#i had a Bad Attitude and so i left work an hour early to feed myself and nap

[tafadhali]

someone had a very trying Friday and has been fed two tamales and sent to bed

[notgreat-notterrible]

#3. Ok, web designers should be paid more

We had a couple of stressful midterms here, our first semester at BCIT. Coffee and late nights studying, sure, and then we went and got it over with. Brief pain. The whole band-aid.

I never lost more sleep than I did worrying about our personal website assignment. Like advanced psychological torture, this is how you induce elevated levels of stress and severe sleep deprivation. Step one: blank canvas. Step two: worth 30 marks.

And these ain’t any old completion or “you tried” marks. Some requirements were clear cut: a set number of pieces of work/projects to show off and some necessary pages (about, contact, privacy policy). Anything else is up to you, and on you, if you know what I mean. You can spend hours building up block by block and coming away feeling accomplished when you see it take shape and come together, and then the next day you can spend hours trying to figure out why this plugin isn’t doing the thing you need it to do, Googling for help, trying a same-but-different-plugin, dropping in bits of HTML somebody on Quora left on a tangentially related issue twelve years ago, and then convincing yourself that your site will be perfectly fine without that cool feature you really wanted. Like an art form, there is no such thing as time management. There is only messing around and messing up.

Nobody sets out to make a shitty website. But it might end up that way because 1) they literally can’t see colour 2) this font screams “fun” 3) “what do now?” and 4) “oh god, what did I just do?”

Numbers 3 and 4 are interchangeable but also just kinda states of being, all throughout the process?

Once we hit the ground running with our domains and hosting and our about pages, we had carte blanche. Free reign, but with a looming deadline. Like players exiting Vault 101 and stepping out into the wasteland for the first time: breathtaking freedom, but oh so barren and, oh yeah, you’ll probably die out here so get moving. Building a website is fun until you run into a problem.

My portfolio of writing (as well as video and audio work) came together quickly. Wasting my time is my number one hobby and I had no shortage of things I’d worked on previously, good and bad. And if it’s not evident by now, I just *love* talking about myself. I could big up all these things I had rotting away on my hard drive with fun descriptions no problem. Another requirement squared away.

Then it came time for the home page. Here I struggled. Thinking about it began to keep me up at night. Because this was no longer a question of learning the site editor and adding fancy bells and whistles, it was a visual design problem. At this point all I had was pages full of text and media and PDF embeds. It was maybe one step up from whatever we came up with in our Grade 9 Info Tech class, where we learned how to build a simple webpage with HTML. Open tags, close tags. It struck me that even though things are basically drag ‘n drop templates or pre-made themes in EasyWP, with barely any effort you can still create a site that looked like it was made by children—in other words, a real early Oughts-ass looking website. Where were the safety rails? Nobody should have that terrible power. Really irresponsible, is what it is.

I already talked about myself in my about page, I already talked about my work in their respective content pages, so what would my front page say or even look like? It’s 2022 and I haven’t typed a specific url into my address bar in actual years. My daily web experience begins with some sort of feed (it’s Reddit, Reddit is my only feed). So I felt like a moron when I had to Google examples of pretty cool front pages.

But I found one that caught my eye. It had attitude. From the photo choice to the lettering. The gears in my head turned. I found an old photo somewhere in the Cloud some friends and I had taken a couple years ago down in Birch Bay, Washington. An Insta-worthy glam shot. It became my new website cover photo, and it makes me laugh every time I pull up my homepage because what you don’t see (I cropped out), attached to the hand I’m holding, is my buddy’s shockingly hairy arm. And my website was always called “From the mind of Jordan Wong,” from day one. It knows what it's doing. It was only fitting I go with this layout.

I handed my website in and the next day I rolled into class with utmost confidence. Like I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. Our instructor, Paul, told us right away that he had a look at our websites… and he’s giving us a week to work on them some more.

It’s a gutpunch that didn’t register until I went up to the front of the room, to show off my website to everybody on the big screens, and Paul told me he looked at mine last night and it was one he actually wanted to talk about. Site functionality issues, I think it was he said. Well god dammit I was already in the captain’s chair and all I could do was plug in the address and hit go with all eyes on me. It felt like an ambush.

So he didn’t like the homepage. Or something. He referred to it as “bold.” Well I told myself, it was a stylistic choice and I stand by it! I liked my magenta/orange colour palette (Zune colours, I call ‘em), I liked that you had the words fade in all cinematically like that, even if you had to scroll down a little. The icon columns were too far down (they were originally below the cover photo). I didn’t see what the big deal was. So I sat on it another few days, and that weekend I came down with a pretty nasty flu? Virus? Whatever it was, it made me sweaty and feverish and put me on the couch for the entire week.

The night before the stupid site was due again, I knew what needed to be done and got myself into a sitting position and got to work. Cover photo: widescreen fix. Don’t know how to do it properly with Photoshop content aware fill and it looks jank. Okay, just live with it. Move my navigation icons higher, assume the user doesn’t know how to scroll down. Done. Now what? The navigation icon columns Paul helped me implement are breaking the hyperlinks on my rightmost column—and only if I mouseover from the right? Google has no solutions. Resizing the column widths does nothing, nor does changing the number of columns there are. Disaster. I was about to delete the columns completely when I decided to try throwing an animation on that block.

Whatever it did, it worked. It made the Contact icon and text link clickable again.

Except… that animation wouldn’t fire off at the same time as the title. I had to scroll a tiny bit down before it did. I refreshed and tried again. Nothing again until I scrolled. I panicked.

Oh my god, Paul’s going to think I’m an asshole, I thought. I assure you, I wasn’t deliberately trying to make visitors scroll down this time. Moving the blocks as high as they could go did nothing. Adjusting the height of the cover photo did nothing. It was already 12 o’clock midnight and I needed to wake up at 6:15AM for school, still feverish. (There was an un-skippable engagement for another class: a 20-minute meeting that I waited in my car almost two hours for, by the way.) I couldn’t go to bed until I’d solved the issue. I went so far as to try rebuilding the entire front page from scratch but had to stop when I couldn’t remember how to get my cover photo stretched full screen, nor could I remember how to get the font for my titles the same as it was previously. (Protip: copy block, paste block.)

In the end I think I got it. I had a block of similar icons on another page that I copied over and just swapped the icons and links. This one seemed to play nicer, seemed to fire off its animation at the same time as my bold, beautiful title text, so all hyperlinks worked. The moment I saw that, I saved it up and called it a night. I didn’t want to touch it again lest something else break.

So that was my foray into web design. A minute to break, a literal hour to put back. Hours spent writing content and organizing layouts, and hours wasted trying and failing to put in new fancy features. Dreaming too big and getting slapped back to reality. For instance, I went through four or five different PDF embed plugins before settling for embedding Google Drive PDFs with an iframe. Not the prettiest but it'll have to do. I was really, really trying to get the flowpaper plugin working.

I’ve always been a form over function guy. Sue me. But I’ll stick to my guns: I know what I like. Even if I need to find a workaround. The Fantastic Mr. Fox clip I have on my contact page, technically against the rules of the assignment by way of implementation (so a pretty easy fix) but when pointed out the first time, before Paul could elaborate, I couldn’t have been more resolute and quicker on the draw when I said, “I’m keeping that.”

Wanna check out my site? jordan-wong.com

EDIT: Reviews are in!!! One website critic (it's Paul) gave it 29.5/30! I definitely won't let that go to my head or anything.

[ryosmne]

You're gonna fry your brain.

Hello everyone, since it's finals season and we're all probably really dead inside, I decided to self indulge in some tattoo artist! Sukuna writing, so here's this brainrot that won't let me focus on studying. You can read more of this au in the au masterlist.

I've been trying so hard to finish up a bartender! Dabi fic I have in the works for too long, hopefully I can get around to it too. After finals are done I'll be writing a lot more that's for sure.

Tattoo artist! Sukuna x f!reader

Warnings: language, suggestive tones, that's it.

Finals are by far the worst thing about college, y/n knows that the hard way. She's been stressing herself out for the past few days, maybe weeks, going over the same material again and again. She'd constantly argue that she really needs to pass with an high grade that's why she's so obsessive over it.

Sukuna had tried multiple times to help her ease her nerves, he's been there, although he was the type who never really stuck his nose in a book for too long, regardless, his best girl needed a break, no matter how hard she denied it.

Y/n had declined his invitations of going out, she dropped by the shop a few times, bringing Sukuna some food, but he could tell she was slowly burning herself up.

Today was no different, y/n had been writing everything down all day to help memorize it better. So many hours has passed since she started her study session but she didn't even notice that her clock read 8 pm already.

Sukuna did notice, y/n had been barely responding back to his texts and it was time he took matters into his own hands.

The earpiercing doorbell pulled y/n out of her trance like state, she quickly got up from her desk to go and get rid of whoever just rung it.

"Dollface, I was beginning to think you had died in there."

There was Sukuna, leaning in her doorframe, looking as good as he always did, in a plan white t shirt and a gray pair of sweatpants, holding a few bags and a huge basket.

"not quite, what's all this?"

Y/n motioned to the bags he had.

"Nothing much, just some things I picked up for you, will you let me in? this basket is fucking heavy."

No, the basket wasn't that heavy, Sukuna could carry it just fine, he just wanted to make sure that y/n didn't have a chance to deny him.

Y/n stepped aside to let Sukuna in, and he went straight to her kitchen, dropping his bags on the table.

"Thanks for dropping by babe, but I really need to finish the last three chapters I have left."

"Y/n, you're going to fry your brain at this rate, no more studying for today."

"But-"

"No buts, you won't read another sentence today. We're destressing together."

Turns out, Sukuna had brought over many different things. He's not the type of guy to shy away from anything, so the first thing he did was to grab y/n and drag her into her bathroom.

Sukuna had taken mental notes the first time he looked through y/n's skincare products, he was able to determine her skin type and he went a bit crazy, buying her different things to try out.

"You are insane, that's drunk elephant, why did you get this many things?"

"Because you have the really terrible cheap stuff, now shut up you're going to eat the soap if you keep talking with cleanser all over your face."

Now, y/n's skincare wasn't bad, Sukuna had expensive taste and he's a bit of a brand snob

Sukuna gently poked her cheek with a smile as y/n's face distorted because she had in fact tasted the cleanser and Sukuna could only laugh at her before she flicked some into his mouth too.

"Don't kiss me with a face mask on you brat"

Y/n let out a soft laugh, Sukuna was doing his best to concentrate at the task at hand. Matching y/n's nail polish to his. Y/n had just finished painting his, matte black like he requested but y/n gave him some white polish on his ring finger. Sukuna had argued for a bit, saying it didn't look good and that he didn't like it, but gave in after y/n gave him a puppy face, can you blame him?

"But you look so cute like that."

Y/n complained, knowing that this little comment was going to feed Sukuna's ego more.

"I know doll, but artificial orange doesn't taste as good as it smells."

Y/n once again wasn't wrong, his cocky attitude always creeped in at times, not that she minded.

Time passed fast with watching trash reality shows on y/n's couch, after their very own self care day, Sukuna made sure to fix something they could both eat. Now they were engolved in each others arms, y/n's sleepy eyes staring up at him.

"How are you feeling, doll?"

Sukuna's hand found her hair, gently resting on top of her head.

"Much better, you're the best you know that?"

"I've heard it once or twice, I'll give you reasons to say it more often"

He gave her a gentle smile, leaning closer to steal a kiss, a little more intimate than the ones they shared earlier.

" 'Kuna, I'm sorry I was so stressed and distant this week, I probably worried you-"

"Don't be stupid, it's ok, I just want you to know I'm here for you, and it's just finals. You're a smart cookie, I'm sure you'll do great."

Y/n found his words reassuring and nuzzled closer to him, letting her lungs burn with his scent that never got less intoxicating.

"Thank you 'kuna, what would I do without you?"

The last few words came out slurred, but Sukuna understood everything, y/n's breathing got steadier against him.

"I don't know doll I'm just glad to have you here, I promised to take good care of you."

And just like that, y/n was fast asleep next to him, he didn't mind her uncomfortable couch one bit all he cared about was how at peace she looked. Maybe he would move her to her bed later, he couldn't bring himself to do it now.

The next morning, y/n found herself on her bed, Sukuna had almost woken her up getting ready before he left to go to work, but he managed to put her right back to sleep with a kiss on the forehead and a light "don't wake up yet doll".

Y/n made her way to the kitchen, Sukuna usually left a little letter for her on the nightstand by the bed, he must've been in a rush today.

Not quite the case.

Sukuna not only made her, her favourite breakfast, he also left post it notes in some places.

You suck at food shopping, thank me later.

Was written on her fridge.

So that's what all the bags were for, y/n didn't find out last night because of how tired she was, and how much fun she had being around sukuna.

He had filled up her fridge with everything she ever needed to make a meal for herself or have a snack. Let's be honest Sukuna just wanted to cook for her again.

Another post it was found in her bathroom cabinet.

You're probably gonna get mad at me for this but I'm not sorry, you deserve it.

The poor cabinet was stuffed to the brim with brand name skincare that made anyone's wallet scream in anguish and a lot of bathbombs. Upon closer look y/n almost cried at how attentive Sukuna was, he took extra care to look out for her skins needs.

Y/n found the last post it on her desk while she did her revision.

Don't overwork yourself doll, you've got me for that.

Y/n brought Sukuna cupcakes from seven different bakeries to try that day.

Bonus Domain shenanigans: "Sukuna left early again?"

Megumi asked, the day had been going pretty slow he wasn't surprised his friend dipped.

"Yeah, he left this behind though."

Geto held up a very nice looking white shop bag, a slight glimmer in his eye let the rest of his friends know he planned something.

"So? What's in it anyways?"

Gojo was resting his chin on his hand, blank expression on his face, completely unamused by Geto's discovery.

"Give me that"

Nanami swiftly snatched the bag, curious to see what was inside of it. He reached in and retrieved several wrapped round objects.

"Bathbombs?"

He questioned puzzled, but then his lips tugged upward.

Megumi, Nanami, Gojo and Geto, each got two bathbombs, and even though they would outright say it, they were pretty damn exited to drop them in their bathtubs. That's what Sukuna gets for avoiding clean up.

Sukuna entered the shop barely greeting anyone and begun looking around. Fuck he was looking for something, everyone tried to keep their composure.

"Have you seen a white bag?"

He finally looked at the group of men before him.

"like a backpack? No "

Megumi spoke, Sukuna begun thinking he was remembering everything wrong, that's untill he saw something sticking out of Geto's pocket. That's for sure a bathbomb he bought for y/n

"You motherfuckers, how low can you stoop to steal my girls bathbombs?"

Hey it's me again, though I'd add that here, if you have specific skin demands I tried to cover that in here so everyone can enjoy it, I have lots of allergies and skin concerns so I'm kinda sensitive to that stuff. Hope you had fun reading, remember to take it easy, untill next time :>

Tag list: (comment or message me and I’ll gladly add you)

@artist4theworld @skatercashew

@divineteaty

@in-inception

@not-another-ackerman

@jjk-is-my-shit @ilovemarvel99

@thegaymadafakkasworld @readinghassavedmylife @ruler-of-the-skies

@bluebananasssss

@ghost-of-todoroki

@sabsaocit

@heaveus

@jackysenpaii @rebenok-zimnayaya

@aam1na @sore-eyes@ryan249057 @goobygoobster @charlie-xo @kamisamaundercover

@shadoweepingscream

@sunfloweroranges

@haleypearce

@crapimahuman

@fiona782

@levi-ships-eruri

@chocolatecake764

@stupid-simp33 @ciphersighs

[the-scarlet-witch-22]

Chaconne: Part 2 (Agatha Harkness x Fem!Reader)

Summary: After auditioning for who is often considered to be the world’s scariest conductor, you begin working for Agatha Harkness and the Manhattan Symphony Orchestra. 

Word Count: 4.9K

Link: Dvorak’s New World Symphony: Movement 4 (Performed by the Vienna Philharmonic)

 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pGdtkUiKaA8

A/N: Hi everyone! I’m back with part two of Chaconne. I’ve included another link to the fourth movement of Dvorak in case anyone would like to listen, (it’s one of my favorite recordings and I definitely recommend it) but if classical music isn’t your jam I understand. Also, I would like to warn this is going to be major slow burn, but I promise there is a light at the end of the tunnel...eventually. Part 3 should be uploaded in a few days! I hope all of you enjoy it, and as always please feel free to leave a comment :) Oh! Also I think I’m going to make a taglist for this story, so if you would like to be added just comment or send me a message.

A week later marked the first symphony rehearsal of the season. You had barely seen Agatha all day. The woman was running from meeting to meeting with investors and the board so she had given you small tasks to complete in her absence. You were busy rearranging the small personal music library she kept in her office when there was a knock on the door.

“Come in,” You called out as you began sorting through the Baroque Era.

The door opened a moment later and you were glancing at a few different scores when you heard someone clear their throat. Looking up, you saw Wanda Maximoff standing in the doorway.

“Well hello there,” Wanda drawled out, clearly looking surprised. It took you a second to wonder why until you realized you were in Agatha’s office. “You’re not Agatha.”

You let out a nervous laugh. “No...um, no I’m not. I’m Agatha’s new assistant, Y/N.”

Wanda gave you a curious glance. “Her assistant,” she mused, taking a step further into the office. “Does she treat you well?”

You shrugged. “She feeds me a few times a day, buys me coffee. It could be a lot worse.”

Wanda chuckled. “Well it is very nice to meet you. I’m Wanda Maximoff.”

“I know who you are,” You blurted out before realizing how creepy that may have sounded. Glancing at Wanda, you were relieved that she seemed more amused than anything else. “I mean, it’s such a pleasure to meet you, Miss Maximoff. I’m a huge fan of yours.”

“Call me Wanda,” The pianist insisted. “You’re sweet. I’m surprised Agatha hasn’t had you running for the hills.”

You felt strangely defensive over the criticism regarding Agatha. “She really isn’t bad. I’m learning so much from her.”

Wanda looked surprised but smiled nonetheless. “You’re a very sweet girl, aren’t you? Do you know when Agatha will be back?”

“Um...” You trailed off and tried to remember when Agatha said she would be done. “It might be a while.”

“I don’t mind waiting,” Wanda said confidently, taking a seat in a leather chair. “I can keep you company.”

So you spent the next half hour sorting through music. At some point Wanda had offered to assist you, and although you assured her you were fine, she insisted. Which is how you found yourself discussing your favorite eras of music with one of your favorite musicians.

“Well isn’t this cozy,” Agatha’s voice rang out from the doorway causing you to jump.

The conductor had a scowl on her face and you could practically see the anger seething out of her. Wanda, on the other hand, smiled brightly at Agatha. “Agatha, so lovely to see you again. I was just getting to know your assistant. She’s a delight.”

Agatha glared at the woman, before giving you a quick once over. “Of course she is. What are you doing in my office, Maximoff? We aren’t rehearsing with you until next week.”

Wanda shrugged, not phased by the other woman’s attitude. “I thought I would stop by to catch up. It’s been a while since we’ve worked together.”

Your eyebrows furrowed at that. When did Agatha and Wanda work together? Agatha certainly had a lot of negative thoughts regarding the younger woman, so it would make sense that they had worked together at some point. You were just surprised Agatha never brought it up during one of her many long ‘Maximoff Rants.’

“I’m very busy,” Agatha replied, appearing to grow angrier with every word that came out of the red head’s mouth. “Right, dear?”

At first you wondered who she was talking to, until you noticed the pointed look she was giving you. You offered Wanda a polite smile before slowly heading over towards your boss. “Of course, Miss Harkness. You have to leave for your meeting with potential new investors and then we have to discuss new programs and publicity posters before rehearsal this evening.”

“I see,” Wanda was giving both of you a look that suggested she knew you were lying. “Well I should be on my way then. Lovely seeing you again Agatha, and it was a pleasure to meet you, Y/N,” she said sweetly as she gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze on her way out of the office.

Once she was gone, Agatha all but slammed the door shut and your eyes widened at how angry she appeared.

“What did she say to you?” Agatha asked curiously eyeing you.

You shrugged, because Wanda didn’t really say anything to you. At least not anything important. “Nothing really. She asked who I was, insisted she wanted to wait for you to come back, and then she offered to help me sort through the music.”

“I didn’t realize the work I gave you was so complex it required a second set of hands,” Agatha spat out as she slowly moved closer to you, and you wondered what you said to get that reaction.

