAU team-now including Garcia and JJ- began to grow restless, Reid finally stirred. It took a few minutes of furious blinking and quiet groaning for him to become conscious, and another moment of panic before his full awareness returned. Reid smiled weakly at the sight of all of his team gathered around him with varying looks of concern.

“Hi guys,” he croaked out. “I guess I’m now officially a freak.” He spoke teasingly but the others hurried to reassure him and inform him that things could be repaired. Then, Emily posed the question that was on everyone’s mind, “Do they actually work, Reid?”

He gave a rueful grin and replied, “I don’t know yet. They hurt too much to try them before.”

“They don’t hurt now, do they,” Garcia asked worriedly?

“Not at the moment, but I imagine that one of these IVs contains some form of pain managing substance.”

“Yes, NSAIDs only,” Hotch responded.

“Good. Thanks.” Reid looked thoughtful for a moment. He held out a hand to Morgan. “Help me sit up.”

“What? Why?” Morgan took the offered hand but made no move to comply with Reid’s request.

“No time like the thoroughly medicated present to find out the answer. At least I’m already in the hospital if something goes wrong.

“I don’t think that’s…” Hotch began, but Rossi interrupted him.

“I’ll get Dr. Alison. He can supervise.” After Rossi left, Morgan carefully pulled Reid into a sitting position and JJ promptly arranged pillows to support him.

“Can you move your arms ok?” Emily inquired.

Reid tested both limbs successfully. “Interesting. They don’t move with my arms automatically. I must have to control them consciously,” Reid mused.

“I wonder why he wanted to do this at all,” Morgan stated.

“Well, an interest in flight is almost an intrinsic part of human nature. Studies dating as far back as the early…”

Reid’s mini-lecture was cut off by the arrival of Dr. Alison and Rossi. “Dr. Reid, it’s nice to meet you officially. I’m Dr. Alison and I’m in charge of your case.” He extended his hand and Reid shook it easily- one preliminary test passed.

“Nice to meet you too doctor. Are you a specialist in the surgical removal of unusual object from the body?”

“I guess you could put it that way,” Dr. Alison replied with a grin. “I must say that this will be my most unusual case to date.”

“I should hope so,” Morgan muttered to the amusement of the others.

“Do you feel up to doing a simple assessment or two?”

“Sure,” Reid answered. “What do you need me to do?”

“Well, I see that you can move your arms independently of the wings, so let’s test your range of motion.” Reid easily followed the instructions until Dr. Alison was satisfied. Finally he requested, “If you can, Dr. Reid, I want you to try to move the wings. However, you can only do so if there isn’t a lot of pain. I don’t want you to be injured any further.”

Reid focused his efforts on obeying the doctor’s orders. Slowly, the wings unfolded to their full extent. The rounded tops came just past Reid’s shoulders while the pointed tips hung over the edges of the bed. No one spoke as they took in what they were witnessing.

Dr. Alison broke the silence after a long pause. “Dr. Reid, would you mind if took a few pictures to include in your medical records and to give to the plastic surgeon?”

Reid shrugged, the wings lifting slightly as he did so. “As long as they don’t end up on the internet or the local news.”

“No worries there,” Dr. Alison reassured with a chuckle. He removed a digital camera from his lab coat and took a few panoramic shots before moving closer to photograph the areas around the incisions. After the photos he had Reid repeat the test while he palpated the areas around the shoulders and upper back, noting the way the movements affected the wings. “Fascinating,” he murmured under his breath when he felt how seamlessly both sets of appendages were connected. “This really is mind blowing work.”

“Why me though? Why do I attract the crazies,” Reid bemoaned?

The others laughed and Morgan ruffled his hair. “I don’t know Pretty Boy; maybe you give off a scent or something, some strange brand of Crazy Juice.”

“Ew,” JJ, Emily and Reid all exclaimed simultaneously.

“This is kind of amazing,” Garcia chimed in.

“Why is that, Baby Girl?”

“Because I’ve called Reid ‘Boy Wonder’ for years and now he really does have a super power!”

The room exploded with laughter while Reid crossed his arms and pouted.

“What’s the matter, Spence,” JJ asked once she regained her breath?

“I doubt that I could actually fly with them.” He seemed disappointed at the thought.

“Why not,” Rossi asked?

“They’re kind of small,” he replied. “I’m not sure they could lift my body weight.”

“Well, you don’t really weigh a whole lot Reid,” Emily retorted.

“I’m heavier than I look,” Reid stated indignantly. “Besides, it’s relative to the amount of weight they can support. They don’t seem very strong.”

“I don’t know, Reid. They are solid steel, and Dr. Brians was very detailed and exacting with his plans. I’d imagine he took your height and weight into account when he designed them….What?” Hotch asked when he realized the others were staring at him.

“Sir, your inner geek is showing,” Garcia told him. Hotch smiled at that while the rest nearly collapsed in amusement.

“I do have my moments,” Hotch replied, causing the merriment to continue.

Once things calmed down again, Dr. Alison briefly explained the plans for the next few weeks to Reid before excusing himself. Reid, surprisingly, didn’t protest his hospital stay; instead he seemed relieved to deal with this situation in the closed environment rather than in the real world. The team discussed visitation and work schedules for the next weeks while Hotch called in three weeks (minimum) medical leave for Reid as well as a few days off for the rest of them during and immediately after the surgery. Things were figured out as much as possible when JJ stood and approached the bed.

“Can I touch them Spence,” she asked hesitantly? Reid was startled by the questions but quickly acquiesced. She reached out and gently ran her hand along the edge before fingering the tip. “They’re really soft,” she stated as she continued stroking the downy feathers.

“Do they bother you, Baby Cakes,” Garcia wondered as she joined JJ.

“Bother me how? The fact that they are there bothers me, and remembering how they got there really bothers me,” he answered with a slightly bitter tone.

“Well, I meant bother as in: Are they heavy? Do they itch or annoy you? I can see why you would be bothered in different ways too though Sweetie.”

“Sorry Garcia,” he said softly. “I barely notice them unless they move, and I can’t feel you touching them.”

“Speaking of what happened, Reid, you will need to have a psych eval once you recover from the surgery,” Hotch told him. “I can have Dr. Benson come here to see you if you want to talk to him sooner.”

“Really, Hotch, I’m fine. There’s no need for an eval.”

“Its standard procedure and it isn’t up for discussion. Of course you can talk to any of us if you want to, but I do need a formal record as well.”

“I know,” Reid sighed in defeat.

“Do you want to tell us about it,” Morgan asked?

“What’s to tell? You read Dr. Brians’ notes so you what happened already.”

“That isn’t a complete picture and you know that,” Rossi said. “We don’t know what happened from your perspective. You were missing for five days, Reid; you can’t tell us you aren’t affected by that.”

Reid remained quiet for a few minutes before softly asking, “It was really five days?”

“Yes. Why,” Hotch answered?

“It…didn’t seem like that long, but I was pretty out of it for some of the time.”

“He drugged you,” Emily asked?

“Yeah, I’m not sure with what though- a sedative or paralytic or something. I was awake most of the time but not completely aware. I didn’t have as much pain while he was working as I did when he was done.”

“Did you know what he was doing,” Garcia wondered?

“Yes. He explained his plan in great detail and documented each step in the process.”

“How do you feel about this,” Hotch inquired?

“Conflicted,” he replied slowly. “I’m always interested in scientific advances and experimentation. I participated in several studies during college, but those were all voluntary and I was aware of the risks involved. I’m not happy that this was done without my consent, but the scientist in me is curious about how this ends up.”

“You could always delay the surgery and find out,” Rossi quipped lightly. Reid shot him a LOOK.

“Yeah, sure, that‘s a good idea. I’m weird enough already without adding this to it.”

“You aren’t weird,” JJ retorted at the same time Garcia blurted out, “I think they’re kind of cool.”

“Thanks, JJ, and of course you would say that Garcia,” he responded.

“You know I love you no matter what my gorgeous gray matter,” she said with a smile. Reid returned it with a grin of his own.

Just then, a nurse came in to inform them that visiting hours were finished for the evening. The team told Reid goodbye and promised to visit again in the morning-with coffee as stipulated by Reid.

---------------------------

Four days later, Morgan and Hotch helped Reid conceal his new appendages beneath his corduroy jacket as much as possible. Because there was no sign of infection, and Reid was healing so well, Dr. Alison released him to go home until the day of the ‘wingectomy’. By this time Reid was eager to get to his own apartment; hiding out in the hospital got boring very quickly. Once he was clothed the three agents signed Reid out and headed to his place. Reid fully expected to find the rest of his team members waiting for his arrival, but he didn’t anticipate a Fairy-themed welcome home party.

The ladies all had sets of sparkly wings in bright colors, and Rossi even had a set of large, hideously cheap, plastic wings strapped to his back-he didn’t seem to happy about the situation though.

“Welcome Home,” they all shouted as he walked in and Garcia bounced over and tossed a handful of glitter on his head. She kissed him cheerily on both cheeks to leave bright red lip prints behind. Reid couldn’t help but grin at the (weird) thoughtfulness of his friends. Despite their efforts, though, he still felt a little self-conscious as Hotch helped him remove his jacket. He wore his usual button-up shirt strategically modified in the back with a pair of scissors to accommodate his temporary limbs. Feeling a bit stiff, Reid cracked his neck, rolled his shoulders, and stretched his wings out to their full extent. Looking around he saw all the eyes in the room watching him in awe. He smiled nervously at them.

“You’ve all seen them before,” he stated.

“We know, but it takes some getting used to,” Emily replied as she tugged him further into the area. He gaped in surprise as he took in the bright tissue paper and shiny streamers decorating his living room.

“This is what I imagine the inside of a fairy house would look like,” Garcia commented as he slowly spun to take it all in.

“Garcia, I’m not a fairy,” he protested half-halfheartedly, knowing already that arguing with here was a losing battle.

