#i couldn’t resist asking why and they said they don’t like facial hair/beards - which okay that’s why you don’t romance him i just meant

[lilmeowmeowsagelesath]

see like waking up to todays kmk game and seeing this. why bring him up, he wasn’t an option. why act like it was a missed opportunity and you’re so sad you didn’t get to kill him. you’d honestly rather kill cassiel than malek. it’s the motherfucking winkyfaces that make me wanna square up hide your racism better jfc

biting my tongue biting my tongue biting my tongue biting my tongue

when you try to subtly call someone out for being a racist - like i see you refusing to romance any lis of color, and even in silly little games it’s always those that you choose to vote out/kill/etc - and then somehow i’m the asshole & get downvoted lmao

[thetaoofzoe]

Fic: Midnight in the Desert 1/1

Title: Midnight in the Desert

Summary: Coffee + tiny bladder + long motorcycle ride = the best sex of your life

Rating: Smut, fluff, fun sexy times. My usual fare, you know what’s up. 

Pairing: Captain ‘Sy’ Syverson x YOU (AU)

Companion piece to The Road to Paloma  

‘I have to pee!’ 

You leaned against Syverson’s broad back and shouted at him above the roar of the bike’s engine. 

He turned his cheek against the wind. 

‘What?!’ he shouted back. ‘Again?? We just stopped an hour ago.’ 

‘I got a tiny bladder!’ you laughed as he decreased the bike speed. 

It was easier to talk now that the warm night air had stopped whipping away your words. You nuzzled fondly against his shoulder and eased your hands down over his belt buckle. 

‘There ain’t a place for miles,’ he said and lay his hand over your hands. ‘Can you hold it?’

You thought a moment and although that second cup of truckstop hazelnut coffee was a surprising delight to the senses, it was a mistake currently wreaking havoc on your bladder. 

‘I cannot. Nope, not in the least,’ you replied and left it up to your problem solving husband to figure it out.  

Up ahead on that long black stretch of barren backcountry Arizona road stood a high-mast sodium light which cast a broad oval of yellowy illumination across the road.  Syverson slowed the bike even more and drew close to the tall wood pole. You peered up at the ring of industrial bulbs and then down at the shadowy dirt area just at the rim of bright light. 

When he shut off the engine the world plunged into a kind of silence that only an evening on an empty road in the middle of a desert could create. Nothing but crickets, and the occasional nocturnal animal cry. You liked it. 

Syverson kicked the bike onto the stand and let the machine ease to one side. He got off it and turned to face you as he thumbed through his mobile. 

‘No signal,’ he grumped and then pointed to the saddle bag near your thigh. ‘Get out the map. Let’s take a look.’ 

You did as you were told. He always kept a big book of state maps in the bag for when the online maps failed. You paged through it, landed on the appropriate state and after a quick skimming search, you put a finger on a thin jagged red line. 

‘Highway 373,’ he said, looking down the length of your finger and rubbing his hand over his beard. ‘Yeah, see? Town’s at least another 60 miles.’

With your finger still on the map, you looked up at him and pouted. Syverson smiled fondly and used the tip of his index finger to push up your helmet visor so that he could see your eyes. He stroked the edge of his thumb back and forth against your cheek. 

‘Sure you can’t hold it?’ he asked in a tone that said come on baby you can do it.

But you shook your head and unstrapped your helmet. He removed his own in response. Might as well get comfortable.  

Handing yours to him, you rummaged about in your rucksack and made a noise of triumph when your fingers closed about a small plastic baggie. You pulled it out and held it up. 

One of the most valuable tips that you learned from women who were constantly on the road was that a ‘fuddy’ or a female urination device was a godsend and a life saver.  

Yours was pink. 

‘Looks like your girl is gonna have to make do,’ you said and groaned as your bladder protested the exertion when he helped you climb off of the bike. 

‘Awright,’ he said.  ‘Don’t accidentally piss on anything that I’m gonna have to fight, okay?’

‘Always my knight in shining armour, Sy,’ you called over your shoulder walking to the edge where the darkness met the light. 

He laughed and sat with his rear against the seat, stretching his long legs out in front of him.

‘Just do it where I can see you,’ he said. 

You stepped across that hard bright line and into the pale darkness.  

It seemed cooler there for some reason and you strained to look into the distance. The moon had gone in behind grey streaky clouds and backlit the jagged mountain range in the distance. You glanced back at the man leaning against the bike. He was still aware and watching and that comforted you. 

Always your protector.

Unzipping your loose heavy canvas trousers, you pressed the rubbery funnel into place and relieved yourself into the dirt. 

As the pressure subsided, your mood lifted and the thought of maybe another coffee didn’t sound so bad. Drying yourself and the funnel with a little bogroll, you tucked everything back into the baggie, righted your clothes and returned to the bike. 

Syverson’s keen gaze skimmed over you. 

‘Better?’ he teased.

You stored your bag into the rucksack  and stood back to look fully at him. 

‘You’re turning into a grizzly, you know that?’ you asked fondly, reaching up to run your fingers over his beard and then up over his jaw and to the back of his neck. 

‘I thought you liked me like this,’ he replied in his easy joking manner. 

He caught his thick facial hair between his thumb and forefinger and gave himself  a thoughtful stroke. You smiled and reached up to gently caress the back of his well shaped head with both hands. His eyes softened immediately and a knowing look crept into his warm gaze. 

‘What are you tryin’ to do?’ he asked. 

There was that soft, gentle laughter in his voice that you loved so much. It was the sound that had come to mean that he was settling in to play your game.  

You caught the corner of your lower lip between your teeth and looking away you lifted one shoulder in a shrug. 

‘What?’ you asked innocently, ‘I’m not doing anything.’ 

Syverson hooked his thumbs into the side belt loops of your trousers. He drew you closer but when you resisted he shot you a quizzical expression.

No play? asked that expression. 

He looked nearly betrayed that you would deny him access to the trouble he so dearly wanted to get into. He wanted to get into you.  

You moved a few steps away and when you held his full and undivided attention, you unzipped your trousers. With an insolent pause to gauge his reaction, which was immediate and intense, you shimmied, let them drop and then stepped out of them.  You wore his long tee shirt, and when the trousers dropped, the hem of it fell against your bare upper thighs, covering you. 

Syverson made a low, greedy noise in his throat. He grabbed you by the waist and in a smooth motion, he straddled the bike’s seat, and swung you effortlessly into the air before planting you firmly astride his lap with a solid thump.

You felt him move against you as he shifted in the seat and the tough material stretched taut across his muscular thighs scraped along the tender flesh of your inner thighs. A pleasurable shiver rushed through you and you put your hands flat on his heaving chest. Sy wet his lips and looked up at you. There was want and heat and desire in his blue eyes and your lips curved into a delighted smirk. 

This man, this beast of a man was yours and yours alone to do with whatever you pleased. 

‘I’ve never met a woman who was so exciting,’ he groaned, voice quiet, as if he didn’t want to break the spell you’d woven over him. 

You took the compliment in stride. Leaning in, you opened his mouth with your tongue and slid your hand down to his belt buckle. When you drew back, he looked down the length of torso and watched in breathless panting silence as you unbuckled his trousers and eased out his stiffening cock. You glanced at him, noting the colour rising high in his cheeks as he shuddered, put his head back and moaned. 

He slid up the lower edge of your tee shirt and massaged your bottom rhythmically, eagerly as you stroked him once, then again, curving your fingers around his thick girth and teasing his glistening head with your thumb. 

‘Yeah, baby. Good girl. Just like that,’ he groaned. ‘Oh, yeah, you know what I like.’ 

You warmed with the pleasure at being praised by him.

And gleefully, you twisted your slick fist and he arched, and tightened his grip on your hips. 

‘C’mon baby, c’mon… you’re teasing me.’ 

I love to tease you baby, I love how you respond to me. 

With his big hands supporting you,  you rose to your knees opening yourself to him and you whispered his name when he undulated and pushed up into your sweet quivering heat. 

As usual, you were unprepared for him, unprepared for the size of him. But you relaxed, closed your eyes, and clenched when his cock slowly stretched you to fit him. 

Between his competent, loving hands, Syverson held you still and lifted his face so that you could kiss him, softly, gently, as if the two of you were hidden away in your bedroom, and not fucking like unrestrained lusty beasts by the side of a silent desert highway. 

Sy thrust up hard into you, laying claim to you from the inside and an unnamed feral fire seared through you. You arched, sucked in a breath and your intentions of keeping quiet were obliterated. The throaty cry that erupted from you started but did not shame you. 

A roll of your hips elicited the same response from him and you hissed with pain when he dug his fingers into your vulnerable flesh. But he soothed you with warm honeyed kisses and the promise of ever increasing delights. You clenched your thighs about him and Sy encouraged you to ride him harder and faster until you couldn’t withstand the plunging shudder that rocked you. Safe in the strength of his embrace, you surrendered to him, clutched at him and shuddered through the white-hot scalding gush of lust and molten fire through your veins. 

Syverson held you against him until you finally stilled and draped yourself over him to cover his face with kisses. 

After cleaning up and dressing, you settled yourself behind him again, wrapped your arms about his waist and rested your cheek against his shoulder. You gasped when the engine roared to life as the sudden vibrations shook you intimately and the sensations made you smile. 

‘You ready?’ he asked, breaking you out of your muse. 

You squeezed him. 

‘Ready.’

A hotel room, a hot shower and another round were in order along with some downtime to rest. There was a secondary reason why you had to pee so much. Your husband was going to be a father.

-the end, you naughty little things. I love you ;D

Tag list:  @lightsidecalling​  @omgkatinka​ @igotkatiepowers​ @the-soot-sprite​  @harrysthiccthighss​ @little-green-love​ @foxyjwls007​  @angreav​ @maizyistrash @liquorlaughslove @supernaturallymarvellous​ @whiskey-cokenstuff @laketaj24​ @october505​ @inlovewithhisblueeyes​ @foodieforthoughts​ @wolvesandhoundshowltogether​ @singeramg​ @sapphirescrolls​  @emyearns​ @brandycranby​ @zealoushound​ @eldarwen333​ @beck07990​ @lunedelorient​ @henrythickcavill​ @kalesrebellion​​ @angrythingstarlight​​ @lavitabella87

[im-not-looking-for-forgiveness]

😱😱 I’m LOVING One Of Us. Are you doing a part 3 anytime soon? Xxxxxxx

One of Us - Part 3 - Thomas Shelby x Reader

One of Us - Part 2

I'm back babeyyy! Thanks again for wait!

Taglist: @tranquility-or-chaos @captivatedbycillianmurphy @stressedandbandobessed7771 @spookyscaryskeletonsus @amirahiddleston

*****

You figured he lived lavishly, but this was too much.

"Ms. Y/N, please. He pays us to do this sort of thing." a maid insisted, looking nervous.

"I can make up my own bed! I don't need help with mundane things like this. If I need help I'll ask for it, okay?" you told her, taking the blanket from her arms.

"Yes, of course. Sorry."

"No! Don't apologise. I'm just a person, like you. I'm not used to having someone do things for me." you told her spreading the blanket on the bed. This was to be yours for an undetermined amount of time, and you wanted to make it your own.

She just nodded, and ducked out of the room.

Only when it became night did Tommy return. You had tried to relax and rest up for the upcoming assignment, but you just couldn't sit still. The knowledge that you'd be here alone with Tommy all night was worrisome as well as exciting. You hadn't joined the gang to partner up with their leader. Though he was an unexpected upside, seeing him was a larger risk than joining the gang itself. If things didn't go well between you two, you'd probably be killed. Surely they couldn't afford to have someone around who would know their secrets. It made sense in your mind, but you didn't want to risk getting killed by the very people who had paved the road to your freedom.

"Waiting up for me, eh?" Tommy said upon entering the room. He lit a cigarette and sat down on the opposite sofa.

You folded your arms defensively, "You still haven't told me the plan for tomorrow."

"Ah. Is that all?" he mused, placing his cap next to him on the seat. He seemed to be in a pleasant mood, which made it harder for you to act annoyed with him.

"Yes." you answered his rhetorical question.

"Hmm. The man you'll be protecting is Alfie Solomons. He's leaving Birmingham tomorrow morning. It's imperative that no one knows of his movements. You'll be traveling with him by car to London, where you'll then trade off with his own men." he told you simply, before taking a long drag on the cigarette between his fingers.

"Sounds simple enough." you answered, surprised it was such an easy task. You figured they'd throw you into the fire on your first day to see what you were made of. Maybe they just wanted to see if you could follow a simple plan.

Tommy nodded, "Good, because you'll be doing it alone."

"That's fine with me." you shrugged, glad he hadn't said Arthur was going with.

Thomas stood and poured two glasses of gin. He set one in front of you before sitting back down. Tommy then stared at you, waiting for you to try it.

You scooped up the bottle, curious. The label read:

'Shelby Company Limited - Gin distilled for the eradication of seemingly incurable sadness.'