“It wasn’t,” you argued, feeling your temper grow and getting more flustered as Agatha moved even closer to you. “She was just being nice.”

Agatha huffed and stalked back to her desk. “Fine. She was just being nice. Now no more talk of Maximoff. I’m starting to get a migraine.”

“I’ll go get you some tea,” You offered, as you had become more familiar with the conductor’s frequent stress migraines.

Agatha merely nodded and began sorting through her scores for rehearsal and you set off to brew some tea in the kitchen. You brushed off her strange behavior as the anger that came with seeing Wanda Maximoff.

The rest of the afternoon passed by smoothly. Agatha eventually told you to go home for a few hours despite your protests to stay. She was still a tad bit grumpy from her run in with Wanda, so she all but shoved you out the door and said if she saw you back here before 6:00 that she would make sure it would be your last time attending rehearsal.

Finding yourself back at the concert hall an hour before rehearsal started, you made your way to Agatha’s office and used the key she had given you to let yourself in. You had to grab the boxes filled with folders of music, as well as Agatha’s scores and her favorite baton. Your eyes scanned the dozens of identical batons that the older woman had before you found the one she requested you grab.

There weren’t many personal items in Agatha’s office. Granted she had only been here for around a month, but still. It was basically bare, save for a few photos of her pet bunny, Señor Scratchy. You had often wondered what the conductor did when she wasn’t here, but you had never felt comfortable enough to ask. Agatha was...private, and while you respected her privacy a part of you wondered what she was like when she wasn’t in scary conductor mode.

A quick glance at the clock alerted you to head to the hall before the players started to arrive. You quickly locked up the office before hurrying through the building, arms filled with boxes.

“I should’ve brought these in before I left,” You mumbled out loud as you balanced the boxes in one hand to unlock the stage door with your other hand.

“Well yes dear, but that would’ve required thought,” Agatha said with a smirk as she came up from behind you.

You cursed and jumped, glaring at the woman who scared you half to death. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

Agatha held the door open for you and shrugged in response as you passed her. “It’s not my fault you’re so easy to scare.”

“You’re evil,” You told her, but your tone was teasing. “And you’re early.”

“It’s my first rehearsal, I want to be prepared,” Agatha explained but you knew her well enough to know what that meant.

“It’s okay to be nervous, you know,” You said reassuringly as she grabbed one of the boxes from you to set on the stage.

Agatha scowled and gave you a dirty look. “I am not nervous. I’m Agatha Harkness. I don’t get nervous.”

“Right and you’re also nothing like Wanda Maximoff, right?” You fired back, enjoying the glower she gave you.

Agatha huffed. “I liked it better when you were afraid of me.”

You laughed as you began placing the folders on their respective stands. “I was never afraid of you. I was afraid of disappointing you.” And you were still afraid of disappointing her, but you would never vocalize that.

Agatha gave you a look you couldn’t decipher before she helped you with the folders. “Where’s your violin?”

“In your office,” You reminded her. “Remember, I told you I was leaving it there until after rehearsal?”

“Well how are you going to play in,” She checked her watch, “Fourty-five minutes without an instrument?”

You stared at her in shock. “But...but I thought I didn’t get the first violin spot?”

“You didn’t,” Agatha admitted. “But I haven’t hired anyone else and I still need to update our sub list. So there will be an empty chair for rehearsal.”

“Which means?” You pressed, needing to hear the words from her.

Agatha rolled her eyes. “Needy as ever for the praise I see. Grab your instrument and get your ass on stage in ten minutes before I change my mind.”

You practically skipped off stage, not believing what you were hearing. You were going to perform with the Manhattan Symphony! Sure it was just a rehearsal, and the first rehearsal at that, but you didn’t care. You were on cloud nine and nothing could bring you down.

By the time you returned with your instrument, some of the players had started to arrive. You recognized a few of the violinists from different gigs you had played over the past couple of years. Scanning the stage, you spotted Agatha in one of the first rows in the audience, drinking a bottle of water. She noticed you staring and motioned for you to come join her.

You set your case down next to her bag. “Thank you for letting me play in rehearsal today.”

“Why are you thanking me?” Agatha questioned, looking at you with curiosity. “I need a violinist for today’s rehearsal. You’re my assistant who will do whatever you can to please me. It’s common sense.”

You rolled your eyes at her but smiled nonetheless. “You really can’t let me be nice, can you?”

Agatha laughed and patted you on the arm. “You’re finally catching on, dear. Now get on stage and warm up. I can’t have my assistant embarrassing me in front of the entire ensemble.”

You did as you were told and sat in the last chair of the first violin section. The other members of the ensemble gradually made their way to their respective seats to begin warming up, and Agatha stayed at her spot still drinking her water. Your stand partner eventually made their way over to you and smiled.

“Hi, I’m Monica,” the woman said politely as she sat in the chair next to yours.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Y/N,” you replied with a small smile. “Have you been with the symphony for a while?”

“This is my fifth season,” Monica replied with a shrug. “Should be a little more interesting with Harkness in charge at least.”

You vaguely remembered the rumors that the last music director had been voted off by the board due to his age, but you couldn’t remember his name.

“Yeah, she’s really great,” You said happily. Monica gave you a curious glance. “I’m actually her assistant.”

Monica raised her eyebrows at that revelation. “Oh, wow. What’s that like?”

You shrugged, and noted that was the second time someone had that reaction. “Pretty standard I guess.”

“I was wondering who she hired for the section after cancelling the blind auditions,” Monica admitted. “She gave those violinists quite a scare.”

“Well I’m not hired for this,” You quickly backtracked. “She just hadn’t filled the seat and she needed a sub for today so-“

Monica laughed. “Hey, it’s okay. I get it. It’s nice to have you here. I’m sure you’ll do great.”

A few minutes later, the chatter and warming up abruptly stopped when Agatha took the podium. The ensemble stared at their new conductor, curious as to how she would start their first rehearsal. Instead, Agatha raised her baton and the ensemble lifted their instruments in preparation.

“Movement four of Dvorak,” Agatha said and allowed everyone a moment to flip to the respective movement.

She raised her baton again and you felt a rush of adrenaline as you waited in anticipation for her to begin. Over the past few weeks you had studied Agatha’s conducting technique. Watching her move her hands in formation was so beautiful, she was easily the most skilled conductor you had ever observed. Her eyes raked over the ensemble and landed on yours, and with a smirk she gave the upbeat to begin.

Dvorak’s New World Symphony was one of the first full symphonies you remembered playing back in your high school youth symphony. It was breathtaking, full of colorful phrases and swirling melodies in every movement that left both the player and listener eager for more. The fourth movement seemed to tie it all together.

Despite it being the first rehearsal, the ensemble played relatively well. Agatha was mindlessly conducting, her gaze fixated on different ensemble members, and you knew she probably had so many quick witted insults stewing in her brain. You meanwhile couldn’t keep your eyes from watching her conduct. Sure, watching old videos of her conducting different orchestras was great, your personal favorite was of her performance conducting Tchaikovsky’s 4th Symphony with The Chicago Symphony. You also loved sitting in her office and watching her get lost in her scores, seemingly oblivious to your gaze locked on her baton and the way her fingers seemed to have a mind of their own.

But this...this was pure beauty. It was like she was painting a canvas using her baton as a paint brush. Even with her gaze focused elsewhere, she knew the score backwards and forwards and you saw her give every cue without even taking a second to glance down at the music. It was magical; she was magical.

The movement progressed and you had reached one of you favorite spots. There was a phrase transition that featured a slow and melodic theme that was passed throughout the orchestra. It started in the winds and you smiled at the serene sounds of the oboe that featured accompaniment from the strings before the melody was eventually passed to the violin section. While most violinists enjoyed playing fast and thrilling passages that left their fingers aching and bow arm sore, you had always secretly preferred the sweeter themes, the soaring melodies that kept growing and filled your heart with so much warmth.

Closing your eyes to play a passage you had long ago memorized, Dvorak had always been a favorite, you took a second to enjoy the unique feeling that every musician shared. Making music was an intimate experience. The ability to bring together dozens of people from different walks of life. To put aside any problems from everyday life and just take those brief moments to focus on nothing but their craft. Your happiest memories were of the time you spent in orchestra rehearsals. All of the hard, and sometimes grueling, work that went into perfecting each measure and making sure each section played as one giant instrument. All of it was worth it once you made it to the performance, and you swore there was nothing that could bring you more bliss than a live performance.

The movement progressed and Agatha was fully in her element. The woman was the most confident conductor you had ever encountered. Sure, she was a bit...cocky...but she had every right to be. This was the only first rehearsal you had ever attended where the conductor had effortlessly led the ensemble through tempo changes and cues without any faults.

With a whirlwind of fast passages and high notes that had you breathless, you reached the grand finale. You would occasionally glance up to check you were following Agatha’s tempo, and it took everything in you to not keep your gaze entirely fixated on her.

Agatha left her baton raised for a moment before finally lowering it, and you could tell by the passive look on her face that she was not pleased. “Well that was disappointing. Have any of you played in an ensemble before today?”

Directing her gaze to the principal flutist, she waved her hand. “And don’t even get me started on the mess over here. Are you trying to make my ears bleed? I’ve heard first graders who have a better tone than you.”

The principal flutist frowned. “With all due respect Maestra, it’s our first rehearsal and we’re a little rusty.”

“Did I ask for excuses?” Agatha questioned, and you knew the rest of rehearsal would only be downhill from there. If there was one thing Agatha Harkness hated it was excuses. “What’s your name?”

“Dottie Jones.”

“Well, Dottie,” Agatha sneered. “Since you apparently know more than I do, why don’t you come up here and conduct?”

Well shit. You didn’t see that coming. You glanced over to Monica and found she had the same shocked expression on her face as you did.

“Maestra I don’t-“ Dottie tried to argue, and you couldn’t help but feel a small amount of pity for the woman because you knew Agatha always got what she wanted.

“Now!” Agatha yelled and threw her baton on the stand. “Let’s see what you can do.”

“Is she always like this?” Monica whispered to you and you shrugged.

That was a good question. In the few weeks you worked for Agatha, you had grown used to her intense presence and ever changing mood swings. You would never admit it to her face, but you actually found it kind of charming in a weird and twisted sort of way, because you knew Agatha only acted this way to assert her dominance. The music world had predominantly been led by men. The vast majority of the most famous and beloved composers were men. For the majority of your playing career the conductors you encountered were men. Hell, even the majority of symphony orchestras had male concert masters.

“She likes to keep things interesting,” You whispered back while keeping your gaze locked on the scene occurring on the podium.

Dottie had reluctantly made her way through the ensemble to stand on the podium where Agatha stood to the side with her arms folded across her chest.

“Any day now, Dottie,” Agatha mocked and you grimaced. Not even a half hour in and she had already lost her temper.

To Dottie’s credit she appeared relatively calm as she picked up the baton Agatha threw on the stand. The orchestra readied themselves to begin, but you kept your gaze locked on Agatha. What was she playing at?

Dottie gave the upbeat and the opening notes of Dvorak rang out. The flutist was a decent conductor, but you knew it was a losing battle. Her technique was nowhere as refined as Agatha’s and you could tell she was trying her best to keep the ensemble from falling apart. You made it through ten bars before Agatha made her way to the podium and raised one hand, and everyone immediately stopped.

“Well Dottie what do you think?”

“I think I should go back to my seat and leave the conducting to you,” Dottie offered weakly.

Agatha arched an eyebrow. “Ah. I see.” She waited for Dottie to sit back down before continuing. “Some of you may find my methods crazy. Some of you may say that I’m too mean, that I’m pushing you too hard. However, there is a reason for all of this.”

She pointed her baton at the principal oboe. “You? What’s your name?”

“Oh, um...” The man stammered and Agatha rolled her eyes.

“Name!”

“Jimmy Woo.”

“Jimmy Woo,” Agatha repeated with a frown on her face. “How long have you been with the symphony?”

“This is my third season, Maestra,” Jimmy said with a smile.

Agatha nodded. “I need to hear more of you. We need to work on your projection to come over the strings without making it too nasally. Not bad for the first rehearsal, Woo.”

“Thank you, Maestra.”

“Now Woo, how would you say the past three seasons have gone?” Agatha prompted.

“Maestra?” Jimmy asked, appearing confused by the question.

Agatha let out a huff. “How have you felt the orchestra has performed for the past three seasons, Woo?”

“You want my honest opinion, Maestra?”

You watched Agatha tense up and you internally sighed. Another thing Agatha hated was pointless questions.

“No, Woo, I want you to change into a tutu and do pliés,” Agatha dryly commented.

Jimmy let out a bit of nervous laughter which quickly ended when Agatha glared at him. “Right. Well, I guess I feel like we’re losing our touch.”

“That’s putting it lightly. Thank you, Woo,” Agatha said before turning her attention to the rest of the ensemble. “The Manhattan Symphony was once the world’s finest orchestra. But all of you have gotten too comfortable. You’ve stopped making music and now are simply playing notes on a page. You’ve gotten lazy.”

There we go. The third thing Agatha hated. Laziness. You swore the woman was constantly on the move. There was one Friday afternoon where you had suggested taking a half day to enjoy the sunshine, which led Agatha to go on a twenty minute long rant (you timed it) that you could enjoy the sunshine when you were dead in a grave. Needless to say, you never asked to leave work early again.

You watched the conductor place her baton on the stand and wave her arms around. “I want this orchestra to regain its rightful place on top of the musical community. But this is going to require work from every single individual in this room. So, this is your first and only warning. If you are not going to put your entire soul into this orchestra, consider this your last rehearsal. Everyone is replaceable and I promise you will not be missed.”

You raised your bow to signal you had a question. Agatha’s head whipped around to look at you, and you could practically see the gears turning in her head. “Something you wish to add?”

“And if we stay?” You asked, thinking back to the very same question you asked her the day of the audition.

That earned you a smile so small it was almost impossible to see, and it went away as quickly as it appeared. “If you choose to stay, I am going to work you hard. I don’t want to hear any whining or complaints, only promises to do better. Are we clear?”

Silence from the room was taken as a yes. Agatha raised her baton. “Good. Flip to measure 21. Woo I want to work on your entrance. First violins, I know you love being the center of attention but you need to follow the dynamics on the page, circle them if you must. Flutes please try to not to fuck up your eighth notes otherwise I will make sure the only orchestra you play for is in the middle of Antartica.”

The rest of rehearsal went better than it started. Agatha was her usual slightly snarky self, and the rest of the ensemble was learning not to question her. You went to pack up your instrument when Monica motioned for you to come join her.

“I’m not sure if you have any plans but a few of us are going to get drinks if you want to join,” Monica offered and you were touched by her kindness.

“That’s so sweet but I’m actually pretty tired,” You said apologetically. Which was partially true, but you also wanted to make sure Agatha went home and didn’t stay cooped up in her office all night.

“Well if you change your mind, shoot me a text,” Monica insisted as she handed you her phone to put in your contact information. She took the phone back and sent you a message. “There’s my number.”

You thanked her again before heading over to where Agatha was silently stewing. A quick glance at her confirmed that she was still in a bad mood and you chose to silently pack up your instrument while shooting her quick and cautious glances.

“I can feel you staring,” Agatha finally looked up at you. “I want to redo the string parts for Maximoff’s piece. We need to fix a few of the bowings. I want everything to be set for our first rehearsal with her.” She noticed your hesitation. “Unless you have other plans.”

“Oh no, my dream Friday night is being holed up in your office marking Rachmaninoff,” You joked and grinned when she rolled her eyes.

“Funny, dear. Very funny,” Agatha deadpanned, motioning for you to follow her. “But I don’t pay you to make jokes.”

An hour later you were done with the bowings while Agatha had spent the time reading a book. She had a pair of glasses on and her feet were up on her desk, it was the most relaxed you had ever seen her.

“You’re finished?” Agatha asked, not looking up from her book. “Good,” she said and slammed the book closed. “Now, we didn’t get a chance to do this earlier due to my Maximoff induced migraine, so grab that violin and come with me. I want to see how relaxed your bow hold is after rehearsing.”

“Actually, I was going to suggest that we call it a night?” You asked tentatively, gauging her reaction. “You’ve had a long day and-“

“And what? I’m so old I need to be in bed before ten?” Agatha inquired, slowly taking off her glasses.

“You’re not old,” You blurted out and Agatha smirked at you. Blushing, you looked at the floor. “But maybe it would do you good to get some rest?”

“Trying to give me orders again, darling?” Agatha teased and even though you weren’t looking at her, you knew she was still smirking. “I’m not so sure I like that.”

“You really shouldn’t say things like that,” You mumbled whilst Agatha laughed.

“Whatever you say, dear,” Agatha said. “If it will get you to shut up, I’ll call it a night and go home. But I expect you back here tomorrow morning so we can make up our session. We’re finally starting to crack the surface of your true potential and I won’t have you wasting it because you need to sleep.”

You had waited for Agatha to pack up her bag and followed her out of the building. This was the first time you had left at the same time as the older woman. She usually sent you on your way long before she was ready to head out for the evening. She had her town car waiting for her out front, and she frowned as she watched you prepare to walk home.

“You’re not planning on walking alone at this hour are you?” Agatha questioned and looked at you like you were an idiot.

You shrugged. “I only live a few blocks away.” Which was a bit of a lie, but she didn’t have to know that. “And if anyone gives me a hard time I can just whack them with this.” You motioned to your hard case violin.

“You’re an idiot if you think I’ll allow you to wander the streets like a lost little puppy,” Agatha reprimanded you. “Get in the car.”

“I’m not getting in your car,” You argued. “I’ll be fine.”

“Darling I’m not going to tell you again. Get in the car,” Agatha repeated and then smirked. “Unless you’d rather I drag you kicking and screaming.”

You glared at her. Damn her for making everything sound so...suggestive. “Fine.”

“Good girl,” Agatha said as you followed her in the car, and she patted the seat next to hers. “Now where do you live?”

You gave her driver the instructions to your apartment and then made yourself comfortable in the car. There was a few minutes of awkward silence which you spent staring out the window, and Agatha spent staring at you.

“Ya know, you usually call me out for staring at you,” You finally spoke up, the silence starting to eat away at you.

“I am not staring at you,” Agatha lightly argued before changing the subject. “I never asked how you thought I did tonight.”

“What?”

Agatha frowned at you. “How do you think I led the rehearsal?”

That was new. Over the past few weeks Agatha had never asked you for your opinion on anything regarding her conducting, because why would she? Agatha was the most confident person you had ever met, and a part of you was envious at how she presented herself to the world.

You took a moment to glance over at her and found yourself staring into bright blue eyes. “I...I thought you were brilliant. But, you were a little too nice. I don’t think I saw anyone cry.”

Agatha’s expression lightened and you felt your heartbeat grow rapid at the sight of her smile. “Still making jokes, darling? Perhaps I’m going too easy on you.”

The rest of the car ride fell back into a more comfortable silence, and before long Agatha’s driver pulled up to your modest but nice apartment building.

You grabbed your violin case and offered Agatha a small smile. “Thank you for giving me a ride home.”

“Thank Hank, he did the driving.”

“Right,” You frowned. “Well, goodnight.”

Agatha briefly touched your arm as you went to exit the car, and you felt goosebumps at the sensation. “Goodnight, dear. I’ll see you in the morning.”

[the-martyrfication-of-the-matron]

At the request of @erionlextib, Aaron’s childhood in my MS rewrite.

It’s a work in progress, and could possibly be heavily triggering, so if you at all worry this could trigger you, or even dampen your mood, please scroll past this post. Or don’t. Who am I to tell you what to do?

Tempers aren’t easily controlled in the Lycan household (Changed their last name for the rewrite, but I’ll keep it as Lycan in this post to avoid confusion), especially not by Derek or Aaron. Whether it’s the Ultima curse or the way they’re were both raised, ever since Aaron was little they would blow up at eachother over the littlest of things. Derek held a similar attitude towards Melissa, but as she was a relatively well behaved child and she hardly challenged his authority, he was a lot softer on her for messing up. Aaron, on the other hand, was hardly allowed to show emotion without being punished. Derek labelled it as getting him out of dangerous habits early, but his punishments for Aaron only really encouraged more emotion from him. One particularly harmful punishment was locking him in his room until he ‘learned better’. Obviously confining your child to their room isn’t a bad thing to do, but in the Case of Aaron it was… very damaging. His emotions tended to be overwhelming and without the proper release of said emotions, which often came in the form of talking nonsense to Melissa or Rachel, he would have melt downs that could last hours. And the longer he cried for, the longer he was locked in his room. And the longer he was locked up for, the longer he cried. Which started a terrible cycle which usually ended in Aaron either passing out or losing his voice for a day or so. It wasn’t like Aaron only cried during his meltdowns. If he got hungry, or tired, or just wanted to leave his room, he would seek out any means of escaping that he could. These methods usually consisted of throwing or scratching things. Sometimes these things were furniture, toys, and sometimes they were himself. He would often scratch at his door, or throw himself at it to try and open it, which often ended in bleeding fingers and bruises, but when that didn’t cut it, nor did the toys or any of his other methods, he would resort to trying to remove the root of the problem. His curse. He wasn’t kept in the dark about it, he knew about his curse and was often reminded of it. So he knew that the problem was his eyes.