“Well honey bun, I’m not sure you qualify for angel status so this is the next best thing!” She grinned cheekily and winked at him. He couldn’t help but smile in agreement. Meanwhile JJ and Emily fitted Hotch and Morgan with their own sets of plastic wings, and Morgan strutted over to Garcia to show them off.

“What about me, Baby Girl? Do I make angel status?”

“Oh my gorgeous chocolate god, you will always be a heavenly vision in my eyes!”

Morgan smirked and wrapped an arm around her. “That’s good enough for me.”

“How do you feel, Reid,” Rossi asked from the corner?

“Not too bad. They’re feeling kind of stiff right now but they don’t hurt anymore.”

“That’s good. Here, have a drink,” he replied as he indicated the counter between the living room and the kitchen. “There is ‘fairy punch’, whatever that is, or I brought a good scotch if you prefer.”

“Scotch is good…” Reid started, but a large, flashing glass of pink punch with a tasseled straw in it suddenly appeared in front of his face.

“You have to at least try the ‘fairy punch’,” JJ started.

“Plus I need a picture of you holding it,” Garcia added as she held up her camera. Reid groaned but didn’t bother protesting. He obediently posed for the required photos before retreating to the safety of the couch were Rossi and Hotch sat nursing their drinks.

“So, what other festivities are planned for this fairy wonderland party,” Morgan wondered.

“Not much,” Emily answered. “Pizza should be here soon, and we just figured on watching a movie or something.”

“I wanted to watch Peter Pan in honor of the occasion but I was outvoted,” Garcia broke in with a pout.

“Thank goodness,” Hotch murmured, to the amusement of the others.

“I brought board games too,” JJ chimed in, “ones that Spence can’t dominate everybody in.”

“Do those exist,” Morgan mumbled?

“Yes, Morgan, I don’t know everything!”

“I have ‘Loaded Questions’, ‘Pictionary’, and ‘Life’,” JJ interrupted before an argument could begin.

“Let’s play ‘Loaded Questions’,” Reid decided. The others agreed and gathered around the coffee table.

----------------------

Three days later Reid strolled cautiously into the bullpen, unsure if anyone could tell something was different about him. Emily wasn’t at her desk so he headed towards Morgan’s office. A few agents stopped him along the way to welcome him back and wish him well. He took comfort in the fact that none acted as if there was anything unusual in front of them. He knocked lightly on Morgan’s open door and grinned when the agent smiled up at him in surprise.

“Reid! It’s good to see you, my man, but what are you doing here? You barely started your medical leave.”

“I know, but I was getting bored wandering around at home. Besides, I’m not really sick or injured so I can at least do paperwork or something until the surgery.”

Morgan looked thoughtful. “I should tell you to clear it with Hotch first, but I could use a hand. As long as you hang out in here with the door closed you should be fine. I will claim ignorance if Hotch catches you.”

“Deal,” Reid happily agreed. “I will be very sneaky, but you know he will figure out that I helped you once you turn these in.”

“That’s true, but as long as he doesn’t catch you doing them I should be safe.” Morgan handed him a stack of files and cleared a section of desk for him to work on.

Reid worked in Morgan’s office for nearly two hours before he called Emily in the bullpen and recruited her to be his look out while he went to the break room for coffee and a trip to the bathroom. She gladly complied, and Reid brought her and Morgan coffee as a thank you. He would have made it the whole day without getting caught if Emily hadn’t gotten stuck on a phone call around 3:30 and failed to warn Reid of Hotch going to Morgan’s office. Morgan was in with Garcia checking on missing information from a case file and Reid was huddled over his corner of Morgan’s desk engrossed in an autopsy report when Hotch knocked lightly on the partially open door before entering.

“Morgan when you get a chance can you…” he trailed off upon seeing Reid-looking up at him in surprise-rather than the person he expected. “What are you doing here? You are supposed to be on medical leave,” Hotch stated pointedly.

“I, um, just came by to help for awhile. I’m fine, Hotch, really. There’s no reason why I can’t do paperwork.”

Hotch studied him before deciding to just let the issue go. “I don’t want to see or hear of you doing anything strenuous Reid. You know what Dr. Alison said about infection and tissue damage; he wants you to take it easy before the surgery. Paperwork only.” His tone made it clear that no arguments would be accepted.

“Yes, sir,” Reid responded gratefully.

Hotch handed him a thick file. “I was going to have Morgan work on this, but since you are here you can do it instead.”

“No problem.”

Hotch turned to leave, but he paused and said, “You can work at your desk now if you want instead of hiding in here.” He left without waiting for a reply.

Reid finished the day in Morgan’s office despite Hotch’s approval; both of them were glad for the company on an otherwise boring work day, and they didn’t get to spend much time together unless they were on a case now that Morgan had his own office.

Garcia declared it to be ‘Team Dinner Night’ so they all gathered at Reid’s apartment again, this time with Greek take-out. The evening was fun and relaxed as the agents talked and laughed together. Once the food was gone, Reid got everyone’s attention.

“Guys, I’m ready to try an experiment.” The identical looks of concern and confusion amused him greatly. “I’ve done some calculations and I believe that the wings will be able to support my weight for a short flight.”

“Really? That’s so great,” Garcia exclaimed. “I can’t wait to see this!”

“How short is a ‘short flight’,” Rossi inquired?

“Approximately three minutes, could be as much as four or as few as one-and-a-half depending on wind conditions.”

“So, where are we conducting this experiment,” Emily wanted to know?

“I was thinking the roof…”

The room exploded with protests.

“No way man!”

“Not a chance, Reid!”

“You are not jumping off of the roof!”

He held up his hand to regain control of the conversation. “I’m not planning on jumping off the roof,” he insisted, “just jumping around it some.”

“Why the roof Spence,” JJ asked?

“I determined that I could get the most ideal wind and space combination there.”

“Ok, we can do this. I do insist that you will be connected to a repel line first,” Hotch declared.

“Oh. That’s a good idea. I guess we can try this tomorrow then.” His tone was dejected, and both his arms and wings slumped in defeat.

“No, we can do it now. I have a kit in the truck.”

“Why do you have that, Hotch,” Morgan wondered?

“In SWAT you learn to prepare for anything. Some habits are hard to break I suppose,” he replied with a shrug.

“Ok, let’s go then. Aaron, grab the supplies and meet us on the roof.” Rossi took Reid’s arm and pulled him toward the door. The others quickly followed, Garcia pausing to pick up her camera.

An hour later the team trudged back into Reid’s apartment somewhat disheartened. Reid had managed to get a decent amount of lift, but he lacked the control to keep himself airborne for more than 30 seconds or so at a time. They had tried several different maneuvers, but they were all met with limited success.

“If I had a more time to practice…” Reid sighed wearily as he plopped down on his couch. “I’m sure I could figure it out in a couple of days.”

“I bet you could, Boy Wonder, but is it worth the effort of constantly cleaning up things you break or knock over because you aren’t adjusted to the wingspan?” Garcia questioned. She bounced down next to him and stroked his feathers soothingly.

“I don’t know. I’m finally starting to get used to them.”

“You do realize that you can keep them as long as you want to,” Morgan pointed out. “The surgery can be rescheduled.”

“That’s true, but the longer I put it off the long it takes to get my life back to normal. I will have to be laid up for at least a week regardless; postponing the surgery won’t avoid the downtime.”

“Reid, sweetie…” Garcia began carefully, “do…you actually want to have them removed?” Reid, along with the others, looked at her in total shock. “We all just assumed that you’d want them gone ASAP, and you thought the same thing at first. Now that you’ve had time to adjust and think, you could have changed your mind and that’s perfectly ok.”

“I can’t keep them! How will I work or…or do anything? I just…it wouldn’t be logical,” Reid said decidedly.

“There are always was to work around things, Reid. You were at the office all day today with no problem.” Hotch sat on the coffee table facing him and looked Reid in the eyes. “It is ok if you want to keep them-for a few days or indefinitely. The choice is yours and you shouldn’t be pressured into making it. At least consider your options; you won’t ever get this opportunity again.”

Reid swallowed forcefully and met Hotch’s gaze. “Thanks. I think I’ve already decided, but I will think about it a little more. I am learning to work around them and, scientifically, they are fascinating. I’ve continued to keep Dr. Brians’ logs just to have records. This really is the study of a lifetime and I’d hate to leave it unfinished.”

“Plus, plus, I still think they’re kind of sexy, and you have to take at least one shirtless pic with them for me before you get them removed,” Garcia enthused. Reid flushed bright red but nodded his consent to her demands.

“That would be pretty cool,” he admitted begrudgingly.

“Oh! I could play with lighting and color tones and even some costuming!”

“Let’s not get carried away, PG,” Emily warned.

“So it’s settled, then,” Rossi declared. “Reid will do some thinking tomorrow while Penelope does the photo shoot. That should help with the decision-making process!”

“I’ll say,” Reid groaned while the others laughed at his predicament.

-------------------------

The following evening, the team members convened in the conference room to view Garcia’s picture presentation and to hear Reid’s decision. Everyone was thoroughly impressed with her work featuring black and white, sepia tone, and different backgrounds and props. She’d somehow even managed to convince Reid to accessorize for a few- in one he had a sparkly boa, in another, Mardi Gras beads, and in others various hats and scarves. He had, however, steadfastly refused the plastic halo Garcia somehow obtained-much to her disappointment.

Finally, Rossi asked the question on everyone’s mind, “So Reid, what’s the verdict? Are we spending next week camping out in a waiting room or giving flying lessons?”

Reid smiled and looked around at each person. “I called Dr. Alison and discussed the options with him. He didn’t see any harm that could come from postponing, so we rescheduled for one month with the option to make it sooner if I decide I want to do that. As a scientist, I just can’t imagine not seeing this through.”

His statement was met with approval all around the table.

“I’m glad you decided that, Reid,” Emily stated as she dug through the papers in front of her.

“Why is that?”

