#if anyone even thinks of tagging this as ship art I’m walking into the ocean and never coming back

[eldritchenthusiast]

What they don’t tell you about being noa’s protege is the random and unskippable makeup tutorials

[wefoundloveunderthelight]

The Love Cruise - by GleefullyCaptainSwan

Read on AO3: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

Or on FF

Tagging:   @teamhook @kmomof4 @stahlop @lfh1226-linda

Chapter 5: A Kiss is Just a Kiss

Emma stood on her balcony with her eyes closed, listening to the sounds of the ocean, the faint cry of the birds flying overhead, the rush of the wind in her ears. She felt truly at peace for the first time in a long time. She wished Henry could have been there to experience this with her. She had done everything with Henry for almost 7 years now, perhaps she didn’t know who she was without him around.

“Why aren’t you in your suit.” Ruby appeared behind her with her towel in her hand. “I thought we were going to the pool to sunbathe.”

“I was actually thinking that I want to go to this art auction I saw on the patter for today.”

Ruby’s face scrunched in disgust. “Eww, an art auction sounds horribly boring and stuffy. I didn’t even think you liked art.”

“I just wanted to check it out. It’s not like we would ever have the chance to go to an art auction back home?”

“Well, you enjoy that. When you get bored, you know where to find me.” She crinkled her nose and turned to leave.

Emma laughed. “I’ll probably see you in thirty minutes.”

Emma strolled through the hallways to try and find the location of the auction. August was right when he said it was easy to get lost on the ship. She was never sure if she was on the right floor or even on the right end of the ship. If you took all the floors end to end, it would be bigger than the town she lived in.

She noticed a group of people that were dressed nicer than most of the passengers on the ship heading into one of the lounges at the end of the hallway she was in. She looked down at her sun dress and started to worry that she might be underdressed to rub elbows with people who attended art auctions.

She peered into the room, easels set up with paintings on them and perched on each of the walls. Tentatively she wandered into the room, trying to make herself blend in with the rest of the passengers who were lazily walking through the art, nodding their heads, and whispering to each other. She leaned over to read a few of the inscriptions, many of the paintings were ocean themed.

“We meet again.”

Emma yelped and grabbed her chest, turning to face the man behind her.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to frighten you. Emma, right?”

Emma nodded, “Yes.”

“Where’s your…” He looked around the room. “Boyfriend? If you were mine, I wouldn’t let you out of my sight.”

Emma swallowed, sickened by the look on his face the way he said the word mine. So possessive as if she were an object. “Walsh was it?” she deflected.

“I made enough of an impression that at least you remembered my name.” Emma smiled politely and continued walking down the rows of art, hoping he would take the hint and leave her to her thoughts. “Which piece do you plan to bid on?”

Emma walked toward her favorite painting on the back wall, it was a ship sailing into the sunset. She looked at the price tag on the painting, choking softly when she read the price. There was no way she could afford to bid on any of the paintings, and this one was at least 3 months’ salary.

“Ah good taste, that’s a beautiful painting. I actually met the artist when I was in Paris last summer.”

Emma nodded, trying to act like this was a normal conversation she would be having back home with her friends. “Which one are you interested in?”

“Ah, I’m here for the piece de resistance, the Homer.”

Emma had no idea what he was talking about, but he led her to a painting in a gold frame at the front of the room. She glanced at the price tag and paled. “Oh, um yeah it’s…why would anyone pay this much for a canvas with some paint on it?”

He chuckled beside her, “I collect art, to hang in the halls of my businesses. This one will hang in the western hall of my bank in Switzerland.”

“Wow, that’s…” Boring, elitist, not of any interest to her! “very exciting.”

“Looks like they are about to begin, I should take my seat.”

She watched him walk to the front of the room and she immediately looked for a spot near the back of to observe the process without getting in the middle of the action.

~*~

Killian stood in the shadows watching Emma as she quietly walked through the rows of paintings in the gallery room. As Captain he tried to show up to at least a few events a day that were happening aboard his ship. He did not expect to find her at this one but was pleasantly surprised when her golden hair appeared on the other side of one of the paintings he had been admiring earlier.

He observed her for a few minutes, intending to make his presence known when the man from the bar approached her. He melted into the background of the room, watching as she politely conversed with Walsh. He could tell she wasn’t interested in the man. Killian knew his type, always thinking they were the most important person in the room, looking down on those that didn’t have the means to present themselves in the same manner as they did. He hated men like Walsh. The man didn’t deserve someone the likes of Emma. He supposed it was because he was one of those people that Walsh would look down his nose at.

Killian wasn’t really interested in the art event. Many of the pieces they were auctioning off were going for thousands of dollars, if not more. A waste of hard-earned money if you asked him. The man led Emma toward the main piece at the front of the room and Killian figured that would be the one a man like Walsh was here for. It was worth millions, the perfect item to throw around his elitist status when trying to impress a woman.

His was drawn out of his thoughts as the gavel hit the podium, signaling the start of the auction. Emma wandered to the back of the room as the auction began, sitting alone in the last row. He pushed away from the wall and strolled toward her, quietly taking the seat next to her.

~*~

Emma was very confused by the auction process, wands going up and down in front of her as each piece was brought forward. The artwork she liked the most was brought to the front and she tried to listen to the fast-talking auctioneer to see how much it would sell for. A wand in the front row shot up to open the bidding at $5,000. Another wand appeared and thus it went back and forth until the wand in the front won the piece for $7,500. That was the price she paid for her yellow bug back home, a car that got her to and from work every day.

She felt someone sit next to her and she stiffened. There were so many other seats available, why did they need to interrupt her isolation?

“I didn’t take you as an art connoisseur, Swan? Are you thinking of purchasing something?”

Emma relaxed as she looked up and saw her favorite Captain (did she know any other Captains?) sitting next to her, looking extremely good looking in his uniform. “Sure, I figure if I rent out my house and move back in with my brother and don’t eat for the next few months, I can afford at least one piece.”

He chuckled softly beside her. “Perhaps your rich suitor could purchase it for you.”

She watched as he stared straight ahead, and she smiled to herself. “Jealous, Captain?”

He nodded, “Perhaps.”

Her heart was racing, she was being completely ridiculous and irresponsible right now. “This is boring.” She leaned closer to him and whispered.

“Perhaps a personal tour of my ship would be more enticing for you?”

Does it include your bedroom?  Emma mentally slapped herself for the thought. Snap out of it, Emma.

“A personal tour from the Captain, how could I say no.”

Their eyes met and she swore she saw a glint of something else hidden beneath those electric blue eyes, he stood quickly and slipped out the back door, Emma following closely behind.

She watched him intensely as he spoke reverently about every piece of the ship like it was something personal to him.

“You talk about the ship like it’s a person.”

“Aye, in a way she is. A Captain’s ship is always his mistress and she should be treated with respect.”

Emma tried to memorize the reverence on his face as he spoke, he had never heard anyone talk so eloquently about some boards and planks. She found herself wondering how he treated a woman with flesh and bones, needs, and desires.

Focus Emma.

They continued their tour, walking through the dining room she ate in twice a day toward a room with a table in the back that she had not noticed before.

“You have your own dining table?”

“It’s actually called the Captain’s table, not very original, but yes. It is used to invite VIP guests to join me at dinner a few times during the cruise, its customary and quite formal.”

“I bet you get all the best food.”

“I suppose a Captain does eat well.” He laughed, the timber of his voice playing in her ears as it was slowly becoming her favorite melody. She needed to stop staring at him like she was a 13-year-old girl with her first crush. But she quickly found that the alternative of gazing at him like he was a plate full of food and she hadn’t eaten in months was a more dangerous scenario.

They climbed the stairs which opened into a huge room, wall to floor windows, equipment littered at each station that was either blinking or moving in lines across the screen. It was overwhelming. “Wow, do you have to know how to use all of this equipment?”

“I don’t personally use it all, but I do have the capability and understanding of each station, yes.” He nodded to a portly man at the end of the bridge. “Afternoon, Officer. Emma, this is First Officer Smee, he is currently on watch.”

“Afternoon Ma’am.”

“Are you sailing the ship on your own right now?” Emma exclaimed looking around and not seeing many other people on the bridge.

Killian laughed, “Don’t share our secrets here, Emma, but most of the time the ship sails herself. I’m barely needed to sail her. It’s all in the computers now.”

“He’s being modest.” Smee interrupted. “The Captain does more than sail her, he’s in charge of everyone on board, keeps the ship running smoothly, and ensures we don’t crash her into each port.”

“Thank you, Smee. Happy to see I’ve at least impressed someone.” He turned toward Emma. ��Shall I show you the controls?” Smee excused himself to allow them to wander the bridge in private.

“I have no idea how you know what all these buttons and knobs. I think this would give me anxiety being responsible for all of this.”

“Extensive training, love. They don’t let just anyone take on such precious cargo.” Her heart sped up as his eyes bore into hers. God he was gorgeous. She backed up into one of the control panels, her hand coming to rest on the counter.

“Careful love, if you push that button, you’ll take us off course.” She jumped, pulling her hand off the console and grabbing at her chest which elicited a gruff laugh from him, his eyes slipping down to her lips.

“Thank you again for the tour, I really appreciate you showing me around.” She said, her voice barely above a whisper as he continued to step closer to her.

“Aye, your gratitude is much appreciated.” His hands rested on either side of her, the heat from his body radiating against her hips. She stared at his mouth longer than she should before dragging her eyes upward to meet his. They were darker than she remembered them earlier, his pupils larger. They were locked in a moment where neither spoke and Emma wasn’t sure what she wanted to happen next, just that she didn’t want it to stop.

Before she had time to anxiously weigh her options he leaned in and captured her lips with his own. His lips were soft and warm, and she could barely contain the beating of her own heart or the way she could feel it pounding in her ears, tiny explosions of light projecting on the backs of her eyelids as she pressed forward against him. Her hands came up to rest on his chest, the crisp fabric of his uniform sliding against her palms.

Suddenly he pulled away from her, looking between them toward the floor and shaking his head. “Apologies, Miss Swan, that was inappropriate.” He stepped back and wandered toward the window, looking down at the deck below them.

She took a deep breath and approached him, admiring his profile, his jaw clenched, his eyes focused on the unaware passengers who were going about their day. “It must be a lot of pressure being responsible for so many people.”

“Aye.”

“Then we are very lucky that you’re our Captain.” She added, trying to lighten the mood which had suddenly become tense. She tried to quiet her own disappointment from his change of mood, wondering if he regretted what had just happened because of his status and the public display or because it was her.

~*~

Killian cursed himself for kissing Emma. He was the Captain of the ship and he just kissed a passenger on the bloody bridge while in uniform. He had no idea what had come over him to behave so reprehensively.

Besides that, Emma had already told him that she wasn’t here to meet a guy and then he went and kissed the woman. Of course, there was also the matter that he wasn’t interested in a relationship either, he hadn’t been with a woman since Milah had died. But suddenly standing on the bridge with Emma, he wanted nothing more than to kiss her and then he bloody well went and did it.

Idiot.

He glanced to his left to see the woman staring out at the ocean asking him about the pressure he was under in his position. God she was beautiful. He glanced away, hoping it would stop him from the irrational thought of pulling her into his arms and claiming her lips again. “I’m sure you have a vacation to get back to, I don’t want to monopolize all of your time.”

She looked up at him, their eyes meeting for mere moments but enough to cause the hairs on his arm to stand on end. He needed to get his shit together. Instead of agreeing, she brushed her hand against his sleeve, running her fingers along his stripes, something she seemed mesmerized by on their previous occasion. “I’m supposed to meet Ruby at the pool for some sunbathing.”

Images of her in a bikini laying in the sun came to mind and he coughed into his hand. “I would hate to keep you from such an important activity.”

She stepped toward him, a playful smile forming on her lips. “Deck 12, if you’re into watching…to ensure my safety.” Her tongue darted out across her bottom lip.

Was she hitting on him?

He watched her slip away down the stairs, his frozen incompetent brain never catching up with his mouth to allow for a single word in response to her.

~*~

Emma had no idea what had gotten into her. She came on this ship not wanting to hook up but damn it if she didn’t need more of Captain Killian Jones. She didn’t know exactly why he apologized for kissing her, but she was going to make sure he understood that she didn’t regret him doing it. It’s not like she was going to see him again after she got off the ship. Wasn’t she supposed to be here to have a little fun?

She knew he was interested in her or he wouldn’t have kissed her. She may not have been with a man for seven years, but she knew what desire was and what she witnessed in his eyes before he kissed her was pure need.

Emma found Ruby lying by the pool and she sat down in the chair beside her. “Where have you been? I almost gave up waiting for you.”

“Sorry, I got distracted.” She said with a smirk on her face.

Her friend pushed her sunglasses up on her head. “Distracted by who?”

“Why do you assume it’s a who? There’s a lot of things on this ship to get distracted by.”

“Because I know you. You’re flushed and you keep biting your lip. Was it Graham?”

“I’ve barely talked to him.” She shrugged.

“You don’t have to talk to him to get horny, Em.”

She put her sunglasses on and lay back. “I’m bored talking about this.”

“You’re really no fun.” She pouted.

~*~

Killian knew he should stay the hell away from deck 12, he was too worked up to watch her sunning her half naked body. He should go to his room, take a cold shower, and enjoy a nap. Instead, he found himself on deck 13, staring down into the pool below, scanning the passengers for the woman who was driving him mad.

A kiss is just a kiss, right?

When he caught sight of her, he shifted against the balcony, his body reacting immediately to seeing her laid out below him. He hadn’t even looked at another woman in three years, not since Milah. But he wanted this woman, he needed to have her, to devour her, to feel her underneath him. And now that he had tasted her, he craved more.

“See something you like?” Killian jumped, turning toward Robin’s voice.

“Must you sneak up on me?” He stood beside him, staring down below them.

“Nice view.” He smirked.

“I’m just checking in on the passengers to ensure all is well.”

“Ah, just doing your duty then?”

Killian figured the best way to answer him was to ignore the question completely. “How did it go with Regina after I left you at the bar? I’m guessing from your presence here that she didn’t injure you.”

He laughed, “Well after you ran out on us, she wasn’t too pleased to be left alone with me. But she didn’t leave either.”

“Such blazing progress.” He teased. “You’ll be married before we reach the next port, should I brush up on my officiating duties?”

~*~

“There you are.” Emma wrapped her arms around August’s waist and hugged him tightly. “I haven’t seen you all day, where have you been?”

“Oh, um, I’ve been giving the ankle a rest.”

“Visiting the med bay, again? Maybe requiring your own personal nurse?” She questioned, noticing the new bandages wrapped around his foot.

“Just how do you know Captain Jones?” He diverted with a grin.

“Well played, sir.” She turned toward their friends, “Shall we?”

They took their seats at the table, Emma noticing that they had another guest at the table tonight. Graham was sitting on the other side of Ruby, embroiled in deep conversation.

“Tell me, is it true that William once drank an entire bottle of whiskey before the end of his shift?” Belle asked her as she sat down

“I didn’t say the whole bottle.” Will interrupted Belle.

“Most likely true, he enjoys clearing me out of my good whiskey.” August laughed.

“Not all in one day, that would make me a thief.” Will’s affronted reply coming quickly.

“You are a thief.” Ruby teased.

“You stole my heart.” Belle cooed and Will stared at her. His face crumpled, conflict littering his features. She knew he liked the girl, but she was also sure that if he did have feelings toward her, he would confuse them with his pining for Ana.

She simply smiled at him at the table and waited until they returned to their rooms to approach him. Since Ruby was getting a nightcap with Graham, she used the opportunity to invite Will to escort her back to her room.

“Delivered safe and sound.” He announced as she opened her door.

“So, Belle’s nice.” She said casually.

“Oi, this was a setup, wasn’t it? You didn’t need me to walk you to your room at all.”

“Nope, I just wanted to check up on you. You’ve been spending a lot of time with her.”

“She’s nice, I like chatting with her.”

“But…” Emma pulled him into her room.

“But I feel like I’m cheating on Ana.” He whined and Emma sat down on her bed and patted the spot beside her. He grumbled but took the seat, reaching over to take his hand.

“I’m going to say something to you, and I need you to listen to me, ok?” He shook his head. “And you can’t get mad at me because what I’m about to say is said in love.”

“Get it over with.” He exhaled, rolling his eyes.

“Ana was a bitch.” She held up her hand to stop him from interrupting. “She used you for whatever she could take and then she left. She’s gone and she’s not coming back. And I think you know that, and you use it, so you don’t have to put yourself back out there, so you don’t get hurt like that again.”

His shoulders sagged. “I can’t go through that again.” He whispered. “She damn near ruined me.”

“I know.” She wrapped her arms around his waist, remembering the night Ana left. He had called her after midnight, barely about to understand a word on the phone. By the time she arrived at his apartment he was a blubbering mess, crying on her shoulder, both of them drinking through the night until they fell asleep on the sofa. He had gone through phases of anger and depression, but never acceptance. “I was there, remember? There was a lot of whiskey involved.” He chuckled, a tear spilling from his eye. “But honey, you deserve to be happy, you’re a great guy.”

“Are you trying to have sex with me right now, because I’ve never considered it, but you could convince me.”

She smacked him on the back of the head. “Don’t ruin this moment, William.”

“Ow, ya bloody brat.”

“I love you; you’ve been my best friend through everything, and I want you to be happy. But to do that you have to put yourself out there.”

“Is this lecture for me or you?”

“Hey, we’re talking about you here.”

He laughed and then reached over and pulled her against his chest, falling back onto the bed together. “I love you too.” He nuzzled into her neck, “You could still convince me, this is a really good moment.” She pulled back and shoved him away from her. “I mean, this is a great start, maybe I’d enjoy it rough coming from you.”

“Will!”

“Ok, ok, I know, you can’t handle all of this.” He stood up from the bed and turned to leave. “What’s that?” He gestured to their desk in the corner of the room and the object sitting on it. Emma paled. Sitting on the desk was the painting she had been admiring during the auction. The one that sold for $7,500 earlier today. “Who’s Walsh?” he passed her the note attached to the paining.

A painting of great beauty deserves to be owned by an equally beautiful woman.

Yours, Walsh

[when-i-was-your-angel]

Hues of Blue

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes (40's and Present)

Word Count: 1486

NSFW: Non-Explicit

TW: Rage attacks, Steve being angry

Tags: ANGST, Minor Fluff but mostly Angst

A/N: This is set between TFA and TWS! Steve still thinks Bucky died in the war. bold sections are flashbacks.

Summary: Steve tries to paint a portrait of Bucky. What color were his eyes again?

Inspired by my good friend Meral, @/CAPSBVRNES on twitter. Love ya, doll.

Steve had a long day.

Said day started with a rather pleasant dream about waking up with Bucky in between his legs. This was quickly ruined by his alarm clock. Little Steve hadn’t seemed to notice that it was, in fact, only a dream. After Steve had er- taken care- of that problem in the shower, Tony called. There was some life or death mission debrief he was needed on. So he drove two hours through New York City traffic to get to the tower, only to find out Tony needed his opinion on what qualified as a “classic” suit. Steve didn’t even dignify him with an answer before he stormed out of the building. Now, four hours later and his day wasted, he was finally arriving back home.

Steve unlocked the front door of his Brooklyn brownstone and stopped dead in his tracks.

Boxes. Boxes upon boxes of… art supplies? Based on the pictures and labels on the boxes they were filled with paints, canvases, brushes, pencils, easels, and more. Steve looked around nervously and spotted a note on top of one of the many cardboard boxes.

Sorry, Capsicle. Had to get you out of the apartment so I could deliver this shit.

Paint me something pretty.

-T.S.

A hesitant smile made its way onto Steve’s face. His day just got a whole lot better.

- - - Three Hours Later - - -

A few hours, a shit ton of cursing, and a helping of elbow grease later, Steve had himself an art studio. He had set up the three easels Tony got him, positioning them in front of the windows in the office of his brownstone. There was also a simple desk in one of the boxes that he rather enjoyed the look of. It was simple but made of solid oak. He could just picture Tony saying ‘It’s old fashioned, like ye ol’ Cappie.’