So.

You can probably tell where that led.

Eventually Rachel would be able to convince Derek to give her the key or to let Aaron out himself, but by this point Aaron will have usually resorted to his eyes once more. He had enhanced healing, being the ultima, but his efforts left scars and messed up his eyes quite a bit. Rachel would take care of him afterwards, feeding him, giving him water, bathing him, covering his eyes so he couldn’t scratch them again until they were fully healed, etc.

However, of course, through undecided means, Rachel was eventually swayed to stop. Aaron would be left until he stopped crying, would have to patch himself up afterwards, and beg Melissa to make him food whilst he drank enough water to make up for hydration he lost crying. Melissa eventually became his primary carer. Their parents were away on business more often than they were home, and when they were home they would usually ignore the both of them (Aaron more so than Melissa), so Melissa became the parent. Until she went off to college, and he was sent off to military school (where he was strictly monitored by agents 24/7).

And that’s about as much detail as I am willing to shove into one post. There more, like how Aaron wasn’t even allowed out of his house until Melissa was in charge of him, and that Aaron would often have his personal belongings destroyed and his boundaries pushed if he ever misbehaved, but those can be saved for a different post. If anyone is interested in that.

[rebeccccccaaa]

ι’м нєяє ƒσя уσυ

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вυ¢ку вαяηєѕ χ яєα∂єя 

Rєqυєѕт: (ANON) hi! i absolutely love your work!! i’m not sure if you’re doing requests but if you’re up for it can you please write a fluffy bucky x reader fic? maybe something along the lines of the reader kinda going through a rough patch and bucky and the team notice, bucky talks to you and helps you feel better and then later the team has a movie night and just some real tooth rotting fluff lol. it definitely does not need to be exact to my request !!! thank you so much <333

ωαяηιηgѕ: mentions of anxiety (possible attack), depressive episode, and insomnia; major angst but tooth rotting fluff!

αυтнσя'ѕ ησтє: i freaking love this request so much. i’m doing so much smut in my stories it’s nice to just sit back and cuddle bucky lol [as per usual timeline has everyone alive and well because i reject *nf*n*ty w*r and *ndg*m* ;)]

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You sat alone in the dark just as the day before; and the day before that, and the day before that. 

Recently, there’s been a higher demand for the Avengers help and truthfully it’d been extremely draining for everyone. Thankfully thought, this entire week nobody had called an avengers level threat. Unfortunately for you, you haven’t been able to get any shut eye. 

Now here you were again wide awake in the early hours of the day. It was dead silent in your room; you could hear the blood rushing in your ears and the soft thumps of your heart beat. Your breathing was irregular since you were so aware of everything little thing your body was doing and feeling. 

The clothes you wore felt gross moving along your skin with each breath you took. The blankets overheating your legs. Everything was becoming overwhelming and your anxiety spiked. 

You practically jumped out of bed and turned your light on. You went to open the curtains to let some source of light in; the moon was bright that night. But when you did so your eyes shut involuntarily from the brightness of the morning sun you weren’t aware of. 

“It’s morning?” you said to yourself. 

“What the fuck,” you mumbled, tears brimming your eyes.

You breathed out heavily, sighing, and went to your dresser to grab some day appropriate clothes. You went into the bathroom and fixed your appearance applying an extra amount of concealer and blush to hide that desperate tiredness in your face. 

When you felt you were approachable you put on a happy face just like the day before, before heading to the kitchen to grab some food. At least you were still feeding yourself and had somewhat of an appetite left. 

When you came practically the entire team was down there. 

“Good morning!” you said cheerfully.

“Morning!” everyone said back matching your enthusiasm. 

“How did everyone sleep?” you asked. You usually ask this almost to vicariously live through them; wishing for the restful nights everyone described. 

“Great.”

“Like a baby.”

“Pretty good, you?” Bucky said. 

You paused because usually no one asked you the same question, which was why you kept asking. You supposed that of course some day, someone was bound to ask about your night.

“Oh, um… could've been better,” technically that wasn’t a lie.

“Sorry to hear, doll.”

“Oh, it's fine,” you smiled and waved off. 

“Anybody got plans for today?” Nat asked everyone; no one answered except for a couple of shrugs and head shakes.

“You guys up for a movie night?”

“Yeah, sure,” everyone said. 

Everyone stayed almost the entire day in the common room watching movies, eating snacks, and talking about funny stories from missions. You stayed quiet not having any energy to converse with everyone. You felt like you were running on fumes.

You were so out of it you hadn’t realized the looks exchanged throughout everyone that knew something was off for you. Although you weren’t the loudest or most enthusiastic person on the team, you also weren’t one to not engage in conversations.

Every question or involvement of some sort in each conversation was always quickly dismissed or validated by you. Eventually you checked out entirely, holding what was possibly your seventh cup of coffee of the day. 

“Huh?” you didn’t hear the question asked by Nat.

“Y/n, you doing ok? You look sleepy,” Nat said, smiling softly.

“Uh, yeah I’m a bit tired. I think I’ll head to bed.”

Everyone looked at you strangely as you got up.

“Is there a problem?” you asked, feeling slightly more insecure.

“It’s six p.m.,” Steve said, “Pretty early for bed, don’t you think?”

“Isn’t that like your tenth cup of coffee?” Nat started.

“Are you alright, Y/n?”

“What’s going on?”

“You look pale.”

Everything was getting too overwhelming, voices echoed in your head. Tears started to form in your eyes as you stared down at your coffee before setting it down; your hands were trembling. You wanted to run away, so that’s what you did.

“Sorry, I-” you ran off hearing your name being called by some of the team.

You got to your room and slammed the door behind you. You felt humiliated and embarrassed. Your body was still shaking and you breathed heavily trying to calm down before you have an anxiety attack. 

Suddenly, a knock at your door scared the hell out of breaking you momentarily from your trance. You swung the door open to find Bucky standing at your door, worrisome written all over his face. 

“Can I come in?”

You couldn’t say anything. You wanted to but just stood there frustrated with yourself. 

“It’s ok, doll. I’m here,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around your shoulders to pull you in a warm hug. 

“I don’t know why I feel like this. I hate it. I can’t sleep, I barely eat, I’m so tired,” you cried to him.

“I know,” he said.

“I just wanna- I just wanna disappear for a bit you know? Like go somewhere where I don’t have to worry about everything bad.”

“Me too,” he comforted.

“I’m sorry,” you said after a moment of silence.

“For what? You don’t have to be sorry.”

“For this,” you sniffled, “For getting boogers and tears on your shirt.”

“It’s ok,” he chuckled.

“Y/n, I know exactly how it feels. And I know that bottling all that up just makes it worse; makes you feel horrible and gross. I don’t like seeing you like this. Not sleeping, you hardly talk anymore; and it’s not just this past week we noticed your shift. I know things are hard and you feel like telling people is just gonna make them think you’re weird or a burden, but I promise you you’re not. We’re here to talk, be there for you because we know you’d do the same for us. We’re family, and we love you. We all do. I love you. So talk to me ok?”

You were a mess. Thinking about it again, you hadn’t had a restful night in a very long time; you couldn’t remember. You weren’t taking care of yourself as you normally would and it was true you spent more time alone afraid that you’d be a bother if the team noticed your upset attitude. 

Tears were falling heavily down your cheeks to your neck; some dripped to the floor. Your hands were practically gripping Bucky’s forearms pulling close to you. You wiped away the tears quickly and sniffled.

“Thank you Bucky,” you whispered, and he hugged you tightly.

“Can you sleep with me tonight?” you asked him.

“Ok,” he walked over to the bed with you and climbed under the sheets. 

He was already wearing sweatpants but you weren’t. Without any care, you pulled your bottoms off for they would’ve been uncomfortable to wear to sleep and crawled beside Bucky to fall asleep. 

There was no tension between you, it was quite domestic almost. You curled up to Bucky’s side cuddling his warm body before closing your eyes. Bucky’s fingers traced along your arm that laid across his stomach while the other rubbed your head delicately. 

You opened your eyes once more and looked up at Bucky and leaned in to kiss him softly. You rested your forehead against his own and gingerly bumped your noses.

“I love you too Buck,” you whispered.

Bucky smiled and kissed you again. You closed your eyes and for the first time in too long you had a restful night; limbs tangled with Bucky’s, someone you love and trust more than anyone in the whole world. And thankfully, he felt the same way for you. 

The next morning, you actually woke up. You felt rested. You stretched your limbs out before remembering about last night and Bucky. You looked around the room and didn’t see him. 

You looked at your clock on your bedside table and noticed it was already eleven in morning; almost noon. You got change quickly and went downstairs to find everyone laughing and eating breakfast.

When you got down and joined the team Bucky looked at you and got up to hug you and kiss you gently. He smiled and sat with you at the kitchen counter where there was a plate of breakfast waiting just for you.

“Morning, how’d you sleep?” Nat asked, cheerfully just like you do to them.

“I slept,” you ended your sentence making everyone chuckled and smile.

“Seriously though, I slept very well,” you looked to Bucky and gave him a little kiss before digging into your food. 

“Oh, you guys?” you asked after a couple of bites.

“Sorry about yesterday.”

“Don’t be, we talked about this,” Bucky rubbed your thigh softly.

“I know but I still feel kinda bad for kinda ruining movie night. Can we try again tonight?” you asked.

Everyone smiled and looked to each other as if to see who had plans and eventually nodded. They came forward and huddled around you to give you a big group hug making you laugh as their cheesy antic.

“You guys are so cheesy,” you laughed.

“We love you, Y/n!” Nat shouted.

“We love you!” everyone followed.

“I love you guys too. Very much.”

[haus-seeblick]

Suptober Day 1! “Harvest”

My first ficlet for Suptober! Read under the cut :)

Pairing: Castiel/Dean Winchester

Rating: Mature 

Word Count: 2,218

Tags: Fluff, Disaster Bi Dean Winchester, Daydreaming about hot farmers, Some suggestive language (and swearing), Angelic wheat harvest assistance, The Dom Brow makes an appearance, Sam Ships It, Mini Case Fic  

On AO3 here.

“All right,” Dean announces as he stomps into the hospital room, trailing mud with every step. “You’re not gonna have a problem anymore, Randy.”

The man propped up on the hospital bed cushions glares at Dean from under bushy eyebrows. “Well, it’s about time,” he snaps. “First these-- these things terrorize my fields for weeks, then y’all show up and are so useless that they maim me after you’re already on the case, and now I’ve lost the prime window to harvest a year’s worth o’ growth ‘cause I’m laid up in this godforsaken facility. So don’t you tell me I ain’t gonna have a problem anymore.” 

Dean sinks down onto the rickety plastic chair next to the bed, moving gingerly to avoid jostling his (probably) dislocated shoulder, courtesy of some extremely vengeful spirits. He fixes Randy with an even gaze. 

“Man, I’m sorry about your leg. I am. The spirits had a wider range than we thought and we figured you’d be safe at the house.”

Randy snorts in obvious derision, his scruffy mustache fluttering comically. Dean presses on.

“But, we’ve put them to rest. Your great-grandparents aren’t gonna give you any more grief.”  Even if the rest of your family did totally fuck them over.

He stands again, awkwardly, and pats Randy’s good knee. “Sorry about your harvest, though. Can anyone help out? Neighbors? Friends?”

Randy glowers. “I ain’t takin’ no charity.”

Dean quirks his lips and nods. “Right. Take it easy, Randy.” He leaves the still-grumbling farmer behind, following his own trail of mud back down the hallway. A tall janitor lurking around the corner sends him a death glare and Dean tries for an appropriately apologetic smile. 

It’s been a real headache of a night. 

The pair of spirits haunting Randy Johnson’s wheat fields ended up being way more pissed off than Sam, Dean, and Cas had anticipated. By the time Cas located the heavy brass key to the farmhouse that was apparently tethering the property-line-obsessed spirits to the material plane, Dean and Sam were long out of rock salt. In their retreat, they’d ended up waist-deep in a pebbly creek, splashing and wobbling as they beat off the screeching spirits with crowbars. Dean has an unfortunately-placed boulder to thank for his dislocated shoulder -- he went down hard and clumsy just as Cas reappeared next to the stream, the old key melting dramatically in the bright glow of his palm. 

The spirits burned away in a shower of sparks, along with Dean’s dignity.

To top it all off, Dean drew the short straw to go tell Randy the case was closed, and he may have stomped off in a sulky huff before thinking of asking Cas or Sam to put his shoulder right. 

Oh, well. At least it’s dealt with. One more night in their more-stained-than-usual motel room, and first thing in the morning they’ll get the hell outta Dodge (almost literally - they’re up in Osborne County). 

Dean thinks of a bright July morning on the open road and sighs in relief.

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

He doesn’t get his wish.

“I just feel bad, Dean!” Sam protests as Dean gesticulates incredulously at him. (His shoulder was very pleasantly healed by Cas the night before, and if Dean noticed that Cas’ warm hands lingered a little longer on his skin than was technically necessary for a cursory dislocation repair, he didn’t mention it.)

“God, Sammy, yeah, it sucks about the guy’s leg, but maybe if he wasn’t such an asshole to everyone he knows, somebody’d help him out! It’s not-- it can’t be our problem.”

Sam crosses his arms stubbornly. “It’s not about Randy. His fields are part of a huge supply that feeds a ton of people. Do you want people to go hungry, Dean?”

Castiel chooses that moment to materialize directly next to Dean, his nose inches away from Dean’s cheek. He’s holding two steaming cups of coffee and Dean immediately grabs one. Cas squints and tilts his head. “Why does Dean want people to go hungry?”

“Oh my god.” Dean throws his free hand up. “Fine. Fucking fine. We’ll find someone who’s willing to plow the dude’s fields. That’ll be easy.”

Sam opens his big mouth, probably to say something about having faith in humanity, but Cas beats him to it. Still planted firmly in Dean’s bubble, he sends a puff of warm air against Dean’s face as he speaks.

“Oh. I can do it.”

Dean and Sam both look at him. Dean shuffles back a couple steps and wills his eyes away from the guy’s lips. He really spends too much time staring at them.

“Um--” Sam clears his throat. “You can harvest Randy’s wheat?”

“I can plow, yes.” Cas nods firmly. Dean’s first sip of coffee comes spraying back out. He pounds his chest and wheezes. 

“Like-- like-- with a combine?” 

Cas furrows his brow. “Is that a machine? No, I don’t require machinery. This is a very basic task.”

“Plowing,” Dean says weakly.

“Harvesting,” Cas corrects, tilting his chin down and narrowing his eyes. “Humans have been doing it for a very long time. I used to help, now and again. I can’t imagine the process has changed much.”

Sam slaps his thighs as he stands up from his bed. “Well! Look at that, Dean. Cas doesn’t want people to go hungry.” 

Dean flips him off, but it lacks the usual heat.

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

An hour later, they find themselves on the edge of a vast, lazily undulating expanse of gold. They’d skirted the north edge of the field extensively while working the spirit case, since the activity was strongest there along the creek, but in his single-minded focus Dean hadn’t really paid much attention to the field itself.

It’s big. Like, squint-into-the-distance-and-you-can’t-see-the-end big. 

“You’re really gonna plow all that?” Dean asks, glancing at Cas. The morning sun is turning the tips of Cas’ hair a chestnut gold. 

“I will cut down the stalks, separate the grain from the chaff, and deposit the edible grain into a large truck, which apparently takes it where it needs to go,” Cas says matter-of-factly. “I visited Randy early this morning to make sure I knew which truck it was.”

Sam laughs. “Oh yeah? How’d good old Randy take that?”

“He seemed dubious,” Cas says. “And rude. I assured him that despite his unsavory attitude, he would come home to harvested fields.”

“Very angelic of you,” Sam remarks. 

“So how’s this gonna go?” Dean lifts a hand to block out the steadily-rising sun. “You gonna be flapping back and forth? Probably not smart to let the locals clock an angel doing the harvest.”

Cas arches an eyebrow at him, somehow gazing down at Dean despite being an inch shorter. “I don’t flap, Dean. I may have wings, but their movement in the ether is beyond your comprehension.” 

Dean rolls his eyes and turns his face away in a show of studying the field to the north, but mostly to conceal the flush of his cheeks in response to that eyebrow. 

For Christ's sake, keep it together, Winchester.

“I can’t explain to you how it will look,” Cas continues, oblivious. “You’ll just have to watch. Anything you see will be for your eyes only. I guarantee no locals will ‘clock me.’”

Dean looks back just in time to see the tail end of the finger quotes. Cas is staring right at him, that damn eyebrow still up, a subtle challenge, daring Dean to make a move.

Maybe not so oblivious. Asshole. 

Dean smiles sweetly and gestures at the wheat. “All right then. Have at it, buddy. Show us what you’ve got.”

With no further ado, Cas is gone. Dean’s left staring through the previously-Cas-occupied space at his brother, who’s grimacing with an air of great suffering. 

“What?” Dean demands. 

Sam sighs heavily and gazes out over the field. “You two are so weird.”

Dean’s about to respond with something really witty when Sam perks up and points into the distance. “Holy crap, look!”

Dean follows the path of Sam’s outstretched finger and his mouth drops open. On the horizon, at the far end of the field, there’s a cloud. No-- a mini tornado. A golden tornado. A… sparkly tornado?

“What the--” Dean cups his hands around his eyes like blinkers. Even with the glare of the sun blocked out, though, the tornado is just as bright -- a swirling, racing funnel criss-crossing the field way faster than a combine, or even Baby, could drive. 

“Why is it-- what’s the sparkly stuff?” 

Sam’s squinting too. “I think it’s the pieces of the stalks he’s separating? And they catch the light as they get tossed around.” 

The tornado’s already halfway across the field, approaching them steadily. It’s about as tall as an oak tree, and as it gets closer Dean sees that Sam was right: thousands of little stalks and bits of grain and -- what had Cas called it? -- chaff are whirling and flitting amid the twisting golden dust of the tornado. The effect is a bit dizzying, kind of like that ocular migraine Dean had one time as a teenager, when an aura of tiny flashing spots obscured his vision, right there in his eye yet impossible to focus on. 

He steps back instinctively, Sam mirroring his movement, when the tornado grows close to them. It whips past, blowing Dean’s jacket open, and where there was once chest-high golden grain, there’s now just dirt littered with aborted stalks. 

“Damn,” Dean whispers. He’s seen Cas do all kinds of badass things, of course, but they’ve been more of the smiting and heavy-lifting variety. This is a new level of cool. In a farmer-y way. This, of course, leads Dean’s traitorous brain directly to images of worn flannel stretched tight over biceps; of a blade of hay dangling jauntily from chapped lips; of long, strong fingers gripping a pitchfork--

“--Dean!” 

The pleasantly-evolving bubble bursts. Dean twitches as Sam elbows him in the ribs.

“Dude! Cas is done, come on.”

Dean blinks a few times to bring himself back to reality (a reality with wheat-harvesting angel tornados) and realizes that Sam’s heading north along the field to where a normal-sized, non-funnel-cloudy Cas is standing, brushing off his trenchcoat. Dean follows his brother and takes in the scene; the whole field really has been reduced to nothing -- just a flat, dappled expanse.

“Damn, Cas,” he says quietly as he reaches Cas’ side. His voice comes out strained and a little breathless. “That was some good plowing.”

“Thank you, Dean,” Can replies gravely. He tugs on his cuffs and some wheat dust puffs out. “It was an effective harvest. I disguised myself from mortal eyes -- including yours -- as I transported the grain to the truck, but I trust you saw the rest?”

Sam nods enthusiastically and launches straight into a barrage of questions about the physics and techniques and yadda yadda before Dean has to come up with a response. Yeah, I saw it. Yeah, it got me all tingly. That’s normal. He takes a few deliberate, slow breaths to calm the pounding in his chest.

