#look at me being so brave and not using the add noise filter

[tomtenadia]

Island dreams

Ok, I had a moment of inspiration and i started planning a long fic... a Rowaelin Modern AU... set in Scotland. I am from Scotland so I am biased and also i love, adore the Outer Hebrides which is the location of the fic. They are amazing, incredible islands on the west of Scotland that stole my heart a few years ago.

Also, in my head in Modern AU Rowan is Scottish. There is nothing that will change my mind to do that.

Anyway... I haven’t written a long in a very long time and it’s a terrifying idea. but it just popped in my head and I had a feeling that I had to write it.

On the islands Gaelic is stilll spoken and I will use it from time to time in the fic. I hope it’s grammatically correct. It’s been year since I studied it and I am rusty. I will add a translation.

So here’s the story

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Aelin is a successful doctor in London but her life in the last year has started to take an unhappy turn and she feels overwhelmed. So one day she decides to take a break from her life, book a plane to Scotland and head off to the islands in search of peace and herself as well.

Rowan has a bookstore in Stornoway, the main town in the Isle of Lewis.

Aelin is a bookworm and her first mission once in Stornoway is to find a bookstore.

Have fun reading it....

Chapter 1

Aelin was on the deck of the ferry. The frigid wind was savage against her cheeks. She tugged closer her jacket and a shiver ran down her spine. She was freezing but she had no intentions to get back inside the ferry. She had left Ullapool early that morning on her way to Stornoway on the isle of Lewis.

She needed a getaway. An escape from the busy life in London and from the bad turn her life had taken. 

Without thinking, she went to grab the ring that was at her fourth finger on her left hand to then quickly realise it was not there anymore. And then remembered the reason why the band was missing. The nasty divorce she just had to go through was another reason, if not the main one, for the fact the she had now been on a ferry for almost two hours and a half.

The landscape had been breathtaking, other reason for why she was braving the cold. Once departed Ullapool, all around her there were mountains and the raw wilderness of the landscape tugged at something hidden in her. She was born and bred in London and skyscrapers, traffic and noise was all she knew. She realised she craved this: the stillness, the peace, the silence, nature.

In front of her the sea stretched peacefully and she was glad the sailing had been smooth that day. It seemed like the west of Scotland was welcoming her with a beautiful sunny day, apparently something quite unusual according to some of the people she heard speaking. The Minch, that was the name of the stretch of sea that separated mainland Scotland from the Outer Hebrides.

At the horizon she noticed land appear timidly and a big smile spread on her face. She was almost there. Her new adventure was about to start. She had taken a sabbatical from work and from her life and decided to go away. She had always been fascinated by Scotland but never had the chance to visit, albeit from London it was only an hour away by plane. So, one day she booked a one way plane ticket to Glasgow, rented a car at the airport and slowly and leisurely started to make her way north.

She had taken her time and the journey took her a week and she was already in love with the West coast of Scotland.

While in London she had bought a guide to Scotland and started doing some research and she had been fascinated by the chapter about the Western Isles or Outer Hebrides. Now she was dying to get off the boat and start exploring and living the island life. 

Over the tannoy she heard the crew announcing they were approaching land. She grabbed her rucksack and made her way down below and waited in queue near the stairs to get to the car deck. She felt giddy. She hasn’t been this giddy in… she couldn’t even remember last time she had felt like this, or if she ever that way at all.

The boat was finally berthed and all tucked in at the pier and a crew member advised the car drivers that they could now access the car deck.

She went to her car and looking ahead she noticed the bow slowly opening to let the cars out. It was her first time on a ferry and even the mere disembarkation process was fascinating. 

One by one all the cars in front of her were directed by the car deck crew to exit and once she was out she took her phone and set up her GPS. She had rented a place for a while and according to the landlord’s directions, once out of the terminal she had to turn right and at the junction turn right again. Her place was one of the many small detached houses along the bay. She fell in love with the house almost immediately when she saw the pictures on the ad online. It had an amazing view of the marina from the bedroom window according to the images and the description. She drove for 5 minutes and the voice told her she had arrived. She parked in the driveway and got off the car and stared at her new place for the time being. The house was painted a very light blue, a small garden at the front and a lovely blue door as a final touch. She grabbed the keys from the secret place she was told and made her way inside the building.

The house was modern and cozy. The owner clearly looked after the property and it actually felt like home. The living room had a big sofa and against the walls a couple of bookcases filled with books. She made a mental note to browse the titles later on. She wanted to explore the house first.

She moved to the next room and found the kitchen. A wonderful wooden and rustic kitchen with a big window that made the light filter in the room. In the middle a wooden table and a couple of chairs. The whole placed smelled like a forest. Her tour took her upstairs to the bedroom and the connected bathroom. The room was quite huge and had a nice king size bed again all made of wood. Childishly she let herself fall on the bed and it was amazing. The bathroom had a big shower room and again was quite modern with wood finish everywhere. The owner definitely loved the rustic style and she was not complaining. It was perfection and she already felt at home.

Her telephone rang breaking the peace and she smiled when she noticed it was her best friend Lysandra. She had been giving her a day to day account of her adventure with a massive amount of photos as well.

“I love it.” She exclaimed excited, sitting on the comfy chair at the opposite side of the bed.

“What?” Asked the woman on the other side of the line. 

“This place. I just got into the house I rented and Lys, this place is marvellous. And the town… I have only seen the marina but I can so, see myself staying here.”

“And abandon London forever?” The woman sounded quite sad.

“You are the only person I would really miss, you know that.”

“Gee, I am touched.”

“Lys… the last year… well you know.” Aelin took a deep breath and lounged deeper on the chair.

“I know darling, I know. I didn’t mean that. I miss you. But I know that you needed this. You haven’t been yourself in a while.” Lysandra replied with a loving tone.

She and Lysandra had been best friends since uni. They went through med school and did their internship together and after they finished they were lucky enough to get to work in the same hospital. They both had raised the ranks pretty quickly and Lysandra had become a kickass orthopaedic surgeon and Aelin had ventured into cardio thoracic surgery. She was good at her job and loved it deeply but the last year had been literally hell for her.

She had been robbed of the chance of becoming head of the department because they gave the position to the son of the current head of the department. And that’s when she started to loose the will to do her job. She kept going on for the patients.

Then Chaol happened and their nasty divorce. Married five years and then months spent battling for divorce and papers and courts and lawyers. He told her she loved her job more than him. They fought. He told her she had changed and she was not anymore the person he married. Then he left her for another woman. As a present she had served him with divorce papers.

She heard Lysandra’s voice and realised she was woolgathering.

“What?”

“I was saying that your ex was in the A&E yesterday, with his new woman.”

“What did he do?”

“Looks like he was horse riding with her and he took a bad fall. His right leg was a big mess and I need to fix it now.” Lysandra paused for a moment “I hope it’s ok.”

“Of course Lys. He is a patient.” Aelin admitted quickly. She hated him but not to the point that she wished him to be denied care.

“He…” Lysandra was hesitant “He asked me about you.” Then she heard her friend laugh “I told her that you were off, taking a break gallivanting around Scotland and making legions of scotsmen fall in love and at you feet professing their undying love to you.”

Aelin laughed out loud at the joke.

“Leave some for me by the way…”

“What about Aedion? I thought you had the hots for him.” Aelin stood and walked to the window and opened it to let the sea breeze come in.

“I do, but I can’t be always the one to make the first move. I gave him a few very clear hints. Now it’s his turn.”

“Poor man.”

“Poor me.”

Aelin heard in the background the sound of a pager.

“Is that yours?”

“Damn yes, Ae, I gotta go. Send me loads of pictures. Love you.”

Lysandra hung up and Aelin stared at the window. The bay was peaceful, with sounds of seagulls and people going about their lives. She smiled and decided it was time to explore and most of all grab some food. She was starving. On the map she spotted a big Tesco nearby perfect for grocery shopping.

She took her backpack and left on foot. No car needed for now, she wanted to see the centre of the town.

She followed the same road she came from the terminal and saw on the corner an interesting building with huge windows and she walked toward it. She arrived and noticed it was called An Lanntair, apparently a community and arts centre with a cinema as well. She entered the place and straight in front of her she noticed a corner selling books and souvenirs. She rushed to the books. Some of them were in the other language spoken on the islands which she had learned was called Gaelic and that still quite a few people spoke. The books were interesting but not enough. She moved to one of the ladies at the counter.

“Hi, I am new here. I arrived this morning and I am out exploring. Do you happen to have a bookshop around here?”

The lady smiled warmly at her “Aye, lass…  just go out here and then right on Cromwell st. and then right again. Rowan has a lovely bookshop. He is quite good and always has interesting titles. Down the road we also have a public library if you are moving here. Not as good as Rowan’s place but still worth visiting.”

“Thank you.” Aelin greeted the woman and left, curious to visit this bookstore.

She followed the directions and there it was. In front of her stood the bookstore. It had three windows, she moved closer and noticed that the main window and it had a very lovely display of children’s books with all the stories from Roald Dahl. She smiled. She loved Roald Dahl. She looked up and noticed the name of the shop “Aislingean pàipeir”. It must have been in Gaelic because she had no idea what it meant. A good excuse to chat with the owner.

She entered the shop and the doorbell rang alerting the owner of her presence. She reached the counter but no one was there. “Hello?” She called out looking around for a sign of life.

“Hi, anyone here? The door was open.”

“Tha mi a ’tighinn a-nis” said a deep voice from a corner of the shop.

The man, Rowan she assumed appeared and she almost forgot how to breathe.

He was tall. A good 1.80m, silver hair and short and eyes of the deepest green. His skin looked tanned and he had a nice healthy build. He was one of the most gorgeous man she had ever seen.

“You must be Rowan.”

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

Gaelic:

Tha mi a ’tighinn a-nis - I am coming now

Aislingean pàipeir - paper dreams. ( I know the name of the shop is probably lousy...sorry...)

[kareofbears]

taste test

“To everyone who decided to come today…”

Makoto heaves a heavy sigh, palms flat on the table, eyes dark and shrouded.

“There’s no backing out now.”

—

read on ao3 or below the cut :)

(lovingly beta read by @mad4turtles)

“To everyone who decided to come today…”

Makoto heaves a heavy sigh, palms flat on the table, eyes dark and shrouded.

“There’s no backing out now.”

Ryuji squints from the sofa. “Are you about to invite us into a pyramid scheme?” his eyes light up with understanding. “Is that why Yusuke’s not here?”

“No,” Ann leans forward. “I think this is a yakuza proposition.”

His brows furrow, “Guys, my mom already thinks you’re all sketchy, can we not join the yakuza?”

“What’re you talking about?” Akira raises an eyebrow, poking Ryuji’s side. “Sakamoto-san loves me. We’re having brunch next week.”

“You’re what?”

Futaba rolls her eyes. “Yakuza isn’t even that bad. Some of them are just trying to protect their adoptive father from being kicked out and shamed for life.”

Ann makes a noise of indignation and slaps her hands over her ear. “No spoilers, no spoilers!”

“That was the first hour of the game!”

Slamming her hands down the table, Makoto glares down at all of them. “This is not a yakuza recruitment meeting.”

“So this is actually a pyramid scheme?” Akira asks slowly.

“This,” Makoto hoists a heavy bag onto the table with a thud, and sloshing sounds from within. “Is much more dangerous and life-altering.”

Four pairs of eyebrows shoot up.

“Alright, place your bets,” Futaba reaches over to jostle the bag. “My guess is that it’s filled with goldfishes and she wants us to learn about responsibility.”

Ryuji snaps his fingers. “Like a Tamagotchi?”

“No.”

“I remember getting one of those,” Ann says wistfully. “I got one, hopped on a train home, and I realized I forgot it on the train.”

“Okay, so at least now we know not to give Ann one of Makoto’s fishes,” Futaba sums up.

“Hold off for a second, children,” Akira interjects. “Makoto has an announcement, or some kind of gift-giving session, I don’t really know.”

Makoto smiles. “Thank you, Leader.” He gives her a deadpanned thumbs-up. “So as you all know, I’m a third-year that plans on going to university, which you should all start thinking about—” all of them suddenly avoid her eyes. “—and that means I need to start acquiring the essentials of adulthood.”

Futaba nods sagely. “R-rated mangas, but age never stopped me.”

“Don’t you already drive?” Ann accuses.

Ryuji’s grin is sharp. “The good mags? Age never stopped me for that, either.”

“Makoto’s about to admit to her smoking addiction,” says Akira.

“Cooking,” Makoto sighs, dejected. “The answer was cooking.”