"'Seemingly incurable sadness?'" you asked, looking up at him. Did he label this himself?

"Tell me what you think."

Switching the bottle in your hand for the glass, you took a swig of the drink. It was the best drink you had tasted for a very long time. It was surprising to you that it came from the hand of Thomas Shelby.

"It's sweeter than I expected, but good. It could definitely take your mind off things." you admitted honestly, taking another sip.

"That's the plan." he nodded, taking a drink for himself. You had a feeling he made the label for himself, which made you see him differently for the first time. He was more human than he wanted others to see. You supposed it made sense, being the leader of the Peaky Blinders.

"To curing incurable sadness." you raised your glass to his, which clinked pleasantly.

With the toast over, you both sat staring quietly. It had been a nice silence until you made eye contact with him. The power he held in his eyes was amazing. It was like he was some sort of god in a man's body. You'd never encountered someone so bewitching before. Your brain reminded you of your previous kiss, and your skin began to flush slightly. Oh, no. You really wanted to kiss him again...

"Right. I'm going to bed then." you announced, not moving.

"Lock your door."

"And why would I do that?"

"Because otherwise I'll be getting into your bed."

"I'll lock the door, then." you responded swiftly, knocking back the rest of the gin. You winced a little as it stung your throat, but mostly hid it. You then placed the glass on the table, and tried to walk nonchalantly out of the room.

As you shut your door (and locked it), you couldn't help but think of your ex husband. He had never once tried to seduce you. With him, there was only his command or punishment. You weren't used to actually being desired. Tommy was so fucking smooth, that you found it nearly impossible to say no to him. That was going to be a problem if you wanted to hold off with seeing him. You had to know more about him and his family before making any moves. You couldn't afford in any capacity to get into a bad relationship again.

You decided as you climbed into bed that the best course of action was to not take any action at all. You had time to decide what to do. You weren't in danger any more. You were free to do as you pleased. You had to keep reminding yourself of this, or things would get out of control again.

---

The next morning was practically uneventful. Tommy sat silently at the other end of the table from you as you two ate breakfast. There was absolutely no mention of last night, and for that you were relieved. You didn't know how long you could resist him. But you also didn't know how long he would pursue you, and you had to admit you liked the attention.

"Mr. Shelby? Mr. Solomons is here."

"Bring him in."

"Yes, sir."

"Ready?" Tommy asked you, pulling his cap down. You grabbed his yours and followed suit. It gave you a surprising sense of comfort already. Whether that was to do with Tommy or the gang, you weren't sure.

"Ready, sir." you repeated, the title coming out of your mouth without thought. He was your boss, but shit!

"You-" he began, but was cut off.

"Ah, hello Tommy Shelby." a man announced, limping into the room on a cane.

Your first impression of him, was that he didn't seem like a man who needed protecting. You couldn't explain why, since he looked somewhat ill, but he seemed to be much younger than his body let on. Facial hair adds years to a man, so you also figured that if his beard were shaved he would look much different. You were curious to know what he looked like when he was your age.

"Y/N. She's part of the Blinders now." Tommy was saying to Alfie. You focused back in on the conversation at the mention of your name.

"Nice to meet you." you nodded at him.

"What? You couldn't find any more men to do your bidding?" he ignored you and turned to Tommy.

"Actually, I volunteered." you cut off whatever response Tommy was about to give, annoyed at yet another man underestimating you.

Alfie turned back to you, a brow raised. He responded calmly, "You're madder than this fuckin bunch then."

"Yeah, probably." you snapped, and folded your arms.

He turned back to Tommy and uttered something in a language you didn't understand. You frowned, but tried your best to let it go. You just had to get this asshole to London, and then you would be done.

"Right. Let's go then, yeah? I've got an appointment to get to." Alfie suggested, tapping his cane on the floor.

"Y/N, your train ticket back has already been bought. I'll see you tonight." Tommy told you simply, before leaving the room. You felt sure there was going to be a discussion about the use of the word 'sir' when you got back.

"Lead the way." you told Alfie, gesturing to the door.

With the two of you seated securely in the car, you were off. Luckily, he didn't seem the type to talk a lot. If he had, you weren't sure if you were going to make it to London with him in one piece.

"I can see the future." Alfie declared after a short while of silence.

"The future." you repeated, curious as to where this was about to go.

"Are you fucking Tommy?" Alfie asked shamelessly.

"What!? No!" you exclaimed, shocked. How the fuck would he know there was anything going on between you two?

"Hmm." was the only response he gave.

Oh this was going to be a long, long trip.

[leisurelypanda]

i'm so mean to bucky but i honestly just need something with shrunkyclunks and bucky being mugged and then getting protective care later from steve, i'm evil i know sorry haha

You want angst? Okay! >:D

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18376730

Being Captain America’s boyfriend was never guaranteed to be easy. Despite the fact that both the Avengers’ public relations team, Tony Stark’s personal team, and all of Bucky’s friends had all told him not to google himself after their relationship became public, Bucky hadn’t been able to resist the temptation. It was everything that he could have predicted and more.

There were strong supporters and vocal detractors. Some people thirst tweeted him, others thirst tweeted Steve (which wasn’t new), and some thirst tweeted both of them. That part was fine, if a little… invasive. Other people claimed that Steve could do better. Bucky ignored those, because honestly, who cared? Steve thought he was sexy (a fact that still made Bucky feel a little giddy) and that was all that mattered.

The main issue was the religious nuts who had a collective aneurysm, as though the fact that Captain America was fucking a guy was a personal attack. Steve ignored them, but he was a little more experienced ignoring such people. Bucky was honestly a bit worried. There had been more than one conservative speaker who claimed that Bucky was an agent of the Devil who had corrupted the moral symbol of America, and by extension, the entire country as a whole.

If it had been something normal and simple such as, “The gays cause floods, wildfires, and tornados,” that would’ve been fine. Those made Bucky chuckle. Claiming that he personally was a danger and threat and seeing people agree with it so easily was a little more disturbing.

After about a month of that, Bucky started a total social media blackout. They were right, it wasn’t worth the worry. Steve started training him in combat skills, too. “You never know when you’ll need to defend yourself,” he said. Bucky laughed it off more to deflect from the fact that he was actually kinda worried.

About a month into his social media blackout, Bucky was minding his own business while walking towards his apartment. The Tower was nice, but it wasn’t Brooklyn and Bucky really did like having his own space. It wasn’t anything fancy, but for a guy who was working on a cupcake shop, it was everything he needed it to be: comfortable, warm, and within his ability to pay.

Brooklyn was beautiful. The fact that Bucky had grown up there made him biased, but also right. He loved how it seemed both old and new. Steve sometimes talked about how it used to look like, what people used to do there. He’d drawn pictures of tall buildings that were piles of shacks more than anything connected by rows of laundry hung out over the streets to dry.

It was amazing, both from an artistic sense and from a historical one. Now, Brooklyn was a place full of youth and vigor. It seemed full of art and possibilities and sometimes Bucky caught Steve’s eyes glaze over, as if he was imagining what life might’ve been like in this Brooklyn instead of the one he grew up in. Maybe he would’ve had a future instead of bleak prospects and a weak body.

Bucky turned the corner and continued walking towards his apartment like he always did. As he passed by the alley between a bar and a pizza joint, he was grabbed from behind. His yell was muffled as he was slammed against the brick wall behind him. The back of his head throbbed in pain.

“What the? Who the hell are you?!” he demanded. It came out more as a groan than a yell like he’d hoped for.

“Are you Bucky Barnes?” one of them asked. There were three of them. They each wore black ski masks like some cheesy movie trope, but at the moment, Bucky was actually legitimately terrified.

“Who wants to know?” Bucky replied. They looked at each other before one of them checked his back pockets until they found his wallet.

“It’s him,” they reported.

“Well then, Bucky,” the first mugger said. “We’re here to save the soul of Captain America.”

An icy sliver of dread passed through Bucky’s stomach as he caught the sliver of a knife while someone else produced a gun. His brief amount of combat training with Steve kicked in and he bashed his head against the nose of the mugger who held him against the wall. Bucky grabbed the blade that the mugger dropped and dropped into a defensive posture.

They couldn’t have all brought knives like normal psychopaths, could they? Bucky thought.

He attacked and managed to disarm the second one before he decided to make a run for it rather than try to fight his way out. As he was making his getaway, though, he heard a shot followed by the sudden stabbing of a gunshot strike like lightning in his leg. He didn’t have time. He dashed into the bar. He went straight into the bar, his leg throbbing in protest with every step.

“Call an ambulance,” Bucky said through clenched teeth. The bartender nodded and picked up the phone. Bucky barely registered what he said as he tried desperately to keep pressure on a wound he couldn’t see. When the bartender was done, he came around the bar with a rag and a length of twine.

“They’re on their way,” he said. “Where is it?”

“Thigh,” Bucky breathed. “Back. Can’t see.”

The bartender rolled him over on his side and pressed the rag to the wound. Bucky cried out in pain as the bartender secured the cloth to his leg with quick and brutal precision.

“What’s your name, son?” the bartender asked. “I’m Steven Goldberg.”

“Bu-Bucky Barnes,” he said. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” the bartender said. “The ambulance will be here soon. Tell me about yourself.”

“I—I make cupcakes,” he said. “Barnes’ Artisanal Bakery.”

“You just make cupcakes at your bakery?” Steven asked. Bucky chuckled and shook his head.

“No, they’re just… my specialty,” he said. “Make bread, too. Lots of challah. Grandma’s recipe.”

“You Jewish?” Steven asked. Bucky nodded. “Me, too. Great-grandma was saved by Captain America during the Holocaust. Named my granddad Steve after him. My ma named me after him.”

Bucky smiled. “He’s my… boyfriend,” Bucky said. “Ma was so proud… when she heard. Said it made up for… me eating bacon.”

Steven laughed at that. Bucky chuckled a bit at that, too. Then he closed his eyes. Steven shook him lightly.

“Stay with me, Bucky!” he said sternly. “Come on, tell me about your favorite cupcake recipe. How did you meet Steve Rogers?”

“Catered a… party… at the tower,” Bucky said. “Just tired…”

“Hey, hey, stay awake!” Steven said. He slapped Bucky’s face lightly. “The ambulance is almost here, gotta stay awake.”

Everything went dark.

Bucky heard people. He heard voices, but they were speaking like he was underwater or something. He couldn’t make anything out. Someone sounded stressed. It might’ve been Steve. He couldn’t tell. He wished they would be quiet. He was still so tired.

He became aware of some terrible, searing pain. It didn’t feel anything like the bullet. The bullet felt just fine in comparison to this, like he’d been hit with a stick. He felt like he was burning from the inside out. He might have screamed, maybe it was someone else. After a while, he passed out again.

When he next came to, he heard beeping by his bedside. He groaned softly and the next thing he knew, someone was holding his hand tightly.

“Buck?” someone said. It was Steve. Bucky grinned knowing that Steve was with him. “Come on, Bucky wake up for me, please.���

“Stevie,” Bucky replied. It was little more than a murmur. His voice was hoarse and his throat hurt like hell. It wasn’t a dream, then. He had screamed, but he didn’t know why.

“Oh, thank God,” Steve sighed with relief. “Can you open your eyes?”

Bucky slowly opened them. He looked up into a face that was both strange and familiar. It was Steve, his Steve, but he’d grown a beard at some point. That was weird. Steve never had facial hair. He definitely hadn’t had one the last time Bucky saw him. He looked amazing, though.

“Nice beard,” Bucky said. Steve grinned and laughed with relief. “Am I in a hospital?”

“Yeah, yeah you are,” Steve replied. He looked down with concern at Bucky’s face. “How… do you feel?”

Bucky thought for a moment. He felt… fine. Better than fine, actually. He wasn’t in any pain at all. After a gunshot wound, he figured he’d at least be a bit tender afterwards or have a lot of pain. Even his head felt clear, rather having than the dull throb and foggy senses that might have accompanied a concussion.

“What happened?” Bucky asked.

“You were attacked,” Steve said. His face was resolute, but Bucky could see the guilt and sadness underneath. The guy who called the ambulance said that he didn’t know who did it.

“I don’t, either,” Bucky said. “They just said they were trying to save your soul.”

Steve grimaced. “Anyway, after you were out of danger, you went into shock,” he said. “The doctors said that you had a mild concussion and you’d lost a lot of blood despite what Mr. Goldberg did.”

“He was named after ya, ya know,” Bucky said. “Said his great-grandma was saved by you during the Holocaust.”

“Really?” Steve said. “He didn’t say anything like that to me. I saved a lot of people from the camps whenever I found them.”

“Here I thought my folks were the only Jews who were crazy for ya,” Bucky said. “Clearly all of us love you. You should convert.”

Steve laughed at that. “Sure, Buck. I’ll get right on it,” he said. “Do you feel… strange, at all?”

Bucky frowned at him. “What do you mean, ‘strange’?” he asked.