Still tuning Sam out, he zeroes in on a single piece of wheat still stuck in Cas’ hair. It’s poking up toward the blue summer Kansas sky -- a tiny, trembling link between earth and heaven. Dean sidles up to Cas before he can overthink it. He slips his fingers into Cas’ wild, dark hair and plucks the wheat out. 

He throws it on the ground. It belongs to the earth. 

Sam falls silent with a choked-off laugh and Cas turns his trademark unblinking stare onto Dean. But this time there’s a slight crinkle to the edges of his eyes. A quirk of his lips. 

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas says again. He reaches out and -- Dean stops breathing -- brushes another piece of wheat out of Dean’s collar. His warm fingers graze Dean’s throat and all Dean can do is watch the little stalk flutter to the ground. 

Well. So much for a steady heartbeat. 

“Hey, I’ve got stuff in my hair, too,” Sam announces, voice thick with amusement. “Anyone gonna help me out?”

Dean tears his eyes away from the enlightening piece of wheat and points a finger at Sam, leveling him with his sternest shut the fuck up face. He prays his cheeks aren’t flaming. 

“If you need assistance, Sam--” Cas says, starting toward him.

“--He’s fine,” Dean interjects hastily. Maybe a little loudly. He coughs to cover it up. Smooth. “Let’s go. I wanna hit the road.”

Sam’s already jogging away before Dean’s done speaking. “I’ve still got the keys,” he calls over his shoulder. “I’ll warm up the car. You guys can catch up!”

Cas and Dean are left at the edge of the empty field. Dean rubs his neck and shuffles his feet, acutely aware of Cas’ piercing gaze. It’s nearly warmer than the morning sun. “Uh-- that was really cool, Cas. Thanks for letting us see it.”

“Of course, Dean,” Cas replies, measured and deep. “I enjoyed sharing that with you.”

Wow. All right. Dean needs to get moving or he’s going to explode. But not before filing that particular comment away for extensive mental perusal later, in the privacy of his bedroom. 

He flashes a grin and punches Cas’ shoulder. “Come on, farmer angel. Let’s go home.”

[bearseokie]

First Heat (M) | Got7 Reaction

request: werewolf! got7 where they experience their first heat in the relationship, fluff but slight smut

[warnings]: mature content, slight detailed smut, clingy, unprotected sex, voyeurism (kinda), shower sex, slight dom undertones

got7 m.list | navi.

Mark:

Mark was naturally seducing when he wanted your attention, giving sensual glares at you when he was in the mood. His heat hit in the middle of the day, constant glances at you sending shivers up your spine. His eyes would be darker than usual, light sighs coming from him when you would get too close. His hands would run over your skin, small kisses on your neck and shoulders throughout the day until you both got home.

Finally having you alone, he'd give you a night to remember, not letting you leave the bed until he was satisfied. His first few waves making him so full of energy and stamina that you could barely keep up. He'd have you any way he preferred, making you scream his name until you both would rest in each other's arms.

The next morning he'd be up early, a large breakfast cooking as you slowly made your way into the kitchen to see what all the amazing smells were. He'd have a bundle of flowers for you on the table, a large array of your favorite breakfast foods set out. A huge smile would be on his face as he tugged you into his arms, holding on to you tightly.

"You know," he laughs. "We still have two more days of this."

Jaebeom:

The naturally dominant Jaebum wouldn't be as prepared as he anticipated. His heat would begin in the middle of the night, rising in temperature as his entire body began sweating like crazy. He'd toss back and forth in an attempt to get comfortable, and eventually end up on the floor where it's colder. You'd wake up from all of his movement just as he rolled off the mattress, hearing a loud thud against the wooden floor as you crawled down to look at him. He laid flat on his stomach, face against the floor as he told you to go back to sleep.

The next day he would be extra clingy, giving you back hugs at random times, smelling your hair, giving light kisses as he looked out of his mind. His body wouldn't lose the extreme heat, though the sweating would eventually calm down. He would keep the house colder than usual, trying to make you less concerned about why he felt like a heater. His hair would stay messy, ruffled against his ears as he wasn't able to stop rubbing his head and skin.

He would tell you that he felt fuzzy like he was in a cloud. Despite the feeling, he would try to keep the day normal for as long as he could. Concealing his heat, he would convince you that it wasn't bothering him at all. And you believed him until that night. Returning home from grabbing takeout, you walked into your living-room with the bag when you heard strange grunts coming from your bedroom. Jaebum sat on the end of the bed, rubbing himself as he noticed your presence had come back into the home.

"Join me, will you?" he croaked between grunts as he gestured for you to go over to him.

Jinyoung:

Jinyoung's alluring attitude towards you became a regular occurrence, but with the rush of his heat coming on, he was a bit overwhelmed. The first day he would be completely distant, you'd only see him for meals and again before bed. His smell would be off, a bit heavier than usual. He would sleep on his side of the bed, faced away from you in fear that he wouldn't be able to control himself with you in his grasp.

The next day would be even weirder, a rough hold on your hips during the day, and heavier PDA than what you were used to with Jinyoung. He seemed looser, swaying around your home as he tried occupying himself from you. His trial was running out, and soon enough he had you pinned against the wall with his teeth biting gentle marks on your nape. He could hear your small gasps, making him bounce and tug you into the bedroom.

"I held it in for as long as I could." he'd say, a harsh kick at the door as it slammed shut.

Jackson:

Jackson's puppy persona on a regular day was nothing like when his heat would take over for three days a year. He'd be clingy, a tight hold on your hand when you left your home, lips never wanting to leave yours, eyes constantly staring at you like you would vanish if he looked away. His need to be around you even followed into your shower time, and although you normally showered together, his clinginess was beginning to make you wonder if it was his heat.

He would gently clean you, hands running over your bare skin with rough breaths as he tried to keep his cool, eventually giving in and making passionate love to you under the water raining from the shower above. He wouldn't be able to stop there, continuing the fun under the covers and even on the rug of the living room in front of the blazing fireplace.

The last day of his heat he wouldn't be as needy, but more affectionate than ever. He'd request to brush your hair just so he could play with it, ask to give you massages, and even go as far as piggy-back rides instead of making you walk the few blocks to your favorite restaurant.

"Too bad this is only once a year, huh?" he'd giggle.

Youngjae:

Youngjae wasn't quiet about his heat kicking in, warning you days ahead so you wouldn't find him randomly rutting against a pillow trying to hold his urges from getting to you. Though you'd comfort him and tell him that you'd be okay with whatever happens, he'd still be a bottle of anxiety. He'd lay with his legs over your waist at night, his hold on you only letting up when you told him you were getting too hot from his own body heat. He'd pout and release you until you fell back asleep, pulling your body into his again.

You would end up finding him in strange places. For instance, that morning you found him in the cabinet under the sink eating a bowl of grapes. Even he couldn't explain that situation. He'd request both of you stay home for the weekend, movies playing on the tv as he cuddled against you on the couch. Everything was fine until you accidentally grazed your hand over his thigh, and then he was all in for the rest of the night. He had you moaning into the couch as he would lick at you, giving you no mercy.

"I think I enjoyed that too much." he'd whine as he felt his heat lifting the next day.

BamBam:

You could tell BamBam was uncomfortable immediately, his constant rocking as he began turning pale. He made you think he was sick, feeding him some soup and trying to cool off his body with a fan and cold rag. He let you baby him until he felt bad, telling you that his heat was coming over him, which led to you lightly hitting him with the wet rag as he hysterically laughed at your amount of concern.

It was funny for the entire night, his little chuckles still ringing from the bedroom as you left him to get on your laptop. He'd quietly sneak up behind you, kissing your cheek as you tried ignoring him, his pout going unnoticed as he pulled your chair out from the desk and took a seat on your lap. Wiggling his eyebrows, he'd hold a smirk on his face as he gave you small kisses, eventually swapping places with you as he ground into your lower half with his own, leading to the both of you getting it out of his system right then and there.

It would be the middle of the night before the two of you finally finished your sexual escapades, laughter still coming from both of you while you cleaned up and went to shower.

"I think we broke your chair!" he'd yell while bouncing towards the bedroom.

Yugyeom:

You had requested time off work, Yugyeom making his heat as important as he could, mainly because he was so nervous that he could barely function. It had kicked in during the middle of work, and even after he took a cold shower- he was sent home. He was happy to be greeted by you again as he walked through the front door, the earlier trip home making you begin to worry since he was so set on finishing his work hours. The light kisses all around your face were cleansing, but you could tell he was fighting his heat as much as he could.

That night you were both relaxed in bed, your head on his chest. It wasn't until his breath sped up that you grew even more concerned, lifting your head to see that he had broken into another sweat, tears brimming his eyes. You could tell he was in pain, the pain coming from his lower half as he palmed himself to relieve the tension, but failed.

"Make me feel better?" he asked in a whisper. "All night, maybe?"

[rocknrollarticles]

Chris Simmonds interviews Jon Lord for Beat International Magazine, December 1975

(article transcription continues below the cut)

Lord of The Deep

“I don’t think rock could exist and roll exist without solos — it’s a vital form of musical expression.”

Jon Lord of Deep Purple is undoubtedly a rarity. He combines the most pleasing qualities, rarely found among others enjoying a similar position on the Rock and Roll roundabout. We have man who has been making successful records for over seven years, and who remains both verbally and musically articulate with out ever resorting to the more flamboyant pretensions exhibited by so many of his contemporaries. He is a star, to be sure, but never to the point of camouflaging the musician.

With the reformed Purple off to the States until Christmas, we were delighted when Jon agreed to meet us at the airport before take-off to talk about Purple, new and old, and in general his particular role as keyboard player. The time was apt as we had just heard enough of the tapes of the band’s new album (Come Taste The Band) to suggest that it would totally eclipse the rather disappointing Stormbringer.

Jon, notorious for his late plane catching, arrived early this time, and cast his mind back to the days of Deep Purple Mark 1. The In Rock album was certainly the first major step towards worldwide acceptance, and we asked how this style change had been linked with the departure of original members Rod Evans and Nicky Simper, vocals and bass. 

Concise

“Christ, that far back. My memory isn’t all that good. Basically, it was that three people in the band wanted two to leave, and In Rock shows exactly what we wanted to get into. In fact, we had already been playing the In Rock style on stage, but we had never done it on an album. With lan Gillan and Roger Glover in the band, we had two rock and rollers, much more so than the others.

“It might just have been the climate of the times, but we did feel that the previous albums had rambled a bit. This attitude almost went against us, because we were so concise with In Rock that it became very hard to follow. This move was in fact largely motivated by Ritchie, and the general agreement by the majority of the band was that this was what we should do.

“I went down at the time as saying that I totally agreed with the policy but thought it should have been little more relaxed, and as a result of that Ritchie and I had a few arguments. These resolved themselves and resulted in Machine Head which, apart from the new one, was to my mind our best album.

If there were the odd moments of apathy from Ritchie, I certainly never shared them, apart from Who Do We Think Are which I disliked intensely. It was done in a mood of total fed-upness. lan left shortly afterwards, because by then he and Ritchie were having head-on collisions, so that probably caused the bad moods of that time.

Freedom

“However, most of the albums were a great joy to make. Although Fireball got slagged a bit, you must remember that it followed a smash success album, and that’s always difficult. It still gave me great satisfaction.” During this period a very prominent feature of the Purple music was a never ending rash of frantic solos. How far did Jon feel that they were an integral part of the songs?

“So long as it fits the song, I’m delighted to have them. We have reached the point now that even when I am playing the part of a backing musician I have much greater freedom. The song structure with Glenn (Hughes) and Tommy (Bolin) isn’t set any more. We are trying to loosen the whole thing up, and cut out the ‘this happens in that bar and that happens there’ attitude.

“The days of the really long solos have gone, and I am talking about the twenty five minute jobs. Everyone will still have their solo slot, because basically that is what Deep Purple is all about. We have always prided ourselves on our individual abilities, and we like to show it. Quite frankly, we sometimes went much too far in the past, and some of the others’ solos bored me.”

Given Jon’s feelings about solos, did he have any special preference about playing the more direct songs like Speed King and Highway Star or the more protracted tracks like The Mule?

“I’m quite happy with either role, so long as I am happy with the song in the first place. I don’t mind sitting back behind the guitar because that is just as creative as leading the song. Actually, that’s a tricky question, because the Hammond doesn’t really sit all that well in rock and roll as a backing instrument. It took me a long time and a lot of hard work to find an acceptable way of incorporating the instrument… Where was I? Oh yes, at the same time I have to solo — every musician does.

I don’t think rock and roll could exist without solos — it’s a vital form of musical expression. It’s a way of stretching out, but of course how much you do so is up to you, or the band. A musician should solo as long as he feels he is feeding off the audience, but I feel that it is unforgivable to bore an audience.”

Possibilities

With the new members, what possibilities did Jon see as far as his own instrument was concerned? “I really see many. Ritchie was a very demanding player in that he really enjoyed the limelight. I mean, we all did obviously, but I suppose he was so extrovert on stage to balance the introvert he was offstage. It’s hard to speak objectively as he was my friend for seven years. One of the nice things about having an American in the band is the more quote laid back unquote atmosphere. I enjoyed Tommy’s solo album.” And Ritchie’s album?

“There was certainly a Purple sound, but thought it was second rate Purple, and you can print that. I was surprised to say the least, because he said he wanted to go right back to the raw roots he felt we were abandoning. At the same time I suspect that his next album will be a bitch.”

Apathy

On the subject of these recent albums, Jon went on to compare Stormbringer and Come Taste The Band. “I liked the Stormbringer album. It was certainly a little different. There was a certain apathy on Ritchie’s part — he was already thinking of leaving — and perhaps it shows. We should have attacked it more as Deep Purple rather than approaching it in that dispirited way. I’m really not trying to make Ritchie a whipping boy — I really don’t want to — but you mentioned the word apathy and I think I would have to go along with that. But if the album didn’t quite come off, it didn’t sell as well as the others had, so there’s justice there.”

Jon is well known for his classical inclinations, and we wondered if they might reemerge more strongly within the new band framework?

“I’m really two musicians, and they meet somewhere in the middle. The outer edges can never get together, and that’s why I make solo albums, just to get things out of my head and out of my system. Look — I’m not carrying a cross for classical music — I’m a rock and roller and I have been for ten years. There just happens to be more, that’s all.”

What did he feel that the future held for the keyboard? “I think now that it has arrived with a vengeance, it will stay. Keyboard players are having to get more versatile in respect of the number of instruments they are having to play. The organ sound as just an organ sound is already overused, and I personally use synthesizers, a clavinet and a Fender Rhodes besides the Hammond.

Technique

“I have countered this dilemma of 'old hat’ sound by having my set up built specially for me. I have four Leslies which have been totally ripped out and replaced with better components, Crown amps, and all the keyboards, about six, go through the Leslies. The organ has also been messed around with, so it’s not a straight Hammond sound — it’s a particular sound that I feel fits our kind of music.”

Jon was also glad to offer tips to the embryonic keyboard wizard. “Well, even though it’s 'just’ rock and roll, I think it’s invaluable to acquire a technique of some sort. By all means absorb from other people, and try find out how they do it, but then you mus try to branch off and perfect your own style. Things like scales and arpeggios, although very boring, are bloody well worth while. If you are soloing, and your fingers won’t do what is in your head, it’s the most frustrating thing in the world. I have never regretted the hours and hours of practising that I have put in. I try to listen as much as I can to what else is going on in the rock world — I think it is important to be aware of what your peers are doing.

Relaxation

“I was talking to lan Gillan the other night on just this subject, and he said he never used to listen to anyone but Deep Purple and Elvis Presley. He admitted that he was totally wrong. He said that since he had been off the road he had been listening to everything that he could, and he realised how much he had missed. You don’t listen to others to copy — just to judge the feel of the business. Anyway, it’s a relaxation to me.”

The hidden speakers in the roof of the lounge was announcing the departure of the Purple flight. “I feel as if I could go on for another twenty years,” said Jon jumping up. “Thanks a lot for talking to me.”

[madamewriterofwrongs]

May and the Rainbow Kingdom

911/Buck & May

Written for @cirrius-akiyo who wanted a Buck & May friendship.

The station was unusually quiet when she walked through the front door. The trucks were still in their place, being polished and restocked by other crew members – most of whom paid her no mind or recognized her as the ‘captain’s kid’. She’d only been called that once, but she remembered the uneasy feeling and the sneer of the probationary officer’s voice. A well-practiced eyebrow raised, and her best customer service smile, ensured he never bothered her again.

Today she wasn’t here as the ‘captain’s kid’, she was here as a friend in need of help from another – older and wiser – friend. A glance at the ambulance missing from its usual station dampened her expectations slightly.

“Hey, May.” She looked up to see a familiar face waving at her from the loft and she jogged to meet him.

“Hey, Buck. I was hoping to talk to Hen, is she around?”

The blond-haired firefighter returned to his task of tidying the upper floor (the table smelt comfortingly of bleach and lemon so he was nearly done) while she knelt on the couch to watch him work.

“Sorry; she just left on a call with Chim and Bobby. Is there anything I can help you with?”

She tried to keep the dejected sigh from her voice. “How versed are you on Bioethics of Non-Existence?”

It was almost comical, the way Buck paused in his sweeping to take in her question. “I definitely recognize some of those words.”

As she suspected; May turned to collapse onto the couch with a groan. “I really needed to talk to Hen.” Not that she didn’t trust the other adults in her life – Maddie had tried to help, but she’d been out of Medicine for too long – Hen was her last hope.

“School going that well, huh?” She didn’t have to look to hear the amusement in the man’s voice.

“It’s actually pretty good.” She admitted, still slumped half-off the couch. “I just have mt midterm on Friday and I really need someone who can test me on this stuff.”

“I’m sure you’ve got a handle on it. You were always a smart kid.”

May did smile at that. It was easier to accept being called a child from someone who actually knew her as a child. Granted, she and Buck weren’t overly close, but he was always nice to her, and Bobby seemed fond of him.

“I’ve studied this stuff over and over but I just don’t feel ready” she admitted to the ceiling. Maybe Buck should clean those rafters (he was certainly tall enough). Better yet, maybe she could do it. “I either need a distraction or another month of review.”

Maybe if she hid out at the station, she could lie to her professor and say she had a medical emergency. Or maybe, she could convince him to let her take her exam tomorrow and put her out of her misery. She hated the waiting game. The more she reviewed the material, the less secure she felt in her knowledge. It just needed to be over and done with so she could start stressing about the next thing. Her English essay was due next week. It could use a third rewrite.

“I don’t know about the review.” Visions of Buck peering over top of her, pulled May out of her spiral. “But if you’re in need of a distraction, I could use a co-babysitter tonight. I’m watching Christopher while Eddie’s out on a date and I’m sure he’d love to hang out with you.”

An evening spent with her stepdad’s friend, and her stepdad’s other friend’s son was not exactly what she had in mind for a Monday night, but it was better than nothing. Besides, she liked Christopher well enough; he was a cute kid with a sensible head on his shoulders. And Buck was nice – if a little bit accident-prone for the amount of times she’d visited him in the hospital – plus it was an excuse to get out of her routine for a few hours. Maybe she could come early and ask Eddie some questions (an army medic had to have some thoughts on ethics in medicine, right?).

“Sure,” she smiled up at him. “why not?”

Which was how May found herself squished between a surprisingly calm 10-year-old, and an overly-energetic 29-year-old, splitting the difference as she scrolled through their Netflix Kids’ queue.

Christopher had insisted that they didn’t need to use the kid’s channel as he was absolutely old enough to handle all the scary movies. She remembered Harry, not too long ago, with the same attitude (along with the same nightmare he’d had for weeks about a clown in a sewer). While Buck didn’t have the same experience, he was with her decision to stick to the lighter stuff for tonight. Perhaps he was being overly cautious as he always was with the boy.

Everyone in their circle knew about how Buck had saved Christopher during the tsunami and how close the three of them had become afterwards. It was no wonder he wanted to do everything in his power to protect him – even from the CGI monsters.

As they continued to scroll, she paused on their ‘Continue Watching’ bar, to see if there was anything they wanted pick up. She wasn’t about to watch whatever they chose for their post-dinner treat; she had her textbook and laptop in her bag all charged up.