With a slight grunt, Steve stood and looked around his new studio. He hadn’t had something so… domestic in years. He smiled and unwrapped a canvas, sitting down in front of an easel. He raised a pencil to his canvas to begin sketching… and nothing happened. “S’pose seventy years and a cryogenic freeze gives you art block.” He thought.

Steve stood and walked around the few rooms in his modest house, looking for inspiration. His gaze flickered over his photo album. “That’ll do.”

He picked up the leather book, flipping through it. There weren’t many pictures. It had been difficult to get a photo back in the 40’s, and he didn’t have many people to take pictures of nowadays. A few pictures of his ma, one of him in the third grade, and- Bucky.

A black and white version of his best friend sat before him. He was told not to smile in his military ID photo, but the little shit found a way to flash a grin right as the camera clicked. The photographer had been too lazy to redo it- and that was it. Bucky was smiling like a damn runaway criminal in his personnel file. Steve worked the picture out of the clear film holding it in place. He had gotten the photo from SHIELD’s files. It was one of few pictures of Bucky in existence. Less than a dozen original copies were left on this earth. He ran his fingers over the sharp of his Bucky’s cheekbone and the plump of his lips. He remembered all the cold New York nights when those lips sat on his neck. Bucky would spoon him- ‘For warmth’ - he said. But the pink lips on the shell of his ear, on the pulse carrying his life’s blood, said it was for so much more.

So Steve went back to his new art studio and sat down in front of his easel again. He clipped the small photo to the wooden frame and picked up his pencil. He took a deep breath and started sketching. He bit his lip in concentration as he worked. After thirty minutes or so, Steve had a drawing that resembled something like his best friend. He smiled and set to work mixing his paints.

Steve always started with the skin. Habit of his from before when he was using cocktail napkins and a waiters pen to draw. He managed to nail Bucky’s complexion pretty much spot on. The cool shades of his under-eye and the baby pink ones of his cheeks.

Then came hair. Shades of brown highlighted with yellow and pink in the lightest of spots. Bucky always hated how thick his hair was but loved the effect it had on the ladies. Said it was a pain in the ass to take care of but it was all worth it when he brushed a hand through the locks and had all the girls positively swooning.

Next was clothes. The green of his fatigues wasn’t perceptible in the black and white photograph but Steve knew that color better than the color of his own eyes.

Eyes.

What color were Bucky’s eyes?

Blue. But there were a million shades of blue. Cerulean, teal, turquoise, baby blue, stormy blue- Ah. Yes. A stormy blue-grey color. He could see them now. Staring into the crisp ocean of his eyes as Bucky kissed him for the first time. He was smaller back then, barely came up to Bucky’s chin, but he didn’t care.

December 1941 - Four Days Before Bucky Leaves

“Hey, Stevie.” Bucky said after Steve opened his door to the frigid New York City air.

“Hey, Buck. What’re you doing here?” It was a reasonable question. It was midnight and Buck hadn’t been by in days.

“Can’t visit my best guy before I ship off to war?” Bucky gave him his smirk but Steve could see the fear in his eyes. The unspoken ending to that question- ‘before I never come home’. Steve smiled and stepped aside, letting him in.

Steve smiled at the memory. He looked down at the paints before him. Blues and whites and purples and reds. He started mixing them carefully, hoping to put a physical representation of the color he still saw in his dreams.

“C’mon. I’ll make you something to eat.” Steve said, walking towards his very empty kitchen.

“You don’t have’ta-”

“None of that. What would Mrs. Rogers say if she knew I wasn’t feeding my guests?”

“She’d call you smart and tell you not to waste your food on a dead-” Bucky stopped himself. That’s not what Steve needed to hear. Steve was quiet as he made his way across the threshold back to Bucky. He stared down at his hands, picking at his fingernails.

“You’re going to come back. You’ve gotta.” His voice was small. Bucky’s heart nearly shattered at the sound. Bucky took Steve’s hands in his, squeezing them slightly.

“I will. I promise.” Bucky stared into Steve’s eyes to reassure him that above anything else, he meant the words he was about to say.

The colors weren’t turning out right. Greens were too blue and blues were too purple. Everything was a mess. Steve felt himself growing frustrated and brought his mind back to simpler times. Times with him.

“I’m always going to come back to you because-” His breath hitched and Steve took notice, eyebrows furrowing in concern.

“Because I love you, Stevie.” Steve tilted his head in confusion. Why did Bucky seem so nervous? They had said they loved each other before.

“Yeah, I love you too, Buck- why’re you-”

“Oh, not like that- for Christ’s sake.” Then Bucky was kissing him.

‘So this is what love is.’ Steve thought. Then Bucky’s tongue was tracing Steve’s lips.

Oh.

Oh.

Paint was everywhere. Frantically, Steve mixed colors in a blur of tears. ‘It’s not right.’ He thought. ‘That’s not him.’ ‘That’s not my Bucky.’

Bucky shared his bed that night. Unlike other nights, however, they were both naked. Pressed against each other for ‘warmth’, should anyone ask. Steve watched Bucky long after he fell asleep. The crease in his eyebrow, the setting of his jaw, the way his eyes moved behind closed lids- chasing dreams. Soon enough, Steve curled into Bucky’s body as he always did. They spent the next four days like that. Wrapped in each other. And for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t cold.

Steve screamed as he threw his palette out the window. The glass shattered and rainbows of light filtered through the broken glass- mocking him. Steve kicked and cried and punched until the entire studio was a mess. In the aftermath of his rampage, Steve lies on the floor. Surrounded by glass, paint, splinters, and blood, Steve sobbed. He broke because he was gone. He crumbled because they didn’t have enough time. He was wrecked because ‘if only we had known. If only we had tried earlier.’

Steve lies on the ground in a brownstone in Brooklyn.

Numb.

Broken.

Cold.

[gumnut-logic]

We’ll Be Home For Christmas 1.2

Title: We’ll be home for Christmas

Day One – A Tale of a Fateful Trip – Part 2 Prologue | 1.1

Author: Gumnut

8 - 14 Dec 2019

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS

Rating: Teen

Summary: The boys can’t fly home for Christmas, so they have to find another way.

Word count: 2701

Spoilers & warnings: language and so, so much fluff. Science!Gordon. Minor various ships, mostly background.

Timeline: Christmas Season 3, I have also kinda ignored the main storyline of Season 3. The boys needed a break, so I gave them one. Post season 3B, before Season 3C cos we haven’t seen it yet.

Author’s note:  For @scattergraph This is my 2019 TAG Secret Santa fic and it is a big one ::headdesk:: I hope you enjoy it. I know I have thoroughly enjoyed researching a gorgeous corner of this planet.

Many thanks to @vegetacide and @scribbles97 for cheering me on and their wonderful support through this craziness. And to @onereyofstarlight for geeking out with me over the setting.

And as always, thank you all for creating such a fantastic fandom. Thundernerds rock! I hope you all have a wonderful festive season. Thank you all so much for everything.

Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

-o-o-o-

 The sunset that night was as good as any they had ever seen on Tracy Island. The ocean swell was minimal as predicted and Gordon threw out a sea anchor to hold them tight while they ate dinner. They could have kept going, but instead chose a moment of quiet and together.

The meal was a lazy affair out on the boat deck consisting of burgers assembled by John and Alan.

For a change the conversation was light. A voyage down memory lane, Dad, the saga of FAB2 and Parker’s, uh, misfortune with it, and an incident in WASP training that Alan literally had to drag out of Gordon with threats of revealing something worse that the three other brothers were still in the dark about.

The glare sent Alan’s way promised some serious dunking at some point. Alan’s grin in return clearly said it was worth it.

While they were sitting still, Gordon threw out a sensory buoy. Apparently, the aquanaut had gone all out and stocked the yacht with all his marine biology equipment. No doubt, Scott had been back and forth between Tracy Island with his brother at least once. It wasn’t often the scientist in Gordon got a chance to play in his environment.

Sure, Tracy Industries had made some major ecological investments in the area, including the Kermadec Ocean Sanctuary which protected a whole swath of ocean between Tracy Island and New Zealand. Gordon had worked with his father early on in that project and advised that as much as possible should be protected. Their proximity to the island group and the purpose of International Rescue hadn’t always coincided and it was Gordon, young though he was, who made it work.

And besides, Tracy Island was outside New Zealand’s and their other nearby neighbour, Tonga’s control and their security system didn’t let anyone near them anyway.

But Gordon had always been conscious of the greater good beyond human matters and their family as a whole kept their Island as ecologically isolated as possible to protect its non-human inhabitants. If anything, it was proof that humans could exist within an established ecosystem and impact it minimally as long as due care was taken.

The sensor buoy he threw off the side of their boat sunk into the depths somewhat and sharpened their sensory net to activity underwater including sounds and movement. The holographic interface threw up a three-dimensional display of the water under and around the boat up to a kilometre across.

The aquanaut placed the projector in the middle of the table. “Would you look at that.”

Vigil stared at the somewhat blurry dots and shapes moving across the display. “What?”

Gordon rolled his eyes and, reaching into the hologram, zoomed in on one spot teeming with dots of movement. The middle of the table was suddenly full of a school of large fish.

Virgil shifted back and he wasn’t the only one.

“A little warning next time, bro.” Alan was frowning at Gordon.

“Eh.” And no, their aquanaut did not care, his eyes latched on the fish. “A school of tuna, southern bluefin, in fact. Good to see, though they are at the edge of their range.” He grabbed his tablet and, while four other brothers stared at him, he entered some data, his eyes dancing between the two displays.

Virgil couldn’t help but smile. Scott caught his eye and did the same. Virgil’s smile became a grin.

Gordon didn’t notice. His fingers darted into the hologram again and minimised the tuna only to bring up another school of fish on the other side of the display. More notes were made on the tablet.

The silence around the table was profound. Even John had a small smile on his face as he watched Gordon.

A dark shape moved amongst the fish. It was much larger and it wasn’t until it slid into the centre of the school that it became clear exactly what it was.

“Wow.” Alan voiced the awe for all of them. Well, except Gordon who was still staring at the fish.

Virgil resisted the urge to reach out and touch the hologram of the shark cruising through scattering fish. He wasn’t sure what type it was, but it was big.

A moment later Gordon realised they were all staring. A glance at the shark and he punched at his tablet. “Bonus! She’s tagged!” Another stab or two. “Hilda? Oh my god, it’s Hilda.”

Hilda?

“Who’s Hilda?” Virgil asked the question, but Gordon was absorbed in what he was doing.

“I did not expect to find her this far south.”

“You know this shark?” Alan’s voice was small.

“What? Oh, yeah, Hilda likes to feed in our lagoon.”

“What?” Scott’s deeper voice cut through the stunned silence. “That shark was in our lagoon?”

Gordon blinked up at him. “Well, yeah, how do you think I tagged her? Been following her movements for the last two years. She loves some of the smaller fish that feed in the coral reefs. She can’t quite fit into all of them, but she enjoys herself in any case. Caught herself a couple of seabirds from the colony on Mateo a few months back. It was awesome.” Not once did his eyes leave the display and the shark swimming across their dinner table.

“I am never going swimming again.” Alan’s voice was tiny.

Gordon finally looked up and his eyebrows shot up. “Hey, she’s cool. You lot aren’t tasty enough anyway.”

Scott sighed and dropped his head into his hand. “Why do I bother?”

Something flashed in the corner of the display and Gordon immediately minimised it back to a sea of floating dots. “Hey, we’ve got a big one coming into range. Oooh, no, two....yes!”

Virgil jumped as the display flickered and zoomed in again, this time bringing up another large shape. His fish brother was literally bouncing in his seat. “Ooooh, she’s a mama.” And there beside the humpback whale appeared a young calf.

Virgil stared.

“And they are talking. Listen to this.” Gordon grinned as he punched his tablet with an eager finger. Suddenly the room was full of grunting and clicking sounds and the occasional moan.

God.

Virgil reached behind him, fingers grabbing for the sketchbook he had thrown there earlier while still fighting with his pencil. Within moments both pad and pencil were in hand and he was drawing. Fast. The pencil scraping across the page. Curves, bumps waves of lines. On the table the two whales flew through the phantom water. On the paper, Virgil’s fingers lost themselves in the art. Graphite formed the whales’ flanks, the sharpness of the pencil lead compensated where the display could not provide clarity. But most of all he drew fast. He did not know how long they would be there, or how long he would have the privilege of seeing them.

He disappeared into the page, finding that zone he had been so seeking the last few days, and it wasn’t until the display flickered off and he found all four brothers staring at him that he snapped out of it.

A glance at Gordon. “They’ve left the area, bro. I held them in range as long as I could.” Brown eyes were apologetic.

Virgil blinked and looked down at what he had been drawing.

Two whales leapt off the page in front of him, silver and grey graphite shone, caught by the cartridge paper tooth. Tilted in pose, they were turned just slightly towards each other, so obviously parent and child, it touched his heart.

“That’s awesome, Virgil!” Alan was all jubilation and eagerness.

A glance at Scott and Virgil found something akin to pride in his eyes. John was smiling. Gordon stood up and walked behind Virgil, peering over his shoulder. “Can I have it? Or a print?”

“Uh...”

Gordon’s hand landed on his shoulder. You don’t have to answer now. Just know that that is a damn good drawing, bro, and I like it.”

Virgil grabbed his arm before he could move away. “How often do you see whales?”

A shrug. “It is late in the season, but we might see a few this time of year. The humpbacks migrate through here. I’ve certainly seen enough from home.”

“They come near Tracy Island?”

Gordon frowned at him. “I thought you were in touch with the world around you, Virg. All that artistic standing in the wind stuff. Of course, they do. I’m taking you whale watching as soon as possible. You don’t need to swim to see whales. God, guys, we live on an island in the middle of thousands of miles of ocean. Pay more attention. Yeesh.”

Okay, perhaps he had a point. Gordon had always loved the ocean and the worlds beneath it. Scott always loved the sky, John and Alan adored space. Virgil...was about how those worlds worked. Perhaps he needed to pay more attention to the ones underwater. “It appears I need to.”

Those familiar brown eyes blinked at him before a hand covered the one Virgil had on his arm. “Hey, I’ve got an idea.” He slipped free of his hold and grabbed his tablet again. “Just need to log into my home server...” The tablet took a royal stabbing with his finger. A moment and he set the device down on the table, poked it a couple more times until it projected up another underwater scene.

Five fully grown humpback whales and two calves frolicked in the holographic water. “There you go. Last year, not two hundred metres from our front door.”

Virgil just stared. His fingers itched to capture the scene. He hadn’t felt so inspired in months. “C-can you send me a copy?”

Gordon stared at him a moment, something in his eyes. “Sure. Tell you what. I’ll copy a bunch of these recordings onto the family server and you can do with them what you like.”

He couldn’t look away from the whales. “Thank you, Gordon.” He needed some colours. Phthalo blue. Payne’s grey. Phthalo turquoise. Cadmium yellow and possibly orange to up the contrast. White and maybe some Alizarin Crimson.

“Virgil, you okay?” Scott.

“Huh?” He shot a glance in his brother’s direction. Scott was frowning at him. “Uh, yeah. Did you bring any of my paints?”

Scott looked at John and his younger brother answered. “Your travel kit is in your cabin.”

“Great! Thank you.” He grinned at John and stood up...slowly as his body reminded him he wasn’t running at one hundred percent. A step and he hugged a stunned Gordon. “Thank you, Gordon. Thank you.”

“Uh, you’re welcome?”

Virgil stepped back and grinned at him. Gordon was staring at him as if he’d lost a marble or two. His expression only made Virgil laugh. A pat on his arm and Virgil grabbed his sketchbook and with another grin headed off towards his cabin.

He had it. All he needed was his tablet and a network connection and he had stock to paint to his heart’s content.

“Don’t you stay up painting all night!” It was Scott, yelling the length of the boat, but it only made Virgil’s grin wider.

-o-o-o-

Shit. The idiot was likely to exhaust himself at his easel. He would have to make sure he checked on him later, make sure he was sitting, not standing. Wouldn’t help for his brother to exacerbate his injury just because he zombified when painting.

John was staring at him.

“What?”

A soft smile. “Nothing.”

Scott eyed him, but John was his usual calm self, refusing to reveal any hint to his thoughts.

Lips thinning, he shot his brother a glare, which was ignored, and turned back to Gordon...only to find the table now covered in what appeared to be densely packed sardines of some kind.

Okay, he’d had enough of fish. He pushed himself to his feet. Gordon didn’t notice.

Scott had been hoping to sit down with Virgil and just have a little one on one bro time, but he had to admit that seeing it all come together for his arty brother like that had been pretty amazing and there was no way he was going to deny him the moment.

He would likely emerge from his room sometime tomorrow with a new masterpiece in his hands that Scott would, as usual, be totally stunned and blindsided as to how he managed it. Hell, that whale took all of fifteen minutes and it literally leapt off the page.

Stepping back from the table, he brushed a hand across John’s shoulders as he passed behind him and slipped inside. There was a bar in the corner of the lounge. He grabbed the whisky he had bought that morning and poured himself just a smidgen. He didn’t want to get drunk. He just wanted something to line his mouth, give him the taste.

Tumbler in hand he made his way through the main cabin and up onto the bow where they had stood for a good part of the voyage earlier in the day.

The sun was only a memory of the far side of the horizon, the sky darkening quickly and the ocean that gently rocked the boat, and no doubt Virgil’s easel, was becoming blacker than the sky above it.

The moon hadn’t risen yet, but the stars were breaking through the remnant light, and combined with the faint breeze, night was setting in.

Scott let a breath out.

In its own way it was beautiful. He wasn’t one for waxing poetic, but the sky was his home. He breathed it in with every breath and out here away from the lights of life, he could almost hear it.

“Makes you think, doesn’t it?”

Despite himself, he jumped.

“Woah, big bro, just come up to share a drink with you. Spock and McCoy killed all the rear lights so they can stare at their distant balls of gas and talk the hard sciences.” His brother rolled his eyes. “They’ve obviously never attempted to collect samples from a hydrothermal vent several kilometres down. ‘Hard’ would be the least of the terms used.”

His brother’s verbal diarrhoea came to a sudden halt and Scott took the moment to let his shoulders drop.

“You okay?” Gordon looked up at him and Scott realised he had a tumbler in his hand similar to the one in his own.

A half smile. “I’m good.” And he returned to looking out at the black hole of an ocean. “Thank you for coming up with this idea.” He rolled his shoulders just a little and took another sip of his drink. “I think we all need it.”

“Not a problem.” Gordon moved up to stand beside him and sipped his own whisky. “Not often I get a chance to get out here for a good stretch of time. I’m enjoying myself.”

“I noticed.” He twisted his lips. “Hilda?”

Gordon grinned. “My senior year French teacher. The woman was all bite and no bark.”

Scott frowned. “Miss Schwank? I thought you liked her?” One handed air quotes. “‘I’d like to go all Jacques Cousteau on her.’ I think I actually have that in writing somewhere.”

Another grin. “I did. She was gorgeous. Blonde with all the right measurements and a tongue that could do all the right things, no matter the language.” The smile vanished and he looked down at the tumbler in his hand. “She was one of the Lost in the 2060 Tsunami Disaster. Found her name on the nets.” The stars lit his brother’s eyes as they looked up at him. “On her honeymoon, apparently.”

Scott swallowed. He remembered the vivacious woman, all sharp words and determination. “Sorry to hear that.”

Gordon sighed. “So, now we have a great white shark with the same attitude. Just as beautiful, just as determined, just as likely to bite my head off if I go anywhere near her.” The grin was back. Another sip and his brother’s expression was all fondness.

A smile crept onto Scott’s face. He reached up and dropped his hand on his brother’s shoulder and squeezed gently. Another taste of whisky and he turned back to stare into the darkness.