“Because I’ve been working on some diagrams to get you better air time.”

[vampirefreakism]

The Scientist (Chapter 32)

Summary: In the events following Asgard’s destruction, Loki finds himself on Earth seeking refuge to await the inevitable. Much to his surprise, it comes from a source he would never have expected.

The Soundtrack So Far

Warnings: none

Word count: 3.2k

A/N: I am still posting on AO3, but I’m experimenting with not adding the link on this chapter so this story can show up in the tags

Masterlist

----------

Tony Stark did his best to be a generous man. He was responsible; always trying to upkeep his space and the relationships he was blessed with. Sometimes things fell apart and out of his grasp, but he took it in stride. Tony may have been wealthy and famous his entire life, but he was no stranger to struggle and failure. Based on the positive influences he surrounded himself with, he always found a reason to pick himself back up and keep going.

At the compound, Tony did what he did every time it snowed and arranged for his robots and designated workers to clean the roadways and parking spaces for the employees coming back to work. His vacation renewed him. Devoting time and full attention to his betrothed was a gift in and of itself. As he stood in his office, he made a mental note to take more time away with his love. Pepper Potts would reiterate herself time and time again how much he needed to rest. He complained but never fought her. She was always right.

“Welcome back, boss,” FRIDAY greeted. “How was your trip?”

“Romantic as Paris could be.” Tony waved a hand, summoning a display. “Say, I forgot. How were the specs on the kid’s new suit?”

“Compliant, but a bit tricky.” A full-body digital image of the suit spun above the virtual table. “The material from the Commodore spacecraft is an excellent medium, but it requires more physical testing than the usual.”

“When do you think it’ll be ready?”

“I can have simulation ready within the hour.”

Tony plopped down into a desk chair and spun around. “And what about Mark 50?”

“I can do a simultaneous run.” An image of his new suit appeared beside Peter’s, both rotating in tandem.

“Yup. Do that.” Tony got up and jogged over to his bar and fridge, all set with a variety of spices, fruits, and vegetables. "Has our favorite little biologist arrived yet?"

“Yes. Ms. Fields has been here the better part of an hour.”

“An hour?!” Tony fiddles with the spoon in his hand, nearly dropping it. “Why didn’t you tell me when she got here?”

“It wasn’t important. You don’t have a meeting scheduled with her today.”

“I sure don’t,” Tony mumbles as he scoops a few spoonful’s of turmeric into the blender. Blessed be to Luna for showing him the wonders and benefits of Indian spices. “How about we surprise her?”

"That can be arranged. Will you need her packages as well?”

“Mm-mm.” He shook his head, voice muffled behind a dollop of Greek yogurt. “I’ll bring her to it. Make a little adventure out of it.”

“Of course, boss.”

Tony made a delightful blend of leafy greens and juicy reds, portioned appropriately for two. As he waited for his concoction to smooth out, he shrugged on a crisp blazer and a clean pair of Gucci sunglasses. A chiming from the machine drew him to it once again. Careful not to dirty his outfit, he filled two lidded cups and journeyed down to the labs, greeting everyone he could along the way.

The riveting tunes of Duran Duran graced his ears as he slowly approached the biology lab. It was the title song off of his favorite album, ‘Rio.’ A grin on his face, Tony took the remaining steps to the door and bumped the edge of the doorway with his shoe.

“Knock-knock, Lulu,” he greeted. Luna lifted her head from the microscope and flashed him a toothy smile.

“Hey!” Even without her glasses, she could recognize Tony’s silhouette anywhere. “Let me wrap this up real quick so I can give you a proper two-armed hug.”

Slipping her glasses back on, Luna covered the Petri dish she was examining and turned off the microscope. She hurriedly took off her lab coat and gloves, impatient to wait one moment more. She shuffled over to him and into his open arms, squeezing him tight in her own.

“Ooh, now that’s what I call a hug,” Tony gushed, holding her as close as he could without losing his grip on their drinks. Feeling the chill of the smoothies in his hands, he released her and led the way down the hall to the lounge. “How was your winter vacay? Hope you didn’t miss me too much.”

“It was good, and we missed you just the right amount. Well, me more than him, but you know.”

“‘We?’ Oh, right. You and your guy.”

Luna scoffed. “He’s not my guy.”

“Yeah, sure.” Tony let Luna take a seat first. “How’d your mother take him being there, by the way?” He dropped down onto the couch beside her.

“Hm?” She tilted her head, his inquest taking her for a spin.

“What’d you tell her about Mr. Tall, Dark, and Ominous?” he reiterated.

“Oh, right.” Luna shook her head out. Tony almost caught her on her lie. “Um, I just told her he was my new boyfriend, and he was spending the time with me since his family is overseas.”

Tony nodded. “And how’d she take it?”

“She bought it. It was a nice time.” Luna shrugged, forcing the tension from her nerves. “Suspected absolutely nothing from either of us.”

“I would expect no less from the Master of Lies.” Tony handed her a cup, prompting a change of subject.

“Aw, Tony, you didn’t have to!” Luna thanked him as she cradled it with both hands.

Tony dismissed her gratitude. “Oh, please. I wanted to.” He couldn’t let her know how it made him feel, but his smile gave it away. To hell with it. “Cheers to you, sad girl.” He tapped the lid of his cup against hers.

“And to you, Mr. Charitable.” They took a unison swig. The taste settled from sweet to a tang, finishing off with a bite from the spice. Luna crossed on leg over the other and angled her body towards Tony, elated with his little surprise.

Tony threw an arm over the edge of the couch, letting his thumb graze lightly against Luna’s shoulder. “So what’d you do to ring in the New Year? Nothing I would do, I hope.”

Luna giggled. “Not much. I got some sparkling apple cider and a large assortment of designer chocolates. We watched some ‘Star Trek,’ then the ball drop, and then some more ‘Star Trek’ until I couldn’t keep my eyes open.”

In his best monotone voice, Tony replied, “That’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard in my entire life.” Luna’s loud laugh made him suppress his smile. He couldn’t break his character now. “You should be ashamed of yourself.” He giggled a little. He couldn’t contain it.

Luna pats her chest and lets her laughter die down. “Ok, fine. What did you do?” She took a sip of her drink.

“Oh, you know. When in Paris, do as the Parisians do.”

“Which is?”

“Watch fireworks, kiss under the Eiffel Tower, and celebrate with a bang in more ways than one.” Luna let out a scandalized gasp as her eyes went wide and her mouth agape.

“And you’re calling what I said ‘sexy’? Wow,” Luna said as sassy as she could. They share a brief laugh.

“Say, did Loki do anything with that phone you said you were gonna give him?”

“Oh, yeah. He’s been good with it so far, I think.” Luna put her cup close to her mouth. “Apparently, Peter gave him his number.” Her statement was muffled, but Tony heard well enough.

“He what?!”

Luna nodded. “Mhm. They’ve been sending each other memes the entire weekend.”

“Has the kid Rick-Rolled Loki yet?”

Luna furrowed her brow. “I’m a little surprised you know what that is, but no, he hasn’t.”

“The kid sent me that darned song a few months ago under the guise of it being a video of him drinking five Red Bulls in under five minutes,” Tony explained and threw a hand into the air. “Can’t believe I fell for it.”

“It’s a good song, though. Not gonna lie.”

“Yeah, it is.” He paused, tilting his head back and taking a long swig of his smoothie. With a satisfied gulp, he moved on to his next point. “Hey, you know what? We haven’t had one of our lab meetings in a good while?”

“No, we have not.”

Tony placed his cup on the table and brought his hands down on his thighs with a loud slap. “Let’s have one right now.” He pushed himself off the couch to standing. “I really want to see what you've been working on.”

“Oh, I think you’ll really like what I’ve done so far,” Luna said, giddy about his willingness to take the initiative. In her turn to lead, she took him to the lab, discarding their empty cups along the way. “Alright, so you remember how I told you I was investigating Loki’s DNA?” She handed Tony a pair of large rubber gloves and took small ones for herself.

Tony snapped his pair on and checked his shoes. “Mhm. Did you find the source of his crazy?”

Luna scoffed a little. “He’s not crazy, but I did get some interesting results when I spliced it with that of a C. elegans.” Taking great care, she shifted the Petri dish and lifted the lid. Tony stepped closer, peering inside.

“What is that?” he muttered, seeing the uncharacteristic tracks left by the tiny worms.

“Ice,” Luna whispered back. Tony’s head snapped up, his face and silence communicating his dumbfoundedness. “Yeah, I couldn’t believe it either. They survive in room temperature as they should, but they love the deep cold.” Luna placed it back on the bench. “I even put them in a tub of dry ice, and they were fine. Nothing I did could hurt them. They even laid eggs.”

Tony leaned on the table edge. “When did you do all this?”

“A couple months ago.”

“Months?!” he exclaimed, taken aback. “These things are only supposed to live half of a week!”

“I know! I was surprised too! They can’t seem to die!” Luna grabbed her lab notebook and opened it to the latest entry. Standing next to Tony, she showed him her data. “Just from that sequence I used, their lifespans have increased 1000% already.”

“Already? You’re saying it could keep rising?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.” Luna closed her book.

Tony’s shoulders dropped. “This is dangerous stuff, Lu. I mean, in the wrong hands…”

“I know.” Luna held her hands in front of her. “I’m keeping all digital files on my private server and all papers under lock-and-key.” She pointed to a storage cabinet with a clear lock on the front. “No work is brought outside of this room.”

“If Loki knew you were doing this, it spells ‘danger’ for you.”

“He does know, but on a top level. I told him about the worms because I was happy my hypothesis worked, but that’s it. I’m careful.” Luna took off a glove and put her bare hand on Tony’s arm. “You can trust me on that.”

“I do. It’s just… I just…” Tony shakes his head.

“I know. I understand.”

“I know you do.” He covers Luna’s hand with his and smiles, grateful for her counsel. “On a lighter note, I believe Christmas presents are in order.”