There’s a collective sound of understanding as Makoto opens her bag and takes out a large pot, plastic utensils, and paper bowls with the words DAD TO THE BONE printed on, placing them all on Akira’s table. She shrugs. “Father’s Day clearance.”

“Ooo! Did you cook this yourself?” Ann peers closely at the pot.

“I did,” Makoto starts setting out the bowls, dropping spoons in one by one. “Though I didn’t get a chance to taste it before coming here. However, I gave it my all, so I hope it’s to your taste.”

The aroma begins to waft from the pot, and the scent of it hits them like a brick wall.

Futaba sniffs carefully. “Seafood?”

“Hmm? No, chicken actually,” Makoto uses a ladle to lovingly pour soup into each bowl.

Her eyes flicker over to Akira’s. His brow cocks up. Got something to say?

Eyes darting to the soup before going back to Akira, her expression morphs to one of alarm. The soup looks bad.

He leans back into the sofa, and raises a shoulder. What can we do about it?

She rolls her eyes. Nothing, obviously. I’m not that mean.

Ann shifts in her seat, and the three of them all watch as she studies the pot with a grimace. No, I’m with Futaba. That soup’s bad news.

Ryuji squints hard at Ann. Rude. You’re a rude person.

She squints back at him. So you’re not worried at all? Really?

Scoffing silently, Ryuji throws his arm around Akira. Nope. He and I are gonna chow down no problem.

Futaba nods patronizingly. Yeah, Ann. Kindness is a virtue.

Ann glares hard at her. “Faker!”

“How’s that soup coming along?” Akira asks quickly, seeing Ann’s outburst from a mile away.

“Ready to eat,” Makoto answers, gesturing to the bowls, expression hopeful. “Would you like to try some?”

Kurusu Akira isn’t lionhearted for nothing. “I’d love to.”

And if Akira’s lionhearted, Ryuji is positively fearless. “Alright, let’s all dig in!”

They all crowd around the table, lifting their respective Father’s Day themed bowls. Ann scoops a spoonful, take one last glance at Makoto’s optimistic smile, and takes a sip.

She almost drops the bowl.

The moment the broth hits her tongue, she immediately understands what Futaba means by seafood; it’s like the ocean had manifested in her bowl and its waved crashed directly into her mouth. It’s mercilessly, brutally, bile-inducingly salty, to the point that any other ingredient is completely overshadowed.

“Mmm,” Ann fights back a grimace with her life. She swallows, and her body trembles with effort. “What a taste.”

Tasting the Dead Sea is almost worth how bright Makoto beams. “Really?”

“For sure,” glancing past Makoto, Futaba looks like she’s being held at knifepoint with how profusely she’s sweating. “Really something special.”

Makoto nods seriously and takes out a notepad and pen. “I’d love to hear anything you’d have to say. Details, specifics, anything to help me improve.”

Ann sends a panicked look at Akira, whose expression is worryingly blank. Still, there’s a reason he’s their leader. “It brings...an explosion of taste,” he chokes out. Bravely, he takes another sip and his eyes water. “There are no words for it.”

Makoto is furiously writing in her notepad. “Explosion...got it. This is great. Anything else?”

Akira gives Ryuji a pleading look from the couch they’re sharing. Ryuji sighs and pats his thigh. Wordlessly, Akira moves to stand where Futaba’s sitting on his bed.

“Makoto,” Ryuji calls. “Sit beside me.” Confused, she does as she’s told. “You got that soup recipe on you?”

“Yes, just let me—” she flips her notepad back a few pages. “Here we go.”

“And, out of curiosity,” he continues gently. “How much salt did it say to add?”

“If I’m not mistaken, it said to put…two cups, I think?”

In the background, Futaba silently spits her soup back into her bowl. Akira moves to where Ann’s sitting instead.

Ryuji works to school his expression. “Did the recipe say to add two cups?”

“It did, look—” she points down at the paper. “See? ‘Add two pinches of—’” she pauses. “Wait a second.”

“Take your time.”

“It didn’t…” Makoto’s brows knit together as her eyes scan through her notes, and Ryuji leans forward to read along with her. “I distinctly remember it said ‘half a teaspoon of pepper, two tablespoons of parsley, two cups of salt, two punches of broth—”

Futaba inches towards Akira. “Did I hear that right?” she whispers, urgent. “Did she say punches? What the heck is that?”

“Just let Ryuji handle it,” he whispers back, eyes never leaving the pair on the couch.

Ryuji points at a line in her notes. “Senpai, it says two cups of broth, and two pinches of salt.”

Makoto could only stare at him.

He clears his throat. “And, uh, ‘punch’ isn’t a measurement. Or, at least not in cooking. Tell that to the guy in the alley, huh?” he laughs.

The silence only serves to punctuate how much that joke didn’t work.

And then, slowly, Makoto stands from the sofa and, hands shaking ever so slightly, lifts the ladle to her mouth, and sips. They all watch as she promptly walks over to the open window and spits out her mouthful.

Akira winces. “Really hope the neighbors didn’t see that.”

Collapsing back into the sofa, Makoto buries her face into her hands. “Oh my God.”

“I know.”

“That was terrible.”

He places a heavy hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay.”

“I basically fed my friends salt water.”

“Makoto, if it’s any consolation,” Futaba says while discreetly hiding her bowl under Akira’s blanket. “It was really good salt water.”

“That’s right,” Ann agrees. “Best salt water I’ve ever had.”

Makoto wails in response.

Akira strides forward and kneels in front of Makoto. “Hey, champ.”

“Don’t bother,” she mumbles into her palms. “I’m too stupid to understand what you’re going to say.”

Ryuji winces. “Damn, if she’s stupid, what the hell does that make me?”

“The guy Akira chose?” Ann offers.

That cheers him up. “And don’t you forget it.”

“Look,” Akira continues, focusing intently on the extremely distressed Makoto. “You remember that time I made coffee for you? The first time, back in June?”

She refuses to look at him. “Yeah?”

“And you almost threw up?”

“...Yeah.”

“What was that you said again?”

Flushing red, “I don’t remember.”

He knocks his knuckles against her knee. “Yes, you do.”

“I don’t want to say it. It was mean.”

“Come on.”

Sighing, she peeks through her fingers. “I said, ‘Kurusu, did you get these beans from Morgana’s litter box?’”

Ryuji coughs, and Akira holds back a smile. “And you said that because…?”

“Because it tasted pretty bad,” she admits.

Ann scowls. “Oh God, I forgot about that. That was so much worse than the soup.”

“Thank you, Ann.”

“Didn’t Sojiro ask why you put dirt into the filter because it tasted so much like crap?” Futaba muses.

“Alright, that’s enough—”

“Dude, I love you a whole lot, but it literally tasted like actual rat poison—”

“Basically,” Akira cuts in loudly. “You are going to improve. You’re not stuck here. I promise you, as long as you practice, you will improve.”

Makoto sighs. “Thank you, but you don’t know that.”

Gray eyes slide to lock with brown ones; even with how easily they all communicate with each other through gestures, it’s still a drop in the bucket compared to Ryuji’s and Akira’s near telepathy.

Do you have this?

You know I do.

Ryuji pats Makoto’s head. “This bastard is going to keep his promise, because I am going to make sure you practice and be a kick-ass chef.” He stands abruptly. “Get up.”

She blinks. “What?”

“There’s a grocery around the corner, and my chicken soup recipe is a thousand times better than whatever mommy website you pulled that one from.” His grin is bright enough to rival the sun. “Let me prove to you that you can move past this.”

Hesitantly, Makoto stands. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay!”

“Okay!” he grabs her wrist and leans forward to steal a kiss from Akira’s cheek. “Be back in ten.”

Akira waves at them half-heartedly as Ryuji sprints down the stairs, a newly-invigorated Makoto in tow. “I hope he buys me some fruit packs—we’re running low.”

“Ryuji’s good at that,” Futaba comments. “Handling her crises, I mean.”

“I was just thinking that.” Ann pours her bowl’s contents back into the pot. “Pretty unexpected. It was honestly kind of weird.”

Shrugging, Akira moves to tidy his room. “Not really. It’s probably because of his mom.”

The girls share a glance. “What about her?” Ann asks.

“When his dad was still around, he made them all get take-out every night,” he says, focused on collecting all the utensils scattered around the table. “And when he left, Ryuji was too young to cook and his mom had zero experience in cooking. So the two of them had to learn it together. And once that’s all done, Ryuji walked out of it knowing how to make great food and help other people learn how to make great food, too. Pretty on brand of him, honestly.”

Akira lifts his hand over his mouth, but it’s impossible to cover the sheer amount of adoration radiating off of him. “He taught me how to cook stuff other than coffee and curry, too. He’s good at what he does.”

Futaba and Ann didn’t know what to say, sincerity catching them off guard.

Akira reaches over to ruffle Futaba’s hair. “Help me clean, or I’ll have to sleep in your room tonight.”

She bats his hand away. “No way, not after you stole all my pillows last time.”

“I’ll get the trash bags,” he grins, heading for the stairs. “And don’t think I didn’t see you hide the soup under my blanket!”

“Shut up!”

Ann hears Akira laugh quietly from downstairs. “They’re good together,” she says softly. “Aren’t they?”

“Akira and trash bags? Yeah, I’d say so.”

—

An hour later, they’re overcome with food comas, stomachs full of soup and fruit packs. All through the night, Makoto couldn’t stop smiling.

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @suburbanmotel!

Read on AO3

*****

Stay With Me

"Filthy dog!"

Derek landed heavily on the concrete floor, and even though his captors' unceremonious push had jostled his already fuzzy head and knocked the wind right out of him, he refused to give them the satisfaction of hearing his pain grunt. He looked up at the three men outside his small cell from beneath hooded eyes, schooling his features into complete blankness. Out of sheer pride and stubbornness, he would not reveal any of the weakness he felt throughout his whole body.

These men were Hunters. He'd noticed that easily. It was in the tone of their voices, the arrogance of their postures ... the hatred on their faces. But why? Why him, and why after all these years? He'd thought rogue factions like these had been dealt with long ago.

He clenched his jaw and briefly squeezed his eyes shut, partly to ease the wave of dizziness that washed through him, but mainly to contain that anger at himself for being such a wide open target. Stiles was definitely going to mock how he'd gotten soft with old age once he got out of here. He blinked several times, trying to keep his mind and vision clear. It didn't work.

"How long before he's out?" a Hunter – the one with dark eyes and a deep scar along his left cheek – asked.

"He should be out already. Mutt's stronger than I thought. Just leave him until the elixir does its thing." The cell door – thick bars of reinforced metal – slammed shut. The ensuing click of the lock was abnormally loud.

Shit. He slumped tiredly against the nearby wall once the Hunters began to walk away. As much as he wanted to overpower his captors and make some daring escape, his body was not in the mood to cooperate. Whatever they'd shot him up with earlier must've contained wolfsbane or some derivative thereof because he couldn't muster the strength to stand, much less break open the door. He blinked again, his eyelids suddenly weighing more than he was willing to support. He wanted to rub the grogginess away, but his arms might as well have been tied down with ten ton weights.

Once the distant footsteps of the Hunters faded, silence settled eerily around him. There was nothing – no one. And given the losing battle he was fighting with consciousness, he begrudgingly gave in and closed his eyes.

(***)

He struggled – and failed – to wake up multiple times. The brief recollections of the light fading from his cell flittered at the edges of his memory like phantom fingers, impermanent and ephemeral. Then, at an indeterminate hour, he jolted awake, spine ramrod straight and eyes wide open. He looked around, and saw nothing but the stark, flat surface of his cell's walls, and the dark outline of the bars.

Suddenly, he heard it. He stilled, and realized what had woken him. The faint, rapid staccato tapping away nearby was unmistakable.

"Stiles?" His voice sounded raspy from the dryness.

There was the muted shuffle of limbs against concrete, and he could practically picture the other man's scrambling movements.

"Derek?" The familiar voice eased the tension in his muscles. "Fuck, I was waiting for you at the café but you never showed. Now I know why."

He grunted an affirmative response. "Was on my way to meet you for lunch when they got me. I didn't see them until it was too late." He moved over to the bars of the door, and tried to determine which cell they'd put Stiles in. He pushed at the metal – hard. The last thing he'd wanted was for the other man to be put in danger, and if he could pick out Stiles' heartbeat, then perhaps his strength had returned too.

But the bars didn't budge. He gave them a frustrated punch, and was only rewarded with stinging knuckles. He cursed silently. Whatever drug they'd used was still in his system.