Just as she was about to continue the search for the perfect movie, her eye caught one of the titles with a half-full red bar and shot a confused glance to Buck. The man kept his eyes purposefully trained on the screen, eyes darting to hers once, as a sign that he knew what she was looking at. Still, he showed no sign of explaining himself so she moved on. For now.

They ended up settling on one of the dinosaur documentary movies, but May kept her promise to herself and reviewed through the entire 90-minute event. It was easy enough to tune out, the graphics were fine, the story was predictable, but at least the boys on either side seemed to be enjoying themselves. Every once in a while, Buck would elbow her to pull her attention back to the screen but it never held her interest for more than a few minutes. Then Christopher would do the same, asking her questions or feeding her facts about the various dinosaurs. That did help for a little while, but even that kid’s endless enthusiasm couldn’t keep back the voice in her head that told her she should be studying.

As far distractions went, this night seemed to be a bust.

When she heard the water run in the bathroom, signally the beginning of Christopher’s bedtime routine, May found herself reaching for the remote once again; if only to keep her hands occupied while she waited to say goodbye to Buck. The least she could do was thank him for his attempt to distract her – even if it had failed.

That was when she found the ‘Continue Watching’ bar once again, and her curiosity got the better of her.

“What’s True and the Rainbow Kingdom?” she asked once her companion had returned. “’Cause it doesn’t seem like something Christopher would be into.”

Buck huffed as he flopped on the couch next to her. “Okay,” he began his confession by raising his hands in surrender. “I watched an episode to see if it was something that’d be appropriate for Nia, but I kind of started watching it on my own.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really” he matched her mocking tone. “Not all the time. But I’ll admit, when I’m having a bad day, it’s nice to turn my brain off with some mindless fun.”

She wasn’t laughing at him – maybe she was, but she wouldn’t tell him that – it was that the image of this grown man, sitting at home, watching what was clearly a Sophia the First carbon copy (if the design was to be believed), was very amusing to her.

“Wow, I see how it is.” Buck lightly pushed May as she shuffled over to create more space. “I try and help and instead you mock me. Very nice.”

Even as a joke, she saw his point and the laughter turned into a smile, which morphed into an eyeroll.

“You’ve got to admit, this doesn’t exactly fit your image.”

“I have no image” he protested. “I’m allowed to like whatever I like.”

“So, you wouldn’t mind if I text my mom that” she had barely begun picking up her phone from the coffee table, when he reached the device first.

“Don’t you dare.” More laughter did make her heart feel a little lighter.

He only handed her phone back once she’d half-heartedly agreed not to text her mom this fresh blackmail material. “I bet you’d like it. It’s about a girl and a cat, and she gets these wishes from a tree, and she uses them to help others.”

“The cat gets wishes?”

“Just” Buck rolled his eyes, grabbing the remote from the cushion between them. “we’re going to watch it right now.”

Without waiting for her response, Buck tapped the first episode and shushed her failed attempt to protest.

The first scene introduced a reasonably catchy theme song with bright colours, along with the main character True and her talking black cat named Bartleby. There was something about a party and a bitchy princess and a weird walking pill they called…something Banjo? Admittedly, when the cat said something sarcastic towards the girls, she cracked a smile, but her mind was still reviewing the differences between Potter’s and Callahan’s philosophies.

The next time she tuned back into the episode, they were sitting on mushroom stools under a tree, attempting to solve a problem as a group. When they took a deep breath, May found herself exhaling with them, and her forehead ached from holding tension for so long. Admittedly, it felt nice to relax her shoulders.

Okay, so this was clearly a kids’ show and nothing else. Mining wishes from a tree and using a book to decipher what all the wishes could do, as though they were Pokémon characters.  It was ridiculous, why was she still watching this? She needed to get home to study.  

“Sure, they get to use the ‘wishopedia’ but my professor won’t let me use Wikipedia as a starting source?” she grumbled under her breath.

“What was that?” She startled when Buck smirked at her.

May tucked back into the arm of the couch with a half-hearted glare. “Nothing.”

She really should be reviewing. The more time she wasted outside of the classroom, the worse her chances of success. She shouldn’t be wasting her time watching this kids’ monstrosity. This really was a stupid show. Why would True forgive Grizelda after she was such a bitch to Bingo-Bango? She was always so positive and patient. And she only used her special powers to help people. That was pretty nice.

That theme song was pretty catchy.

Before she knew it, she was four episodes in, watching two mushroom people win a motor race after everyone got detoured by falling crystals and Grizelda being a bitch (again).

“She should just toss the Cu-Bigly over the cliff and then throw Grizelda.” At Buck’s look of amused indignation, she shrugged. “What? She deserves it for sabotaging the race. It’s not like she’d die from that height.”

A quick glance at her phone told her it was after ten and she had a class in the morning. What astonished her most, was that she hadn’t thought about her course work in an hour. For the first time since starting university, she’d let herself escape her thoughts just for a little while; and honestly, she felt lighter for it.

Still unbelievably guilty for not spending every waking moment of her life preparing for her next test or assignment – but just a little bit lighter.

“Hey, Buck?” She turned to the man barely hiding the fact that he’d begun to doze off. May smirked when he awoke with a snort. “Thanks for your help, I really needed this.”

For a moment, she saw the ‘puppy dog’ that her mom liked to call him: the puffed chest and kind smile and excited eyes. She saw what won over her, somewhat cynical, mother; it made her smile brighter.

“Glad I could help.”

Buck was scrolling mindlessly through his phone two weeks later, when it buzzed with a new text notification, and his mood instantly improved.

87%

Also I may have finished the first season of TatRK

I totally ship True and Zee

Do you want me to wait for you to catch up?

“Hey, May passed her Bioethics Mid-Term” he announced to his friends sitting in the loft; the rest, he would keep as his own reward for a job well done.

Bobby looked up from his usual place in the kitchen, buttering a pan for some dish most of them wouldn’t get to eat. “Since when did May start telling you about her exam results?”

There was no honest answer that wouldn’t make him feel embarrassed, but Buck blushed regardless. “I, uh, helped her study.”

Eddie slapped his shoulder jovially as he passed on his way to grab a bottle of water. “Is there something you want to tell us? You have a secret Bioethics degree?”

Buck brushed him off with a smile. “No, but you do what you can to help out family, right?”

His eyes met with his Captain’s and there was a fondness he only saw with May and Harry. Something he hadn’t seen for himself in a long while.

“Yeah, kid, you do.”

[minghaocouture]

The Flower Path Grows Thorns: Chapter 2

Pairing: Vampire!Xu Minghao x Human!Reader

Genre: Romance, Fantasy, Non-Idol AU

Warnings: Language, mentions of blood, mild suggestive themes, vampires feeding, flashbacks, descriptions of dissociative episodes. mentions of violence.

WC: 4.1K

AU Info:  Lore Info/ Vampire Coven Info

Tag list: @smthingabtlove​

A/N: I’m pretty sure i tagged all the warning properly but if i missed anything please don’t hesitate to let me know! Totally didn’t edit this so pls don’t hate me oki?

Chapter List: One//Two//Three

Loud shouts of your name filled the air, you felt the ice cold wind assaulting your frame as a pair of strong arms wrapped themselves around your middle. The arms pulled you harshly, not caring if your feet kept up as they dragged you along. 

You felt your body fighting back, but it didn’t feel like you were in control. It was like someone else was behind the wheel and you were just along for the ride as your body fought back against your assailant. 

Your fighting halted as a sharp piercing pain erupted from your neck. Everything became a blur of red and white, of intense heat and a chilling cold. It was all too much as you felt your heart tighten inside your chest. Legs feeling like jelly and the only thing that seemed to be keeping you up was the arms around your waist as you slipped into unconsciousness.

***

Sweat dripped down your face as you sprung up in bed, chest heavy with breath as you tried to calm yourself. The light comforter felt constricting against your sweat soaked skin so you threw it off of you, and swung your legs off of the side of the bed to get some grounding for yourself. The hardwood beneath your feet was just cool enough to help with the process. You weren’t sure how much time had passed since your rough awakening, you were simply focused on controlling your breathing.

It had been about a month or so since your last intense night terror, the nightmare that caused you to relive that night back in January. The only thing you were grateful about right now was that you were no longer living with your brother, you always felt guilty when you would wake his family because of your dreams. 

Glancing over at the clock on your nightstand you let out a small whine, the bright red lights of the clock told you it was just past 5am. Way too early to get ready for the day but too late for you to get back into a deep sleep before your alarm would go off. 

Standing from your bed you made your way out of your room and entered the bathroom across the hall. Thinking that maybe a hot shower would be a good way to start the day. You turned the metal knobs and the water quickly began flowing, the sound filling up the previously empty space in the room. 

As you waited for the water to heat up, your mind wandered. The day was going to be a long one, not only did you have your first shift back today but also the blood night as well. You stared at the water as it left the faucet but your eyes couldn’t seem to focus. The longer your stare lingered the less you felt...real. You began to feel as you had in your dream, your limbs going numb and it felt like your body wasn’t your own once more. You couldn’t say that you hated the feeling in the moment simply because you felt nothing. It was almost like you didn’t exist metally. 

You were grateful to hear your text tone go off, as it snapped you out of whatever episode you had been having. Lifting the phone from the sink counter you glanced at the name, Soonhee. You were curious why she was messaging you, especially since it was technically late for her. Opening the message it read.

“Don’t forget your snack tonight. Minghao is really strict about that...and well everything honestly lol”

It was really sweet of her, it didn’t surprise you all that much that she had messaged you. Despite her rough outer appearance and attitude, Soonhee was quite kind and looked out for people who couldn’t look out for themselves. That’s probably why she was so willing to lend you a hand. Well, that as well as her own guilt.

With a sigh, you set your phone back down on the laminate countertop so that you could finally jump into the shower. It wasn’t long before the water ran cold, leading you to believe you had lost more time than you had originally thought. You’d have to keep any eye out on that in the future.

***

“Ahhh that shift sucked!” You whined, collapsing into the rolly chair in the back office. The shift had only lasted 4 hours, since your shop closed for a few hours mid day, but those four hours had felt like a full work day. You heard the familiar wheezing of Hoseok’s laugh as he stepped past the threshold to join you in the room. 

“It wasn’t that bad, you’re just out of practice,” Reaching out he ruffled your hair, as if he were the older of the two, before plopping down in the much less comfortable metal chair that was kept in the room. “You were gone for a pretty long time. I know January was pretty rough for you.” 

He had spoken far too knowingly for your liking, as if he was aware of what had transpired. Lifting your legs and crossing them while you sat on the chair, you decided to grab the corner of the desk and gently pushed off causing yourself to spin ever so slowly. 

“It wasn’t anything like that,” you lied. You couldn’t exactly tell him what had happened, you didn’t want him to live with the knowledge of the supernatural beings that now plagued your nights. “Ilya just needed someone to watch his daughter for a while and I agreed to do it.” 

Now that wasn’t exactly your best lie, but you had never claimed to be good at things like that. You preferred to be upfront about things, honesty was a trait you previously could have claimed as a core value of your person. Not anymore, not with all the things you had learned. It was just something to keep from regular humans.

A frown had pushed its way onto Hoseok’s face as he watched you spin. He looked like he wanted to say something, but something was holding him back and you weren’t sure what. So before he could continue his line of questioning, you spoke up again. 

“Do you close tonight?” It was a simple enough question, but one that could get his attention away from you. Slowly, your spinning had finally come to a stop which led you to have to manually rotate the chair so that you were still facing him. 

He nodded, his lower lip jutted out in a small pout. He crossed his arms over his chest, which incidentally made his biceps somehow look bigger than they already were (you swore half of your customers came here just to ogle at him.) He simply stared at you for a moment, worry filling his deep brown eyes. Reaching out, he placed a firm hand on your shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“You know you can talk to me right?” It was kind of him, and you really appreciated him. Just knowing that he was such a good friend and how he would be willing to drop just about anything just to help you out always brought a twinge of joy to your heart. You gently took the hand that was on your shoulder, holding it in your own, and smiled up at him. 

“I know, I really appreciate you Hoseok. but I’m fine I promise." You did your best to reassure your worry wart of a friend 

With a small smile you stood from the chair and made your exit from the room. There were still quite a few things to do before tonight. 

**

The night was dark and humid as you made your way to the bar once again. A small purse hoisted over your shoulder held the granola bar from the pack that you had purchased. It wasn't much but hopefully it would be enough to help you out after, well after everything.

Seeing the familiar neon sign you paused, staring at it for a moment. Did you really want to go through with this? You could always back out, even with the contract. You could just leave town and never come back, or you could take the less drastic approach of talking to them if it boiled down to it. 

Swallowing your fear and taking a deep breath, you proceeded towards the entrance of the bar. You were once again greeted by the woman from yesterday, though this time her shoulder length black hair was held up in a high ponytail that looked really good on her and she was sporting this rather cute purple outfit. If time permitted you might ask where she got it from. Her eyes lit up in recognition as she watched you approach. 

“Welcome back.” Was all she said, apparently not needing to see your ID this time since she had done so the night before. Despite this, you still stopped in front of her and pulled your wallet out from your purse so that you could retrieve the small card. 

“You’re Gahyeon right? I’m supposed to show this to you.” She took the card from you and gave it a good once over, making sure that it was legitimate. You felt the anxiety fill your gut once more, urging you to run away and not look back. You did your best to ignore it, shifting your weight a few times in an attempt to get rid of that nervous energy. 

After a moment, she passed the card back to you and fixed you with a stern look. “When you go inside, there will be a door in the far back left of the room that says ‘Employees only’. You’re going to go through that door and then knock on the second door to your right. Got it?” 

You nodded, making sure to repeat the directions back to her. Once she was satisfied her stern look faded and she smiled softly. 

“Thank you.”

Thank you? Was she thanking you for participating? You didn’t really know how to respond to that, so instead of saying anything you pushed a shaky smile onto your face and smiled as well. Then stepped past the threshold into the bar once again. It was the same as it was yesterday, bright lights flashing, loud music playing and of course the lingering smell of sweat and liquor in the air. 

Following Gahyeon’s directions, you made your way to the back of the bar when you had spoken to Minghao yesterday. Today though there were different faces behind the counter, of course you recognized Jun who flitted around behind the counter chatting it up with customers and refilling drinks, then there was another woman that you recognized but couldn’t place a name to, her hair was around the same shade as Jun’s if not a little darker blonde. As you went to pass, you just barely heard your name being called. Eyes returning to the bar, you were greeted by Jun’s bright smile as he jumped the counter so he could envelop you into a hug. 

“Y/N! I am so glad to see you here! When Minghao told me you were coming tonight, well I didn’t believe him at all!” He exclaimed, his arms pulling you close to him. You felt some of the tension from before drain from your body as you returned the hug. 

Jun was such a calming presence to you, which was definitely odd considering how excitable he could be. You had been hoping that he would be the person you would be seeing tonight, but from the looks of it he wouldn’t be. Which left you a bit concerned about which member of the coven would be your client tonight. Was client the right word? You weren’t exactly sure.

“Well...here I am! Definitely against my better judgement.” You murmured the last bit into his shoulder, but it seemed like he still heard you. He pushed you away gently, holding your shoulders in a firm grasp.

“You’ll be fine. I promise, nothing bad will happen tonight okay? And if it does, I give you full permission to punch me once.” This had you laughing, a natural one that didn’t feel forced which you wouldn’t have expected from yourself with how anxious you were. Jun was kind to offer such a thing, but you knew that your tiny punches would mean nothing to him.

“Thanks Jun...I better get back there before I back out and decide to run home.” It was a joke, well mostly a joke. That was still a good option in your mind.

With a nod and a small smile he squeezed your shoulders and let you go, giving you one final bit of motivation to cross through the door to face your fears. He watched you go before climbing back over the counter and returning to his customers.

The hallway you entered was rather bland compared to the room you had just left, the walls were a concrete gray and had a few clipboards and a cork board hanging on the wall in between a set of wooden doors to the right. On your left was a staircase that led up to their living quarters, you remember that area well. The tiny room you had been hidden away in, the dust covered boxes and small twin sized bed. Just thinking about it brought back the sense of claustrophobia, causing you to quickly look away from the staircase and return your attention to the hallway itself. 

Taking uncertain steps, you trekked forward to the second door like Gahyeon had told you. Despite how short the hall was, it felt like you were walking forever. The sound of your footsteps felt loud in your ears, and had even drowned out the bass thumping from the room behind you. Stopping as you stepped in front of the door, you felt your heart pounding in your chest. You wondered if vampires could hear that, no one had mentioned it to you before but you couldn’t help but wonder.

You raised your hand to knock on the hardwood, only to be stopped as the door swung open which left you face to face with another familiar woman. If you recall, her name was Siyeon, but Siyeon paid you no mind and simply side stepped past you as she wiped her lips of a dark red liquid. Chills ran up your spine as she passed, you paused and watched as she turned and made her way up the stairs. 

“You don’t have to stand in front of the door like that.” The familiar voice hit your ears and caused a wave of relief to spread over you. 

Inside the room, you saw Soonhee sitting in a plush red chair looking exhausted. Her braids were pulled into a high ponytail on the top of her head, her leather jacket draped over the back of her chair as she hunched forward looking over a clipboard. To the left was a small couch that housed two people that you were almost certain weren’t part of the coven, but you recognized one of them as a customer from work. Hopefully he didn’t recognize you, and if he did then you hoped he wouldn’t say anything. 

“You’re just in time,” Soonhee explained, taking a pen and marking something on her clipboard. “You’re gonna go through that door and down the stairs, your room is the first door on the left.” She took the pen and pointed at the door on the opposite side of the room from where you had entered. You wished you were about to talk with her a bit more, maybe calm your nerves a bit, but she was busy today and obviously didn’t really have time to talk considering as soon as she gave you your room she diverted her attention to the couch. 

“You’ve been snacking on those crackers for like an hour Jae, go home.” 

Ignoring the whining voice of the male she was speaking to, you followed her instructions and entered the new room. It was less of a room and more of just a doorway that led directly to a flight of stairs. You stared at the stairs for a moment, feeling that sense of dread kicking in once more before you slowly descended. 

At the bottom of the stairs you were treated to another concrete grey hallway, only this time there were 8 doors. It reminded you of how the top floor was laid out. Taking a deep breath stopped in front of the first door on your left, as you were told. You simply stared at the door for a moment. The feeling from this morning returned to you and you felt the life drain from your limbs, leaving nothing but a cold feeling of numbness. Your eyes unfocused as it stared at the wood of the door, your shoulders slumping as you found yourself unable to tear your eyes away or move to enter the room. You felt your heart throbbing in your chest and the feeling of phantom arms roughly grabbing your arm as they had done in your dream. Terror gripped your whole being.

Your eyes were forced to refocus as the door in front of you swung open and you found yourself face to chest with someone, glancing up and you realized that this someone was none other than Minghao. He stared at you with an unreadable expression, his dark black hair hung in front of his face blocking one of his eyes from view. After a moment that felt like an eternity, he turned his back to you and entered the small room again. Quickly you followed after him.

Today he seemed to be much more casual than he had been the day before. His pale blue jacket and black turtleneck had been swapped out for a simple white t-shirt, he looked a lot less intimidating than he had previously but not any less beautiful. Your eyes followed him as he sat down on a black leather sofa that seemed to be one of the few pieces of furniture in the room, a part of you wondered if the material of the couch was chosen since blood would be easier to clean off of it. He gestured for you to join him, so you did. 

“So, here is how this is going to go,” He began, “I know you’re not exactly comfortable with this.”

That was the understatement of the year. 

“But you signed up for this, so you knew what you were getting into. I can’t just let you leave without feeding, so what we’re going to do is we’re going to take it slow okay?” His eyes locked on your own, making sure that you were listening to his explanation. So you nodded, prompting him to continue. “If you get scared, or you want me to back off just pinch my arm okay? I’ll stop until you’ve calmed down and give me the okay again. Is that good for you?”

You were a bit surprised at his words, you hadn’t been expecting any special accommodations but he had clearly thought about your mental state when going into this. It was extremely thoughtful. You were still extremely anxious about the whole ordeal of course, but you definitely didn’t feel like you were in danger with Minghao. So once again you responded with a nod, which prompted a sigh from the male.

“No, you need to say it out loud.”

“Yes. I’m comfortable with that.” The words left your lips almost instantly, which he seemed pleased with or at least you were assuming that’s what the small smile was expressing. 