Luna gasped and pointed at him. “Yes! Yes, they are!” She took her other glove off and lay it beside the first one. “First off, I have two for you.”

Tony smirked proudly and crossed his arms. “Two? I knew Santa was real.”

“Tony, you flatter me,” Luna giggled. “Let me get my bag.” She strode over to her personal cabinet and opened it.

“Hey, come on.” Tony nodded his head towards the door. “We’ll do it on the way.”

Luna bunched up the handle and held it tight. “To where?”

“To where I have your present.”

“Ooh, I get one?” She followed close behind him out of her lab and down the hall. “Now it’s my turn to be excited.”

Tony waved her off. “Yeah, yeah. Come on, kiddo, time’s a-wastin’.”

--------------------

A short trek down the stairs and the duo found themselves entering the lower garage. It had been freshly cleaned during the holidays, and the available cars polished and waxed. On their way to a table, Luna eyed them with desire. Tony loved his expensive toys.

“So,” Luna set her bag down and brought her hands together with a clap, “who should go first?”

Tony raised a hand. “Uh, it should be me, because I’ve been waiting since the end of November.”

“An awfully long time to wait, so I won’t keep you any longer.” From her bag, Luna pulled a small white box and a framed piece of paper. “Ok, so first, we have this.” She placed the frame on the tabletop and slide it over to Tony. He adjusted his glasses and took a gander at it.

“Is…is that-?” He picked it up, getting a better look at it. In his hands, he held a detailed portrait of his likeness, done up tastefully in reds and oranges.

“Yup, that’s you.” Luna grinned, leaning over the table. “Loki kept sneaking peeks at it while I was working. Little devil,” she snickered.

“He’ll look at anything if you keep it a secret long enough.” Tony didn’t bother looking away from his new art piece.

“Mhm,” Luna hummed, pleased with his reaction to her gift. “And the second one.” She held the little box and took the lid off, revealing a handmade string bracelet in colors of red, orange, gold, and silver.

Tony's eyes flitted to it, and he smiled tenderly. Reaching with one hand, he took it around his fingers and rolled it onto his wrist. It was his third one from her.

“You know me so well.”

Luna smiled back. “I try. A billionaire is hard to buy for, so I make due.”

“Oh, this is more than ‘make due.’  "He held up his picture and turned it for Luna to see. “This is going in the center of the art wall at home.”

“Again, you flatter me, boss.”

“Unlike some people, I speak the truth, and this,” he looked to his artwork, sighing, and chuckled, “is gorgeous. Makes my present for you seem a little subpar.”

“A subpar gift from you? Never in your life.”

“Since we’re on the subject, we should get that show over with.” The frame tucked safely under his arm, Tony tilted his head towards one area of the garage and led the way to it.

On the counter by the wall sat four boxes, all wrapped in colorful paper and of varying sizes. Tony stood beside the lineup and gestured grandly to them.

“Tony,” Luna started skeptically, “this can’t all be for me.”

Tony held his hands behind his back and rocked on his feet. “No, the one on the far left is for you, the second one is for DUM-E, and the biggest ones are for FRIDAY and the kid.” He paused, not taking himself seriously. “Yes, it’s all for you. Now open the darn things, or I’m keeping all of it.”

“Alrighty, boss, but you’re gonna have to help me.”

At a loss for which box to pick first, Tony stepped in and pulled the tape off of the third box from the right. Luna moved up beside him and held the top flaps open as he pulled the Styrofoam-encased object out. With great care, they worked together in uncovering it, occasionally stopping and brushing stray foam and plastic from their clothes.

Their efforts weren’t all for naught. Upon a clean space on the counter, Luna’s gift sat for her to look at. She passed her fingers over the edges, trying to decipher what she was looking at. Under a Plexiglas cover, it housed a round disc, a small lever, and a weighted arm with a small needle on the end of it. The needle caught Luna's eye and helped her tie her pondered thoughts together.

“Tony, what is… is this…,” she stammered a little. She didn’t want to jinx what her heart was telling her.

Tony rotated his hands around to coax out the rest of her question. “Come on, genius. Use your words. It’s a…”

“Is this a record player?” Luna whispered. Tony snapped his fingers.

“Bingo! And she gets the prize!” he praised, eliciting a gasp and an ecstatic response from his young friend.

“You got me a vinyl record player?! Tony! This is amazing!” Luna grabbed his arm and shook it. “Wait, is this because of that one time I casually mentioned how jealous I was that you had one?”

Tony tilted his head from side to side. “Mm, probably, but I wouldn’t count on it.” Luna laughed, brimming with joy. “You’re very welcome, by the way.” She took a hand off of him, fanned her face, and covered half of her mouth. “Oh, don’t get all teary-eyed on me. No need for that.”

Luna groaned, throat tight from emotion. “I’m sorry. I’m just really happy." She bit the inside of her cheek, but nothing could suppress the smile she wore.

“I can tell,” he said tenderly.

“Thank you, Mr. Stark.”

He waved a hand. “Oh, come on now. None of that.” He patted the hand she still had on him. “Now, I can show you how to connect all the pieces, or I can leave that up to you and your intellect. Either way, you're putting all this -” he gestured to the unopened boxes “- in your car by the end of the day and making your boy toy very jealous.”

Luna chuckled, giving up on correcting Loki’s unfortunate nickname. “So, uh, what are all the pieces?”

“We have the turntable itself,” Tony placed a hand on it, “the power amp,” he moved to the first box by them, “pre-amp," he stepped out of Luna's grasp pointing the second box, “a set of speakers,” he indicated the box furthest from them, “and all the necessary wiring and instructions included. I may have gone overboard on the wires, but hey, can’t go wrong in having lots of backup supplies.”

“No, of course not.” Luna paused, taking everything in: the lavish gift, his generosity, the expense he considered to be pocket change. No, it was pocket change for him. “Tony, this is so much.”

“But do you like it?” He folded his hands, hopeful for a positive answer.

“Oh, I love it. I love it so much,” Luna affirmed, smile broad and shining.

“Good, because I only treat my friends like this.”

The two scientists shared their moment for only a second longer as FRIDAY chose the next one to break it.

“Boss, the diagnostic run on the suits is complete. Would you care to see the results now?”

Tony stepped back from Luna and stood straight with a proud smile. “Since I’ve seen your work, do you want to see mine?”

Luna mimicked him. “When do I ever refuse? Let’s go.”

----------

Taglist:  @the-doctor-9-10 @pinkieperil @sherlockfan4life

[blueheartedmayor]

Monologue - Until We Meet Again

Title is the name of the song that inspired this. I highly recommend listening to it first to get a rough idea of the mood. A spiritual successor to ‘Apology’ The idea of it being shippier than my last self-insert monologue was from a Di.scord group, so shout out to them.

Warning that it’s a little angsty.

Ship - Reader x Damien tw: ghosts

--

God, you just missed him so much some days.

It made sense. After all, Damien was one of your closest friends. You two had gone through so much together. It wasn’t fair how one man’s obsession for revenge caught you both in the cross-fire. Damien became part of a monster, and you... Well, you used to be trapped in a mirror, but you managed to escape as the magic holding you there wore thin. Now you’re alone in a modern world.

Damien would know what to do.

You managed to get a job as an assistant in a small law-firm. It wasn’t anything wonderful, but it helped sharpen your rusty skills in the area you once adored. It also gave you an excellent opportunity to learn more about the 21st century, and start over. The events of the poker night became urban legend, a case never fully explained away. No one was ever arrested, and if someone wasn’t found, they were assumed dead. It had included you, but you were able to keep your name without too much difficulty.

Life was certainly interesting these days, but lonely too. Some nights, you would sit on the couch after dinner, wondering what you could do differently. Each time, you came to the same conclusion - nothing. Revealing who you were and searching for those who were still alive would only land you in so much trouble. Thankfully, they were so busy running a channel of some sort that it was easy enough to keep partial tabs on them.

Didn’t exactly help ease things.

But then... One day you woke, went about your daily routine convinced something was strange. It was only as you were stamping a letter with the date stamp you realised - it was Damien’s birthday. You took an early break to lament in the bathroom.

Last time you had been able to celebrate Damien’s birthday was before the poker night. It almost didn’t happen, since Damien was up to his eyeballs in work. However, you were determined, and kicked the office door down, arms laden with a big gift and cupcakes. The poor mayor let out a shout of surprise as he fell out of his chair and crashed onto the ground. You were laughing so hard, it was a miracle you didn’t drop anything.

“Hey...” A friendly face peeked over the next cubicle. One of your co-workers was standing on the toilet to look down at you. “Are you okay?”

“Sorry...” You sniffed, wiping your nose with some tissue. “Today’s just... a hard one for me. It was my best friend’s birthday.” The friend nodded in understanding. You had told them about your past, but implied things were more recent. Mainly, how you had been in a special recovery unit for over a year, and your best friend died tragically. “There was so much I never told him...”

-

The rest of the day went slowly, but the office took good care of you. Since you were the newest member of the team, you had been adopted as the unofficial youngest sibling. Some had taken some of your workload off you, since there was no way you were able to focus on it; others made it their mission to distract you will silly jokes and memes. Your friend from earlier brought you out for lunch, where you accidentally revealed that you had loved your best friend and never got to tell him.

Needless to say, you were emotionally drained by the time you finished for the day. You decided to walk home, passing a bakery near the office. Plans changed immediately when you left the premises five minutes later with a large cupcake with blueberry frosting. You weren’t sure if Damien even liked blueberries, but the colour was impossible to pass up.

Next thing you knew, you were standing at the gates of the abandoned manor. Since no gravestones had been erected for those who had never been found, the only place you could go to was here. It was the last building you wanted to ever enter for the rest of your life, but right now you didn’t care. In and out in ten minutes max. It wouldn’t be hard.