"What's wrong?" Worry seeped into Stiles' tone. "You okay?"

"Nothing. I'm fine. They just gave me something, and I'm not at full strength. I can't get us out."

A mirthless chuckle escaped the other man. "Just my luck, isn't it? I finally have time for a real, legitimate date – our first one in months, might I add – and it gets sidetracked by rogue Hunters. I mean, don't they realize that going rogue is so 2011? You can bet that Chris will be getting an earful from us about this!"

A corner of Derek's mouth lifted up fondly at the righteous indignation in the younger man's words. Still, Stiles was right: they hadn't had time for each other in months, and to say he was disappointed that their lunch plans had been derailed was an understatement. Stiles had wanted to pursue his career with the FBI, and seeing as Derek could do his freelance writing anywhere, he had followed the younger man to D.C. For five years, they'd made it work – together, both professionally and personally – so much so that Derek had gone out, bought a ring, and hidden it away in their apartment while waiting for the right moment. He had thought that two days from now would've been it. After all, Stiles had finally closed the big case that had consumed his life these past four months, and clichéd as it was, a Christmas proposal, surrounded by family and friends, felt like the ideal counterpoint to their tumultuous beginning.

"Well, at least Scott and the pack should be coming in tonight. When we're not there to pick them up, I'm sure they'll figure out something's wrong. They'll track us down, and we'll have a jolly, holly Christmas, just like we planned."

Derek raised an eyebrow at his boyfriend's optimism, a small smile playing on his lips despite their dire circumstances. Not surprisingly, things didn't seem so bleak when he was with Stiles. God, how he wanted to hold the other man right now, and give him a grateful kiss. Through everything they'd been through – from supernatural possessions to near-death experiences – they'd somehow managed to find each other, and remain relatively sane. Derek knew, without a doubt, that he wouldn't be where he was today – healthy and admittedly happy – without Stiles anchoring him. "So much faith," he deadpanned jokingly.

Stiles harrumphed, and Derek could picture the side-eye that likely accompanied it. "I'm trying to determine whether you're being sarcastic or not. You know, despite evidence to the contrary, Scott's a good friend. He's grown as a person. And as an alpha. He'll find us."

Derek shifted over to the nearby wall, and leaned back against it. "I'm sure he will," he breathed out. And he believed it. The years had served Scott and his pack well.

"Besides," Stiles added after a beat. "I want my date, so we're getting out of here, come hell or high water. Though preferably not hell, since I think we've probably seen that enough times already. Figuratively speaking. Don't think the literal place would – "

Loud voices and heavy footsteps cut Stiles off, and almost instantly, Derek moved to the bars, pressing his face against them to get a glimpse of what was happening. He prayed their captors were after him, and Stiles was just there as leverage. He could take a lot, and with Stiles by his side, he could heal from almost anything. But Stiles ... as strong and as smart as he was, Stiles couldn't.

Sounds of a struggle filtered over, and he growled loudly when he realized they'd come from Stiles' cell. "Hey!" he shouted angrily. Panic and fury were a potent mix. "Leave him alone! You want me, don't you?" He hit the bars repeatedly, cursing his diminished strength, but dead set on making enough of a disturbance so they'd leave Stiles alone. "Hey, assholes, over here! You want a fight? You've got one right here, ready and willing! Or are you too chicken shit to pick on someone who can really fight back?"

They didn't react to him, didn't even acknowledge him, and before long, they'd dragged Stiles away. And even through the resistance the younger man had put up, Derek noticed that Stiles purposely ignored him, refusing to bring any attention to him. Stupid, foolish, brave Stiles, who probably didn't want to make Derek a target.

"Hey, over here!" Derek continued to shout, regardless of the futility of it now. He hated feeling so powerless, so helpless, but he needed to do something. He didn't want to even consider what they would do to Stiles, and indirectly, what they would do to him.

Then, after what felt like an eternity of constant noise on his part, the scarred hunter from earlier came into his line of sight, dark eyes gleaming with hate, and mouth slanted up in distaste. Derek quieted, and settled for a low, threatening growl that reverberated in the back of his throat.

"Shut the fuck up, you mangy mongrel."

Before Derek could register what was happening, his captor raised an arm, and pulled the trigger of the gun in his hands. Derek froze at the pinprick sensation on his neck, and within seconds, his body dropped, his head meeting the ground with a crack before he fell into complete darkness.

(***)

He woke next to loud shouts and gunfire. He tried to move, but the grogginess in his head and the lethargy of his limbs defied that intention. It took him a few moments before he remembered where he was, but when he did, he forced his body to move.

Stiles! He rolled over with the speed of a ninety year old man, and practically crawled to the cell door. He listened carefully for his boyfriend's distinctive heartbeat, and heard nothing. The Hunters hadn't brought him back. Worry clawed at his chest, ravaging his thoughts and tainting his rationality.

He started to call out to his captors, to curse them out, and condemn everything they were and everything they'd done, but he stopped when the shouts of a familiar voice made its way into his cell. He listened carefully for a few more seconds to be sure, but that was definitely Scott's voice intermingled between the sounds of fighting. Relief flooded through him. Not surprisingly, Stiles had been right in placing his faith with his best friend, and he looked forward to the younger man rubbing in that fact. With any luck, the alpha had already rescued Stiles, and Derek just had to wait for his turn.

Patience had never been one of his strong suits, and it certainly wasn't his friend now as he waited for the sounds to die down. The gunshots became fewer and further apart, which was a good indication that the Hunters were losing the battle, and Derek indulged himself by imagining their long, painful deaths. Of course, knowing Scott, that was likely not even close to the truth, but he could dream, especially given that those assholes had hurt Stiles.

Soon, he sensed the arrival of Scott and managed to pull himself up to stand on wobbling legs, just as the man in question appeared outside his cell, eyes still red and chest heaving as if expecting more enemies. The younger werewolf calmed when he noticed none forthcoming.

"Scott," Derek said lowly in greeting. "Nice of you to drop by."

A lopsided grin changed the other man's demeanor. He assessed the bars of the cell door. "Well, you know, I was in the neighborhood anyways," he replied with a nonchalant shrug. Then, he grabbed the metal bars, and yanked – hard. The hinges and lock buckled with a shrill, prolonged squeak, and within seconds, Derek was free.

He nodded his thanks to the younger werewolf as the broken door was tossed aside. "Did you get Stiles already?" he asked as he stepped out of the confined space. Already, he felt stronger, steadier.

"Stiles?" Scott narrowed his eyes in confusion. "No, I thought he would be here with you. His scent – "

"Scott!" A panicked voice that sounded distinctly like Malia's came from a nearby cell, startling Derek as he hadn't noticed his cousin slip by them.

Without a thought, Scott ran over to the other open cell, Derek following closely behind. But then, the younger werewolf stopped abruptly at the entrance, causing Derek to almost bowl him over.

"Scott, wha—"

There were moments in Derek's life when reality had felt suspended, where he'd watched the events unfold around him like he was watching it from afar. His family's deaths had been one of those moments. Losing his small pack had been another. But this ... this reality, where Malia was crouched down – open-mouthed and wide-eyed – over Stiles' unmoving form, was as far from being real as he could possibly fathom. There was no heartbeat. Why wasn't there a heartbeat? No one moved, as if everyone was afraid that any further progression beyond this point in time would make the situation permanent.

In the distance, Derek barely made out the thumping of additional footsteps, and absently registered that the rest of the pack was making their way here. He took a step forward. And then, he took another. He moved toward Stiles, unconsciously edging Malia out of the way, and knelt down. Stiles would be embarrassed if the others saw him like this – hot shot FBI analyst, sprawled so inelegantly on the dirty cell floor. He pulled the familiar weight of the younger man against him. Maybe he could protect Stiles' reputation if he held him close enough. He lowered his head, and nuzzled his boyfriend's temple, trying to soak up that faint, comforting scent. "I've got you," he whispered. "I've got you. Please, stay with me ... please."

His voice cracked, but he didn’t care. Stiles was in his arms, where he should be ... where he should always be.

"Derek," Scott said softly. "We should –"

"No." Derek spared the other werewolf a brief glance before focusing back on the precious weight in his arms. He tried to block out those tear-filled eyes and that grief-stricken face. "Just let me ..." He tightened his hold, at a loss for words. "Please," he said brokenly. "Just ... please ..."

(***)

Derek kicked the door closed with his heel, dropped his overnight bag where he stood, and tossed his keys onto the side table by the entrance. His shoulders slumped as he took in the darkened apartment around him, the shadowed shapes of the furniture and appliances standing as sentinels in the lifeless space. Even the little, decorated Christmas tree watched him from the corner.

The quiet was almost oppressive, a heavy weight that threatened to suffocate him. It was a marked contrast to the non-stop activity since his flight to Beacon Hills for the funeral. For the last week and a half, he'd felt as if he'd lived another man's life, being pulled like a mindless zombie from the Hunters' compound to Beacon Hills for funeral arrangements, and then returning back to D.C. to pick up the pieces of what remained of his soul. Then again, maybe it was the last five years that had been another man's life, and this was just him getting back in touch with his reality. Because, really, since when and in what fantasy world did Derek Hale ever get a happy ending?

He walked sluggishly over to the table of their – no, his – open-concept kitchen, and fell, boneless, onto a chair. He stared sightlessly down at the deep scratch in the wood grain of the table's surface, and remembered when he'd lifted Stiles onto it, body half-naked and lips kiss-swollen. They'd belatedly realized that Stiles' keys had been pinned underneath, and the gouge had been a result of that small oversight.

Derek closed his eyes, and breathed out a slow breath. He wasn’t sure why, but he couldn't bring himself to feel anything at the memory. Perhaps he was still in shock, or perhaps that part of him had died back there in that cell as well. Either way, he didn't really care.

(***)

"You okay, Derek?"

He turned to watch the Sheriff approach, his dark suit looking out of place under the bright Californian sun. He gave the older man a curt nod, and returned to staring at the overturned dirt and new gravestone. His lips thinned and he clenched his fists involuntarily. Stiles had gone somewhere Derek couldn't follow, and that knowing smile, that boundless energy, and that addictive light had gone with him. And for Derek, it felt like part of him was buried down there too, withered and dead.

"I just need a moment," he said after a pause. The rest of the funeral procession had already left the site, and he did honestly want some time alone.

The Sheriff clapped him reassuringly on the shoulder, and bowed his head. "I understand," the older man supplied softly. And if there ever was someone who did understand, it would be Stiles' father, a man who'd lost his wife, and now, his only son. Derek noticed the extra lines on the older man's face, the stoop in his posture. But he also knew that the Sheriff would recover. Stilinski men were resilient. And, he had a new lady in his life now, according to Stiles' eager gossiping last year, the new town librarian.

"We'll be at the house for the wake when you're ready to join us," the older man offered.

Derek nodded again, and the Sheriff started to walk away. Then, he remembered a question that had been hovering on the fringes of his mind since he'd landed in Beacon Hills a couple of days ago. "Noah," he called out, causing the other man to stop and turn around. "Are you happy?"

"Der –"

"Not right now, but in general. Will you ever be happy again?"

The older man's expression softened at the words. "It doesn't feel like it right now, Derek, but maybe one day, I will be. Happy, that is. I'll try. For Stiles. It's what he would've wanted."

(***)

The ring was exactly where he'd left it. He grabbed it from the back of the broom closet shelf, opened the velvet box, and pulled the simple, circular piece of metal out. The titanium sat innocently in his palm – strong, simple, and perfect – just like its intended owner had been. He wrapped his fingers around it, his throat constricting at the things that could've been. And with a quick, impulsive motion, he whipped it across the room. It clattered multiple times, once against the exposed brick wall, and several against the polished hardwood before coming to rest somewhere behind the sofa. It didn't matter where it was now. In fact, he would've preferred it fall into a vent, never to be found again.

(***)

"We're here," Scott stated as he pulled into the drop-off zone outside the Beacon Hills airport. Christmas decorations still adorned the multiple stanchions and entrances as rushed holiday travellers buzzed by, evidence that the world still went on in spite of everything that had happened.

Derek nodded, and grabbed the car's door handle. "Thanks for the ride."

"Hey, wait, Derek."

He stopped, waiting for the younger werewolf to continue.

"You going to be okay? I mean, back in D.C. Alone. You could always move – "

"I don't know, Scott." Derek watched the car in front of them drop off a passenger: a husband and a dad, if the hugs he was receiving from the woman and the little girl were any indication. Frankly, he was too numb to be moved by the heartwarming sight. "I'll figure something out."

"Alright, but you know we're here if you need anything. Me and the pack."