Despite the comfort you felt in the moment, your heart practically stopped when he grabbed your wrist and pulled you closer to him. You felt your throat dry out as he leaned forward, feeling his hot breath against your neck. You free hand clutched the leather of the couch as if it were your life support and this had him pause for a moment. Before you could really think about that, you felt his mouth on your neck. The sharp fangs gently poked at the skin but had yet to pierce through, you could tell that he was taking his time so that he wouldn’t scare you. Another moment passed, you stayed completely still and the only sound in the room seemed to be that of your own heartbeat. Going off of your response, you felt the fangs pierce through the skin of your neck and it took all you had to not pinch him and beg him to stop. You would get nowhere if you let your fear control you, he wasn’t attacking you and you needed to make sure your psyche knew that. So you tried to focus on other things, the tickle of his black locks as they brushed against your jaw and the feel of his hand on your wrist. You hadn’t noticed before, but he was slowly rubbing small circles with his thumb on the underside of your wrist. An attempt to calm you and keep you grounded. You were grateful for that, taking the moment to focus on that instead of the lingering pain in your neck. 

You weren’t sure how long you had sat there, eyes focused on the ceiling before the moment was broken. The feeling of your own blood, escaping his lips and trailing down your neck had you twisting your arm around in his grasp and quickly pinching his wrist. Instantly he pulled himself away from you, panting heavily as he did so. You felt your limbs shaking against your will as he grabbed a towel you hadn’t noticed before and gently dabbed it against your neck to remove the blood. All you could focus on was the way his lips were stained red. It wasn’t like the movies, where the Vampire had blood dribbling down their chins and getting everywhere. The look was subtle, small droplets that clung to plush lips, just like you had seen on Siyeon before. 

His eyes searched yours as he dabbed the towel against your neck, looking for a sign that anything was majorly wrong...if he had done something wrong. As he could hear was the sound of your erratic heartbeat, as he tried to focus on anything but the hunger that he was feeling. There wasn’t anything special about your blood, you weren’t the best blood he had ever drunk but you weren’t the worst. Your fear was definitely diluting the taste, making him feel guilty for enjoying it like he had. Which was why he had stopped at your signal, this wasn’t just about him. He knew why you were here, he could practically read the need to push past your fears just by looking at your face. You were an open book to him. 

As he pulled the towel away, you muttered a small strangled apology. You felt small tears well up in your eyes, once even slipping out as you tried your best to calm yourself down. Minghao simply brushed the tear away with his thumb and rolled his eyes. 

“I knew what I was getting into when I asked for you. If it takes a while then it takes a while, don’t apologize for being scared.” He retorted. He didn’t seem to be upset with you, which you were glad about but his words caused you to quirk a brow.

“Asked for me?”

“Yeah. Figured you would feel more comfortable with someone you knew. Soonhee would have probably offered but she...she has some control issues when it comes to feeding and probably would have done more harm than good.” As he spoke he leaned against the back of the couch, arms spreading along the top of it as he waited for you to calm down. “We could have given you to Minhyuk or Jun, but Minhyuk has a regular that he likes and Jun is working the bar tonight so he gets whoever comes in last.”

You had to admit, you were grateful it was Minghao. Jun would have probably tried joking with you to keep you calm but that could have potentially made things worse. Minghao was blunt and straightforward, he told it to you like it was and didn’t sugar coat it. While you wouldn’t think that it would be comforting, it was. It let you know that he wasn’t hiding things from you that you might need to know. 

As time passed, you felt your muscles relax a bit and your heart beat slow to a normal pace. You spoke up again.

“I think I’m okay now.” 

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he continued to eye you. Looking for any sign that you weren’t ready, a small brow raised as if to ask if you were sure. To which you nodded. 

He reached out once again, this time reaching for your shoulder before he leaned back in and continued to feed.

[teechew]

VESPINNA

- cw: mention or rape and underage rape (only the mention, not the description of the act itself) -

Name: Virginia Quispero Alias: Vespinna  Age: around 40 Quirk: gorgon – hair is made of think black snakes. Can transforms into a giant gorgon creature when all head (snakes + hers) think the exact same thing Passives: slow regeneration, super strength, super stamina, hyper vigilance (because around 100 pairs of eyes) Snake head poison: causes hallucination, paralysis and intestinal disorders Human head poison: deadly muscle stimulant, kills in 7 seconds Gorgon form: no legs, snake tail, giant size, feathers among the scales, all bites are mortals, barely human-looking

Born in an isolated valley in Peru, her family was part of a cult to Vespinno, a pagan god of destruction. When her quirk appeared, her father was persuaded she was Vespinno’s chosen and tried to raise her in the rank of the cult. The heads were charmed by his words and how he was certain she'd give birth to Vespinno himself! Her mother, realizing the madness of the cult, and her daughter safety was at risk, ran away with the child. She found refuge in the bigger city and went into hiding. She found work and kept the child hidden inside her home at all times. Virginia was really bored, always asking to get out and play with the other children, but the mother kept refusing. After a year of this life, the mother was tired. Money was short, the cult and even the government were trying to get their hands on Virginia. Without exit, the mother gave her up for adoption on the condition that Virginia was adopted out of the country.

Vi was sent to a wannabe celebrity japanese couple when she was 5. They intend on using Vi as a "pity" child, showing how "good and charitable" they were by adopting a 3rd country child with a difficult quirk. The brain was definitely the mother, spending most of her time recording vlogs and cleaning videos for her channel. The father was mostly uninterested, too busy working to feed his wife’s luxury taste. The plan was foiled by Virginia's queen intellect. She realized quickly that once the camera was off, her "mother" wasn't as caring and nice, often sending her to her room and not wanting to have anything to do with "a freak". The couple had another child; Ishimaru, barely a toddler then. He and Virginia were close. He was too young and hadn’t learn the biased view on her quirk. Virginia decided to "enlist" his help to expose her mother.

One day, when the mother was having a livestreamed Q&A session, Virginia came into view. "Mother, I'm hungry, can I get a snack?" The mother, under the camera at this moment, told her "not yet" and sent her to her room, saying that she was busy but remaining sweet and caring. Virginia shook her head, making her snakes wave around and asked again to have a snack. The mother became more and more tense. With each refusal the child insisted, getting on her mother nerves. At one point the woman excused herself to the audience and shut the livestream. As the mother was scolding Virginia, Ishimaru, paid in candy by his sister, came closer to the computer and "pushed the red button" on his mother screen. Virginia had taught him how to use a mouse... And the livestream started. Virginia was still in the middle of a scolding. The mother, already mad, was pointing and now screaming at the gorgon. Virginia, following her plan, was especially good at being a brat that day and was promptly, under the eyes of the watchers, sent "to the basement without diner!" No need to say, child services were called and took Virginia and Ishimaru away from the couple. Virginia never saw her little brother again.

She was send to foster families, but because of this awful experience and her quirk that, you have to admit, is scary, Virginia was never adopted nor stayed long in the families, changing households every now and then. Because of this she was also changing schools often and never made long lasting friends. She was a loner and often though of as a bully due to her tallness, superior strength, bad grades, and attitude. Truth was she had a huge social skill delay and never learned how to make friends. When she reached 16, she was old enough to work a part-time job and the government wasn't ready to pay for her studies, especially seeing her bad grades. She was cut from the foster program and left to fend for herself. She was lucky enough that the current foster family didn't throw her out, but offered her to stay in her current room as long as she participated in the grocery bill.

Virginia tried. She really did. No front work wanted her - "not customer friendly" they said. Back work never lasted long as her colleagues often complained about her and how "scary" she was. She finally landed an ungrateful job but it was something; gutting fish in the early hours of the day. She smelled awful, slept through most of the day, but was able to pay for her room. And life threw her on the ground again. 

At 17, one morning, after work, she was walking home when she was  suddenly abducted. A man approached her and, of course, she was wary; a young girl walking alone, on the docks, in the early hours of morning... A scenario straight out of a cliché horror movie. She kept walking, thinking she was overreacting, her snakes on high alert and hissing. Suddenly the man dropped a wet sheet on her; he must have prepared his plan, the sheet was doused in chloroform. If he were to simply put it on her nose her snakes would have bite him everywhere, but the sheet was neutralizing the snakes, and not only her face but each snake was breathing the chloroform. Virginia fainted.

When she awoke, groggy, feeling dirty, and tied up, she knew; they didn't just watch her. She struggled to get in a better position, realizing the same sheet had been used to wrap her snakes and keep them enclosed. Her hands and feet were tightly tied together, but it was nothing her strength couldn't handle. She quickly broke them, freed her snakes, and inspected herself; bruised, raped, drugged, but alive. She picked herself up and went to the closest door. She could hear voices... and cries. She found kids, boys and girls, dirty and scared, some with bruised on their faces and limbs, most barely clothed, if clothed. All way younger than her, too young for whatever these men have done to them... to her. When she came in, some kids cried louder and Vi heard a booming voice behind her 

"WHAT ARE YOU WHINNING FOR AGAIN YOU FUCKIN BRATS?!"

She turned around and faced a man coming from an other room. Easily in his late 50, ugly, and fat. He looked at her, surprised "hey, you're the new one. How did you get free?" He walked toward her, clenching his fists. "Not important, you're too old for my taste but we still got work for you." The children started crying even more, Vi could hear more men voices approaching, she was in danger, the kids were in danger. Something in Virginia's head snapped. Her snakes started screaming to kill, she wanted to protect the kids, but that'd mean killing the men. Kill them. KILL!

From there, her memory is hazy. She remembered feeling powerful and unstoppable. She remembered the taste of blood in her mouth, the screams of men, and the sounds of children’s feet running away. She also remembered the police sirens, the hero's orders to surrender, but she didn't listen. She wanted to go away. Away from everyone, from everything! But then the dream ended. She got punched. Hard. And she fell.

When she awoke again she was in an isolated cell, with a muzzle on her face. She tried moving but her entire body was held in a straightjacket. She tried moving her snakes and realized each of their heads were inside little locks, rendering them useless. In jail. Her trial came quickly. She was declared a Villain on an account of intentionally killing 10+ adults, and destroying a government-owned building as well as resisting hero arrest. She never heard about the children, about the fact she was kidnapped, drugged, and raped... The sentenced was 8 years in prison. She did the first one in a juvenile prison and then transferred into a high security prison for Class-S villains. Virginia often jokes that these years were like school; she never made friends, kept to herself, and waited for time to pass. She was left alone, mainly because people knew what she was capable of. The muzzle was never removed except for lunch time, were she was under strict surveillance. The rare time she wasn't left alone she knew quickly how to assert her dominance. She was strong and ruthless and at one point was asked what was her villain name. "Vespinna." Slowly the other inmates learned to not mess with her.

8 years later she was finally let out. Her foster family had gone silent, no family, no friends... She was truly alone and without a place to go home to. So she walked. After a full day of walking she reached the other side of the city. She was tired, hungry, and night was coming. Frustrated, she slipped in an alleyway, away from the public eyes, and sat down against a wall. Bringing her knees against her torso, she wrapped her snakes around her and closed her eyes. She was alone...

Later that night she was awoken by a repeated poking on her leg. She unwrapped her snakes, ready to fend of anything that was responsible for the poking, and was faced with a homeless man. He was dirty, with at least 3 layers of clothes. Looking tired, with huge bags under his eyes, he looked to be in his fifties, his hair and beard greying under the dirt and dust. He smelled horrible and Virginia had a hard time not frowning her nose. "Hey kid, you're new here?" Virginia frowned, wary. "So what?" The man shrugged "Just wondering if it's a one night situation or if you gon' be there for longer." Virginia stood up, towering over the man "And what about it?" The man didn't seem impressed. "Listen, honey, I'm the one usually sleepin' here. Just wanna know if I'm in danger or if you're chill." Virginia relaxed a little. "it's... your alley?" The man turned away and walked toward a panel a wood, pushing it to reveal a cardboard box fort of some sort. In it was a dirty old mattress and several garbage bags of junk. "It's not *mine*, but it's where I'm left alone." Virginia watched him dig into one of the bags, pull out an old blanket and throw it to her. "Nights are fresh kiddo, bundle up." Virginia looked at the blanket, several stains of food were scattered on it and it had some holes here and there. "You're... not scared I’ll rob you?" "Rob me of what? I have nothing to my name except my life. And even that ain't much," said the man, sounding tired and crawling in his little hideout. "Plus you're the one with questions so far. I don't think I'm in danger," He chuckled while taking off his shoes. Virginia stepped closer "You... don't have any? I mean, questions? About me?" The man sighted as he got ready to sleep "Girl, I bet you're not here because you chose to. And neither am I. That's all we need to know about each other." On this he turned away and laid down. Virginia returned to her little corner and bundled in the blanket. It was smelly. "But again, so will I... soon," she though while looking at the man one last time before falling asleep.

From then one this alley was her "home". The man's name was Akira, he had lost his own home after a villain and a hero fought a little too roughly and destroyed it. He taught Virginia all she needed while homeless: the soup kitchen days, the shops that were chill about homeless digging in their trash, the shops that weren't... Strangely, Virginia felt more and more comfortable next to Akira. He shared food and fabrics with her without asking questions. He also presented her to the homeless community; the most strange but tight-knit community. Everyone was helping you, all that was asked of you was to help in return for those who couldn't get by as easily as you could. 

It's been 15 years, and she's the happiest she ever was. But not fully happy yet...

[ziracona]

hey zira, what are your hot takes on all of the fo4 companions?

Haha, I don’t know how hot they are, but I can give you a speed run! (Also I am very excited to get this. FO4 was the first open world game I ever played and just the concept of that and the hugeness of the world and branching story & sudden feeling changes towards me in companion characters totally blew my mind, & it still lives rent free in my heart).

Ada, Old Longfellow, and Strong I /still/ haven’t maxed despite having too many hundred hours to want to list on this game—the former bc they were DLC, Strong because honest to god I left him at a nice settlement and then completely forgot about him and remembering that I am the energy in this Ryan O’Flanagan video but abt leaving my super mutant in a tiny settlement alone. I will get there! To max affinity I mean. But anyway, I don’t truly know those three, so my takes are incomplete. So far though, I really like Ada. She is a good girl just trying her best. Fucks me up I can tell her to self destruct. Even though I feel sure she would ignore me, I cannot imagine ever saying that to her. It was really sweet she was willing to forgive the Mechanist and move on with her life. A good girl. Longfellow I am maxing rn (was last time I played anyhow). I enjoy him. Gruff grumpy old man but he seems quite decent and I like his idle banter and when he sings to himself a lot. Seems like he’s had it rough. Strong I liked. He’s wild, and I loved how insane meeting him was, and am worried about him eventually understanding poetry and how that might mess up his sense of world understanding. But he’s a chill dude in his own way and I am glad they gave us at least one nice super mutant.

For the companions I actually do know like the back of my hand, the speedrun:

Nick Valentine: Best man on earth. One of two fictional characters I ever called husband. I would die kill or live for him. I want to be 1/4th the man Nick Valentine is. One of the best characters ever period and I adore literally everything about him. It fucked me up early in game where right after he offered to basically risk destroying his mind to help a stranger look for her son, he asked me how I was doing. First character in the entire game to do that. His first companion dialogue is abt how you’re doing TuT. The man is very kind and forgiving and fair, but knows when the draw the line and take no shit. Emotionally mature, kind, caring, longsuffering. Incredibly damaged and broken by life, but holding on and living kindly and to help others anyway. One of the four most marryablen fictional men I’ve ever seen.

Preston Garvey: Brave, kind, sweet man. I would defend him with my life. He really just wants so bad to make the world better and life has been so hard, but he’s still trying. A beautiful and underrated companion and I would throw hands for him on sight. I adore how he whistles. A true and gentle and loyal friend. Take him to Quincy and let him get his justice it’s what he deserves. People who hate him because he tries to get help helping civilians in that game are weak. I love him so much... please give him enough time to reach max affinity he’s so worth it.

Deacon: *To the tune of You Are My Dad* You are my friiiiend! You’re my friend! (Boogie woogie woogie). Initially, he pissed me off bc he lies all the god damn time, but after we got close enough he actually trusted me, he stole my heart and I would also die for Deacon. He’s a really good person who thinks he’s shit because of who he was on his past. Also him 🤝 Preston: massive survivor’s guilt. They should be friends. Poor Deacon has been the last member of the Railroad like four times, and it’s awful. Help him. Give him love and support. He’s one of my all time faves. Also, Railroad hands down best faction and if you kill them for any reason other than like a walkthrough route video and I ever get the chance I would 100% clock you in the face as hard as I can, like going for losing teeth, and feel no guilt. I know it’s a game and that’s wrong, and I’d be wrong, but I’d still do it. Also, Ryan Alosio (his VA) saw me do cosplay for Deacon once and told me it was great and it filled me with even more love. Anyway Deacon is great. Also, his whole “There are other organisations out there. And, in time, I'm sure they're going to spoon-feed you their own patented form of bullshit. Ignore the verbage and look at what they're doing. What they're asking you to do. What sort of world they'd have you build and how they're going to pay for it.” Is one of the like, two most iconic quotes in all of FO4 & just super good in general.

Hancock: Hardcore badass man but also a good dude and a champion for the people. Man really puts his money where his mouth is and you gotta respect that; another favorite companion for sure. Big fan of the way he stabs a guy for you upon meeting, and is a cool leader who organized his crime and does a decent job actually leading. He works hard to help people and bites back hard. Social justice advocate, dangerous man about town, not afraid to cosplay a revolutionary war hero 24/7 & u gotta respect the no fucks given attitude. A chill dude. Like that he fights the institute, hates the Brotherhood, helps the Railroad, and is friends with Nick. He’s legit af. Also, his VA gives a different answer every time someone asks him about the voice he did for hancock and they’re funny af.

Piper Wright: A cool spunky lady. Lois Lane on the case, kicking butt, and taking name. She’s nice but also hardcore and smart, supportive, fun. A good person. You always get points if you like Nick (which most companions do), and they’re good friends. She’s funny and I love her. A good heart.

Codsworth: He’s great. He’s family. He’s like my...weird brother. Getting to max affinity is heartwarming and also makes my heart go :’-] . Great early-game companion bc he kicks ass and doesn’t need stims to heal. I love getting called by my name and think that was a great feature (well, my PC’s name). He’s a wonderful funky little robot dude and I am so glad he likes me.

Dogmeat: Amazing. A good boy. Doggo of the year. His actor deserved the game award she won. Cute, full of love, and plays with a teddy bear if you give him one. 100/10z

Cait: I like her a lot. She’s been through so much shit, and it makes sense she is how she is. I like they actually gave her an emaciated and messy (though still pretty) design, since she is a drug addict. And that they make her main quest about taking that seriously and wanting to get help, and that she’ll call out the player if they fuck around and do drugs in front of her after she gets rehabilitated. Her relationship to the PC if good is really sweet, and I am a fan. I like that while she’s not sympathetic to synths and thinks they aren’t people, she forgets that every time Nick walks into a room and is like “Oh hey Nicky : )”. She’s a good girl who has been through a lot and still needs time to heal and find herself, but she’s making great strides.

Robert Joseph MacCready: Human disaster (loving). Homeboy a goddamn /mess/ but I love him. He tries so hard to be cool. I love he makes you pay him to come with, then chickens out and gives it back lol. A fool ball of anxiety and bad decisions and what he thinks brovado is. I wish he, Preston, and Deacon would quit fighting, bc I am always like “ :’-] </3 Boys Please” when they swap out, but I love them just the same. He’s doing his best, he’s just stupid and a fool. Like Philip J Fry. Keeping his goddamn soldier toy, which somehow is listed as junk instead of sent to Misc with quest items where it would be fine, safe?parylizes me with fear. I’ve lost 2 hours of gameplay reloading an old save bc I accidentally lost it.

X6-88: A more complex one to answer about. He’s bad, but like, I’m pretty sympathetic to how he got that way. He was created in a lab and had his emotions mostly dragged out of him in intense psychologically damaging training so he would be a weapon and view himself as an object. I was relieved he chose me over the institute even if he wasn’t a fan of the chocie, and think that means there’s a lot of hope for him. Wish he’d chill the fuck out and quit intimidating civilians for 6 god damn seconds, but I like him. I bring him fancy lad snack cakes home from travels all the time, bc Synths are supposed to like them. Really like that he’s the /most/ sympathetic companion towards Danse in Blind Betrayal, even though he should not be programmed for that, and Danse hated him and made it clear any time they interacted.