Steve shrugged and Bucky could see his face blush a bit. “I don’t know… different,” he replied.

Bucky stared at him. “I have an inexplicable urge to run a marathon,” he said. “Does that count as strange?”

“Uh, it might.”

“Steve,” Bucky said sternly. “What did you do?”

Steve looked down sheepishly. “You lost a lot of blood,” Steve replied. “The paramedics didn’t have enough of your blood type, AB negative. Said it was pretty rare. I… offered mine. I apparently have the universal donor or something.”

Bucky blinked. “Okay,” he said. “What does that have to do with me feeling weirdly energetic?”

Steve ducked his head. “The… docs think that I might’ve passed on the serum to you.”

It took a minute for that little tidbit to seep in. Bucky smiled slowly, then all at once.

“They do?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Steve said. “The surgery to get the bullet out was just a few hours ago. They had difficulty keeping you sedated because of the change, actually.”

“How much blood did you give me?” Bucky asked.

“Enough, apparently,” Steve said sheepishly. “They want to monitor you, see if I really did pass everything on.”

“Fuck that!” Bucky cried. He took out the IV and jumped to his feet. He looked down at his body. What had once been skinny arms on a broad frame was now lined with thick muscle. The next thing he did was lift up his hospital gown and check his dick. He barely recognized it. His flaccid length was about as long as he’d used to be while hard. “Damn, look at that! Holy shit!”

“Buck, please, we’re in public,” Steve said with a blush.

“We’re alone in here,” Bucky said with a mischievous grin. “Pull the blinds, maybe we can get a quickie in before the doctor gets here.”

“Buck, I’m serious,” Steve said sternly.

“So am I!” Bucky replied. “It’s not every day you wake up in a brand new body. Come on, help me break this baby in.”

Steve’s blush grew. “Later, I promise,” he said.

Bucky stared at him before he dropped his gown. His dick, which had been working its way to hardness softened.

“Okay,” he said. “Later.”

The doctors cleared Bucky to leave as soon as they saw he was up and about. His ma cried from relief when she arrived and found him. Bucky hugged her tightly and realized that he probably had to be gentle when she groaned a bit more easily than he remembered. His very next thought was that he was gonna get her back for all the years of oppressively bone-crushing hugs she always gave him.

He went back with Steve to the tower where they proceeded to… do absolutely nothing. They didn’t go down to the gym or fuck or even watch tv. Steve just had Bucky sit down on the couch while he did everything. He brought Bucky the biggest sandwiches Bucky had ever seen, he put Bucky’s shoes away for him, he cleaned every visible surface of his apartment twice, he got Bucky everything he wanted, and was even waiting outside when Bucky emerged from the bathroom.

“Steve, come on, I’m fine,” Bucky said. He took Steve’s hand. “Come on, let’s do something fun if we have to stay here.”

“No, Bucky,” Steve said. He jerked his hand out of Bucky’s like it was burned and… Bucky definitely felt that. He scowled at Steve.

“Fine,” he growled. He walked around Steve towards the front door.

“Where are you going?” Steve demanded.

“Home,” Bucky said as he shoved his feet into his shoes. “I’ve got things to do.”

The sound the door made when he slammed it made him feel a little bit satisfied.

It wasn’t until late that evening when Bucky’s phone rang. He looked down at Steve’s number. He was still mad, though, so he let it go to voicemail.

In the hours that he’d been home, he’d cleaned up everything. There was a lot, considering that Bucky tended to not have time to clean things between running a bakery and dating a superhero. His newfound strength and energy, though, proved convenient. He picked up the couch with ease to clean under it and even the bed seemed light to him.

It didn’t seem to matter, though. Steve, for whatever reason, didn’t seem to think that Bucky’s new abilities were all that interesting. He’d backed away from his touch and even turned away when Bucky had tried to kiss him earlier.

What if he doesn’t like the way I look, now? Bucky thought. It made the icy feeling in his gut grow. He curled in on himself, picking his feet up and wrapping his arms around his ankles. It was true, he had been shorter and skinnier than Steve when they met, but surely Steve hadn’t just liked him for his body… right?

The thought wouldn’t leave, though. Bucky eventually ended up falling asleep on the couch with nothing but an old afghan.

His alarm went off the same time it did every morning. Bucky groaned as he pressed snooze. He was gonna take the day off. He’d use the excuse that he’d been shot to defend it if anyone asked. Yesterday had been stressful, after all, in more ways than one.

He did, however, look at Steve’s contact on his phone. His phone said that he had a message from him. There wasn’t anything else, though. It wasn’t like him to ignore Bucky like this, though. Finally, Bucky decided to press the voicemail notification.

Hey, Buck, the message began. I’m sorry for what happened to ya today. Sorry that… you got hurt because of me. If we weren’t together, this wouldn’t ever have happened.

There was a pause in the message and Bucky’s heart stopped. “Steve, don’t you fucking dare,” he grumbled.

I hate that you got hurt because of me, Buck. I couldn’t live with myself if it happened again. I… I think it’s best that we go our separate ways, now.

Bucky couldn’t breathe. His eyes filled with tears and he clutched his shirt over his heart. “No, Steve, stop!”

So… I guess this is goodbye, Buck. I hope you live a good life… End of message. To delete this message—

Bucky hung up. His mind swirled with a tempest of emotions. Grief, shock, denial, rage, hate, and the sharp, bitter sting of rejection all fought for dominance. Bucky fell to his knees on the floor. He looked back down at his phone only to see that he’d crushed it in his hand. He banged his other hand on the coffee table and it cracked.

“Dammit!” he shouted. He got up, still seething with anger as he washed his hand under the sink. Thankfully, no glass had gotten in the cut across his palm, but he still bandaged it up. He would probably be completely fine after a few hours.

The thought of that made him think of Steve, though. Steve did this, made him this way. His body was new and different and strange. He’d broken his phone and his coffee table already. He couldn’t afford to replace them either! And now… now there was no one around to teach him how to adjust.

His legs buckled and he fell to his knees in a corner of the kitchen. He sobbed. Yesterday he’d been mugged, shot, and woken up a different person. Today, he was more alone than he’d ever felt at any other time in his life.

He didn’t know how long he stayed like that. He cried until he couldn’t breathe and kept crying. It was the stupidest, dumbest, most Steve-like reason to break up. Protecting him… asshole.

When he looked up and cleaned himself off, he could hear a din of voices at his door. He walked over as quietly as he could and looked through the hole on his door. They had cameras and mics and Bucky groaned softly. This was the last thing he needed.

He turned around and started packing a bag. The first thing he’d need was to get to the tower. There was no fucking way he was letting Steve just break up with him over this. He took everything he was likely to need and packed it into a backpack before he snuck out the fire escape.

For some reason, there were no paparazzi at the bottom of the fire escape. Whether that was because they were leery about going into a strange alley or because they didn’t know about it, Bucky didn’t care. He jumped down from the bottom level and grinned triumphantly when his body only felt slightly uncomfortable at the landing. He’d need to work on that.

He marched towards the street and hailed a cab, which admittedly took him a few minutes, but it arrived before the press realized that he’d duped them.

“Avengers Tower,” he said as he climbed into the back seat.

The drive was as slow as he expected, honestly. Traffic was always bad in New York, but what mattered was that he wasn’t around a bunch of people that he could bump into and inadvertently send hurtling into oncoming traffic or onto the third rail at the subway or something.

Nearly an hour and a half later, Bucky arrived and paid the driver. He tried not to wince at how much it cost to get him there, but he didn’t care at the moment. He was totally getting Steve to pay for this shit.

Unfortunately, the press were here, too. As soon as he got out of the cab, they swarmed him like a school of piranha.

“Bucky Barnes, is it true that Captain America broke up with you?!”

“Mr. Barnes, can you confirm that you were kidnapped yesterday?!”

“Do the events that happened yesterday have anything to do with your new appearance?!”

“Was your whole relationship with Captain America a plot to steal the serum?!”

Bucky growled, but otherwise ignored them as he marched inside. Security guards let him through and held the reporters back. He sighed as he stepped inside.

“I guess you’re here to see Steve?” came a voice. Bucky turned to see Tony leaning on the front counter.

“What happened?” Bucky asked.

“You don’t know? You’re the one who became the world’s second super soldier,” Tony said. “Honestly, I’m surprised it took this long for people to try this. Steve having O negative blood and the serum being in it, it doesn’t exactly shock me that giving someone else his blood would pass the serum along.”

“I know about that,” Bucky said. “But everything else, no. I, uh, broke my phone.”

Tony glanced down at his hands and nodded knowingly. “I’ll hook you up with a Stark phone,” he said. “Had to make some that Steve could use after he kept breaking normal ones.”

“Thanks,” Bucky said. “So what’s happened?”

“It was about as dramatic an announcement as I’ve ever seen,” Tony said. “Steve told some press yesterday when they came here asking what happened and told them the two of you were no longer a thing. Next thing anyone knew, the Internet exploded. You’ve got fangirls crying about their OTP breaking up and everything.”

“Great,” Bucky said.

“So did you?” Tony asked.

“He left a message on my phone,” Bucky growled.

“Wait… he did?” Tony demanded, his eyes going wide. “That’s a dick move.”

“Yeah, so let me know where he is because he and I are gonna have words,” Bucky growled.

“He’s in the gym,” Tony said as Bucky got into the elevator. “Going to town on some punching bags, I’ll bet. I’ll take care of the press. Give him a good ole’ one two for me, all right?”

Bucky grinned savagely. “Sure thing.”

His heart was hammering in his chest and his body thrummed with nervous energy as the elevator moved. When it dinged and the doors opened, the only thing Bucky could hear was the sound of punching echoing through the room. He followed it until he saw Steve. In spite of the anger and sadness and hurt he felt, he took a moment to admire Steve’s form. Only a moment, though. He walked up until he was behind Steve.

“Hey, punk,” he said. Steve whipped around and before he could say anything, Bucky gave him a right hook, which nailed him square in the jaw. Steve stumbled back and Bucky grinned with satisfaction, knowing that he’d caught Steve off-guard.

“Bucky?! What—” Bucky interrupted him with a left punch, which Steve blocked easily. “Stop!”

“Stop?!” Bucky demanded. “Where do you get off telling me to stop?!”

He lunged at Steve and they tumbled to the floor. Bucky might not have any knowledge of fighting, but he was strong, strong enough that he was able to make Steve fight for his victory. He punched and kicked and shoved and even bit Steve before he ended up on the floor of the gym with his arms pinned above his head and Steve kneeling over him.

“Fuck you,” Bucky growled. “You’re a damn asshole, punk.”

Steve’s gaze softened. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want your damned apology!” Bucky yelled. “I want an explanation! I feel like I deserve that much!”

Steve sighed. “I know you’re angry—”

“No shit.”

“I just couldn’t stand to see you get hurt again!” Steve shouted. “You got hurt because of me! I did the only thing I could think of that could protect you!”

“You’re not protecting me,” Bucky said. Steve blinked above him. Bucky closed his eyes and willed himself not to cry. “You’re not protecting me.”

“Buck, what’s going on?” Steve asked.

“Everything, you fucking moron!” Bucky cried. “I broke my fucking phone, I broke my table, I twisted some ladder rails on my way out the door trying to avoid the paparazzi, I had to stop myself from slamming a cab door closed cause I can’t afford to break more shit. I can’t clock people for getting in my face cause I don’t wanna hurt anyone.

“You did this to me, you asshole. You saved my life and made me a super soldier and you’re the only one who knows what this shit is like and now you’re calling it quits? You’re abandoning me!”

Bucky realized that he had tears streaming down his face and sucked in a breath. “Shit,” he hissed.

“Bucky… I’m so sorry,” Steve said. He leaned down and wrapped his arms around Bucky’s body. Bucky burrowed his face in Steve’s chest and sobbed.

“I’m still mad at you,” Bucky said between sobs.

“I know,” Steve said. “You have every right to be. I regretted it the moment I hung up, but when I woke up, I couldn’t get ahold of you.”

“Why? Why did you do it?” Bucky asked.

“I was scared, baby,” Steve murmured. “I thought that the only thing I could do to keep you safe was break up because I couldn’t think of the fact that you could’ve died because I love you.”

Bucky closed his eyes and fisted a hand in Steve’s sweaty shirt. He sniffed and breathed in the scent of Steve’s musk. Even now, he found that he loved the smell and sight of Steve all sweaty.

“Damn fine way of showing it,” Bucky muttered. Steve shifted down until his face was hovering over Bucky’s. He kissed him tenderly. Bucky growled, though, and kissed him back with more fire and force. He flipped them over and Steve gasped as Bucky stared down at him. Bucky smirked triumphantly. “Huh, so that’s what it feels like.”

“You like the view?” Steve asked. Bucky chuckled and placed his hands on Steve’s shirt.