There was such sincerity and earnestness on Scott's face that Derek couldn't outright refuse him. "Sure, thanks." He made to get out of the car then, but paused one more time. "Hey, Scott," he said, tone neutral. "Will you be okay?"

There was sadness in the younger werewolf's eyes, a deep-seeded grief that could only be from losing someone close. "Not right now, but I will be. I've got the pack," the man noted resolutely. "And they've got me. We'll get through this, and we'll be stronger when we come out on the other side."

Derek watched his companion closely. He took in the set jaw, the determined gleam in his eyes, and he knew, without a doubt, that Scott had spoken the truth.

(***)

The apartment was a mess. What had started as a thrown ring had become an overturned table, several toppled chairs, and numerous tossed pillows. And distantly, Derek realized now that the anger had worked its course, it had sapped his energy, and left him feeling like a hollow shell.

At least everyone else would eventually be in a good place. Stiles would've made sure of it. The Sheriff had someone by his side to look after him. Scott had the pack, just as the pack had Scott. But where did that leave him? What was he supposed to do now with the empty shadow of his former life?

He froze when his eyes caught the unmistakable outline of his laptop through the open bedroom door, sitting on his nightstand. He walked toward it. Perhaps there was something still left for him.

(***)

He slipped the storage facility's business card into the envelope along with the key to the large space he'd rented two days ago. Stiles, with all his attachment issues, hadn't wanted to leave his beloved jeep behind in Beacon Hills, and had driven the thing out here years ago. It was a miracle the old car hadn't broken down on the way, but now, it sat in the storage facility, right alongside the Camaro he'd bought three years ago for nostalgia's sake. He'd tossed the car keys onto the respective drivers' seats, on top of his personal papers, right before he'd locked up the rental space a day earlier. Now, he sealed the envelope, and dropped it into the mailbox. He hoped it would make it safely to Scott.

The cab was still waiting for him when he was done, and without any further delay, he hopped in and directed the driver to the nearest regional park – Fountainhead, as the case turned out to be. It would do.

The drive took over forty minutes, but in the end, he had the driver drop him off on a secluded back road, and paid the man handsomely for it. Once he was alone, he took a deep breath, and let the forest air permeate his lungs and saturate his bloodstream. He walked off the road and into the trees. When the foliage was dense enough, he started to strip, and when he was naked, he started to run. He ran, and then he shifted, his stride never breaking. As a wolf, things were simpler, free and unconfined. And when he ran like this, his mind was empty, save for the call of the wild - no emotions, no pain or hurt. And so he did. He ran, and through the forest, he could connect to an endless number of interconnected trails, which meant that he could run forever.

(***)

"Do you need anything else?"

Scott's tinny voice echoed loudly from his phone's speaker as Stiles poured the herbal mix from the mortar onto the ritual mat. "I should be good to try again. Thanks, buddy."

"Okay, we're heading back to the hotel right now, but I'll give Deaton a call then to see if he has any other ideas, in case this doesn't work."

Stiles smiled gratefully at his best friend's offer, even though the other man couldn't see it. "Sounds good. And hey, sorry our Christmas plans got messed up. I know this wasn't what you expected when you decided to visit," he said. "But this is going to work. It has to. I'm not losing him."

"It's alright, and I know, Stiles. Call me, whatever happens, okay?"

"You got it." He partitioned the herbs into five even piles, and nodded in satisfaction with the setup. "Okay, gotta go. Doing magic I haven't done in years, and my appendages need to stay in the vehicle at all times."

" 'kay, later!"

Stiles ended the call, and looked over at the unnaturally still figure sitting upright on the edge of the bed. Unblinking hazel eyes stared blankly at him, as if there was no one home on the other side. "Just you and me now, big guy," he said softly.

When Derek hadn't shown up for lunch three days ago, Stiles hadn't thought much of it. He'd assumed that something must've come up. But when Derek hadn't called, texted, or come home in time to pick up Scott and the others from the airport, he'd known something was wrong. Between himself and the pack, they'd managed to track Derek's whereabouts to just outside D.C., but by the time they'd stormed the compound, overtaken the Hunters, and found Derek, he was already in a catatonic state. Stiles blamed himself for not finding his werewolf sooner, but he'd be damned if he didn't try everything to bring him back now.

The compound had reeked of magic – or so Scott had pointed out – and after a full day of research, Stiles was pretty sure those Hunters had somehow locked his boyfriend in his own mind. He supposed that as far as loopholes in the Code went, this was a pretty good one. They technically hadn't killed Derek, but his mind was far gone enough to be close.

"You're coming back to me, Derek." If it took years, decades even, he would get the werewolf back. Derek deserved to be happy, and he would make sure of it, even if it took him the rest of his life. With that thought in mind, he stepped around the mat, and started the memorized Latin chant.

(***)

The forest seemed very much like the Beacon Hills Preserve. Stiles did a slow three-sixty to get his bearings. The clearing in which he stood was small, but as with most dreams, the possibilities of what lay beyond the trees were endless. For what Derek's mind could've constructed as a possible prison, Stiles had expected worse.

"Now, to find you," he muttered as he tried to find the best place to start.

Then, he froze. Something – or someone – was watching him, stalking him, and he had a pretty good idea who that was.

"Derek," he called out, his voice carrying loudly through the still air. "It's me, Stiles. I'm here to bring you home."

Two points of iridescent blue shone brightly to his right, and he turned to meet the emerging form with a smile. "Hello, Sourwolf," he said fondly.

The black shape moved toward him slowly, growling lowly with teeth bared. Those blue eyes, deadly and sharp, never left him, and a frisson of apprehension ran down Stile's spine at their intensity. He reminded himself that this was Derek, his werewolf boyfriend who may have a scowling, intimidating exterior, but was honestly tender and loyal and protective on the inside.

"Derek, it's – "

Before he could get another word out, the wolf leapt at him, catching him unprepared and toppling him to the forest floor. Instinctively, he moved to protect his head, and felt the burn of sharp teeth puncturing the skin of his forearm as the heavy beast on top of him bit down.

"Derek," he breathed out through gritted teeth. He knew this was all in his head – or rather, Derek's head – but the bite still fucking hurt! Instead of trying to push his attacker away though, he pulled the mass of muscle toward him, hugging the wolf close and ignoring the searing pain that radiated from his arm. He buried his face in the wolf's fur, choosing to believe that his boyfriend, the man he'd come to love beyond all reason, was listening. "Hey, Derek, it's Stiles. Stay with me, okay? We're going home..."

(***)

Stiles woke up staring at the apartment ceiling with a heavy weight atop him – a heavy, moving, groaning weight. He shifted slightly to get a better idea of where he was. In the time he'd been travelling in Derek's mind, he must've fallen over onto the ritual mat. He sighed. The finely crushed herbs were going to be a bitch to clean.

His arm moved, and his fingers comfortingly worked their way through Derek's hair. "You with me, big guy?"

The body on him tensed, and then, just as suddenly, fell gracelessly onto him again. "Stiles?"

The mix of desperation, vulnerability, hope, and pain in that one word broke Stiles' heart. He continued to run his fingers soothingly through the other man's dark hair. "Yeah, it's me. The one and only," he confirmed quietly.

And just like that, he was enclosed in a bone-crushing hug. He let it be, and only responded by holding Derek close, even as the werewolf started to shake from frantic breaths and silent sobs.

(***)

The enticing smell of bacon and eggs greeted Derek when he opened his eyes. He stretched against the softness of his comforter, and easily picked up the sound of a familiar heartbeat in the next room. Three days, Stiles had said last night when he'd finally calmed down enough to talk. Even though it had seemed like so much longer, he'd been stuck in his head for three days, thinking his world had ended. He remembered the utter loss and devastation he'd felt with vivid clarity, and he wasn't sure how he'd survived such an experience. No, scratch that, he knew exactly how, and the answer was in the next room. He sat up, overtaken by the sudden need to simply be with Stiles.

Quickly and quietly, he padded his way out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. He hugged the startled man dancing to Christmas carols in front of the stove from behind, and bent his head to place a kiss on that freckled neck. He breathed in the comforting scent, and prayed to every deity listening that he would be able to bask in this warmth for another seventy or eighty years, at least.

"Well, good morning to you too," Stiles said as he shut off the stove burner and leaned back into the embrace, spatula flailing. "How are you feeling?"

Derek took one more fortifying lungful of his companion's warm, spicy scent before answering. "Better now."

"Good." Stiles turned around in his arms, and something in Derek's chest constricted at the sight of the other man, smiling and alive – so, so very much alive.

"I thought we could celebrate Christmas a day late since we missed it yesterday. You know, spend the day together, and then hang out with Scott and the pack tomorrow before they leave."

Derek leaned forward and gave the other man a long, lingering kiss before making a sound of agreement.

Stiles eventually pulled away, looking thoroughly debauched with his eyes glazed and his lips swollen. "Yup, good decision to spend the day together."

Then, he straightened, a wicked glint overtaking that bright, brown gaze. "So, when Scott and I were trying to track you down, I may have used some agency resources to re-trace your steps," he started. He looked away guiltily. "I may have seen some transactions on your credit card that I shouldn't have ..."

Derek furrowed his brow, not immediately processing what the younger man was getting at. And then, realization set in. "Oh," he said simply.

"The answer is 'yes', by the way."

"Stiles." His exasperation sounded forced, even to his own ears. Trust Stiles to throw a wrench in his carefully laid plans. Who else but Stiles would do things in reverse, and answer the question before the question was even asked? Then again, he couldn't imagine it happening any other way.

With a resigned sigh, he gave the younger man a quick kiss on his forehead before walking over to retrieve the ring.

"Really?" Stiles asked as he followed Derek's progress. "The broom closet? Is that your passive aggressive way of asking me to pull my own weight with the cleaning around here?"

Derek smiled at Stiles' spot-on observation. "No comment," he threw back stoically, even though he was seconds away from a full-on grin. He returned to Stiles, ring in hand. He had to remind himself that the last time he'd held the thing, nothing had been real, that everything had just been a manifestation of his own fears.

And the reminder worked to a certain extent. The very solid piece of metal in his hand now represented the very real hopes and dreams he had for them. Stiles belonged to him, just as much as he belonged to Stiles, and nothing or no one would ever take that from him. Resolved by the promise, and warmed by the love reflected in the man before him, he held out the ring with a steady hand. "Stiles Stilinski, will you marry me?"

[thinkingaboutyoungroyals]

The Perfect Moment: Chapter 6

Summary: When Cyrus is assigned to create a modern re-telling of “Romeo and Juliet” for English class, he decides to produce a movie. His stars, however, may pose some trouble. Will he finish his movie on time?

A/N: This is the second to the last chapter! Thank you so much to everyone who read, liked, and commented!

“I like this shot but the lighting doesn’t look right.”

Cyrus leaned in to peer at the clip T.J. was pointing at on the laptop. The jock was right, the glare was too much. But, it was a really nice shot of T.J. and Buffy at the park. Maybe they could fix it with a filter or adjusting the brightness?

“Add it in and leave me a note, please,” Cyrus said.

“Okay, boss.”

He resisted the urge to blush but flashed the jock a grateful smile before returning his attention to his own laptop.

It had been 3 days of non-stop filming and after each shoot, T.J. would walk him home, stay for a few hours to help him pick out clips and edit, they would do a little homework, then he would have dinner with Cyrus and his family before heading home.

They only had two more scenes to film the next day. Then, Cyrus would finish editing and submit his finished work on Friday. Mr. Spencer said that they would show his film in class and he was half-excited and half-terrified about it. On the one hand, he wanted his work to be seen by people other than his friends but on the other, he was afraid that his classmates would hate it and cast him aside as a social pariah. 

No pressure. 

“So… we’re almost done, huh?” T.J. randomly said out of nowhere.

Cyrus hummed. “Yeah, time flew by pretty fast. I can’t believe we managed to get here with minimal injury. Though, I think my nose will always remember.”

Both boys chuckled at that. The bruise had faded by now but Cyrus had been embarrassed and even considered sneaking some of his stepmom's concealer to cover it up.

“That’s your battle scar, Underdog,” T.J. replied, nudging his shoulder. “You braved through it.”

Cyrus could feel his ears burning again. “Thank you.” Clearing his throat, he turned away. “Do you want to take a break from this? Maybe we can rehearse your lines?”

T.J. was already closing the laptop and putting it on the coffee table. “Sounds good.”

He picked up the new script beside it while Cyrus dug his copy out of his book bag. He flipped to the end. Folding his legs under him, he turned his body around so he could face the jock.

