#it does not matter if you are right if you have no fucking scruples about factchecking!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! because eventually you will just

[moxley]

ok it does not matter how bad, evil, unethical, and unsurprising the behaviour of a thing or individual is, if your response is this, i hate you and i am taking a bat to your prized belongings

[hyunbunlix]

Affirmation [hitman!Hyunjin]

Characters: Hyunjin, older fem!OC, Jeong In (mentioned), Felix (mentioned), Lee Know (mentioned) Rating: A/O for Adults Only Content Warnings/Tags: pining (m), banter, mentions of previous voyeurism (m), public foreplay/petting (m receiving), semi-public sex, shower sex, raw orgasm(s), doggy style Word Count: 5,330 Summary: After being apart from Blackbox for over a month, Hyunjin is going stir-crazy. He can't get her out of his mind no matter how much she seems to not want him around. When she agrees to meet him in Seoul, he's both surprised and eager. Note: This is part of a larger John Wick AU, which can be found here.

“I know you fucked I.N.”

            She snorted, adjusting the phone against her ear. “Now you’re a stalker, too? Pick a struggle, Hwang.”

            “I have,” he said, his voice eerily soft even through the phone. “It’s you.”

            “Spare me,” she sighed.

            “What does he have that I don’t?” he went on.

           “A positive rapport, a moral compass, I could go on but I don’t see the point,” she said.

            “I kept you alive in that cell,” he said.

            “You did,” she said, sharp now. “It cost me dozens of human lives, and even after all that you still didn’t free me. I.N did that.”

            “If it hadn’t been for me, no one would have found you,” he said.

            “See, this is why I don’t talk to you,” she said. “You never see the point even when it’s right in front of you.”

            “But it isn’t right in front of me,” he insisted. “We’re on the phone.”

            “You know what I mean, you jackass.”

            He whined. She glared at the living room wall and pretended it was him.

            “Where are you?” he asked. “I want to see you.”

            “If you have to ask then you must be a truly abysmal stalker,” she said.

            “I know you were at the Seoul Continental after your escape,” he said. “I don’t know where you went after that.”

            “And I’m not going to tell you. Don’t call again unless you actually need something, Hwang,” she said, and promptly hung up on him.

Hyun Jin exercised a remarkable amount of restraint by waiting a month to contact Blackbox again. A long month of shooting people at Lee Know’s command and hoping against hope that he’d run into her somewhere, despite being pretty sure she was in the States while he was still in Korea.

            Hell, at this point he would have accepted running into I.N. I.N was connected to her, therefore Hyun Jin could feel closer to her by proxy.

            I.N was partially to blame for Hyun Jin’s renewed obsession with her, anyway. Clearly, she had no moral scruples about sleeping with killers if she’d been just fine with fucking the Gumiho himself.

            Hyun Jin needed to sleep with her.

            He told himself that was all it was. Not that he missed being around her like when she’d been pretending to serve under Lee Know. Not that he was grateful to her for helping him get revenge on Yong Bok. Not even that she had sacrificed half of her contacts to quench his bloodthirst, a tithe to convince him to keep her alive once she’d been found to not be quite as loyal as everyone thought.

            No, he told himself, it wasn’t about any of that. He told himself it was just because he really needed to fill her with his cum.

            Losing half her might hadn’t affected her linchpin status. Blackbox had the Gumiho as her lapdog now; nobody was getting close to her without going through him, and very few people dared to even try. I.N had risen to prominence as a teenager and only gotten deadlier with every year that passed.

            Hyun Jin was almost desperate enough to mess with him, but he got the feeling if he so much as ruffled I.N’s hair wrong Blackbox would never speak to him again, on the phone or otherwise.

            So after a long month of jerking off to the worst things he could think of involving him, her, and sometimes even I.N, he called her again.

            “What?” she said, not bothering to greet him properly. At least she was courteous enough to speak Korean. He pouted and wished she could see it.

            “Ouch,” he said. “You didn’t miss me at all?”

            “Of course I didn’t,” she said. Hyun Jin clutched at his shirt like she’d wounded him grievously.

            “After all we’ve been through together,” he said theatrically. “It’s like you don’t even care about me.”

            “That’s because I don’t,” she said. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re a business contact. I don’t spare thoughts for you in my personal time.”

            All right, that one did sting a little.

             “Yet here I am thinking about you every single day,” he said.

            “Sounds like a personal problem,” she said.

            “Quite,” he agreed tersely. “Is he there with you right now?”

            “Who?”

            “The Gumiho.”

            “No,” she said. “Why? Think you’ll finish the job while he’s out?”

            “I don’t even know where you are,” he said honestly. “I’m surprised he’d leave you alone, though, after the ordeal. Both the threat to your life part and the fucking his brains out part.”

            “I don’t require an around-the-clock watch,” she said, ignoring the crass half of his statement. Hyun Jin shrugged even though she couldn’t see it.

            “You never know when you’ll find yourself in trouble,” he said.

            “Are you threatening me?”

            That stung a little more.

            “I had plenty of chances to kill you and I didn’t,” he pointed out.

��           “Answer the question, Hwang,” she said, impatient.

            “Hyun Jin,” he snapped back.

            “What?” she asked, sounding as taken aback as he felt. He shouldn’t have said that. His name was one of his best-guarded secrets. He and the Gumiho were a lot alike in that way.

            “My given name,” he said, feeling suddenly soft, exposed. “Please use it instead.”

            “Are you threatening me, Hyun Jin?” she asked, though the fight had gone out of her voice.

            “No,” he answered, truthful. “No, I’m not threatening you. I miss you so much and I’m starting to think that the only way I’m going to see you is if you’re in trouble so bad that you need me again and finally fucking call me.”

            She made no reply to that. Probably too stunned to speak. So he went on.

            “But I don’t want that, either. I don’t want you to be in danger again. I don’t want you to need me like that. I don’t think I want you to need me at all. I want you to want me. I want you to want to see me.”

            Another couple beats of silence. Hyun Jin was gripping his phone too tightly.

            Finally, she said, “You’re asking a lot.”

            Hyun Jin ran his free hand through his hair and let his head fall back against the wall behind him with a thunk.

            “I know,” he said, trying not to sound as miserable as he felt.

            “What time zone are you in right now?” she asked, catching him off-guard.

            “KST,” he answered. “Why?”

            “Are you booked out these next several days?”

            Hyun Jin felt suddenly lightheaded. He wasn’t sure he’d heard her correctly.

            “No,” he said, answering the question as he’d processed it. “No, my time is mine these next few days.”

            “I’ll meet you at the Seoul Continental in three days,” she said in a voice that brokered no argument. Hyun Jin’s spine straightened automatically.

            “Yes, ma’am,” he answered.

            She hung up on him. Hyun Jin pulled his phone away from his ear and stared at it like he’d never seen it before.

Hyun Jin spent the next two days grappling with the possibility that this was a set-up and Blackbox was sending the Gumiho to kill him. I.N was smart enough not to break the rules by committing a crime on Continental grounds, but that wouldn’t stop him from camping out across the street and waiting to dome Hyun Jin when he finally came outside.

            Hell, even if Blackbox did show up, was she above using this as an elaborate scheme to lure Hyun Jin into a false sense of security? Was Hyun Jin really stupid enough to walk right into a potential trap like this?

            Whether or not stupid was the correct word for it, on the afternoon of the third day, he checked into the Seoul Continental and texted her his room number.

            Then he waited.

            An hour later, she texted him back.

          You’re not going to make me pay for my own room after coming all this way, are you?

            He raised an eyebrow and quickly typed back.

            You won’t have to pay for shit if you just share with me.

            Not ten seconds later, someone knocked on his door. He quickly got up to open it. There she was, suitcase in tow.

            “Was that supposed to be some kind of test?” he asked as he stood aside to let her in.

            “I wanted to see if you were gentleman,” she said. She surveyed the room, her eyes glancing over the one king-sized bed. “I’m unsurprised to find the answer is no.”

            “There aren’t a lot of gentlemen in this business,” Hyun Jin said, keeping his voice nonchalant as he locked and bolted the door. She couldn’t know about what he'd done with her security footage . . . Could she? “And besides, you came here so I could see you. How am I supposed to do that if you’re in another room?”

            “They offer rooms with two beds,” she muttered as she propped her suitcase on a stand and opened it. He watched while she unpacked a few things.

            “How long are you planning to stay?” he asked.

            “If I find I can’t stand you, just tonight. If I can? Then I’m not sure,” she said.

            “I’d better be on my best behavior, then,” he muttered.

            “I’m afraid it’s a little late for that,” she said, tugging a swimsuit out of her suitcase. Hyun Jin eyed her warily. Did she know? “I saw the pool on the way in. It makes New York’s look like a bathtub. I’m going down and you’re welcome to come.”

            Before Hyun Jin could even give his assent, she pulled her shirt and bra over her head in one motion. He gaped at her. She slipped out of her pants and underwear just as quickly. Then she wiggled into her swimsuit as though nothing strange had happened, as though she hadn’t just given Hyun Jin a great view of her bare tits and ass, a view that had only existed in his imagination up until now.

            She tossed him a withering look. “I thought we established you aren’t a gentleman. Are you coming or not?”

            She had to know. How had she found out? It was true that Blackbox seemed to know everything about everyone, but how had she found that out? He shook himself mentally and went to his own suitcase. “Yeah,” he grunted. He then promptly shut himself in the bathroom to figure out the best way to hide a boner in swimwear.

The pool was enormous. It looked like two long pools built to intersect, large enough to have an island at the center. One could access the island either by swimming to it and climbing a set of stairs or by crossing a bridge over the water. A member of the concierge provided them towels as they entered the pool area, and Hyun Jin followed her lead while she chose lounge chairs to leave their things at. She slipped out of her strapless cover-up, and Hyun Jin tugged his shirt over his head, dropping it on a chair.

            Now that he was no longer rattled, he was able to do a quick assessment of her body. The cuts and bruises she’d been dealt from her time as Lee Know’s prisoner had healed nicely, several of them joining a collection of older scars. Hyun Jin had quite a few of his own. It wasn’t really something you could escape in their line of work.

            She paused to put her hair into a high ponytail. Hyun Jin opted to leave his hair, almost shoulder length, loose. She crossed to the pool, descending the marble steps into the water. Hyun Jin trailed a few paces behind, surveying the others in the area. There weren’t too many people using the pool relative to its size.

            As stupid as it was, Hyun Jin felt abruptly protective of her. The odds of anything bad happening to her on Continental grounds were almost zero, which was probably why she’d chosen to meet here in the first place. Still, he couldn’t help the way his eyes slid across the other patrons, ensuring none of them were sizing her up or making note of her for a later date.

            She swam away from him, looking legitimately relaxed and happy to be in the water. So many people in this life, especially as they got older, let the mask be the default. Hyun Jin himself was only in his early twenties, and she had years on him, had been doing this shit even longer. It was nice to see humanity slip in, if only for a moment.

            Hyun Jin floated at his leisure, aware of her whereabouts without interrupting her while she paddled and dived down to swim along the bottom of the pool. He was suddenly terrified of annoying her, of breaking her peace.

            After maybe twenty minutes in the pool, Hyun Jin’s spine went straight thanks to a familiar voice. As discreetly as he could, he swam around to the other side of the island to get a better look. The owner of the voice met his eyes, and Hyun Jin did everything in his power to pretend it hadn’t happened.

            It was a former partner of his from a couple years ago, heiress to an underground empire. Her father had disapproved of Hyun Jin thanks to his erratic personality and reputation. It had not ended well.

            He turned to swim back the way he’d come, making it just around the corner of the island when he literally ran into the person he actually wanted to see. She gave him an inquisitive look.

            “What’s got you spooked?” she asked, her hands on his arms as though to stabilize him. Hyun Jin wasn’t often aware of the age gap between them, but right then he was extremely conscious of it. He wanted to press closer, as though seeking her protection or comfort, but he narrowly refrained.

            “Old entanglement,” he said honestly. “I don’t want her to talk to me.”

            She took a peek over his shoulder, then met Hyun Jin’s eyes again. “White bikini?” she asked for clarification.

            “Yeah,” he answered.

            “Do you trust me to handle this?” she asked next.

            “Yes,” he said without hesitation.

            A switch flipped then, and she backed him against the marble tiles of the island wall, her hands coming to rest on either side of his body, boxing him in. She was close enough for him to feel the warmth of her body, but not so close that they physically touched.

            “I don’t want you talking with her today,” she said, her voice sweet, almost pouting. He noticed the way her head was angled. It would be easy for anyone looking over his left shoulder to read her lips.

            “Why?” Hyun Jin asked, more than happy to play along.

            “Because you’re with me right now,” she said, her right hand rising out of the water to rest on his chest. “I don’t want her to think she has a chance with you. Not as a quick fuck or anything else.”

            “She has no chance with me, today or any other day,” Hyun Jin said, frowning now. “What’s past is past. She’s the one who threw me away.”

            “Are you bitter, Hwang?” she asked softly. Hyun Jin caught the purposeful omission of his given name. A secret kept between them.

            “A little,” he said. Her eyes sharpened on him.

            “Why?” she asked. “You should know I can be enough for you.”

            “Of course I know that,” he breathed. Was she still acting? Because Hyun Jin sure as shit wasn’t. “I’m obsessed with you. I have been for months.”

            “I know, baby,” she said. The petname went right to his cock, which was hardening down the right leg of his swim shorts. “I know you would do anything for me.”

            He nodded as she moved closer to him. Her left arm went around his shoulders while her right hand carded through his wet hair. Her body lined up with his, and there was no chance in hell she missed his erection.

            “I know all I’d have to do is call and you’d come running,” she said, her voice dipping lower. She was so close to him that no one could have known what she said other than him. Her right hand touched his cheek while her left trailed through the water and down his body, stopping to palm directly at his hard cock.

            He sighed raggedly.

            “You’d drop everything and fly halfway around the world . . . Whether I needed you to kill a man or stuff my cunt . . .”

            As she talked she continued to rub his cock. His breathing was labored now, his body tense as he warred with how good it felt for her to touch him, and how depraved he must have been to be this close to getting off in public, right in front of an ex, no less.

            “If you don’t stop, you’re going to make me come,” he admitted hoarsely. She raised her brows at him, her lips curving into a fiendish smile.

            “Really? Right here? You really would do anything for me.”

            He swallowed hard. “It would be humiliating.”

            “Oh, Hwang . . . You’ve done much worse things than orgasm in public . . .”

            That was enough. Before he could well and truly climax in the middle of the pool, he grabbed her arm and hauled her to the showers. He only just managed to get the water on and the curtain pulled closed when she was on him, kissing him like he’d starved her to death, pushing him back against the cold tile, as though she had been the one tormented instead of the other way around. His dick throbbed, and she must have felt it because she fumbled to get his swim shorts off without pulling away from their kiss.

            He pulled them down for her while she forced her tongue into his mouth, his tongue just as eager, spit and water dripping down their chins. He groaned in relief when his cock sprang free, achingly hard.

            She pulled away from their kiss to look at it, to wrap her hand around it, entranced by the way his girth fit in her grip.

            “You’re going to feel so fucking good inside me,” she sighed. Hyun Jin’s attention snapped from her hand to her face.

            “You’re going to let me fuck you?” he asked, unsure if he’d heard right. He’d frankly been expecting a handjob at best.

            “Please,” she said. “You of all people should know how badly I’ve wanted you for months.” He huffed a short laugh, incredulous.

            “Fuck,” he hissed, leaning his head back against the tile. “You know about what I did, don’t you?”

            “You mean the way you watched my security footage and liked it so much that you kept a fucking copy? Yes, Hwang, I know what you did,” she said. He grinned in disbelief. Then he switched places with her and got to his knees.

            “I get the feeling I should beg for forgiveness,” he said, gazing up at her. She chuckled.

            “I think that’s a very good idea,” she answered, pushing his wet hair out of his eyes.

            He tugged her bikini bottom off and pushed her back against the wall, out of the spray of the water so he could keep all her wetness for himself. He delved his tongue between her folds, long, deep licks that quickly had her sighing and moaning.

            “I’m not immune to you, Hwang,” she said. “You’re fucking gorgeous and seeing you in the pool like that made me so wet.”

            “Like what?” he asked, moving one of her thighs to rest on his shoulder and putting his mouth back to work teasing her clit. She shuddered.

            “At my mercy,” she sighed. He hummed, desire shooting straight to his straining cock, pre-cum drooling from the tip. While he sucked on her clit, he eased two fingers inside her, unable to start slow. She was already so open for him, so ready to be filled. He wanted to stuff his cock inside her right then, a quick, dirty fuck, but he was already so close that if he did it now, he would be the only one that came.

            Hwang Hyun Jin was a lot of terrible things, but selfish lover was not one of them.

            So he fucked her with his fingers first, stroking her clit with his tongue while he listened to her moans, memorizing what made her flinch and writhe so he could do it again and again. Finally, he found the perfect pressure with his tongue and the perfect speed and angle with his fingers, and she fell apart for him, her nails biting into his shoulder while her body shook and her pussy fluttered.

            He didn’t hesitate after that. He stood, ripping the bikini top with its flimsy ties off her body. He lifted her by the thighs, pressing her back against the wall as he fucked into her in one smooth, sound stroke. She gasped a moan, her nails digging into his back, and he hissed, pressing as deeply inside her as he could. Her cunt was still pulsing with her orgasm, and it felt so fucking good around his cock.

            “That’s it,” he moaned. “That’s right. So fucking greedy for me.”

            She nodded, her wet ponytail bobbing. “Want you to fuck me,” she moaned. “Want you to fill up my fucking cunt.”

            Hyun Jin bared his teeth in a wild grin, pulling back nearly to the tip. “I will,” he breathed.

When Hyun Jin fucked back into her, she whined along with every smooth, hard inch. His length filled her so deeply, his thickness stretching her pussy just right, lighting every nerve on fire. When she’d felt him in the pool, she’d known he would be big, but nothing quite prepared her for having him inside her.

            Despite what she’d thought would happen, despite how eager he was, he took his time to play with her now, long, slow strokes of his cock, all the way in and all the way out, forcing her to memorize every bit of his shape and size. His muscle control was impeccable. Her body was already buzzing from pleasure; he felt so good but she needed more.

            She kissed along his neck, showing her teeth here and there. He groaned, his cock twitching inside her, but he didn’t speed up the pace. She dragged her tongue up the side of his neck and he shuddered, driving himself inside her in a swift, hard stroke, lingering there while another greedy pulse went down the length of him. His control, fraying.

            “Please, Hyun Jin,” she murmured against the shell of his ear, little more than a whisper, leaving no chance that someone might overhear his name. He froze. “I need this.” He shivered, a soft groan escaping his perfect, plush lips. “I’ve needed it for months, ever since I touched myself in that fucking confinement cell to thoughts of you, sweaty and dripping, all over me.”

            “Fuck,” he choked out, and obeyed, his hands tight enough on her thighs to bruise as he snapped into a sharp, harsh rhythm, keeping her tight against the wall as he craned his neck to kiss her, a sloppy affair that quickly became little more than tongues stroking while they moaned into each other's mouths.

            “Yes, Hwang,” she gasped out. “That’s it, fuck, yes. Gonna make me come again.”

            “Good,” he grunted, a sound that quickly tapered into a whine as she scored her nails down his back. “I’m not going to last if you keep doing that.”

            “Then don’t last,” she goaded. “Fill me up with your cum like we both want so badly.”

            “Fuck, noona,” he groaned.

            “Harder, Hwang.”

            He did as commanded, and like she said she would, she came on his cock, her cunt fluttering euphorically over something so big. She didn’t bother trying to control the volume of her moans, alerting everyone in the showers that there were indeed degenerates in their midst. After three more hard thrusts, Hyun Jin fell apart, filling her with hot spurts of cum. With the exception of one more shuddering thrust, he didn’t even bother to fuck her through it, choosing instead to press as close to her as he could, body to body, cock buried, panting moans against her ear.

            “So fucking good, Hyun Jin,” she breathed in his ear once he’d finished emptying his mess inside her, his bruising grip letting up. He put her feet back on the floor and slid his cock out of her, still half-hard after all that. He was staring at her, lips parted as he tried to catch his breath, his tongue shifting behind his teeth. She couldn’t help it; he looked so good, fucked out and dripping wet, that she reached for the back of his neck, fitting her mouth to his all over again. His arms caged her against the wall instantly, pressing their naked bodies close.

            When they finally parted, he asked, “You’re staying more than one night, right?”

            She laughed, nodding. “Yeah. Seems it’ll be worth my while.”

After rinsing off the mess, they collected their things from the pool area and went back up to their room to wash the chlorine from their hair. Despite his insistence that they could totally shower together, she told him to go first and took hers after.

            Good thing, too, because once she got out of the shower Hyun Jin barely let her dry off before putting her face down, ass up on the bed and fucking her again. She came even harder than before, her core still sore from the first round. From the sound of him, he came just as hard this time, and the mess wasn’t diminished in volume.

            She rolled over on the bedspread and just stared at him while he pushed the hair out of his face, his eyes locked on her pussy where his cum had started to leak out. His muscles were still tight from the exertion of fucking her twice, his plush lips parted while he panted. If one could get past the crazy and the killing, he was a perfect specimen.

            He licked his lips and pressed them together, meeting her gaze as he seemed to come back to himself. Then he stretched to grab the tissue box on the nightstand, his lean, strong body on full display. She groaned, pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes.

            “What?” he asked as he started to clean the mess from between her legs, careful not to use too much pressure. She could hear the smile in his voice.

            “You’re gorgeous and I’m going to be so fucking sore when this trip is over,” she moaned, dropping her hands to look at him. He was focused intensely on his task.