-o-o-o-

End Day One

Day Two, Part One

[mrsimoshen]

Marked In White

Title: Marked In White

Link: Marked In White

Kink Bingo square filled: Come play

Rare Pair Bingo square filled: Gadreel

Ship: Michael/Gadreel

Rating: Explicit

Tags: FBI Agent!Gadreel, mob boss!Michael, undercover agent, non-descriptive murder, dubious morals, Gadreel has them, come play, hand jobs, anal sex, Come Marking, two idiots in love, slight D/s, top Michael, bottom Gadreel, slight topping from the bottom

Summary: FBI Agent Gadreel Penikett is undercover in Michael Alighieri's company to find evidence against the suspected mob boss.Gadreel also ends up under covers in Michael's bed. No one involved has any complaints with that.

Word count: 3603

created for @spnkinkbingo and @spnrareshipbingo

tagging:

@lucibae-is-dancing-in-hell, @silvaxus, @blakechaos08, @princerusso, @masterpieceofturkeycleverness   @ajcza, @buggre-alle-thisss-ineffability, @brieflymaximumprincess, @captain-winchester-27

Fic beneath the cut:

FBI Special Agent Gadreel Penikett knows full well he’s more than just skirting the line of unprofessional behavior. In fact, that line is somewhere back in New York… probably in the building at Federal Plaza, neatly stuffed into a desk drawer somewhere.

Gadreel himself is in Los Angeles, has been for the past eleven months. His mission was supposed to be easy and straightforward: infiltrate Michael Alighieri’s business conglomerate, confirm the smooth businessman is, in fact, deeply entrenched in the organized crime, gather as much evidence as possible, and get out alive.

His two predecessors hadn’t found any clear evidence, and both had died in convenient accidents not too long after being pulled from the job – both of them on the opposite end of the country as Michael Alighieri himself, but Gadreel knows that doesn’t mean the man didn’t order those accidents to happen.

  seven months ago

Gadreel takes a deep breath, glancing down to make sure his suit is still neat, and no strange stains have showed up in the ten minutes sine his phone rang.

He’s nervous, which isn’t good when one is doing undercover work.

He’s good at it usually, which is why his superiors decided to set him on the task. The cover is well-thought out, too, and Gadreel finds he actually likes working as a security advisor to Alighieri Enterprises. People listen to what he has to say, and more often than not, his advice is taken seriously. He doesn’t get shot at quite that often, either, and the lack of new bruises and pulled muscles certainly is refreshing, as is the guaranteed weekend except the two days of the month where he’s on call. (Another advantage is that he can use the position to give himself opportunities to sneak around gather evidence, and he’s not sure if this was on purpose or a lucky coincidence. Knowing the FBI, it’s the second option.)

The part that decidedly wasn’t planned is that he’s risen fast in the ranks, until Michael Alighieri himself noticed him – and apparently took an interest.

Since you don’t say “No thank you,” to an invitation to Michael Alighieri’s private office, Gadreel didn’t even try. He also didn’t dare wearing any kind of wire for this meeting. He’s seen other men leave the office looking a little disheveled and rather sated after a private late evening meeting with Mr. Alighieri, and undercover ops have been blown by stupider mistakes than not taking into account the possibility of sex.

(Gadreel tells the part of himself that has been fantasizing about Michael Alighieri since he first saw the man very firmly to shut the fuck up when it immediately supplies several positions that wouldn’t ruffle their suits too much.)

The mansion – and there is no other word for the house Michael Alighieri lives in, this is old money, clearly – sits just a short walk away from the sleek modern building in which Alighieri Enterprises has its headquarters and where Gadreel works. He doesn’t even have to leave the grounds, just pass through a series of high-security doors and walk a short underground passage. He didn’t know this even existed before he was entrusted with the position he currently holds, and isn’t quite sure the passage was built legally, either, but he has to admit it’s really convenient to not have to step out into the rain that’s been coming down the whole day.

Gadreel steps through the last door (heavy, bullet-proof glass all of them, and he doesn’t want to know how expensive this was) and pockets his key card again, offering a smile at the security guard awaiting him.

“Mr. Alighieri demanded my presence,” he tells the man, who nods and points.

“Down the corridor, last door on the left.”

Gadreel thanks him and follows directions, discreetly looking around as he walks down the corridor. The art on these walls probably costs more apiece than Gadreel makes in a whole year. Some of it is really pretty, some of it makes Gadreel wonder if the artist was on some kind of drug while creating it.

The door to Michael Alighieri’s office is heavy, dark wood, and when Gadreel knocks, he immediately gets an answer in the form of a deep voice calling for him to come in. He suppresses a shiver and opens the door, stepping into an office that doesn’t fit the old-world theme of the part of the house he’s seen up until now at all.

The entire wall opposite the door is glass. Floor-to-ceiling windows provide a great view over the garden below and further out, the city of Los Angeles. They also make the room seem light and airy, aided by the pale wallpaper and light furniture. Mr. Alighieri seems to have a fondness for glass, because the desk he’s sitting behind is made of the stuff, too, and it’s the neatest desk Gadreel has ever seen.

“Mr. Tahmoh, so good of you to come here on such short notice.”

Mr. Alighieri’s voice has Gadreel suppress another shiver as he walks further into the room, the door closing behind him silently. “I’m honored you wanted to see me,” he replies, taking the outstretched hand. Michael Alighieri’s handshake is firm and cool, hints at carefully moderated strength, and Gadreel very sternly tells his libido to shut the fuck up before you kill us both, goddamnit.

His employer smiles at him and gestures. “Please, have a seat.”

Gadreel complies, slowly sitting down in one of the comfortable chairs in front of Mr. Alighieri’s desk. They’re real, soft leather, and more comfortable than the bed he’s been sleeping in since he came to L.A.

His employer sits down again, too, leaning back into his own chair with a smile. “How do you like L.A., Mr. Tahmoh?”

“It certainly is a lot nicer than Chicago, as far as the weather is concerned.” Gadreel smiles. “Warmer, and I like the ocean nearby.”

Mr. Alighieri’s smile widens. Those long fingers are playing with a pen, and Gadreel’s gaze keeps drifting to it. “And how do you like working for me, Mr. Tahmoh?”

Gadreel very carefully doesn’t tense. Does the man across from him suspect something?

“I like it a lot,” he replies. “It’s interesting work, and I like to think I am doing a good job on it, as well.”

“Oh, you are.” The possible mafia don across the glass desk sits up, still smiling, and rests his arms on the glass surface. The pen gets stroked slowly, up and down. “I’ve heard several department heads sing your praise, Mr. Tahmoh. Quick on the uptake, dedicated to the job, intelligent and polite… there is a reason you rose to your current position this fast, and it’s not just the fact you are easy on the eye.”

Gadreel blinks. “Thank you. I think.”

Mr. Alighieri laughs quietly, his expression truly amused. “Oh, yes, please take that as a compliment. Considering the many praises I just repeated to you, I think you will already have noticed that my taste in partners is… not quite heterosexual.”

Gadreel blinks again and nods. “I noticed who… came late and left early, let’s say.”

“So polite,” his employer grins. “Well, Mr. Tahmoh… I have two proposals for you, and I would like to make it very clear beforehand that neither your job nor the first proposal depends on your answer to the second.”

Gadreel can feel himself flush a little, because he can guess what one of those proposals will include. He noticed Mr. Alighieri’s eyes didn’t leave him the entire time he’s been in here, and those green eyes are just a little hungry. Add in the way the man plays with that damn pen… yeah, that’s flirting. Low-key, but flirting.

“Understood,” he says, holding that gaze. Mr. Alighieri’s smile widens.

“The first proposal is this,” he begins. “My Chief of Security told me this morning that she is pregnant – this is strictly confidential for now, of course – and obviously, I need someone to take her place. A mother needs to have less stress in her life than that position brings with it. I made discreet inquiries, and everyone I spoke to mentioned you as a perfect candidate. It is fast, I realize that – you have worked for me for less than a year. Four months is a very short amount of time, but I took a look at your application myself and noticed you are overqualified for the position you applied for in the first place.”

Gadreel blinks again – and he really needs to stop that, that is a tell and he really doesn’t need one of those – and leans back a little.

“I’m flattered,” he begins, “but are you sure I am the best candidate? I don’t want anyone harboring a grudge because I’m taking a job they wanted and have more rights to.”

“That is a commendable attitude, Mr. Tahmoh, but in my company, the work someone does speaks louder than the amount of years someone has worked here. You are the best person for the job – aside from the fact you’ve been with us very shortly. I would be keeping a closer eye on your decisions than I usually do for the first few months.” Mr. Alighieri smiles a little bashfully. “I’m sure you understand that’s nothing personal, just a precaution.”

“Of course,” Gadreel agrees, and doesn’t curse inwardly even though he wants to. Sneaking around while Michael Alighieri himself keeps a closer eye on him is going to be a truly idiotic thing to do. “And… the second proposal?”

“Forward, I like that, too.” Mr. Alighieri smiles. “The second proposal is of a more personal nature. As I said before, perhaps not quite this clearly, I find you attractive, Mr. Tahmoh. I’d like you to spend a night in my bed – with the option for more if we both find each other agreeable.”

A part of Gadreel – a part he hates, at that moment – considers the proposal with the eye of the agent who wonders just how much intel he could get if he secured himself a spot in Michael Alighieri’s bed on top of the Chief of Security position. He really doesn’t like that thought, because it makes him feel cheap – and because he knows his superiors would tell him “Well, lie back and think of Amerika, Penikett.”

A much louder part of him considers both proposals with the eye of a man who likes the work he’s doing right now, and the eye of a man who thinks his employer is fucking hot, and that part silences the other quickly.

“Yes,” he murmurs, and watches that verdant gaze darken, “to both. I’ll take the position you’re offering me, and I’d very much like to spend a night or more in your bed, Mr. Alighieri.”

“Michael,” his employer purrs, his smile growing. “I’m not quite into being called by my last name in bed. Or on the way there.” He gets up and slowly walks around his desk, and Gadreel breathes in sharply when he’s suddenly got a lapful of potential mafia boss who’s intent on kissing him.

And damn, Michael Alighieri can kiss, which Gadreel discovers seconds later and immediately decides he wants to have more of. A lot more.

Michael pulls back what feels like hours later, breathing quickly. His eyes are dark and hungry, his lips just a bit swollen from their kisses, and Gadreel makes a low noise in his throat at the sight and notices he’s gripping Michael’s hips in both hands. When did that happen?

“I want you in my bed,” Michael tells him, licking his lips. “Say yes, Garrett.”

The wrong name is jarring, and Gadreel suddenly hates that, too, but he’s got very limited choices regarding that.

“Yes,” he murmurs.

 That first night he spends in Michael’s bed, Gadreel gets caught up in the wild storm that is Michael Alighieri, unleashed. His lover is gentle, but demanding and thorough, and Gadreel ends up pleasantly sore when he leaves in the morning with a kiss and a promise to return soon.

He very carefully leaves that part out in the report to his superiors, just informs them of his soon to change position within the company. They go nuts enough over that, and Gadreel doesn’t feel like a whore quite as much.

He slips into his new position with surprising little trouble, the team he now leads more than supportive. Naomi is thorough in her explanations and training and lets him fly solo soon enough – which brings him into closer contact with Michael far more regularly than he thought.

That relationship progresses, too, until Gadreel places those meets for last on his agenda and discusses whatever came up with Michael during dinner, or over a glass of wine. His own apartment slowly becomes a place where he stores his clothes, as he spends more and more nights in Michael’s comfortable bed, and in his lover’s arms. Michael is affectionate when they are alone, and Gadreel is drawn in like a moth to the flame. He could probably help it by reminding himself this isn’t real – but he comes to realize, as the weeks progress and turn into months, that he wants it to be.

Here, his coworkers’ support isn’t just for show, and no one is looking to stab him in the back and rise on his downfall. If he makes mistakes, or anyone has doubts about a decision, they come to the rescue or inform him of their thoughts.

Gadreel liked working for the FBI, he enjoyed the challenges of being a Special Agent – but this is challenging him, too, and he finally has to admit the truth, at least to himself: he doesn’t want to leave. Ever. (He can’t admit that to anyone else, because his superiors and his handler would make him disappear in a dark cell somewhere, and Michael… Michael still hasn’t given any indication he suspects “Garrett” isn’t who he says he is. He’d probably shoot him on principle.)

And then comes the night where Gadreel gets definite proof of Michael’s status in the world of organized crime. His lover calls him just as he’s intending to leave his office, simply telling him, “I need you to accompany me to something.”

That ‘something’ turns out to be the interrogation and subsequent execution of someone who tried stealing from Michael – and apparently, Michael Alighieri has very little patience for that. Gadreel doesn’t flinch as his lover puts three bullets into the man, doesn’t evade the touch when Michael leans into him as they drive back to his home.

He’s got proof.

He doesn’t care.

 Michael looks at him that night, perched on his hips, with a curious expression. His dark hair is a mess already from Gadreel’s hands, his lips are red and full from the kisses they exchanged. Gadreel looks up at the half-naked man on top of him and bites down hard on the words that want to spill.

Michael slowly looks him up and down, still with that curious expression, before leaning down for a slow kiss.

“I want you to fuck me,” he breathes, and Gadreel’s breath hitches.

“Yes,” he murmurs, and Michael moans and kisses him again.

Michael rides him, easily pinning Gadreel in place beneath him. It’s slow and soft and hard at the same time, and Gadreel begs for Michael’s kisses as he writhes beneath his lover, utterly caught in his spell.

Michael holds him close, later when they’ve cleaned up and are cuddled up beneath warm blankets. Gadreel usually isn’t the size to be the little spoon, but with Michael, it’s easy to slip into that role, and he’s happy to let his lover hold him. Ironically, even after today, he feels safe when he’s held like this.

He’s almost asleep when Michael finally speaks, close to Gadreel’s ear.

“So, should I expect the FBI to come calling tomorrow morning?”

Gadreel freezes. He can’t help it, even if it’s probably the best way to confirm Michael’s silent accusation.

“No,” he finally breathes.

“Do not lie to me, Gadreel,” Michael murmurs, voice quietly intense. “I’ve known for a while you weren’t who you said you were. I just didn’t want to believe you’d go this far for a job.”

Michael’s hand slides up to rest at Gadreel’s throat, quietly threatening, and Gadreel closes his eyes and relaxes into his lover’s – ex-over’s? no, please no – hold.

“I didn’t,” he murmurs, covering Michael’s hand with his own. “I haven’t given them anything in months, Michael.”

The hand around his neck tightens. “They would have pulled you by now if that was true, Gadreel. How much did you give them?”

“Lies,” Gadreel breathes, eyes still closed. “All hearsay and rumors I will never find evidence for because I don’t want to.”

“They’ll demand that evidence at some point,” Michael informs him, but there’s a new tone in his voice. Gadreel is reluctant to call it hope, but nothing else fits.

“They might,” he agrees. “They won’t get it from me. I haven’t witnessed anything that might point to you doing anything unlawful.”

Michael freezes behind him. “And what would you call this evening?”

“My beautiful lover being sexy as fuck,” Gadreel grins. Then he yelps when he’s suddenly on his back, Michael wild-eyed above him.

“Be very clear, Gadreel,” Michael breathes, his usually dark green eyes almost fever-bright. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that no matter if the name is Garrett Tahmoh or Gadreel Penikett, I am yours,” Gadreel tells him, shivering at the thrill of saying his true name out loud to this man for the first time.

Michael’s eyes go dark again, but it’s a hungry dark this time.

“Are you, now,” the (Gadreel thinks) most powerful man this side of the Rocky Mountains murmurs. “That’s a dangerous thing to say to a man like me, Gadreel.”

Gadreel laughs and shivers again. “I know.”

Michael growls and leans down to kiss him, and they don’t speak again for quite a while.

  Now…

“Mine,” Michael murmurs, smirking. “Aren’t you pretty, Gadreel?”

Gadreel moans helplessly. He’s stretched out on his back, tied spread-eagle to their bed. Michael’s hand is wrapped around his cock, stroking and teasing just the way Gadreel loves it.

Michael’s hand moves faster. “Come for me, baby,” he demands, twisting and squeezing perfectly, and Gadreel moans and arches up as much as he can and covers his lover’s hand in his release. Michael purrs, and then that come-drenched hand slips down between his legs, and Gadreel’s breath hitches as Michael uses his come to slide one long finger into him. (He got fucked the night before, so he’s still a little open, a little wet from the lube Michael used last night. His lover is feeling possessive, always does whenever Gadreel goes to tell his handler some more bullshit. Gadreel very much enjoys it.)

“Like that, do we?” Michael murmurs, working him open slowly. Gadreel moans in confirmation, writhing as much as his bonds allow. Michael smirks and adds another come-slicked finger.

His lover is relentless, fucking him slow and hard until Gadreel is hard again and begging to be allowed to come, and when he pulls out, Gadreel nearly screams his frustration.

“You’ll get to come, baby, don’t worry,” Michael purrs, straddling him and jerking his own cock fast and hard. Gadreel eyes it hungrily. “But I am going to mark you as mine before you do.”

Gadreel moans and lets his head fall back, baring his throat, and this time, it’s Michael who moans and curses.

The first hot splash of come across his neck has Gadreel whine, the second makes him moan. He can feel the come dripping down his neck towards the bed, warm, sticky lines that mark him as Michael’s, and he moans and arches as Michael pants above him, another hot streak spurting over his collar bones as his lover wrings the most out of his orgasm.

“Please,” Gadreel breathes, shivering as Michael reaches out to swirl his fingers through his own release on Gadreel’s skin. “Please, Michael.”

“Hush, darling.” Michael’s voice is hoarse, wrecked as it only gets when he’s really aroused. “I’ve got you.”

Fingers slick with come wrap around Gadreel’s cock, and the thought of that, knowing it’s his lover’s release that eases the strokes, has Gadreel mewl in desperation. “Please!”

Michael laughs. “Come for me, then, my pretty darling,” he orders, and permission given, Gadreel nearly screams as he covers his lover’s hand in more sticky come. “Open your eyes,” comes the next quiet order, and Gadreel complies even as his body shivers and trembles and more come spurts out of his dick.

“Fuck,” he breathes. Michael laughs again, finally removing his hand from Gadreel’s twitching cock. Those same fingers, dripping with Gadreel’s come this time, lightly drag over his chest, and the pattern is familiar. Gadreel desperately scrambles for his still blissed-out brain cells.

“There we are,” Michael murmurs, raising his hand to his mouth to delicately lap at the come still remaining. “All mine.”

Something clicks. “You signed your name on me,” Gadreel breathes, and fuck, if he could get hard again that fast, that would be enough.

“Mhmm.” Michael grins at him, reaching to the side, and then Gadreel mewls as cool glass is nudged against his hole and slid in. “We’re not done yet, darling.”

Gadreel moans and sinks back into the mattress, willingly accepting the soft, slightly come-flavored kiss. Today’s going to be fun.

  Yes, Gadreel is more than skirting the line of unprofessional behavior. But honestly? He doesn’t give a fuck.

[europeanguy]

Gotta Gogh [Part 1: Tour-guiding for Dummies]

Pairing: Nadia x Maxwell

Genre: Fluff (?)

Words: 1,684

Tags: Canon Divergence, Crossovers, Curse words probably, The Riot Club!AU sort of

- an accompanying fic for this drawing

There were two people looking at the Cordonian Ruby — Nadia assumed they were a couple by the way that they stood a little too close together and the magnetic energy that seemed to spark between them. Like she couldn’t have pulled them apart if she tried.

Two girls. Well, women. One was tall, tan, and toned to the gods. She probably modeled, or played sports professionally. The other one was shorter, medium blonde hair done in a side-braid, pretty enough to be an actress. Neither was Nadia’s type of course. She looked at them the way she looked at Picasso’s paintings — she likes what she sees. It was a nice sight.

The tall one snakes an arm around the blonde’s waist as they walk away and once again, Nadia was alone. Like something in this museum would come alive any second now. Nadia swore that one time that the portrait of the late Queen Kenna Rys blinked at her, but that was probably the result of caffeine withdrawals.

 “Welcome home,” – the letter said. Nadia could never forget the feeling when she received her acceptance letter — it was like getting accepted to Hogwarts — if Hogwarts had exchange programs that would only last for one semester. 