“I’ll be Quinn,” he stated, fighting a blush.

T.J. mirrored his position and smirked. “Go ahead… Quinn.”

Cyrus tried to ignore the fluttering in his chest. Instead, he looked down at the script and began to read.

“We need to talk,” he said, getting in the role of Quinn.

As Logan, T.J. nodded, solemnly

“I think it’s best that we stop seeing each other.”

“What? Why?”

“Logan…” Cyrus sighed. “We’ve hurt our team and ourselves, quite literally. The more we keep pushing our relationship, the more we’ll hurt everyone around us.”

“They’re going to accept us. They have to.”

“It’s not about acceptance. It’s about us just… losing ourselves in this thing we think is love.”

T.J. waited a few beats and, in a soft voice, said, “Don’t you love me?”

Cyrus swallowed. “I do…”

“But, you don’t want to be with me anymore?”

“I…just need space and time. And I think you do, too.”

T.J. grabbed Cyrus’ hand (he tried not to jump because T.J. was simply playing a role). “But, I love you.”

Cyrus hesitated before reaching out to place a hand on T.J.’s cheek. “I love you, too. But, it doesn’t mean that we’re meant to be. At least, not right now. I’m sorry, Logan.”

“Quinn…”

They waited a few beats before Cyrus smiled. “That was great, Teej!”

T.J. beamed, squeezing Cyrus’ hand (which he just realized the jock never let go of).

“Buffy is supposed to pull her hand away after that,” T.J. replied.

“Y-Yeah.”

Cyrus dropped his hand from T.J.’s cheek but the latter still didn’t release his hand. The jock’s hand was much bigger than his and kind of rough from all the sports he did.

“So… um… what do you think of the ending?” he asked.

T.J. pursed his lips. “It’s kinda sad. After going through a lot to be together… just to have it end like that…” His thumb absentmindedly stroked Cyrus’ knuckles. “it’s not death, but it’s still pretty…”

He trailed off.

“Tragic?” Cyrus supplied.

“Yeah. It’s tragic. But, I guess it happens?” He turned on his seat (still holding Cyrus’ hand) and leaned back against the couch. “I can’t imagine saying that I’m so in love with someone and just giving up on them like that.”

Cyrus followed his move. “It’s not like Quinn is giving up. She’s just… giving themselves more room to grow. And if they’re really meant to be, they’ll get together, one way or another. I mean, T.J., they’re still in middle school.”

He turned his head to see T.J. frown. “So, you’re saying that you can’t fall in love in middle school? Or if you do, it’s not real?”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying,” Cyrus replied, quickly. “I think what they have is real. It’s just… not the right time for them.”

“Then… when is the right time?” T.J. sounded genuinely upset about that.

Cyrus hesitated to answer. He didn’t want to say the wrong words.

“Sorry,” T.J. suddenly said. “That was a convoluted question. Don’t mind me.”

“No, not at all. I guess… I don’t really have an answer for that.”

“That’s fair.”

They sat in silence for a moment.

Cyrus became even more aware of the hand in his. He wasn’t sure if T.J. was holding his hand on purpose or just forgot that he was. Either way, Cyrus was savoring the feeling. It was nice, holding hands. He liked holding hands. He found it quite intimate.

“Hey, Cy.”

Cyrus turned his head to him. “Yes?”

T.J.’s hand tightened in his as he visibly swallowed.

Cyrus felt himself scoot closer. “What is it, T.J.?”

T.J. slowly leaned in. “I… um… So I…”

Cyrus bit his lip. “Yes?”

“I…”

The sound of a lock turning made them both freeze. T.J. released his hand and leaned back just as the door opened.

“Hey, kids.” Cyrus’ mother entered, hands full with her purse and what appeared to be groceries. “Hard at work, I see.”

“Yeah,” Cyrus managed.

“We’re almost done,” T.J. added.

Sharon smiled at them. “T.J., you’re staying for dinner, yes?”

The jock nodded with a smile of his own. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

“Perfect! It will be ready in an hour!”

Sharon headed to the kitchen, leaving the two of them alone.

They sat in awkward silence, not sure if they should continue their conversation or not.

Finally, T.J. grabbed the laptop on the coffee table. “Let’s finish up?” he asked.

Cyrus silently nodded, reaching for his own.

They worked in silence until dinner.

……..........

“Don’t you love me?”

“I do…”

“But, you don’t want to be with me anymore?”

“I…just need space and time. And I think you do, too.”

“But, I love you.”

“I love you, too. But, it doesn’t mean that we’re meant to be. At least, not right now. I’m sorry, Logan.”

“Quinn…”

“Good-bye.”

“Quinn!”

“And… cut!”

T.J. broke out of character and turned to Cyrus who was beaming at him from behind the camera.

“Great job, you two! Let’s move on to the hallway and film the last scene!”

Nodding, T.J. followed him and Jonah out of the classroom and into the hallway, where the extras along with Buffy and Andi were waiting.

The last scene shows Quinn and Logan passing each other in the halls. They look at each other for a moment and continue to walk on. The two Captains notice them ignoring each other and show a brief look of regret for driving a wedge between them.

It was a simple scene but Cyrus said that it spoke volumes on the tragic way their relationship ended.

T.J. and Buffy positioned themselves on opposite sides of the hallway. Jonah’s camera was on Buffy while Cyrus’ was on T.J. With them were the members of their team, acting as extras.

“Extras, ready?”

They gave the affirmative.

“And… action!”

They moved, walking up and down the hallway, chatting.

“Okay, T.J. and Buffy, go!”

T.J. walked forward with his head down and a slight limp, emphasizing Logan’s leg injury. When he reached the designated spot, he looked up, the same time that Buffy did. She had a cast on, to show Quinn’s own injury. They looked at each other for 5 seconds before Buffy looked away first and continued walking. T.J., too, turned his head away and walked on.

After they left the shot, the two Captains meet in the middle, looking forlorn. They looked at each other, regretful, before they also parted from each other.

“And… cut!”

“That was perfect, guys!”

Cyrus looked excited as he looked up from the camera, beaming at all of them.

“We’ll do two more takes, okay? Re-set!”

T.J. went back to his original spot. Andi came by a minute later to fix his makeup and his hair.

“You, guys, did great,” she complimented.

“Thanks, Andi.”

Nodding at him, she bounded off.

“Is everyone ready?”

Everyone gave the affirmative.

They shot the scene two more times. At the end of the last take, as soon as Cyrus yelled, “Cut! That’s a wrap!”, everyone broke into applause.

Buffy and Andi both ran up to Cyrus, hugging him. T.J. wanted to do the same but he stayed in place, wanting to them their moment. He would try to ask for his later.

His teammates surrounded him, instead, clapping his back and congratulating him on a job well done.

“Everyone, thank you so much for being a part of this project!” Cyrus called out over the noise. “I’ve had such a thrill working with all of you, especially my stars! T.J. and Buffy!”

Everyone clapped, hooted, and whistled. T.J. felt pride blossom in his chest at having accomplished something amazing.

“To reward you all for your hard work, milkshakes on me at The Spoon! This Saturday!”

That declaration received another cheer.

While everyone cleaned up and gathered their things, T.J. finally managed to pull Cyrus aside.

“Congratulations, Underdog!” he greeted.

Cyrus beamed up at him. “Thank you! But, my work is not done! I still have to cut and edit today’s footage!”

“I’ll help,” T.J. replied with no hesitation.

Cyrus didn’t seem surprised anymore at his offer. Instead, he surged forward, wrapping his arms around T.J.

“Thank you!”

He pulled away much too quickly and the jock lamented the loss of the warmth. Nonetheless, that brief hug made him happy as a bee.

“Hey, Cyrus. Congratulations,” a new voice joined in.

They both turned around to the newcomer.

“Marty!” Cyrus exclaimed.

The track star grinned. “Hope you didn’t mind if I watched that last take? Sorry I couldn’t help before.”

“Not at all! It’s fine!” Cyrus looked over at Buffy, who was busy talking to some of her teammates to notice Marty. “I think Buffy was more upset that it wasn’t you who starred with her.”

Marty pursed his lips. “I heard she and Kippen here made things hard for you.”

T.J. would be offended at that if it wasn’t true. Fortunately, Cyrus didn’t seem to take it to heart. In fact, he laughed.

“At first, they did, but they ended up being fantastic actors! Especially T.J.! His heart eyes are spot on!”

“Is that so?”

The track star flashed T.J. a look. He simply shrugged in response.

“Well, congratulations again.” Marty looked over at Buffy. “I’m gonna go congratulate the Slayer.”

He patted Cyrus’ arm, nodded at T.J., and went on his way.

Together, they watched him approach Buffy and surprise her with a poke on her cheek. And even from afar and even though Buffy acted irritated, they could see the joy in her eyes at seeing the track star there.

“He really likes her, huh?” T.J. couldn’t help but comment, wishing he had Marty’s guts.

“Yeah,” Cyrus agreed, smiling at the sight. “He would have made a great Logan. Not that you weren’t great!” he added, quickly.

T.J. had to laugh at his panicked tone.

“Because you were a fantastic Logan!”

T.J. decided not to tease him for now. Instead, he reached over and ruffled Cyrus’ hair.

“Thanks, Cy.”

He was pleased to see the cute blush appear on the other boy’s cheeks.

……..........

They were on his couch again, backs lazily against it, as they stared at the open laptop in front of them.

After an hour and a half of cutting clips, editing, and rendering, Cyrus was finally done. His movie came out to 28 minutes and 45 seconds, cutting it very close to what Mr. Spencer required of him. Now, the video was loading to a DVD and he would make a copy on a flash drive, just in case.

So, he and T.J. were just relaxing now while they waited for it to finish.

“I know I said it so many times already, but it really was fun, Underdog.”

Cyrus hummed and turned his head to look at him. “I’m glad.” He sighed. “I’ll have to admit, doing this project was exhausting, but it’s brought back a bit of my confidence. Now, we’ll just have to see if the class likes it tomorrow.”

“I’m sure they will.” T.J. grinned. “You had some great actors.”

“Yeah, Buffy was amazing.”

T.J. wrinkled his nose. “Ouch. You wound me so, Underdog.” He chuckled. “But, I’ll let it go for today because I like you.”

The unexpected statement caused Cyrus’ brain to stop working for a hot second.

“Uhh… I…”

A short alert sounded off from his laptop, indicating that the movie had finished transferring to the DVD. Clearing his throat, Cyrus practically flew off the couch to his laptop, hoping T.J. didn’t see his reddening face. 

By the number of times he had been blushing this entire week, Cyrus might as well turn into a tomato and grow in his step-mother’s garden.

He busied himself by opening the CD drive and removing the disk. Then, he popped in a flash drive and saved the movie there too.

He turned to T.J. with the disk at hand, smiling. “Wanna watch it?”

“Heck yeah!”

Cyrus bounded over to the T.V. and crouched down in front of it. He turned on the DVD player, popped the disk in, and grabbed the remote. Settling himself back on the couch, he pressed play.

They, first, watched the movie in silence. The acting was mediocre at best, Cyrus had to be honest about that. From the corner of his eye, he spied T.J. flinching and looking away whenever he saw himself onscreen. Cyrus had to hold back his own giggles.

And, then, the gazebo scene began. The acting, by this point, was better. T.J. and Buffy had gotten into their characters a bit better than in the previous scenes.

“My hair looked good,” T.J. commented.

Cyrus finally allowed himself a laugh. “You’re so humble.”

But, he couldn’t argue with that either. T.J. looked handsome, especially with the lighting and the way his eyes looked as they gazed at Buffy. He was really good at looking in love.

Cyrus’ heart was racing, unable to tear his eyes away.

“I’d give it all up for you. The team. My position. Everything if it means I can be with you.”

He knew that those were Logan’s lines but a part of him couldn’t help but wonder…

“You’re right,” T.J. said, softly. “That was the perfect moment.”

Cyrus chuckled, gaze still on the T.V. “And you did it, perfectly.”

He felt a shoulder and a leg press against his side.

“Do you know… who I was thinking about the entire time?”

Cyrus felt himself tense up. “I told you guys to think about the person you liked.”

“Yeah.”

His chest twitched and he absentmindedly scratched at it. “So, you were doing that, yes?” he asked, casually.

“Yeah.”

A lump formed in his throat and he swallowed. “My technique worked well then.”

He turned to look at T.J. to smile but froze when he saw that T.J. was already watching him with the soft look on his face. His eyes were the same as the ones he showed when he was Logan, the eyes that made hearts speed up and knees buckle.

“It wasn’t just your technique, you know,” T.J. said.