“It could be improved,” he said. He pulled and the shirt ripped to shreds with no more effort than if it were paper. Bucky looked down at Steve’s chest in satisfaction and not a small amount of pride. He kissed Steve hard, thrusting his tongue into Steve’s mouth and biting his lower lip hard enough to make it bleed. Steve groaned beneath him but Bucky kept him pinned to the floor.

“You’re mine,” Bucky growled. “And I’m yours. ‘Til the end of the line, ya fucking punk.”

Steve nodded. “‘Til the end of the line,” he agreed.

Bucky kissed him again before he rolled Steve onto his stomach. He rubbed his aching cock over the cleft of Steve’s ass. He was fucking huge, now. It was like one of those online fake porn ads that promised miracle pills to make your dick get bigger, except it was Steve’s blood that did it. His jeans were uncomfortably tight around his member and Bucky quickly shucked them to the floor and tossed them aside. As soon as they were off, he reached down and ripped Steve’s khakis off along the seam.

“Jesus, Buck, I gotta walk around when this is over,” Steve groaned.

“Shut up,” Bucky said. “You broke up with me. A few ripped clothes is the least you deserve.”

He grabbed a packet of lube from Steve’s inside pocket (because the man always had a plan, even after he dumped his boyfriend, apparently) and slicked up two of his fingers. He pressed one to Steve’s hole and pushed in. Steve hissed at the intrusion, but didn’t say anything. Bucky kept pressing in until the digit was fully seated inside him.

Bucky fucked him with that finger until Steve felt loose enough for another and pushed it in alongside the first. Steve moaned and pressed his face into the floor beneath him as he pushed back on Bucky’s hand.

“Buck,” Steve said.

“Yeah?”

“A little down and to the left,” Steve said. Bucky bent his fingers as requested and Steve moaned loudly as he rubbed over Steve’s prostate. Bucky added a third finger and stretched him with impatience. He wanted to fuck Steve and this was honestly taking a while.

“Buck, I’m ready, fuck me,” Steve moaned. Bucky didn’t argue. He tore open another lube packet and coated his now considerably large cock with lube. He had been somewhat surprised to find that in addition to becoming stronger, his foreskin had grown back. And it felt. AMAZING. The head of his dick was so much more sensitive. He pressed the head to Steve’s hole and moaned just at the feeling. He pushed in.

“Oh God, oh fuck,” Bucky groaned. “Fuck, this is amazing.”

Steve chuckled beneath him. “Go slow,” he moaned. “Gotta give me time to adjust, baby.”

“Shut up, I’m trying to enjoy this,” Bucky replied.

“Enjoying your first time topping, baby?” Steve asked.

“The foreskin helps,” Bucky said. He inched further inside Steve and groaned as Steve’s hot, tight hole squeezed around him. “Seriously, first I eat bacon, now I have a foreskin. I might as well be a Gentile now.”

Steve laughed at that. “I’m a corrupting influence, it seems,” he said.

“You have to convert, now,” Bucky said. “Gotta make up for leading me astray.”

“Okay, Buck,” Steve chuckled.

When Bucky finally bottomed out, it felt amazing. Steve’s ass clenched around his whole length. It was the second most amazing thing Bucky had ever felt, the first being Steve’s cock in him. He’d always be a slut for Steve’s cock. This was a very, very close second, though.

He began to roll his hips against Steve’s slowly. He moaned at the feeling, at Steve’s walls wrapped tight around him. Steve groaned and pushed back against Bucky, matching his shallow thrusts. Bucky reached down and gripped Steve’s hips as he began to pull out more. He thrust hard into Steve’s heat and Steve whined.

“God, you feel so fuckin’ good,” Bucky growled. He pushed Steve’s chest down and started fucking him into the floor. Steve moaned and writhed beneath him. “You like that? You like havin’ a man who can keep up with ya? Who can go all day with you and not feel tired?”

Steve moaned and nodded beneath him. Bucky quickened his pace. There was no finesse or grace in it. He was angry and hurt and Steve was the one who did it. He threw his head back and groaned as he began to slam into Steve’s ass. Steve whimpered and moaned beneath him and Bucky grinned with savage satisfaction.

“You should’ve known better,” Bucky growled. “Should’ve warned me. Should’ve helped me, ya punk.”

Steve groaned and nodded. “Harder, harder, Buck,” he moaned. “Give me all you got.”

Bucky groaned and fucked faster. His body moved like lightning streaking across the sky, faster and more powerful than it had ever been in his life. His hands were like iron around Steve’s hips, nails digging into his skin and drawing bits of blood. Still, Bucky went faster, harder. He wanted Steve to hurt, to feel everything he’d done to Bucky. Steve just groaned beneath him and took everything Bucky gave him.

“Fuck, Bucky, I’m gonna come,” Steve moaned. “Gonna come, keep going!”

Bucky did. He slammed into Steve’s prostate with every thrust and without mercy. A moment later, Steve’s ass was squeezing around him like a vice and Steve shouted as he came. Bucky felt his body writhe beneath him, shaking as he came onto the floor beneath them. A second later, he slammed his cock into Steve’s ass as deep as it would go and he came too, his come bursting from him. He came more than he ever had in his life. Every drop of it shot into Steve’s waiting ass.

When he was spent, he slumped with exhaustion. His cock slipped from Steve’s ass and he collapsed on the floor breathing like he’d just run 20 miles. He breathed deep, the sweetness of the air filling his burning lungs. Steve got up and laid down next to him.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “You were right, I abandoned you. I’m sorry for being afraid.”

Bucky nodded and held back more tears. “Just… promise me that if you ever want to break up with me in the future, you’ll do it person.”

“I didn’t want to break up with you,” Steve murmured. “Before yesterday, I…I thought that we would be together forever, actually. I never want anybody else, baby.”

“If you ask me to marry you naked on a gym floor, I swear to God I will walk the fuck out of here,” Bucky said. Steve laughed softly.

“Don’t worry,” he said.

“Good, cause I got standards. I want a real nice proposal, all romantic and shit,” Bucky said.

“Just so we’re clear,” Steve said. “You’re okay with me proposing at some later, undisclosed date.”

Bucky smiled against Steve’s chest. “Yeah, I’m really okay with that,” he said. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, baby,” Steve murmured. “You mind if we get up and put some clothes on?”

Bucky smiled mischievously. “Yes to the first,” he replied. “But no to the second. I really wanna see how long I can go, now.”

Steve’s eyes darkened and he kissed Bucky with heat and passion. Bucky moaned and yielded to him like putty in his hands. Steve knew exactly how to get him going.

“You got it,” Steve said.

[queen-scribbles]

Skittish

For @pillarspromptsweekly fill 87. I didn’t really pick one of the RFI companions, but rather gave a few of them a little attention. Went with puppies, and despite intentions otherwise, a pet Edér is not allowed to pet.

It started with the dog. A scrawny, rust-colored lab Emiri found while they were clearing out Crookspur. He just looked so hungry, and his eyes were so sad, she and Edér spent a good half hour sitting on the ramparts near the crate he cowered in, letting the others handle the few remaining slavers while they earned the lab’s trust.

Or, well, Emiri did. Even after he’d cautiously edged toward the pair, tail between his legs but unable to resist the scraps Emiri offered, he skittered away from Edér’s attempts to pet him.

“Guess that answers how Crookspur treated him,” Emiri said with a sympathetic smile. “Must’ve been bad for him to still be afraid of folk.”

“Yeah.” Something stormy flickered in Edér’s eyes. “Glad we killed the bastards.”

“‘Cause the slave-trading wasn’t bad enough?” There may have been a tiny bit of unintentional edge to the ribbing.

“Shit, no, ‘Mir, that’s not what I meant,” Edér muttered, tossing a pebble back over his shoulder. It ricocheted off the ground and battlements a couple times, and the dog cringed. “I just-”

“I know you have a soft spot for animals,” Emiri said, keeping still so she didn’t further spook the dog.

“Yeah, and I think the best thing I can do for this one is leave.” Slowly, reluctantly, Edér got to his feet and headed for the stairs.

“You can cuddle Lottie as long as you want when we get back to the ship,” she offered. “You know she loves you.”

Edér half-smiled. “Thanks, Miri. I’ll probably take you up on that. For now, I’ll see if the rest need any more help.”

He’d no sooner vanished down the stairs then the dog closed the gap, ears still back, tail still down, and warily let Emiri scratch under his chin. She chuckled softly and shook her head.

“Now that’s just mean,” she whispered, shifting her hand to stroke the side of his face. He flinched slightly, but let her. “Edér loves animals; more’n anyone I’ve ever met. He’d give you so many good tummy rubs and ear scritches.”

The dog whined and gave her a soulful look.

Emiri sight, looked him over. “I know, boy. Someone treated you bad, didn’t they?” She snorted softly, scratched the side of his face. “We’ll make it better, I promise.” She got to her feet slowly, smoothly, no sudden movements, and patted the side of her leg. “C’mon, boy.”

He started after her, but it only took a couple steps to see he was limping.

So she knelt back down and cajoled him closer so she could pick him up. “Shh, shh, it’s okay,” she soothed when he started to panic. She shifted her grip so she wasn’t touching the injured leg. “We’ll get you all fixed up.” She kept talking, soft and soothing, all the way to the ship, kicking every slaver corpse she passed for good measure.

-*o*-

Fortunately, the dog’s injuries weren’t serious, and he took an immediately liking to Xoti, so held still while she patched him up. Emiri had to simply trust it would end well--Xoti’s cooing and the dog’s faintly wagging tail suggested it would--while she took care of their other rescue from Crookspur, the death godlike Eliam.

She wasn’t even halfway through breaking his manacles when Edér joined her on deck, stem of his pipe clenched between his teeth and a little rain cloud practically floating over his head. Emiri raised an eyebrow as he slouched on a crate.

“Lottie liked the new dog,” he muttered in answer to her unspoken question.

Emiri bit her lip to keep back a giggle. “I’m sorry,” she said with a sympathetic smile. “I’ll give you a hug once I have Eliam free,” she offered. “You know she’s a curious thing. Once she’s satisfied, she’ll come find you for some attention, I’m sure.”

He just grunted and took a pull on his pipe. She couldn’t blame him for feeling put out, considering.

Emiri was eventually proved right; it took a couple hours from their return for Lottie’s curiosity about the new dog to be satisfied, but she did come flop down with her head in Edér lap afterward.

“So, what’re you gonna name the new one?” he asked, one hand contentedly scratching Lottie’s ears. “Figured that out yet?”

“Actually, I have.” She was surprised by that herself; most of the pets she collected in the Dyrwood had taken forever to name. “I was thinking Rexan after the main character in the book I’m reading. Right now he’s just a beggar and street thief, but I’m pretty sure there’s more to him than that. Seems fitting.”

Edér grinned. “Rex for short?”

Emiri shrugged. “Sure, if you want.” I would be easier, and the concession felt like an apology for the lab’s lingering distrust. She smiled as Lottie let out a contented-dog noise. “She likes what you’re doing.”

“‘Course she does. I know all your soft spots, don’t I, girl?” he crooned, and the hound’s tail thumped the floor. “Includin’ your new buddy Rex.”

“Don’t be jealous,” Emiri admonished with a laugh. “She still loves you.”

“Not as much, though. I think she’s happy to have somethin’ else four-legged along for the ride.”

Emiri chuckled again and nodded. “Probably, but no one gives better ear scritches--or puts up with her drooling on them longer--than you.”

“Aw, thanks, Miri. I’ll keep that in mind when she starts spendin’ all her time with Rex,” he laughed sardonically.

She rolled her eyes. “I’m sure it won’t be that bad.”

Edér gave her a skeptical look. “Sure, and maybe Aloth and Tekéhu will be best friends someday.”

-*o*-

In the end, neither of them was completely right. Lottie didn’t spend all her time with Rex; but they were together enough it wasn’t really a surprise when she ended up with a bellyful of pups. And despite the hound’s open adoration and trust for Edér, Rex still wasn’t comfortable around him. He never growled or snapped, just got up and slunk away whenever he saw the farmer.

As was inevitable in close quarters, everyone knew within a couple days that the new dog wouldn’t let Edér pet him. As was equally inevitable, everyone had their two pands as to why. Everything from ‘talk more softly around him’ to ‘just sit close by ‘til he trusts you’. Nothing worked. Then came the more extreme suggestions; like Serafen’s.

“Maybe it’s your beard, mate,” he pointed out at dinner one night, stroking his own impressive facial hair. “Mayhap he prefers folk which are clean shaven.”

Aloth all but choked on his drink. “I’m not certain whether I’m terrified or intrigued by that prospect.”

“Ain’t gonna find out,” Edér retorted, sounding so indignant Emiri couldn’t entirely bite back a giggle. “‘Sides, he likes Konstanten just fine, so I don’t reckon that’s it. An’ it ain’t bein’ folk, ‘cause he’s alright with Xoti and Rekke.”

“Much as I hate to say it, if we haven’t figured it out by now, we probably aren’t going to,” Emiri said with a sigh. “Just gonna have to deal with it, keep working to see if he’ll trust you.”