            “I would apologize, but I’m not even a little sorry,” he said. She huffed a short laugh in response.

            “Me neither,” she agreed. He dropped the tissues in the trash, then came to lounge next to her in the bed. He looked pensive, almost hesitant.

            “What is it?” she asked, rolling onto her side to face him.

            He was quiet for a moment, then met her eyes again. “You have to tell I.N. I refuse to be the other man.”

            “He already knows,” she said. “He knew before I left where I was going and why, and I updated him while you were in the shower. As long as you don’t hurt me, and as long as I don’t replace him, he doesn’t care.”

           Hyun Jin sighed with relief. “Thanks. I never want to be in that situation again,” he said. She propped herself up on an elbow.

            “You’ll murder forty-seven people in front of me, but you draw the line at infidelity?” she asked, a little incredulous but not unkind.

            “I’ve never been killed before, so I guess I’m able to mentally distance myself from that one,” he said by way of explanation.

            “You’ve been cheated on?” she asked. He nodded.

            “You’d be surprised how often it happens. They either think I’m too busy to notice, or too deranged to care. Neither is true.”

            “What about the woman at the pool? Did she . . . ?”

            “Yeah. Her father disapproved of me and rather than cutting me loose she just . . . let me be a side piece. Except I didn’t know I was the side piece,” he said. He made a disgusted sound. “And when I did find out, I killed the other guy. It was the wrong call. I should have killed her, but at least I know better now.”

            “You kill your exes?” she asked.

            “Only the ones that betray me,” he said.

            “I’ll try to stay on your good side,” she said.

            “I don’t think you have anything to worry about,” he said. “You’ve been honest with both me and I.N, and I’m sure it’s obvious by now that I trust you. And my trust is very difficult to earn these days.”

            “I gathered,” she said softly, thinking of the way his name felt on her tongue.

            “I want to meet him,” Hyun Jin said then. “I.N. I want to make sure we all know what’s happening.”

            “Yeah,” she said, nodding. “I can arrange that.”

            “Gotta make sure your scary guard dogs can get along,” he muttered. She chuckled, a lopsided grin on her face.

            “My what?”

            “Scary guard dogs. I figure you need at least two to make up for all the allies you lost,” he said.

            “The ones you killed, you mean,” she clarified. He waved his hand dismissively.

            “Whatever. Lee Know would have done it if I hadn’t, but if Lee Know had, you wouldn’t have gotten anything out of the deal. He’s not as nice as me,” he said.

            “Low bar,” she said. He pouted.

            “I’ve been very nice to you,” he said.

            She hummed thoughtfully and reached to run her index finger along his soft length. His eyes snapped to her hand.

            “I certainly hope you’re not as nice to everyone as you are to me . . .”

            “Point made,” he said, his voice a little strained again. There was no way he could go again so soon, and by the look on his face, he wasn’t very happy with his body thwarting him like that. She pulled her hand away from his cock, not wanting to torment him further. Instead, she leaned forward to kiss him, which he accepted gratefully.

            “I’m happy I came to see you,” she said softly, her eyes still closed. He kissed her again, his full lips slow and tender on hers.

            “So am I,” he said, then gathered her in his arms and lay back down, skin to naked skin.

            “You’re so warm,” she murmured, relaxing against him, her head on his chest. “I could sleep like this.”

            “We should do that tonight, assuming your sleep cycle isn’t too fucked up,” he said, his voice just as quiet, a vibration against her cheek. She nodded.

            “I’d like that.”

            Hyun Jin shifted, cradling her just that little bit closer. “Does I.N know your real name?” he asked quietly.

            “Yes,” she said. He’d known it for years, and even when he’d been angry with her, he’d never given it away.

            “Will you tell me, too?” Hyun Jin asked now, timid, like he feared her rejection.

            “In the morning,” she said.

            “Promise?” he asked next. She moved just enough so she could look him in the face. She’d never seen him look at her quite like that before, his expression gentle and open and a little afraid. She put her hand on his cheek.

            “I promise,” she said solemnly, and it smoothed the worry from his features. He closed his eyes, and she laid her head over his heart again.

[burning-fcols]

TW: Body image issues, internalized fatphobia, f-slur at the end Adam stared at himself a good portion of time in front of the full length mirror. Not unusual for the egotistical man. He had to make sure he looked "just right" before he got on stage to perform his fans or even just going about his day. Ever since being casted down to Hell however, the ritual became much more complicated with issues that extended further with his physical changes and as he entered his "relationship" with Lucifer. In front of others, Adam would lie to their faces with all of the confidence and bravado he could muster, that he still looked "bad ass" even and especially with those acquired hellish qualities. He'd lie even further that he still got pussy with demon bitches lining up to get a taste of "the first man". Even if those "tastes" included either actually eating him or killing him. But that hasn't actually happened in awhile, especially once it was made clear that he associated himself with the King of Hell. On top of everything else, Hell's denizens, unlike Heaven's, had no scruples in reminding Adam what a fat guy he was. Something the man usually took on with pride and would mock the other person for being uncreative with the insults, if all they had to go by was just poking at his weight. It was easy to act like you didn't care when it was some rando sinner that you stubbornly decided was beneath you. It was less easy when it was just you in the mirror, replaying conversations from those you've recently come to care about. 'So this is what you've been doing since Eden? You've really let yourself go.' Looking at his profile, Adam lifted his stomach up, then let it fall in place, his eyeline followed it. Then he started pinching and proding at the rolls that overlapped. If Lucifer actually had an issue with Adam's weight, he would just say so right? Not lead the first man on and only act like he was attracted and interested. He may be an asshole, but he was a direct asshole. The Sin of Pride didn't beat around the bush just to spare the fallen angel's feelings. Adam would have been more insulted if he did. The First Man turned face forward, hands dropped the folds around his torso and went up to his face. The tips of his fingers pinched the areas of his neck and face that weren't framed already by his bone structure. His face shape was naturally round, heart shaped in fact, but it probably didn't help matters that he had the illusion of "baby fat" around it. Especially if he laid down. Closing his golden eyes, Adam let his face fall in everyway, frown deepened as he exhaled. "Fucking hell..." He tipped his forehead on the cold surface of the mirror. He exhaled through his nose. "I am a fat faggot." (Made it vague enough where it can be either our main verse or arranged) - ✧ ˖ ˙ 「 @meansman 」 ˙ ˖ ✧

「 ☆ 」 Door cracking opening undetected— a perfect storm of Adam's attention being riveted on the mirror and Lucifer's movements slowed by the exhaustion of escaping a conversation that drawled on far longer than he'd prefer —it silently pushes open enough for the Sin to take notice of what Adam is doing. Abruptly halting, door is pulled back to offer more cover, giving the illusion of still being shut. Peering through the crack, by the time Lucifer decides Adam would NOT want him witnessing the scene, he has already been lingering too long...

Enough to where guilt now roots him in his spot, any chance of privacy denied thanks to gnawing worry. Biting his bottom lip, sharp teeth threaten to pierce skin the longer Adam's studying goes on. Regret grows with each poke and prod ( this is NOT something he was ever intended to see ) but so does his stubbornness, Lucifer determined not to leave until he's certain Adam is alright... Or until he's screamed at to leave. Either way, at least he can say he tried.

With the others muttered insult, Lucifer feels more confident he made the right decision. Awkwardly clearing his throat so as to not startle Adam, it's doubtful the gesture does much, considering he barely waits before appearing in the middle of the room in a bright blast of red smoke and light; Lucifer denied the option of subtlety even when NOT trying to show off. Discretion wasn't taken into consideration with his creation. Normally Lucifer doesn't mind it. Even if it was, he'd be adding flair to his actions regardless. But such an entrance doesn't exactly fit when the mood is so... somber.

Then again, it DOES fit with the awkward way he tries to interject himself into the scene. With a forced smile and a tilt of his head, he shakes a finger at the other in faux-scolding, ❝ Hey— careful, Adam. You shouldn't talk bad about my— uh, my... ❞ former-friend friend former-enemy lover fuckbuddy Adam Upbeat tone falters ( last word drawled out far too long ) as Lucifer struggles to figure out what he should refer to Adam as. Bailing on the playful route, he winces and presses his palms together, fingers aimed at Adam as he says, ❝ You seem upset. ❞

Not pleased with that line of dialogue either, Lucifer plows forward in the hope he'll find his footing along the way before Adam can try to throw him out. ❝ Did someone say something to you? Because if they did, just point me in their direction! ❞ With a weak chuckle, he flashes a grin and manifests himself beside the mirror with another ❛ poof ❜ . Leaning against its side, Lucifer dons his best can-totally-handle-this expression, looking up at the taller man with false confidence as he claims—

❝ And I'll smite them, noooooo problem~ ❞ 「 ☆ 」

[ewingstan]

Choose Violence 12

(Realizing I didn't ask people to specify fandom for the ask game. Shoot. Gonna assume that these are for worm for now).

12. the unpopular character that you actually like and why more people should like them

Trickster. Explanation below the cut cuz it got long. (ask game here)

I don't know if I'd call him unpopular, but I do get the sense I like Trickster more than most people here. And look, I get it. A lot of his shtick is kinda old hat. He's a skinny guy in a suit and tophat, this website has seen its share of those. But if we're doing a story that's aiming to give real internality to criminals and people who are normally seen as morally heinous, I'm kind of glad we got a significant portion of the story told from a POV that doesn't see themselves as ultimately in the right. Krouse doesn't have Taylor's self-perception of doing the wrong things for the right reasons. He's doing the wrong thing for selfish reasons, but its selfish in the sense of prioritizing one person over the world. He doesn't have any notion that his intentions being focused on helping Noelle make his actions good. But its not like that's not going to stop him.

And we see that sort of thing throughout the text: Brian want's to get his sister in a stable household, and will work with child-nappers to do it without feeling too many scruples. The interesting distinction between the two is that I feel like Brian legitimately doesn't see himself as being in the wrong there: he's Aisha's brother, protecting her comes before anything else, working with monsters comes with the territory of being a cape no matter where you are on the cops-robbers dichotomy. Brian can sleep fine because he feels like he's just being a good brother, and that's what hes supposed to do.

Krouse takes more active delight in being a heel. That's fun on its own, but it gets more interesting when you think about how it works with his self-perception. He can't justify himself as just being a good boyfriend, like Brian thinks he's just a good brother. He knows he's not a good boyfriend. Its one of the things that he actually doesn't like about himself. But he does see himself as a bastard, and doesn't really feel any compunction to change that about himself. And seeing him being driven more into that mindset, making more and more destructive decisions on the basis of "Fuck it, I'll do the shitty thing because its funny and because it'll piss off people I hate and because there's only a half-dozen people I care about and I'd feed most of them to Noelle if it came down to it"—it rings true for me! I'm glad we aren't just making supervillains sympathetic and understandable by having them secretly be acting for what they see as morally upstanding reasons—there's only so much systemic critique you can get out of that. I want to see why I should care about the unrepentant shitheels. So getting a whole arc of the story telling you "this is why" makes the whole story of Worm a lot more complete for me.

[popculturebuffet]

The Life and Times of Scrooge McDuck Part 6: Terror of the Transvaal!  “But You...  You Just Made Me Mean.”

Hello you happy people. And welcome back to my look at The Life and Times of Scrooge McDuck! And with this one i’ve reached the halfway point of this epic and couldn’t be prouder and have no plans to slow down. In fact while June and July will have one chapter each as is my usual for storylines I do on my own time, August and September will have DOUBLE the chapters to help me reach the finsih line. This dosen’t mean i’m done mind, i’ll probably get into the side chapters next year, possibly sooner. But my main goal when setting out to do this was to cover the main story, one of my favorite comics of all time and easily the best scrooge comic ever. But the point is it’s been a helluva ride so far and i’m not even to the second half yet. 

This chapter is also one of my favorites along with “The Last of Clan McDuck”, “THe Raider of the Copper HIll” and “The Invader of Fort Duckburg”. It’s a compelling and tragic turning point in our heroes life and has THE most badass moment in Scrooge’s history, only rivaled by another moment in this very series, which if you’ve read it you know EXACTLY what i’m talking about for both. This is also a lucky one for me as I scheduled this a while back before me and Kev had settled on doing the season 2 arcs, so I ended up scheduling this one the same week as my coverage of Glomgold’s other origin story in “The Ballad of Duke Baloney!”, a story that take some small cues from this one. So if all of that has peaked your interest, please join me under the cut as Scrooge becomes “The Terror of the Transvaal!”

As for why Rosa set the chapter here there’s two simple reasons: it was one of two gold rushes mentioned in Barks work, meaning Scrooge could get in some more experience before making his fourtune in the Klondike, and Rosa understandably couldn’t resist having Scrooge and his greatest rival meet in their youth. He WAS careful to not have Scrooge learn Flinty’s name, as Scrooge dosen’t recognize him in Flintheart’s first apperance in “The Second Richest Duck”.. but Rosa noticed Flinty seemed familiar with SCROOGE, and simply ran with it, still having his first encounter with the bastard deeply effect Scrooge but leaving Scrooge unaware that the thief and betrayer he met in the Transavaal was the same heartless Scoundrel he’s fated to keep fighting till one or both of them keels over. 

So starting the chapter proper Scrooge has come to the Transvaal to prospect for gold, following his hunch from last chapter, trying to make his way to the rand, a large natural area in south Africa. The Transvaal itself was a large expanse that was cut up in the 90′s after the fall of apartheid. 

Scrooge passes a massive Diamond Mine, large with tons of miners on small claims, but wisely passes it up: there’s too many people, too much fuss and likely too much risk of getting stolen or finding nothing.

And to prove that point we meet Flinty who is trying to steal a guy’s diamonds for the second time today. Now the other miners reaction IS FAIR: they send him up in a bucket thing their using to transport the diamonds as a thief and announce him as such and the people on the surface’s reaction makes it very clear this isn’t new behavior. Him being punished is fine... their punishment though....

Seriously, theft is not worth doing a murder.. and yes he COULD escape and their trying to frame it like that’s not what htier doing.. but their sending someone with clearly low self preservation skills into the desert, with no suplies, tightlyt ied to an angry and clearly wild animal. While Flinty DOES deserve jail for his shit, he doesn’t deserve to DIE for attempted theft. He didn’t ruin anyone’s lives or actually succeed and he’s clearly harmless if eveyrone in the mine knows he’s a criminal. You can’t just murder all your problems away... I mean the blood alone is just not worth the clean up. 

Naturally Scrooge crosses paths with Glomgold and assumes he’s simply gotten himself trapped somehow and being an openly kind soul at this point in his life, gladly helps the guy free. Scrooge mentions he’s headed to Johannesburg and GLomgold offers to come along and do all the work as his guide. Scrooge being Scrooge refuses the “do all the work part” but gladly accepts a guide and a new friend and introduces himself as from Scotland. And as a result we get... something resembling a joke...

Look I’m not against a good pun... but that was not a good pun. It wasn’t even a passable pun. It also feels like a bit of a stretch given Scrooge is well traveled by now. you’d THINK he’d get that he was probably talking about something local and not insulting himself. 

So Scrooge talks about all he’s learned with Flintheart bored and kind of a dick.. and offering a lesson of his own despite being the same age as Scrooge.. specifically he takes first watch and gives a smug speech. 

Scrooge wonders around the wilderness and finds a lion.. then an elephant and soon has the entire savannah after him as he bemoans the betrayal, having never felt like this. We’ll get more into the why in a bit. The point is he’s backed against a wall..but as we all know a cornered animal, human , duck , humanoid duck no matter the species is often at it’s most dangerous. 

Especially if that animal is a McDuck. So here we get that badassery I mentioned: faced with an angry horde of some of the most dangerous and awe inspiring critters in Africa Scrooge uses EVERYTHING he’s learned roping cattle and what not to best them. He uses tricks from besting Long Horns to get the Elephants tangled up in a tree, then uses a log to beat a Rhino, before lassoing himself a motherfucking giraffe:

And if THAT weren’t already cool as all hell he tops himself: Since he dosen’t consider a Zebra a proper mount.. he decides to go for something bigger. 

So to recap just so it all sinks in for you: Scrooge, abandoned with no suplies, defeats two elephants and a rhino, rides a Giraffe, then TAMES a fucking lion with nothing more than an improvised lasso and PURE RAGE. Then RIDES that majestic creature across the planes like a GODDAMN HORSE, before riding iti into town casual as all hell. I MEANT IT and he’s STILL not done. I mean it doesn’t’t top riding a motherfucking lion, what could, but what he does for an encore is still utterly badass and is a nice coda to riding a motherfucking lion. 

So at the local abr Glomgold lies about everything and makes himself the hero of the story, Yes Flintheart Big Dick Glomgold. Purest soul there ever was.  This lasts all of a minute as while Flinty brushes off the fact a cowboy is looking for him, he doesn’t even know what that is... he’s soon rightfully shitting himself when Scrooge comes for his vengeance. 

The art here is as always impeccable. The shading alone. But seriously I’m terrified and I know he can’t harm me... in theory. In practice if ANYONE could reach out of the page and throttle me, it’d be the guy who rode a motherfucking lion. And no i’m never letting that go. Fucker rode a lion. That’s the kind of thing you never forget about a character for damn good reason. We also get one of my favorite lines in the story, and it has tons of greats.. but this is an easy contender for my favorite:

It’s a chilling line and panel, with it made clear Scrooge’s cynsim, his biggest weakness and often what makes him the most unlikable came from this.. the moment where a villain with no scruples, no care and no code or morals of any kind utterly betrayed him and tried to leave him for dead that took any scrap of hope in mankind he had and destroyed it. From now on he likes nobody and nobody likes him. Other mentors helped Scrooge grow as a person, taught him skills and taught him to survive, to enjoy the road getting to fortune as much as the fortune himself, and to make his way square. Flinty. just made him mean. 

But Scrooge isn’t going to kill him.. for one thing he doesn’t’t like shooting people or animals. For another.. he has something far more satisfying in mind: Old West Justice, Tar and Feathearing style, covering the guy and humiliating him by making him do a bullet dance Marty McFly style. 

Flinty TRIES to simply escape and steal Scrooge’s shotgun.. but it fails as he runs into the lion and Scrooge takes the beaten flinty over to the jail to press charges. Flinty is jailed.. and makes his own vow. 

So with that Scrooge has made a foe for life, and this is another thing the 2017 Cartoon took.. it’s just where as this  Flinty was merely angry at his rightful compuance and humilation, the cartoon one was a small child who swore vengance for an honest mistake. But either way you slice it he won’t make Scrooge’s life any easier. 

So with that we get our epilogue: Scrooge never made his forutune her, naturally, as the ore was too low quality for him to process alone so only the already rich could afford to set up shop here. Scrooge packs it in determined to still make his fortune and we get an awesome closing panel. 

Final Thoughts: As you could probably tell, I fucking love this one. It’s utterly amazing. Barks himself has said he felt the best chapters took place over a short time span and it shows: by having to cover less time, only having a time passing bit at the very end, it allows this vital story to take place over less than a day and allows it to move at a hell of a pace. It’s got action, great character work as we see Scrooge’s last bit of trust in his fellow man shatter, and THE best climax of the series. And the others have some whoppers. This one is just so damn awesome, taking most of the issue but using EVERY page of it to tell one epic finale, from Scrooge’s easy mastery of the beasts, to his taming a motherfucking lion, to Flinty’s UTTERLY satstifying humilation conga...this is just a masterpiece and a huge reminder why I love this comic

Next Time: Scrooge sadly dosen’t keep the lion but does head to Australia where he faces what he is in the dark, meets a new mentor, and gets pointed to his destiny. See you next month for that. 

If you liked this review share it, and if you’d like to help me make more join my patreon at patreon.com/popculturebuffet. WIth only 10 days left till the new pay period nows the time to jump in so you can pick a short for my Donald Duck birthday specail next month or help me reach a stretch goal so I can get it on the board. Time’s a wastin. And if you can’t, tha’ts fine, thanks for reading. 

[stitchieau-the-actual-one]

Fuck what or where can I vent about this...

WARNING: IF YOU DON’T LIKE OTHER PEOPLES OPINIONS OR HAVING A THOUGHTFUL DISCUSSION, THEN THIS POST AIN’T FOR YOU! MOVE ON!

we good?

Are the Radicals gone?

yes?

good.

Honestly, America has gone to shit since Biden came into office. Actually no... It’s been shit since Obama’s administration. just a constant shit show, an awful comedy of errors.

I legit no longer feel safe or comfortable in my own country. 

I feel like I am not being heard as a US citizen, and how I vote or what I say no longer matters because some rich Democrat or rich Republican decided it just doesn’t. I feel like nothing I say or do matters anymore and that if I speak at all, people are either going to label me as a “Bigot.” or “TERF.” on one end or “Snowflake.” “SJW.” on the other. Or just flat out be told to “pick a side.” when both are shit. 

One is spray painted gold.

The other is covered in literal gold.

And I hate it, I hate every single second of it. the fact I have to constantly pick the lesser of two evils and that if I vote “wrong” or “Wrong think” people are just going to silence me. In a country of free speech. It’s ass backwards but its true. 

so here’s some stuff that may or may not ruffle your jimmies:

1) The Riots are and ALWAYS will be unwarranted and should DEFINITELY be stopped:

I feel like it should go without saying, but apparently this is a controversial statement... which it shouldn’t be. Look, you were taught as a kid that stealing, breaking, arson, assault, battery, destruction of private and public property is bad and unacceptable. So why do you think that suddenly changes when you’re an adult? You still got spanked and/or sent into timeout didn’t you? You got disciplined (not punished there IS a difference) for it right? Well as an adult, news flash! It’s the government instead of your parents who discipline your shitty behavior. (Also furthermore: ACAB just helps the rich since their the only people who can AFFORD personal protection, so Defunding police would just help criminals find victims and get away with a variety of crimes. Since there’s no longer any scruples to prevent this.)