By now, neither of them were paying attention to the movie.

Cyrus couldn’t find the words to say so he stayed silent.

“It was you,” T.J. continued, smiling.

Cyrus felt a hand over his and briefly looked down to see T.J.’s fingers intertwining with his. He looked up again, his heart beating fast against his chest and loud in his ears.

“M-Me?” he managed.

T.J. hummed as he nodded. “All of my scenes with Buffy? I would close my eyes and open them and see… you. After every one of them, I have to look at you to make sure that you’re there.”

Cyrus felt himself release a soft gasp of realization. He thought back on the past couple of days, filming with T.J. The jock wasn’t just looking at him to confirm if he did his scene okay. He would look at him because… he wanted to.

“Why are you telling me this?” Cyrus softly asked.

T.J. chuckled. “Isn’t it obvious?”

Cyrus swallowed, unable to find his voice.

“The right timing. The right mood. Everything feels like it’s disappearing and it’s just you and me.” T.J. squeezed his hand. “It’s the perfect moment.”

And with that, he began to lean in.

Cyrus’ breath caught in his throat, but he didn’t move. His heart was beating faster than ever and all he could see in front of him were T.J.’s green eyes and pretty lips that looked really soft and his own eyes were closing and…

The turn of a key and the door opening felt like a lightning bolt fell in between them. The two boys broke apart, their hands leaving each other. 

Cyrus couldn’t help but be disappointed and lament the loss.

“Hi, boys! Working late again?”

“H-Hi Sharon,” Cyrus managed.

“Hi Miss Frank,” T.J. followed, his voice steadier than Cyrus’.

His step-mother entered the living room.

“We’re actually done.” Cyrus gestured to the T.V. where his movie was still playing.

“Oh, I see that! We should all watch it after dinner! T.J., you’re staying, yes?”

T.J. coughed before standing up. “Actually, I have to head home a bit early tonight, Miss Frank. I’m sorry. Another time?”

Cyrus looked up at him, eyes wide and confused. Weren’t they just having a moment?! Why was he leaving?!

“Of course. Thank you again for helping Cyrus with his project.”

“It was my pleasure.” He smiled at Sharon before turning to the other boy, who was still frozen and seated on the couch. “I’m sure your film will be great, Cy. I’ll see you at school.”

And with that, the jock turned on his heels and headed towards the door.

“Cyrus, honey? Are you okay?”

Breaking out of his frozen stupor, Cyrus knew that he couldn’t just let T.J. get away. Why confess something like that and just leave?! That was so unfair! He didn’t even get a chance to answer him!

“I’ll be right back,” he said to his step-mother before moving towards the door.

He stepped out to see that T.J. was already halfway down the path.

“T.J.!”

Immediately, the jock turned around, looking adorably confused.

It could have been adrenaline. Or excitement. Or some inner brave part of him. But, Cyrus’ legs moved on their own and he let them. He ran up to T.J., meeting him right there in the middle. For a moment, he only looked at him and T.J. gazed right back.

Lifting himself up on his tiptoes, Cyrus kissed his cheek.

“Good night,” he said. “And thank you. Again. Get home, safely, okay?”

Feeling embarrassed at his sudden act, he ran back into his house, closing the door behind him.

He could feel not only his face was red and warm but his entire body, too.

Oh, god, he kissed T.J.!

Tag list:

@lemon-boy-tj @homosexualearthworm

@disastrxlogy

@new-to-the-phandom

@tyrusgoingfast

@tj-cyrus

@completelysterling

@spike-heels

@multifandom-bxitch

@thedampjofangirl

@i-am-confussion

@buffyshirley

@azuresoulsblog

@cxrus-kippen

@tyrus-endgayme-confirmed 

@barely-even-simming

@birthistheend

@angel28716

[hookaroo]

Vocivore, Ltd. (32 of 41?)

Also on FFN and AO3 (ListerofTardis)

Tagging @ouatwinterwhump, @killian-whump, @sancocnutclub, @killianjonesownsmyheart1 and @courtorderedcake <3

***THE MOST WONDERFUL COVER ART BY @cocohook38 HERE!!!!!******

***Chapter 12 animation and art that will absolutely astound you!!!!!!!!!**********

***LETHAL Chapter 19 art in all of its BLOODSTAINED GLORY!!!!************

**POOR STABBED KILLIAN falling into the sheriff station! Ch. 7 & 23 art!!**

****KILLIAN AND HIS MASTER IN THE GORGEOUS CATHEDRAL!!!!!!!!!!!!    CHAPTER 1 ART THAT KILLS ME EVERY TIME I SEE IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!*********

*****AMAZING AND ALSO HEARTBREAKING COVER ART!!!!! MY POOR BOY, HELPLESS AND SCREAMING WHILE HE SLOWLY LOSES HIS GRIP ON REALITY… D: COCOHOOK38 IS TRYING TO KILL US ALL!!!!*************

***AAAAHHHH!!! THANK YOU MY WONDERFUL COCONUT FRIEND!!!!!!***

Two days ago (continued)...

David. Detective Jones.

"Killian?"

His... the Master, watching, listening.

“Killian, it’s me. I’m here.”

His own blade flashing down, plunging into the prince's back, striking off the detective's chest. Smoke and flame, sparks of blue lightning, orders to kill growing stronger, overcoming his battered reason. That was then. Now…

“Can you hear us, Hook?”

Pain, that familiar companion, muted and fuzzy. And words half-remembered, half-commanded. The last thing he wanted to say, obliged.

"I must return."

The grating growl sounded almost as bad as he felt.

"I must return to my Master."

Did the ragged quality of his voice do enough to disguise his utter terror at the very thought? Or did his audience hear lack of conviction? How he would rather perish in that hospital bed than spend one single second more in the Master's presence?

Somehow, Emma managed to keep up a false front, even though she was undoubtedly just as tempted as he was to fling herself at him and express her love after such a long and difficult separation. The story demanded that she turn her questioning to the subject of their supposedly missing daughter. Killian displayed exhaustion and confusion: not much of a stretch, although the drugged haze did not let him forget the fact that they may be under observation. But when Killian reached up toward his throat, he was pleasantly surprised to find the dreadful collar gone. He and Emma could talk freely… if it weren’t for the crowd of onlookers surrounding his bed.

Emma must have shared his urgency to have a real conversation, for she immediately got to work bargaining for time alone with him. Fighting the persistent pull of narcotic slumber, Killian gladly allowed her to handle the details. Bloody hell, the pressure between his ears was intensifying, voices in the room sounding like they were being filtered through stacks of wool. His damaged stump pulsed with pain despite the drugs pumping into him; he vaguely remembered using it in battle and must have reinjured partially healed flesh inside. But the measured tone of Jones' voice alleviated a small amount of guilt: he would be in a hell of a lot of pain for awhile but would evidently make a full recovery.

Killian listened dully to the negotiations taking place. 15 minutes would be pushing things; 10 was nothing. But it might be his only chance, if bloody Whale insisted on more sedation afterward. Gods, that sounded like nirvana. The drugs would hardly even be necessary; Killian felt as if he could sleep for a month, and dammit, he did not have that kind of luxury.

“...Mr. Zombie Universe…”

That about summed it up. No matter that he looked the part; he felt even worse. While he was on some kind of opioid--he knew that for a fact--the simple act of breathing made some hurt or other fire up in a never-ending carousel of complaint. His arms were doing their blasted skittering again, and choking fog kept swirling behind his eyes. Getting up, he could maybe handle. Escape without alarm, doubtful. As for a long trek… back there…

Killian didn’t realize he was panting, tense and desperate, until Emma leaned over and began caressing his face. She placed a light kiss on the tip of his nose, whispering,

“It’s okay; they’re gone… Killian?”

Through the vise constricting inexorably tighter within his throat, Killian whined,

“I have to go back.”

He couldn’t open his eyes. He would see his wife there, fraught with worry and determined to detain him. Not understanding. And he would relent, and they would lose their only advantage, and all would suffer and die and it would be his fault for being a cowardly weakling--

“Killian, no.”

Choking back a sob, he struggled to detach himself from the fear. “My Mas… the… the monster, it… it’s starting to trust me, that’s why it sent me here, as a test, but it… it knows things, Emma, it can sense things and if I don’t return we’ll never have this opportunity again--”

“Rumplestiltskin lied to us.”

Emma’s quiet statement brought him up short, and he could not help opening his eyes then. An icy shiver of dread shot down his spine.

“Hope? Is she...?”

“No, she’s okay.”

He couldn’t even allow the automatic wave of relief, or his Master would feel it. Killian deliberately swung his bandaged stump against the bedrail, cringing as the spike vibrated within his flesh and ground glass pressed against raw nerves.

“Then what?” he growled. Emma blinked, started to reach for the injury, but grabbed his fisted hand instead.

“Your immunity. You were asleep, but they did an MRI, and Whale confirmed: you’re starting to show the same symptoms as all the others, the ones who…”

Who had died. All of them; they’d all died.

But it didn’t matter. If he failed his mission, the whole United Realms--hell, the whole world--would face that same fate.

“Bollocks. Whale is a damn fool; I’m completely fine.”

“I can hear you.”

He stared at her blankly, and she touched his shoulder.

“Did you forget? I’ve been listening.”

Killian swallowed, sickened by the reminder. The last thing he wanted to think about was subjecting his beloved to his torment. “Aye? What of it?”

Her lips tightened, revealing the struggle to contain her emotions. It’s so hard, she seemed to say. I can’t keep listening to you fall. Bleed. Scream. Suffer. “So you win his trust. Then what? You need to tell me that you have a plan. ‘Cuz I’ve gleaned exactly zero from this guy. And it has to be worth it.”

Killian drew as deep a breath as he could muster. He had to make this convincing.

“I do have a plan, Swan. And I’ll need your assistance to pull it off.”

“I’m listening…”

He thought for a moment, willing his sluggish brain to gather all of the pieces into a coherent thought.

“You… may have gathered that the Master feeds off of negative emotions in addition to the… the screams?”

Emma’s response was drowned out by echoing memories of his own cries of agony, trumpeting loudly in his skull. He hissed and pressed his fingers into his eye sockets, begging the noise to stop.

“You okay?” asked Emma quietly, full of concern. With a final shudder, Killian nodded. “I hate to rush this, but we’re running out of time.”

Mumbling as he massaged his forehead, Killian continued. “Well, it’s weakened by positive emotion--that’s why it sends its slave army to wreak random havoc. The worse the morale around its hideout, the stronger it gets.”

“Kinda got that already, when the bastard was sending you out on your mission.”

“Aye, well, suppose we could turn that to our advantage?” He lay his hand at his side once again, tremors causing his fingers to twitch uncontrollably.

“How? Even if we sent the most annoyingly cheerful and optimistic beings in the Realms, the guard slaves would kill them all before they ever got close.”

“Its camera network,” slurred Killian. An inexorable weight pressed down, the feeling of disconnectedness, of floating through half-reality with nothing to grip. His heavy eyelids at half mast, he struggled out, “Turn all camera feeds into positivity channels--uplifting music, comedies, silly cartoons and the like--at the right time…”

Emma managed to look simultaneously thoughtful and skeptical. “Defeat the scream-eater with laughter? Pretty sure I've seen that one.”

Killian shuddered. “How Pixar managed to come so close with that Waternoose fellow, I’ll never know.”

“Another one to permanently take off the Netflix queue?”

Killian restrained himself from reaching for her hand. He couldn’t allow the comfort, not now. His Master would sense it. “So? Can I count on you to arrange the details?”

“Tell people to add a laugh track to their home security systems… but without letting the cameras see.”

“Precisely.”

She blew out a breath. “Not difficult at all.”

“Remember, you’ll have the advantage of knowing when the creature is… occupied…” He smiled bravely, and perhaps the early stages of neurological degeneration could explain the quaver in his voice and the flicker of reluctance on his face.

“But, hold on, in the movie, didn’t the laughter produce more energy? For the… monster city or whatever?”

Shifting off of an intensifying throb in one hip, Killian squeezed his eyes shut in brief concession to the pain. “You, of all people, should know not to put too much stock in those things.” He worked to settle, to absorb as much rest as he could before it became impossible once again. “I’m certain it doesn’t work that way in this case. The Master has every reason to be forthright with its slaves. And it has been very clear about its need for negativity.”

“Okay, but… hell, why do you even have to go back? The camera stuff can easily be managed without you in the mix.”