The manor had long fallen to ruin. No one had wanted to buy it after the stories began emerging. Murders, betrayal, deceit, evil. The building had become popular to adventurers after two reporters published a video of them summoning a ‘demon’, and so it was easy to enter unnoticed. Thankfully, you were the only one there as you made your way through the entrance hall.

Anything that wasn’t too heavy or bolted to the wall had been stolen, making the place feel even emptier than it had been the night you arrived. But that wasn’t why you were here. You had remembered Damien telling you about the manor before your first visit, describing his favourite room in detail - the parlour. The furniture was torn and ragged, but the baby grand still stood. It was rotting, but it was still in one piece. You crept over, mindful of anything that may have been dropped on the floor over the years. Once you were close enough, you placed the cupcake on the piano.

“Damien... I’m so sorry I can’t be there with you today. But no matter where you are, or what’s going on... Happy birthday.”

“You didn’t have to get me a cake, Y/N...”

With an impressive jump in fright, you spun to face the source of the voice, only to freeze. There was a ghost in front of you! The stories were true! You were about to high-tail it out of there when the ghost raised its hands.

“Hold on, old friend... It’s me. Damien. Can’t you see me?”

As soon as that was said, the ghost began to shift slightly, like someone was digitally reducing the blur and sharpening the focus. After a few seconds, Damien stood in front of you. He wasn’t fully transparent, and was surrounded in a blue glow that reminded you of what the monster had. A sad smile formed as he stepped closer to you. Instinct screamed at you to run and hug him, but you knew you were run straight through him. If Damien was still terrified of ghosts like he used to be, he would not appreciate that gesture at all.

“You... But... How... He...” Words were utterly failing you as you instead tried conversation. Damien raised an eyebrow at this.

“I assume you are trying to say ‘Damien, you’re dead, and you are part of Dark. How are you here’?” He paused. When you nodded blankly, he continued, “I’m not entirely sure. Dark was in the middle of a meeting when this happened, but I’m hopeful he won’t have time to figure out why it happened... You aren’t dabbling in the occult, are you?”

“Oh, no! Maybe the house has been used for it so many times?” You are, of course, referring to the infamous ‘DEMONS, JIM!’ video. He seemed to catch your drift and chuckled, moving toward the baby grand so he can examine the cupcake. “I... Uh.. I thought it would help.”

“Help?” He glanced at you with a puzzled look. You swallow a lump in your throat and nod.

“All I could think of today was the last time we celebrated your birthday and...” Oh great, you could feel tears threatening again. “I miss you, Damien.”

“I miss you too... But it’s okay. I’m here, if only for a little while.” You noticed one hand clenching - the lack of cane very clear. While he didn’t need to, he took a breath to face your properly. “Since we only have a short time, may I be blunt?” 

“With what?”

“With something I was meant to do before. Listen, Y/N... If I had known I wouldn’t make it out of this manor alive, I... I would have asked you out to dinner. Or to see a play, o-or something... I loved you, but I was too hesitant to do anything about it.” He doesn’t notice your stunned expression as he continued, “I had feelings for you for years, but... You were one of my closest friends. I was terrified of losing you because of that. But then I became Mayor, and I foolishly dedicated myself to my work and-”

“I love you too.”

“-other responibi- what?” His eyes widened. “But I thought you... Your old tutor-”

“What? Don’t be ridiculous! There was nothing happening there!” You laughed, grinning wider as you noticed his cheeks turning blue in a blush. “Did that stop you?”

“I didn’t want to intrude on something, but...” The ghost coughed into his hand, trying to save himself somewhat. “We have now. If you’ll allow it.” Before you can question this, he leans forward, and you can feel cold air on your chin. Damien took a slow breath in concentration, and you could feel the air solidifying. He was cupping your chin with a hand. You could see him give a soft, if slightly bashful, smile as he closed the gap between you and gently placed his lips on yours. When he pulled back, it was clear from the look in his eyes that it was something he had wanted to do for some time.

“... That was worth the wait,” you teased, causing you both to laugh. God, you missed this so much. “You’re actually good at this, Dames. So does this mean I’m dating a ghost now?” You regretted the words as soon as they came out of your mouth, especially as he stepped back with true sorrow in his eyes. “Damien, I’m sorry, I-”

“No, no... It’s alright. I’ve come to terms with that. But no, we aren’t dating. We can’t. Dark doesn’t know you’re free, and I refuse to put you in danger again. I love you, but I am willing to let you go. Don’t refuse the second chance that has been handed to you. You will always be my dearest friend.”

“And you, mine.” Kissed and effectively dumped within two minutes. That has to be a record.

-

You only had an hour to talk together. He wore himself out by trying to maintain a mostly physical form. The two of you had taken to sitting against the wall, you curled up against his side, his fingers gently combing your hair. It was very reluctantly you both untangled yourselves and stood up. He looked exhausted, like how he used to be after staying in his office until 2am and crashing on the couch there.

“Don’t worry about me. Myself and Celine... We’re okay. I know it’s scary, but we’ll get by. But promise me: go out there, live your life. Don’t let your memories of me hold you back.” He made you swear on the cupcake. It would have been funny had the timing not been so sad. Damien was starting to fade now, and it was taking all of his might to stay a moment longer. “Take care, Y/N.” He pulled you into a tight hug.

You held on firmly, but could feel your grip loosen as he disappeared.

“Until we meet again.”

[willowlark369]

Conflicts of Duty

So, between the Infinity War trailers and finally getting to see Black Panther, I had a few ideas that needed to be written.

Read this on AO3.

“Do you ask this as my brother or my king?”

Shuri spoke the words softly, her tone more serious than she typically used. She didn’t want to admit that as she progressed on her project, her confidence in the simplicity of the solution had changed. To verify that her algorithm could do as she proposed—as she had bragged that it could—she had been forced to begin learning two different fields of science: neurology and psychology. Both fields were far removed from her preferred fields of programming and engineering. Given more time, she was certain that she would be successful in her goal of helping Sgt. Barnes regain his independent agency, but it would not be as quickly as she had previously projected.

On the other hand, the technology she already possessed allowed her to review a person’s memories from their perspective. Initially, she only had visual and audio information, but recently she had cracked the barrier for internal processing. She had spent weeks reviewing the life of James Buchanan Barnes as intimately as the man himself had. She had witnessed truly awkward moments that made her question just how sane any boy or man could truly be and gave her a recurring case of boys are icky feels. She also had seen some things which did not match the man she had believed Steve Rogers to be from the American movies she had watched with Baba.

As discreetly as possible, she had reached out to Dr. Stark. She had been expecting her request for information on the BARF to be rejected out of hand. At the very least, she was expecting to be questioned extensively or to have him demand regular updates, for him to meddle. Everything Steve Rogers and his compatriots had said in her presence about the man indicated that he was little more than a petulant child, prone to throwing tantrums and hoarding his possessions regardless of how many might benefit. Instead, he had been perfectly willing to send all his research to her, including the fab-specs for the device itself. The packet even included an impressive amount of studies and papers. He outlined his issue with making the device more available, which seemed to stem entirely from the power source being a really teeny arc reactor.

It was when she realized that he had included the fab-specs for that where he moved from Tony Stark, billionaire white boy, to Dr. Tony Stark, holder of four doctorates and five honorary doctorates. Despite what her sources, both media and those who had worked alongside the man, had said, Stark had shared a closely guarded secret with her, had treated her as a fellow engineer and genius. He had fought against publicly sharing the technique for miniaturizing his father’s arc reactor; he had kept every version of the ones he had built out of anyone’s hands except for his. Yet he had, after a five-minute discussion, just sent her everything. Then he had told her what had gained her that level of trust.

“I worked with your father,” Stark had said, his voice sounding suspiciously thick with something. Her mother’s voice had that same quality occasionally. “He was… he was really something. Hated me but up front about it and why. No spin; no recriminations; no directives. I’ve come to appreciate that kind of honesty.” He paused to draw an audible breath. When he continued, his voice sounded stronger, more certain. “Your father had a vision, of how the world could possibly be, of how to fix something he had broken. I know how that looks on a person.

“Anyway, T’Chaka was one of the few on the panel willing to actually listen to the people meant to be governed by the Accords, so um, we ended up talking a lot. You know how that works. Inevitably, conversations shift, and other things come up. He mentioned you, his brilliant daughter who refused to quit tinkering even when she should have been in bed.” Dr. Stark had chuckled. It was a warm sound, not quite the same as Baba’s had been but similar enough to make her ache a little. “God, he couldn’t stop bragging, you know? Every time you or T’Challa could even remotely be connected to a topic, you were, and he was so, so proud of everything you were doing, were leading others in doing.”

“That’s why you trust me more than your own leaders? Because my father was proud of me?”

“Well, that’s the grown up responsible thing to say and you should definitely use it as the main reason if anyone asks, but honestly? He mentioned a rant you went on about how Leia was the true Balance of the force and Luke was mostly just making messes like brothers do. Anyone who prefers the Ambassador over other characters is someone worth knowing. And the brother bit really reminded me of someone, so double the marks in your favor.”

Between all the chaos of Erik Stevens’ temporary coup, the fallout from it, and learning new subjects in order to help the first broken white boy T’Challa had brought her, she hadn’t been feeling generous as she continued sorting through Barnes’ memories. Part of her could recognize the hero from the American movies and shows she used to watch curled up next to Baba. She could see a man who had to fight to prove himself and never gave up trying. But she could also see how Steve Rogers had just never listened to the advice of others and made messes that just kept growing harder for others to clean up.

And he had used her grandfather’s gift to Howard Stark, a symbol of trust and promised loyalty, to do a lot of it. Dr. Stark had never brought up Siberia, not once, but she had seen it through Barnes’ eyes. She loved her brother, but she had seen him be so focused on revenge and making amends that he forgot to even ask about someone he had fought beside.

She could absolutely create a replacement for the Captain America buckler. It would be simple, boring. It would be hardly any effort at all to work in improvements. After all, she knew her people’s most precious resource far better than a colonizer in the Forties had.