Do I believe that the national guard and riot police should’ve been called in:

Yes.

Do I believe that EVERYONE involved was being shitty?

No.  

Do I believe that in cases like these Potentially fatal force is nessecary to control a growingly restless and violent crowd?

AbsoFUCKINlutely!

Do I believe children should be at large protests?

No.

Do I believe the entire situation could’ve been avoided if people ignored Social Media?

Fuck, Yes.

But sadly I and the rest of us do not live in a perfect vacuum of morale and decency, which brings me to another point.

Can we please stop the whole Marxism/Communism trend? Please?

Tldr of my opinion on this issue: If it doesn’t work the first time it won’t work for the *insert whatever number it is* time either. just let this fantasy die already PLEASE!

my actual explanation on how I feel about it:

 So Marxism is a type of Communism. Which if you didn’t know, Communism is the extreme of Socialism... and the Extreme/Radicalized version of literal ANYTHING! ISN’T GOOD! FULL STOP! 

I honestly feel like the current education system fails to teach kids the issue as to WHY Communism and more accurately Marxism just... doesn’t work. Like at all, not even a little bit. But in order to talk about Marxism and why it just fails in a spectacular way we need to take a Rrrrreally old piece of text into consideration.

Plato’s utopia.

Plato based his utopian world off of a fantasy, a morale void, a perfect vacuum that was the foundation to a squeaky clean world. Of rainbows, gumdrops and candy cane frogs. where everyone was a productive and virtuous citizen that strived to better mankind.

however it suffers a major flaw.

that’s just not how Humanity let alone how the universe works in general. We don’t live in that perfect virtuous vacuum Plato so desperately wanted us too. 

Humans are by default, infallible, selfish, self centered, bratty, judgmental pricks who no matter how virtuous have dark and destructive tendencies. Whether it’s aimed towards ones self or their community, it doesn’t matter. Humans are just naturally assholes and if you don’t believe me go sit down, pick any point in history and just listen. History is filled to the brim with examples of why we don’t live in a perfect vacuum of virtue. Even with the best of intentions people still make one another miserable whether they know it or not. People are greedy, selfish, self serving and otherwise shitty one way or another. so ultimately even if its intent if founded in the purest, kindest, sweetest whatever have yous. It won’t work. 

Similar to how Plato’s utopian society doesn’t work, neither does Marxism nor Communism. it realize to heavily on that Vacuum that just doesn’t exist.

if you don’t believe me, just ask anyone from a Communist/Marxist country or if you’d rather read instead. Go read “Animal Farm” and come back, its okay I’ll wait.   

On the other hand this absolutely DOES NOT mean I am okay or fine with Facism or really ANY radicalism in general. if it isn’t clear already. 

not that brings me to the most controversial opinion I have and one not a lot of people (yourselves included) won’t like me for (most likely)

My stance on BLM:

I.

Don’t

Like.

Supremacy.

Of.

ANY. 

Kind.

And you know what, that’s just how I feel. If your movement involves challenging something by doing more of the same thing by design but just a different coat of paint. then no. I don’t like your thoughts or your movement because that’s just toxic and literally detrimental to everyone around you. 

if you feel like the only way to fight “White supremacy” is with “Black supremacy” then expect me to think your a horrible (closeted) racist. The people who bang the table the loudest about an issue, are usually the people causing it in the first place. So how do we solve the issue of racism, the same way you deal with terrorists actually. By making fun of them and mocking their awful opinions. 

Everyone is special and one of a kind, and even considering the notion of it not and taking it seriously is beyond the scope of any sane logic one should have. Treating racism with even a monikerum, a snibblie of seriousness is only feeding into and perpetuating the said issue.

if you make fun of it, like how we make fun of outdated ideals like Sexism and Terrorism. laugh at the people who do toxic shit, they fucking HATE being mocked or laughed at since they honestly want you to be a misreble as they are. So don’t let them. Also education is good, ignorance bad.

anyways may write a part 2 later, my second dose of the covid shot (moderna) kicked in and I am suffering...

[aspiratixxn]

Hey Dollface

Summary: The best surprise after a really long, hard day at work. 

Warnings: Swearing

Word Count: 3086

Notes: For @bucky-smiles​ since they’ve had some hard times lately! It’s me, your Bucky anon haha. I just wanted to be really soft and writing Bucky for you really inspired me! I hope you like it :) 

Tagging: @holy-captain​

It’s a shit day. It’s a really, really shit day.

It all started with a burnt pancake, on Monday of all days. Pancakes are a Monday tradition you picked up from your mom, who always made them sprinkled with different fruits to give you a pick-me-up (because Mondays you know?). And you had never burned a pancake, not even the one you made alone at the tender age of seven.

You’re not the superstitious type, not really, but a burnt pancake spelled out trouble and you knew it. You were quick to toss the thing but not quick enough for the smoke detector. Its shrill shriek pierced the morning calm and you heard a clattering through the thin walls of your (mediocre on a good day) apartment. And you had winced when someone banged on your door, asking if you were okay. Of course, you had to answer them, meekly peeking from behind the door. Although they had taken it gracefully, it had already put a damper on your day, which really only got worse from there.

Cleaning the pancake and clearing the smoke detector debacle took up your morning, which meant you didn’t have breakfast. At all. Not even a grab and go banana. Instead, you went sprinting down and out, nearly running over your two floors down neighbor’s dog and getting a shouted earful about that. And of course it was drizzling, enough that an umbrella wasn’t going to keep you from getting uncomfortably damp. Your sneakers squish as you walk in the building, your co-workers wincing when they see you. Your best friend Wanda fusses over you for just a moment, trying to pat moisture out of your shirt.

“Really (Name), you’re such a mess today. I mean more than usual. Did someone get some,” She glances in both directions and whispers in your ear, “Action last night?”

You sputter, pushing her away gently. “Why would you think that?!” He’s not even home right now so it’s not like you could anyways.

She just giggles. “I’m kidding, kidding! Here.” You take the towel and try to dry your hair. You hate this because now you’re going to look like a puffball. “I made some of my famous soup today! For you and me and Natasha, so you’ll be warmed up before you know it.”

You heave a great sigh and drape yourself over her lap. “Oh Wanda, my love, what would I do without you?”

“Starve? Maybe suffer a soupless life?” You gasp, flinging your arm over your eyes. She just laughs again and pats you on the head before she sneaks back to her desk. You’re grateful she’s willing to suffer the wrath of the boss, who pushes productivity to the max.

You take a pause to check your phone before you move and light up when you see (1) message from Bucky.

BUCKY: Good morning beautiful BUCKY: Just wanted to remind you that you are the bestest, most awesome person in the world and you’re gonna rock your day!

You work a classic office job, the kind in weird half cubicles where the walls are too short to hide anything from anyone. Before you even start working you have to clear away all the sticky notes and remnants from last Friday when you had dragged yourself home after some overtime. When your workspace is adequately cleaned (or at least cleaned enough you aren’t knocking over things when you shift), you get to answering your emails.

Which of course, leads to another bad thing. The client was infuriated with the current status of the project. In his eyes, it should have been done a week and a half ago, when you know full well that this project isn’t going to be done for another week if not two. It’s an intense request that just takes time and you’re already doing your best, putting in the overtime to try and reach his ridiculous goals. Heinrich Zemo really needs someone to knock him down a peg and you might just be the person to do it if you ever meet him in person.

So begins the back and forth emailing between you two, filled to the brim with polite fuck you’s. And since he seems to zing back mail at the speed of light, you can’t even work on anything else you’re supposed to, like the design blueprints for Natasha or the business plan outline for Sam. And they’re shooting you little looks because they kind of need that stuff for the next steps of their own projects. Sympathetic looks but looks just the same. And it makes you burn with frustration because you want to get it done, you want to be productive but you just. Can’t.

In between your phone keeps pinging with messages from Bucky, which is the only reason why you survive this entire frustrating situation.

BUCKY: i love your fashion sense. It’s so chic and sleek and ugh, so perfect for you

BUCKY: can’t wait to dance with you again darling! Hope you’re ready to try some tango this time ;)

BUCKY: do you want s’mores pie or banana cream? i’m thinking s’mores because y’know, chocolate. marshmallows. what’s not to love?

BUCKY: next date at the flower garden? we can have a picnic!

BUCKY: holy shit I am so ready for blueberry season again. I know it’s a while away but ugh, I really want some right now :(

BUCKY: you got this babe! I believe in you!

BUCKY: do you want to get Chinese or Italian when I see you again? I’m feeling a strong Chinese vibe. YOU: Chinese BUCKY: that’s my girl

The morning is a blur of pent up anger that ends with you squishing the ever loving shit out of a pumpkin plush, a desk leftover from Halloween. You’re half surprised the thing doesn’t pop under the pressure but you feel bad, placing it back down and patting it. Finally Zemo shuts up and you’re left with fifteen minutes before lunch, which really isn’t time to start anything for work. Instead, you bring out your white bound planner, a bullet journal you’ve been steadily working on, and start to build the next month. End of the month means needing to prep all the pages for February, and you sigh as you stare lovingly at your collection of pens just for this. They’re all absolutely lovely, shades that you adore and a quality that can’t be beat. You mill briefly, deciding between a pastel and a hard pink. The pastel wins out of course and you smooth out the page, already covered in neat pen lines from last night. You begin to fill in banners and hearts and…

Just your goddamn luck your pen starts to fizzle out. Which really sucks because these puppies are not cheap in the slightest. You growl and thunk your head on the desk, making Sam snicker.

“Not your day?”

“Not now Wilson.”

“Aw, c’mon. I’m pretty sure there’s something good in your horoscope for today.” He’s teasing you now for sure. He’s not even into horoscopes, not even as a joke. You turn your head enough to give him your darkest stink eye, which just makes him grin wider. He pats your shoulder and slides over some chocolates, dark like you like it. You huff and your hands come up to open the blue foil, fumbling a bit before popping it in your mouth.

Your phone pings and you glance at it with dull eyes. Sam can visibly see them getting their spark back though and he can guess who’s messaged.

(1) message from Bucky

BUCKY: hey sweetheart, just wanted to tell you that you’re my favorite girl and it’s lunch time! I made myself a sandwich today, look! BUCKY: (1 photo attached)

YOU: why’s it so full? it’s practically bursting! YOU: if you take a bite you’re gonna spill everything out of the bread

BUCKY: hey! rude! >:( BUCKY: I’ll have you know I am a sandwich expert and it will not spill everywhere

YOU: sure it won’t babe ;)

BUCKY: >:T

“(Name)!!” Wanda comes bursting back in, holding up a thermos for you to see. It does brighten up your day, especially when Natasha pops up right after with a box of sandwiches from the best deli on the block. She even got you extra fries. God your friends are so good.

At least lunch passes without any scruples. You don’t spill any of Wanda’s spicy and absolutely delicious soup and you don’t drip any mayo on your blouse from the sandwich. There’s a close call with some ketchup for the fries but it lands next to your leg instead of on it.

“Absolutely not. How dare you even assume Eliza has a chance?” Natasha jabs a fry in your direction.

“Well it’s better than Martha! Did you see her bedroom eyes at him? And he just straight up ignored her!” Wanda throws her hands up in frustration. “Honestly, does this guy even like any of the contestants? It’s like he has the stiffest face in the world.”

You shrug, thoughtfully munching for a moment. “I just think Eliza’s nice y’know? She’s sweet and she’s not pushy, which I mean. It’s probably not great for ratings but Nick hasn’t eliminated her yet so that has to count for something right?”

“Nuh-uh! Angelica’s a favorite here. Did you see how he was laughing on their fake date? I can tell flirting when I see it. And she’s a real firecracker type, which means she’s definitely there to spice up his life if you know what I mean~” Natasha wiggles her eyebrows and you snort, nearly choking on your ice tea.

“Y’all are crazy! It’s definitely gotta be Delanie! Cute, small, hips fit real well.” Sam runs his hands in the same, also wiggling his eyebrows. “And did you see how he was watching her when she was talking about her family? How she wanted a cute little wedding like her parents? That’s a catch.”

You sigh and put your head in your hands. “It’s so artificial though. Like I know all this is scripted and framed and stuff so like, what does it matter? I’d want something real.”

“You sound really dreamy there (name). Got some embarrassing sappy things you want to say to us?” Wanda has her face pressed up to yours and you blush, pushing her away again. Wanda’s really dangerous like that, able to sniff out feelings and stories just like that.

“No! Shut your smug little faces.” All three have taken on that look that you know oh so well. You shovel another few fries in your face and then shut the empty container. Around a mouthful of the dry potatoes, you mumble, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some outlines and blueprints to work on.”

How is this day not already over? Honestly it feels like it’s been an eternity.

Your phone pings with a message. Steve, inviting you to a Monday movie night. Since movies are cheap as hell, Steve likes to visit the theaters often and see what the new thing is. Not surprising given his theatrical/acting/film study obsession.

STEVE: Movie night?

YOU: what movie?

STEVE: Cats (2019) STEVE: I know, I know I just really want to see it. It’s so interesting, the CGI work!

YOU: i dont really want to pay money to see that though YOU: like its YOU: so weird YOU: and like not YOU: i dunno i just don’t really want to see it

STEVE: :( STEVE: C’mon, it’ll be fun! We’ll get caramel corn.

YOU: ooooh tempting me YOU: but no i think imma go home and like wine night it YOU: its been a long day :/

STEVE: Ouch. Well it’s the same place as usual, 6 PM if you wanna come.

YOU: probs not but thanks anyways

STEVE: :)

You plug in your headphones and scroll through your music, settling for some chilled out tunes to slowly progress through the dense documents you have to read before you can properly plan out Sam’s thing. It sucks because you can already feel a headache starting to bud and you have to stop periodically to press on your eyes. You also frequently get up to get water, which means you’re also going to the bathroom a lot and today’s productivity has just slam dunked down the drain. To compensate for not doing literally any work in the morning (gee, thanks Zemo), you put in some overtime hours, which means you’re definitely movie night. You don’t even leave the office until your eyes are burning with the strain of staring at a screen for seven or so hours. You stumble out and rub your eyes, yawning and stretching, trying to get some of the tension out of your shoulders.

(1) message from Bucky

BUCKY: have you been at work this whole time? Damn girl BUCKY: the grind never stops💪

YOU: i wish it did YOU: ugh i’m so tired :(

BUCKY: well you’re almost home right? BUCKY: im sure there’s something good waiting for you at home BUCKY: like dinner! what are you thinking today?

You don’t even know what you’re going to do for dinner, but you’ll deal with that when you get home. At worst you have some cheap instant noodle thing that you can spice up with some eggs. It’s still dreary out and it feels like rain in your skin so you almost sprint home, sticking to the well-lit areas because you are not in the mood to punch a mugger in the nose.

You stop by the corner store though and buy yourself two bottles of wine. You buy something that’s nice, indulging a little. Or you try to anyways, when you discover you left your ID at home. You groan in frustration and instead grab some peach-mango juice and a bag of BBQ chips, hovering momentarily over the big blocks of cheese. You really could just use one to bite into, but you refrain, knowing you have shredded cheese at home, and you can just eat that with a spoon.

Trudging up the stairs, you nearly kick the dog again because it comes shooting around the corner of the stairs. As it is, you end up swerving and kicking the wall which makes you drop your grocery goods and you just.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

You gather the groceries in your arms again and make it finally to your apartment, nearly staggering into the door. You fumble with the keys, missing the lock a few times before jamming it in and twisting. You’re ready to collapse on the couch and chug your juice straight from the gallon container but you don’t because when you lift your eyes up from the ground, you’re met with the bestest, sweetest, slightly crooked smile in the world.

“Bucky!” You drop everything and full body launch yourself at him, nearly tipping him over. Whatever he says about being strong and sturdy, you’re a force to be reckoned with and you snuggle your face up against his neck, breathing in the pine needle and wood smoke scent he has. “I thought you weren’t going to be back for another week!”

“Decided to surprise you doll face.” He peppers your cheeks with kisses, and you can’t help the giggle that bubbles out of you. His lips are so warm against your chilled skin and you try your best to catch them against yours.

He hefts you up a bit so you’re almost sitting on his hip. He bends down to get the fallen chips and you squeal, tightening your hold on his neck. He fakes a choking sound and you loosen a little, feeling him smile against your cheeks.

“You’re so prickly.” Your fingers run along his jawline that’s covered in stubble.

You can feel his laugh, from his chest where you’re pressed. “Sorry pumpkin, I didn’t have a lot of time between there and here.” He stands back up again and you shriek again, burying your face at the sudden moment. “Sounds like you’re still full of energy though.”

“Noooo. I’m really tired Bucky, I had a hard day at work. I’ve had a hard day all dayyyyy.” You turn with a pout, which makes him kiss your puffed cheeks. His eyes sparkle with mirth and you feel like the entire day has completely melted away.

He carries you to the couch, depositing you in front of some of your favorite Chinese take-out. The smell alone makes you wanna drool and you lean forward to take a big, deep breath. “You are a god send.” He waives it out with another full belly laugh, handing you a pair of chopsticks. He got your favorite dumplings and sour-spicy soup and of course, shrimp lo mien. You practically inhale the food. “It’s so good babe, oh my god. I have been revived from the dead.” He flicks on the TV, finding some movie marathon. It sounds like Harry Potter but you’re way to invested in the food in front of you.

It makes you feel so overwhelmingly warm to have him home again after being away for so long. Soon enough, the empty cartons are abandoned on the table and you’re curled up against his side, exhaustion seeping into your warm, full body. Bucky’s got his arm around you, gently playing with the hair that curls by your neck. He’s telling a story, something about how he had found an adorable kitten at work who had clung to his shoulder all day.  His voice runs over you like honey tea, so warm and comforting. You have his other hand in your own hands, tracing the scars that lace over his knuckles and across his palm. Everyone your fingers cover, you follow with kisses.

“I love you.” You yawn in the middle, but he just leans over to kiss your forehead, simultaneously pulling over the blanket from the edge of the couch towards you. It’s your favorite blanket, and it definitely wasn’t on the couch this morning. God he’s so sweet.

“I love you too (name).” He gives you another forehead kiss and begins to play with your hair, which you almost purr at. This is it, this is peak comfort. You grip his shirt tightly, slightly worried this is just some fever dream you’re having at being so tired. “Tell me about your day. Don’t leave out a single detail!”

“Mm, well it started with a burnt pancake…”

[clansayeed]

Bound by Destiny ― Chapter 15: The Storm

PAIRING: Kamilah Sayeed x MC (Nadya Al Jamil) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Destiny ⥽

Nadya Al Jamil (MC) has been struggling from the day she moved to Manhattan, but her new job as assistant to the mysterious CEO of Raines Corp was supposed to turn her luck around. Until she finds herself caught in the middle of a war involving the Council of Vampires who secretly run the city. An evil from the birth of Vampire-kind stirs beneath, feeding on the conflict, and finds Nadya bound to a destiny she never asked for.

Bound by Destiny and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the Bloodbound series and spin-off, Nightbound. Find out more [HERE].

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Destiny tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

Valdas and Isseya come to collect Nadya as a witness for Adrian’s trial. Tired of things being out of her control, she takes matters into her own hands with Kamilah.

WARNING: this chapter contains explicit sexual content

[READ IT ON AO3]

In everyone else’s defense she is just as surprised as they are by her howling laughter.

Not really the reaction one would be expected to have after getting another heaping pile of bad news on top of the garbage landfill that’s become her life recently. But the brain works in mysterious ways.

Lily, the only one even remotely qualified to try and dissect the strange being Nadya’s found herself becoming, pulls her close with a glare at the intruders. She looks rapidly between Valdas and Isseya — can’t seem to figure out which one she wants to direct her hatred at more.

“Yeah well since that’s not happening I guess you can take your leave. Buh-bye now.”

They don’t move. Literally — from here it looks like they aren’t even breathing. It makes Nadya’s skin crawl; just another weird emotion in the unstable bowl of soup inside her.

Valdas removes his sunglasses — sunglasses, underground, when he can’t even go into the sunlight; the mark of the douchebag — and cocks them in the dip of his silken dress shirt.

“This isn’t a voluntary matter. Even if it were I’m rather surprised you wouldn’t want to leap to Raines’ aid.”

His flippant tone helps Nadya calm her laughter enough to compose herself.

“Adrian’s — I mean that means he’s alive. That does mean he’s alive, right?” His curt nod makes her feel weak in the knees. “And Kamilah…?”

“If you keep standing here fretting there are no guarantees. On both the lives of your friends and your own.” Isseya yawns as she says it; like this entire ordeal bores her.

To Nadya’s surprise it’s Jax who steps around — places himself between her and the other vampires.

He reaches for the sword at his back; lets it rest on the hilt. “Is that a threat?”

The couple laugh in sync. Isseya rolls her eyes. “When we threaten you, pet —”

And witnessing such speed again makes Nadya sweat — reminds her of Isseya’s nails digging into her neck. Makes her practically crush herself against the safety of Lily’s side.

Valdas holds Jax several inches off the ground. Just enough for his boots to scrape by with the promise and denial of stability. He struggles to pry the man’s hand from his throat. Lashes out with fangs and red eyes that show no sign of deterring Valdas in the slightest.

“— you’ll know it.” He finishes his partner’s sentence. Opens his hold like one might a machine for Jax to fall and walks at a human pace back so Isseya can wrap herself around his arm.

Jax rubs his throat and makes a real move for his katana. Behind him Maricruz looks ready to jump one — or both — of them from behind.

Isseya rolls her eyes.

“Are you all really so foolish? Or is it that you hate your grimy lives down here so much that you’d use us as a way to set you free of it?”