Lottie came trotting in just then, and rested her head on the bench between Emiri and Edér. She gave a soft whine to make extra sure they knew she was there and both of them obliged with head pats.

Lottie panted happily, tail wagging, then looked back toward the door and barked. Emiri turned and saw Rex lurking out in the passage. She could see his tail wagging softly, but he wouldn’t come in the room, even when she called for him.

Lottie gave another whining bark and rested her head on Edér’s leg as she looked encouragingly at Rex.

He wouldn’t budge.

Emiri flashed a wordless, apologetic smile to Edér, then slid off the bench to sit with Rex. She knew you couldn’t rush recovery, but Wael’s eyes, she wished she could figure why the dog was afraid of Edér, the last kith on Eora any animal  needed to be afraid of. Unless they didn’t like being petted, she supposed. But Rex thoroughly enjoyed attention from everyone else on the ship now.

“Do you just need more time, boy?” she murmured, both hands scratching the sides of his face. Rex let out a happy-dog groan and rested his face more firmly in her hands, tail swishing back and forth. I just wish I knew how much time, she couldn’t help thinking, all the same.

-*o*-

If Rex was reluctant to let Edér near him, Lottie spent the second half of her pregnancy compensating for that. Any time Edér was on the ship, Lottie plunked herself down next to him, rolling over so he could rub her slowly-expanding tummy. He always obliged, and Emiri started teasing that maybe they should call Lottie his dog now.

He always waved her off--”Nah, Miri, I know what she means to ya”--but Emiri was willing to bet he was at least tempted. As it was, he was the first to feel the pups move, Lottie’s first choice for attention when she couldn’t find Emiri, and yet somehow still the bane of Rex’s existence.

But he had apparently resigned himself to the reality that this one dog he might never get to pet. He didn’t have to be happy about it, but he had accepted it. And anyway, by this point Emiri had collected another half dozen animals aside from Lottie he could pet and cuddle.

-*o*-

A breakthrough still hadn’t arrived by the time Lottie’s pups did. Rex still skulked away whenever he sensed Edér approaching, but now there were puppies--adorable lab-hound mutts with floppy ears and soft fur--which effectively dulled any remaining sting to that fact.

There were eight of them, and they were enough of a handful even before they opened their eyes that Emiri begged Konstanten to check on them whenever she wasn’t there to do it.

“Sorry to drop that responsibility on you,” she said sheepishly. “But you can handle it, right?”

“Sure can,” he assured her with a chuckle. “And if I can’t, I’ll just get Maia to help.”

“She’ll love that,” Emiri laughed. “just don’t ask Fassina; she’s so done with that kind of work, she may toss you into the ocean, and no one wants that.”

Despite the dwarf’s laughing promise he’d be just fine, Emiri still tried to shoulder most of the responsibility when she was aboard the Mercy. Tried being the operative word--Edér usually beat her to it and waved away offers of help.  On the rare occasions Emiri got puppy duty, Rex would join her, head in her lap while he, too, kept an eye on his offspring. Lottie tolerated the company, but largely didn’t need it. She was a good mother, which Emiri and Edér praised her for regularly.

-*o*-

In one small gift amid their circumstance, the sea stayed mostly calm for weeks after the pups were born. And even when a storm finally hit, it wasn’t a bad one, by sea-faring standards.

Emiri’s standards, however, were not normal seafaring stands. She spent the duration on the floor of her cabin, hugging Rex--who seemed to know how badly she needed him--and hoping Lottie was alright. The weather had been cleared up a good half hour before she convinced herself to get up, it was safe now. You really need to check on Lottie, anyway.

Rex padded behind her with the occasional soft whine as she made her way to the area they’d partitioned off for Lottie and her pups. They’d padded things as well as they could when Konstanten first spotted the approaching storm, but she was still worried.

She shouldn’t have been. Soon as the area came into view, she could see Edér sitting on the floor by the dogs’ bed, slouched in what she guessed was a mildly uncomfortable position, all eight puppies piled in his lap and Lottie curled up next to him.

“Not taking any chance?” Emiri asked playfully. She sat next to him and caught one puppy as it tried to squirm over his elbow.

“I didn’t do it, she did,” Edér retorted with a grin, nodding toward Lottie. “I was just plannin’ to sit here and keep an eye on ‘em. Guess she felt like this was safer.”

Lottie’s tail thumped the floor.

Emiri couldn’t resist a quiet laugh, leaning over to stroke one of the velvety soft heads. “Aww, that’s adorable. And you doubt when I say she loves you more than she does me.”

“Miri, you weren’t here, or she prob’ly woulda picked you,” he protested.

“You don’t have to try and protect my feelings, Edér,” she laughed. “I’m glad she trust you.”

As if on cue, Rex poked his head around Emiri, cautiously eyeing the man with a lapful of his puppies, clearly trusted by his mate, and edged a couple tentative steps closer. Edér shifted ever so slightly to catch a slipping puppy and Rex shrank back.

Emiri and Edér both froze in response and Lottie gave an encouraging whine, licking Edér’s arm as if to reinforce her endorsement.

Oh, come on, boy, you can do it. Emiri urged mentally but didn’t dare actually do anything for fear the skittish lab would just bolt. After several arduous seconds, Rex crept forward again. He edged slowly, hesitantly around Emiri, darting nervous looks at Edér ever step of the way.

For his part, Edér was barely breathing, still as a statue even as the pups wriggled in his lap. Emiri saw the hope in his eyes and prayed he didn’t try anything too soon.

Finally, Rex stood closer to the farmer than he’d ever dared before, faintly trembling but not running in the opposite direction.

Good boy, Emiri thought, afraid if she actually so much as whispered she’d shatter the breathless moment. Edér, for the love of all that’s holy, don’t try to pet him yet.

He didn’t, and both of them watched with bated breath as the lab slowly craned his neck, chin briefly resting on Edér’s drawn-up knees to bump noses with a puppy who had settled quite comfortably there. A muscle in Edér’s arm twitched in fatigue at his position, and Rex flinched away, skittering from the room.

But Edér still looked at Emiri and grinned. “Well, ain’t that somethin’.”

She nodded, returning his smile. “That it was.”

It wasn’t much, but it was a first step, and that was definitely something.

[kuro-gossips]

Splashes of Colour

Chapter 3: Shades of Orange

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Newt blearily blinks his eyes and is immediately greeted by Theseus’ and Leta’s faces, anxiety and concern plain as day on them.

“Newt!” Leta’s expressive chestnut eyes soften as he comes to as she inquires about his health. “How are you feeling?”

“W-what happened?” The former Hufflepuff questions, confusion gracing his features. He doesn’t need the other two to explain because his memories come flooding back: he remembers Theseus and himself arguing about the upcoming war, he remembers feeling lightheaded and exhausted, and then he remembers succumbing to that exhaustion.

Theseus’ brow is furrowed, his voice is quivering slightly when he speaks, “You passed out and we brought you to the Ministry’s infirmary. Have you been eating regularly and sleeping enough? I know you’re prone to forgetting these kind of things, Newt…”

The freckled wizard replies, indignantly, because for once, he has been taking proper care of himself, “I have!”

Theseus just gives him a look that says that he doesn’t believe a word coming out of his brother’s mouth. The mediwitch chooses this moment to enter the room, returning with a diagnosis on Newt’s well-being. The three of them stare expectantly at her, to which the brunette can’t help but sigh. She glances at the clipboard she is toting and starts to read from it.

“It’s not exactly clear why Mr. Scamander fainted. The most likely explanation is acute fatigue from overworking yourself.” The witch discloses and the Head Auror sends a knowing and smug expression to Newt.

“Of course I was right about this.” Leta rolls her eyes in exasperation at the Scamander brothers’ antics. These two always have a complicated relationship, no matter how old they are.

“As of now, I would advise Mr. Scamander to get some rest and to abstain from strenuous activities.” With her job done, the mediwitch excuses herself from the room.

“You heard her, now you have to join us for dinner, okay?” Theseus declares, leaving no room for argument. Newt decides it’s time to graciously admit defeat and assents. After his discharge papers are filled and filed, the trio head back to Theseus and Leta’s place in London.

Newt inquires if he can help with anything, but the other two are adamant about him being not only a guest, but on medically-advised rest, so he arbitrarily thinks about what’s going on in his life, while he is seated on their couch. The dark-haired witch moves gracefully around the kitchen, wand in hand, and casting spells to prepare a meal for them. Theseus is busy setting the table and aiding where he can with dinner. Several minutes fly by and the meal is complete. Theseus sits himself at the head of the table, leaving Newt and Leta to awkwardly face each other; although, they try their best to avoid any semblance of eye contact. The blonde Auror attempts to make small talk, but it quickly goes nowhere. Leta grabs ahold of Theseus’ hand, soothing his uneasiness, and her fiancée offers her a sweet and loving look. Theseus never ceases to be amazed with the witch’s ability to understand his underlying feelings at any given time.

The younger Scamander brother can tell that the two of them are deeply in love and he knows that it is the soulmate bond that ties them together even closer, so he has to break the silence by asking, “What is it like to be soulmates?”

Soulful brown eyes turn towards him and after a beat, she retorts, “Why, Newt, you’ve never been one to fancy hearing anything about soulmates.”

“Ah, well,” She has him there, but Newt thinks quickly on his feet, “I came across a pair of Graphorns a couple of months back -- the last breeding pair, in fact -- but it is said that they are creatures that mate only once and for life. I just wanted to see if I could draw some parallels between humans and Graphorns for the second edition of my book.”

Naturally, Newt would raise a question that pertains to his love of magical beasts. Theseus muses. The two lovers exchange a brief glance, before venturing on.

“How to explain it…” Theseus ponders, “It’s like a missing puzzle piece has finally been found or--”

“-- or you never have to voice your insecurities because your soulmate simply knows already.” Leta finishes. The engaged pair nod in agreement and continue blabbering on such niceties about being in a reciprocated soulmate relationship that Newt actually feels sick. He wonders why he couldn’t have had a less difficult soulmate -- Gellert Grindelwald of all people!

A particular portion of the conversation catches his attention, “-- we’ve noticed the strangest phenomenon recently. It feels like we’ve grown stronger, in a magical sense. And when we’re physically too far apart for too long, we can feel it dampening.”

In an abrupt realization, Newt’s dilemma regarding his health makes sense. No one knows that the world’s most infamous Dark wizard is the magizoologist’s soulmate and so undoubtedly, no one has made the connection. His deteriorating strength and weakening magical abilities can be attributed from being geographically isolated from Grindelwald. Hence, after they’ve concluded dinner, Newt makes a hasty retreat back to his house, muttering excuses about how he needs to rest, but he needs to escape from the lovesick couple and the newfound answers he’s discovered. When he’s finally in the warm embraces of his bedroom, he curls up in a fetal position and weeps. He doesn’t want this.

***

The day has just turned to evening and the sky is overcast, clouds gathering as a storm brews. Newt stumbles through the crowded streets of non-magical London. He notices that Theseus is indeed right about the Ministry assigning a tail to him. He hates the idea that not only could they prohibit him from travelling, but also to add surveillance. His innate reaction is to cross the street, just in time for line of sight of the Ministry’s employee to be cut off from him as a car rolls by, and he ducks behind the corner of a building. He peeks out and whispers, “Ventus.”

An overwhelming gust of wind propels said man back, even as he tries to resist by opening his black umbrella, garnering weird looks from Muggles passing by. Newt smiles, not quite a smirk, and feels the tap of a finger on his shoulder. When he looks in the opposite direction, he catches sight of a black leather glove waving. Then, it gestures to the top of a building, where he can see a tiny figure brandishing the top of their hat at him. Newt shakes his head as he grips the glove and is transported to the rooftop. He steadily makes his way across narrow ledges to where a middle-aged man with greying auburn hair and a full beard is waiting: Albus Dumbledore. The curly redhead presents the glove back to the Hogwarts professor as he greets him with amusement in his voice, “Dumbledore. Were the less conspicuous rooftops full, then?”

Dumbledore doesn’t turn to look at his former student from the sight before him, but he fondly states, “Well, I do enjoy a view. Nebulus.”

Fog descends over the city in front of them and the two of them Disapparate to Trafalgar Square. They stride past the landmark lions as they converse.

“How was it?” Dumbledore inquires and at this Newt frowns, before he responds.

“They’re still convinced that you sent me to New York.” He’s referring to the three wizards he had the displeasure of meeting during all five of his appeal hearings.

“You told them I didn’t?” The other retorts, but the former student seems disgruntled with his reply.

“Yes, even though you did.” The author scrutinizes his professor’s face, looking for changes in facial expressions as he continues with his deductions, “You told me where to find that trafficked Thunderbird, Dumbledore. You knew that I would take him home and you knew that I’d have to take him through a Muggle port.”