He shook his head once. “It will have to be an exceedingly powerful dose to get past all of the despair the Master has cultivated in its slaves. Someone will need to tune each of the monitors to a positive channel, all at the same time. I managed to do some scouting last night; I think I know where its surveillance equipment is kept. And then, if the positivity isn’t enough... I’ll be there to finish the monster off.”

There was a beat, punctuated only by quiet beeps and the whir of the IV pump at his bedside. Then Emma grimaced.

“It’s a terrible plan. I hate it.”

“Aye,” he agreed. “I concur. But it’s all we have.”

He could tell she was thinking furiously, searching for alternatives, brain turning things over and over so fast it hurt. Her pained scowl could attest to that. He also knew the moment she gave in: her spine sagged in brief defeat before straightening along with a deep breath. Brave determination.

“It’ll work. It will. And then you’ll come back, and magic will come back, and I’ll be able to heal you.” She settled her hand along his jaw, her thumb stroking his cheek. “Promise me you believe that?”

“I…” He averted his eyes, unable to watch her face. “I dare not. Optimism is a dangerous thing to bring into the Master’s presence. I’m sorry, love. You’ll have to carry enough for the both of us.”

She did not speak for the longest time. But then she wrapped his hand in hers and gave it a tight squeeze. “Okay, Killian. Consider it done.”

He looked back at her, and saw that her eyes glistened just as much as his. Desperately, she lunged forward and possessed him with her kiss. And this one, he was allowed to feel. Because this was goodbye, and goodbye could mean forever, and that hurt so much worse than any stab of a knife or pinch of a claw ever could.

Emma was the first to break away. She startled back so fast that Killian sucked too deep a breath and found himself clutching sore ribs. Then he heard the faint buzz of her phone. She pulled it out of her pocket and read the screen with dismay.

“Crap, we only have like thirty seconds until the ten minutes are up. How are we getting you out of here?”

Killian’s sense of time was undeniably muzzy due to the drugs in his system; he would have sworn that no more than three or four minutes had elapsed. “You’ll have to stall them, Swan, unless you care to carry my unconscious self to the forest’s edge.”

Emma cursed again. “Pretend to be asleep.”

Well, that wouldn’t be too hard; the challenge would be remaining alert enough to pay attention to whatever she devised as cover. Closing his eyes, he settled back and worked to slow his heart.

He heard footsteps and then a quiet,

“How’s it going in here?”

Detective Jones. Emma sighed.

“Seemed like we were starting to get somewhere, but he was just so tired. I told him he could rest for a little while and try again later.”

One set of footsteps drew closer, and then the IV tubing lying across his arm was jiggling slightly.

“What’s that?” Emma asked casually, but Killian could detect a note of alarm.

“Dr. Whale prescribed a sedative,” explained the nurse, and Killian cursed inwardly. Maybe it really would come down to Emma having to carry him out.

“Hold on a sec. Please? Could you come back in, say, an hour? He’s sleeping without it right now, and I need to be able to wake him up in a bit to finish his questioning.”

“This isn’t like anesthesia,” soothed the nurse. “He’ll have periods of wakefulness still; it just helps him to sleep more soundly.”

“Yeah, but… he’ll be… super drowsy when he is awake, right? Couldn’t that make it harder to think clearly?”

The nurse paused. “I’m sorry, but it’s doctor’s orders… he's really most insistent.”

“Would one measly hour make that much of a difference?”

During the long silence that followed, Killian waited with bated breath, trying to continue the charade of slumber. Finally, the nurse said,

“I can give it IM, which takes longer to metabolize. He’ll get the required meds, and you’ll get your questioning time.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ll be right back--have to get a different needle.”

Killian heard her shuffle away as the IV swung to a halt. He felt Emma brush her hand along his arm, probably in silent apology. The drug would complicate things, for certain, but wouldn't truly be anything his Master would be suspicious of. It knew of his capture, and probably even his arrival at the hospital. It would likely be pleased at his escape and return, even if he did have to collapse and sleep it off halfway back to its lair.

“Has he said anything of value?” wondered Jones.

“Well… not really. Nothing we didn’t already know.”

“I’m sorry.”

Gently, trying to appear as if she didn’t want to wake him, Emma wriggled her hand beneath Killian’s. Then she sighed.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Detective, but you look awful.”

Killian heard a familiar, rueful breath of laughter.

“Who would believe that nearly all of it could be attributed to that man there?”

Emma snickered back. “He’s a fighter, that’s for sure.”

Over the sound of the nurse’s returning footsteps, Emma added,

“Look, I appreciate the support, Killian, but you don’t have to stay. Go home; get some sleep. I’ll pass on any information I get here.”

The nurse folded back the blanket covering Killian’s right leg, and he growled faintly in feigned, sleepy annoyance, while truly wondering what the hell she was playing at. When she’d said ‘IM,’ he’d been expecting a jab in the arm. Meanwhile, Jones was responding to Emma’s suggestion.

“Thank you, Emma, but I’d like to stay. An extra set of ears can sometimes make all the difference in a case like this.”

Emma was thinking furiously; Killian could tell. Startled by the cold touch of an alcohol wipe on his outer thigh, his grumbling flinch was not at all an act.

“Sorry, Killian,” murmured the nurse. She pinched the muscle with one hand, adding, “Quick little mosquito bite, and you can go back to sleep.”

Emma squeezed his hand in solidarity, placing the other hand on his shoulder in a comforting manner. The long needle stung his thigh, the sedative drug forming an aching pool within the muscle.

“At least go have something to eat,” Emma urged Jones. “I’ll call you and you can listen in if he starts talking.”

Plucking the needle from Killian’s throbbing leg, the nurse spread a Band-Aid over the sore spot. “All done.”

While she rearranged the blankets, Emma asked casually,

“You wouldn’t happen to have a couple extra Band-Aids with you, would you? I've got some hangnails annoying the hell out of me right now.”

“Lemme see… yup, here you go!”

“Thanks.” Emma’s hand left his shoulder, presumably to take the proffered bandages.

“I’ll be back in probably an hour to check on him,” promised the nurse. “In the meantime, if you notice anything unusual, don’t hesitate to press the call button.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

She bustled out of the room, taking her damn needle with her. Emma patted Killian’s shoulder in sympathy.

“Suppose I might at least get something to drink, if I can manage my wallet with numb fingers.”

Killian could hear the sheepish smile on Jones’ face as he said the words, and he tried not to cringe. He’d done his best not to injure the other man too severely, but still felt remorseful about what had been necessary.

“Good luck,” Emma replied. “See you in a bit.”

As soon as Jones’ footsteps had retreated, Emma sat back with a sigh. “Well, that sucked. Sorry, Killian.”

Killian stretched gently and dragged his eyes open, blinking. Emma winced at him.

“Are you still going to be able to make it?” She seemed to be doing what he was: acting as if they didn’t know anything about what lay in store for him at the end of his trek. He nodded unenthusiastically. In truth, if he ignored the drug side effects, he actually did feel stronger than he had in weeks, which he credited to whatever volume of replacement blood he’d received so far.

“Hopefully at least beyond the point of rediscovery.”

Emma pulled back his blankets. “I’ll do what I can to put ‘em on the wrong track.” She reached into her pocket, retrieving her keys. “Why don’t you take the Bug? You’ll get farther. Just… you know. Pull over well before you start to fall asleep.”

Fighting the sudden chill, Killian accepted the keys as he gathered the strength required to swing his legs over the edge of the bed. His head was spinning alarmingly and he wondered for a moment whether he would need to reassess the distance he had in him. Emma studied the machine controlling the flow of donor blood and saline into his arm; after a moment, she was able to decipher how to pause its program. Setting aside one of the Band-Aids she’d begged off the nurse, Emma reached for the tape securing the catheter to his forearm. Then she stopped.

“Emma?”

A sudden sob ripped through her; she put a hand to her mouth as if stifling a cough. She couldn’t look at him.

Grim, Killian glanced a the door. “We don’t have a lot of time, love.”

She scrubbed at her eyes with one hand while picking at the corner of the tape with the other. “It’s… it’s just different, you know? Talking about it versus actually doing it. Actually helping you ditch the hospital and go back to--”

Choked by another sob, she didn’t finish the thought. Killian reached up to clasp her wrist briefly before allowing her to continue to work.

“I know.”

She managed to get one side of the tape undone with the minimal amount of arm hairs as casualties. “It just feels like… if you don’t come back… this is me, killing you, right now. Taking out this IV that could be saving your life, it’s just the same as…”

Emma shuddered, and Killian knew she was picturing that awful night with Excalibur, on the banks of the river. How it felt to run him through with her own hands. As if trying to purge the memory, she violently stripped the remaining tape from his arm, pulling the catheter right along with it and spattering small droplets of blood everywhere. Killian sat passively, allowing the outburst. For the moment.

In anger, Emma crumpled the sticky tape and tossed the wad onto the floor, then used the bedsheet to scrub at the smear of blood gathering around the puncture site. She tore open a Band-Aid and pressed it in place with a shuddering sigh.

“Don't be concerned about the silly IV; my good friend Z seems to have an unlimited supply of the damn things.”

It wasn’t about the IV, of course. Nor even the concept of proper medical care as a whole. Killian pulled his arm away from her attempts to apply pressure over the Band-Aid and reached up to stroke her face. The rough brand scar on his palm caused a tiny wince from her as it brushed her cheek.

“It isn’t you,” he murmured. “It won’t be you.”

Silent, she watched his face. Unconvinced. Unplacated. She pressed his hand deeper into her flesh and raked him with her gaze, as if burning his features and new, unfamiliar scars into her memory. He saw the moment of surrender. The light left her eyes and they became cold, tired points of vacuum. Outer space without stars. At last, her voice came through the death mask, low and flat.

“Why us?”

A shade above bitter, Killian said,

“We’re the heroes.”

A somber, unsurprised nod, and then Emma was back in motion. But with inexplicable intent. Killian couldn’t contain the elevating eyebrow as she shed her jacket and prepared to lift her t-shirt. She waved her hand in vague explanation.

“I don’t know how most of this crap works. But if it turns off suddenly, or loses input, it might alert the nurse’s station, and we don’t want that, right? So we switch, as fast as we can. Hopefully we can set it up reading me, and they’ll think you just rolled over or something.”

Glancing down at the EKG leads attached to his chest, Killian’s skeptical expression didn’t change. “And I’m meant to have thought of this myself, am I?”

“You’re smarter than you look.”

He missed the normal playful tone with which she would have teased him. But she was still stiff, heartless, carefully on guard. Ready now, the t-shirt rolled up and tucked under her chin but with her arms still in their sleeves, she sat beside him. Testing the slack in the wires, she took a breath and frowned in concentration.

“Lemme do it,” she instructed quietly. “You just keep an eye on the door.”

Killian nodded and did as ordered, but watched out of the corner of his eye. Emma dug her nails beneath the first EKG lead, and he knew she was attempting to take as much of the sticky conducting gel with it to ensure a solid connection. She paused to estimate the proper placement on her own chest--right in the center above the sternum--then brutally ripped the pad off of him and slapped it on herself. The loss of a few chest hairs left stinging patches behind as Emma repeated the process twice more. Successfully, by the sound of it: the machine behind them beeped a couple of queries as the transfer took place, but no obnoxious alarm rent the afternoon stillness.

“Not bad, Swan,” Killian praised. He ducked out of the way of the gathered leads while Emma adjusted her shirt back down and checked the monitor for functionality.

“The question will be whether I can stand pretending to be unconscious until someone discovers me.” Emma reached up, unclipped the pulse oximeter from his earlobe, and clamped it onto her own. She made a face. “Think I prefer the fingertip one.”

“Aye, well, it does tend to get in the way when one has only five fingers at one’s disposal.”

The last piece of equipment was the blood pressure cuff, which was easy enough to slip off and then adjust to fit her bicep. And then Killian was free.

He stood with appropriate caution, but still nearly fell--twice--as vertigo, generalized weakness, and drug side effects played havoc with his balance. Emma watched with clenched teeth, no doubt struggling with the urge to tackle him and wrestle him back into bed, the rest of the world be damned. But she contained herself, he clung stubbornly to his equilibrium, and they were again faced with the reality of the moment. Cautiously, Emma got up, holding the EKG sensors in place. She assessed him briefly, cracks in the emotionless mask allowing both tender concern and raging terror to leak

“You gonna be okay, hiking in that?”

Killian glanced down at his gown with a shrug. “It’s no worse than the sackcloth.”

“And… your feet? What about…” She trailed off, and against his better judgment, Killian stepped forward and wrapped her in an embrace. For the sake of his Master, though, he kept his mind on the goodbye, on his concern for Emma. On that disturbing mantra. Hope kidnapped, Hope tortured, Hope dead... Muffled into his chest came the words they both dreaded:

“You’d better go.”