Maricruz actually growls. “¡No mames! Shut up if you know what’s good for you.”

But before the Clanless can make a move Nadya rushes out with her arms extended.

“Don’t! Jax… don’t. You don’t know who they are.”

He scoffs. “I don’t need to. I know their type.”

“No, you don’t,” and she lowers her voice, “they’ll kill you. Just stop.” But before any more quips can spark the blaze she gives a glare to the Trinity. “Insulting my friends is probably not the best way to get me to go with you. I want to help Adrian — but they’re not wrong either. So talk.”

They look at one another without a word. Maybe two thousand years with someone erases the boundaries of language — or maybe they’re actually telepathic. The second thought feels intrusive and upsetting so Nadya pushes it aside with all her might.

“We will be happy to explain on the way.” Valdas says finally. “Is that enough of a compromise?”

Not even close, Nadya thinks, but if her stubbornness is what makes the difference between Adrian living and dying she’ll never forgive herself for sticking to her scruples.

Then Lily’s at her arm and interlaces their fingers. “No way she’s going with you creeps alone. I’m coming with.”

“Hell no.”

Mari appears at her side in a blur with a concerned frown. She cups her girlfriend’s cheek and Lily leans into it with a tiny smile.

“She’s my best friend. I’ll be fine.”

“Friend or not, mi amor, walking into a Council trial is suicide for the likes of us.”

Lily falters slightly — as if the thought hadn’t crossed her mind. “Oh.”

Jax agrees. “As it is I’m still deciding if we’re going to let you leave here at all.” Did he not just almost die for saying that stuff? Nadya doesn’t even try anymore. “The Council can’t know where we are. Not after everything we’ve done to make this place safe.”

“I don’t know which is more amusing,” croons Isseya, “that you think you could stop us or that you think we care about your menial cluster of vagabonds. You swarm like insects hiding in plain sight and call yourselves hidden.”

Her scorn dies with Valdas’ stare. “What my beloved means is that your existence; your little hidey-hole, is inconsequential to us. We are here on behalf of the Council — not as part of it.”

“Then promise not to tell the Council the location of the Shadow Den,” demands Nadya, “it’s that simple.”

Because she knows Lily and her humor she’s glad that Valdas answers, gaze locked with Jax’s, before she has the chance to make a joke about a measuring contest.

“Very well. If we’re through wasting time, then, ladies?”

The Trinity and their luxury look more suited to a runway in Paris than the Spartan lives of those in the Shadow Den. It’s no wonder every conversation stops and any witnesses stare openly while their leader and his deputy, along with the strange human girl, head towards the exit closest to the city center.

Maricruz steals Lily for one more goodbye — not a last one, just one more — with an embrace that could break bones and a kiss filled with so much longing that even Valdas looks away after several seconds.

All Nadya can think is why she didn’t do that to Kamilah when she thought it might really be the last, and not just one more.

Jax rests his hand on Nadya’s shoulder; makes her flinch briefly and actually seems remorseful over it.

“Lily knows how to contact us. The second anything seems fishy you run like hell, got it?”

“I think I know how to deal with vampires by now. This isn’t my first rodeo.”

“As I seem to recall you were being locked in a dungeon at your first rodeo.”

She huffs.

“Well I’ve learned a lot since then.”

A strange look comes over him; concern, maybe? She’s not used to it being directed her way so it throws her off her game.

“I hope so,” he replies, “but from everything I’ve seen so far…”

“Watch how you finish that.”

“Stop — please just listen, will you? Any vampire you meet is going to be stronger, smarter, faster than you. That’s just the way it works. But you can’t let that stay your hand and keep you from fighting. You have to try — even if the chances are slim to none. ‘Slim’ is better than ‘impossible’ in my book.”

She thinks back to his readiness to threaten Valdas — not just once but twice and that following nearly having his head ripped off his neck. It sucks to admit but he kinda-sorta has a point.

There’s an uncomfortable feeling inside her chest; makes Nadya frown down at her shoes before she can muster up the words.

“I’m not strong enough. You said it yourself — I’m just a human.”

“Hey, humans have been a thorn in our sides since the dawn of time, or civilization, or whatever.” He squeezes her again and she can feel it; the power lurking beneath his skin — and the restraint he shows with it, too. “Don’t underestimate yourself.”

“It’s more than that, Jax. It’s —”

“Stop.”

He interrupts her curtly. Makes her have to look him in the eyes before carrying on. “When I asked Espinoza how all that went down with Lily you know what she told me? She said that the same human who let herself be captured and rescued looked a vampire right in the eyes — looked Council member Adrian Raines right in the eyes — and told him that she wasn’t taking no for an answer. I don’t see that human right now — but I saw her back at the train station. And she’s probably shown up other times too — whenever her friends have needed her.

“We all need something to fight for. For me it’s everyone in the Shadow Den; everyone forced into a life on the run with no say in their lives. For you, Nadya, it seems like it’s your friends. So if thinking about your friends gives you the balls to tell the Council to ‘fuck off’ then start putting together a photo album or something, you know? Whatever it takes.”

Whatever it takes. The tightness in her chest isn’t gone but it’s definitely easier to breathe. Was he actually being… nice to her? Telling her how she needed to find the strength to help her friend a Clan Leader?

She makes a mental note to buy a lotto ticket when they’re back on the surface.

“You were a motivational speaker before you were Turned,” she teases, “weren’t you?”

“I’m being serious.”

“So am I. I bet there’s a self-help book hidden in the back corner of every bookstore. What’s it called… ooh, I bet it’s something like —”

He stops her with a hand over her mouth but the mirth in his eyes is genuine. Jax may not find it nearly as funny but at least he’s not glaring at her any longer. And honestly his advice is comforting. Enough to help her find the strength to turn around and join the vampires by the service stairwell towards the subway above.

“Be safe.” Lily says to Jax and throws one last parting kiss at Mari.

The Trinity has had enough of their sentiments. Evidenced by the groan of the metal handle under Isseya’s grip. “Come. A car will be waiting for us.”

With Isseya at the lead and Valdas behind them the four begin the winding path up into the world.

Lily holds her hand the whole way — and she couldn’t ask for a better best friend.

The driver steps out onto the curb and opens their door. The rush of noise and light takes a second to get used to but it soothes Nadya like a long-lost home. Thunder rumbles up above, bounces off every building around them in a drumming tune.

She looks around the crowded sidewalk — turning this way and that to get her bearings — but quickly realizes she doesn’t have to and ducks her head to see where Valdas and Isseya remain seated.

“What’s going on? I thought you were taking us to Adrian’s trial.”

“The Council requires all those giving testimony to be in their personal hands at least twenty-four hours before proceeding,” Valdas states with boredom. Beside him Isseya picks up her vibrating phone from her lap and answers with a sultry purr.

“Impatience is an ugly thing, Priya. We’ve just finished dropping them off. You’ve saved me the blond one, haven’t you?”

Nadya recoils in disgust at Priya’s name. “That answers who you’re staying with, then.”

While his partner continues making demands on the phone Valdas gives a lazy salute to the pair of them.

“It’s been a pleasure, Miss Nadya. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow night.”

She doesn’t get the chance to respond — the driver slams the door practically in her face and when he peels away from the curb at least half a dozen taxi horns screech in protest to his blatant disrespect of the rules of the road.

That’s when the skies open up; slowly and then all at once. The first drop that tickles Nadya’s nose is soon joined by another, then another, and then the storm blankets New York in a sheet of water.

Lily breathes in the night and rain with a stretch and gusto. “God I missed this! And good riddance! I don’t know if I could have spent a whole day with them.” She looks around for the street intersections — tries to place where they are. “So… you know where we’re going, right? And is it like… safe for someone like me? Because I’m kinda hungry — if you know what I mean.”

“You know, I think I do.” There’s teasing behind her sarcasm. Nadya jerks her head to the glossy black doors of the skyscraper they were dropped in front of. “Let’s get inside.”

Lily cranes her neck up and up with awe. Nadya, though — she’s grown familiar with the view. It’s even better up top.

The same security guard lazes around at the same desk. Stops not-so-sneakily watching The Crown and the Flame on his phone as Nadya approaches.

“Haven’t seen you in some time, Miss Al Jamil.”

“Hi Doug.” She greets back and offers her best and most innocent smile. “Would you hate me if I said I left my key at the office?”

Doug gives a jovial, if exasperated, sigh. “I could never hate you, dear. I just wish you’d be honest with me and say you lost it again so we can change the code. You know how she values her privacy.” He looks over his glasses at Lily with a trained, if borderline retired, scrutiny. “Can’t say I’ve ever met you before little lady but judgin’ by that hair your name is Lily.”

“Uh — yeah…?” Lily gives Nadya a wary look that makes the guard chuckle.

“Miss Al Jamil’s told me all about you. Next time you gotta go through the proper channels though, you know that.”

Nadya nods. “I promise. It was… a sort of last-minute thing. She’ll be okay with it.”

“Welp, still gotta have you sign her in.” He taps a clipboard on the ledge in front of him and Nadya hastily writes in Lily’s name. “You gals planning on going out before dawn?”

“Yeah—no thanks.” Lily seems positively disgusted at the thought.

Nadya elbows her gently. “No, but thank you for checking.”

Doug types up Lily’s name on the computer and hits a button on the underside of his large obsidian desk. Behind him the glass doors click and begin to open automatically. He tips his hat off to them.

“Have a good evening Miss Al Jamil, and friend Lily!”

“You too, pal.”

“See you tomorrow Doug.”

Once they’re clear of the lobby, elevator button alight and calling one down, Lily gives Nadya a light shove.

“Dude!”

“What? And ow!”

“I was sort of making fun of you when I went on about your fancy life but… dude.”

“This isn’t me. This is the people I know.”

Lily takes in the luxury of the atrium around them with awe she doesn’t even try to contain. “Still… it’s a step up from a broken fire escape ladder and homophobic neighbors.”

They enter the elevator together and Lily’s whistle when she hits the ‘P’ for penthouse doesn’t go unheard.

Her eyes flick upwards to the building name in large gold block-letters on the far wall. She holds the gaze of ‘AHMANET FINANCIAL’ until the doors close them off.

“Yeah, I guess.”

Gerard has the door open before she can even give Lily the low-down on what to expect.

She greets him with a wide and genuine smile; it quickly falters when she sees him hastily dab at his eyes with his pocket hanky.

“What’s wrong, are you okay?” She hovers her hands over his arms, doesn’t know how to help but wants to, and then finds herself in a crushing hug. He smells of fresh baking with just a hint of mothballs. Like how someone’s grandpa is supposed to smell in an ideal world.

“Forgive my impropriety, Miss,” his voice wavers both with emotion and his age, “I promised I’d hold myself intact. But seeing you unharmed after everything that happened…”

Nadya squeezes him tight. Didn’t know how much she needed the comforting touch of another human being after all that’s happened until that moment.

“I’m okay, Gerard. And I’m glad you’re okay, too.”

She introduces Lily — the butler looks ready to reaffirm his ‘stiff upper lip’ mentality but Lily doesn’t give him the chance and greets him in a hug of her own. She’s told him enough about how much she missed her friend that he doesn’t particularly mind.

“I only expected Miss Nadya here — but let me get you something to warm your bones.” Gerard pauses and shakes his head; laughs at himself. “Silly me. Well — you know what I mean.”

But when he goes to lead them into the kitchen Nadya stops — looks around the penthouse with haste to try and find some small indication Kamilah’s been there.

Stupid butler keeps everything spotless, though. No, she doesn’t think he’s stupid. But a little mess never hurt anyone.

Then a weathered hand on her shoulder makes her jump a mile.

“Lady Kamilah’s gone up for a swim,” Gerard whispers in her ear, “lots on her mind — you know how she can be.”

Nadya nods; resigns herself to waiting for Kamilah… again.

“I’ll give her some time then…”

But he stops her from turning around. Fixes Nadya with a stern look.

“I rather think you should go to her instead.”

“But —”

“Don’t worry about Miss Lily. She’s in good hands. You and Lady Kamilah need one another right now, I should think. Could do you both some good.”

She’d never say it — but she needs you, say Gerard’s eyes. Nadya finds herself hugging him again before rushing out the back balcony door and into the rain.

When she was thirteen Nadya’s mother forced her to go to a two-week sleepaway camp in the mountains. It was something her mom had done as a young girl with her sister, and something her cousins had been doing since they were old enough to beg for the chance.

Nadya was never an outdoors-y person though, and dreaded every hour of her summer up until the time when she was watching her mother drive down the gravel road; leaving her behind.

She learned a lot of things at that camp — all of them useless in the long run but seemed so vital and important while there. And she only looked forward to one thing: the pool. Unfortunately that summer—the summer of her thirteenth year—Colorado had never seen so much rain.

“Why can’t we go in when it’s raining?” Asked every girl in the same whining preteen voice.

And the counselors would always reply with the same stern tone of an adult. “Because it isn’t about the rain, it’s about the lightning. That would be quite a shock in the end!” And the adults would laugh at their glorious joke and move on to something else entirely.

But every time it rained, even when there wasn’t a bolt of lightning in sight, Nadya would lean against the windowsill of the dining cabin and stare at the pool with a sigh of longing.

Though the rain tries to diminish the bright city lights it only makes everything look glassy. It clings to Nadya’s glasses and runs down in trails — she has to squint to see but can make her way up well enough.

The sight of Kamilah laying spread-eagled on the dark surface of the pool reminds her of that camp; the rules of the water driven home in her skull.

“Kamilah!”

The woman’s hair spreads in inky tendrils just under the surface of the water. Nadya stands soaked to the bone and shivering yet Kamilah’s eternal beauty is as still as it is naked.

Nadya’s voice cracks when she calls out again. “Kamilah!”

Through the rain she thinks she might catch the vampire’s eyes opening but doesn’t have a chance to call out again. Suddenly there’s a hand around her throat and she’s pinned to the stone wall near the stairs.

The corner of the brick is sharp and digs into her back and the press of Kamilah’s grasp against her neck is a hundred lifetimes of pressure keeping her from breathing. She forces her eyes up; wants to take into her memory the sight of Kamilah’s bare body but what use will it have if she’s not alive to remember it?

Kamilah’s eyes are dark and hazy. She looks both at Nadya and through her. No fangs in sight. Her hair clings soaked to her shoulders.

When she tries to say Kamilah’s name again nothing comes out. She doesn’t choke — just simply can’t find the word. What is a name compared to the creature of beauty in front of her? Instead her words surprise even her.

“I’m here. It’s okay.”

Like a golem brought to life without a purpose Kamilah stares vacant. Her hand falls back to her side; allows Nadya to take a large gulp of air and taste the salt of the rain on her tongue.

“I’m here,” she repeats; doesn’t know where or how or if to touch Kamilah in her fragile state but if she’s right, if Kamilah’s having her own response to being thrust into the void with nothing to cling to, then she’ll risk her life a hundred times over to stop her from falling.

Nadya delicately cups Kamilah’s cheeks. The rain looks like teardrops falling down her curved expression. Nadya knows better. “I’m here,” again, “I’m here… I’m here for you I swear. I’m not going anywhere ever again a-and I’m… I’m here Kamilah so—so please just… just know I’ve got you. I’ve got you — I’ve got you.”

The first time she kisses Kamilah it’s not like any of her dreams at all. Taking into account some of her more recent nightmares though… well it’s bittersweet.

It’s like kissing a statue — cradling the Venus de Milo in her hands and hoping she might have the magical affinity to turn the marble into flesh. She doesn’t stop — hopes she’s doing the right thing somewhere in the back of her mind.

Hopes—prays—that she’s right. That the rain is only acting as a curtain. That Kamilah might feel the sa—

The stone melts away and soft lips begin to kiss back. First with gentle touches. Trying to understand what’s happening, who they are — discovering something for the first time in thousands of years.

Like a waltz Kamilah steps back and Nadya moves with her — desperate to seek out her mouth, her taste. And to get away from the brick digging into her back.

Her hands rest chastely on the vampire’s bare hips. Electricity sparking in every touch and threatening to gather its own thundercloud over their heads.

This time when their eyes meet she knows Kamilah is looking at her. Not just that — but deep into her soul with that slight tick in her perfect brow and those plush lips turned down. Confusion, retaliation, denial beginning to bubble up to the surface.

Nadya doesn’t think she’d be able to survive Kamilah retreating. Her heart couldn’t take it.

“I’m here.” She whispers; a final plea. I’m here. See me. Have me. I’m yours.

Kamilah’s reply is almost lost in the howling wind.

“If you truly knew what you’re asking for…”

“Stop —” she pushes a rain-slicked palm across Kamilah’s head to move her hair out of her eyes, “— don’t. I’m here, that’s all. I’m here.”

There’s rueful regret in the way Kamilah’s expression softens — in the way her eyes roam over Nadya’s desperate face to try and latch onto one single speck of hesitation or regret and use it as a way to push them apart.

She doesn’t find any. So she leans forward and meets their lips. Marble on flesh, eternity on youth. Nadya doesn’t spare a thought to yielding.

The path back to the penthouse is a struggle not only because Nadya is clumsy even when she’s paying attention but also because sometimes movement requires pulling away — and neither of them can be fussed with a concept so awful — so impossible. Now that they’ve discovered what it feels like to kiss one another they have the same singular thought that means they have to catch up on every time they could have—should have, would have—done this before.

At this rate it might be more than Nadya’s oxygen-starved brain can handle. She’s okay with that.

Then her clothes go from sopping wet and a mild nuisance to utterly please-get-off-me and Kamilah, somehow developing a psychic tendency between the pool and the doorway, agrees. Tears her shirt quite literally off except for one lone short sleeve.

Well as long as it isn’t in the way.

The same strong grip finds her jeans and Nadya finds enough of herself to reach down and cover those hands with her own. “C-Carefu—hh,” she tries; can’t exactly manage to speak with the way Kamilah intends to suck her soul out through her mouth. But the point is made; because when her zipper catches on soaked-through denim Kamilah rips it hard enough for the clink of metal to sound off in the distance.

Nadya fumbles for purchase on anything when Kamilah’s cold hands dig into her bottoms. Find the scalding heat between her folds and drag the soft tips of her nails along Nadya’s clit. It’s too much unreleased tension at once for Nadya to even think about trying to keep her voice down but there Kamilah is ready to drink up every decibel like the best wine in the world.

The door jamb digs into her back; makes Nadya arch her spine as much as she can with a whine of complaint — until there’s no doorway under her hand, rather a pillow instead, and the soft press of a mattress bends with her and takes Nadya from Cloud Nine to Heaven itself.

Three miracles happen at once.

The first is a crack of lightning against the window-wall of Nadya’s room. Gerard’s kept the curtains pulled back — knows she likes seeing the city at night to help her fall asleep. The brightness blinds her now but who needs sight when she can feel—touch—taste all that’s atop her.

The second is the tentative exploration and press of Kamilah’s fingers inside her. Cold as ice yet slick with her arousal Nadya keens loud, unabashed. Suddenly wishes she hadn’t said a thing about the jeans because they’re too tight—too cold—they need to be gone.

And the third scares her; Kamilah pulling away and the rush of air in her lungs making her dizzy but the vampiress holds herself just out of reach of a ravishing. She looks down at her prone, human form and suddenly Nadya wants to cover up — hide in the darkness and away from the omniscient quality of Kamilah’s eyes. She can see herself reflected back in them and she looks…

With a cocked head Kamilah crooks one finger inside her and Nadya stops caring what she looks like. Settles instead on how incomparable this right here is to any ridiculous notion her imagination may have had before because the real thing is leagues better. Leagues.

With desperate, high-pitched noises Nadya tries to shimmy her hips on the bedspread. Either to strip or encourage Kamilah to keep with the ripping of the clothes.

She doesn’t. Just bends her other finger and draws a lazy circle with the pad of her thumb that Nadya weeps for.

Time might keep going around them but it certainly doesn’t mean a whole lot. The world outside the confines of the bed, through the door and out of the building where Adrian isn’t safe and her friends mourn their losses and plotters of evil lurk in the shadows — it surrounds them and it’s still important but it just doesn't seem to matter.

Not when the dexterous goddess above her maneuvers a third finger in the continued pursuit of exploring all the ways to drive Nadya absolutely wild.

Kamilah’s nail scrapes along her clit again — sends shocks of pleasure-bordered-pain that she would howl into the air above them if familiar lips weren’t suddenly suffocating her.

Oh my god oh my god ohmygod — Is she saying it out loud? Does it really matter? Because Kamilah isn’t stopping and Nadya doesn’t want her to stop — not ever. Wants the rest of her life to be frozen in this exact moment in time until Death comes a-knocking.

She’s digging her fingertips into Kamilah’s back; writhing underneath her with wordless sounds and the imprint of lightning behind her closed eyelids. Everything hurts only because it’s too much and that’s the best way to be.

Slowly Kamilah peels her lips away — replaces it with a steady but soft grip on Nadya’s jaw. Her forefinger strokes along the damp curve of her human cheek.

Nadya tries not to think about the vulnerability of the moment. Of how Kamilah can see her clear as day yet she has to squint in the black to try and make out the woman’s expression — to know if she’s doing something right.

Don’t grow tired after this… Don’t become bored of me.

The hand tilts Nadya’s jaw. Urges her to the side to expose the pounding veins in her neck.

There’s a small bit of rational Nadya left in her brain and she sets off the bells and whistles while screaming with a bullhorn. Stop! Danger! Alert! Vampire!! VAMPIRE!!! She doesn’t know whether it wants her to stop or to get Kamilah to stop but it nearly wins — nearly convinces her to take a metaphorical step back and turn back to better things like kissing. Kissing was excellent.