She just didn’t want to.

But she understood that she had a duty to Wakanda, and through that duty, to her king.

“Does it matter?”

“A sister may refuse a brother a request if it goes against her heart.” Shuri raised her chin, unintimidated by the big brother she loved to tease about exposed toes in her lab. She gave a silent prayer to the Mother Bast for strength of will. Okoye had made this dilemma between two loyalties look so easy, yet this seemed harder than watching T’Challa fight his challengers had been. “But a loyal subject is bound to the will of her king. So do you make this request as my brother or as my king?”

“You will always be my sister first, Shuri,” T’Challa replied after a long moment. There was that strange thickness of tone again, on yet another person. Like she would a frustrating project, she examined her brother carefully.

She saw the same look in his eyes that he had when showing her the building he had purchased in Oakland for the Outreach Program. She thought of the memories she had watched and the old interviews she had started binging on to try and understand why people would think the things they did about Dr. Stark. She thought of how weighted Baba had looked in the last years of his life and the determination in every line of Okoye’s body as she aimed her spear at her own husband in defense of what was right. It occurred to her that maybe she knew how wanting to do better looked on someone, too.

“As your sister, I advise against providing more help to Steve Rogers. The debt you believe you owe for your pursuit of vengeance for our father is not to him and continuing to assist him in his endeavors is a betrayal of the ideals Baba spent so much of his last months working towards recognizing. Steve Rogers is a man who will not listen to any who tell him that he is wrong and refuses to acknowledge the rights of anyone who may find themselves in the path of the collateral damage he leaves behind. He is a face for everything Baba feared about the world discovering the truth about Wakanda and everything our uncle and cousin spent years stewing about. Even now, he flaunts the law our father died to see ratified, without regard to potential collateral damage. Arming this man, who claims to be a hero but whose actions show otherwise, is as foolish an idea as your stupid flip-flops and will make you look just as stupid in the long run.”

“He’s been good at getting the job done.”

“When will you learn that just because something works does not mean it cannot be improved? There is more to being a hero than defeating the bad guy. If you don’t believe me, have Nakia explain it to you. She does it better than me.”

“Something you are not good at?”

“You couldn’t handle me if I was perfect,” she quipped. Then she set her expression into something resembling solemness. “I understand that the danger incoming is great and that we will need everyone working together to have any hope of succeeding, but he is unworthy of that symbol and the trust that comes with giving him a weapon of my design.” She paused as an idea came to her.

“What’s that? I know that look. That’s the one you get before you play one of your tricks!”

“I think I may have a way of fulfill both callings. Changing the design will take away the symbol he betrayed with his actions and allow me to hide one of my remote disabling switches in it.”

“The ones you developed to prevent Wakandan technology from falling into the wrong hands?”

“Just so, my king,” she said, including the crossed arms and slight bow. She grinned when he batted at her a few times. She should make a few memes comparing him to an actual cat. Just for kicks. She grabbed a designing tablet and began working, too distracted by possible rebuilds to worry about maintaining complete focus on her conversation partner. T’Challa was used to it by now, surely. “If I change the design, he will also be more limited. I can take away his range, make him unable to tag team an opponent. That will be useful if he decides that only he knows how things need to be done again. It will need to be similar enough to a shield that he won’t question but different enough that he will be forced to adopt a different style.”

“You truly believe him to be an enemy?”

T’Challa sounded shocked. Shuri returned her gaze to him. He looked as lost as he had when preparing for Challenge Day. She had to stifle the urge to call for Mama or Okoye. She was too young to handle her big brother looking like that. A flash of Barnes’ memory settled behind her vision, steadying her as it steeled her resolve.

“Steve Rogers believes himself to be a good man. Everything he does comes back to that belief. He divides the world into two groups with it. Everyone who agrees with him is also good; everyone who doesn’t, isn’t. Because Steve Rogers believes that he is a good man. What can a good man do if not the right thing? Would that not make others wrong?” She took a deep breath, silently hoping to emulate Baba with her next words. “Believing is not the same as being. To be a good man, one must show compassion to all, even one’s enemy; one must build bridges, not barriers; one must be honest but not cruel; one must be willing to see worth in all things.”

“You’ve been watching Moulin Rouge again, haven’t you?”

“Baba has never steered me wrong before.” She gave T’Challa a sad smile. “Why would death change that?”

“When did my little sister become so wise?”

“Well, one of us had to be, and you were too busy staring at Nakia.”

“I do not—”

“You do so! It’s cute. Everyone thinks so.”

They bickered back and forth as she continued to work. If occasionally T’Challa would regain that lost look, well, Shuri was mature enough to not mention it. Even brothers could be broken, and she was good at fixing broken people.

She had so much practice, after all.

[shirlleycoyle]

Does Jeff Bezos Have Huge Feet? An Investigation

“To photograph people is to violate them, by seeing them as they never see themselves, by having knowledge of them that they can never have; it turns people into objects that can be symbolically possessed. Just as a camera is a sublimation of the gun, to photograph someone is a subliminal murder—a soft murder, appropriate to a sad, frightened time.”

– Susan Sontag, On Photography, 1977

"The feet pics, darling. It's been 15 days. You don't want to make me angry."

– An internet meme, 2018

*

Everyone in New York has a story about a close-call with a celebrity. In a city that's home to one million millionaires and almost 80 billionaires, a run-in with the rich and famous is bound to happen eventually. I don't frequent the right ticketed sex parties and don't have the foresight to book tables 10 months in advance, so this is a rare occasion for me. But one time, I showed up to an indie zine fair allegedly 10 minutes after Jeff Bezos, his body-double, and a bodyguard detail, left.

My only regret in my entire six years as a Brooklyn resident is not leaving my apartment for this event even 11 minutes earlier. Not because I need to get a glimpse of that shiny head perusing anti-capitalist art, but to get a peekie-see at his feetsies.

Months later, I found myself standing at the entrance of the Liberty Ferry in Battery Park on a 30-degree day, gazing at a spot where Bezos walked last spring, closely examining the stones where his shoes once tread. How big were those shoes, I would ask myself on this unholy pilgrimage.

To the general public, the size of Bezos' feet is a mystery no one seems to have the answer to except the man himself. I sought to discover it.

THE CURRENT CLAIMS

There are dozens of websites devoted to celebrities' bodily measurements, including statistics about their height, weight, eye color, age, and astrological signs. Most of these sites include an entry for Bezos and on average, they agree on the basics: He's five feet, seven inches tall, weighs around 154lbs, is 57 years old, and has brown eyes.

Some sites go further than others, but most conflict on the feet. Several attempts have been made to try to guess the size of his feet. Gossipgist.com says they're a 14, a size so large and uncommon, most shoe size charts don't list it, and that sometimes require a special order. Celebrityboss.com says 10. Celebrityinside.com cites his "distinctive features" as being his cleft chin, asymmetrical eyes (the right one is always a little bit more closed than the left), and his "style of laughing." This last note is haunting, but it's not what I'm here for.

WikiFeet Men—"the collaborative celebrity feet website"—also lists Bezos' foot size as "unknown." And if the good folks of wikiFeet don't know, it's safe to say that no one really knows the truth, except the man himself.

In 2004, Amazon's top reviewer Joanna Daneman crossed paths with Bezos at an Amazon-sponsored event, and noticed that "he has really large feet." So large that, six years later, these flippers stand out in her memory. Then again, she also characterizes him as "really tall," which he objectively is not.

He is 5'7. His feet can't be that huge.

There's scant data available on any sort of foot-to-height average, but anthropometric data from the University of Rhode Island cites an average ratio of 6.6:1—for every 6.6 inches of height, average males have one inch of foot length. For Jeff's 67 inches, we could assume his feet are 10.15 inches long, approximately a size 8.5. But Bezos, one of the richest and arguably most powerful men to ever flap his footsie-wootsies across this humble planet, is no average man. Perhaps his body defies norms as well.

My working hypothesis at this point is that as a short-to-average height man, and a billionaire, he carries himself as if he's a much taller dude, but maybe his feet are disproportionately large compared to the rest of him, making them seem enormous in photos and eyewitness accounts.

We have to confirm via forensic photo analysis.

EXHIBIT A: THE SHOE THAT FITS

Bezos' wikiFeet entry contains a handful of paparazzi photos, mostly of him barefoot or in sandals on vacation. In some, his feet seem very large. In other photos, the perspective changes, and his feet seem impossibly petite.

One thing is for certain: the man fills out a pair of strappy sandals. I thought these were Birkenstocks, due to their iconic two-strap slide design, so I emailed a handful of Bezos feet pics to the Birkenstock company, hoping for some enlightenment.

A spokesperson replied within 20 minutes: "Hey Sam, they are not Birkenstock."

I asked Zappos, which is owned by Amazon and therefore Bezos, if it could help ID the size or shoe. A spokesperson there, while apologetic, was unable to give me any information.

But the UK tabloid Daily Mail had the answer all along: They're a $531 pair of Prada slides. Reinvigorated with hatred for the rich, I turned to the foot fetishists of Reddit.

I messaged the mods of r/CelebrityFeet, a forum devoted to celebrity feet, my very earnest request for help. Do they know anything about these elusive sweeties? If they do, they aren't telling. I was promptly silenced for even asking:

When I asked a mod for r/jeffbezos if they knew anything about their #1 guy's feet, they told me to "learn to code." On to the next.

I messaged u/jokes_on_you, who helped me debunk the faked Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez foot pic last year, if he'd be willing to lend his trained eyes to the investigation of Bezos' feet. He asked me to send my own foot pics in exchange for information, which in a non-journalistic context might be a fair price to ask. But according to Motherboard editor-in-chief Jason Koebler, trading quid-pro-quo foot pics with a source would "set bad precedent."

Fine.