The Hogwarts teacher digresses, “Well, I’ve always felt an affinity with the great magical birds. There’s a story that’s passed down in my family: a phoenix will come to any Dumbledore in desperate need. They say my great-great-grandfather had one, but that it took flight when he died, never to return.”

Newt looks at him with incredulity, “With all due respect, I don’t believe for a minute that’s why you told me about the Thunderbird.”

There is a noise behind them as a figure of a man appears through the fog, causing the two to Disapparate away again when they spot him. When they reappear, they have relocated to a bus station and board a parked, empty bus.

“Credence is in Paris, Newt. He’s trying to trace his real family. I take it you’ve heard the rumours regarding who he really is?” Dumbledore reveals, leaning forward from his seated position. Newton is very much aware of the first part, but the rest is news to him.

“No.”

“The purebloods believe he’s the last of an important French line, a baby whom everyone thought lost…”

“Not Leta’s brother?” The younger wizard interrupts, briefly, surprise written all over his features. He hasn't heard much about the Lestrange’s long lost son, except that he was taken out of Europe in fear of his life. Not to mention, he hasn't been in close contact with any of the Lestrange family in general.

“That’s what they’re whispering. Pureblood or not, I know this: an Obscurus grows in the absence of love as a dark twin, an only friend. If Credence has a real brother or sister out there who can take its place, he might yet be saved.” A beat passes, during middle-aged man's account. “Wherever Credence is in Paris, he’s either in danger or a danger to others. We may not know who he is yet, but he needs to be found. And I rather hoped you might be the one to find him.”

Dumbledore conjures a card with a glowing golden symbol on it and the Hufflepuff examines it with confusion, “What’s that?”

“It’s an address of a very old acquaintance of mine. A safe house in Paris, reinforced with enchantments.”

“A safe house? Why would I need a safe house in Paris?” The magizoologist sputters, raising an eyebrow in question, mouth slightly agape.

“One hopes you won’t, but should things at some point go terribly wrong, it’s good to have a place to go. You know, for a cup of tea.” The wizard’s blue eyes sparkle in amusement as he says this.

“No, no, no -- absolutely not.” Newt vehemently refuses. A Muggle enters the driving compartment, forcing them to depart and they Apparate on to a bridge and Dumbledore spells the bright lights that line the bridge to darken.

“I’m banned from international travel, Dumbledore. If I leave the country, they will put me in Azkaban and throw away the key.” Newt deplores, like he can’t believe that his former Professor is asking him to do such an insane task.

“Do you know why I admire you, Newt? More, perhaps, than any man I know?” Newt is caught off guard by the flattery, but the older wizard persists nonchalantly, “You don’t seek power or popularity. You simple ask, is the thing right in itself? If it is, then I must do it, no matter the cost.”

He watches through his fringe, green eyes cautious as he counters, “That’s all very well, Dumbledore, but, forgive me for asking, why can’t you go?”

“I cannot move against Grindelwald. It has to be you.” The Hogwarts professor pauses, taking in Newt’s face. The younger’s face contorts into despondency because Dumbledore is requesting that he partakes in the fight with the rising Dark Lord. The other doesn’t realize that Grindelwald and Newt happen to be soulmates. Even if Newt hates the circumstances that are wrought upon them, he isn’t completely sure he can fight his soulmate while he feels so utterly powerless at the moment. “Well, I don’t blame you, in your shoes, I’d probably refuse too. It’s late. Good evening, Newt.”

Dumbledore disappears with a snap of magic.

“Oh, c’mon!” Newt exclaims, throwing his arms up in defeat. The older’s empty glove returns with the the business card in hand and tucks it into his breast pocket. The auburn haired man is irked to say the least and manages to grumble, “Dumbledore…”

***

The freckled man returns to his humble abode in London. After the ordeal with the escaped baby Nifflers and addressing the Kelpie’s wound, Bunty and Newt hear a crash from above the basement.

“What was that?” His assistant’s voice shakes with fear as they gaze upwards, the faint echoes of footsteps wandering around upstairs.

A pensive look on his face, the magizoologist answers, “I don’t know, but I want you to go home now, Bunty.”

“Shall I call the Ministry?”

“No, I want you to go home now. Please.” Newt sneaks up the stairs, careful not to make any undue sounds until he is able to see who has decided to drop in on his house uninvited. He’s not sure what to expect when he pushes the door leading to his living quarters open.

Jacob Kowalski and Queenie Goldstein are standing in the middle of his living room, suitcases scattered on the floor next to them. His blonde friend has an air of nervousness mixed with excitement, whereas Jacob seems to be inebriated and is currently bumbling about with the broken pieces of a vase that originally decorated a table close by.

The younger Goldstein sister is fluttering around her beloved, trying to retrieve the damaged parts so she could fix them with magic, “If you could just give it me… Just give it to me, sweetie. Just hand it over. Oh!”

The couple notice Newt’s presence as they spot his head peeking around the corner. Jacob blurts out with undisguised elation, dropping the remnants of the vase without a care, “HEY, NEWT! Get over here, you maniac!”

He flings his arms around a delighted, but surprised Newt. Queenie gives him a grin, looking sheepish at their sudden appearance.

“We hope you don’t mind, Newt? We let ourselves in; it’s raining cats and dogs out there! London’s cold.”

The redhead barely shrugs before he faces the stocky man and says, “But you were supposed to be Obliviated!”

“I know!” The Muggle says, but his features show no sign of shock or disbelief.

“So-- but--” Newt fumbles for the right words to say in a situation like this.

Jacob is quick to break the awkward conversation with his account, “It didn’t work, pal. I mean, you said it, the potion only erases bad memories. I didn’t have any. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I had some weird ones. But this angel… this angel over here, she filled me in on all the bad parts, and here we are, I guess?”

“This is wonderful!” He looks around for Tina, but doesn’t find her. “Where’s Tina?”

“Oh, it’s just us, honey. Me and Jacob.” Queenie tells him.

“I see.”

The room descends into silence before the blonde witch’s sweet voice tears through it, “Why don’t I make us some dinner, huh?”

“Yes!” Jacob shouts, loud and unruly, almost causing Newt to flinch back at the volume. The younger Goldstein observes the dark circles underneath Newt’s normally brilliant green eyes and his slightly sunken in cheeks; his face is more angular than she remembers when she last saw him in New York and it seems like his clothes don’t fit quite as well. The blonde witch notes this in the back of her mind to bring up later.

Once the woman finishes preparing a meal for three, she abruptly states, “Tina and I aren’t talking.”

“Why?” Newt glances up from his meal, making momentary eye contact with her, before looking to the right.

“Oh well, you know, she found out about Jacob and I seeing each other and she didn’t like it, ‘cause of the ‘law.’” Queenie imitates her sister’s voice, mockingly, “Not allowed to date No-Majs, not allowed to marry them. Blah, blah, blah. Well, she was all in a tizzy anyway, ‘cause of you.”

“Me? Why would she be in a tizzy over me?”

“Yeah, you, Newt. It was all over Spellbound. Here: I brought a copy for you.” She summons the magazine titled ‘Spellbound: Celebrity Secrets and Spell Tips of the Stars!’ and Newt’s face is plastered on the cover. The headline reads: ‘BEAST TAMER, NEWT, TO WED!’ The magazine flips open to a picture of Theseus, Leta, Newt, and Bunty standing side by side at his book launch. In the photo, Leta is standing close to him, a hand resting on his shoulder with a soft smile spread over her full lips. Queenie points at the magazine and reads, “‘Newt Scamander with fiancée, Leta Lestrange; brother, Theseus; and unknown woman.’”

“No, no, they got it wrong. Theseus is the one marrying Leta, not me.” He denies, still observing his non-magical friend’s odd actions.

“Oh! Oh dear… Well, see, Teenie read that and she started dating someone else. He’s an Auror. His name’s Achilles Tolliver.” Newt fails to see how Tina’s dating life is pertinent to him, but he doesn’t interrupt his female friend. Jacob and Queenie trade a look before laughing at the man’s last name. A pregnant silence ensues, but then Newt wants to talk about Jacob’s tumultuous behaviour: eating sloppily, humming to himself, and then attempting to drink from the salt shaker. Queenie quickly proceeds to cover for him, snatching it, and replacing it with a glass.

“Anyway… How have you been doing, Newt? I hope New York isn’t still haunting you. You don’t look so well, honey.” She confesses, forehead wrinkled in concern.

“I’ve been well, everything’s good.” Newt brushes off her concerns with a dismissive wave of his hand, but the blonde Legilimens is unconvinced, even if she chooses not to press. She attempts to delve into his thoughts, but they are in such a disarray that she gets a headache from trying to sort through them. Instead, she is only able to feel the most prominent emotions -- despair and confusion. Her immaculate brows pull up further, but a look from Newt tells her not to go further with her line of questioning. Queenie respects his judgment.

“Okay, well… We’re real excited to be here, Newt. This is a-- well, it’s a special trip for us. You see, Jacob and I, we’re getting married!” She showcases her engagement ring and Jacob tries to toast with this cup, but ends up pouring the beer all over his head.

“I’m marrying Jacob!” The man bellows and there is no doubt in his mind now that Queenie has managed to bewitch his friend and he levels her with a fierce glare. He knows she is capable of reading his mind and he uses this to his advantage, You’ve enchanted him, haven’t you?

“What? I have not.” She replies as she hears the first coherent thought pass through his consciousness.

“Will you stop reading my mind?” Newt says aloud, but he is still speaking to her mentally.

Queenie, you’ve brought him here against his will.

“Oh, that is an outrageous accusation. Look at him. He’s just happy. He’s so happy!” Queenie is affronted by the implications of his thoughts. He returns her statement with a disbelieving look.

Newt draws his wand out from his pocket and points it at the dark-haired male, “Then you won’t mind if I--”

Queenie jumps in front of Jacob, trying to shield him from his line of sight. “Please don’t!”

“Queenie, you’ve got nothing to fear if he wants to get married. We can just lift the enchantment and he can tell us himself.”

Several painful moments elapse and at last, she moves aside, her gaze downturned in a sense of shame.

“What you got there? Whatchu gonna do? Whatchu gonna do with that, Mr. Scamander?” Jacob teases, a grin stretching his face wide.

“Surgito.”

Jacob reacts as though a bucket of cold water has just been poured over his head, shaking, and a cloud of pink smoke forms into the shape of a heart above his head, still wet from the beer. He comes to his senses and glances around, confused.

“Congratulations on your engagement, Jacob.” Newt announces and Jacob’s wide brown eyes stare at him.

“Wait, what?”

Newt looks at Queenie and Jacob turns to see his beloved standing adjacent to him.

“Oh no.” He realizes he has been taken against his will. Slowly, he gets to his feet and she reads his mind. With a sob, she runs to close her case, but her lipstick and a fragment of torn postcard fall out. She then proceeds to flee the apartment. “Queenie!”

Jacob glances back and forth between the departing witch and his close friend, debating on who to address first, “Uh, it’s very nice to see you. Where the hell am I right now?”

“Oh, um, London.”

“Oh, I’ve always wanted to go here!” His voice carries infinite amounts of frustration, before he stomps out, chasing after Queenie with another cry of her name.

***

Queenie dashes out of Newt’s house and down the street, tears streaking her cheeks. Jacob runs after her, his face red and livid, and it colours his tone as he asks, “Queen, honey. I’m just curious, when were you going to wake me up? After we’d had five kids?”

The blonde whips around and nearly growls uncharacteristically, “Why is it wrong to want to marry you?”

“Okay--” Jacob attempts to butt in, but the woman barrels forward.

“To wanna have a family? I just want what everyone else has, that’s all.” Her eyes are shimmering with more tears, such a beautiful blue, despite the dim lighting of the street. They stare despondently at one another.

“Okay, wait. We talked about this, like, a million times. If we get married and they find out, they’re gonna throw you in jail, sweetheart. I can’t live with that. They don’t like people like me getting married to people like you. I ain’t a wizard. I’m just me.”

“They’re real progressive here in England and they’ll let us get married proper.” She is shaking as she explains how the culture and laws in Britain are not as backwards as they are in America. The man approaches her and wipes a solitary tear from her cheek.

“Sweetheart, you don’t need to enchant me. I’m already enchanted! I love you so much.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, but I can’t have you risking everything like this, you know? You’re not giving us a choice, sweetheart.” Jacob counters, almost pleading her to understand how tough this is for him as well.

“You’re not givin’ me a choice. One of us had to be brave and you-- you were being a coward!”

“I was being a coward? If I’m a coward, you’re a--” The Muggle cuts himself off, but it’s already too late because Queenie has read his mind.

“-- Crazy!”

“... I didn’t say it.”

“You didn’t have to…”

“No, I didn’t mean it like that, sweetheart.”

“Yeah…” Queenie is forlorn as she responds, “You did.”

“No!” He tries, but she has shifted away from his reach and is almost running away from him. He can hear the pain in her voice as she says her next words.

“I’m gonna go see my sister.”

“Fine, see your sister.” The mustached man is exhausted from proving his case and he gives in.