The University of Cordonia had a thriving student population of 5,000 (they were very selective) — composed of the country’s finest minds or filthy rich. You could be either or both. They offered an amazing Fine Arts program, given the country’s own rich history and deep love for the arts. Not to mention the white sand beaches, castles, princes she could bring home and make Kai so jealous with — but the truth is, it’s been two weeks and Nadia had been nothing but lonely. She hasn’t so much as dipped one toe into the ocean, visited a castle, nor met a prince (this one was unrealistic, even Nadia would admit so). So far her only friend would be Otis — the museum custodian — who happens to be sixty-eight and hard of hearing.

 The next day Nadia is greeted by a boatload (literally a boatload – well, cruise ship) of tourists. She was advised by the financial aid admin through a phone call to be prepared with extra research this time as to not repeat the Cordonian Ruby incident.

“Look, I know you try your best, but please be more careful this time,” Nadia could hear the anxiety radiating off of Helena’s voice. “I was advised that the Pierce moneybags would be present today.”

“...moneybags?”

“Yes! They’re looking to invest in the museum.”

Nadia looks around the empty entrance hall from her chair. If there was a speck of dust anywhere she wouldn’t be able to spot it (care of Otis). The rooms were individually temperature-controlled. They even had wifi.

“Do we even need it?”

Helena heaves a sigh so loud that Nadia could almost feel her exasperation herself. “Yes, Nadia, we need it! It can give us access to public collections, long-term maintenance,”

Nadia’s mouth forms into a small “o”.

“And think about Otis, he can retire right now and be at home, not worrying about anything because the museum WILL generously pay for his retirement plus pension!”

“I think Otis wants to live here until he dies.” Nadia whispers.

“Bottomline is, Nadia, you have to know what you’re talking about this time.”

“Yes, I know you’re referring to the Cordonian Ruby incident-“

“Don’t call it that.”

“Anyway, the incident — well, it’s not gonna happen again. Don’t worry.” In hindsight, Nadia’s first lesson should have been The Significance of Apples in Cordonian Culture 101. It would explain so much.

“Right. I trust you,” Helena says. “They’ll be arriving at around eleven in the morning.”

 The tourists arrive right on the clock, they had a tour guide of their own (a giant 6’5 guy who looked like he could bench press three of her, plus Otis) but apparently the boss-man Bartholomew Pierce wanted someone who was more familiar with Cordonian art scene. Nadia was hardly a local, but she had been studying nothing but the country’s art everyday since she got here – she lived and breathed it. Well, for two weeks anyway.

Chaz – the tour guide – hands Nadia a blue flag with “EOS” on it. “You can take it from here,”

The crowd was pretty small, more or less forty people, she wouldn’t need a flag. It’s not like the museum had other people aside from the group. “EOS?” Nadia gingerly takes the goofy flag.

“Ember of the Sea.”

“Shouldn’t it be EOTS?”

Chaz snorts. “No that sounds stupid, now go.”

 Nadia takes her place in front of the group, holding the blue flag above her head. “Hi everyone, I’m Nadia, on behalf of the University of Cordonia, I’d like to welcome you all to the museum,” She takes a deep breath before continuing. God, public-speaking never gets easier. “Firstly, I ask that you do not touch anything, and please do not deviate from the group-“

 The tour goes surprisingly well. Nadia studied up on the Cordonian Ruby (the country’s Mona Lisa – in terms of notoriety). Oil on canvas, commissioned by King Fabian – a direct ancestor of the current royal family, painted by an anonymous artist in 1816. The artist was rumored to be a mixed English noblewoman who became a lover of the young King, resulting into her painting the Cordonian Ruby, a gift to symbolize her love. However, she died of heartbreak since the late King loved his Lythikos Moscato and other mistresses more than her.

 Nadia leads the group to the portraits section – or as she secretly calls it stuffy-rich-people-paintings – and with this she gets to relax a bit. She tells them a few facts, lands one or two (Helena-approved, non-offensive) jokes, and lets the group disperse across the room to let them look at the art without her spewing random information about how Luther Nevrakis from The Crown and The Flame is actually based off of a real Luther Nevrakis who wasn’t a super-villain. Well, an obvious super-villain.

 “Nadia?” A pre-teen girl approaches her, followed by a… twin? Except the second one wore glasses and a slightly embarrassed look on her face. “Who do you think is hotter?”

“We’re trying to settle an argument.” Glasses explained. They gesture to a family portrait of stoic looking parents – the mother’s expression a little warmer than the father’s – and two starkly different brothers. One with black hair and fierce gaze, and a younger one with brown hair and the tiniest smile on his face.

“I’m not sure I’m comfortable talking about boys your age…” Nadia laughs awkwardly.

“Well, they’re dead so it doesn’t matter… right?” The first twin looks at Glasses. She simply shrugs.

“I don’t care I don’t even like boys.” Glasses pushes up her specs on the bridge of her nose as-a-matter-of-factly. “But now that she said it, it is really weird to ask her that.”

Nadia checks the information plate beneath the family portrait. Beaumont, 2004. “Well, this was seven years ago, so I don’t think they’re dead.”

A small, and sudden racket at the other end of the room captures Nadia’s and the twins’ attention. A group of boys (students, probably) were speed-walking through the room, laughing in a way that disturbed the peaceful vibe – and Nadia realizes that they were walking towards the one place that only Otis is allowed in. He explicitly told her to never go there or let anyone in. It was a tall and narrow arch-way that leads to a grand curving staircase, but that was only as far as Nadia saw. She wasn’t the type to break rules anyway. 

The first guy jumps over the velvet rope, followed by a second guy who merely steps over it. Before the last one could lift his feet, Nadia’s onto their heels.

“Sir, you can’t go through there!”

The first one is long gone, already shooting up the staircase like a man child on a sugar-rush. The other two turn around looking like they just became aware of her presence – along with the other tourists. The middle one looks snooty – expensive coat, slicked back hair. He doesn’t acknowledge Nadia, instead he turns to his friend. “Handle this.” With one last judging look at Nadia, Slick turns around to follow the first one up the staircase. “Leo, wait up!”

“Um-!” Nadia could feel the heat rising up her cheeks. Oh, she would follow them up the stairs, damn Otis’ rules, she would like to give these entitled boys a piece of her mind-

Someone clears their throat. Nadia looks up at him, the only guy left, – he was tall and broad-shouldered, brown wind-blown hair, and an amused expression in his eyes. He doesn’t say anything, instead he lifts his gaze from Nadia to a painting on her right. Nadia turns to where he’s looking and it registers on her. Same brown hair as the kid, same smile, only this time he was alone in the portrait and older. The plate said 2010. One year ago, and the man on the portrait was standing right next to her.

Shit.

A small part of Nadia still wanted to climb up the stairs and kick them out the window, but a bigger, smarter, part of her knew that if this guy was important enough to have his portrait hung in the same room as a prince – let alone the fact that he even had a portrait, in this case two – she had better start apologizing.

“I… am so, SO, sorry.” I’ve been here two weeks please don’t have me kicked out of Cordonia or assassinated I’m still young I still have dreams-

“Hey,” he flashes her an embarrassed smile and Nadia’s cheeks heat up. “It’s fine, honestly.”

“Max!!” Someone calls from upstairs. Probably Slick.

“Sorry, I gotta go.” He looks apologetic as he turns around to walk away, but not without looking at Nadia over his shoulder.

 “Whoa, he is hot,” Glasses and her twin suddenly appear beside her. “Okay, Jess, you win I guess.” Glasses shrugs, but Jess’s jaw is still dropped.

“That was… the Beaumont guy…” she says, looking at his solo portrait.

And sure enough, when Nadia reads the plate under his painting, it says Maxwell Percival Beaumont (2010), oil on canvas.

to be continued

FUN FACTS that you don’t have to read but the story will make more sense if you do lol and honestly I just really like fun facts pls read... please?

Title:

- I literally chose “Gotta Gogh” on a whim

Canon divergence:

- This takes place in 2011. Maxwell is 21 (1990) and Nadia is 19 (1992).

- This is inspired by that one scene in the riot club. There WILL be a version of the riot club in later parts, but it will be small since its mostly about Nads and Max.

Names:

- Otis means “keen of hearing”

- Helena the financial aid administrator is just a Cordonian parody of Helen Twombly. Points for creativity lmao honestly i just imagined helen twombly but it wouldnt make sense for her to be in cordonia

The Cordonian Ruby:

- The anonymous artist is the D&D MC and her death is based on the actual wife of the Prince Regent (George IV), Princess Caroline who “died of a heartbreak” - a cold hard fact. Jk, no, but she was in a toxic marriage and it was just a Bad Situation. George IV had several mistresses, fathered illegitimate children, and apparently was a Party Boy and he was an immensely unpopular ruler. This is all based off of my art history professor telling us Georgian Era gossip instead of sticking to the syllabus.

- The mystery of what the Cordonian Ruby Incident will never be solved. That is, until I actually know what happened during the “incident” HAHAHA

Progress:

- I wasn’t gonna post this originally, I just wrote it on my phone during a 3-hour trip (I got inspired by my own drawing LMAO) and I kept updating it during the week every night before I slept and suddenly it just blossomed into something that I kept thinking about so now it’s a fic!

- I will be posting more art and updates on max and nadia’s story in the near future lol I already know how it ends so dw I’ll come thru and finish this! (probably around 4-5 parts)

[gold-from-straw]

Writing Process tag game

Tagged by @gothyringwald! Thank you ^_^

1. What are your favourite genres and/or styles to write in?

I recently discovered I actually LOVE magical realism. I really like world building like that. But most of all I like writing about people and relationships, so within that, anything really

2. What was the last writing project you finished and felt successful with?

I get a total buzz from finishing anything, often because I’m super excited about starting on the next thing! I think Wicked Boys, though - it’s just the first draft that’s finished, but I’m really pleased with how it turned out. The Forest Hotel, as well, I finished that quite a while ago but I still feel really positive about it, which is unheard of for me lol! My friend has finished the front cover art, so hopefully I’ll be able to publish it soon! But the most surprising success was Nature of Trust, because it’s STILL gathering hits and kudos like crazy, it didn’t slow down after I finished uploading, and I can’t even quite figure out why?! I feel like I hit on some magic formula there and I’m fascinated lol!

3. If you have a WiP how do you feel it’s going? What stage are you in?

Oh dear, hold on people. So I’ve got 2 original novels that are about 1/3 the way through. One of them I recently got enthusiastic about again, but I nearly cried when I re-read the first few chapters. They were shit. I’ve convinced myself to move past that - that’s a problem for second draft Lyndsay - and just write the damn thing. 

I’ve got a couple of first drafts that need transcribing so I can upload them - Wicked Boys, which is my current baby, Golden Prince, and Living the Dream (shit, I need to be writing that like now, so I can upload tomorrow...)

I’ve got a Drarry novel which might ACTUALLY turn into an epic re-write of the entire HP series, oops. I’m only on book 1 as well, so... it’s getting there?

There’s a short story I promised my daughter, too, I should really prioritise that...

Oh, yeah, I forgot about Zero Degrees! I have a few extra chapters to add, and a bunch of edits, but I’m hoping to publish that next year

I have too many WIPs!

4. What are your favourite places to write?

I write my first drafts in notebooks (literally because I like buying pretty notebooks...) so I actually end up writing in some lovely places, like a hill where I walk my dog! My dedicated writing place is in a golf club cafe I go to after my karate lesson (random, know), they make the best BLT baguettes, and the old dudes there tease me and ask me when I’m going to write a book about them

5. Do you prefer to write with long hand or type? Or some other method?

If it’s something long I usually write in a notebook, because I kinda like having physical evidence of the VOLUME of shit I write! Also I really like pretty notebooks. Also also, it forces me to finish a first draft - I can’t edit as easily as I can on a laptop. And then when I type it up it forces me to second draft it, I spot things that don’t flow better than if I was just reading through

6. Do you remember your first character? If so can we meet them?

Yes! I used to write stories and pass them around my school, and the first one I wrote was about a girl who lived as a stowaway in a container ship like some pre-teen phantom of the opera on the fucking ocean! I actually don’t know if I ever finished the story, but she was trippy. First story I know for sure that I finished was about a bus crash where one girl nearly dies and her body is taken over by an angel so she can heal. It’s mostly from the POV of the boy who had a crush on her and who goes slightly crazy noticing the similarities and differences between this girl’s character before and after. I mean that was trippy AF too, I’m not even sure what was going on there... I was clearly a little edgelord already...

7. Where do you get your inspiration?

I really don’t know, half the time. Daydreaming. Something will set me off and I’ll take tangent after tangent until BAM, I’m re-writing the story of how my great-grandfather walked half way across Kenya with a donkey and a wooden leg, only now he’s gay and he and his Masai friend rescue a kid from an abusive household.

8. Do you outline a story before writing it, or does it all live in your head until the first draft gets put down?

So much outline. The reason being, I have so many random ideas that if I started all of them I’d go crazy. So instead I have a book full of tangled mind-maps (my header photo is an example), and once they’re outlined there, they can hibernate for years before I get started, but they don’t go away. If I just let them live in my head I’d lose them! I also have a book dedicated to doing character notes, like backstories and random bits of info that will probably never make it into the story but which give me a good idea of who the person is before I try to write them - otherwise they tend to be a bit two dimensional. @salamanderink gave me that idea by asking me loads of questions about some of my Zero Degrees characters!

9. Where do you go/ What do you do when you’re feeling stuck?

I just leave it alone, write something else or absolutely nothing. I don’t try to push it any more. I think I used to, because I was scared of losing momentum, but now I’ve got this backlog of ideas, I know that if I ever run out of inspiration at least I’ve got starting points for loads of new ones! I don’t know if that’ll change in the future, but it seems to be OK for right now. I sometimes change and do a bit of drawing for a while instead, that usually loosens me up

10. What got you started writing/doing Art? (Because I always love origin stories)

I’ve kept a diary since I was 6 or so, on and off, but consistently since I was 11. That just sort of turned into me writing stories, somehow. I remember writing in my diary ‘nothing interesting ever happens so I’m going to write down my daydreams until I get a boyfriend or something’. Then IDK, some of the kids a couple of years below me in high school found some of my stories, and asked if they could share them around, and I started sewing them up to hand out - I’ve still got all of them! Some of them were fucking dark... 

We had a talk by an author one day, and he asked if anyone wanted to be a professional writer. I put my hand up (and got teased by the assholes in my class afterwards, because apparently the boys in my class were actual baby boomers and didn’t think writing was a real job - like mate, you’re 15, what do you care?!) but this dude looked at me with a super intense expression and said ‘never stop writing’. So I didn’t. And I self-pub my original stuff, and get my regular dose of validation on AO3, and writing is my most effective coping mechanism. Tadaa!

Tagging @slytherinvalues, @turned-her-brain, @salamanderink, @elizabethhollowswriting and @soz or whoever else wants to do this and needs to procrastinate as much as I do ;)

[thelionshoarde]

the magnificent @sabraeal got me, :3 :3

1. How did you come up with your username and what does it mean?

It’s from an unfinished short story I wrote back in 2014: It was awful business working in the Lion’s Hoarde Inn. I think I just enjoyed the sound of it, (:

2. Which fanfic of yours has the most feedback? (bookmarks/favorites, follows/subscriptions, visitor hits, kudos)

Some Nights, my first Teen Wolf fic. People really love pack mom!Stiles, apparently lol.

3. What is your FFnNet/AO3 profile icon, and why did you choose it?

O PUREST ONE. It’s from a fanart I’m still chipping away at. Because: it made @superhappybubbleslove go WAAAAHHHHHH MY HEAAARRRRTT and I enjoy making wonderful people suffer! :D

4. Do you have any regular/favourite commenters?

Things are about to get real lengthy, so...

@sabraeal, of course, is a dream come true, and is currently back at it with her long reviews, and BE STILL MY HEART. @superhappybubbleslove kicks ass every Saturday with her amazingness (and often is the only, or one of the only ones, to comment on a very particular thing that i really loved about a story or art, and i always fist pump whenever she does that hahaha)  @claudeng80 has given me some of my favorite comments, EVER, and I often have to take a day or more to process my emotions before I can actually respond coherently haha, I GET VERY EXCITED, OKAY. @hidetheremote is one of my most faithful and kind and generous commenters, I am always thrilled to receive them and she’s been showering me with encouragement since the beginning, so she has a VERY special place in my heart! I have a few commenters on my ot3 things that are incredibly kind, or people who have bookmarked/kudo’d almost all of them, and while I do not believe I know their tumblr handles, but I would sell my first born for you. :| special shout out to @vfordii and @stuffaeamade and @raediation who are always SO supportive of my obizenyuki feels hahaha! @youseimanami is a one woman cheer squad and AMAZING, so kind and so so sweet, and her comments always feel SO genuine, they just make my heart get all swelled up and fuzzy and warm, I love her! I know I’m forgetting people, but I LOVE YOU ALL, YOU ARE ALL MY FAVORITES D;

5. Is there a fanfic that you keep going back to read again and again?

I cycle through over time. There are a lot of older, long fics in other fandoms that I occasionally go back to when I need a pick-me up lol. Currently, there is I KID YOU NOT a south park kenny/kyle fic that I’m in love with and have read 2-3 times in the last couple months since I first read it and I WILL PROBABLY INDULGE AGAIN, SOON. (gold digger, IT IS AMAZING, OKAY)

6. How many stories are you subscribed to? How many do you have bookmarked?

I actually never figured out how to subscribe! 8D I have 86 bookmarks, but it should be more. I went through a year long period I think where I never signed into ao3 lol.

7. Which AU do you find yourself writing the most?

MAGIC. In some form or another lol.

8. How many people are subscribed and bookmarked to you in total? (you can view this on the stats page)

163 user subscriptions, and 2604 bookmarks. (some nights has 1912 bookmarks all on its own, okay, teen wolf is a v v large ocean of a fandom haha)

9. Is there something you’d like to write about but are afraid of people judging you for it? (Feeling brave? If so, share it!)

N O P E, i have no shame filter 8D .....ok, wait, the a/b/o one because it’s omega!obi and i’ve been a tad leery of the response i may receive for how very, uh, not your usual obiyuki dynamic in bed i want to make it. >_>

10. Is there anything you would like to be better at? Writing certain scenes or genres, replying to comments, updating better, etc.

Hn, yes and yes and yes and yes. My big thing is: I want to learn how to finish lengthier things. I got into fandom to try and do that, and it’s my goal for this year, especially.

11. Do you write rarepairs or popular ships more often?

Rarepairs, I think! Even when I write popular ships I usually write them in the less popular fashion haha. But mostly, I just write whatever I want, which is often a myriad of different pairings!

12. How many stories have you posted on FFNet/AO3 to this day (finished and unfinished)?

13 stories on ffnet, and a few of those were also on my livejournal. I don’t have an exact number for livejournal, but it’s over 100. I’ve started moving some of those fics from my livejournal to ao3, now, so I’m up to 40. Only 23 of my ao3 stories aren’t also on livejournal  at this moment lol. And there are a couple of things on tumblr I haven’t moved onto ao3 yet.

13. How many stories do you have saved in/with your writing program?

I am unwilling to go down that dark and dangerous path. :|

14. Do you write down story ideas, or just keep them in your head?

I try and write down whatever jumps in my head, because I WILL forget things, otherwise. But I’ll spend days mulling over an idea, sometimes, before I am able to sit down and write it.

15. Have you ever co-authored a story?

Back in eljay days I wrote stories with other people on occasion. Sometimes it was just writing comment fic back and forth at each other. Or writing different scenes in the same universe that went together. Nothing big.

16. How did you discover FFNet/AO3?

I know I stumbled on ffnet myself, but I don’t remember for ao3. O: Pretty certain someone told me about it, but when I had livejournal I didn’t really use anything else.

17. Do you consider yourself to be a popular or famous author in your fandom(s) on FFNet/AO3?

Hm, I’ve never been a widely popular anything, though I was lucky enough to have some excellent fans on eljay, who would jump fandoms with me just because they wanted to read my stuff. And folk who were incredibly kind and generous with their praise no matter how many random things I churned out haha. I’ve always been thrilled if there’s just ONE person who enjoyed a story I put out! I’m pretty easy to please!