EXHIBIT B: THE SUPERYACHT TENDER

In the wikiFeet photos, Bezos strolled his $531 Pradas through a December 2019 vacation, set aboard fellow bald billionaire David Geffen's yacht in St. Barth's. This big boat, I learned, is named the Rising Sun, and is manufactured by ship builder and navy contractor Lürssen, which also manufactures naval ships armed for warfare.

(The photos, it turns out, are owned by a firm called The Mega Agency. We know this because we bought one of these photos from the company for the very reasonable price of $250.)

Rising Sun is a 453-foot long superyacht, and has capacity for at least one "tender," the name for the little day-excursion sized boats that come with ships that big. One of the wikiFeet photos from the St. Barth's trip is a group picture on a tender, seemingly exploring some sea cave, with Bezos front and center, barefoot.

View this post on Instagram

Having a great time in the Balearics

A post shared by David Geffen (@davidgeffen) on Aug 6, 2019 at 3:52am PDT

His feet look humongous in this photo. Most usefully for our investigation, his left foot is placed right next to a straight line of paint on the floor. If we knew the square footage of the floor area of this tender, we could potentially deduce the length of this piece of floor paint—and therefore, the foot.

I emailed Lürssen, maker of $200 million yachts and war vessels, and definitely did not mention any feet. But they still wouldn't give me anything helpful.

"We do not comment on our yachts (or their tenders) to the press as a matter of confidentiality," Timothy Hamilton, director of Lürssen Americas, replied. "Best of luck with your article; it sounds interesting!"

Timothy, you have no idea.

EXHIBIT C: CLINTON CASTLE FLAGSTONES

At this point, powerless and frustrated at our inability to learn a simple fact about a multi-billionaire whose unprecedented empire is in part fueled by the wholesale and dangerous collection of data on millions of innocent civilians, we reached out to a true professional for help.

Motherboard managing editor Emanuel Maiberg contacted Eastern Europe/Eurasia lead researcher and trainer Aric Toler at Bellingcat, the award-winning open source investigations team that previously used images posted to social media to discover key information about the downing of flight MH17 in Ukraine and unmask Russian government assassins.

Toler generously agreed to aid our investigation. We were heartened to hear from him that we were on the right track. "If anyone can figure it out, it's wikiFeet," he said, before we explained that it was not responding. Then he, too, suggested we find a photo of Bezos' feet next to an object we can measure. But while we were fixated on the photo of the Big Foot on the superyacht tender, Toler provided this crucial image of a Bezos photo opp in Battery Park. More specifically, according to the Getty Images caption, "Statue Cruises Terminal in Battery Park in New York."

Jeff Bezos arrives at the Statue Of Liberty Museum Opening Celebration at Battery Park on May 15, 2019 in New York City. Getty Images

Here, again, we have more straight lines next to his feet, in the form of large, identical flagstones. This we could work with; if we could get down there and measure the stones, we could theoretically calculate a rough foot length.

Before I headed out to wander Battery Park on a very cold February afternoon, Koebler, Maiberg, and I did some Google Street View exploring to find the exact location the photo was taken.

In the Getty photo, everything in the background is slightly compressed—a result of using a telephoto lens, as photojournalists capturing Bezos often use. But I had my landmarks: a distinctive bush, some columns, this gray monument building, and Castle Clinton.

With the coordinates dialed in (40°42'11.7"N 74°00'59.4"W) I headed to Manhattan's southernmost tip to walk in Bezos' footsteps. As I got closer to the spot we'd seen in photos, I saw the flagstones.

I moved slightly out of view of a park ranger and got to work taking measurements. Each stone is about 55 inches by 52.5 inches.

I sent this data back to Maiberg's forensic photo lab (Microsoft Paint) and he set to work:

If a little more than four and a half of Bezos' shoes fit in one of these stones lengthwise, that's around 11.9 inches of shoe.

If you account for the shoe being a little bit bigger than the foot inside, and reference various shoe and foot size charts, one can assume his feet are around 11 inches long.

These measurements are obviously not accurate to the nanometer, but even by the widest margin, the length of Bezos' shoe is between 10 to 12 inches long. It is likely somewhere closer to the middle of those two extremes, and while we don't know for sure, we are confident that his feet are not notably large, and certainly not a daunting size 14.

At least in this respect, Bezos is just an average man.

RESULTS AND DISCUSSION

If I'm being honest with myself, I don't feel better with this information. Maybe some things should remain mysterious.

Throughout this investigation, however, when I ranted and raved in dark hours to friends and loved ones about my week-long quest, several people asked, "Why?"

The pursuit of knowledge is always worthwhile. If the tagline of the newspaper Bezos himself purchased is to be believed, "Democracy Dies in Darkness." Information wants to be free. Etc. The feet of a billionaire should be no less subject to scrutiny than, say, the feet of a congresswoman. When the boot is on your neck, measure it.

Amazon did not respond to a request for comment on the size of Jeff Bezos' feet.

Does Jeff Bezos Have Huge Feet? An Investigation syndicated from https://triviaqaweb.wordpress.com/feed/

[thepageofapillow]

Putting Disaster In Charge

Summary: JJ Project is away for a comeback and Jackbam have responsibilites. Taken from the starter meme, “Do you think it’s cooked all the way?”

Pairing: Jackson/Bambam

Word Count: 2.1K

Also on AO3!

A/N: This was the last fic I fully finished while I was in high school. Also, I wrote this before I knew JJ Project was having a comeback. I must be fuckin psychic.

Sometimes when Jaebum is away, it gets hectic; that just means Jinyoung has to serve as the Authorative Adult™ for the day and everything is fine.

It’s never okay when both Jinyoung and Jaebum are gone.

In the GOT7 dorm, there’s a hierarchy of sorts. It wasn’t established right away, but no one knows how it got this way. Jinyoung and Jaebum instantly took on the role of mom and dad of the dorm. Partly because they were perfectly suited for it, but most of the reason was because they were practically married already.

So when they’re both gone, it’s up to the next couple in charge to take on those roles. So it’s safe for Jackson to say that the rest of the members are totally fucked.

Because his boyfriend is Bambam, the loudest memelord nuisance of the century. Jackson finds those qualities to be quite charming and endearing, but apparently the rest of the dorm doesn’t think so. Mark mocks him as he pecks Bambam on the cheek, making gurgling noises as he pretends to stick his finger down his throat.

“Dare I say it, but you two are being way grosser than Jinyoung and Jaebum,” Mark sneers, cranking up the volume on his phone. Jackson has no idea what he’s listening to, but the beat is thumping and slightly vibrating the couch they’re all sitting at. Yugyeom is in the corner with Youngjae, no doubt flirting with him, and Mark is chilling on the couch with the loudest couple in the dorm.

“Good. We’re way cuter than them anyways, right?”

Jackson turns to his boyfriend as he slings his arm harshly around the boy’s shoulders. Bambam chuckles obnoxiously. Jackson thinks it’s barf-inducing and cute all at the same time. 

“Right. At least I had the guts to ask Jackson out, unlike a certain someone.” Bambam emphasizes his point by snapping his head over to Yugyeom and Youngjae. They both stay silent and burn bright red on the cheeks.

“Riiight. So, what are we having for dinner anyways? I’m hungry as fuck.”

Jackson’s eyes widen as he gently removes his arm around Bambam’s side. He gets up dramatically and points towards the kitchen. “There’s food in there, go make it yourself!!”

“See, I would, but I have no idea how long to cook chicken for. That’s what Jinyoung planned to make tonight. And since one of you is mom for today, you can make it. Maybe it’ll be good experience in the future so you don’t burn your house down.”

Jackson turns pink as he daydreams of living together with Bambam, maybe in a cottage with cute flowers and a hammock in the backyard hanging from a large oak tree, that is, until Mark leans on his knees enough for his hand to waver in Jackson’s face. He snaps several times, snapping Jackson out of his fantasy. He’s a little sad it’s gone.

“Go. You know damn well we’re not gonna let Yugyeom go cook, and Youngjae looks like he would faceplant onto the stove if he even tried.” At that statement, Jackson looks over at Youngjae, who is mid-conversation with Yugyeom, his eyes drooping and shallow breaths threatening to even out soon. He’d probably fall asleep sitting up again. Hopefully he doesn’t drool on Yugyeom this time.

“Sure thing, hyung,” Bambam says with a pleasant face. Bambam gets up, patting Jackson’s shoulders and steering him into the kitchen. He leans into Jackson’s side and whispers, “We’re fucking screwed. I really hope you know how to cook chicken.”

Jackson looks helplessly at his boyfriend as he steers him to the counter. A recipe is posted to the fridge, Jinyoung’s attempt to be somewhat helpful to whoever the kitchen duty fell upon. In the corner at the end of the recipe reads, good luck, losers, in bigger print than the rest of it. Jackson sighs, moving the magnet off of the piece of paper and attempting to decode Jinyoung’s writing like he was reading hieroglyphics. He sighs audibly, thunking his head against the fridge door.

“It isn’t totally hopeless,” Bambam replies, smiling at his boyfriend who was currently trying to become one with the fridge. He plucks the paper from Jackson’s fingers and reads it. “I know what a lot of these spices are, so I can season pretty well, probably.” Bambam leans up against the counter, tilting his head so he can get a better look at Jackson. “Just cook the chicken. I can handle the rest, probably.”

“Stop saying probably! You’re making me more nervous than I probably need to be!” Jackson stamps his feet, creating the illusion that he’s about to throw an adult tantrum. However, Bambam sees through the charade and he laughs. He pokes Jackson’s cheek and turns around, opening cabinets to obtain the right pan for the right job. When he turns back around, Jackson is still pouting.

Bambam opens the fridge and gestures toward the plate on the top shelf. “Chicken isn’t gonna walk out of the fridge on its own, you know.” Bambam flashes a blinding smile and Jackson sighs, taking it and unraveling the plastic wrap settled on top of it. He figures he should probably be cleanly about this since he’s feeding several mouths. 