Instead, and in contrast to everything safe, she holds her breath — closes her eyes. Lets Kamilah take the lead (like she hasn’t been already?) because not only does she deserve to be eaten if this is what everything has been leading to but she trusts the woman above her.

She trusts her with her blood. With her life.

Despite the pool of molten pleasure she’s drowning in Nadya can’t help but tense when Kamilah descends on her neck. Readies herself the only way she knows how — thinks of all the times she’s had shots or stitches in her life and tries to put them all together at once and imagines that is what being bitten by a vampire feels like.

Being bitten by a vampire feels extremely soft, actually. Then she realizes she’s not being bitten at all but instead just kissed somewhere new.

Her pulse thunders under Kamilah’s lips; trying to stop it only makes her heart race faster, her blood pump harder. Then there’s a hot breath and warm scrape that makes her cringe but Kamilah’s teeth stay blunt on her skin. The warmth of her tongue drags along goosebumps and makes Nadya briefly consider passing out to stop herself from having the opportunity to do something embarrassing.

Below her belt Kamilah’s fingers begin to move faster. Slick and sticky; warmed to the inside of Nadya’s body and eager for something very nearly in sight. She trails kisses mouthed along the human’s sweaty neck. There’s something building up inside her — but doesn’t that something mean there might be an end?

God, please never let this end. Please.

Faster and faster — there’s no way a human would be able to match that speed and if she could form words she’d accuse Kamilah of cheating. Lucky for her Nadya can’t form words. Legs trembling in oscillating waves; so violent she’s fearful of actually kicking the woman then in such small movements her muscles strain with the effort.

Kamilah’s lips stop at their goal. Playfully nip the lobe of Nadya’s ear before she noses the shell with a cat-like purr.

Desperately Nadya tries to turn her head, feels that something with one foot off of the cliff; wants to see the look in Kamilah’s eyes — or vice versa.

She’s one strangled breath away from begging for the woman’s attention when there’s a sigh in her ear. Kamilah’s voice is dark and somehow forbidden. It rasps heavy on her heart and brings up a literal geyser of emotions — all wordless in nature — that lock her limbs and god they hurt but she never wants them to go away.

“I’m here,” whispers Kamilah, “I’ve got you.”

Yes, Nadya has cried more in the last few days then she has in her entire life and yes she’s pretty tired of it. But when she literally sobs her release with shuddering hips and thighs clenching around Kamilah’s hand she doesn’t mind one bit.

Doesn’t mind the light, torturous way the woman peppers kisses down her neck to her heart hammering between her sweat-slicked breasts and kisses there, too. Right on the flat of her sternum. Piercing it like a knife to the heart.

Kamilah rides her through her orgasm like she’s taming a beast — shushes Nadya’s fumbled failed attempts at words and caresses her soaked hair with a free hand. Playfully (maybe, because there has to be some torture technique achingly similar and if anyone would know it, Kamilah would) flicks Nadya’s clit with lazy strokes of her thumb until it’s no longer an aftershock but the pain of going too hard for too long and being too exhausted to get the good things going.

When Kamilah speaks again the calm demand of her tone is gone; replaced by something that maybe—possibly—once upon a time could have been called affection.

Even now—especially now—she’s just not sure.

“I’ve got you, Nadya.”

Like a trigger pulled exhaustion falls down on her chest in a weight. Makes it hard to breathe, think, do anything other than curl into herself as tightly as she can and press against Kamilah’s solid presence.

Something that sounds vaguely like “stay” rolls off her tongue tasting of heavy cotton. Kamilah shushes her and mindlessly Nadya obeys.

“I’m here…”

The dark that claims her is warm; inviting.

Kamilah kisses her forehead.

“I’ve got you.”

[lovemesomerafael]

Best That You Can Do                Chapter 3:  Disclosures

Chapter 1  Chapter 2   Read it on AO3

Carisi is smiling indulgently.  He thinks Dodds’s women problems are adorable.  Of course, Carisi’s a newlywed, and he thinks the whole world is a lovely garden of joy tinged pink with happiness.  Which is weird, Mike thinks, since he married the crankiest, snarkiest man Mike’s ever known.  No accounting for tastes.  Still, it’s a good thing, because Barba’s apparently happy, too; he’s been about a tenth of a percent nicer since they got engaged.

“You don’t understand, man. If you saw her, you’d be volunteering to shoot Susan to get her out of the way.  I’m tellin’ you, Kaitlyn’s that great.”

“Then get after it,” Carisi tells him.  “She can’t hate you that much, after last night.”

“She does, though. That was…  scotch, and hormones.  And she threw my ass out the second it was over.”

“I like her style,” Rollins comments, smiling.

Mike slumps back in his chair.  “You assholes are not helping.  I need advice here.”

“I need work here,” Olivia Benson interrupts from the door of her office.  “And can I remind you what it is this unit does? This wouldn’t be an appropriate workplace conversation anywhere, but it’s especially inappropriate here. Focus.”

“Sorry, Lieutenant,” Mike mumbles, and they all move to go back to work.

“You ever think of writing her a letter?  Sending her an email?  She may even delete it, but she’ll eventually go get it out of sheer curiosity.  Nobody can resist something like that.”

“Rafa!”  Olivia scolds, giving him an exasperated look.

Barba just shrugs a little and smirks.  “I don’t work for you.  Anyway, that’s it for my advice.  I’m out.” He leans over and kisses Sonny quickly and chastely before he strides out of the squad room.  “Love you,” he whispers.

It may be quick, but nobody misses the look that passes between them.  The squad is still trying to get used to the idea of Rafael Barba in love.  Carisi, sure. That’s easy.  But Barba, that one’s a little… out there.

Mike turns Barba’s idea over in his head.  It’s not bad, actually.  He gives a mental shake of his head at the strangeness of getting romantic advice from Barba, but then Mike saw him at their wedding, and Carisi’s said some things. Barba’s actually a tender-hearted, sappy romantic.  Not a side of him Mike (or anyone but Sonny) will ever get to see, but it’s there.  

Mike looks like he’s working, but what he actually does for the rest of the afternoon is compose an email to Kaitlyn.  He desperately wants her to know what happened, and that he’s not what she thinks. At least, he’s not quite what she thinks.  

Carisi flat out refuses to edit Mike’s email before he sends it, saying that it had to be his own, unvarnished words.  Rollins has no such scruples, and shreds the first version.  Finally, when he sends it, Mike thinks the message pretty much lays the facts out without throwing anyone but himself under the bus.  He’s never had such trouble getting himself to hit “send” as he does with this email.  But he does it.

Dear Kaitlyn,

I hope you’ll read this. You deserve to know that I did not disrespect you the way you think I did.  You were right.  It was my fault Susan kind of thought she was still my girlfriend.  But she wasn’t.  I broke up with her before I met you.  I just didn’t act as much like it as I should have.  That was wrong, and I’m sorry.  I’ve apologized to her, too.

We met and we dated (casually!) for a couple months.  Except that, toward the end, she started getting possessive.  At that point, I told her it wasn’t gonna work, and I broke it off. But she kept in communication about as much as we had when we were dating.  I didn’t shut her down, because as far as I was concerned, we were through. But we could be friends.  I didn’t see any point in being rude.  

And yeah, we went out a couple of times together after that, but for me it was just as friends. I did NOT sleep with her after we broke up.  But I admit that sent mixed signals at best.  

That’s it.  It’s just that Susan’s from an old money family with a “summer cottage” in the Hamptons you could fit my station house into, and she’s used to getting what she wants.  So when I told her honestly why I didn’t answer my phone that morning, she lost it and showed up at your office.  

I talked to her about that, and told her not to contact either one of us again.  She’s spoiled and pushy, but she’s normal.  She won’t bother us anymore.  

I’M SORRY.  I really want to see you again.  I think you know how much.  Please give me a chance.

Mike

 Mike’s disappointed Kaitlyn doesn’t write back.  It’s been a week.  So much for Barba’s “irresistible curiosity” theory.  Anyway, Mike’s been working pretty much round the clock, so he hasn’t had time to think about Kaitlyn as much as he otherwise would.  He’s forcibly reminded of her, however, when his dad walks into the squad room.  

“Hey, stranger,” he greets Mike, slapping him on the shoulder in greeting.  Mike’s just tired and discouraged enough that his dad’s approving smile feels nice.

“Hi, Dad.  Sorry, we’ve been crazy around here.”

“No, I know.  I’m not busting your chops, I just missed you. We still on for Alonso’s tonight?”

“Yeah.  Been lookin’ forward to it.”

“Excellent!  Say, what would you think about inviting Kaitlyn to join us?”

Mike thinks fast. “What?  No!  Angelo’s, that’s our thing.  You and me.”

“No girls allowed, is that it?”  Chief Dodds’s amused smile makes Mike feel inexplicably guilty.

“I like it being just the two of us.”

“Fine, fine.  I’ll see you at seven.”

“See you then.”

The Chief moves into Lieutenant Benson’s office to do whatever he’s here for.

 The dark, heavy, masculine atmosphere of Angelo’s feels soothing on Mike’s frayed nerves.  They’re going to have to work through the weekend, so Liv’s given the squad the next day off, and Mike plans to take the opportunity to enjoy some of Angelo’s nice whiskey selection.  He orders a round for himself and his dad while he waits. Chief Dodds comes in not much later, immaculate as always, while Mike feels like a street urchin out of a Dickens novel.  He really is tired.  

The drinks arrive about the same time Mike’s dad does, and they know the menu by heart, so they order and then sit back, sipping a nice single-malt Mike splurged on.  

“This is nice,” William comments.  Then he squints a little at Mike.  “You look beat, Son.  You should get some rest.”

“I will.  I’m off tomorrow, so I’m gonna have several of these,” he indicates his glass, “and sleep until Saturday.”

They discuss the cases SVU’s working for a little while, and the undercover work Fin is doing right now. When dinner comes, William orders red wine, but Mike asks for another whiskey – a little less upscale one this time. As always, their steaks are superb, and they enjoy their meal with very little commentary for a while. Inevitably, as they get full, they slow down and conversation starts back up.

“So, Mike, I’ve been meaning to ask you about Kaitlyn.”

“What about her?  You see her every day.”

“Yes, but I can’t very well ask her.  How did things go after I left last week?  Have you two gone out since then?”

Mike chews thoughtfully, because he’s made a decision he didn’t even know he was considering.  He comes clean.

“Dad, listen.  I think you can forget about me and Kaitlyn dating. We’re probably not even going to be friends.  She really doesn’t like me.”

“What are you talking about? She does, too, she told me so.”

“Well, of course she did, Dad, you’re her boss.  What’s she supposed to say, ‘He’s a weasel’?”  

“Why would she say that?”

“Because I sort of am. I fucked up, Dad.”

“What happened?”  The disapproving sigh Mike’s spent a lifetime avoiding hits him hard in his current depleted state.  

“I… We… did spend some time together.  And you were absolutely right about her.  She’s terrific.  But then, when we were together, Susan called, and Kaitlyn thought I had a girlfriend.”

“Well, just tell her she was mistaken!  Seems simple enough.”

“Really.”  Mike fixes his father with a flat stare.  “Dealing with a jealous woman seems simple to you?”

William raises the last of the wine in his glass.  “Touché.”

“Yeah.  She said I must’ve done something to make Susan think she was still my girlfriend, and the thing is, she’s right.  I broke up with Susan, but she just kept calling and texting and I just kept responding.  We even went out a couple times.  Just as friends-” he adds quickly, seeing the look on William’s face.  “No touching, no nothing.  But, I mean, that doesn’t seem very broken up, now, does it?”

“What a load of hogwash! Susan doesn’t get to unilaterally decide you’re her boyfriend, no matter how much money her old man’s got.”

“But I acted like we were still a thing, sort of, and I’m not going to blame her for being confused.”

“Oh, for cryin’ out loud, Mike.  I think you’re being a little overgenerous here.  Does Kaitlyn know all the facts?”

“No.  She said she doesn’t want to hear it, and believe me, I tried to explain.  I even sent her a long email – Barba’s idea – telling her what happened.  Nothing.”

“Well, first of all, you know you’re in trouble when you’re taking dating advice from Rafael Barba.”

“Yeah?  He’s happily married.  You and me, we’re sleepin’ alone tonight.”

William ignores that. “And second, I know Kaitlyn.  She understands shades of gray.”

“Not this, she doesn’t. So, like I said.  Cross her and me off the list.”

The waiter returns to take their plates, and they order another glass of the expensive whiskey they began with.  William’s thoughtful, which Mike doesn’t like.

“Dad, please let this go. I really like Kaitlyn.  I’d prefer she not think I’m a pathetic loser in addition to a cheating bastard.  Just let me cut my losses here.”

“All right, Son,” William Dodds lies.

 Eleanor’s pleasantly surprised to see Mike Dodds come through the door.  She hadn’t been expecting him, but his father is in his office and not in a meeting, so his timing is good.  

“Well, hello, Mike. He’s here, but let me just see if it’s OK to send you back.”

“He’s expecting me.  He said he needs to talk about something.”

Eleanor smiles as she says into her phone, “Mike is here.  Can I send him back?”

A confused look flickers across her face.  “Oh, all right.  I’ll let her know.”

Eleanor hangs up and, with a smile that’s a little off-center, says, “He needs to make an important call, but he says Kaitlyn can help you with what he needs.”  She glances down at a panel next to her phone.  I can see she’s not on the phone, why don’t you just go on in?”

Mike could give Eleanor a few answers to that question, but he’s a bit off-balance now.  “What’s he want, did he say?”

“He says Kaitlyn knows. It’s about a staffing issue.”

Mike refrains from rolling his eyes as he turns toward the short hallway where Kaitlyn’s office is. When he gets to the door, he sees that she’s wearing reading glasses that make her look like every naughty secretary fantasy he’s ever had, and her hair’s up in a haphazard bun held in place by a ball-point pen.  Her forehead is scrunched and her eyebrows close together as she scowls at whatever is on her computer screen.  She looks so good, he just stands there for a few seconds, watching her, before he knocks a few times on the doorframe.

She looks up, taking her glasses off at the same time.  Mike’s a little disappointed.  

“Apparently, my dad wants me to see you about some staffing issue?  I was supposed to meet with him, but he’s tied up and said you knew what it was. Eleanor told me to just come back.”

Kaitlyn misses a couple of beats before she says, “Come on in.  Close the door, please.  It’s not confidential or anything, we just have a rule because noise carries in this hallway.”

“Yeah.  Sure.”

“Have a seat.”  

Mike is happy to see her put her glasses back on, and watches her click around on her computer for a minute.  

“All right.  Here it is.  Come around and take a look at this.”

Mike goes around Kaitlyn’s desk and stands next to her while she shows him some graphs and explains the problem.  It’s minor, and it could easily have been handled on the phone.  In fact, it’s a problem they’ve had before, and it was handled on the phone.  Which tells Mike instantly that his father’s at it again.  Gotta hand it to him, Mike thinks.  If nothing else, he’s one hell of a wingman.  

Mike decides to go for it. He’s got nothing to lose, after all, and those glasses are killing him.  He leans down and puts a hand on Kaitlyn’s desk, pretending to be taking a close look at the graphs.  Holy shit, her hair smells fantastic.  He sees her stiffen up.  Good. He wants to get to her.

He’s shameless about brushing his cheek against her hair, and positioning his lips so that, when he talks, his breath tickles her ear.  He knows it’s working, too, because pretty soon he sees tiny glints of sweat at her hairline, and he’s so close he could swear she’s trembling ever so slightly. He tells her what he’s going to do about the problem, and she enters the numbers, which correct the graph.  She sits back slightly – problem solved – but he doesn’t move, and she makes no move to get further away from him.  

Instead, she takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.  Given how out of sync they are right now, it’s shocking to him how well he understands what she’s feeling.  He goes down to one knee, which puts his face pretty much on a level with hers, and turns her chair.  He’s glad to see she’s not wearing a pencil skirt today, because he pulls her forward and situates himself between her knees.  And she doesn’t protest.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” Mike says, pulling the pen out of her hair so it falls over her shoulders.  He slides both hands across her cheeks, burying his fingers in her hair and pulling her lips to his.  He keeps waiting for her to object, but she is very definitely kissing him back.  In fact, she’s the one who invades his mouth with her tongue, and slides her hips forward on the chair to get closer to him.

“You’re a scumbag,” she gasps against his lips as he pulls her blouse free of the waistband of her slacks. “Lock the door.”

Mike wants to give a lascivious laugh at that, but he doesn’t dare.  He just does as he’s told and, when he comes back to her desk, she’s standing next to it, breathing deeply and looking flushed.  His arms go immediately back around her and he’s kissing her again.

Her slacks have some kind of hook that is too complicated for Mike, who’s entirely too horny to try to figure it out and would tear them off if they weren’t in her office in the middle of a workday.  As soon as he makes a frustrated sound, she takes over and gets them unhooked and unzipped without hesitation.  Instead of reaching inside, though, Mike changes tactics and slides his hands up her back to unhook her bra.  He can feel her smothering moans as he fills his hands with her breasts, teasing her nipples with his thumbs and rubbing his erection against her, pinning her to the edge of her desk.  

“Fuck, Mike,” she whispers hotly.

“I’m crazy about you,” he murmurs against her neck, where he’s trying to kiss her without leaving telltale marks.  “Tell me you read my email.”

He keeps playing with her breasts as he slides a palm down her abdomen and under the waistband of her lacy panties.  She gives an involuntary gasp as he slides one long finger inside her.  

“Tell me.”

“I… didn’t.  ‘Course I didn’t.  I hate you.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” he chuckles against the sensitive place just under her left ear and slides another finger inside her.  She can say what she wants, but her panties are soaked.  She’s moving against his fingers now, wantonly rubbing her clit against his hand.  She bites into his shoulder to keep quiet while she unhooks his belt and unbuttons his pants.

“You don’t hate me,” Mike whispers.  “You like me. And I like you.”  They’re struggling against one another now, as she tries to get his pants off but he’s blocking her access with his forearm, because his hand is still inside her slacks.  Now he’s scissoring his fingers, and she suddenly gives up.  She takes her arms from where they’d been tightly wrapped around him, roughly pulls her own pants down, then puts her hands on the desk and pushes herself up so she’s sitting on the edge.  From there, it’s easy for her to use her legs and feet to push his pants down.  She pushes his hand away with no resistance from him and he takes the step toward her and touches his cock to her, but doesn’t push in.

She whines and tries to pull him into her.

“Say it,” he growls.  “Tell me you don’t hate me.  Tell me you want me to fuck you.”

“Fine.  You bastard…  I don’t hate you, OK?  Now fuck me. I need your cock inside me…  I need… Mike…”

That’s plenty good enough for him, and he buries his cock in her.  He’s holding her upper body up with just the upper part of her ass in contact with her desk, her legs wrapped around him as he plunges into her again and again.  They’re both trying their damnedest to be quiet, but Mike’s half out of his mind with how good Kaitlyn feels, surrounding his dick with her wet, tight heat.

She starts to come much too soon, and the way she says his name tips him over the edge with her.  Mike’s a little relieved, in a way, because there’s been a very high likelihood of them getting caught.  The door might be locked, but they’d have to explain that, and if Kaitlyn’s any indication, one look at them is all it’ll take to see they’ve been fucking.  Besides, he’s not sure they’re not already busted, because they weren’t entirely able to muffle their cries just now.  

They dress in silence, helping each other straighten and smooth their clothes so there’s at least a chance they’re not entirely obvious.  

“There,” Kaitlyn says, running her hands down Mike’s torso.  

He takes her hands in his and steps closer to her, looking down into her face.  “Kaitlyn, talk to me.”

She looks like she’s wrestling with herself.  He desperately hopes she is.  “Please,” he adds.

She turns away from him and goes to stand by the window behind her desk.  

“Read my email.  At least do that,” Mike says when a whole minute’s gone by and she hasn’t responded.

Still, she says nothing. He goes to her, not touching her, but standing so close he can feel her body heat.  “Isn’t there anything I can do to get you to give me a chance?  Because I’m trying here.  And you gotta know this whole meeting, this was my dad.  Had to be.  So he’s trying, too.”

Her voice is very small as she sighs, “I’m sure you’re right.”

Having gotten a few syllables out of her, he doesn’t want to do anything to jeopardize the fragile possibilities in this moment.  He doesn’t move to touch her.  He doesn’t even breathe.  It works. She turns toward him, and he’s surprised to see tears in her eyes.

“Kaity…”  He doesn’t know where the affectionate nickname comes from, but he’s never been able to stand women’s tears.  He stands there, waiting for some sign as to what he’s supposed to do.  He’ll hold her while she cries if that’s what she wants, but he’s not sure it is.  She’s just looking at him, with a sad expression on her face.

“I can’t, Mike.  I won’t.  It’s that simple.  I’m sorry. I really do like you, but… no.”

“Tell me why.”

“Does it matter?”

“Fuck, yeah, it matters! You and me, we…”

“Yes?  We what?”

“We could have something!”

“Yeah.  We could.  And then you could fuck some other woman and blow my life apart.  Thanks, but no thanks.”

“That’s completely unfair! That is not who I am.”

“Susan would beg to differ.”

“Kaitlyn, would you please read my email or let me explain?  It’s not like that!  She was not my girlfriend, and she knew that, she just-“

“Trusted you.  Believed what you let her believe.  Which is why she called you, worried about you because you weren’t answering your phone-“

“You did read my email.”

“Fine.  I read it.  It says you cheated on a woman who trusted you.  End of story.”

“So what about you and me? What about this?”  He indicates the place on the desk where her bare ass was very recently parked.  