18. Do you have a nickname or fandom name for your readers?

My darlings!

19. Was there an author who inspired or encouraged you to write?

Anyone who writes is an inspiration to me. I see people putting up fic and publishing novels, and I go I WANT TO DO THAT, UGH. Because I’ve always been a writer, ever since I was teeny, and have never stopped wanting to do it. I’ve always been in love with words, and stories. (As I’m sure many others can relate: I used to get in trouble in elementary school because I would read as I walked, and it was EARLY elementary school, where you had to walk in lines with your class because they were afraid they were gonna lose you, and I could read while I walked because I would just follow whoever was in front of me to wherever we were going haha)

20. What writing advice would you give to a beginning author?

It’s 100% okay if you write something, and you’re really proud of it, and you go back later -- a week, a day, a month, two years, whatever -- and think: THIS IS THE WORST. That doesn’t ever really go away, because as creators we are constantly evolving and looking to improve, and often times something that is actually quite solid and gives many readers joy will be a thing that you facepalm over, later. Use that to keep writing, and try to remember that you are most definitely your own worst critic. At the end of the day, keep doing this thing because you love it. Your work IS worthy, even when you think it should be set on fire and scattered across the deepest ocean never to be seen again!

21. Do you plot out your stories, or do you just figure it out as you go?

A combo! Sometimes, especially for shorter things, I just get an idea, and sometimes I just think about it for a little while, and then I open a doc and I just go to town until it’s finished. Other times I start off by writing out the thoughts and building off of that, and sometimes I slip into actually writing it and then back to outlining. USUALLY I start writing a thing because I have a tiny spark of an idea, or a situation/concept I find interesting, and I have no idea where it’s going, and I just write to see what happens, and THEN I start plotting things out as I go, which can be one of the MOST frustrating ways to write a story. Anything big I’ve ever written (and I’ve written several drafts of several novels) starts out like this, where I have a random idea and I sit down and I write out whatever scenes crop up in my head, and then I start filling in the blanks, later. A lot of my longer fandom things also are like this. heading for a small disaster was me just sort of sitting around and thinking about an entirely different story, and then I had like, a half-formed idea for a single scene in my head, so I sat down and started writing chapter 1 to GET to that scene, coming up with stuff as I needed it, and by the time I hit the end of ch1 I was no where near my original idea, and had a bunch of other ideas, and THEN I started plotting things out.

22. Have you ever gotten a bad comment on a story? If so, what did you do?

I’m sure I have! Though I haven’t posted fandom anything for a long time, so I don’t really remember. One comment I do recall was not a BAD comment, it was a comment about a bad thing I had done in neglecting to tag something, and then I got all defensive because I was younger and even more stupid than I am now, and I was an asshole, which I regret. ):

23. Is there a certain type of scene that you have a hard time writing? (action, smut, etc..)

Action! Also, stationary scenes with multiple people that DOESN’T have action! Okay, ANY scene that has more than one person is tricky, though two people at least helps in pacing because it’s easier to intersperse dialogue, but you add one more person into a scene and I’m laying my head on my desk and CRYING. Transition scenes are also my bane, I have the hardest time figuring out how to move from point a to b. Basically: EVERYTHING IS DIFFICULT. That’s half the fun of writing something, though.

24. What story(s) are you working on now?

Too many, but I’m trying to focus on finishing up some longer things this year. Of course, despite that having been my resolution before the year even began, I have somehow found myself with two new longer fics than WHEN THE YEAR STARTED, ugh. disaster, magic!cowboy au, lyrias center, unicorn au, soulmate tattoo au, a second part to we can make our own way, the full version of back alley complete with smut and EMOTIONS, fight club au, ot3 modern day neighbors au, and all the christmas prompts I haven’t done yet, and I have like, two more chapters of picture perfect planned out that I just haven’t written yet, I AM HAVING A DIFFICULT TIME THINNING THE HERD, I 100% come up with more ideas than ever get written, as I’m sure most writers do haha.

25. Do you plan your next project(s) before you finish your current ongoing story(s)?

HAHAHA

26. Do you have a daily writing goal set for yourself?

Nah, I almost never succeed at stuff like that, and I get pissy if I fail, so I’ve learned not to put myself into that position if I can, because it just hurts my writing. I just write when I want, or when I have time even if I don’t want.

27. Do you think you’ve improved as a writer since you first started?

Hopefully! Though posting old stuff to ao3 has made me aware that my vocabulary has actually suffered over time, and I’m hoping to fix that!

28. What is your favorite story(s) that you’ve written?

I don’t entirely love anything that I’ve written. There are aspects of many things that I love dearly, though none of it really wins out against another. I’ll say: three of my orig novels are probably closest to being no 1.

29. What is your least favorite story(s) that you’ve written?

There was this one HP fic I wrote when I was like, 14?? I don’t know, but apparently I was VERY ANGRY, and wrote some really messed up stuff, and I wouldn’t mind being able to bury that shit haha. But truthfully -- I probably grew a lot from it, as embarrassing as it is to me, now. ...okay, there was a LOT of HP fic wherein I was in my DARK AND ANGSTY years, that, whew! I’m glad I’m not that person anymore haha.

30. Where do you see yourself (as a writer) in 5 years?

Still writing, hopefully. :3

31. What is the easiest thing about writing?

CRYING. Crying is very easy, and so is laying my head on my desk and despairing that I will ever figure out how to make things work.

32. What is the hardest thing about writing?

WORKING THROUGH THE TEARS. It is very easy to give up, and mope, much more difficult to grit your teeth and wrangle a story into submission.

33. Why do you write?

Because I love the power of words. It’s magic. A written story is essentially an illusion spell. You put the right words on the page in the correct order, and behold! An entire world, with living characters, is born within the mind of a reader. And a single, minute change to any one of those words may shift the whole thing. It’s a constantly evolving formula, and full of surprises, and if you are particularly lucky and diligent you might even be able to spin an entire tale that grips people, shakes them up and makes them believe in something impossible, something that YOU created, from nearly nothing. That kind of power is pretty damned addictive.

[obi-wan-kxnxbi]

Title: Black Flags and Blue Seas. Rating: M Fandom: Les Miserables.  Tags:  Graphic Description of wound, Minor Character Death, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Trans Male Character, Trans Enjolras, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Les Amis de l'ABC - Freeform. Ships: Enjoltaire, Courferre, JBM, Eposette (hinted), Eponine/Marius/Cosette (hinted).  Art: I commissioned the lovely @crashandburrnart to do some art for this fic, and here is his wonderful Enjolras, more to follow!! 

                                                   Chapter One. 

                                          Old Ends and New Starts

The wind whipped his hair; the sun glinted off the sea in golden fractals. The sails flapped and the rigging creaked in the breeze, men climbed up the ropes like monkeys, shouting at each other and calling across the ship. He leaned over the side, gazing into the bottomless blue depths, the sun beating down on the back of his neck. Out here, there were no other men, but those on his crew; there was nothing to see save for the blue of the sky and sea. The ship carved out its path in the ocean, white foam capped the tops of the waves it left in its wake. In his mouth and nose he tasted and smelled the tang of salt and fish that rose up off the sea; it was like home to him, he’d been on ships like the one he stood on since he was nine years old, now he was captain of one.

The day was calm, with enough wind in their sails to give them four knots, they’d make Nassau in less than two days with the rate they were going. Their cargo filled the hold and the men were content to have their pockets filled with gold to spend. All in all his first two years of captaincy had been successful; Le Ami, had risen through the ranks to become one of the top earners in Nassau and with that had come benefits for him and his crew. They were happy, happy with their life aboard his ship; since the last captain had died and they had elected him. Since their ship’s cook had left in a whirl of hatred and insults heard throughout the ship. He knew what had become of the cook, he had kept tabs on the name and not three months ago he had heard the name again. Captain Grantaire of The Charioteer, he had scoffed and denied that it could be true, that their old cook had been elected to the captaincy of their main competition. Yet there he had been in the Jolly Drunkard tavern, laughing and smirking as Enjolras had walked in. They had left shortly after selling their goods, on the hunt for a Spanish merchants’ ship they knew to be leaving Cadiz with gold aplenty aboard.

“Sails! Sails to port!” Jehan called from the nest, “Captain there’s smoke there too, I think its a sunk ship.”

“Don’t raise the black just yet, what colours were they flying?” Enjolras shouted, looking up to the nest, but seeing only Jehan’s long red hair flying in the wind.

“The black sir,” Jehan leaned over the side of the nest so that Enjolras could see his face. Jehan looked at Enjolras with a carefully blank expression.

“Whose? Jehan, who’s black?” Enjolras studied the other’s man’s face, seeing if he could glean the answer from the set of his jaw, he could not.

“The Charioteer’s, sir, we’re honour bound to help them,” Jehan glanced left and right looking for someone who would back him up; though Enjolras knew what he had to do, he had a code to stick to.

“Make for port, don’t delay, we need to get there as soon as possible, do you hear me, Courfeyrac, there’s no time to lose,” Enjolras said leaning over the side of the railing to spot Courfeyrac at the helm.

“Aye, Captain!” Courfeyrac grinned at him and spun the ship around, yelling something indistinguishable to the men at the capstan.

“Are you sure this is wise, captain?” Combeferre said, in his ear, Enjolras jumped slightly having not known Combeferre to even be on the bridge.

“We have to honour the code, we have no choice,” Enjolras muttered.

“Enjolras, I speak as your friend, what if he’s on there?”

“Then we take him to Nassau and he can answer to the table. If it’s his fault his ship has sunk there’ll be hell to pay for him; if not it was someone else and I’m sure the table would love to hear the tale.”

“That’s all well and good, but, Enjolras, what if he’s dead?” Combeferre looked Enjolras in the eye, behind the glass of his spectacles Enjolras saw the brown illuminated by the sun still looked black like the bottomless depths. “He was popular amongst the men, have you thought of what they’d do if they saw him dead? Of how they’d feel? I know for a fact that Joly and Bossuet miss him still.”

“We have no choice, if we get into Nassau and someone finds out that we did not stop to even look at the wreck then we will never be able to sell in these waters again. I am fairly sure, Mr Quartermaster, that the crew would rather see one of their friends dead than to have no money and no prospects.” Enjolras watched Combeferre’s face, studying it, watching as the beads of sweat rolled down the brown skin. “What would you rather Theodore?”

“I don’t wish to see him dead, sir,” Combeferre gazed steadily into his eyes, not flinching when Enjolras’s ice blue gazed fixed itself on to his whisky brown.

“I know you harboured feelings for him, Theo-“

“Me? You think I say this to me? Captain, I harboured no feelings for Ranae other than friendship, I say this for your benefit, sir.” Combeferre said before nodding once and walking down the stairs to join Courfeyrac at the helm.

The smoke was now visible on the horizon, towering up from the empty blue sea, Enjolras could also see that The Charioteer still had her rear mast intact. She was listing to starboard heavily, it would not be too long until she tipped and sunk to the depths; possibly with her captain on board. They would reach her within the hour, with the speed they were going at. He pondered for a moment just what Combeferre had meant when he said that he had spoken for Enjolras’s benefit. Though the thoughts soon sunk to the bottom of his mind as they drew nearer and nearer to their quarry.

“What’s our speed, Bahorel?” He called to the upper deck.

“Five knots, captain,” Bahorel said, reeling in the knotted rope.

“Take her to seven, open the t’gallons” Enjolras shouted, securing his hat to his head as the wind whipped about them even more fiercely than before, “we need to reach her before she tips.”

“Aye, sir!” The crew shouted men climbed the rigging to release the sails that would catch more wind and drag the ship to higher speeds.

They skimmed over the waves, the sea seeming to push them along, urging them to get to their fallen comrade. There was, even more, seafoam on their wake as their speed picked up. Enjolras could see the ship even more clearly, she was beautiful but even from the distance they were at he could see the damage that had been done to her. Her mainmast was leaning heavily against the front, the captain’s quarters had been blown out completely and she seemed to be taking on water from more than one place. Her colours flapped, whipping around in the wind, even as she sank she was still a proud and beautiful boat. The sun was shining through her topsails, the rays obscured by the canvas; her rigging was tangled and in some places, it was hanging down and broken. Even as they drew near Enjolras’s heart sank, it was highly unlikely that there was anyone alive on board.

“Pull us up alongside, prepare to board!” Enjolras shouted over the slapping of the waves against the sides of the boats.

“Aye, aye Captain!”

They pulled up alongside the listing ship, planks were thrown over the side, as well as nets and ropes with grappling hooks. Combeferre was first over the side as tradition dictated, he didn't get far on to the deck before Enjolras was behind him. The deck was soaked in blood and other such carnage, the stairs that lead to the poop deck were splintered and the wheel had been blown out of its position. The doors through to the captains quarters had been ripped out of their hinges, and just as Enjolras had seen most of the captain’s quarters had been opened to the sea. Dead men were strewn about some still clutching their swords and cutlasses, blood had soaked through the wood on the deck, making it sticky. Combeferre grimaced as his boots were slowly covered in blood, they had been new not two months ago. The heat of the sun had already made the bodies smell. Enjolras wasn’t looking at the men on the floor though, his eyes were drawn to the main mast, where a figure was sitting tied to it. His brown hair was matted with blood and gore, visceral carnage covered every inch of his skin; his coat, which had once been green, was now stained red and black. He was slumped over with his head on his chest, his legs were stuck out in front of him and there was a large cut in his shin that was bleeding sluggishly. Enjolras wasn’t even close to Grantaire, and yet he could see the state the other man was in and, in the depths of his heart, he knew it didn't look good. Despite all of this, Grantaire’s chest still rose and fell as he took shallow, ragged breaths.

“Joly, get me, Joly, now,” Enjolras shouted, his breaths were coming in fast and sharp, his hands were shaking as he gripped his pistol.

“Captain, the chances of him living, they’re not good,” Joly said, he was just a step behind Enjolras as they strode towards Grantaire. “I can see from here that wound in his leg already looks as though it’s festered.”

“As long as he’s breathing he’ll hang on, you know him,” Courfeyrac had joined them as they stumbled over the dead and struggled against the list of the ship; he laid a comforting hand on Joly’s shoulder. “Stubborn as an old mule he is.”

“Just get him untied and on to the ship.” Enjolras nodded, looking around, studying every detail on the ship and looking out to the sea, “we don’t want whoever did this to them to come after us. On that subject, someone find me Combeferre.”

Enjolras strode off towards the captain’s cabin, trying his best to ignore the bodies of Grantaire’s crew. Before he walked through the doors, he took out his telescope and stood on what was left of the poop deck stairs. He scanned the empty blue expanse of sails. There were none to be seen, the ocean was deserted; the sun slowly setting casting purple and orange streaks across the sky, the colour reflected on the sea changing the blue to a vibrant rainbow. The shadow in the distance that was Providence Island loomed over them, a gargantuan, black rock shrouded in mist. He saw nothing coming towards them, no masts and sails in the distance; there was no sign of who or what had attacked The Charioteer. Enjolras ducked into the captain’s quarters, he could feel the spray from the sea on his face, he could taste the salt on his lips, and he could feel the heavy thick wind that ran through his hair.

He walked around what was left of the room, the ceiling of the cabin was low enough that the top of his head brushed the beams that spanned it; so he had to walk about making sure to watch his head. The room was painted white, or it had been once, now it was covered in dirt and soot; great flakes of paint had been stripped off the walls revealing the dark wood behind it. The desk, which he assumed had once stood just in front of the window, was now a splintered mess on the floor by the blow outdoors. Paper and parchments, and captain’s logs were blown about leaving them scattered around the room, his feet crunched as he moved about, different bits of debris scratching the floor.

“You wanted to see me, Captain?” Combeferre’s low deep tones rose above the crash of the sea and the yells of the men about the ship.

“Aye, when I first stepped on to this ship there was something about it that didn't feel right.”

“And what was that?” Combeferre stepped close to him, resting his hands on what was left of a sideboard.

“Their gun ports aren’t open,” Enjolras turned to face his quartermaster. “Why aren’t their gunports open?”

“I can’t answer that, Captain,” Combeferre shook his head, flicking one of his stray locs behind his ear, the beads clicking together as he did so. “Maybe Ranae decided not to fight.”

Enjolras sighed and shook his head, looking around the cabin again, trying so hard to find the answers to the multitude of quests that were bubbling away in his mind. The room held no such answers, empty and destroyed as it was.

“I don’t think so,” Enjolras shook his head, “the R I knew would never have just given up.”

“Maybe, sir, maybe he knew he would be destroyed anyway,” Combeferre pushed his glasses up his nose and took in a deep breath before he continued. “Maybe he knew it was hopeless. Maybe the question we should be asking is not why he didn't fire upon the person who did this but who was it that did this and why did he know it was over before it had begun.”

“Why did he know not to bother firing?” Enjolras looked at his quartermaster, his closest friend, “there’s only one ship in the entire ocean that would elicit that response from any pirate captain worth his weight.”

“The Scarborough.”

“Aye, but she ports in Boston,” Enjolras nodded, “at least she did.”

“It can mean only bad things if she is docking in the West Indies,” Combeferre spoke low, lest any of the crew who were running about outside the room would hear.

“It can mean only one thing if she is docking in the West Indies, my friend.” Enjolras’s voice was grave, “The English want their islands back.”

“We fought them off once, we’ll fight them off again,” Combeferre placed a hand on his shoulder, the touch soft, warm, and comforting. It was a weight that was easy for him to bear, a welcome burden.

“I’m not so sure,” Enjolras looked down at his feet, his boots had several holes in them, the leather cracking from being repeatedly soaked and dried. “‘Sides it wasn’t us that fought them off the last time, it was Avery, Teach, and Flint. This time there aren’t of the old men left, this time it’ll just be us.”

“If the English come, and a war is necessary, then I am glad to be by your side, my captain.”

“And I am glad to have you there,” Enjolras smiled once, a brief quirk of his lips nothing more, “we should go, we need to get back to Nassau, we need to tell the table what we saw.”

“We also need to see if R is alive and well enough to tell us exactly what happened here,” Combeferre said, “we need to ask him if it was actually The Scarborough, or if it was something else entirely.”

“I hope it was the latter,” Enjolras grimaced.

“Do you?” Combeferre’s eyes bore into him, they were riddled with gold, so much so that they looked like volcanic rock cracked with magma. “I’d rather stick to the evil we know. Stick to the evil we’ve defeated once before.”

“Hmmph,” Enjolras tilted his head, gesturing them once again outside on to the main deck of the ship, “Courfeyrac, Bahorel, secure all the paper and books inside the cabin, I’ll want them on my desk before we set sail.”

“Aye, Captain,” Both men said taking a wicker basket and going inside the cabin.

“Jehan, where’s Joly?” Enjolras called up to the rigging where Jehan was swinging lazily in the wind, his red air billowing out behind him.

“Took Ranae with him to his cabin, Bossuet and Chetta helping to carry him. It didn’t look good, Captain,” Jehan clambered down off the ropes to stand face to face with Enjolras.

“How didn’t it look good?” Enjolras asked.

“There was lots of blood, sir,, and I’m sure most of it was ‘Taire’s, his leg most of all; thought I saw his bone, all the way from the ropes,” Jehan’s pale, freckled face looked even more white than it had done before; a worried look was swimming behind his blue eyes.

“Joly is the best ship’s doctor I’ve known or heard of if there’s anyone that could save both Ranae and his leg, it’d be him,” Combeferre spoke, Jehan’s face relaxed and he scrambled back up into the rigging.

“I knew there was a reason they voted you in as quartermaster,” Enjolras said, walking towards the gangplanks that joined the two ships.

“It was Courfeyrac, he was the reason I was voted in,” Combeferre sighed, “if he had run, I’d not have stood a chance.”

“Ah, but he is always too easily swayed by what I have to say; I need someone who can stand up to me when my views become too one-sided. I need a quartermaster who reminds me that it isn’t just me on this ship; that the men have needs and wants too.” Enjolras grinned, “You are and were the perfect choice for the job.”

“I thank you for that, my captain,” Combeferre gave him a rare smile and a short bow, “go see to our errant friend. I’ll get us underway.”