(EDIT) Curie: I FORGOT HER BABY IM SO SORRY. I like Curie a lot, despite the fact I temporarily forgot she existed. I stg I thought she was in here. Uhhh, okay. Curie: like her character and personality, HUGE un-fan of both the way her desire to get a synth body is to be ‘more real,’ as if Codsworth isn’t a fully realized person while the same robot type she is, instead of just like. Because it would make her happy. ALSO hate how much of a Born Sexy Yesterday she is, even intentionally in not-determinate affinity talks. It’s gross. But her herself, I like a lot. She’s my daughter and I will protect her. She works at The Castle right now as their on-site medic.

Paladin Danse: I know I’m gonna take heat for this but honestly? He didn’t do much for me. I like that he looks and sounds kinda like Buzz Lightyear, and that’s fun, but idk at all why people think he’s so hot. He’s very boring & generic looking to me. Like you’re valid! Taste all be different. But he doesn’t do it for me personally in looks or personality. I don’t at all like, hate him. Or even dislike. Tbh I am fairly neutral on him. It was funny making affinity with him though. Every other companion I had maxed, I liked more and more with each affinity talk. They’d be like “So my dad was a minuteman and died and I want to honor him” or “I just want to really feel like I’m a person, for real, myself, and I am glad I met you, because the good we have achieved together is ours, even if I can’t be sure of anything else,” or “My brother threw the cultural minorities out of our city for clout bc the rich citizens were all racist, and I tried to help—I snuck them food to the unsafe ruins they set up in for weeks, but eventually, they just vanished, and I still bear immense guilt and self-hatred over not having stopped that.” And Danae’s would be like “One time a buddy of mine got kidnapped by super mutants. They turned him into one of them, and they’re all abominations, so I killed him and it made me really sad.” And I was just like “...Oh danse. I really wanted to like you more. But what the fuck.” His relationship to Haylen is sweet though. And ofc I saved him in Blind Betrayal. I blew up the Prydwin so he’s safe now too, and he lives in the garden by my house and tells me how glad he is we’re friends, and I’m p into that. Overall, my feelings on him are not strong at all though.

Porter Gage: Not a fan. Like, I appreciated he helped me kill the old boss, sure. And bc I owed him for that, I went to max affinity to see what there was to him as a person. And like, as far as raiders go, he was okay. But he wasn’t deeply sympathetic, and he’s a slaver, and if you try to liberate the slaves he and the others own, he /will/ turn on and attempt to murder you immediately, no matter how close you were, so he made his choice, and it was to be a bad person and an asshole to the last. Really enjoyed the VA’s work a lot on him tho.

And there you have it 👈👈😎. Thanks for asking!

[thesolitarystripe]

Edna Briggs-Writing Prompt # I’ve Lost Cont

Today's entry was suggested by my best friend, Chenoa. This entire premise was hers and despite my encouragement that she write it; she did not feel like she could. So, I told her I would write it for her. I hope this is what she envisioned, equal parts sad and wholesome.

Enjoy my dearest!

“How long will it be tomorrow, Edna?”

“Sixty-five years.”

“Sixty-five. That’s right…”

The man knew very well how many years it would be that he and his wife would celebrate their marriage. Sixty-five years, tomorrow. Wrinkled hands found more delicate ones, pallid and cool to the touch.

“You still…can’t remember.” There was a weak puff of laughter as Edna turned her head and regarded her husband warmly.

“That’s why I need you here Edna,” at this, the man’s voice cracked with the tightness that formed in his throat. “I’ll never even remember to feed myself.” The pair chuckled softly. Edna patted the top of her husband’s hands.

“Yes, you will Jim.”

That was all she said as she smiled through brimming tears. Edna laid in the comfort of a hospital bed within her own home, in her living room, to be exact. The couple had a large family, and their bedroom was so small that Jim barely fit inside next to both the new and old beds. So, their five children deemed it necessary to move Edna into the main room so that they all could sit beside her—them and their ten grandchildren. It had been two years now that Edna was on hospice and an amazing feat considering the doctors thought she would pass on within the first six months. Edna clung to life the way she held fast to Jim’s hand, with nothing but love and enthusiasm. It was noticeable now, perhaps only to Jim, that Edna’s fingers did not grab hold so hard. In the slipping of her fingers, he felt the waning of her soul and it brought his head down upon her chest as she breathed in and out. So long as he could hear that thrum of her heart, he would know peace. Into the early morning hours, they whispered between them of all life had brought. They shared tender kisses and caresses that Jim desperately fought to commit to memory. Each tickle of her fingers at the back of his neck was etched into his bones and stored away in every fiber of his muscles. Jim would not forget. Somehow, Jim fell asleep. A grown man of ninety-five laid on his wife’s chest, back hunched forward and his arms draped over her; one behind her head and the other over her thighs. Jim fell asleep. When he opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was the look of absolute tranquility upon Edna’s beautiful features. Without moving, speaking, or thinking, Jim knew. Edna was no longer on this plane but, she had made it to midnight. They celebrated their sixty-fifth anniversary in the darkness of their living room.

The days that passed next were a blur. Perhaps one day, Jim would come to and the memories of Edna’s memorial service, her funeral, the crowds of people that came to honor her memory; maybe he would recall it. Today, he sat silently in his living room, the vacant hospital bed beside him. A few of his children were bustling in the kitchen, cooking, and making sure Jim had easy options for food because the man was proficient with a grill and that was about it.

“Papa, we cut up some fresh fruit it’s in the fridge. Make sure you eat it up, so it doesn’t go bad.” Jim’s oldest granddaughter was talking to him, but Jim was in his cushioned armchair, staring out the sliding glass door that led to their patio. All of Edna’s flowers popped vibrantly against the emerald hues of their meticulously watered grass. Jim wondered if it would all die within a few short hours once the little garden realized its tender was gone. That was good, appropriate, even. The flowers should no longer grow if Edna did not keep them; just as the sun should not rise or fall so long as Edna’s chest was still. Jim looked up at the blinding rays of the celestial body. It seemed he had not yet convinced the star to cease its normal cycle because how could life possibly go on without Edna Briggs. How, could it.

Eventually, Jim’s children and grandchildren left. He was sure it was not an easy choice for them. While he was absentminded and aloof, it did not go unnoticed the way they lingered in the doorway or how they looked at him with concern in their eyes. Jim waved them off with a brave little smile. Then they were gone, and the house was horribly quiet. There was no talk of the gossip at Bingo, no asking what time ‘Jeopardy’ would be on even though it came on every night at the same time; there was a lingering aroma of food, but it was not Edna’s cooking. Jim sat in his armchair. Jim stewed in the silence and looked out the back door until the light dissolved and nighttime fell. This was how he passed most of his days for a week. People called; he did not answer. The only communication he managed was a short text asking his children not to come—he needed time. Jim ate halfheartedly but per his granddaughter’s wishes, he did not let the fruit go bad. She had worked so hard, after all. It was on the sixth night that Jim finally turned on the television. There had been no sound for so long that it almost felt like an intrusion to hear the people in the commercials talking. He left it on and eventually, he fell asleep in his chair with one hand resting on the end of the hospital bed. That was how they had gone to bed many times over the last two years.

Jim was snoring for several hours when a sound finally woke him from his dreamless stasis. It was not the incessant dinging of bells on whatever game show had just come on—he had slept through that many times. There was a clink in the kitchen. Jim and Edna had no pets and had lived alone for a number of years after their children grew up. In Jim’s mind, there was no reason for any part of their home to be making noise unless someone else was in it. As that thought occurred to him, Jim grew very still, eyes wide open and desperately peering through the darkness. Jim had never felt scared but as he sat, totally alone, he felt that sick heat creep into his belly and spread like fire through his veins. The man was paralyzed in his chair, sinking deeper and deeper each time he heard that clinking noise. It was different and seemed to be moving around the kitchen. There was a certain tone of the porcelain in the sink when it was hit; it was very different from the sound that was produced when the marble countertops were bumped or the wooden cabinets. From what he could hear, it sounded like someone was cooking a full meal inside his kitchen. Jim’s jaw clenched. This was silly. The man, finding all the courage of his younger years rolled to his feet and turned to look back. The kitchen was in full view from the living room, there were no walls separating the adjoined spaces. So, when he looked, there was no mistaking what he saw. There was nothing to block him and his glasses were poised on the bridge of his long nose. Jim’s jaw went slack, and he was certain he was either dead or on his way to the grave.

“Edna, what in the hell are you doing?” The little old lady looked exactly the way Jim had last seen her save for the color in her cheeks. That ever-present vibrancy that Edna had when she was alive, her youthful glow, it had returned with a new fullness.

“Well excuse me, Jim, I’m making your late-night snack like I always do. I am more than happy to stop if you’re going to take that attitude with me.” Jim stared. Jim stared for a long time, so long that Edna rolled her eyes. “Tuna fish and saltine crackers, it’s your favorite.” A small plate plopped onto the counter and slid toward Jim. The man looked down for a moment but immediately brought his gaze back to Edna for fear she might vanish.

“Honey, I don’t know how to tell you this but—”

“I’m dead! I know that Jim, I’m not stupid. Someone’s got to come along and take care of you. You said it yourself a week ago, you’ll forget to eat. Then what? Then I have to spend eternity with you too?” Edna smiled after that. It was full of knowingness and patience because she was, indeed, fully aware of her circumstances.

“The—the…the grandkids…they left some food—Edna! How…” Jim was taking cautious steps forward and he found himself vaguely wondering if there was some sort of technology, he wasn’t aware of that could project life-like images of loved ones into your home. Was this some sort of invention created for coping with loss? Jim’s brown eyes did a quick scan of the kitchen. He saw no indication of a projector. There was nothing out of place in his old kitchen, except for a perfectly intact Edna standing in the middle of it.

“Simple. I didn’t want to leave,” Edna shrugged and gave the plate another inch toward Jim. The man had approached and was well within range of the plate now. He looked at Edna incredulously before he swooped in and wrapped his arms around her. She was whole and smelled like his favorite perfume; she had worn it every day since they had met. Jim wasn’t fully aware of it, but he was weeping. Into the meticulously done curls that framed Edna’s head and neck. That familiar tickle of her fingers at the nape of his neck only made him cry harder because his memory had failed him. In the short time away from his wife, Jim had already forgotten what the scrape of her nails felt like on his skin. Edna embraced her husband in the kitchen, endlessly. Only when he was ready to lift his head did she take a small step back and smile up at him. “They really should change that whole ‘till death do us part' bit. It doesn’t have to end there, not if you don’t want it to.” Jim laughed. For the first time in a week, he was smiling, and it felt like rust was crumbling off all the unused facial muscles.

“Well…what do we do?”

“What do we do? Jim I’m going to sit down and watch my shows, it’s only ten-thirty. Now eat!” Jim was given the plate of crackers. He tested its weight; he poked the bottom of it to see if his finger would go through. It didn’t. Finally, he ate a cracker with a scoop of Edna’s infamous tuna salad, and it tasted like home. Jim was not sure if he was crazy or if the Lord had bestowed a miraculous blessing upon him but, he would not question the extra time. Quickly, he shuffled after Edna who was crawling into the hospital bed already glued to the television. Jim sat in his armchair munching and constantly glancing over at Edna to make sure she didn’t get swept away into the ethers.

This was how life went on. Learning the extent of Edna’s abilities happened quickly. Jim soon learned that his children nor his grands could see her despite her standing in the foyer to greet them alongside her husband. No one else saw Edna. She did, one time, touch a dishrag without thinking and when it moved on its own their eldest son yelped and jumped away from it. Jim quickly offered up that it was simply the wind from the open window in the kitchen. Luckily, that was all it took to convince his son that there were no ghosts in the house. All the while, Jim looked at Edna who had her little hand over her mouth, giggling. Edna got to enjoy her family from a distance, something that both made her happy and hurt her. Jim could see the longing in her eyes as Edna sank to the floor to sit by their grandchildren who played, oblivious that grandma was right beside them. There was much that Jim found cruel about Edna’s current existence. While she cooked and cleaned and took care of Jim as well as she had in her living days—she could not enjoy the material things of the mortal world. Edna could watch television, listen to music, and sit beside Jim while holding his hand. She did not get to taste food or hug her kids; she did not have the luxury of soothing her grandbabies or walking outside. Edna had tried to leave the house multiple times, only to tend to her garden but every door in the home seemed to be a wall. Edna could not leave. The pair existed within the living room and kitchen. Eating and watching television. This was their new routine. Edna did not sleep; she didn’t need to. She would stay up and watch Jim, hold his hand, pet his hair; anything to keep her busy through the hours he was not conscious of her. As the months passed, Jim watched these realities affect her though Edna never complained.

One evening, the couple sat watching another ‘Jeopardy’ rerun. They chuckled a little here and there. Edna had made Jim a small platter of cut up meat, cheese, and crackers. She was always feeding him much to his family’s approval—they had predicted Jim would lose weight in the following months after Edna’s passing. They had no idea she still wandered through the home.

“Edna.”

“Yes, dear?”

“How long are you going to stay?”

“That’s a funny question. Funny, because the answer is obvious, isn’t it?” Jim looked at her with a blank expression. “I’m staying until it’s your time.”

“Do you know when that is?”

“No. That’s none of my business, even as a ghost.”

“It could be years.”

��It could be.”

“My grandfather and my father lived past one hundred.”

“Yes, yes, you have good genes. I know.” Edna said it with an air of annoyance like they had this discussion many times over when she was alive.

“My point is, you could be doing this for five more years if not more.”

“You could also die tomorrow,” she quipped.

“Are you going to live every day hoping I die tomorrow?” At this, Edna laughed and shook her head.

“No. Of course not Jim, I want you to enjoy every second of life. Watch the babies grow, watch our bigger babies grow even more. Feel the sun on your face. Tend to my flowers. Eat good food.”

“And what about you?” Jim was very serious, and the tone of his voice had changed from amiable and inquisitive to firm.

“What about me?”

“I suppose you think it’s fine for you to keep on living in this undead existence. Where you get to experience none of the pleasures you just listed off for me.”

“I get to be with my husband. That is the greatest pleasure.”

“Is it, Edna? I see how much you want to hold those grandbabies. The look on your face while I’m eating something you’ve made but you can’t even taste it. Is this really existing at all?” Edna looked at Jim. There was a long discussion had between them, without words. Jim’s eyes were glossy in the way that spoke of tears unarrived but waiting in the trenches. The line of his mouth was hard set and that horrible lump in his throat was thicker than before. It had taken him months to realize it; to see the selfishness of what he did. Jim kept Edna here. It was a blatant fact. No one else could see her, they had accepted her death and let her spirit soar free. Jim did not. Jim carried the burden of damning his wife to this listless life as a specter when she was deserving of so much more. “Edna, you have done what you needed to in this life, tenfold. You raised a beautiful family, we did, together but we both know who did most of the work. I am not blind to that. You have been an excellent grandmother to those babies, and they will grow up to know unconditional love and how to bake the best pies for Christmas. You took care of me, God, you still are! Even in death. This is not your eternal rest, Edna. This is not the peace you have earned after such a full life. It was full, wasn’t it?”

Edna sat on the edge of the hospital bed, legs dangling, hands folded in her lap as she faced Jim. Tears streamed down her face. The weight of this new existence was taxing and harder than she imagined. Participating in life from the sidelines. Watching but not doing. Living but not living at all. “It was very full, Jim. The best life I could have ever wanted and then some.” Edna’s petite shoulders shook with sobs and Jim rose and sat beside her on the bed; he encircled her in his arms and pressed his face against her neck.

“I love you Edna Briggs, but this is not the existence you were meant to have. It is time for me to let you go,” he whispered. Jim breathed in as deeply as he could. Memorizing every dip and curve of her body as if he had not already done that over the last sixty-five years. The smell of her perfume. The smoothness of her skin. The sound of her breath as she wept. These were all important pieces of information, things he would store away and remember on days when he missed her. Every day. Jim would remember it every day. Jim and Edna wept together, just as they had the night she passed. They squeezed one another and eventually fell back on the bed. Jim felt sleep tugging at his eyelids, and he knew, deep in his gut, when he woke tomorrow Edna would be gone. “I promise, I’ll see you soon. I love you so much. You have been the most amazing wife a man could ever ask for.” Jim’s hands were in those bouncy curls, fingers wrapped around Edna’s skull as he touched their foreheads together. “I won’t last long without my other half, but I’ll make sure the grandbabies are skilled pie bakers before I go.” They laughed. The room was quiet except for their sniffling. “It’s okay to go, I love you.” Edna kissed her husband’s face, his forehead, and lips. Edna fell asleep. Finally. She had not realized just how tired her soul was until her eyes closed and she drifted off into the most peaceful slumber within her husband’s arms.

When Jim woke the next morning, he was alone, as expected. Despite the hole he felt in half of his heart, Jim smiled. Edna was finally at peace and that alone brought him more joy than anything else.

[klein-archive]

Memories in feelings

8th June 2021

This will be my (Jane Milton’s) last blog post before handing over to the new Melanie Klein Trust archivist, Christine English. I know that Christine has already identified some very interesting archival material that she will be sharing on the blog - which I am certainly looking forward to reading.

So, to round off my always stimulating, fruitful time exploring the Klein archives (though I will continue to refer to them) here are some clinical notes I came across recently, which I hope will be thought-provoking.

Klein discusses what she calls ‘memories in feelings’ several times in the third and fourth volumes of her Writings. For example, an important footnote to page 180 of Envy and Gratitude reads:

All this [referring to early phantasies concerning the breast] is felt by the infant in much more primitive ways than language can express. When these pre-verbal emotions and phantasies are revived in the transference situation, they appear as ‘memories in feelings’, as I would call them, and are reconstructed and put into words with the help of the analyst. In the same way, words have to be used when we are reconstructing and describing other phenomena belonging to the early stages of development. In fact we cannot translate the language of the unconscious into consciousness without lending it words from our conscious realm (Klein 1957).

In archive file PP/KLE/D.11, I found a detailed and complicated example of a ‘memory in feeling’, together with Klein’s interpretations of and reflections on it, in the analysis of a man in his late forties, whom she calls ‘Mr X’.

In the second half of file D.11, Klein discusses the difficulties that the patient is having, in integrating feelings towards his parents with the analytic transference situation. The analyst is sometimes spared the complex and contradictory negative feelings felt towards the primary objects, while, at other times, the situation with the parents is idealised, and the analysis and analyst denigrated. The following material appears in the digitised collection as images 18, 20 and 22-28 (omitting some pages which are crossed out and do not appear to belong to the sequence):

---

I could give you many more instances of attitudes, which have all in common the attempt on the part of the patient to avoid a synthesis between the various aspects of figures and relations, which have come to focus on the analyst. The point here is that the synthesis, which the patient has not been able to establish sufficiently in the past is bound up in the various anxieties coming to the fore. The analyst is loved and hated, as other people in the patient’s life were earlier on, and the patient resorts to all sorts of defences and among them the process of splitting figures and situations, in order to avoid the relations that these various aspects represent, the various aspects of the mother and father. It is, therefore, our work to help him to experience again and again - and this is a slow process we know - the realisation, that he has only divided up, split his ego, his relations with people, and the people themselves, in the attempt to avoid conflict, anxiety and guilt. Our interpretations aim at synthesis, but the synthesis can only be achieved piecemeal, and again and again the patient has to be confronted with experiencing conflict and suffering, which he has tried to avoid in the past.

Re memories in feelings: (to George)

[George is a child Klein saw between the ages of 3 and 8, in the 1930s, who appears in two of the ‘restricted’ files B.39 and B.40]

This brings me to a point which applies to adults as well as to some extent to children. We know how important it is to revive in our patients[’] memories. We however also know that such memories can be extremely falsified. This is included in the concept of cover memories. So while it is beneficial to get as many memories as possible, it is in connection with emotions, desires, anxieties which partly led to these memories, and which these past experiences were connected with, that we have to understand any situation in the past as well as in the present. We should never rest content with just having past experiences as it were reconstructed in the analysis, because we must not treat them as it were as isolated events. Only if we are able to bring out the whole situation of feelings, anxieties, fitting into the development as a whole, we can feel that we have benefitted sufficiently from the revival of memories. Now there would probably be no difference of opinion on that point. I still think it is worthwhile mentioning, for there are stages of development of which we cannot get memories in the full sense of the word, expressed by words, and in the clear-cut way in which memories of a later stage may appear. And yet they are memories of feelings.