“Yeah,” she says softly. “I guess there’s not much I can say about that.  I’m attracted to you.  Very attracted, apparently, since that’s twice now I’ve…”  She looks over at him with a completely different expression for a moment.  “And what happened to consent and condoms, by the way?”  Then, as though that had been some kind of commercial break, her face returns to the sad expression and her voice drops again.  “Anyway.  We’re adults and we had sex.  And it was great.  I don’t hate you.  I’m just not going to date you.”

Mike doesn’t know what to say to that.  Until he does.  He tries to inject as much compassion into his voice as he can.  “What happened?  Who was it?”

“What difference does it make?”

“I don’t know.  But I’m not much good a quitting.  So…”

Kaitlyn folds her arms over her chest and leans against the windowsill.  Mike hates the acid that suddenly drips from her words.  “My father.  Not that it makes one bit of difference.  The man is a fucking gold medalist in chasing women.  The entire NYPD knows, because he’s completely open about it.  It’s disgusting.  I haven’t spoken to him since the day I turned eighteen and could get out of the house.  He’s destroyed my mother, but she will not leave him.  It’s like she’s addicted to him.  I’ve been watching this fucking freak show my whole life, and if you think I’m going to live it, think again.”

Mike ping-pongs between anger and sympathy.  Anger because she’s comparing him to such a rotten motherfucker, and sympathy because he suddenly completely understands her reaction to his call from Susan.  Unfortunately, he feels anger win.  

Mike speaks slowly, through gritted teeth.  “I am not him.”

“And I’m not her,” Kaitlyn spits back.  “So now you know.  We’re done here.”

Mike steps over to her and stands as close as possible to her without touching her.  He looks deeply into her eyes.  “We are not done.  I’m leaving right now, but I’m not giving up.  Not the way I feel about you.  I told you, I suck at quitting.”  

He unlocks the door and leaves it open behind him.  

 Mike’s learning about scotch.  He likes it in general, and he’s learning about different blends and tastes.  Which is what they mostly talk about when he’s sitting in Sonny and Rafael’s living room that night.  He and Carisi have been close pretty much since he’d come to SVU, back before Sonny and Rafael had disclosed their relationship.  Out of friendship for Carisi, he’d learned to like Barba, and vice versa.  

But he didn’t come to talk about scotch.  He came to talk to Carisi, who’s been his best friend for a while now, about the mess he finds himself in with Kaitlyn.  And if Carisi’s husband can help, too, so much the better.  

Because the thing is, Mike’s pissed.  He did a little research, and Kaitlyn’s father is a lowlife who’s been on foot patrol his whole career because he’s not just a womanizer, he’s an all-around waste of DNA.  Mike wonders how a guy like that raised a woman like Kaitlyn.  Carisi thinks Kaitlyn just watched what he did and did the complete opposite, which seems as reasonable as any other explanation.  Mike’s trying not to be as insulted as he is that Kaitlyn can think he’s in any way like her father, but he’s struggling.

Barba used to know Kaitlyn’s mom, it turns out, when he was just starting out in the Brooklyn DA’s office and she was a beat cop like her husband.  He tries to be kind with his description, but it’s clear she was never going to set the world on fire.  She retired from the force when she got pregnant the first time, and stayed pregnant pretty much constantly for years, which is why Kaitlyn’s one of seven kids. As far as Mike can tell, Kaitlyn’s brothers, who work for NYPD, are OK guys.  He doesn’t know anything about her sisters.

“You realize you got it bad for this girl, right?”  Carisi asks gently, but with a bit of a grin.

“Believe me, I know,” Mike groans.  “I wish I didn’t.”  

“Ready for some Glenmorangie?”  Barba holds up a bottle.

Mike nods, and Rafael explains a little about the differences between that and the Glenlivet they just had.  Mike knows most of it, but he thinks it’s cute to watch Carisi pay rapt attention like Barba’s reciting fucking poetry.  He’d like to be in love like that.  Instead, he has to have a thing for a woman who’s wrapped in barbed wire and thinks he’s a creep.

They don’t come up with any brilliant insights that night, but at least Mike feels better.  Could be all the scotch, but whatever.

 Just after that night, Mike again gets wrapped up in work, pretty much to the exclusion of all else. There’s a corrections officer who’s apparently raping inmates.  It’s a messy, extremely politically explosive situation, and it takes over the squad for quite a while.  He’s glad for the distraction, really, because he keeps trying to get Kaitlyn to talk to him, and she keeps refusing.  He’s explained the situation to his father, who’s offered to help, but Mike is adamantly opposed to that.  Besides which, it’s a weird situation employment-wise, with Mike’s dad being Kaitlyn’s boss, and they both agree it’s best for the Chief to stay out of it.  

And then Mike’s taken hostage by the corrections officer, Gary Munson.  The news that Mike’s been shot rips through the NYPD like lightning. And the news of Mike’s death hits the department like a nuclear bomb.

P.S.  TRUST ME.  HOW CAN THERE BE MORE CHAPTERS IF MIKE’S DEAD?

[aria-i-adagio]

Sorry, but I Don’t Recall the Crime

Fandom: The Arcana

Chapter Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 4500

Previous Chapter   Masterpost

Portia lets us sleep in the next morning.  The sun is high enough in the sky that the light is indirect when I open my eyes, roused by a loud knock at the door and a shouted warning that it’s her, and we have two minutes to get decent or she’s coming in anyway.  I’m still laying on top of Julian.  He blinks his eyes in confusion and sits up as I roll off him, grabbing for the robe that I abandoned on the back of the sofa.

“Morning.”  He yawns, and I pick his pants up off the floor and toss them to him.  There’s another knock at the door and he seems to wake up a little more, swinging his long legs over the edge of the bed and pulls them on.  I knot the sash around my waist and stumble to the door, opening for Portia, who’s carrying a tray with pastries and an extra large pot of coffee.

“Wakey, wakey,” she chirps, just as chipper as ever.  “It’s nearly noon.”

Ilya groans and holds his head in his hands.  Portia grins as she pours a cup of thick black coffee for him and offers it to him.  “I still remember how you like it.”  He takes the cup and lifts his head, blinking sleepily at her.  Portia freezes for a moment, then steps back.  “Ilya, your eye!”

“Oh shit!”  He starts, nearly spilling the coffee across his bare chest.  “No, no, no, Pasha it’s okay, I swear.”

I put a hand on Portia’s shoulder.  She’s trembling.  “Really.  It is.”

“What happened to you?”

“Well, um.”  He grins up at her and takes a drink of coffee.  “I don’t exactly know.  But I’m still kicking, so...”

Portia sighs and reaches out to touch his hair, pushing the long bangs back from his face.  “What did you get yourself into, brother mine?”

“The usual.  Trouble.”

“And now we’ve got to get you out of it.”  She turns back to the tray on the table and grabs herself a pastry.  "Eat up.  No sense in trying to problem solve on an empty stomach."

Julian bolts the coffee, stretches his back, and finds his shirt in the floor before meandering around to the sofa to join me.  Portia has pulled up a chair opposite the table and is working on a mug of tea.  I'm settled in with coffee and another one of the heavenly almond pastries, waiting for the caffeine to kick in.  

"What's the connection you think?”  Portia muses.

"What do you mean?”  Julian is starting his second cup of coffee, and I suspect it'll take three before he's good for much.

"Between you and Lucio?  Being in his room, with that ghost triggered one of your headaches - I guess, I'll call it a memory headache.”

“Then the same thing happened when I mentioned about the Lazaret,” Julian adds.  It’s more a mumble than a real statement, entirely different from his usual conversation style.

“Okay, so, I don't know, seems like there could be a connection there.  For that matter, Ilya, if you're getting the same kind of headaches, then you're involved as well.  And the way that ghost talked to the both of you - puppy, dove?  What the hell was that?”  Once Portia gets going, she’s easily as wordy as her brother.

"I, uh -”  Julian sits up and rubs at the back of his neck then pushes his hand through his hair flipping more of it over his eyes.  "I, uh, knew Lucio for a long time.  Back when he was mercenary and lost his arm.  As for Dema, well, he'd always hit on anyone who caught his eye.  Or maybe she and I -”

"Yeah, yeah, you two were together - you both forget - blah.  You're such a dumbass sometimes, Ilyushka.  I mean, how the hell do you forget-”

"Lucio is a creepy fuck of a ghost."  I interrupt Portia's commentary before Julian can turn any redder.  I rub my upper arms trying to push away any memory of the ghostly claws.  I suppose I should be glad that so far the Count had limited himself to touching me over my clothes.  Fuck that.

"And don't forget that Milady is also missing memories, just a lot more of them than anyone else."

"Except Dema."  Julian sets his cup down and crosses his arms behind his head, leaning to stretch out his back again.

"The most salient point is that no one remembers exactly how Lucio died.”  I try to get the conversation back on topic and away from sibling squabbles.  “The people who do remember that night, didn't see.  Valerius only arrested you because you were there."

"You're adorable when you use words like salient.  You know that."

"Oh, brother,"  Portia groans.  "The other courtiers are pretty fishy if you ask me."

"I can't see any of them acting alone, except maybe -"

"- Valdemar."  Julian uncrosses his hands from behind his head and leans forward on the table with a groan.  "They have absolutely no scruples about killing.  But spontaneous combustion is really too tidy for their style."

"How can spontaneous combustion be too tidy?”

"Valdemar likes to have an intact body.  For, um, reasons.  Burning doesn't leave much to work with."

Portia shudders and looks slightly disgusted.  She shakes her to dismiss the thought.  "What if they acted together?  They could be covering for each other by pushing Milady to believe Julian did it."

"Valerius suggested that as much as he suggested anything."

"Ugh.  You didn't get anything really useful from him, did you?”

"Just more questions."  I suspect that some of what Valerius is keeping to himself would be helpful, but I don't think he has a much better grasp of Lucio's death than we do.  "Do you think Lucio knows who killed him?  His ghost certainly didn't think it was you."

"What ghosts do and don't know is outside my area of expertise.  And I don't want to - I mean I don't want you to go back there.  Either of you."  He pours himself another cup of coffee.  Portia peels an orange and divides sections between the three of us.

"What do you think he meant by 'not for long'?”

"It was about being trapped in that form.  Could he be trying to bring himself back from the dead?”

"Can't be done."  Julian pops a piece of orange in his mouth and talks around it.  "Dead is dead is dead."

"What did he mean about Asra stealing a new body for his dead lover then?”

Julian shrugs.  "That's another question for Asra."

"You said he was doing some sort of magic with blood."  The image from my dream the other night of Asra cutting into Julian's palm and letting the blood drip onto the cardinal points of a sigil floats behind my eyes.  Julian nods, rubbing his hand as he does.  "If it were possible to create a new body, whether to bring someone back from the dead or for someone who was ill to take over, it would have to involve something at least as powerful as blood magic.  I mean, I had to use a blood spell to coax Lucio onto materializing at all last night."

"You did what?  Dema!”

"It's okay, Julian.  I time limited it."  At least, I think I did.  I hope I did.  I don’t care for what it means if I didn’t.

"Have you heard of spells that would bring someone back from the dead?”  Portia asks.

I pause and hope that some arcane information about corporeality, resurrection, and enfleshment will just materialize in my consciousness, as information so often does with no explanation of when, how, or where I learned it.  "No.  But researching might be a start.  Maybe if I knew what kind of magic was being used.  But-"  I groan and ball my hands up in frustration.  "There's no time to be indirect."

"So, we corner all the courtiers and beat it out of them?"  Portia runs her hands together.  She's joking - I think.  But there's a glint in her eyes that makes me wonder.  "I'm sure Maz would help with that."

"No."  Julian shakes his head.  "I don't want you near them.  Not you, not Dema, not Mazelinka."

"What about Volta?”

"What about her?"

"Do you think she might give us information?  She doesn't seem as bad as the others."

"We could offer her food.  Maybe?  She keeps the servants running all night bringing snacks to her chambers."  Portia doesn't look quite convinced by the idea.  "But, they all say that she's actually nice to them."

Julian shakes his head, then sets his coffee aside and stretches out as much as possible on the sofa, with his head resting in my lap.  "What if instead of showing that someone else did it, we prove that I didn't do it?  I mean, if I can find evidence to convince myself of that, then certainly it will convince the Countess."

"You can't use magic, can you?”

He looks up at me and touches his throat.  "Other than this?  Don't even want to."

"And is there any scientific explanation for the spontaneous combustion of a person?”

"Not that I know of."

Portia catches where my logic is going and grins.  "So you couldn't have done it!  That wasn't a natural fire."

Julian gnaws at his bottom lip, looking thoughtful.  "I suppose, but that doesn't explain why I was there.  And I was there."

Portia stands and starts clearing the table.  "I'll work on Milady.  Try to get the question of how the fire started in the first place in her mind.  Maybe you two could work in the library?  Ilya might find something in his desk.  And you probably won't be bothered there.  Since I have the keys.  Now.  If something happens, go to my cottage.  Through the maze then straight back.  Dema, you remember, right?"

“Oh, the fixer upper one out past the orchard?  That’s yours now?  Nice, sis.”

“And fixed up nicely, I’ll have you know.  Get dressed.  Back in half an hour.”

***

Portia leads us to the library, peering around corners as she goes for passers by, even though I've glamoured Julian's hair to appear black and tossed it over his eyepatch.  She unlocks the door quickly, deft hands finding the multiple keys and turning them in the locks.  Julian walks into the room slowly, pushing his hair out of his eyes as the glamour fades.  Sunlight from the windows catches the highlights, making it look even redder than before.  He looks around the room and turns slowly, as if in a trance.

“Alright, you two, I’m going to lock the door behind you.  I should be back in a few hours.”

The keys turn loudly in the locks as Portia secures us inside the library.  Julian is still standing in a ray of sunshine, the pale cream of the palace livery a stark change from his usual black on black, but it suits him just as well.  He looks a little lost in the moment, like he's soaking in information directly from the surroundings and it's a bit too much to comprehend.  I take one of his hands in mine and squeeze his fingers.

"Come back to me, Julian."  Asra's said the same thing to me so many times, patiently gripping my hand.

"Sorry."  Julian shakes his head.  "Sorry, I spent a lot of time in here."

"It's okay."

He walks across the floor to the pile of pillows that I had curled up in the other day to try and decipher his journals.  "Asra worked here.  He had a veritable fortress of books stacked around him.  And he napped all the time."  He pauses and looks back at me.  "Does he still do that?"

"He does."  I'm bad about napping too, especially when I'm having trouble sleeping at night.  It's a wonder we manage to keep the shop running on any sort of schedule.

Julian crosses the room, to the little niche that his desk was tucked into.  "Tidier than how I left it.  At least, how I think I left it."  He picks up one of the journals and thumbs through it before setting it aside with a visible shudder.  "Nothing but bad memories there."  He picks up the folded letter next, reads the first couple lines, then sinks into the chair and leans over the desk, head cradled in his hands as his shoulders start to shake.  I run my hands along his shoulders, trying to soothe whatever emotion has taken hold of him.

"She was eleven when I left home."  His voice, when he finally speaks, is choked.  "Eleven!  And I didn't see her again until the other day.  I've got to be the worst brother in the world.  It's almost worse that she's willing to forgive me everything."  He snaps his fingers.  "Just like that."

"Julian."  I lean over him, pressing my lips to the crown of his head.  "She loves you.  You're still her brother."

"So she finds me, just to lose me again?"

"We're going to sort this out.  You're not a murderer."

Julian picks up the journal his was thumbing through and then tosses it to the side.  "Are you sure about that? Maybe not Lucio, but . . .”  His voice trails off as I run my fingers through his hair.  His shoulders slump and he collapses over the desk, head in his arms.  “Why do you have such faith in me?”

“Just do.”  I can’t explain it, but I don’t feel any need to try either, so I stay quiet and rub his shoulders until he lifts his head off the desk.  He twists in the chair and I lean over and touch my lips to his forehead.  

“Thank you.”  His voice is a breath more than speech.  He closes his eyes for a moment, then blinks them back open.  “I should sort through all this, I suppose.  See if anything here truly is important.  Maybe you could look through the books?  See if you can find anything about how to magic someone back from the dead?”

“I’ll see what I can do.  Not really sure where to start.”  I ruffle his hair again for good measure as he goes back to the papers stacked on the desk.

It takes me a while to orient myself in the library.  The collection is impression, both in breadth and depth.  The shelves go to the ceiling.  There are books well beyond my reach, but there are also ladders attached with rollers that make them easy to move.  The section for books on magic is in a dark corner toward the back, and I have to summon a light before I can begin to make out the titles.  I wasn’t lying when I said I didn’t know where to start, but I am nearly certain that raising the dead would require blood.  And well, that’s the only lead I have.

The majority of the magic tomes are covered in a thick layer of dust.  When I find the shelf with books on the less respectable practices, I’m surprised to find that these books are less dusty than the other.  They’ve been neglected, but while the others appear to have sat untouched for a decade or more (some are complete with cobwebs!), the ones with titles that suggest what I might need only have a light coating of dust.  I gather the ones that look most promising and retreat to Asra’s pile of cushions.  It’s under a window, and the afternoon sunlight pouring in creates the perfect space to curl up and read.

I scan the content pages of the books that have them and set several aside that appear to be mostly dedicated to describing the acts associated with sects that use blood magic in the most inflammatory language possible.  Heresiology is not what I need at the moment.  A book in the middle of the stack looks more promising.  It’s ancient, hand written, and lacks a table of contents, but unlike the others, it’s an actual book of spells.  I thumb through the book, scanning the descriptions for any key words.

The sun is getting low in the sky when Julian plops down next to me and draps an arm around my shoulders.  I set the book on my knees and turn my face to him.  “Find anything?”

With a heavy sigh, he shows me an empty palm, then with a mischievous grin, closes his hand and opens it again to reveal an iron key.  I roll my eyes at the trick.  As he makes the key disappear again, presumably to a pocket somewhere in his coat. “What’s that for?” 

He shrugs, then pulls me closer to him.  "Not sure.  But you ever just get a sense that something is exactly what you're looking for."

"That's happened."

"Yes, well, that and none of the papers were much use.  Research notes.  Fruitless research notes for that matter.  Barren.  As useful as a mirage in the bloody desert.  Not to mention that a few were, in fact, bloody."  He lays down next to me and settles his head in my lap, looking up at me through the hair falling over his face.  His eyepatch is missing, presumably removed to make reading easier.  "This key was the only other thing left.  Any luck with the books?”

"This one might have some useful information in it."

"Mmm . . . Don't let me stop you.  Just going to close my eyes for a few minutes."  He snuggles deeper into the cushions, and tilts his head to the side.  I trail my finger done the center of his nose, winning a smile from him before returning to the book.

I flip through several more pages of spells and symbols, annotated with dense notes about the theory behind why they just might work and stern precautions about their use.  An illuminated page with colored calligraphy and gilt lettering introduces a new chapter:  On Interaction with the Spirits of the Departed.  

My reading slows, and I turn the pages with care, trying to commit the sigils to memory - at least, passive memory, enough to recognize them should I see them again.  These are significantly more complex than the one I used to speak with Lucio.  One allows for summoning a specific spirit to a location.  Another provides a means to anchor a ghost to a specific location.  Quite reasonably, it's paired with a banishing spell.  

A thin scrap of parchment marks the next page.  The pamplimset is covered with notes in a very familiar script.  The same script that labels many of the bottles and boxes in the shop.  The same that leaves notes for me in random locations - ones that I'll surely find, but won't expect - when a certain someone has wandered away.  Asra.  

Underlined and circled at the bottom is a single word:  almost.  

I set the note aside.  Underneath it there page is taken up by an intricate diagram, one that would be impossible to recreate without proper tools, no small amount of skill, and significant time.  I run my finger up the page to the heading: Possession of a Body.

I shouldn't be surprised, not when Julian has told me that Asra was using blood and with what Lucio's ghost had shrieked about Asra stealing a body from him.  But still, I didn't expect to find tangible evidence.  Perhaps I didn't want to believe that Asra had really been involved in something so potentially dangerous and so deeply unethical as inviting a spirit to possess the body of someone else.

No. I don't want to think about it.

I fold the parchment note back in the book and set it aside.  Later.  I'll deal with that later.   For now, I gently lift Julian's head and replace my thigh with a small cushion.  He mumbles in protest, but settles back as soon as I'm curled up next to him.  My head's on his chest; it's his turn to be a pillow for a bit.

"Mmm... Taking a break?"  He lifts a hand and trails his fingers through my hair.

"Just resting my eyes."

"You should do that.  Getting late anyway."

As soon as my eyes shut, there’s a noise from outside of the library, followed by a loud exclamation.  “Oh, sorry Milady!  Slippery fingers again!”

“It’s quite alright, Portia.”  The countess’s dulcet voice is at a normal level, but carries easily through the door.  

Julian bolts upright and scrambles out of the floor before reaching back down to pull me to my feet.  “Shit.  Shit!  What do we do?  I know, you hide, then when Nadia comes in, run.  She’ll be too busy arresting me to notice you.”  I shake my head and he groans.  “Don’t you understand?  You’ll hang with me.”

“No.  I’m not leaving you.”

He spins around.  “Maybe we could get out the window?  You can’t, like, turn into a giant bird or something?  Uh, can you?”

“Yeah, no.”  I pull us over to where a shelf will hide us from direct view of the door and let my awareness drift around the room.  Portia said there were portals and passages all through the palace.  If I can just find one of those.  Keys turn in the locks again, tumblers falling into place.  How many were there again?  Then . . . there it is!  And it’s close to where we are.  I pull Julian with me to the wall and touch a symbol engraved there.  Unlike the portal leading the Lucio’s wing, the magic of this one is Asra’s.  If my luck holds, it’ll lead to my shop and safety.