“Fine.” There is a sense of finality in her tone and Jacob instantly regrets everything he’s said as Queenie vanishes from the streets of London.

“No, wait! No, Queenie! I didn’t mean it… I didn’t say nothing…” But he is alone on the street.

***

Newt is conflicted, miserable at causing such a ruckus, but he catches sight of a torn up postcard. He crosses the room to pick it up and then mutters, “Papyrus Reparo.”

The ripped pieces come together and mend; it shows a beautiful landscape somewhere in Paris. The neat handwriting on the back says:

My dear Queenie, What a beautiful city. I’m thinking of you, Tina X

He can only imagine that the reason Tina is in Paris in the first place is because she is looking for Credence. Just like so many other people are and he can’t help but be concerned for the boy’s well-being. As soon as Jacob arrives back at his residence, the two pack up and head to Paris as well.

***

Only moments ago, Grindelwald has procured his new hideout in Paris, after killing the occupants of the house. Following the months of his imprisonment, he hasn’t felt quite up to par to his usual self, but it’s nothing that affects or worries him all that much. The pale platinum-haired man has spent much time fascinated with the seemingly weak magizoologist -- the one responsible for his capture -- but after the events in New York, he knows that appearances can be all too deceiving. An uncontrolled vision hits him as he is contemplating how to go about approaching Credence at the circus.

He Sees Newt sitting uncomfortably at a table, fumbling through a meal, with another man who resembles him in some ways and a dark-skinned female, pretty and elegant, but wholly not his definition of beautiful. He is sure this witch is known as Leta Lestrange. Grindelwald only catches the tail-end of their conversation, but he can tell that they are discussing soulmates.

“-- we’ve noticed the strangest phenomenon recently. It feels like we’ve grown stronger, in a magical sense. And when we’re physically too far apart for too long, we can feel it dampening.” Leta explains, gesturing wildly, and it is easy to put the situation Newt and himself in perspective after hearing this. There is a white flash of light, subtle and delicate, and then, his vision changes to Newt conjuring up his Patronus to send a message to someone. The thing that captivates the Dark Lord’s focus is the fact that the animal that is invoked is not some common, non-magical beast, but rather an extraordinary Kelpie. The curly haired wizard speaks in soft words, mentioning someone called ‘Bunty,’ before the Kelpie lends him a nod and bounds off to deliver the message.

Grindelwald returns to reality, slightly befuddled from the experience as he usually is. A Patronus that appears in the form of magical creature is so exceedingly rare that he thinks, How interesting this soulmate of his is.

[rockleefangirl987]

More, More, More For Lee’s Birthday 🎂🎁🎉

Since I missed Day 5 of the #RockLeeBirthdayWeek2017, I figured better late than never.

I actually posted this last year and thought I would run with it again.

@paintertainment @rockleeswillyouholdmeclose 

@sausage-fist @ten-all-over @samlovesmaitogai @fruitysmellz @teacher-monica @strikeelectricart

Day 5: Universe Exchange

Have you ever thought that he would fit wonderfully in a different series? Have you thought it would be funny just too see him there? Well here is your chance! Whether it be for humor or even some angst send Lee to another universe and see what changes would be made. If you draw try that universes artstyle!!

“I do not understand your continual resistance. You know it’s over. You can’t be so foolish as to think it’s not…or…” He made a ‘tsk tsk’ sound. “…are you?”

Loki stood on the opposite side of the large room, glaring at the bearded human in the metal uniform. The helmet worn about the mortal’s head had been remotely removed seconds before, causing the son of Asgard to mockingly sputter on seeing the man underneath the armor of the one called Iron Man.

“And here he is - the all-powerful Tony Stark.” Loki tried not to laugh but was found it difficult. “Funny how we keep running into one another. Shall I call you Iron Man, or do you prefer Mister Stark? Oh, wait. I should call you Tony. We’re old friends after all.”

“Well, I’m Tony to my real friends. Mister Stark to my acquaintances, and you…For you, I’m just the asshole who’s been helping to wipe up what’s left of your Chitauri friends out there.”

“My ‘friends’ as you call them are simply a means to an end. A means to a great victory which neither you, my so-called brother,” he spat the word as if the very phrasing was a curse, “or the rest of your weak little lot will be able to stop.”

“Well, see…that’s where you’re wrong….Oh um…” Tony strolled over to the bar. “Scotch? Vodka? Vermouth - I’ve got some vermouth here. Bourbon?” Stark put down yet another decanter as he indicated each liquor. “You know, you strike me as a gin man.”

“Be still you fool!” Loki stalked towards Stark. “I’m tired of your incessant chatter. I don’t know how Thor deals with it. I don’t know how anyone deals with your arrogance, your posturing, that ridiculous thing you call humanity. I don’t know who you think you are. That you have the audacity to think…” Loki spun his scepter and Tony maneuvered backward. “Are you running? Don’t you know there is nowhere to run? The Chitauri are coming. Nothing will change that. What have I to fear?

“The Avengers,” came the firm response. Stark gave a wry smile. “That’s what we call ourselves. We’re sort of a team. ‘Earth’s Mightiest Heroes’ type thing.”

Loki chuckled. “Yes, I’ve met them.”

“Yeah, takes us a while to get any traction, I’ll give you that one.” Stark pointed towards the enemy, and in a casual manner continued, “But let’s do a headcount here. Your brother the demigod.” He saw Loki roll his eyes. “A super soldier - a living legend who kind of lives up to the legend. A man with breathtaking anger management issues. A couple of master assassins. Oh and we got ourselves a new guy, and once he took in the situation, he’s not too thrilled either. And you, big fella…you’ve managed to piss off every single one of them.”

Loki shook his head and laughed. “That was the plan.”

“Not a great plan.” Tony took a moment to pour a single shot. After all, it might be his final taste of twenty-year-old Pappy Van Winkle Kentucky Bourbon. If you’re going to go out, go out with a bang! “When they come, and they will, they’ll come for you.”

The bravado amused the Asgardian. “I have an army!” he bellowed.

“Well, we have a Handsome Green Devil,” Stark calmly replied.

“You have a handsome…what?” Momentarily confused, Loki stared then shook it off. “You mean you have a Hulk.”

“Him too.”

“Playing with words again, eh? I thought the beast had wandered off.”

“You’re missing the point!” shouted Stark, slamming down the glass. He was exhausted with the chatter as well. “There’s no throne. There is no version of this where you come out on top. Maybe your army comes and maybe it’s too much for us, but it’s all on you. Because if we can’t protect the Earth, you can be damned well sure we’ll avenge it.”

The base of the scepter slammed against the floor. “Enough!” Loki screamed. “You are, all of you are beneath me!” His pace quickened as he challenged Tony. “I am a god, you dull creature! And I will not be bullied by…”

Only then did Loki sense the force of energy engulf him, causing him to look left then right and finally down, but too late. Above the whirlwind he heard the words ‘Primary Lotus!’ before a blow struck his jaw with such intensity, his feet left the ground, his body moving upwards. There was a second strike in the face, a third. Before he could organize any strategy, Loki caught sight of an undefined green blur flying past and behind him. Was it possible the Hulk had obtained new abilities and was…? But he couldn’t think straight. His muscles were constrained, secured with white tape which appeared out of nowhere…and he and it flipped upside down mere inches from the ceiling and began to spin, their bodies accelerating around the room until Loki thought the G-forces would tear him apart.

The world no longer existed. His sight distorted. He was certain blood gushed from his ears.  

And the next feeling was of them bulldozing thru Tony Stark’s imported marble tile, the flooring collapsing around them and into the newly made crater.

The entire action from beginning to end took less than ten seconds.

Barely conscious, Loki coughed, groaned, wondered if it was possible a god could suffer broken ribs. Turning his head a half-inch at a time, he realized the being had somehow crawled or leaped clear of the wreckage and was in full view a few feet away, scrunched down, breathing hard, the white tape around both wrists askew. Loki blinked. Even his eyes hurt, but he saw that the thing appeared human, and…

How in the hell had this tall, slender, stupid looking boy done this? And it was a boy, younger than any of the so-called Avengers, likely no more than eighteen.

Loki blinked again, every facial muscle in pain. Black hair cut into a ridiculous bowl cut with a white ring encircling it…Sandals…Orange leg warmers…Green jumpsuit. Green flak jacket. That was why Stark called it a Green Devil. And a devil it obviously was, released from some pit of whatever constituted a Norse Hel in this existence, a devil with the bushiest pair of black eyebrows Loki had ever seen in his life.

“It…is…over,” the being muttered between deep gulps.

“Over?” Loki squeaked. He wanted to ask an important question - nothing emerged. Loki Laufeyson had never known fear until this bushy-browed thing left him damaged, bruised, defeated.

“You okay?” Tony asked, rushing around the enormous hole.

The young man stood at full attention, one hand behind his straight back, the other before him, palm up. He was obviously preparing to fight again if need be. “Absolutely, Mister Stark! I could not be better!” he exclaimed. “Do you feel that the Primary Lotus was enough?”

Loki moaned again. That voice! All that enthusiasm and passion was setting his teeth on edge!

“Oh yeah, yeah, I think that was plenty kid,” Stark said.

“Although…” The boy’s face fell. “I have promised Guy-Sensei I would only use certain moves if the lives of very important people were at stake.”

Tony shrugged, trying not to laugh. This boy was supposedly some kind of ninja with a code of Boy Scout ethics Stark hadn’t seen since Steve Rogers. It was no wonder Cap and he got along so well. “Well look, I think your Guy-Sensei if he knew you helped save millions of lives…Strike that…Billions of lives…I don’t think he’d mind you did. That’s about as important as it’ll ever get.”

The round black eyes flashed, a brilliant smile lighting up Rock Lee’s face. “Really, Mister Stark. You think so?”

“Oh, I know so. Trust me. You’ve got some nice moves on you kid. I don’t know if The Hulk could have done a better job.”

“Well, this Loki appears to be a puny god, do you not think?” Only now did Lee take a look at the property damage - broken pieces of tile still tumbling into the hole and on top of Loki; photographs and paintings sliding from the walls; a crystal lighting fixture hanging from several wires finally crashing to the floor. With a wail, Lee prostrated himself. “Mister Stark, I am sorry.”

“What the…What are you sorry about? You took out Loki.”

“I know, and I am happy I was here to help, but I wrecked your apartment. I do not think it can ever be repaired. And I am certain I could never earn enough in a lifetime of missions as a shinobi to compensate you.”

Tony glanced around, seeing the full extent of the damages. He knew the boy was pretty incredible, however, this was even more amazing than he expected when he concocted the plan. “Look kid…Hey Lee.” Stark pulled him up so they could look eye-to-eye. The billionaire found it hard to believe the boy was this anxious. “Don’t worry about it.”

“But…”

“Do you think any of this matters? Besides,” he joked, “Pepper said she’s been wanting to remodel.” When the shinobi didn’t laugh, Tony gave him a gentle shake. “You helped us defeat Loki. You’re as much an Avenger as any of the rest of us, do you know that?” Out of the corners of his eyes, he saw that the remainder of the group began to arrive: from the roof, from the sides of the building, even the normal use of the front door. They were all assembling to see if the final action in the operation had come to fruition. Stark felt so assured it would work, to place such a massive responsibility on the shoulders of the young stranger…

A blush came to Lee’s cheeks. To hear himself compared to these men and women he had learned to respect in the weeks since being tossed into this world… “I…I do not know what to say, Mister Stark.”

“Just say you’re not going to worry about paying for anything because…”

“Because…” Clint Barton shouted, giving Lee an enormous bear hug. “This kid is the best thing to drop into our lives in a long time!”

“Thank you, Mister Hawkeye.”

“Rock Lee!” a booming voice called out.

Now it was Thor’s turn to give Lee an embrace, lifting the boy off his feet. “You are a hero worthy of Asgard!”

The praise continued from all sides, intensifying the red in Lee’s face when he was surrounded by the group. But the compliment which meant the most came from the lovely redhead who kissed him on the mouth before she softly told him, “Nice work, Lee.”

Lee prayed his sigh was not audible and he gazed into her eyes. Swallowing hard, he heard himself hoarsely utter, “Thank…Thank…Thank you, Miss Romanoff.”

“What have I told you before? Call me Natasha,” she told him, giving his hair a light stroke before she hurried to join the others around the floor pit.

“Natasha,” Lee whispered, swallowing again. He barely noticed when Steve Rogers wrapped a paternal arm around his shoulders.

“She might be a little out of your league right now kid,” Captain America confided in a lighthearted manner. “Maybe another year or two…or ten.”

“She is still an angel, Captain,” Lee commented, his smile shy. “Do you not think so? I realize she is deadly…”

“That’s why they call her The Black Widow.”