Refer back to Mary in this connection - reproducing the situation of the baby (lamb) with all the oral details attached to it [it is not clear to whom Klein is referring here]

A VERY EARLY MEMORY IN FEELING

Man Patient X (age: just under fifty) 8th February 1946

In identification with the little child who was teething and woke at night repeatedly crying, the father felt suddenly, having just woken from sleep, what an “awful thing was going on in the child”. He had a vision of something growing out of the soft mouth, flesh being contrasted here to something very hard like spikes which were somehow thrust on him (because by now he felt it happening to himself and not to the child) and being forced to push these spikes together. (this was shown by a gesture). And a terrible feeling how awful that must be. At this moment, when visualising the spikes coming together, he had a vision of these hard things outside him, and “death-head” was the next association to it. The feeling of grievance that he could not stop that happening, that this whole thing had been thrust on him, that something had made these spikes come out, and that he had no more control over these spikes because again something forced him to push these spikes together.

Now these feelings he found extremely difficult to put into words, while he was otherwise very vocal. It seemed as if they just could not be put into words. And he fully agreed when I suggested that this incapacity was due to the fact that such things may be felt but not thought of in words at a very early stage. The one stimulus for experiencing what quite obviously was a memory in feeling was the identification with the little daughter. Another is the transference situation at the moment.

In the preceding hour some guilt about leaving the responsibility all his life too much with other people, or rather a tendency towards that which was very much controlled, had come up. Facing that, a very high appreciation of the value of the analysis and the effects, and a feeling of unworthiness in having it, had become quite clear. A particular association was leaving the responsibility for sweets (tuck at school) with the mother. He would not take sweets with him after the holidays, but she should rather send them. They were packed into a tin, and there seemed something very wrong about that, an inexplicable feeling that it was not, as it were, her job to send them in a way which left some responsibility with her which she should not have. This had connected with feelings that however valuable the analysis might be, he does not make the best of it, or won’t do in the future.

My suggestion in the preceding hour had been that he would use the interpretations, and the analysis, in the wrong way, that he would not make the best of it. Now an association produced on the 7th was that after having left me, at the moment of going out of the room, he had suddenly had an association that in fact he would make use of the analysis in such a way that it would improve his earning capacity, and he disliked the thought that he would use it to make money.

Now there are here two trends of thought which became quite clear in the present hour: The good thing, the milk, the nipple, taken in would be changed into faeces and thus be completely destroyed – money making – bad purposes.

This is the way in which the nipple, and now my interpretations, would be treated while being taken in. The object would be destroyed, the “death head”, which himself felt was a later elaboration of what was felt dangerously destroyed in those early days, is the object- in this case me. Therefor the tin in which the sweets were packed is not only his inside in which he should not take the sweets, but it is more specifically the mouth and the teeth (the edges of the tin).

The very strong feeling that it was not his fault, because it was pushed, thrust on him, seems to connect with the nipple being pushed into him. And here the object itself becomes the teeth, a condensation of what is being done to the object and reflected in his attitude towards him. Also why was the nipple given to him? But there seemed to have been in fact at the very beginning of feeding great difficulties because the mother had been very ill, and X has a feeling- not supported by what he had heard- that for some time she could not have fed him. In his view, since she was so ill at his birth, some weeks could have elapsed before she could feed him. A view which seems rather phantastic when he was going over it in this hour, because what would have happened to the milk?

He had been told that his breast feeding otherwise had been normal up to about 8 months but with the strong feeling that to begin with there had been a long gap, a very long time before he started on it. The present impression was that he might have had very great difficulties in taking the nipple, perhaps because of a break in the beginning or perhaps because of fears, as the mother, who was on the whole affectionate and patient, was apt to be erratic and if things did not go well, impatient. The possibility appears that if at the beginning of the feeding there had been difficulties due to starting a little too late with the breast being given and to his difficulties, she might have been impatient and thrust the nipple into his mouth.

Very fundamental attitudes seem to be connected with this. Incapacity to make use of very great gifts in him, of choosing, or trying to get the best thing, to make use of opportunities – against that in the same way a tendency to thrust responsibility on to others which was in fact not carried out. A very strong drive to get the best opportunities and also to make use of them, but with a constant conflict over these two attitudes which no doubt had to some extent a paralysing effect.

An interesting point is the vision of the “death head” in front of the mouth, outside. It seems to show so closely the process of the object still outside and at the same time already internalised and again externalised – on the boundary. As well as the actual external object, the nipple, changed into this destroyed object.

Memories in feelings are not an unknown fact. But this should be put versus what is called “memories”. I find them in such ways also with adults, that the whole situation becomes alive. All this shows in attitudes and is connected with the transference situation.

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

References:

Klein, Melanie (1957) Envy and Gratitude. In Envy and Gratitude and Other Works, The Writings of Melanie Klein Volume III. London: Hogarth 1975.

[uzumaki-rebellion]

“Stark’s New Intern” Chapter 21

"I've seen things that I never should have seen Said too many things I didn't mean Hurt myself too many times to count I need to let it out, and just release Been lying to myself too long Been trying by myself too long I can't relax, I'm too distracted I can't hack it, hmm I'm needy, greedy Love me, feed me Let's be a family It'll take a village To make a man of me So why couldn't you love me? It's all I need

I just want time in a tree I need a place just for me Somewhere that I can be free Keep the faith and just be What you'll be…"

Raleigh Ritchie—"Time in a Tree"

Work.

From sun up until sundown.

Erik bought suits, shoes, and accessories that shouted to the world that he was in the big leagues. Tailor-made threads. A personal barber that came to the office to service him. He leased a silver Porshe and had gourmet meals delivered to him because there was no time to cook in Devika's condo.

By the time he dragged himself home after a fifteen-hour day with Stark and two hours on a crowded freeway, all Erik could do was heat up his fancy pre-cooked meal, eat it, shower, and fall into bed next to Devika.

Despite the hectic schedule, he was able to knock out some gym time during his lunch breaks, and he went through another growth spurt, putting on an additional twenty pounds that filled out his face, chest, and ass. He felt like his voice had changed too, sounding more manly to his ears. Even his dick felt different as if it had grown a bit too, feeling thicker when he was erect. His physical need for sex grew also, but Devika was unavailable to him when he was gallivanting around with Tony. It was torture moving in and out of Tony's office and seeing her at her desk but pretending that they didn't wake up together or go to sleep together in the same bed.

Their domestic arrangement was cute for about three months, but the shine was wearing off a bit when real-life commenced. He had a job. Responsibilities. Schedules to create and maintain. Pepper was still on his ass at times, and Tony was his usual unpredictable self. He brought that stress home with him and it took him a long time to release the outside world with his home life. Devika was a good sport about the lack of time they had together, but some nights he was so tired that he would fall asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.

Sometimes he could knock out a quickie in the morning, but only if he set an alarm to get up early. He was able to get home early one hectic Friday night because a client canceled a dinner meeting, but by the time he showered and put on fresh cologne for Devika, Tony called him up to tell him to pack for Hawaii. He sat in the living room waiting for Devika, and when she scurried in excited to have him home to herself before ten at night holding Thai take-out food, she saw his bags by the door and she totally deflated. He apologized as he kissed her, trying to smooth her ruffled feathers. Instead of languid love-making as he had promised, they ended up fucking hard and fast on the couch with Erik switching up positions as many times as he could.

When they were done and tangled up in each other's afterglow, Erik could tell that she wasn't happy.

"Go put on those heels, Ma," he told her, slapping her ass.

Her eyes were closed.

"C'mon, baby. I gotta leave soon. I wanna see you in them."

She dragged herself off the couch and walked her sexy ass to the bedroom. When she returned, she had on some black strappy seven-inch heels that he had never seen before.

"Damn, girl."

"I bought these for this weekend."

She twirled around and he stood up fast, fisting his brand new erection.

"Get down on the floor. You know what I want."

She took her time walking to him.

"Look how hard you got this dick."

She smiled then dropped down on the floor under beneath his spread legs, resting her back against the couch.

"Lick my balls."

Her tongue slathered saliva all around his sack. Her right hand reached up and stroked his dick and he kept his eyes on her legs that were bent at the knees. Leaning forward, he could see her heels.

"Baby, I like how you got my balls all in your mouth…fuck…Devika…suck on those nuts bitch…"

He watched her widen her thighs.

"I'ma fuck you in your ass before I leave."

She moaned and the vibration on her mouth coursed all around his nutsack.

"Goddamn Devika!"

Pre-cum laced the tip of his dick and fell down onto her stomach.

He broke away from her.

"Get on your hands and knees."

Devika crawled forward and Erik handed her a couch pillow for her knees. She placed herself in position with her perky ass in the air and Erik stroked himself.

"I know you're still upset I have to leave all last minute. But I'm about to get in that ass so you won't miss me too much."

He positioned himself behind her and used the copious amount of pre-cum dripping out of his slit to lubricate his erection.

"Get ready, Ma…oh shit…I like that…oh damn... Devika…oh shit….oh shit…."

He took his sweet time entering her, and she relaxed easily once he started pumping in and out of her asshole. In the three months he had been living with her, he learned that whenever she was upset with him for any little thing, fucking her in the ass calmed the bad attitude. When her body was fully accommodating, he gave her that length and girth.

"You still mad?" he said between gritted teeth.

"Not anymore. Keep fucking me in my ass!"

"You letting me get in there deep this time. Damn girl…deep…fucking this ass up!"

He jumped from doggy to froggy on her ass, letting his heavy balls smash against her ass and clit.

"You were ready to cuss my ass out when I told you I had to leave…ah shit…ass is fucking tight on my dick."

Devika adjusted her hands and arms to handle the weight he was putting on her. He sweated all over her back.

"Can I cum in your ass?"

"Yes…."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, Daddy. Cum in my ass."

"You forgive me for leaving?"

"Yes!"

"You gon' miss Daddy's dick?"

"Yes!"

Devika fell forward and leaned her weight onto her elbows.

Erik slang dick in her ass to put her to sleep.

"How you gon' greet me when I get back?"

"Erik!"

"Tell me!"

He slapped her ass cheek. He was close to ejaculating.

"I'll be at the door….on my knees…."

"What else?"

"Mouth open…"

"For what?"

"Daddy's dick."

"What will you wear?"

"A smile."

He laughed and slapped the side of her hip.

Shifting back to his knees again, he gripped her waist with both hands and rocked into her. So much sweat dripped off from her supple skin and he allowed the fingers of his left hand to slide up and down her spine to feel the warm wetness. Devika played with her clit as he handled her ass. She was so fucking beautiful and he felt so proud to have her for his own…to live with her…to wake up with her…

"I'm cumming….I'm cumming….fuck….I'm cumming hard….I'm cumming hard in this ass…Devika…I'm….shiiitttt!"

He pulled his dick back a few inches as he lost his voice. His eyes squeezed shut hard and he thought he could see hot flashes of white light behind his eyelids as a rush of fluid erupted from his loins. Staring down at himself he watched his dick jump and throb and pump a flood of hot semen into her ass. His balls seemed to jump too.

"Damn baby. That was fucking amazing!"

He slapped her ass again and pulled her body up against him to give her a big hug. Kissing all over her cheek he felt her pat his arm.

"You better go take a shower real quick. I'll call a Lyft for you."

He released her and sauntered to the bathroom letting her see his dick swinging as he walked. When he was done cleaning himself and changing into clothes, she was ready to say goodbye to him at the front door.

"Call me when you land," she said, clutching onto his arm. She was still naked.

"Hopefully we'll be back by Wednesday," he said.

"He has to be. He has several meetings scheduled later that afternoon that he can't get out of."

Her face looked a little strange when he reached for the handle of his bag.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Just a lot is going on and you won't be here to help me decompress."

"You just make sure to be in position when I get back here Wednesday night."

He kissed her and regretted feeling her tongue in his mouth. He wanted to stay home and make love all weekend. His balls still felt heavy.

"Down on my knees. Mouth open," she whispered.

"Mmmhmmm. Make sure you suck my dick real good too."

"I will."

"I know you will. Have my pussy ready too. I'ma be digging in you deep." "Yeah?"

"You know it. Marinate in you all night. Take care of you right. Make up for all of this last-minute bullshit."

"That's part of the job Erik. Life with Tony is non-stop."

"But I have a life with you too."

Her eyes flickered away from his. He didn't like that.

"Call me," she said once more and kissed him again.

She had to shove him out the door to make him finally leave.

###

The private jet banked across the Pacific and Erik could see the lights of the Santa Monica pier before they ascended into the upper layers of a cloudy sky. Once they reached cruising altitude, he could see the moon and stars.

"I've rescheduled my Monaco trip," Tony said as he sat in a creamy gray leather seat with a touchpad in his right hand and a bourbon on the rocks in his left.

"When?" Erik asked.

"Early February."

Tony sipped and scrolled. Erik daydreamed looking out of the window.

Pepper sat across from Erik in the aisle, her fingers busy clickety-clacking on her laptop. Every now and then she would stop and sip on the can of Coke sitting on her seat tray next to her computer.

Happy and another security team member snoozed in the back. A private flight attendant offered Erik snacks and more soda, but he declined. His stomach was in knots. This was the sixth flight out of Los Angeles in four weeks and he barely had a chance to see Devika once he had returned from the last-minute Hawaii trip weeks ago. He was in and out of LAX so much that he didn't bother taking his suitcases home, and just left them packed and ready at the office.

He was learning a ton, and he was also getting access to how Tony's mind worked in regards to the industry he was in and his bottom line.

Money.

Tony Stark loved tech and innovation and being a showman, but he loved money more than anything. Even though he had enough to last several lifetimes, there was an unending need to have more. It was a theme Erik found among the crowd Tony ran with. Money was used to bend wills, control societies, and bludgeon politicians. It was a true addiction. A rabid one at that.

Erik also learned that people at those top one percent heights dehumanized everyone around them. The lower ninety-nine percent were the help. Simple cattle. Sheep to be herded sometimes. How many men from various countries in the last five months had Erik been around that made him want to choke the life out of them? A dozen? Two dozen? So many of them were sociopaths too, and not to mention those that made his guts crawl when they gave off pedo vibes or disgusting kinks that Erik had been privy too. A trip to Dubai found Erik sitting in a lavish home watching women flown in from America and Europe squatting over rich male faces and shitting feces into their mouths as Tony sat there trying to close an arms deal that would net him millions. Erik didn't know whether to laugh or vomit as dead-eyed twenty-somethings with augmented bodies performed kinks that shouldn't even exist. But Tony took it in stride. It was normal business to him.

The trips wouldn't be so bad if he didn't have the nagging suspicion that Devika was going to break up with him. He was already living in his own apartment away from her. He hoped that distance would make her heart grow fonder when she did see him at work, but the unpredictable hours put a dent in that. He saw her at least twice a week outside of work, and that time was only spent fucking before he was off to do Tony's bidding.

Before he left for the trip he was on now she had called him weeks before to say that her ex-fiancé had been reaching out to her and she wanted to talk to him. They left their relationship unfinished and she wanted closure.

Erik was upset. Angry.

They fought about it for weeks and stopped speaking to each other for days.

But he wanted her to handle her business. He thought it was the adult thing to do. She cried about it and the expression on her face pained him.

"I was with that man for five years, Erik. I loved him…I still love him. We were planning a life together. I can't just turn off all of that history like that."

He sat in her living room with a heated face and pressure in his chest. She still loved him?

"If you love him, then why fuck around with me? Am I your place holder or something?"

It was hard to hang onto his righteous anger when she was crying so hard. Seeing all that hurt in her face made him want to fix everything for her.

"Erik, you…I…I have feelings for you. Deep feelings. I really do. But—"

"I don't want to hear no 'buts' Devika…are you fucking him?"

"No—"

"Don't lie!"

"I'm not."

"So what do you want to do?"

He was so hot with rage that he could barely sit still. He wanted to punch in the wall. Break shit.

"I need to talk with him. Work this thing out. You don't know what it's like to share a life with someone—"

"What have I been doing with you? We lived together for almost four months—"

"Four months is not the same as five years."

"I fucking hate this shit, Devika!"

His voice thundered in the room and she covered her face with shaky hands. He was too angry to even try and comfort her.

He moved out soon after that. Gave her space and time to get herself together.

It crushed him.

He spent way too much time at the gym, doing his best not to go home to a lonely apartment. He threw himself into his work and was grateful for the long hours to keep his mind off of her.

There was an occasional check-in text, and he zoned out around her in Tony's office.

He couldn't believe how his relationship had turned to shit so fast. One minute he had a woman, and the next, he was waiting for her to make a decision because he knew that is what it came down to. Did she love Austin enough to get back with him? Get married?

Staring out of the jet window again, Erik tried to see it from Devika's point of view. She was twenty-six, had a career that provided her with a lucrative income, and Erik knew she wanted to have a family. Babies. A house in the suburbs. He was nineteen, and even though he had money in the bank thanks to card sharking for Tony and the life insurance left to him from his parents, he also had to consider his own life goal.

Revenge.

A deep sigh escaped his throat and Tony glanced up at him from his touchpad.

"You okay, kiddo?"

"Yeah."

"If you want to sleep, go take the bed in the back. I'm going to be up until we land."

"Okay."

Erik left his seat and wandered to the private sleeping quarters. Kicking off his dress shoes, he stretched out on the bed, his body still tense.

Devika wanted a regular life. He would never be able to give her that. No one really. He was just greedy for her affections, greedy for wanting to be needed by someone like her. He felt lonely, but he needed to do what she had originally told him to do: focus on his work and his dreams.

But his dreams were the replaying of nightmares in his life. She helped him forget so much.

Devika tried to give him a graceful out, one in which they could still have a friendly relationship, but he pushed her, clung to her, used her to make himself feel good.

The short trip to Atlanta went by fast, and before he knew it, Erik was driving his Porsche to Devika's condo. Her car was parked in her spot and he rode the elevator to her unit. Jamming his keys to her place into the doorknob he was ready to make peace. It had been a week since he had seen her and all he wanted to do was hug her and let her know that—

Austin stood in the kitchen drinking orange juice straight from the plastic bottle. Naked. Erik blinked his eyes rapidly.

Ain't this a bitch.

Austin turned to look at him and the smug expression on his face set Erik off.

"Devika!" Erik shouted.

He stormed over to the open bedroom and Devika ran out wearing a gray sports bra and black pajama bottoms.

"What are you doing here?"

Her eyes held surprise and the calmness in her voice made him antsy.

"I missed you. I wanted to see you—"

"Get the fuck out!"

Austin's voice startled Devika. He was at Erik's heels, his wide chest puffed out, the orange juice still his hand.

Devika's eyes looked so sad.

Erik knew what her final decision was. He didn't have to ask. She was never really his.

"I'ma leave," he said backing away from her.

Walking out of the condo, his brain whirling in his head with so many disconnected thoughts, Erik found his car and promptly dropped down to the curb and cried. Like a baby.

He cradled his face and let the tears fall as his chest rattled with deep choking sobs.

"Erik…"

Devika dropped down next to him and held him. Rocking him in her arms.

"I didn't sleep with him, Erik, I didn't sleep with him…"

He rested his face on her neck and she stroked his shoulders.

"We went out to eat and talked some things out. He was too drunk to drive, so I made him sleep on the couch."

"Devika…" he choked out.

Her watery eyes stared at him and when her tears fell, he cried even harder and clutched onto her shoulder. He dropped his head to her lap and she rubbed his back until he couldn't cry anymore. When his breathing stopped having shuddery stops and starts, he sat up and looked at her. Her face was a wet mess.

"You were right. About us. I want you, but I know I can't give you what you need. What you dream about. I'm barely twenty and this is my first job. I still have grad school, and there are things I have to get done. I wanted you to be something in my life that made me feel normal. But you want something that only Austin can give you. I was just trying to steal a little bit of it for myself. You are so smart and beautiful, Devika. You treated me with respect and you were always honest with me. I took advantage of that. I know I did. You should work things out with him if that's what you want. I won't stand in your way. I want you to be happy. I care about you so much…but I'll never be what you need."

"Shut up!"

She hugged him tight and her body shook.

"God, just shut up, Erik."

"I just need you to be my friend."

"I can do that."

He tried wiping away her tears, but she held onto his fingers. She pressed her forehead into his.

"I'm not getting back with Austin. Just so you know. Thank you for giving me the space to figure that out on my own."

"Why that nigga gotta be naked to drink some juice?"

Devika laughed loud and long and Erik joined her.

They were going to be alright. He felt it in his bones.

Chapter 22 HERE.

###

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