He washes his hands in the sink next to his boyfriend. He flashes him a mock smile, but it quickly turns into a real one when Bambam presses a wad of suds to the tip of Jackson’s nose. For the first time since they decided to embark on this cooking adventure, Jackson laughs. And it’s loud. He and Bambam fight with soap suds until Mark gets annoyed.

“I don’t think washing your hands for ten hours is gonna make kimchi jjigae!”

Jackson sticks his tongue out at Mark and dries his hand on the towel near the sink. He sincerely wishes that they could use pork belly for the kimchi jjigae, but Jaebum pulled out his disgusting aegyo and convinced Jinyoung to get chicken instead for tonight’s meal. Jackson fondly remembers throwing up a little in his mouth at the scene. He feels it now as he stares at the chicken breast, knife now in hand. He gulps and holds one side as he attempts to cut away the skin and fat, per the request of one troublesome maknae. He wishes he could strangle the kid and get away with it.

On the instructions now, it says to cube them. Next to Jackson, Bambam is steaming vegetables in a large pot. He’s pulled out Jinyoung’s signature baby blue apron, and it usually looks bad. But on Bambam, it makes him look strangely hot. Jackson gulps again.

He looks away and finishes cubing up all the chicken that was piled on the plate. He wipes at the nonexistent sweat on his brow, satisfied with his hard work. He huffs as he sets the knife down carefully. He goes to retrieve the rice to start steaming it, in the process stealing a piece of kimchi from the giant container. It’s almost empty.

Bambam smacks Jackson on the arm as he gets out the rice cooker, and Jackson smiles. He starts to walk away when Bambam yanks him back by the collar of his shirt. “Don’t think you’re getting away too easy. Remember, you have to cook that,” Bambam says, pointing towards the cutting board full of chicken with his wooden spoon. This situation is the definition of domesticity and Jackson drools at the sight.

He slumps his shoulders, lifting up the board and pulling out a pan. He greases it and waits for it to heat up, watching Bambam stir the broth with all the vegetables. He wonders if they should add tofu to it when he hears the sizzle of the pan beckon him. He throws the chicken in, moving it around with a spoon that matches Bambam’s. He has no idea when this should be done.

He peers at it after a good five minutes, tapping Bambam on the shoulder. “Does this look cooked all the way?”

Bambam leans over and peers at it as well, narrowing his eyes. “Uh, you could cut it and see if it is.”

Jackson shrugs, taking a cube of meat out of the pan and twisting his spoon to cut through it. “What color is it supposed to be?”

“White, I think.”

Jackson picks up the cut piece of chicken and closely examines it. “It’s still a little pink in the middle. Should I wait a bit longer or is this considered rare?”

Bambam laughs, putting the top back on the pot he is manning. “I think that might be dangerous, so I’d wait.”

Jackson nods, putting the piece he cut back into the pan. He stirs it around some more and waits a few more minutes to check it. When he cuts through it this time, it’s white all the way through. “All done, I think!”

Bambam nods, taking the end of the pan and dumping the chicken into the pot. Last time Jackson checked, there was only vegetables in the pan, but now all the proper seasonings and pre-made broth have been added, and it smells divine. Jackson opens a drawer closest to the rice cooker and attempts to dip a spoon in to taste, but Bambam smacks his arm. “No tasting until the kids can taste it.”

Jackson puffs out his bottom lip, shuffling from side to side and whining. “But you’ve tasted it like twenty times!”

“That, my friend, is because I am the chef of this creation. I need to make sure it is perfect,” Bambam enunciates, pulling off an abysmal French accent.

“First of all, I’m not your friend, we’re dating. Second of all, the accent was horrible. third of all, this is so unfair!!!” He stomps his feet again and crosses his arms. Bambam just laughs at him.

“Okay, piss baby. I know you won’t ever leave me alone if you don’t get a taste, so here.” Bambam dips his spoon into the broth, putting his hand underneath so none of it drips on the floor. He blows on it a little before thrusting it in front of Jackson’s face, and the older boy’s eyes light up as he sips from it.

“Ooh, it’s really good!!” He does a little shimmy and smiles with all of his teeth. “Ah, I’m so excited!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Now go over there and get the rice out, dearest wife.”

Jackson rolls his eyes and reaches the rice cooker just as it beeps.  He also pulls out several pre-made side dishes out of the fridge and heats them accordingly. Bambam had also put him to the task of setting the table. When he goes out of the kitchen, he finds an appalling sight before him. Mark has since abandoned the couch and is blasting music in his shared room with Youngjae. 

But that isn’t the worst part. Jackson is gonna need to bleach his eyes for the rest of his pathetic life.

Yugyeom is straddling Youngjae, and they’re making out. Jackson makes a noise that one would make before hurling, and they pull away from each other. 

“Look, I’m happy for you and all, but please don’t play tonsil hockey right before we eat. I don’t want to lose my fucking appetite.”

“Sorry, hyung,” Yugyeom shyly repies. How he can go from dominating sly maknae to shy maknae is beyond Jackson’s comprehension, so he ignores it. Bambam brings over the giant pot of kimchi jjigae and all those worries fade away.

“Time for dinner, kids!!”

“I’m coming, mom,” Mark yells from down the hall, turning off the music. Jackson scoffs and gets started eating already, piling rice into his bowl and licking his lips. He’s so excited.

“You’re going to enjoy this, my children. Dad whipped it all up. But listen, I cooked the chicken!!” 

Youngjae laughs, picking up his chopsticks and sitting next to Yugyeom.

“Enough of this, please, it’s disgusting. I didn’t think I’d be able to see another couple as married as Jinyoung and Jaebum are, but here you two are, being even more skin crawlingly gross as before,” Mark explains, popping a piece of kimchi between his lips.

Bambam laughs, pouring some of the broth on his rice. “What can we say, we’re the fill-in for your regularly scheduled program!”

Just then, Jinyoung walks in, hand in hand with Jaebum.

“Wow, Jaebum hyung! Fancy seeing you here!” Jackson exclaims sarcastically.

“Seems I came at the right time,” Jinyoung says, rubbing his hands together enthusiastically. “How’d they do, kids?”

“It’s really good, Jinyoung hyung! Come try some!” Youngjae says, covering his mouth with his hand.

“Well, if you insist,” Jinyoung says. He and Jaebum sit down. He pats Jackson on the shoulder and smiles. “Thanks for not fucking it up.”

Jackson furrows his brows, about to yell at Jinyoung, but Bambam stops him with a hand on his arm. Bambam shakes his head and motions towards Jackson’s rice bowl expectantly.

Jackson sighs. He could never say no to Bambam. So, he and the rest of the gang continue eating.

The pan is empty by the time the night is over.

[charlieharry1]

Google has now disconnected google+ from google my business neighborhood listing pages, so much of this text can be  Digital Marketing Company Newcastle vain now. Wager i used to be incorrect approximately google+! 

5 motives nearby groups need to keep in mind leveraging google+

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Read Also:-  Effective Time Management Strategies For Digital Marketers

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 The screenshot under demonstrates the power of getting a strong reviews strategy in region when ability customers are searching for your products & services on-line. Which groups could you be extra at ease doing commercial enterprise with? Those without a evaluations, or those with positive remarks from previous clients? Wollongong-eating places-google-opinions

Having a solid evaluations portfolio also facilitates together with your natural seek rankings. Enough stated. Need ideas on the way to legitimately generate extra awesome opinions from your customers on google? Examine this text. 3. Google+ is a pride to use! From a person interface attitude, the functionality & layout of the google+ social platform is great. It’s very easy to apply and has a beautiful format. Additionally, in all likelihood because of the fact that there aren’t as many people using the community as fb, you’ll discover there may be much less litter and meme unsolicited mail and so forth. I find google+ to be a far cleanser opportunity that helps me hold updated on the topics & articles i’m in reality interested in. After i’m on fb, i’m continuously being bombarded with distracting stuff. I’ve made a factor to simplest comply with people & pages on google+ that i’m definitely inquisitive about getting to know from. The google+ cell app experience is also mind blowing. 4. Google+ authorship

in case you’re now not certain what that is, cross do a google search for a certain subject matter you’re interested by. You’ll observe a few listing have a “through john smith” snippet beneath them. This suggests that google+ authorship has been applied on that particualar page. Authorship is google’s way of telling what content became posted through who first. They need to recognise who the authotitative humans are in any given area of interest, so that you can continue to serve up authentic, useful content to customers. You’d higher believe that google will rank articles better if they’ve been posted by way of an creator who has proven their knowledge thru consitent, splendid content material over the years. In case your business enterprise is doing any form of running a blog, i’d recommend you place your author/s up with google+ authorship. Your net developer ought to understand how to implement this without difficulty for you. Five. Connections! Google+ is a social community. Currently, their target market is predominantly business savvy group of human beings. Why not use google+ to head and observe your colleagues, competitors & commercial enterprise humans you appearance up to? Social media is about man or woman-to-individual interaction. Google+ is simply any other medium to construct your phrase of mouth. So obviously time can be a constraint when it comes to honestly ‘getting round’ to enforcing google+ in your local virtual advertising and marketing strategy. Of direction, you could rent any person that will help you do it. Any other very simple method that i for my part use to hold energetic on google+ day by day is that this:

Ensure you’re always signed in on your google account on each browser & tool you operate frequently. Make it a habit to “+1″ (google+’s model of a facebook like” every article you examine on-line. Each time you finished studying an article which you loved, click on the +1 button (or the google+ proportion button) and this can feed thru to your google+ private account. To leverage this shared content material to your enterprise’ google+ presence, book in 5 minutes each week to head and login on your private google+ account, then re-submit the ones beneficial articles onto your  Digital Marketing Agencies Newcastle google my enterprise web page (if they’re relevant to your commercial enterprise’ target market). Hope this helps, feel loose to sing out if you have any questions. If you may think of any additional great reasons to apply google+ for local on-line marketing, pleae proportion them within the feedback section under!

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