Lee nodded in agreement. Since his arrival and after his acceptance into the S.H.I.E.L.D. community, the Russian had trained and sparred with him on numerous occasions before these recent events came to pass. One thing was certain: if anyone kept him on his toes, it was her and Rogers! “But I have told you of my teammate Tenten. She is deadly too, but now and then, she reveals a side which is…” The young man shrugged, becoming tongue-tied. He realized he was way too young and inexperienced for the likes of Natasha Romanoff, but it did not lessen his admiration. And she had kissed him!

Rogers comment snapped Lee out of his daydream. “I just hope I get to meet your team someday. We’re still working on a way of getting you home.”

“I know, Captain. Doctor Selvig has said none of you will give up until you do. Until that happens, if you do not mind, I will consider you as much my Sensei as I do Might Guy. I honor you that much, sir, for all you have done for me.”

For a moment, Rogers was speechless. When he did find the words, he was interrupted by a loud moan.

“I think Sleeping Beauty’s awake,” the First Avenger joked. “Want to go check out the damage?”

Loki had been dreaming…Earth was within his reach…He would be sole master over the entire world, bending it to his control, doing as he saw fit to put these mortals under his authority…No one would stop him: not Thor, not Odin-Father, not Iron Man, not the Green…

Green…

He moved. The unbearable pain was felt no matter which part of his body he attempted to adjust. He stopped, emitting a groan which caused the surroundings to quake then stop seconds later. Was he still breathing? Was he still alive?

Little by little, Loki opened his eyes, blinked…and saw that each of the Avengers stood above him, leaning down towards him. Hawkeye’s bow was positioned, the arrowhead pointing right towards the god of mischief. Mjölnir was raised menacingly above Thor’s head. The Hulk growled. That stupid red, white and blue shield appeared larger than life.

And then Loki saw him, jerked, and cried out again. With great difficulty, he attempted to raise one finger and point, his words so soft that no one could understand him.

“What’s he saying?” Clint asked, never losing sight of his target.

Loki muttered again.

Tony Stark chuckled, shaking his head. “He said ‘What are you?’”

The Avengers either turned their heads or their eyes alone to catch sight of their newest team member.

“Me?” Lee almost squeaked.

“He wants to know who you are,” Tony told him. “Or what you are.”

Cap nudged him in the arm. “You want to tell him, kid?”

Lee nodded, situating himself so that his foe might better see him. Standing straight, remembering everything he had been taught and all he represented, he bowed and proudly announced, “My name is Rock Lee, Handsome Devil of the Leaf Village; student of Might Guy, the Noble Blue Beast of the Leaf, and a member of Team Guy, the most worthy team in all of Konoha…And…” One corner of his mouth turned up into a smile. “…a proud member of The Avengers.”

Loki shut his eyes. He didn’t know who was more sickening: Captain America or this brat with the bad haircut. At this point, he no longer cared, muttering something more, the short sentence ending with the name “Thor.”  

Thor bent closer, remaining cautious. He would not permit Loki to play yet another trick on him. “What is it, Brother?”

“Get me…Take me…Take…me…back…to…to…Take me to…Asgard…Get me…Get me…away…away…from…that!” He managed to point at Lee.

“And I think that does it.” Stark seemed satisfied. “Anybody up for some shawarma?”

Lee was astounded. Since first laying eyes on something so wondrous, he pondered if this was beyond his current skills, or if he even dared to challenge himself in such an advanced manner.

“I am certain Guy-Sensei could do it,” Lee whispered to Rogers, the two standing off to the side, “but he is already a great shinobi.”

“Well, you told me Guy has taught you more and more because he knew you could handle it.”

“True,” the chunin sighed, “but this…”

“I know, but I have a lot of faith in you, kid. The two of us have a lot in common.”

Lee nodded thoughtfully, recalling the stories he had heard about Captain America. While others spoke of him in awe, Rogers spoke of himself in the simplest of terms. “Yes, sir. I have thought that too.”

“And we’ve both known people who saw something special in us, even if we didn’t always see it ourselves.”

“Yes, sir.” Even without saying their names, Lee knew Rogers meant Peggy Carter and Bucky Barnes. For the umpteenth time, the younger man wondered how it might feel to have Team Guy ripped apart by circumstances over which you had no control; in every instance, he pushed such imaginings aside.

“So between you and me…I think you ought to give it a shot. What’s that you’re always saying?”

“Nothing ventured, nothing gained.” Lee smiled. It might be his one opportunity to accept this challenge. “Guy-Sensei would have great admiration for you, Captain. I have a feeling he would tell me the same. To accept this.”

“And if you can’t do it?”

“If I cannot do it,” came Lee’s defiant words, “then I will walk on my hands five times around the boundaries of your New York City.”

“As much as I’d love to see that…” Cap slapped him on the back. “You’ve got it! Nobody’s watching. Go!”

Lee made a swift move to one of the few pieces of furniture left intact. Only Rogers observed him at the moment; the others were busy with Loki as Thor secured him for their travels back to Asgard.

He knew there were only seconds to make the attempt no one had before tried, but which - in a short conversation between him and Cap while they waited - had been bandied about until the shinobi’s eager hot-bloodedness could take it no longer well. The situation was too good to resist. It wasn’t power he sought, but the challenge of whether or not someone besides Thor could do so. In his mind, it was yet another challenge to prove he could be as good as others. Thor was a ‘rival,’ like Neji or Naruto. Therefore without pause, Lee hurried up to the table where the god of thunder had placed the mystical weapon. Taking a deep breath, he wrapped both hands about Mjölnir’s grip…

Besides Captain America, only Loki witnessed what happened next, the sight shocking him to such an extent he gasped, went bug-eyed and came close to collapsing back into the crater! Thor’s assumption was that the pain was too much, even for a demi-god.

When the remaining Avengers turned about, Lee had returned to Rogers’ side.

Steve hoped he could maintain the stony expression as they all prepared to leave the shambles of the Stark penthouse, but it was almost impossible to keep his mouth from dropping to the floor - again. He glanced at Rock Lee, who looked almost as stunned. Although still attempting to wrap his brain around what had happened, Rogers gulped and finally whispered, “I think this can stay between you and me. What do you say?”

Still trembling and nodding his head over and over, Lee answered, “Yes Captain, I think that is an excellent idea.”

Silence.

“I mean,” Rogers spoke again, “I was kind of joking with you.”

“Yes sir, I know.”

“I mean, when you come down to it, I couldn’t imagine…I knew you were strong but…but you…” Rogers stammered, still disbelieving what he observed. “Lee…you picked up Thor’s hammer. That means you’re worthy.

“Worthy?”

“Only worthy people can wield it, a protector of Asgard - that’s where he and Loki come from, remember? And you…”

“A protector? Like a Hokage?” When Rogers nodded, the chunin paled. “But I do not wish to become Hokage over Asgard.” Lee’s quiet confession was nervous and frightened. “I do not even know where Asgard is. I only want to return home when you find a way for me to do so.”  

“Lee…”

“Do you think Thor will know I did it? Does Mjölnir’s have some sort of an alarm?”

“I don’t think so.” That was a guess. Rogers wasn’t definite but figured if Thor - once the hammer was retrieved from the tabletop - had not made any accusations, then things were alright. Since Lee’s attempt, the sole person who acknowledged that he was aware was Loki. Although attempting to maintain an arrogant demeanor, that proved only a facade. The second he saw Lee, a fear briefly flashed in his eyes, something only the young man and Rogers caught.  

The two were silent again. In the background, they heard Natasha call out, “Hey Cap, Lee! You two coming?”

“In a sec, Natasha,” Captain America replied, then sighing directed his next words to a concerned shinobi. “The secret’s safe with me, kid.”

“Thank you, Captain. I appreciate that.”

“All of this does give me an idea,” Rogers mused while he and Lee headed for the front door.

“What is that, sir?”

“Oh…I don’t know. I’d like to give it a shot sometime if I got half a chance. I could see Thor making some joke, some stupid challenge because he thinks he’s the only one. I’m sure a few of us might take him up on it though…Stark, Barton, maybe even Natasha.” He laughed and shrugged. “Not that I think I could…”

Lee grinned. “Do not doubt yourself, Captain. Guy-Sensei would tell you to have full confidence in yourself. If you ever have the opportunity, I would say try. You never know,” and being back to normal, he smiled more, winked and gave a thumbs-up.

Rogers just shook his head and smiled. “Yeah, you’re right. You never know.”

NOTE:

Lee had returned to Konoha by the time of Age of Ultron, but I’m certain he would have had a huge smile on his face when Captain America accepted Thor’s challenge to try to lift Mjölnir.  

https://youtu.be/pvJiG-nnUOw

The shawarma mention was in the original The Avengers movie, and if you sit all the way through the final end credits, you see the gang sitting down and having some chow at the very restaurant Stark mentions in the movie. (Not sure where Lee was during that scene *bg*).

A good deal of the dialogue between Loki and Tony Stark was taken from the movie, The Avengers, and was copied from IMDB.

DISCLAIMER:

I do not own The Avengers or any of the individual characters. They are owned and copyrighted by Marvel Studios, Marvel Comics, Stan Lee and whoever else might be involved. I’m only playing with them for a bit - and hope none of them mind.

[silvertalkzones]

Death Benefits

Prologue:

The big man with the salt and pepper beard stepped out of his high powered sports car and checked his GPS once more time. Yes, this was the place and he was right on time, he noticed checking his expensive watch. How would he do this couple tonight? Looking at his overview... there were two of them, so that meant something quick and to the point would be useful to limit the possible variables. On the other hand, he considered himself every bit the artist and very much enjoyed taking his time.

Looking once more at his notes, he decided there was no big hurry. They were old enough to provide little resistance. Perhaps he might just use his bare hands for practice. The possibilities were endless. He trudged up to the front and rang the doorbell. After several moments, a small pale man’s face appeared. He opened the door only enough to ask, “Can I help you?”

The assassin smiled broadly and said, “Oh, I think you can.”

Chapter 1

“What is your why?” asked my manager. We all knew better than to answer. No, in some companies, the squeaky wheel gets the grease. In our company, the nail that sticks up gets hammered down. Have you ever seen what’s described as a “rat tail” mustache? My manager’s entire facial hair entourage could be described that way. The rat tail goatee was what substituted for a chin in his case.

When no on responded, he said, “I can wait here all day” and precisely four seconds later he stopped waiting and switched to, “Ok, where is your who? And how is your when?” or something to that effect. I had tuned him out. I can fake interest for hours: I’m an insurance agent - we fake interest professionally.

After the sermon ended several hours later, we returned to our cell block en masse and then dispersed to our individual holding pens. I’ve nicknamed my space, “Denial” because that’s where I am mentally when I sit there. Now I’m literally in Denial. When I sit in my cell, I look for people to bother so I can sell them something intangible, a concept really, the profits from which I hope to feed myself. At least the Reformatory cells have their own toilets. I have to lock my computer and leave the office for my favorite Activities of Daily Living.

Now my mouse click, click, clicks in my right hand while my left clumsily dials the comedically oversized phone. Emotionally, I’m flat-lined. It’s the only way to do this soul-numbing job. Of course, when we’re on the phone (it’s a phone call to action!) I’m all smiles and helpfulness. This call was no different. “Do you know your mother’s policy number? Okay, how about spelling her name for me then. Right. Got it. I’ll get that information to you right away, sir!” I even manage to sound happy as I hang up the phone.

Naturally I don’t have access, so I email the office assistant and go about my day. It was some time after lunch when I got the return email, looked up the information and called the guy back. “Yes, sir, and once again, my sincere condolences.”

“You said that the first time,” he said. “For what?”

“I’m sorry your mother passed. I just lost my father this January,” I said, “so I empathize.”

“She’s not dead!” he said and laughed. “Or are you not telling me something, Mom?” he yelled. A voice in the background laughed and responded, but I couldn’t hear it. I was simply mortified. After a few apologies and few more pleasantries, I hung up the phone.

“Fuck,” I said to no one in particular and grabbed the paper to march to my manager’s office. I don’t enjoy talking with the man. In fact, I don’t enjoy anything about this man, who despite ridiculing used-car salesmen, sure sounds like one in his billowing, overpriced shirt colored to match his nicotine stained teeth. I don’t enjoy that he can’t be bothered to look away from his computer screen while I explain that this woman’s alive, but her policy says she isn’t. I don’t enjoy saying, “I already called Life New Business,” but I do it anyway.

Then he does something strange. He turns and looks at me like I’ve just caught him masturbating. “You said her policy says she’s dead? Give me that!” he says abruptly and yanks the overview from my hand. Oh fuck. What did I do now? “Who did you tell?” he demands.

It’s actually, “Whom did you tell?” but I prefer discretion. I told him the story once again. Her son called about her policy. I asked Vivian for the info. I called the son back when I got the info and sent my condolences for the loss of his mom. His mom’s not dead, but her policy says she is. I can’t see where I fucked up, because clearly I did.

“Fuck. Wait here,” he commands. “I’m going to get John and Dan!” and as he exits, I see a sheen of sweat on his face and a look of... could it be panic?

(to be continued)