The wall seems to open, edges glowing around the passageway.  Not to my shop, but into the garden with the willow tree and the fountain.  It’ll do.  Especially since I can hear the door opening.  I shove Julian through, hissing for him to go to Portia’s cottage, and close the portal before he can insist that I follow.  Portia and I together should be able to keep the Countess busy enough that she won’t be looking for him.

Beyond, I hear the mechanisms of the door turning as it opens, and I step out from behind the shelf, trying to look like I had simply been looking for a book.  Nadia is as collected and graceful as every, one step behind her Portia is wringing her hands in worry.  “Oh, Countess, hello.”

“Dema, dear, it’s good to see that you’re feeling better.  Portia told me that a headache simply knocked you down last night after visiting the Count’s old wing.”

“Thank you, my lady.  I thought a quiet day working in the library might make sense.”

“Yes.”  She looks over to Julian’s desk, where the papers and portfolios are now arranged into haphazard stacks.  “Did you happen to find anything?”

“No.”  I shake my head, trying to mime disappointment.  “I thought I might try to research some magic that would account for state of Lucio’s chambers.”

“Portia did mention that the burn marks didn’t look like the usual pattern for a fire.” 

“Not at all.”  I shake my head.  “I think that only some sort of magic could explain it.”

Nadia presses her lips together considering the statement.  She seems about to say something when the chamberlain enters the library followed by a very familiar figure.  One with a lot of explaining to do.  “My lady, you have another visitor - the magician Asra.”

Nadia turns and Asra bows to her, eyes twinkling as he does.  “Your Excellency.”

Her head tilts slightly to the side, and while I can’t see her expression, I feel the contemplating look that she gives Asra.  Asra only smiles at her, one of his perfect winning smiles that could charm the wings off a butterfly.  She recovers with the smallest shake of her head.  “I am pleased to finally meet my favorite magician’s mentor; although . . . well, nevermind.”  She glances back at me.  “Both of you will dine with me this evening?”

“Of course, Countess.”  Asra accepts for both of us, not I would expect that there is any other option.  

“Very well.  And should you wish to stay the night, I believe the guest room beside your apprentice’s is available.  Dema, would you take your master with you?  I’ll send Portia presenting with dining attire for the both of you.”

Portia shoots me a questioning look as the Countess sweeps out of the library.  

“It’s okay, Portia.”  I emphasize okay.  “I know my way.”

Alone in the library, Asra quickly closes the distance between us, pulling me into a tight hug.  “I got worried when you didn’t come back last night.  Or today.  Then I realized you’d be here.”  His fingers trace my jawline, ever so gently, and without thinking I tilt my head into his hand, as his thumb brushes over my cheek.  “Are you alright?  There’s nothing I wouldn’t do you?  You know that?”

Nothing he wouldn’t do?  I believe him.  I’m not sure I want to, but I do.  Even with his eyes as gentle as they can be, I believe that there truly might not be anything that he wouldn’t do.  I reach up and touch his cheek.  

“I’m fine, Asra.”  Should I drag him over the pile of books I had gathered and ask him to explain the note now?  Perhaps not until I know a little more, when I have a better chance of pinning him down and avoiding his deflections.  I take his hand in mine.  “Come on, when the Countess says dress for dinner, she really means it.”

“Oh, I remember,” he says with a smile.  “She always put together the best looks for her guests as well.”

My rooms are not so far from the library.  We walk in silence, Asra seemingly content to just hold my hand.  I close the door behind us with a sigh, happy for the relative privacy.

“Tell me about the maid?  Portia, I think?  I don’t recognize her from before.”

“She’s Julian’s sister.”

“His sister?”  Asra looks surprised for a moment.  “I wasn’t expecting that.”

I catch him up on the prior day, leaving out most of the details.  His face falls as I describe searching Lucio’s wing, especially when I tell him that the ghost was able to touch me.

“He shouldn’t be able to have that much of a physical presence.”

“You don’t sound surprised that he’s there.”

Asra shakes his head.  “No, he was never one to let go, not of anything.  I can’t imagine that he would accept being dead.  And, with everything that happened then . . .”

“Asra, what did happen?”

He closes his eyes, expression becoming so melancholy that I can’t stop myself from cradling his face in my hands.  “I don’t remember exactly what I did.  Really.  I don’t.  I wish that I did.”  He leans forward, pressing his forehead to mine.  “Maybe I could protect you better if I did.”

A/N: Chapter title from Portugal, the Man

Masterpost

Next Chapter

[megsblackfirewrites]

Our Bond is Stronger Than Death: Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Jack’s fists rained furious blows into the punching bag. It had been specially reinforced just for him so that he didn’t bust the thing open after a few punches. His enhanced strength made regular workout equipment break before he was even giving it half of his potential. He grit his teeth, glaring at the punching bag as he tried to work his fury out.

There wasn’t a lot he could do for his husband and it infuriated him. He couldn’t force Angela to help him; she was positive that there was nothing more to be done. She would have let him die if it suited her. It wasn’t fair; Gabriel had given his life for everyone in the organization. He shouldn’t have had to go to someone like Moira in order to save someone like his husband.

“Jack,” Jesse called as he walked into the training room. “Hey, how long’ve you been in here?”

Jack grabbed the punching bag to keep it from slamming into his face and grit his teeth. “Does it matter?” he demanded. “I’m just staying in shape.”

“Jack,” Jesse’s voice was cautious as he walked over and rested a hand on Jack’s arm. “Come on, you need to stop before you hurt yourself.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Jack snapped.

“What, you think you beatin’ the shit out of somethin’ is gunna help Gabe?” Jesse demanded. “Whoa!”

Jack whipped around and grabbed Jesse by the front of his shirt. He hoisted the slimmer man off of his feet and quietly reveled in the fear in Jesse’s eyes. Finally, something that would react to his fury. A punching bag couldn’t give him a reaction; Jesse could.

“Do not think to tell me how to deal with my husband’s current state,” Jack growled. “You don’t know anything, Jesse.”

Jesse stared before he swallowed and lifted his chin. “That don’t mean you get to treat me like shit,” he hissed. “Yer outta line, Strike Commander. Gabe wouldn’t approve of that.”

Jack’s hands tightened in Jesse’s shirt before he set him down. He took a deep breath and looked away, pushing his fingers up into his graying hair. He was so out of line that he didn’t know what to do with himself anymore.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I….”

“I get it,” Jesse said shakily. “I…I don’t have a bondmate. Probably never will. I can’t understand what yer goin’ through, Jack. But…I’m here for you. No matter what.”

Jack shook his head and rubbed his palm into his eye. “Jesse, you don’t want a bondmate,” he said softly. “It sounds romantic, but it’s nothing like you could imagine. It’s pain and misery and happiness and joy and…and everything. Your thoughts aren’t your own anymore. Your emotions aren’t your own anymore. They’re shared. They’re yours, both of yours. And there is no moment where you aren’t aware of them.”

“So…everything that Gabe’s feelin’ right now…?” Jesse swallowed.

“I’m feeling it too,” Jack said before he turned his attention back to the punching bag. “And the only way to alleviate a pain that isn’t yours is to make a different one.”

Jesse’s hand settled on his arm before he could start throwing punches again. He glanced at the younger man and Jesse smiled sadly up at him.

“Hey, come get lunch with me,” he said softly. “Genji’s finally able to taste sauce and he can’t wait to drink it straight out of the bottle.”

“That kid is going to burn his stomach,” Jack managed a sad smile before he followed Jesse out of the training range. “He needs a keeper. A fulltime babysitter that can parkour just as good as Genji. That should keep the brat out of trouble.”

Jesse laughed as he kept a hand on Jack’s arm with his right hand, the left one still only covered with a skeletal frame of a prosthetic. Jack reached out to touch the prosthetic and nodded his head. It would do for now. It would all do for now.

“Pain?” Moira asked as she set another sticky pad onto his chest.

“Six,” Gabriel grit his teeth. “Fucking six.”

“That from the serum or just bed pains?” Moira asked as she hooked a wire to the pad and made sure it was transmitting.

“One for the bed pains,” Gabriel said. “Five for the rest.”

“I’m still amazed that you can differentiate between the pain,” she shook her head as she lifted a datapad and tapped on it. “Okay, heartrate is normal. Deep breath…and lung capacity is top tier. Fill up your diaphragm. Yes, just like that. A little under preforming, but it is right beneath where the muscle is growing, so that’s normal.”

“Yay,” Gabriel grimaced. “So…?”

“Well, I’ll have to administer another dosage,” she said. “Your cells are regenerating a little faster than I anticipated, but they are still perfectly healthy. No signs of deterioration.”

“Good,” Gabriel murmured as he looked at the ceiling. “I’m so sick of this bed.”

“Understandable,” she chuckled as she checked his bed pans.

He was a little surprised by how dedicated Moira was to her job. Most doctors did not like having anything to do with the dirty part of caring for a patient, but Moira didn’t seem to mind dealing with his excrements. He knew she was using it to gather further information for her serum, but he didn’t care. Someone was helping him not smell like piss and shit and he appreciated it.

Angela stepped into the room with one of her nurses in tow. She pressed her lips together at the sight of Gabriel with pads on his chest, but turned her attention to Moira. This was going to be interesting.

“And how is the patient?” she asked.

“You could just ask me,” Gabriel commented. “Sitting right here, Angie. My stomach injury didn’t make me mute.”

Angela’s blue eyes flicked towards him in annoyance before looking back at Moira. Moira ran her fingers through her hair, pushing the red strands back into the swept-back bob she kept with meticulous care. She gave herself a small shake and smiled.

“He is recovering rapidly,” she said. “A few days ahead of schedule, but I expect that to level out soon. Would you like a sample of the serum, Angela? I would love to see what your nanomachines could do with it. Imagine the possibilities!”

“I would like a sample to make sure that it is within legal boundaries,” Angela said. “I know how you have no qualms about subjecting others to your unethical treatments.”

“I have the Strike Commander’s okay,” Moira glared at her.

“Who hasn’t been into the medical bay to see the Commander since he assigned you to his care,” Angela said with a tight smile. “This is my medical bay. You have access to the supplies, but all procedures go through me.”

“You,” Moira started to say before Gabriel lifted his hand.

“Do as she says, Moira,” he said. “It’s her medical bay. I expect her to do the same if she were in your labs.”

He saw the way Angela bristled at the suggestion that she would be caught dead in the Blackwatch labs and did his best to keep his satisfaction off of his face. Moira didn’t look impressed, pursing her thin lips together as she shot him a glare, but did as he ordered. It was best to placate Angela while he was still in her territory. Jack’s animosity towards her was really starting to bleed into him, it would seem. They’d have to talk about that.

Moira collected a small sample of her serum from the container it was agitating in and handed it over to Angela. Angela nodded before turning and heading for the door. She paused at the threshold, clearly wanting to turn around and say something, but was deciding on whether or not it was wise.

“I hope this isn’t a mistake, Gabriel,” she said gently. “I don’t want you to regret it.”

“I live with my mistakes, Angela,” Gabriel replied. “It’s what makes me human.”

Angela nodded her head and left. Gabriel shook his head and settled back against the pillow, swallowing as Moira worked on whatever it was she was doing with her information. He dozed for a little while, sinking down into blissful oblivion before he jolted awake with a grin.

“Jack!” he laughed as his husband stepped into the room. “You look like shit, old man.”

Jack gave him a tight smile before he nodded to Moira. “Some privacy, doctor.”

Moira blinked before she gathered her notes and left the room, shooting a curious look at the Strike Commander as she closed the door. Jack was in his workout slacks and a loose t-shirt that was covered in sweat stains. His hair was ruffled and greasy, his eyes a little bloodshot, and the stubble around his jaw looking tragically white. He looked like a normal, everyday man that was trying to deal with his spouse’s unexpected illness. It was as attractive as whipped cream and cherries.

“I take it back,” Gabriel grinned as Jack walked over to him. “You look hot.”

“You’ve got a bad case of cabin fever,” Jack said as he sat down in the chair beside him.

Jack reached out and took his hand, running his thumb across Gabriel’s knuckles. Gabriel watched him for a moment before tilting his head to the side.

‘Black thoughts on a black day?’ he asked.

‘I’m sending Jesse and Genji away from the base,’ Jack said. ‘Indefinitely.’

‘Oh?’ Gabriel blinked.

‘Something’s coming, Gabe,’ Jack murmured. ‘I don’t know what or when, but the air’s charged with something. I don’t want them here when it happens. I don’t want our boys getting hurt. I already arranged for Lena to be sent to the base in Gibraltar with Winston to continue her work.’

‘Hmm,’ Gabriel frowned as he lifted Jack’s hand to his lips and gently kissed over the large knuckles. ‘I approve. You’ve been restless lately. I can feel it when I’m sleeping. You’re always moving and I know you’re starting to get surly.’

‘I don’t like what we’ve had to do to save you,’ Jack murmured. ‘I…I don’t want you to suffer, Gabe.’

‘Suffering means I’m alive,’ Gabriel smiled and shook his head. ‘I knew it was going to hurt. But, Moira is doing everything she can for me. I appreciate it. She’s…well, she’s ambitious.’

‘And without scruples,’ Jack shook his head. ‘Hell, I’m scared she’s using you for tests that she couldn’t get to work on her animal subjects.’

‘If it saves others?’ Gabriel asked. ‘Isn’t that worth it?’

Jack looked away, but his agreement pulsed between them. Gabriel smiled and reached up, running his fingers over Jack’s cheek. He sent a gentle teasing wiggle through their bond, rubbing his thumb over the white stubble.

“Getting old,” he teased.

“Been getting old for a while,” Jack smiled at him. “We can’t all age like fine wine.”

“Jack, you’re like fine whiskey; you only get better with age,” Gabriel laughed.

“You’re only calling me that because whiskey can be made from corn,” Jack shook his head. “Asshole. Everyone makes the corn jokes because of that one picture of me in ‘Farmer’s Monthly’. I was ten and proud of the corn I’d grown. How was I supposed to know it looked like a dick?”

“Aw, but I love you no matter what, my cornbread,” Gabriel pursed his lips teasingly at Jack and made a kissy noise.

Jack laughed and shoved his face away. The break in his melancholy mood was a relief; Gabriel knew that Jack would be back in his rut soon enough, brooding over Gabriel’s condition. For now, though, it was the old Jack he knew and loved.  

[maid-of-timey-wimey]

Death Roast (Netflix Death Note liveblog)

OK, we're not even a minute and a half in and we've already got a problem. So Light is doing some math problems very fast to show off his smarts, that figures... but then he hands it off to some other guy and takes money in return??? I thought this was a story about a guy who thinks brutal and absolute enforcement of the law is the way to a perfect world, why the fuck would he help someone cheat? (ETA: he has FIFTEEN clients. FIFTEEN students he has been helping to get grades they don't deserve. What could he possibly be doing with that money that would let him spin this into a necessary evil?)

I am way too entertained by his high-pitched screaming and running away from Ryuk's first appearance. (I thought he wasn't supposed to show up until after the first name though?)

Ok, yeah, Ryuk is way too directing here. Though "Let's write Kenny's name down and see what happens" is a nice hint at the shinigami name-sight. (So is knowing Light's name right off the bat, come to think of it.)

Clearly we're skipping over any suspense of both "is this real?" and "should I do this?". Light Turner is already showing some violent tendencies by going for "decapitation" where Light Yagami rarely gets more detailed than "traffic accident." (Also, fail on the Note's part because that was clearly only a partial decapitation. The lower jaw was still attached to the body.)

Sadly, I no longer want the potato chips I had specifically reserved for this movie.

I wonder where they're going with these implications about a previous human owning the notebook. It's not necessary, plot-wise; manga Ryuk tells Light from the beginning that he's not on anyone's side and "when you die, I'll be the one writing your name down."

Wait, there has to be a human keeper? Why?! I feel like they're ruining Ryuk as the embodiment of Chaotic Neutral: he dropped the Note because he was bored and wanted to see what a human would do with it. (Though come to think of it the manga 'verse must have had some precedent for a Death Note ending up in the human world, since why else would all these rules about human ownership of the Note be known? This kind of supports the "Death Note users reincarnate as new shinigami" theory.)

WAIT WAIT I'VE GOT A THEORY: When a person is killed by the Death Note, the shinigami gains the rest of the lifespan they would have otherwise had, right? So what if in this canon, shinigami can't use the notebooks themselves? They have to get a human to write names for them. That's why movie-Ryuk is so pushy: if the Note doesn't get used he could run out of stolen life and die.

I saw the "I can't tell you... Okay, I'll tell you" exchange on my dash already, but I kinda assumed they were already dating at that point? HOLY SHIT HE BARELY KNOWS HER. I never thought I'd say this, but Light, you are not being nearly paranoid enough. (...No pun intended.)

He handed Mia the notebook before telling her to look at where Ryuk was; he assumed they were working by the animanga rules lmao Admittedly this will make keeping the secret easier. Which, as discussed, he needs the help. I'm guessing that Light is going to give Mia some ripped-out pages so that on the "retains the properties of the entire book" principle she'll become a secondary Kira Keeper.

HOW ARE THEY SUPPOSED TO "THANK YOU" IF YOU KEEP MAKING THE DEATHS LOOK LIKE ACCIDENTS? Bring back the default heart attack, dammit! Or if you want to be flashy, how about writing "struck by lightning," something easily fatal and popularly associated with divine punishment? On a related note, does this director have some sort of fetish for heads exploding?

Wow, Light is actually having scruples now? But credit where credit is due: the question of "How do we know if these anonymous Internet tips are trustworthy?" is actually a really good one that the manga was probably written too early to address properly. It's timely now, considering how common doxxing has become even over trivial matters, and how stolen images for example can result in the wrong person suffering the consequences.

Actually, I guess having "Kira" literally split between two people works, because you can't have too much internal monologue in a live-action movie. Inner conflicts become spoken, so that's why this adaptation has Light being the conscience and Mia being the Lady to his Macbeth.

Watari's real name is just "Watari"? Ok, nobody is paranoid enough in this movie.

[SERIOUS SPOILER ALERT! THERE'S LESS THAN HALF AN HOUR LEFT OF THE MOVIE AND THAT PROBABLY INCLUDES CREDITS. SERIOUSLY THINK HARD ABOUT READING FURTHER IF YOU PLAN TO WATCH AND HAVEN'T]

Damn, that was cold, writing Light's name in the book as insurance. However, she didn't actually write "...after he gives this notebook to Mia," which would have been smart because then he would have no choice. (Pretty sure that would be safe since it's just the first name. Anything less specific would invite loopholes.)

I can't be the only one who found the slow-mo-fall-with-Chicago-playing narmy as hell.

OMG, the way he got the Death Note back-- now that is the caliber of plan I'd expect from Kira.

Hmm, and they leave it ambiguous whether L kills him or not. The father being so calm about the reveal was weird though... (I guess he had a couple days to process the realization while Light was comatose, but still...?!)

Honestly, aside from Light's dad suddenly accepting that he's Kira at the end, the movie wasn't as bad as I expected. It doesn't stand up to the original in terms of psychology or philosophy, but taken as its own AU thing (like the pilot manga) it's a decent bit of entertainment.

[bnrobertson1]

THOUGHTS ON “THE IRISHMAN” (BRNR #26)

My introduction to the peerless works of Martin Scorsese began as a quest for something somewhat different: softcore pornography. I was 12ish and while my dad never ponied up for the Cinemax/ HBO package, for some reason we kind of got Cinemax, or at least its static-filled approximation, on our living room TV. For an internet-less pre-teen disastrously crashing into puberty, this Cable company mix-up taught me the importance of enjoying life’s happy accidents.

Here’s how it worked: with my parents asleep and me left to my groaningly embarrassing druthers, I would pray to whatever deity sent me the scrambled Cinemax signal to also hook a bruh up with some tastefully shot augmented bosoms-focused programming. Mind you, this was before a Channel Guide let you know what you were watching, so sometimes you just had to approach watching like fishing, hoping that whatever this fuzz was would shape into someone getting freaky-deaky, and soon.

It was on one of these prideful nights that I encountered something I at first hoped was a Red Shoe Diaries episode starring the guy from No Escape*. He was with one of the crooks of Home Alone, someone who looked familiar but whose name escaped me, and some less-than-handsome guy who appeared to be wearing a really bad toupee. They were walking to a car and saying “fuck.” A lot. Then, after entering the car, the Home Alone actor nonchalantly shoved an icepick into the Toupee Guy’s head, afterwards commenting something along the lines of “Maybe that’ll shut him the fuck up.”

*A Ray Liotta-starring vehicle I TREASURED growing up, mostly due to its innovative violence.

I didn’t know I was watching Goodfellas, but I knew I was mesmerized. It was violent, it was funny, it moved quickly, it did pushed buttons in my nervous system I didn’t know existed. It somehow made the sting of not watching Shannon Tweed dry-hump a decorated general evaporate. Goodfellas simply crackled with life, even when almost indecipherable due to the static-filled presentation. There was a brute, beautiful honesty to it that the things I was getting exposed to simply lacked. My perception of what art was obliterated and resurrected in the course of about 45 minutes.

Flash forward roughly 24 years. The Irishman, Scorsese’s newest highly anticipated mob drama, hits theaters in a culture far from the one that greeted Casino or The Departed. Instead of the automatic praise that usually greeted Scorsese, a new environment questioned his cinematic contributions mostly due to the lack of representation of (a) minorities and (b) women. While some of these criticisms are fair if a little silly*, the simmering became a raging fire after Scorsese commented on his inability to connect to the movies of the Marvel Universe**.  

*It’s a bit like saying Te-Nehisi Coates hasn’t developed a full voice because he hasn’t written a Jane Austen-esque romp through Victorian England. Or that Lou Reed’s status as legend is flawed because he never released a yodeling album. Artists are allowed to have focus. It’s OK.  