“My thanks, Mr Quartermaster,” Enjolras jumped over the side of The Charioteer, and on to the deck of Le Ami. “Feuilly, Joly took Ranae down to his cabin, no?”

“Aye,” Feuilly said, he was carrying a large basket of food with him down to the galley.

“What state did Captain Grantaire seem to be in?” Enjolras asked, worry coming to life in his belly.

“He was mumbling, sir, definitely conscious. Not sure about the leg though, Joly seemed a little worried, sir,” Feuilly answered, his eyes holding little of their usual mirth.

“Thank you, friend,” Enjolras nodded to Feuilly, “thank you for all your hard work today, do not think it goes unseen. You are the best of us, my dear man.” Enjolras smiled, he had long held an admiration for the boy the previous captain had stolen off a merchant navy ship four years ago.

“Aye, sir,” Feuilly jumped down the steps to the galley.

fin. 

Thanks for reading chapter two will be posted soon!!

[sassysweetstories]

Rivalry //Shawn Mendes Series

Summary: You are a demigod that’s been brought to Camp-Half Blood in hopes to find yourself and learn more about your powers. In fear of being bullied, much like before, you intend to stay behind closed doors until there in no choice but to come out about who’s child you truly belong to. 

Ship: Shawn Mendes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, fighting, swearing, fluff, blood, etc. 

Notes: none of these gifs are mine. i saw another fic about demigods and i wanted to try and make it a series. the thoughts been festering in my mind forever now. i hope you like it. (also, none of the demigods and gods are really related. because of the parents fucking around, it’s not legitimate in this series. I ALSO RECOMMEND YOU TO LISTEN TO THE PERCY JACKSON SOUNDTRACK WHILE READING THIS. IT’S SO COOL) 

Your P.O.V

Camp-Half Blood. There is was, staring back at me like some haunting horror movie scene. The outer perimeter only being lit by two burning fires alone gave me a strange mix of home despite the ominous setting. I belong here. I tell myself the same thought that I’ve been repeating the whole drive here. I belong here. This is the golden arches for the odd and weird kids, a place to feel accepted. A place where it’s okay to be different. Or, at least that’s what I was told. But I knew if there were teens here, people my age, there would still be judgement. There always is. And the trip here was nothing but ridiculous. This place seems to fall off the edge of the earth and right under the nose of humans. And yet, I feel a pull towards the location. I know in my heart that I belong. 

Despite the nerves that start to fester, I take a deep breath and walk forward. It’s dark and quiet but the second I pass through the veil, I feel a sense of comfort or warmth wash over me. You are safe here. It seems to say to me. Lugging my one suit case farther in, I find myself following the main pathway. That is until my eyes come across a centaur. He’s fucking huge, twice if not three times my height. "Mr. Brunner, I presume.” I say seriously. Everything about me screams business, not pleasure. But he ignores it and gallops up to shake my hand in mutual respect. “Please, call me, Chiron. You’ll be seeing me quite often. Might as well get on a first name basis.” I give him a hardy shake and follow him along the dark pathway, my heart beating with excitement and nerves. 

“Welcome to Camp Half Blood, (Y/n). I realize, as you’ve said before, that you do not want to disclose your parentage to anyone, but here in Camp Half Blood, we categories and home you according to your abilities. That is, until I realized who you belonged to-” He pauses, wary of his next words. “-We don’t get many rare demigods here, so in the interest of your discretion, and for you, and the safety of others, we will not disclose that information until it becomes absolutely necessary.” The second the words leave his mouth, I feel a weight being lifted off me. If anyone knew who I belonged to.. Gods, what a nightmare that would be. Mr. D continues to educate me on what exactly I would be doing here and the longer he spoke, the more excited I became. 

“Tomorrow (Y/n), I will personally show you around the facility, but for now I will take you to your living quarters, which are located not too far from the other kids but a good distance for privacy.” I want to look up at him and thank him but I’m so in awe by everything, I can barely form words. Instead I give him a small nod and unpack, mentally preparing for the next day to arrive. My house, since I’m the only one living in it, is a lot lighter than I thought it would be. It’s an odd mix of colors but nothing like I had anticipated. In one room it is black with shades of bright purple. In the other, it’s a vibrant orange/yellow with blue and green flowers the cover the ceiling which brought an odd contrast. It’s surprisingly warm and cosy despite my first wary impression. Everything about the room alone is far much nicer than I’d ever had. I can’t help but lean against my bed headboard and smile. I was home. 

The next morning I’m up bright and early, too excited to even hide it. I’m practically bouncing off the walls as I slip my shoes on. But the second Chiron shows up, I suppress it a little bit. I don’t wanna come off too strong, after-all. I’m not even outside before the sun is happily shinning down on us. The trees all gleam in delight under such warm and bright weather. I can’t help but smile at the sight. Birds fluttered above my head, singing their normal song. The trees around us sway against the wind and tower over my head like mountains. The longer we walk, the closer we come to the middle of the camp grounds. Kids of all ages and colors run by us in a hustle and bustle, not without giving me a once over, if not stare at me as if I had horns or something. 

For some reason, I’m something entirely new to them. It’s as if they know. Instead I stand up straighter, demanding respect and even scowl at some who dare to give me pointed looks. And instead of making the situation worse, I focus on Chiron’s words. “You will be training like the rest of the students. But before you get to that, you have a schedule with certain classes to obviously learn about your parents and the other gods here.” As we walk by, a boy with bright eyes and dirty blonde hair eyes me up and down like a piece of meat. He nudges his lacks and they look in my direction and have the audacity to howl at me. Instead of causing a scene, I clench my fists in frustration. Deep breaths. In and out. 

Finally pulling my gaze away from them, I can’t help but stand up straighter, as if I was trying to prove something to them. I can tell behind their cocky stares that their curious about me and what I can do. Who do I belong to and what I have to offer. But I hope they never find out. But all I know is that I do, in fact, belong. But if I wanted to show that, I would have to be on the field and in the classroom. My first class is Gods & Goddess and their powers. Before I even came to Camp Half Blood, I had always been fascinated by Greek mythology. 

I use to spend hours after school reading up on all sorts of stories only to find out I was the child of one them. Chiron escorts me to the class, if that’s not awkward enough. But when I enter, more than fifty kids look directly at me. I can practically feel their judgment filled expressions pressing down on me like an anvil. I suck in a breath of air, letting Chiron speak for me. “Professor Ryan, this is your new student, (Y/n) (Y/L/N).” I give him a hardly shake and give him my signature smile. I swear I hear a group of girls in the front sigh and swoon. Aphrodite kids, I’m sure. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Miss (Y/L/N). You can sit right next Mr. Underwood.” I glance up at the large college build lecture hall before my gaze falls on the satyr I saw early. He looks nice, giving me a warm and playful smile. I can’t help but return it because in all honesty, it’s quite contagious. When I take a seat, I pull out my hand for him to take. “(Y/n). Nice to meet you.” He grins and takes it before shaking it lightly. “Grover. Grover Underwood. Likewise!” It’s not as bad as I thought it would be. Grover whispers comments at me the entire time, practically shit talking the professor. It takes everything in me to not burst out laughing. Once class is over though, we walk out together and the conversation flows comfortably. 

“Hey (Y/n), I wanna introduce you to my best friend, Percy Jackson.” A boy with ocean blue eyes waltz up to us, showing me an equally warm smile. I take his hand and give him a hardy shake. “Nice to meet you, Percy. Cool name. I’m (Y/n), (Y/n) (Y/L/N).” Percy is just as nice as Grover and they make me feel at home. He’s son of Poseidon apparently. Which took me by surprise. “You’ll meet the rest of the gang later. Until now, you’ll have to settle for us.” Percy says jokingly but I can already sense a slight insecurity. “I like your guys’ company just fine.” But the second the words leave my mouth, I see Percy and Grover ease up. The sight makes me chuckle. It was only the first day and I was already making friends. 

Grover has taken it upon himself to show me every nook and cranny of the camp, saying Chiron was an old fart who didn’t know any of their secrets. Pointing over to a warm pink lit dorm, he gave me a cheeky smile. “Aphrodite’s daughters. Hello ladies!” He gives them a wave and some of them giggle in response. I’d be lying if I said none of them were attractive. The art of beauty and seduction was always something they perfected apparently. Some even wink at me as we walk by. I can’t help but blush as we shuffle across the way. “Aphrodite’s daughters are nothing but wild, especially in the sheets. Stay away from them. Or don’t. I mean, I don’t stay away, haha. Not far from them is Athena, girls and boys are separated but that doesn’t stop us much. You’ll meet Annabeth later. She’s a child of Athena.”

We make our way over to the dueling field and the girl he was talking about, whom I believe is Annabeth, is dueling with three other opponents. I watch in awe as she beats them with ease, not a bead of sweat to cover her gorgeous features. I can’t help but gape as she strides over to us, looking nothing but powerful. “That was amazing.” I spew out before my mind could even think. Before she seemed more cold and wary, but the longer she eyes me, the more at ease she becomes. “Thank you. I’m Annabeth.” I take her hand, still gaping. “I’m (Y/n). That was incredible. Can you teach me how to do that?” She laughs at my genuine awe. “Of course, in due time. We have to meet up with the others.” 

“The others?” I can’t help but ask in curiosity. They all smile as Grover spoke. “Luke and Shawn. Luke tags along with us occasionally but he mainly sticks to the more jock type crowd, ya know? He’s more brutes than he is brains. But don’t tell him I said that. Besides, he only sticks around with us because he fancies Percy.” Percy shakes his head, chuckling lightly as we walk down a different pathway. “He’s my friend. They’re both really great. You’re gonna love Shawn. He’s super chill but can be a bit cocky at times. He’s also got a killer voice. Shawn might seem a bit off but he’s pretty down to earth-” Annabeth practically snorts. “And he’s not a dick like Luke.” I can’t help but laugh at the comments being made towards the young boy. “Is Luke the one with dirty blonde hair? I may have seen him this morning howling at me. What a douche.” They snort at my comment before nodding. 

We head over to the weapons hall and as we enter, I can’t help but gape in awe. Weapons from all shapes and sizes layer each side of the walls, some even attached to the ceiling. Running my hand over some, I can’t help but smirk at the glint of light they all give off. “Beautiful, ain’t she? You’ll start combat soon but before you get your hands dirty, you’re gonna need a weapon, eh?” Grover says to me, motioning for everyone to follow him. We do so and listen to the folk lore behind all of the swords and knives without homes. That was until a bright black shine caught my gaze. Without realizing it, I drifted away from the group to get a better look at it. Black as night, the sword stretches a good few feet with a dark red leather handle and small, thin white swirls etched across the blade. 

I feel a pull towards the blade, like it was meant for me. I’m so enthralled by it’s treacherous beauty I almost don’t hear the manager comment, “Gorgeous, isn’t she. Five carbon steel, practically unbreakable, with a dark red handle that’s both comfortable yet firm enough to grip.” I graze the outside of the handle and smile at the sensation. That was until the manager commented, “I wouldn’t try to pick it up. It’s the heaviest weapon we’ve got and you look pretty nimble.” I could stand men trying to down grade women. Instead of listening to his warning, I take the sword with one hand and lift, expecting it to be heavy for my too “nimble body” but instead it practically floats under my touch. I twirl it around and it feels like I’m holding air. “Are you sure it’s the heaviest? It feels light to me.” 

The look on his face is nothing but priceless. Jaw dropped to the floor, face white he manages to scrape the last bit of testosterone he had and heads to the front. I take the sword with a smile, intending to check out before I came to an abrupt halt. The blonde douche I saw early, Luke, I believe, was speaking to another boy in a hushed manor behind a stack of knives. He had chocolate brown hair and equally as appealing eyes. “I don’t know Luke.. We don’t know anything about her-” He said softly, scanning over the weapons. Luke replied hastily. “She could be a great ally when we have the battle Friday.” The chocolate haired hunk scoffed. “We don’t even know if she can fight yet! Nor do we know of her abilities! What could she possibly offer for the win?!” Luke rolled his eyes and nudged the boys arm jokingly but he didn’t seem to enjoy it. “Don’t worry. With my suave persona, she’ll be confessing everything in no time. We’ll win this fight Friday, Shawn.” 

Were they talking about me? They must be. Quickly and quietly, I slip away from them without making a peep and head to the check-out line. “Looks like you found one!” Percy exclaimed happily, eyeing my weapon of choice. Annabeth nods her head with pride. “That’s a beautiful sword. You’re sure about it though? Once you choose a weapon, it becomes like your mate.” Percy and Grover share a confused glance before shrugging at me. I look down at it with my own sense of pride, happy with my choice before nodding. “Yeah, I’m sure.” Percy’s eyes wander to someone over my shoulder. “SHAWN! LUKE!” He exclaims, smiling at the two. I don’t make eye contact with them yet. Instead I hand over my sword to pay. 

The cashier nearly drops the sword, half dragging it across the floor to scan the price-tag along with the belt attachment. “Do you need help?” I ask, trying not to smile at his struggling state. He puffs and curses under his breath, arms bulging in hopes to lift the weapon I’ve handed to him. “Nope, ugh, I- I’m f-fine-” The interaction has unfortunately caught the groups attention and Grover can’t help but ask, “(Y/n), did you get the biggest one?!” I glance over at him and nod. “Yeah, what can I say, I like big things.” The sentence was meant to be a casual response but all four of the boys turned bright red with embarrassment while Annabeth burst out laughing at their reactions. As I’m about to look back at the cashier, my gaze meets Shawn’s. 

His eyes are bright despite being a chocolate brown. They almost have a flicker of light to them. One I can’t particularly describe. He’s different, I can feel it. I give him a small smile which he returns with a mediocre smirk. “Hun, why don’t I take that before you pull a muscle-” I wrap the holder around my waist and tie it before taking the sword from him. He sighs, almost happy to not have to carry its gargantuan weight any longer. But before I can slip my beautiful weapon into its case, Luke saunters up to me with a cocky grin. “You must be the beautiful, (Y/n). I’m Luke. Would you like me to carry that for you?” Annabeth and I exchange a knowing look. What did this boy expect from me? To just drop my panties cause he decided to be nice? Pff. 

I give him the fakest, most innocent smile I could before sighing sweetly. “Oh my gosh, that is so sweet. Thank you.” I take a step back and toss the blade at him. He lefts out an “Oof!” before falling to the ground, coughing and grunting as he attempts to hold the weight up. I walk around his immobile body and stick my hand out for Shawn to shake. “I’m (Y/n). Nice to meet you.” The moment he takes it, I feel a shock run through my body, itching up and down my spine before it dissipates. What the hell was that? “I’m Shawn. Likewise.” When he lets go of my hand, his is warmer than when we first touched. I wonder if I rubbed off on him? He glances down at me with wonder and curiosity. We duel with our eyes, examining one another before looking away.

I strut over to Luke who is still thrashing on the floor before I lift my sword off him with one hand. He sighs in relief, taking massive breaths of fresh air to accommodate for the ones that have been taken from him. Sheathing my blade, I look back at Annabeth with an innocent smile. “Annabeth, hun. Would you like to go practice dueling?” She laces her arm through mine, waving at the boys as we walk out. “I think we’re gonna be very good friends.” I can’t help but laugh with delight at her statement, feeling the boys eyes follow us the whole way out. I can’t help but look back at Shawn and ponder. Who does he belong to? 

Annabeth and I head out to the battle arena to change and practice fighting. “So-” I say while adjusting my gear. “-who are Luke and Shawn’s parents.” Annabeth tosses me another accessory for combat before replying. “Well, Luke is Hermes kid. You wouldn’t have guessed it but he, like most kids, hate their parents. He despises his dad, which is understandable. And for some odd reason, he gets super defensive and competitive when it comes to battles. Thinks he has to prove something to someone because he thinks his parent isn’t the strongest. It’s all about titles to him.” 

I nod along to her words but ask about the other boy, not caring much about the first. “And Shawn? What about him?” She talks while she ties her boots. “Well I think Luke just hangs out with Shawn because of his parental title-” I sheath my sword, standing up straighter. “What do you mean? Who is his parent?” When she looked back at me, I expect her to tell me the name of a small god but instead it’s someone who rattles me. “He’s the son of Zeus.” I drop my shoe in shock, nearly dropping the rest of my stuff. Annabeth laughs. “Yeah. He usually has that affect on women.” I scoff, shaking my head before resting my hands on my hips. “Pff. No! I was just surprised. Um, that’s pretty rare, isn’t it?” 

She nodded, grabbing her sword before following me out onto the battlefield. “Yeah, it is. Percy and him are the only two sons of the big three. There hasn’t been a third son but I’m hoping it’s a girl. I think Luke is using Shawn and Percy’s friendship to get ahead during the trials and fights. It’s vile.” I nod along to her voice. She was definitely Athena’s kid, brilliant and tactical. “Okay so, what are you gonna teach me so that I’ll be prepared. I want to be as good as you.” Annabeth took a few steps back, stretching her muscles. “That might take some time.” I drew my sword and grinned up at her. “I’m a good learning.” Before I knew it, she ran towards me and our swords crashed together. “Let’s get started.” 

Annabeth is a brutal teacher but she’s nothing like Ares teachers. They’re ruthless and cruel, just like their god father. I half expect them to have sharp teeth. We practice for nearly two days straight I almost don’t notice it’s been that long. With only fruits, vegetables and water to keep us going, we keep fighting. It’s nothing but exhilarating. We’re dueling and running circles around one another so much I barely acknowledge the ever growing crowd that’s decided to make their way towards us, intrigued by our fight and what we have to offer, what I have to offer. I barrel towards her, dodging whatever attacks she intends to throw my way before slamming my sword down on her. When they clash, sparks fly. Our faces a mere few inches apart as we growl at one another before separating again. 

“How long have they been going at it?” I hear Percy ask Grover. To which he responded with. “Two days straight. A few breaks here and there but I’ve never seen someone hold a fight with Annabeth and not fall over. It’s incredible.” Luke and Shawn stand near the other two boys, watching us closely. I almost feel bad for Shawn but I’m then reminded that I don’t really know him. “Getting tired yet?” Annabeth asks me with a shit-eating grin. I stand up straighter with an equally as warming smile before getting into my fighting position. “Not even close.” The sounds of our swords clashing together echoed all throughout the camp. There wasn’t one person who knew we were fighting. She slams her sword down and instead of hitting me, smashes the grass. 

I turn over my shoulder to dodge her attack before making one of my own. When I reach my sword out, hers matches my movements. The tips threatening to cut the others throat. “You’re a fast learner.” She says, smiling up at me. We mutually sheath our weapons and examine the others sweaty state. “Gods, I need a shower.” I say, wiping off the sweat that dripped down all parts of my body. “I think the boys disagree.” Turning over my shoulder to see what she meant, Luke stares at me like I’m a prize, like I’m meat to be won over. Grover and Percy look at me as friends do, with pride. But I can’t quite pin Shawn’s facial expression. His is a mixture of things. Some I can’t read, others I can. It’s pride for a friend but with a hint of attraction, lust. “I think you’ve caught the golden boys eye.” 

I eye him up and down and watch as he does the same for me. I can’t help but take Annabeth’s previous words into consideration. If this battle is as important to Luke as she says it is, than how important is Shawn to him. What does he have to offer? What are his powers? Do they have limits? What if Shawn isn’t as innocent as people believe him to be? What if he’s just as wrapped up about the hierarchy as Luke is? Annabeth and I head over to the showers, very much in need of some soap. But the whole time I can’t help but ponder that all of this seems to dive deeper than I think. 

(I hope you guys liked it! This is just the introduction to the series. I think I’m gonna make it a 2-3 parter series. Comment below! I love suggestions and feedback!)

[gheckoe]

JAMES’S CURATED QUALITY FANFICTION PRIMER

for @rev0lutions-of-ruin, who tumblr does not like letting me tag

foolish bird avoids ao3 for years and misses out on the Good Shit, but it will be okay! she has THIS now. ft. DUMB LONG-WINDED CAPTAIN AMERICA MOVIE EXPLANATIONS, because i don’t think you would watch those movies willingly.

lots of selection - pick and choose, but if you don’t read “out of the dead land” i will be very sad. just treat this as really weird queer genre fiction and you’ll be alright. fics with pornographic content are marked as such, but said content is easy to skip as long as you can pick up on the warning signs.

we’re gonna start with the funny stuff.

nanananana BAT-DAD! (no ships, just bruce being a dad. safe for work and hilarious,)

who needs therapy when you have microsoft excel.

tim drake (robin 3) is a transgender teenage disaster. and bruce wayne is just generally a disaster. (same series.)

okay, now let’s get kind of sad. but not TOO sad.

nananananananana BATMAN (and superman)

this one made watching batman vs. superman worth it. not quite. but kind of. it’s fantastic.

i forget what happens in this one but i know i enjoyed it!

snk? why this, james. why this.

bad show, i know, but. formative experience. i figured out i was trans by projecting my feelings onto jean kirchstein. (not sure how, that’s just what happened.)

this one is stupidly fucking huge, in first person, and still isn’t finished.

included by virtue of some weird nostalgia. it’s half a million words long. try the first few chapters; i can’t guarantee anything that happens. don’t fucking judge me.

boring, punch me in the feelings already. more angst!

STEVEBUCKY

i don’t think you’ve watched the captain america movies, so i will explain them.

the saddest, gayest shit you will ever see. will fuck with your heart, ideally! but (as per always), skip the porn. this fandom is really big on it. UGH.

BUT it’s based off of movie adaptations of comic books, so the backstory is... ridiculous. i will summarize it for you. (tumblr ate this so here goes again)

THE DYNAMIC/history/massive goddamn ship manifesto

two guys, sitting in the great depression, two feet apart because it’s not socially acceptable to be gay

steve: tiny, blonde, always mad and big on SOCIAL JUSTICE. gets into fights for SOCIAL JUSTICE, despite growing up in the great depression when SOCIAL JUSTICE was not a commonly-known phrase or a common thing. he’s a bit of a shit, and he gets into shit. with his scrawny lil fists. he has all sorts of chronic illnesses but somehow manages to survive in a time with shitty medicine, and grow up to get into MORE shit. likes art, but is (partially?) colorblind

also he’s VERY HEAVILY coded as trans.

bucky: taller, brown hair, very popular but secretly a bit of a nerd (loves scifi, and is good at math). likes dancing, girls, and getting steve out of situations that he’s clearly over his head in and talking shit about it after. a bit of a charmer, etcetera.

there are some good fics from this era (”pre-war”) but idk where they are in my bookmarks. will update later.

so wait, what happens?

bucky gets steve out of dumb situations (like fighting a guy for talking during a movie) for pretty much all of their life. childhood friends until after high school-ish.

BUT, bucky is either drafted into the us army (it’s wwii now) or enlists, and steve is left alone in brooklyn, new york, to get into shit, without anyone to bail him out or prevent him from getting into MORE shit. so he finally manages to lie his scrawny, ill ass into the army, and (as one does) volunteers to get experimented on by the american government.

wait, what the fuck

comic books, okay. don’t @ me.

steve manages not to die! he finds a really pretty, badass lady to bisexually fawn over in the army (peggy carter is a fucking miracle), the experiments are a success and he ends up BIG and cured of all his ailments and with superfast metabolism (no alcohol) and superfast healing. he’s made it! (he basically just got really fast, unrealistic HRT hahaha)

... except the army can’t replicate the embiggening process they did with steve because the scientist that did it got killed, and steve is made into a glorified prettyman mascot to sell war bonds, instead of going to punch nazis, which he would be better at. he is a terrible mascot.

meanwhile, bucky has a shitty goddamn time in the european theatre. it’s terrible. he gets kidnapped by the EVIL SCIENCE NAZIS and put in a freaky camp and experimented on, poor guy.

you said you ship them, right? they’ve barely interacted so far, man. what the fuck.

alright alright i’m getting to it

steve the dancing monkey (in his words) is doing a Morale-Raising tour in europe for the troops and they hate it and he hates it. he discovers that... oh shit... bucky and his regiment (?) have been kidnapped by HYDRA! (the science nazis.)

naturally, he of little training MUST go save bucky, because the people that actually know how to save people know that it would be pointless to try. but steve “dumb shit” rogers will do it his own damn self. don’t @ him either. it’s the 1940s so he doesn’t have a phone.

steve will walk to austria, if he has to!... but he actually just gets a plane ride there, from peggy carter the badass and some other guy who’s not that relevant right now.

he KICKS NAZI ASS, SAVES THE PRISONERS, and MAKES MEANINGFUL EYE CONTACT WITH BUCKY ONCE HE FINDS HIM IN THE EVIL SCIENCE NAZI EXPERIMENTATION ROOM. bucky’s so out of it that he barely even tries to question why his old friend is suddenly hot  TALL.

steve and the lads walk back from austria, and he is a Bona Fide War Hero and not just a mascot. he has the stylish grime and everything. on the way, he realizes that the lads are pretty cool, and assembles a Diverse Crack Squad of Guys That Really Wanna Kill Nazis from the cool guys he just met. upon return to wherever they were earlier, steve is made a REAL CAPTAIN now, and his Diverse Crack Squad is at liberty to... go kill nazis.

bucky tags along. he is very handsome and talented at math, so he is a SNIPER and saves steve’s dumb ass (from getting shot by nazis, instead of getting punched in the face) like he used to. the Diverse Crack Squad gears up to take down THE WORST OF THE SCIENCE NAZIS, on a train in the mountains! they can change the course of COMIC BOOK WWII!

you said it was tragic. show me the tragic.

the TRAIN INFILTRATION does not go as planned, and bucky is knocked from the train and falls to his cold, painful, (presumably) death. steve can’t watch.

they catch a REALLY BAD SCIENCE NAZI, but it is a very hollow victory. steve goes and tries to get drunk in a blown-up bar where he hung out with bucky and they were really queer together.

the OTHER really bad science nazi now has a plan to BLOW UP COMIC BOOK NEW YORK! steven will NOT allow this to happen.

he’s also kind of given up on life. he has a flair for the dramatic, and also the ambiguously suicidal.

not that being ambiguously suicidal adds to the Dramatic Romance of this. it doesn’t, and that would be creepy. the point is that steve rogers has a LOT of issues, including the ones that science can’t cure.

this SPECIFIC PLANE is headed towards new york, full of explosives. steve manages to get aboard the plane... and doesn’t even try to escape. he crashes it into the water in the atlantic ocean, saying goodbye to peggy on the radio as it hits. he is also presumed dead. it’s... basically a suicide attempt.

flash forward seventy-some years.

wait, wasn’t he in the avengers?

steve rogers is found inside the frozen plane encased in ice in the ocean. he’s revived (super healing, woop) and... doesn’t say anything, because he’s really not up to expressing feelings.

he has a TERRIBLE time. all of his friends are dead or old and went about their lives without him, and he’s alone in a confusing new world. (but the food is better, vaccines are good, and no polio.) he’s not fantastic at making new friends, because, as shown by him and bucky’s entire relationship, he’s a bit of a sad introvert and just picks one person and... holds on.

blah blah avengers one blah blah, new team and fighting BAD THINGS. but steve is too angsty to make friends. he joins the new security organization that peggy founded, SHIELD, without really inspecting it that well because... he didn’t plan to be alive past flying the plane into the ice, much less in the 21st century. he doesn’t know what he’d do otherwise.

idk that sounds a little slow

he has DEPRESSION. it is a little slow. but it’ll pick up! (not emotionally.) now it’s very anti-establishment action flick. enter CAPTAIN AMERICA (2): THE WINTER SOLDIER.

steve makes a friend. actually, two! sam and natasha are wonderful, and they have some things in common. but steve obtains friendship while realizing that SHIELD is corrupt to the core and actually infiltrated by HYDRA, so he and his new friends have to... burn it to the ground. he “died” (or tried to) to stop HYDRA, and it’s still here and worse then ever. things feel pointless.

to make it worse, he’s fighting this creepily effective impersonal masked assassin on a bridge and oh fuck, oh fuck it’s bucky and didn’t he die years and years ago and his arm is METAL what happened to him, and he’s pretending not to recognize steve.

HYDRA is planning to eliminate sources of resistance for their new world order via shooting them from the air, so steve has to take one specific FLYING DEATHMACHINE down. he does, and brainwashed HYDRA bucky, the winter soldier, is there to stop him.

steve makes an appeal to emotions. “bucky stop you can’t do this”

bucky is confused, but he’s been programmed to do this.

steve tells his coworkers to JUST SHOOT THE DEATHMACHINE DOWN ALREADY, because he’s... given up again. he’s very talented at equating heroism with self-sacrifice/suicide. but he disables the DEATH part of the DEATHMACHINE without it getting shot down.

bucky has been trapped underneath a beam, but steve’s with bucky till the end of the line, even if bucky is brainwashed and lacking memories. steve drops his shield in the water and falls.

it’s another attempt to die. stop that, steve. go to therapy.

bucky doesn’t remember who he is, but he jumps after him. steve is very injured from his fight with bucky, and wouldn’t have survived the fall, but bucky drags him to shore and... leaves.

steve wakes up in the hospital with his new friend sam. they’re going to track bucky down, even if it takes forever.

ISN’T THAT FUCKED UP? isn’t that sad? it’s terrible. now, fics. most of them are after ca:tws, because that’s when the ship got popular. a lot of them center around Finding Bucky and Getting To Know Him Again.

there’s a lot of sappy sad let’s-teach-bucky-how-to-be-a-person-again-and-get-steve-to-be-less-sad but i like the ones that are like sad action movies, or sad queer movies, and less like sad romance movies. my bookmarks are a mess, so here’s the best stuff i could dredge up.

out of the dead land: this one kills me every single time. there’s something terribly cinematic about it. but, as fandom is wont to do, there’s porn near the end. skip that part. ew. it’s an introspective scifi action epic, with just enough identity issues to make you want to cry! READ IT, IT’S IMPORTANT.

this: alternate universe, sans steve “dying.” epistolary. sad, as far as i can remember. (i’d rec the rest of this series but i think it’s best if you read this one first?)

courtroom/media fic. what if the winter soldier got arrested after the movie? (cap fandom does this kind of fake-media thing very well. i just reread it. it’s still good.)

this one isn’t exactly groundbreaking, but it’s a different take on the fandom’s typical post-winter soldier bucky interpretation. quite short, 100% safe for work.

in this one, steve successfully gets drunk, makes some friends, and gains some coping skills. good for dark humour. there’s porn somewhere but i’m sure it’s easily skippable, otherwise i wouldn’t have bookmarked it. not 100% the best thing every but it’s pretty fun.

if you aren’t team s/b all the way then we can’t be friends, but here’s some other marvel stuff i guess

lesbians, ballet, feelings? it’s a rarepair but it’s pretty lovely. au, no background knowledge required. basically a beautiful indie film that’s kind of oscar-bait. you will like this one, i think. there’s probably porn somewhere.

trans black widow. (that chapter only, not sure what the rest is). not very well-written and i have terrible memory but i’m 75% sure it made me cry.

ENJOY! or try to. don’t feel obligated to. but please at least TRY out of the dead land, it is groundbreaking.

[shamballan]

@professionallyconfused left it open so imma do it ! cuz i like these...

Rules: Answer these 92 statements and tag 20 people

LAST:

1. Drink: ice cold water 2. Phone call: we called my cousin about bait tackles because my other cousin is trying to teach me how to fish 3. Text message: “did I wake you?” I did, as it turns out. I felt bad. 4. Song you listen to: Edge of Town by Middle Kids 5. Time you cried: couple days ago, I believe, but I don’t remember ‘bout what

HAVE YOU: 6. Dated someone twice: No. Maybe? I don’t think so 7. Kissed someone and regretted it: maybe 8. Been cheated on: it was an accident 9. Lost someone special: Yes 10. Been depressed: My emotional life is an actual rollercoaster. I walked into depression for about a year. It was nothing near clinical but it sucked. 11. Gotten drunk and thrown up: Nah

LIST 3 FAVORITE COLORS: 12-14: Red, green, and either black, silver or gold, they’re even

IN THE LAST YEAR HAVE YOU: 15. Made new friends: Yes! 16. Fallen out of love: In and out and back in again but we’re learning 17. Laughed until you cried: Heh, yeah a little 18. Found out someone was talking about you: Yes? 19. Met someone who changed you: Yeah 20. Found out who your friends are: maybe one day 21. Kissed someone on your Facebook list: no?

GENERAL: 22. How many of your Facebook friends do you know in real life: Why would I friend someone on the Book Face that I didn’t know irl? 23. Do you have any pets: No, but one day I will have so many plants and that counts! 24. Do you want to change your name: I’m okay 25. What did you do for your last Birthday: I went out and got ice cream and we went to the pep for breakfast and it was good! (LaPeep is a restaurant in town but I call it the pep)  26. What time do you wake up: 7-ish, or if it’s been a long week I’ll sleep in until 9:30 and those are usually not the good days. 27. What were you doing at midnight last night: Reading fanfics under comfy blankets ~  28. Name something you can’t wait for: Dnd! 29. When was the last time you saw your mom: October, 2015. 30. What is one thing you wish you could change in your life: I wish I was a better person. 31. What are you listening to right now: I put my headphones on to watch TAZ videos but then I got distracted so rn, nothing 32. Have you ever talked to a person named Tom: One of my supervisors at work is named Thom. 33. Something that is getting on your nerves: ME NOT DOING HOMEWORK ugh

LOST QUESTIONS. I JUST PUT IN RANDOM INFO ABOUT ME 35. Mole/s: Yes and they’re beautiful 36. Mark/s: some freckles, and there’s a birth mark on my arm that looks like a heart or a shark’s tooth, depending on how you look at it. Do scars count? Cuz I’ve got some great scars doing some dumb shit!  37. Childhood dream: I always to do everything ! Like Leonardo di Vinci or something 38. Hair color: brown 3n9. Long or short hair: Long-ish 40. Do you have a crush on someone: I have a crush on my boyfriend ^.^ 41. What do you like about yourself: I have really pretty eyes, and my metabolism is apparently top-notch and I’ve been told I’m lucky for that. I like my brain even though it goes too fast and I crash and burn sometimes but it’s trying and I’m proud of that 42. Piercings: Ears 43. Blood type: 0 neg. 44. Nickname: Mia, Sunshine, or Mary-Elizabeth which I like  45. Relationship status: I got a bae 46. Zodiac: hella Aries  47. Pronouns: she/her 48. Favorite TV Show: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood is v important to me but I want to start watching Blue Bloods, too

49. Tattoos: “te lo prometo” I got on the edge of my right hand kinda on a whim but I love it. I want to get one more but I think I’ll be done after that 50. Right or left hand: Ambidexterous. Not like Lucretia from TAZ ambidextrerous more like merle ambidexterous 51. Surgery: Something about my ear tubes when I was a baby and then wisdom teeth when I was 17 52. Hair dyed in different color: I’m getting an ombre that goes from my nat color to a lavender-white but you have to get it done in stages 53. Sport: Archery 55. Vacation: I want to maybe go to the ocean but I’m scared 56. Pair of trainers: I have my running shoes, they’re blue and gray

MORE GENERAL: 57. Eating: Thinking about it 58. Drinking: That good good agua! 59. I’m about to: probably not do homework 61. Waiting for: the weather to cool down so we can try fishing again 62. Want: Adventures! AAH (sorry, i’m bored w this whole wake-up-go-to-school-go-to work-go-to-bed gig and i’ve been listening to too much adventure zone) 63. Get married: yeess? Maybe, i don’t know, because on one hand, Yes. but on the other hand, I can’t stay still long enough for that  64. Career: I LIKE MAKING THINGS AND DOING THINGS idk maybe a writer?

WHICH IS BETTER 65. Hugs or kisses: Just casually I’m all for the kiss hugs no thanks, but emotionally there are certain times when a good hug that I can melt into is just so filling 66. Lips or eyes: eyes 67. Shorter or taller: both i guess 68. Older or younger: older?? 70. Nice arms or nice stomach: uhh 71. Sensitive or loud: sensitive, because I’m loud 72. Hook up or relationship: I’m all for the ship 73. Troublemaker or hesitant: Both bc you can’t get too crazy but a little trouble reminds you that you’re alive

HAVE YOU EVER: 74. Kissed a Stranger: No 75. Drank hard liquor: No (i have a feeling that adderall + alcohol probs don’t mix) 76. Lost glasses/contact lenses: Ye 77. Turned someone down: Yeah 78. Sex on the first date: Nah, man 79. Broken someone’s heart: Probably 80. Had your heart broken: Twice. Once romantically, and I full-on ran 4 miles in the middle of the night in my backyard, and once after a couple of friends, which started my short depression. 81. Been arrested: Nop 82. Cried when someone died: Not for anyone I knew personally 83. Fallen for a friend: Not in love but I had a crush on a girl and I asked her out but she didn’t hear me. Later that same night, another friend asked me out and so I started dating him instead.

DO YOU BELIEVE IN: 84. Yourself: YES  85. Miracles: Yes 86. Love at first sight: No 87. Santa Claus: not the guy but until recently I did believe in the christmas spirit 88. Kiss on the first date: Um, sure? Depends on the date, I guess  

OTHER:

90. Current best friend name: n/a 91. Eye color: hazel/green 92. Favorite movie: UM I V Much like Chocolate. It’s a 2008 martial arts movie made in thailand about an autistic girl who kicks butt

NOW, TAG 20 PEOPLE: i taggggg you! Go, my friends, and spread the word of your greatness!

[anavoliselenu]

Relaese me chapter 3

She chuckles, amused at her own joke, then waves at someone who’s caught her attention. I glance toward Justin, looking for evidence of the wounded child that Evelyn has recalled, but all I see is unerring strength and self-confidence. Am I seeing a mask? Or am I really looking at the man?

“What I’m trying to say,” Evelyn continues, “is that you shouldn’t take it personally. The way he acted, I mean. I doubt he meant to be rude. He was probably just off in his head and didn’t even realize what he was doing.”

I, of course, have moved past the snub at our meeting, but Evelyn doesn’t realize that. My current issues with Justin Stark are wide and varied—ranging from the simple problem of a ride home to more complicated emotions that I’m not inclined to analyze.

“You were right about Rip and Lyle,” I say, because she keeps looking in Stark’s direction, and I want to head off any suggestion that we edge our way into that conversation. “My roommate is in awe that I’m in the same room with them.”

“Well, come on, then. I’ll introduce you.”

The two stars—both polished and shined within an inch of their lives—are perfectly polite and perfectly dull. I have nothing to say to them. I don’t even know what their show is about. Evelyn can’t seem to wrap her head around the possibility that anyone could either not care or not know about all things Hollywood. She seems to think I’m merely being coy and is about to leave me alone with these two.

Social Selena would smile and make polite small talk. But Social Selena is getting a bit frayed around the edges, and instead, I reach out, snagging a bit of Evelyn’s sleeve before she escapes too far. She looks back at me, her brows raised in question. I have nothing to say. Panic bubbles in me; Social Selena has completely left the building.

And then I see it—my excuse. My salvation. It’s so unexpected—so completely out of place—that I half wonder if I’m not hallucinating. “That man,” I say, pointing to a skinny twenty-something with long, wavy hair and wire-framed glasses. He looks like he belongs at Woodstock, not an art show, and I hold my breath, expecting the apparition to vanish. “Is that Orlando McKee?”

“You know Orlando?” she asks, then answers her own question. “Of course. The friend who works for Charles. But where did you two meet?” She nods goodbye to Lyle and Rip, who could care less about our departure; they’re back to arguing between themselves and smiling brightly at the women who sidle in close for a snapshot.

“We grew up together,” I explain as Evelyn steers me through the throng.

The truth is our families lived next door to each other until Ollie went off to college, and even though he’s two years older than me, we were inseparable until Ollie turned twelve and was shipped off to boarding school in Austin. I had been beside myself with envy.

I haven’t seen Ollie for years, but he’s the kind of friend that you don’t need to talk to every day. Months can go by, and then he’ll call me out of the blue, and we pick up the conversation like it had never stopped. He and Jamie are my closest friends in the world and I am beyond giddy that he’s here, right when I need him so desperately.