**My only thought about the Scorsese vs. Marvel debate, as someone who quite likes a lot of the Marvel movies: They’re algorithms (albeit very fun ones), and Scorsese is 100% right. I also hope the people who are breathlessly defending Disney against America’s best filmmaker will one day have enough clarity to see that siding with an imagination-torching corporation against an independent artist just sucks.    

The most concise review* I can give of The Irishman is this: it’s the Scorsese mafia movie that pretends the Rolling Stones never existed. In fact, he seems to go out of his way to not mention them in one scene where De Niro’s narrator comments on Jimmy Hoffa’s popularity rivaling that of Elvis and the Beatles. While Casino and Goodfellas never approves of the mafiaso lifestyle**, it does show its appeal with slick music, dialogue, costumes, cinematography, actors, etc. Those films, especially Casino, have operatic narratives, clearly connecting them to millennia-old Roman myths.    

*I already failed. I realize this.

**This part seems lost on a lot of Scorsese haters. Joe Pesci’s Nicky Santoro is beaten to death after watching his brother suffer the same fate, and his Tommy DeVito is shot in the back in the head- does that really seem like a glorification of a lifestyle?

The Irishman is less indebted to Rock n’ Roll and epics as the Catholic church, or more specifically, Catholic guilt. This guilt weighs heavy on every frame. And this dive into Christitan scruples goes than the top-line perspective of “that’s bad and should be punished and that’s good and should be praised” of some of his other mob epics. There is no shooting of guns in handbags after truck hijacking. Or close-ups of hands in general. There is a hand-stomping scene, but it’s depicted in such a matter-of-fact way it is obviously not a heralded act*. The soon-to-be-curriculum cab demolition scene is scored by an ominous, brooding soundtrack, not the coked-up WHEES of Mick Jagger (or Harry Nilsson for that matter**). Instead, Scorsese’s focus is on bigger, more abstract themes, such as impermanence and the point of existence itself - questions that are frankly terrifying because the answers do not exist, much less reassure/ satisfy.

*Speaking of the hand stomp, many point to this and some of the stranger looking faces as flaws of the film. I’d argue that one of the film’s biggest themes is the fallibility of memory. It’s a striking juxtaposition to put your current self in the past, yet we all do it naturally. I also realize I’m a huge nut when it comes to Scorsese and maybe twisting myself crooked to defend all of his techniques.

**Maybe the best scene in all of film? 

The Irishman often feels like a mea culpa- a heart-felt apology for any damage Scorsese’s more flamboyant films may have done to the culture at large. The amazing thing about the film is how well Scorsese seemed to predict criticism without merely sycophantically answering it. You say my films don’t feature women enough? Well how about a film where the main actress has about 7 words*? That’s not to say the film is a preachy drag because it’s anything but. It’s still funny (sometime riotously so) and moves insanely quickly for a film 30 minutes longer than Casino. The acting is superb, as is the strikingly methodical editing. The first 2/3 of the movie feels like a Goodfellas or Departed- the last third, especially after the climax, feels paced like his Catholic meditation, Silence. “It is What is It is,” the film’s quasi-mantra, nicely sums up its feelings on impermanence, something that will probably affect us all, even Marty.

*It’s almost like Anna Paquin knows that the number of lines and contribution to a film are not always directly related.

But trying to paraphrase- or comment on- what The Irishman is trying to say is really missing the point. It’s a uniquely cinematic work that speaks a cinematic language. Written words are not suitable to mine its deeper meanings, only experiencing it, and meditating on it, does.

I could go on and on about the voluminous excellence of this film. Simply put, I love it. It does feel like ol’ Marty won’t be making anymore, but what a fucking fantastic way to bow out of the genre he revolutionized. He’s made five better than anybody else (Francis Ford Coppola excluded- kind of). And he ended it with such a reflective, brilliant exclamation point, he might have just proved himself the exception to the whole “impermanence” thing.

But while I’ll defend the intellectual merits of his works ‘til the day I can’t, I’ll always associate Scorsese with pornography. A little forbidden, a little dangerous, but capable of reveal orgasmic- and embarrassing- truths to those willing to forgo the comfort of societal norms and allow themselves to be illuminated by the flame of unflinching honesty. Grade: A++

[qqueenofhades]

Hi. Can you write something where one of Flynn's henchmen gets rough with Lucy and he gets real mad?

missing scene from 1x14 that could possibly explain why Karl quit at the beginning of 1x16.

Flynn returns from Monsieur Charvet’s mansion in a very nearly good mood. Yes, the gendarmes will soon arrive, discover the gentilhomme shot through the head and bleeding out on his very expensive rug, and a hue and cry will go up, but he intends to be well out of this year – this century, even – by the time they do. And he has the intelligence about the Rittenhouse meeting, he has a real and actual lead that feels as if it’s going somewhere, and he’s driven on a surge of wild, hungry – optimism isn’t exactly the word, but determination. This is so clear. This is so close. He can almost taste it.

Then he gets back to the catacombs and discovers, as usual, that he has been completely fucked by incompetent subordinates.

“You what?”

Karl bristles defensively. “I didn’t have anything to do with it. Whitmore – I think it was Whitmore, she’s the one, boss. Should get rid of her, not – ”

“Yes, and then we won’t have a pilot!” Flynn swears. True, that did not stop him from killing Anthony, but if he offs Emma, replacements are a bit more thin on the ground; he doesn’t cherish any notion that he can somehow talk Rufus around to his cause. “So, what? You just let them walk out?”

“Carlin, Lindbergh, Hemingway, and the Preston bitch just up and – ”

“Lucy,” Flynn says, even more dangerously. “You mean Lucy.”

Karl raises a sandy eyebrow with an expression that can only be described as insolent. “Since when does she give you orders about how I act? Huh?”

“Since you started acting like an idiot.” Flynn checks the cell, just to be sure. No, they’re definitely gone. A number of curses spring to his lips, in a variety of languages – he didn’t have too much invested in Lindbergh, since he was mostly a pawn for Lucy to unwittingly pump for Rittenhouse intelligence, and he feels a brief, awkward pride at how well they work together, even if she doesn’t know it. But for them to just stroll out of here… it’s like nobody has any standards at all. “Don’t try it again.”

“What? Grabbing her?” Karl laughs incredulously. “Yeah, this is a real funny time to discover you have scruples about this whole thing.”

Flynn checks the passage. Likewise, nothing. He makes a mental note to burn several copies of Hemingway’s books when he gets back. Scruples. Of course Karl is right. He’s left those behind long ago.

“You still think she’s going to help you?” Karl goes on. “Of her own free will? Boss, you know that’s never going to happen. Seems to me that we need to apply a little more… persuasion.”

“Meaning what?”

“You can probably guess what I mean.” Karl grins. “It would be fun, wouldn’t it? You clearly like her. Pretty girl. You’d definitely come up with a few ideas.”

“Shut up.” Flynn sweeps the flashlight up and down. Only distant, dripping water. Darkness. Silence.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t at least thought about it. Your wife has been dead, what, two years? Three? All this time with just you and your – “

Karl is cut off at that point, rather emphatically, because Flynn whirls around and punches him in the jaw in one brief, explosive motion. Hard enough to hear bone crack, a splatter of blood in the dark air, as Karl goes down hard and clutches at his bruised jaw, lucky not to be spitting teeth. “What the – “ he splutters. “What the fuck was that for?”

“I said.” Flynn pulls out his gun, cocks it, and points it dead between Karl’s eyes as he makes an ill-advised attempt to get up. “Shut. Up.”

Karl looks up into his face, and whatever he sees decides him on the spot that if he wants any hope of keeping his brains in their accustomed place inside his skull, he’d better not push Flynn a single inch further on this matter. The tension snarls, until at last he spits bloodily, wipes his mouth, and – as Flynn moves the gun away, a signal that he’s been reprieved, but not for long – gets to his feet. “Fine,” he mutters rebelliously. “Whatever you want. Boss.”

[thesinglesjukebox]

J. COLE - DEJA VU [3.86] Another hit for this guy, whom we find extremely interesting as you can see.

Maxwell Cavaseno: In the world of mid-brow pseud rap, J. KOLL has had a great amount of success despite no real growth. Not to say he isn't having a wonderfully successful career of going platinum with no features, but even since his debut mixtape it's been a lot of the same. Earnest attempts at storytelling hamstrung by a lack of attention to detail or an inability to convey feeling, over generically 'soulful' production that with each passing year becomes an island in itself with how unwilling he feels with engaging the ever changing landscape of rap. "Deja Vu" isn't too different from that, beyond some weird Tupac mimicry. Its an aimless sort of ramble about being someone who wants to be recognized for their imposed importance, right down to yelling he wants his audience to put two fingers in the sky "if you wanna". He can't even convince himself to convince you to follow his lead. [3]

Alfred Soto: He's a bore, so the accusations of plagiarism can only humanize him. He can't eroticize a small town fantasy girl for whom he has no small amount of contempt and can't convey the hunger of a young man constrained by the small town. Does this explain the Tupac imitation? [4]

Crystal Leww: Everytime J. Cole releases a new album, I'm always shocked by how popular J. Cole really is, but the chart numbers are pretty clear: 4 Your Eyez Only gave J. Cole his 4th #1 album, and "Deja Vu" debuted at #7 on the Hot 100 when it came out. It may be falling quickly, but still, J. Cole has proven that being a serviceable rapper with a dedicated following will keep you around sales and chart wise, even if you've become the butt of jokes from those outside of your fandom. J. Cole is J. Cole at his J. Cole-iest self on "Deja Vu": hitting on some girl who's taken with little to no shame over a beat that could lull you to sleep even after an espresso. I think this is boring, but I don't think it matters at this point; J. Cole is here forever. [4]

Ryo Miyauchi: The "small town/bigger dreams" hook sounds clever, I admit, though it's pretty shallow thinking it through some more. Is he really looking out for her, or is he only feeling this way because she's with him? Is it legit concern or simple jealousy over ego? There's a difference between "she deserves much better" and "I can be such a better man to her," and I'm not feeling the former from him as much as the latter. [5]

Katherine St Asaph: J. Cole remains a boredom singularity, capable of making the most shameless of girl-stealing negging sound anodyne. [4]

Will Rivitz: It's bad enough to wallow in narcissism and self-pity when talking about a girl you like who doesn't like you back for a whole goddamn verse, but if you've somehow garnered some sympathy from this graceless display of purported introspection you shouldn't follow it up by calling Sour Grapes on her and moving on to the next girl, who a) is taken (why would you have enough scruples to not take the woman from the first verse away from her man but that all goes out the window when a girl who is, and I'm almost directly quoting here, "a hundred on a scale from one to ten" is standing a few feet away from you? Are you going to embrace the skeeze or congratulate yourself for not stooping that low? You can't do both!) and b) you haven't even met yet. Extra minus points for the following lines. Exhibit A: "You a star--no, not the type that snort the white lines / I mean the type to light the night time." Exhibit B: "I can see the promised land / But I can't do no promising." Exhibit C: this seven-line monstrosity from the end of the second verse. Fuck this song. [0]

Megan Harrington: The flip side of boring is consistent and comforting -- J. Cole doesn't always demand my full attention but I tend to reward him with it because he doesn't tax my patience. "Deja Vu" is a row of suburban homes on a chilly fall night, each radiating equal warmth and familiarity. This is his truest strength, making every facet of his song feel like the home you've always known. [7]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox ]

[stictlyfriction]

It's weird

I'll admit. It's been a while since I wrote of you. I don't think I will after this. I wonder how many nights I'd spent awake around this time. Alone again.

The smell of some other vapid disappointment drifting up from a memory, maybe two.

You know I pulled myself apart, time and time again to find you. Meticulously, religiously, diving farther into the darker, the damper parts of me; dissassembling every cog every spindle of wiry substance to try and discern exactly which bit of machinery failed. And so phenomenally time and time again that caused departure after mind numbing departure.

Do you know what it feels like to lose a limb?

For a moment to be separated from a sense.

The fear

It's stifling.

Like being shackled to the bottom of a filling pool.

Once when I was twelve I went blind. I've told the story a million times, but it's never come in handy till now. Waking in a hospital bed the sounds magnified to terrifying grotesques of clamor and shout. Even still, someones hand was always a short distance to ease the terror. Even in the darkness, warmth was ever present. I lost my eyes but I could still see.

And soon I recovered.

One.

You stepped away and the headaches began to take me, fiercely and suddenly with the brute strength of a Goliath. Stung me high in the heart and white crashed across healed vision.

Two.

I pushed and you gave. Easily and this too was a concession of sorts a defeat that blighted the greener parts of a shared plot of garden. I drank to forget, I drank to arrive because no matter the time or distance I could not find my way, couldn't find the path in the dim stillness of sobriety. You wouldn't have let me either. Many days I awoke with a tenderness in my teeth, swollen lips and the cold soak of regret. I pressed angry fingers into eyes, stars bloomed until they were all I could see.

Three.

Time apart was judicious, it was sweet and forgiving for shared misery and mistake. Some habits are not so easy to break. I watched, I waited. Patience is not in the nature of the drowning, but it isn't as if I was good at swimming to begin with. You backpedaled and I watched in rapt fascination as you knowingly... Purposefully switched tracks. You could see the signage, you were very aware of the danger, but you did it anyway. I smiled for the first time in a long time. I ignored the thin film that began to leak over my eyes, everything was a sepia colored fantasy. Nevermind the blockade, nevermind the danger. I put on sunglasses to hide the sheen.

Four

I was curious at first. Just what the hell were you getting at? Why the sudden reawakened interest. Had you cut off everyone when you cut off me? What was this really about? I stuck around to find the answer. Or so I told myself. The film began to thicken. A full throbbing began in the temples. I took ibuprofen and ignored it. Faintly I could hear the conductors horn screeching, above the encapsulated time and hours alone that stretched on in agonizing repetition. What was happening. I was having so much fun...wasn't I? People began to back away from me. I didn't notice or maybe I didn't care.

Five

Destabilization happens sometimes... It just does. To buildings, to ecosystems, to governments and all from the same thing. Stress. When left unmanaged or managed poorly for too long it can cause some pretty gruesome things. I drank until I almost died. Multiple times. I slit myself open like an envelope with untaxed untraceable cash. I continued to lie about it, pass it off as a joke I laughed about it in public. I could sense the ripple of tension that began to fester on the surface of my skin. I chain smoked and you quit. Most days I didn't sleep. Seeing was staring down a tunnel a dimly lit one at that. You, where were you again? Ah that's right, probably fucking someone else. Who? I don't know, just some nameless, faceless stranger. Why was I so angry all the time? I drank until it all went black.

Six

It helped to do things that were good for me. I went to the beach a lot. I spent a lot of time outside. We did fun things that we'd never done before. Things that made us seem like a unit, like... I don't know. I don't want to say. It scared me, but I liked it. It made me feel good. My insecurities blossomed while I was staring into Kirkland brand shampoo, what looked like an entire gallon of it. I realized with a start, with a crushing dial up screeching of a start that I could hear the wheels screeching just short of us. That the collision would occur far before it was supposed to. I'd stepped onto the fucking track. I made eye contact with you as you rounded the corner of the aisle and showed me some product you were excited to find in this large a bulk. I couldn't see it, I couldn't see anything.

Seven

God is unjust. Not because God means to be. But because they’re, it... God is god. Humans’ rules don't apply, not on morality or terms of fairness. Not even in continuity. I was not surprised when the train wrecked. I'd been watching it before after all, only from afar. Now I was standing on the tracks watching it slide dizzily towards me, tipped on its side but still going. Persistent. I'll give it that. The alcohol made me stay I say to myself at night when the lights are out. The alcohol opened my mouth and let it out. The alcohol. The alcohol was not to blame. I couldn't see much else but you and it was okay because you had been tugging me along faithfully. You hadn't given me any reason to believe you'd let go. So I told you. I told you that I....

You kissed me, squeezed my hands in yours and waxed poetic about the future. About what we could be... My heart sank, and I didn't know why. I was scared. You were scaring me. And I didn't know why. We parted at the doorway. You kissed me and told me to go up, but I wanted you to stay.

You didn't. You let go of my hand.

I smiled and went up, I couldn't see the look on your face that night. Even if I could, I probably wouldn't remember it right

Eight

Nothing ever goes the way you want it to. The alcohol wasn't to blame for my mouth, but it did become the catalyst of another departure. Avoidance, misplaced blame a night in which I attempted to disconnect- to distance myself from my irrational anxiety and fear. Because you wouldn't see me. After 134 days together, you couldn't spare me a fucking minute... Anger swelled and soaked me, tequila and a long car ride followed my misery and I to a jail cell at two in the morning. The next day I apologized for going silent in response to a text. I was met with accusation, with projection and denial. Denial of integrity, of capability and saddled with the wreckage of a Train wreck that I stepped into yes, but you directed. I sat on a park bench and frantically typed out hurried responses, but you ended them all with a flat.

I'm just going to take a couple days.

Strangers asked me if I was okay the entire walk home, I wandered unaware of my surroundings. I wouldn't have been able to see through the tears in my eyes, but it didn't matter because I was blind.

I still don't know how I should've handled that situation. I don't think I ever will.

Nine

I was sightless and no matter how much I wanted to reach for a guiding hand, from friends, family, lovers... I couldn't. Fear was a choke chain clamped firmly around my neck. I stumbled around like that for a couple days.

Two months.

I made myself scarce. I made myself small. I forgot. I begged myself to forget. My eyes wouldn't heal. My body wouldn't heal. I had to see you when I didn't want to. I had to hear you when I didn't want to. I changed my schedule. I lost sleep. I didn't want. I didn't. I

I

I

I

I

I was in hell.

Ten

Someone wrapped their hands around mine. Ah a dead girl, wow what are you doing here. You want me to what? I hate this place though. I don't want to be here anymore. What? Why though? No one is going to notice if I just di- I had been having the same dream of hanging myself for about two weeks, when I had this one. One familiar hand stilling mine, even in a dream. It helped. A love from beyond the grave, but still substantial even if it was probably just a subconscious defense mechanism. I woke on the medium in the street in front of my building, in my underwear and bare feet, my keys clipped to my shirt. I had begun sleep walking again. I trudged upstairs and returned to bed. Everything was grey. Everything was cold. But atleast I was seeing it now. It rained all day, but for the first time in a while I didn't cry at all.

Eleven

I was becoming accustomed to interaction again. I chanced a night out. I had fun. You had fun. A drunken text message that stretched into an exchange of long overdue retraction and apology. You are awkward. More than you'd like to believe. You don't apologize. Never when it matters. You're stubborn. I know that. I accepted it. Accepted you back. With open arms. The grey loomed, the headache throbbed feebily. I cracked open the drug cabinet with a smile. Where had I stashed that bottle of ibuprofen again?

Twelve

The damage was done. You cannot unsee what is seen. No matter how comfortable being blind is, once you've experienced sight, full and unbridled in visceral depiction you cannot go back. Not wholly anyway. You have scruples. Ones that prevent you from staying even if you did go back. I tried to mend the fissures. I broke myself open to try and pinpoint the broken gear or fixture that had just jammed so fiercely it had caused this all. I pulled apart memories, drank away words and wishes and kisses and touches and all these little bastards of burden that stacked like eviction notices outside of a deadmans rental... But I couldn't forget. I wanted so badly for this to not be the end.

So I wanted out.

Bad enough to fork over my self control. To all the other demons that I kept locked away in my head. It's a dorm house really it is. The cerebral halfway house of legions. All to just go blind, all so I could just stop being maimed so relentlessly by truth climbing out of her fucking well waving my shame around like yesterday's CNN headline.

DSYPNEA? IS IT LOVE OR JUST BLATANT DELUSION?

I tried to kill myself three times that winter. First I tried to hang myself. I was too short so I stepped down and had a nice laugh about the irony. Second I stood on a bridge in my city in the pouring rain, it runs over the river so I stepped over the ledge and stared into the perilous swell of rapids, I let one hand unwrap itself from the railing. Here's the thing, my sleeve caught. Painfully as I began to descend. A rope like tightener cinched around the wrist of the hand that I had released so I hung there in a painful limbo. I hauled my weight back over the ledge, laughing all the while. Third I swallowed an entire bottle of promethazine while drunk enough to probably just die from that. I woke up in my own vomit, drained. Spent. I called out of work. I drove home.

I didn't speak for two days. That last time I had been very serious. I had written letters, to you and everyone I knew. I had been writing them for weeks. I failed.

Something inside of me swelled with that fact.

I guess I have to live.

Thirteen

I'm sure I still love you. Somewhere inside of me, but I lost my job and I'm looking for a new one and I want to live and I want to see and I want to love someone who will also love me. What I feel for you now is affection tried and true and for you that association will remain unshakeable. But I'm not in love with you anymore. I'm no longer rupturing from hurt that got imbedded in my skin years ago and well that's at least a start. You know I spent so much time pulling myself apart in order to find you, to find the piece of me that just didn't fit with you that instead in the process I brought so much more of me to light than I ever actually anticipated I had. Loving you was a form of self Discovery and for that I am grateful. And I am not bitter nor am I sad anymore over the fact that we could never work, it is as plain as the divide of day and night to me now, sometimes blurred at their respective edges but unmistakeable at full capacity.

I kind of forgot why I started writing this to be honest. What was the point again? Oh.

Oh yeah, thank you for teaching me what it means to be blind, to be without sight, or warmth. Thank you for teaching me of the pain of departure and the solid supple bloom of pleasure and peace of survival. Thank you for letting me fall in love with you though I know you never felt the same or anything remotely close. I'm sorry if at times I was indiscernible, unreadable and subsequently terrifying, we all have our reasons for the pain we pent up. Thank you for being a friend, a lover, a 3am laugh or 3pm laugh.

Thank you.

Goodbye my beloved.