We’re close now, but he hasn’t noticed us. He’s talking about some television show with another guy, this one in jeans and a sport coat over a pale pink button-down. Very California. Ollie’s hands are moving, because that’s the way he talks, and when he flails one hand my direction, he glances that way out of reflex. I see the moment that realization hits him. He freezes, his hand drops, and he turns to face me, his arms going out wide.

“Selena? My God, you look amazing.” He pulls me into a tight Ollie hug, then pushes me back, his hands on my shoulders as he looks me up and down.

“Do I pass inspection?”

“When have you not?”

“Why aren’t you in New York?”

“The firm transferred me back last week. I was going to call you this weekend. I couldn’t remember when you were moving out here.” He pulls me into another spontaneous hug, and I’m grinning so wide my mouth is starting to hurt. “Damn, it’s good to see you.”

“I take it you two know each other,” the guy in jeans says drolly.

“Sorry,” Ollie says. “Selena, this is Jeff. We work together at Bender, Twain & McGuire.”

“What he means is that I work for him,” Jeff says. “I’m a summer associate. Orlando is a third year now, and they love him there. I think Maynard’s about ready to make him a partner.”

“Very funny,” Ollie says, but he looks pleased.

“Look at you,” I say. “My little guppy’s grown into a full-fledged shark.”

“Ah-ah. You know the rules. For every lawyer joke you make, I get to make two dumb blonde jokes.”

“I take it back.”

“Come on, Jeff,” Evelyn says. “Let’s let these two catch up. We’ll go find our own trouble to get into.”

It would be polite to tell them not to bother, but neither one of us does. We’re too wrapped up in reminiscing, and I’m too happy to have Ollie beside me.

We talk about everything and nothing as we head for the door, taking our conversation outside by silent agreement. I’m completely absorbed, warmed by memories and Ollie’s familiar face. But as we reach the door, I turn back and look at the room. I’m not sure why I do. Maybe it’s just a reflex, but I think it’s something more. I think I’m looking for someone. For him.

Sure enough, my eyes find Justin Stark right away. He’s no longer with Audrey Hepburn. Now he’s talking with a short, balding man. He’s focused and attentive. But his head lifts and his eyes find me.

And in that singular moment, I know that if he asked me to blow off my friend and stay in the room with him, I would do it.

Damn him, and damn me, but I would stay with Justin Stark.

5

I wear Ollie’s jacket and hold my shoes by the straps as we walk along the private beach behind Evelyn’s house. I’m certain we’re not supposed to be out here, but I don’t care. I swing my foot through the water gaily, sending a spray of sea drops scattering. It feels mischievous. It feels good.

“How’s Courtney?” I ask. “Is she glad you’re back?” That’s a dangerous question where Ollie is concerned. Courtney is his on-again/off-again girlfriend. “On again” because she’s amazing and Ollie would be an idiot to do something stupid and screw it up. “Off again” because Ollie has crossed that idiot line more than once.

“She’s engaged,” he says.

“Oh.” I can’t keep the disappointment out of my voice. I should be consoling and tell Ollie he’ll find someone else amazing, but all I can think is that he’s screwed up.

Suddenly, he’s laughing. “To me, doofus.”

“Oh, thank God!” I bump him playfully with my shoulder. “I thought you’d blown it.”

His expression turns serious. “I almost did. New York was hard. Being away from her. Being tempted. But no more. She’s the only woman for me. Damn, Nik. How did I manage to get her?”

“Because you’re a great guy.”

“I’m fucked up, and you know it.”

“Everyone’s a little fucked up, but Courtney sees the guy underneath. And she loves you.”

“She does,” he says with a grin. “It amazes me every day, but it’s true. She really does.” He eyes me sideways. “Speaking of fucked up, how are you really doing?”

I pull his jacket tighter around me. “I’m great. I already told you.” I stop walking and dig my toes into the sand. The waves come in and swoosh over my bare feet before rushing out again, leaving me sinking a bit, the ground shifting under me.

Beside me, Ollie just gives me that look. Like he knows all my secrets, and I frown because it’s true.

I shrug. “It’s easier now. College was fucked up for a while, but it got better.” I shoot him a smile because he’d been a big part of making it get better. “And now, I don’t know. But it feels good being away from Texas. Really, I’m doing fine.” I shrug again. I don’t want to talk right now.

I turn around and start walking. “We should get back.”

He nods and falls in step beside me. We walk silently for a while, the lights of Evelyn’s house growing closer. The sound of the ocean fills the space between us. It’s deep and rhythmic and I feel like I could get lost in it. Like maybe I already am a little lost.

We walk about fifty more yards, then he pauses. “So how do you feel about tuxedos?” he asks, as if it’s the most normal question in the world.

“I feel good about them,” I say. “Tuxedos are a time-honored tradition in the world of formal wear. I have to take points off for practicality, though. Hard to surf in a tux. Doable, but hard.”

He laughs. “I want you to be my best man,” he says, and I get a little lump in my throat. “Courtney’s cool with it,” he continues, “but she thinks the pictures will look better if you wear a tux. You know, the guy side in penguin suits, the girl side in silk and satin. What do you say?”

I hug myself and blink back tears. “I love you. You know that, right?”

“That’s why I’m asking. It was either that or marry you, and I think the second option would piss Courtney off.” He watches me, obviously expecting me to laugh. When I don’t, his expression softens. “Thanks.”

“For what?”

“For being happy for me.”

“I am,” I say, but I’m talking from behind my Social Selena smile. The truth is that things are changing fast, and I don’t want Ollie changing, too. He’s been my rock for too long. What will happen to me if that rock suddenly shifts?

But I’m not being fair and I know it.

I start walking again.

“Nik?”

I wipe away an errant tear. “Ignore me. I’m just being emotional and weird. Girls and weddings, right?”

“Nothing’s changing, Nik,” he says, because he’s tagged the hormonal excuse for the bullshit it is. “Anything you need, anytime. Courtney won’t mind.”

Fear knifes through me. “She doesn’t know about—”

“Of course not. I mean, she knows about Ashley,” he says, but that’s fair. He and Courtney had been dating when my sister’s unexpected suicide had completely shattered me. She’d been more than a sister to me—she’d been my escape from the life my mother molded for me, and even though she’d already gotten married and moved away when she died, the loss had sent me spiraling down. Jamie and Ollie had been my life rafts, so of course he’d talked about it with Courtney.

“I only told Courtney that she’d died and you were grieving,” Ollie says urgently. “You know I’d never share your secrets.”

My relief is so intense I don’t even feel guilty for thinking that Ollie would betray my confidence.

“Looks like we’re not the only ones who wanted to escape the hoopla.” He’s looking toward Evelyn’s house. There are people clustered on the balcony, backlit by the light bursting through the window. But they’re not the subject of Ollie’s comment, and it takes me a second to realize what he sees. When I do, I gasp.

A darkened spiral staircase leads down from the balcony to the weathered boardwalk, and there is a man sitting on the bottom step. I can’t see his face—I can’t see more than a dark shape. But somehow I’m certain who it is.

We approach, and he stands, and I see that I am right.

“Ms. Fairchild,” Stark says, walking forward to meet us. He doesn’t look at Ollie at all. His eyes are wholly on me—burning amber and deep, dangerous black. “I was looking for you.”

“Oh?” I try to sound cool, but I’m anything but. “Why?”

“You’re my responsibility.”

I exhale a bubble of laughter. “I hardly see how. I barely even know you, Mr. Stark.”

“I promised your boss I’d see you safely home.”

Beside me, Ollie steps closer. He clasps my shoulder in a protective gesture. His fingers tighten, and I can feel the pressure even through the thick material of his jacket. “I’m about to head home. I’ll be happy to give Selena a lift. You can consider your responsibility absolved.”

Without a word, Stark reaches out to me and takes the lapel of Ollie’s jacket between two fingers, as if testing the quality of the material. His hand hovers briefly over the swell of my breast, and I am suddenly aware of how intimate the moment must appear, Ollie and I walking alone on the beach, me wearing his jacket …

I feel an inexplicable need to explain that there’s nothing romantic or sexual between Ollie and me, and it takes a great effort to keep my mouth shut. I tilt my head up to look at Ollie. “That would be great. Are you sure it’s not inconvenient?”

“It’s no problem at all,” he says. His hand is still on my shoulder and he increases the pressure as if urging me on. But there’s nowhere to go, Stark is right there, larger than life, and the air between us is charged. If I move, I think ridiculously, I’ll end up caught in his web. The thought isn’t entirely unpleasant.

“I’m not looking for absolution,” Stark says to Ollie. “But I do need Ms. Fairchild to stay. We have business to discuss.”

I consider arguing, but I also remember his earlier comment—that if I was trying to find investors for Carl, I was doing a craptastic job of it. I tilt my head and nod to Ollie. “It’s okay.”

“You’re sure?” His voice is tight. Concerned.

“Seriously,” I say. “Go on home.”

He hesitates, then nods. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he says, but he’s looking at Stark as he says it. He’s gone into full big-brother mode, and I hear the message under the words. And she better be there and fine or there’s going to be trouble.

My imagination, I realize, is running wild.

He kisses my cheek and starts to head up the spiral staircase.

“Wait,” Stark calls, and Ollie pauses.

I hold my breath, wondering if I’m about to witness some testosterone-laden ritual. But all Stark does is reach out for the shoes that I’m still holding in my right hand. I hand them to him, confused until he steps closer and starts to gently ease me out of Ollie’s jacket.

“It’s okay,” Ollie says. “I’ll get it later.”

But I am already out of the jacket, having moved quickly so that I can recover the distance between me and Stark.

“No need,” Stark says, and his smile is bright and friendly as he hands Ollie the jacket.

Ollie hesitates a nanosecond, then takes it. He slips it on, keeping his eyes on me. “Be careful,” he says, then disappears up the dark, twisting stairs.

Careful? What the fuck?

I glance at Stark to see if he is as bemused as I am, but it’s clear that his thoughts have not lingered on Ollie at all. No, he’s completely focused on me.

I snatch my shoes back. “Do we actually have any business to discuss? Because it seems to me that my business is downtown. With Carl. Preparing for a meeting I’ll be attending in just over sixteen hours.”

“The paintings,” he says easily. “I believe you were going to help me?”

“Your belief system is all screwed up. I recall quite clearly declining your request for help.”

“My mistake. I thought you’d changed your mind after I pointed out that I valued your opinion.”

“You thought I’d changed my mind?” I repeat. “And on what did you base that hypothesis? The way I walked away from you? The way I ignored you?”

He merely quirks a brow, letting me know that all my surreptitious glances toward him and Audrey Hepburn weren’t so surreptitious, after all.

He watches me, probably expecting a pithy comeback, but I’m not going to provide one. At this moment, silence is most definitely the best policy.

I tilt my head up to look at his face. The minimal illumination filtering down from Evelyn’s balcony casts his features in shadows. His eyes, however, seem to absorb the light. The amber one, fiery and hot. The other one black and ringed with molten lava, so dark and deep I feel as though I could fall in and get lost. Windows to the soul, I think and then shiver.

“You’re cold,” he says, then trails a finger down my bare arm. “You have goose bumps.”

Well if I didn’t before, I surely do now.…

“I was fine when I had a coat,” I say, and he bursts out laughing. I like the sound of it, so free and easy and always unexpected.

He slips out of his jacket and drapes it over my shoulders, ignoring my protests.

“We’re going back inside,” I say, shrugging it off and holding it out. “I’m fine, really.”

He takes my shoes from me, but ignores the coat. “Put it on. I don’t want you catching cold.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” I snap, shoving my arms into the sleeves. “Do you always get what you want?”

His eyes widen, and I realize I’ve surprised him. “Yes,” he says.

Gotta give the guy points for honesty.

“Fine. Let’s go inside. Look at some paintings. I’ll tell you what I like, and then you’ll do whatever you want.”

He’s looking at me with a somewhat baffled expression. “Excuse me?”

“You just don’t seem like the kind of guy who actually takes anybody’s advice.”

“You’re wrong, Selena,” he says, my name sounding like milk chocolate in his mouth. “I consider very carefully any opinion I value.”

The heat coming off him is palpable. I no longer need the jacket. Hell, the damn jacket is stifling.

I look away, at the sand, at the ocean, at the sky. Anywhere but at this man. I’m twisted up in knots, but that’s not the problem. The problem is, I like the feeling.

“Selena,” he says gently. “Look at me.”

I look without thinking, and there’s no Social Selena between us. I’m as naked as if I’d stripped off my dress.

“That man you were with. Who is he to you?”

Blam! Social Selena is back on duty. I feel my face harden, my eyes grow cold. Justin Stark is like a spider, and I’m the foolish insect he’s going to devour.

I look away, but only for a second. When I turn back, I’m flashing the very same plastic smile that he saw on a stage six years ago. I should turn the wattage up and tell him that Ollie is none of his business.

But I don’t.

I’m not certain I understand the instinct that brings the answer to my lips, but it’s the one that I go with, and as soon as I’ve spoken, I turn my back to him and begin the walk up the stairs, my words lingering in the air behind me.

“Him? That’s Orlando McKee. We used to sleep together.”

6

This isn’t exactly true, but it’s close enough. It’s a story that I can spin and weave without losing the thread of reality.

It’s another layer of armor, and where Justin Stark is concerned, I need as much protection as I can get.

He is right behind me on the stairs, but they are too narrow for us to stand side by side.

“Selena,” he says, his voice like a command.

I stop and turn to face him, looking down from my position three steps above him. It’s an interesting perspective. I don’t think there are many people who’ve had the opportunity to look down on Justin Stark.

“What is Mr. McKee to you now?”

I’m probably imagining it, but I think I see something vulnerable in Stark’s eyes.

“He’s a friend,” I say. “A very good friend.”

I think that’s relief on his face, and the juxtaposition of those two emotions—relief and vulnerability—make my breath hitch.

They disappear quickly, though, and his “Are you sleeping with him now?” comes out decidedly frosty.

I press my fingertips to my temple. His shifts from cold to hot to cold again are dizzying. “Am I on some sort of game show? Have you and your millions invested in a new version of Candid Camera? A spin-off of Punk’d?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re nice, then you’re ice.”

“Am I?”

“Don’t even pretend not to know what I’m talking about. One minute you’re so rude I want to slap your face—”

“And yet you don’t.”

I scowl, but otherwise ignore the interruption. “And then you turn on a dime and you’re all warm and fuzzy.”

His brow lifts. “Fuzzy?”

“Point taken. Fuzzy is not a word anyone should use to describe you. Forget warm and fuzzy. We’ll go with hot and intense.”

“Intense.” He murmurs the word, making it sound much more sensual than I had intended. “I like the sound of that.”

At the moment, so do I.

I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry. “The point is, you’re dizzying.”

He looks at me with unabashed amusement. “I like the sound of that, too.”

“Dizzying and exasperating. And impertinent.”

“Impertinent?” he repeats. He doesn’t smile, but I swear I hear laughter in his voice.

“You ask questions you have no right to ask.”

“And you’ve steered this conversation in a very elegant circle. But you still haven’t answered my impertinent question.”

“I would have thought that a man as intelligent as you are would realize that I was avoiding it.”

“A man doesn’t get where I’ve gotten by allowing details to remain ignored. I’m both diligent and persistent, Ms. Fairchild.” He has me trapped, locked tight in his sights. “When I seek to acquire something, I learn everything I can about it, and then I pursue it wholeheartedly.”

I have to pause a bit to remember how to form words. “Do you?”

“I believe there’s an interview with me in last month’s Forbes. I’m certain the reporter outlined my tenacity.”

“I’ll be sure to pick up a copy.”

“I’ll have my office send you one. Perhaps then you’ll understand just how persistent I can be.”

“I already understand it. What I don’t get is why you’re so fascinated with who I’m sleeping with. Why exactly does that interest you?” I’m treading on dangerous territory, and I suddenly understand that old adage about flirting with danger.

He climbs a step, putting his body in much closer proximity to mine. “There are a number of things about you that fascinate me.”

Oh my. I move carefully up to the next level. “I’m an open book, Mr. Stark.” I ascend one more step.

“You and I both know that’s not true, Ms. Fairchild. But someday …”

He trails off, and though I know better, I have to ask. “Someday, what?”

“Someday you will be open for me, Ms. Fairchild. In so very many ways.”

I want to respond, but I’ve lost the power of speech. Justin Stark wants me. More than that, he wants to peel back the layers and learn my secrets.

The idea is terrifying, and yet also strangely appealing.

Discomfited, I take another backward step up toward the balcony, then wince. Immediately, Stark is at my side. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Something sharp on the step.”

He looks down at my still-bare feet.

Sheepishly, I hold out the strappy sandals with the three-inch heels.

“Very nice,” he says. “Perhaps you should put them on.”

“Nice?” I repeat. “They aren’t nice. They’re astounding. They cup my foot, show off my pedicure, slim my leg, and lift my ass just enough to make it look damn hot in this dress.”

The corner of his mouth twitches with amusement. “I recall. Truly, they are amazing shoes.”

“They also happen to be my first and only purchase from my frivolous Los Angeles shopping splurge.”

“Well worth the damage to your checking account, I’m sure.”

“Totally. But they are an absolute bitch to walk in. And now that I’ve taken them off I really don’t know if I can get them back on again. No, correction. I don’t know if I can get them on again and actually walk.”

“I see your dilemma. Fortunately, I’ve made a career out of coming up with solutions to such knotty problems.”

“Is that so? Well, please. Enlighten me.”

“You can stay here on the steps. You can go inside barefoot. You can put the shoes back on and suffer.”

“Somehow I expected something better from the great Justin Stark. If that’s all the brainpower it takes to become the head of a corporate empire, I should have jumped all over that a long time ago.”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

“Staying here won’t work,” I say. “For one thing, it’s cold. For another, I want to say goodbye to Evelyn.”

“Mmm.” He nods and frowns. “You’re so right. Clearly I didn’t fully examine the conundrum.”

“That’s what makes it a conundrum,” I say. “As for going barefoot, Elizabeth Fairchild’s daughter does not go barefoot at social events, no matter how much she might want to. I’m pretty sure it’s a genetic trait.”

“Then your choice is clear. You’re going to have to wear the shoes.”

“And suffer? No thank you. I don’t do pain.”

My words are flippant and not entirely true. He stares at me long and hard, and for some reason, Ollie’s parting words come back to me: Be careful. Then his face clears and he’s looking at me with amusement once again. I about melt with relief.

“There is one more option.”

“Ah, see? You were holding out on me.”

“I can pick you up and carry you into the party.”

“Right,” I say. “I’m just going to slip these puppies back on and suffer.” I sit down on the step and slide my feet into the sandals. It’s not pleasant. The shoes aren’t broken in, and my feet are in full protest mode. I enjoyed the walk on the beach, but I should have known that everything comes with a price.

I stand, wince a little, and continue up the stairs. Stark is behind me, and when we reach the balcony he moves to my side and takes my arm. Then he leans in so close I feel his breath on my ear. “Some things are worth the pain. I’m glad you understand that.”

I turn sharply to look at him. “What?”

“I’m simply saying that I’m glad you decided to put the shoes back on.”

“Even though that meant I rejected your offer to throw me over your shoulder caveman-style and cart me around the party?”

“I don’t recall mentioning a caveman carry, though the idea is undeniably intriguing.” He pulls out his iPhone and starts to type something.

“What are you doing?”

“Making a note,” he says.

I laugh and shake my head. “I’ll say this, Mr. Stark. Whatever else you are, you’re always a surprise.” I look him up and down. “I don’t suppose you have a pair of black flip-flops hidden on your person? Because that would be the kind of surprise I could really use.”

“I’m afraid not,” he says. “But in the future I may have to carry a pair just to be safe. I never realized what valuable currency a comfortable pair of shoes can be.”

It occurs to me that I’m in full flirt-mode with Justin Stark. The man who has been hot and cold all night. The man who bleeds power and commands an empire and could snap his fingers and have any woman he wants. Right now, that woman is me.