Emma was dry-eyed and tight-lipped as she stepped back from him. He turned toward the window. And neither of them said what was foremost in their hearts.

I love you.

[green-eyeddragonfanfiction]

Ghosts of War: Chapter 19

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier x Reader Summary: After the events of Winter’s War, your and Bucky’s lives are changed forever (and not for the better). Severe torture and experimentation at the hands of Hydra leaves you shells of your former selves, your past together completely erased and replaced with deadly Hydra programming. Bucky asks you to do the unthinkable. You try your best to make money for the two of you to survive. Meanwhile, dark forces lurk in the shadows. Warnings: Swearing (always), suicide pact**, talk of suicide**, murder, death, violence, blood, guns, torture Word Count: ~4,060 A/N: oh shit boiiii. This chapter is a tough one. Don’t read it if you’re in a dark headspace my dudes.

Masterlist // Book One

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

Bucky ran a hand through your hair and shushed you. “No… but we did it, Doll. We did all of it,” he said gently. You didn’t sob or hiccup or gasp, but he somehow knew you’d begun crying. He leaned back to peer down at you then wiped away your tears with his right thumb. He placed kisses to each of your cheeks then hugged you back to his chest. “Let it out, Doll… no use bottlin’ it up. Not with me.”

You weren’t sure how long you cried in Bucky’s arms. You weren’t sure if he cried with you.

All you knew was that when you woke up the next morning with Bucky asleep by your side and daylight shining through the yellowed newspapers, the world didn’t feel quite so terrible as it did when you’d gone to sleep.

“Did you know about this?” you asked, dropping the stack of xeroxed papers onto Bucky’s lap. You were visiting him down at the docks between your shifts, during his short lunch break.

Normally you would have gone back to the apartment to avoid being out in public, but you’d been evicted not even a day ago. Multiple noise complaints from surrounding tenants prompted the landlord to kick you and Bucky out without a second thought, not that you could blame him. Between your and Bucky’s nightmares and the fact that you didn’t have proper paperwork, you were too much of a liability. Until you found a new place to live, you’d crash at different flophouses every night. Working would be tough until then, but both you and Bucky were determined to live some semblance of a normal life.

Bucky raised an eyebrow at you and leafed dutifully through the pages, eyebrows raising slowly as he read until you were sure they’d disappear into his hairline. By the time he was finished he had a small smile on his face that you couldn’t help but mirror. “I had no idea. I mean, I’d noticed there weren’t signs everywhere anymore, but I never imagined they’d actually do it... I’d always hoped, but...”

You smiled and took his head. “We were almost awake for it, too. It was in 1964. Do you think Gabe took part in the sit-ins and marches?” you asked, resting your head lightly on his shoulder. It was his metal one, but he had enough padding on between his jacket and shirt that it was still comfortable.

Bucky made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat. “Dunno. Wouldn’t surprise me. If he did, I’m sure Dum Dum joined him in a show of solidarity.”

You nodded. “I can see that. I would have liked to hear Doctor King’s speech. I can’t find a full recording of it anywhere.”

Bucky nodded in commiseration. “Seemed like a good man.”

For a short while the two of you sat in silence, Bucky munching quietly away at a bowl of rice. “Is it bad that I’m relieved we weren’t the ones to pull the trigger for once?”

Bucky paused and swallowed thickly before setting the bowl down beside him on the bench and threw his arm around your shoulder, reeling you easily into his chest. “No, Doll. I know I’m pretty messed up in the head, but even I know we’re supposed to not enjoy killin’ people,” he said quietly, lips brushing light kisses to your hair.

You nodded slowly, thoughts drifting to dark places unbidden. You didn’t have much time left together; his break would be ending soon. 

“If they ever try to take me again, kill me.”

You looked up, startled by Bucky’s sudden words. “What?” you breathed, not wanting to believe your ears.

He looked at you then, his blue eyes cold and sad. “You heard me, Doll.”

“I can’t do that, Bucky,” you said, distressed.

He took your hands in his and suddenly that icy wall behind his eyes gave way to fiery passion. “You gotta, Doll. If they come for us you, gotta put a bullet in my head. Fry me. I don’t care. I can’t go back, (Y/N),” he pleaded, voice strained.

You gaped at him for a minute, unsure of what to say as tears filled your eyes. “You’re askin’ too much of me, Buck,” you whimpered.

Bucky pulled you into his chest and ran his big hand down your back soothingly. “I know, Doll. I know. But I don’t have a kill switch like you do. You can fry yourself, but if they get me pinned, I won’t be able to do anythin’. I can’t go back to bein’ their puppet, Sweetheart. Please, promise me,” he said fervently, refusing to back down.

It broke your heart, but you eventually nodded past the tears and hiccuping sobs. “Me too,” you managed to squeak out between sobs.

Bucky didn’t have to ask what you meant, he knew. He nodded silently and ran his fingers through your hair, his lips placing kisses to any spot on your face he could reach. “I love you, Doll,” he said quietly.

“I love you, too, Buck,” you said hoarsely.

“Oi, Hanson! Get your ass back to work! Break ended ten minutes ago and I ain’t paying you to sit around and kiss your girlfriend, ya damn flower child!”

The voice of Bucky’s boss echoed between the shipping containers and Bucky let out a long sigh. “Gotta get back to work, Doll,” he said, apologetic frown on his face.

“S’ok. Gotta get to my next job anyway,” you sniffled, clambering off of his lap reluctantly.

He stood as soon as he was able and pulled you in for a quick, chaste kiss on the lips that still managed to leave you breathless. “I’ll see you at the flophouse later, (Y/N). Have a good afternoon at work, alright Sweetheart?” he said with a small smile, as though you hadn’t just promised to kill him if the Soviets or Hydra came after you.

You put on a brave smile and pecked him once more on the cheek before handing him his unfinished lunch and the stack of papers on the Civil Rights Movement. “You too, Buck.”

You turned and walked briskly back towards the center of town, willing yourself not to cry.

Life wasn’t fair. You knew that from a young age. Ever since your parents dropped you off at the orphanage in Queens. Ever since you were rejected again and again from school after school just because you were a woman. When military leaders didn’t so much as give you a polite rejection when you tried to show them your designs. Hell, you never even made it past the secretaries most days. Even after meeting Peggy and finally getting your foot in the door, you still remained in Howard’s shadow. Howard himself may not have treated you badly, but no matter how hard he tried to give you credit for what you did, no one seemed to care.

And then, for that shining year and handful of months with the guys, everything had been a whirlwind. You got attention and praise as the only woman in the Howling Commandos. They made dolls of you, interviewed you with Steve and Bucky. People knew you were Bucky’s best girl and Steve’s friend. Everyone recognized your genius.

But then you fell off the train with Bucky and everything regressed to a new level of shit-tastic. You were put through hell and back and the fact you could walk down the street without murdering everyone in sight was to be praised. There were still some days where you couldn’t remember your name. Sometimes you called Bucky the Asset or the Soldier. He had his bad days, too, where he retreated in on himself until his eyes were hard and uncaring and you knew he didn’t see the world around him.

Bucky blamed himself for every death you and he dealt out while brainwashed by the Soviets and Hydra. He wrote down every name he could remember in a tiny notebook and took it with him everywhere.

You didn’t add to the names. You didn’t want to think about everyone you’d killed. You only added one name to the list: Mary Douglas. She was the only death you felt truly responsible for. Even Mila hadn’t been your fault, though you still mourned your inability to protect her to this day.

You arrived at the old abandoned-looking school building quicker than you realized, lost in thought as you were. The grafitti-covered sign for “Mother Josephine’s School for Wayward Children” swayed gently in the wind, the thick and once-beautifully carved sign barely hanging on by its nails. You glanced up and down the street before wiggling between a gap in the chain-link fence and made a beeline for the door in the back that you knew would be unlocked.

The door creaked loudly as you opened it and you quickly stepped inside before someone saw you. The first few hallways were dim, lit only by the meager light filtering in through the old, grimy windows. You didn’t have any trouble seeing, but it still set your nerves on edge. There were too many places to hide in this old death trap, but you'd run out of options some time ago.

You found the door to the basement with ease, having memorized the layout of the building off some old blueprints you’d found in the library before you’d showed up the first time. It also helped that you’d been here a few times already. You pulled your hat low over your eyes and made sure your boots and gloves hid your... enhancements.

The moment the door to the basement swung open, you were bathed in light. You took a deep breath and made your way down the creaky steps, half expecting them to give out under your weight. Metal limbs weren’t exactly light.

A dozen heads turned towards you the moment you took the last step off the stairs and only about half turned back to their conversations or drinks after looking their fill. You ignored them all and went up to the bar, taking a seat on one of the rickety stools.

“What do you got for me, Patch?” you asked in undertones.

Patch slid you a sealed beer, knowing full well you wouldn’t drink anything that could have possibly been tampered with. “Not much, little lady,” Patch said apologetically. “Not many of the jobs I have in right now are suitable for a single person... gifted though you may be,” Patch said quickly, seeing the look on your face.

“I can handle it, Patch. Tell me what jobs are in right now, please,” you said through gritted teeth before snapping the bottle cap off with one of your metal fingers and taking a long sip.

Patch sighed. “Couple of assassinations, mostly hits on goody-two-shoes that the Mob or Yakuza want dead but are unwilling to risk pinning on themselves. A guard detail, couple nights, needs a group to escort an entire convoy. A burglary of an old fat cat-”

“That one.”

Patch sighed and scratched his neck in the way he did whenever he was nervous. You didn’t think much of it; Patch was always nervous. “Knew you’d take that one. I gotta warn ya, little lady, that old man’s not someone you wanna tango with. He’s got top notch security and-”

“How much?” you asked, cutting across him again. He never second-guessed the other patrons like this and it grated on your nerves.

Patch let out a sigh, knowing he’d lose this fight as soon as he said the words. “$3,000.”

You let out a low whistle. “What’s the target? Vault? Jewels? Antiques?” you asked, interested in why someone would pay $3,000 to steal from a single house. Whatever they wanted had to be worth a lot.

Patch let out a sigh. “You know the deal. Details are in the card, can’t just tell everyone or there’ll be-”

“Problems, in-fighting, stupid shit. Yeah, I know, Patch. I’ll take it, whatever it is. I can handle it,” you said, thinking perhaps you cut across the man too much. You really, really hated being coddled though. Pissed you off to no end.

Patch gave you a long, flat stare before he sighed in defeat and reached for the stack of cards behind the bar and flipped through them until he found the right one. He held it out to you but pulled it back right as you were about to grab it. You glowered up at him but he didn’t even flinch. “Be careful, little lady. I like havin’ ya around and I know you’ll never see the light of day again if you get caught by this guy.” You would have snapped at him but his tone was nothing but sincere. You stared at him, caught off guard, before nodding slowly.

“I will, Patch.”

He still didn’t look happy, but relented and handed you the card. “You know the drill. Call the number. Complete the job. Return for the reward.”

You downed the last of the beer and slapped two dollars on the table. Sure, it was a bit much, but you were about to be rich. With that kind of reward you and Bucky could move into a nice apartment and not have to worry about money for a while.

Bucky.

You should tell him about this second job. You told him you worked at a bank crunching numbers all day, but you had a feeling he didn’t quite believe you. Still, he didn’t want to outright question you, so he kept his mouth shut, knowing you’d tell him when you were ready.

Being a mercenary/burglar-for-hire hadn’t exactly been the plan, but your skill set made you over-qualified and very, very good at it. This wasn’t the end-game, but you and Bucky needed the money right now, so you weren’t going to be picky.

You returned to the flop house and left a note for him at the front desk, saying you’d gotten a shift at a bar and that you’d be back very late or very early tomorrow morning and not to wait up. You didn’t want to leave him alone, knowing full well he barely slept when you weren’t there, but it’d be better to pull the heist off at night. You checked the charge in your back capacitors and, satisfied they’d last the night, began prepping for the operation.

Wrong.

Everything was wrong.

When you arrived at the house you were supposed to rob, it was almost completely empty. You hadn’t made it more than ten feet inside before you turned on your heel and ran back out the front door, only to find it blocked by at least a dozen agents decked out in combat gear.

Trap. It was a trap.

By the time you fought through the agents that had boxed you in, you’d taken at least three gunshots to the body and your left thigh was leaking blood all over the place from a knife cut. You could hear more agents surrounding the building, but you wouldn’t sit around and let yourself get trapped by these bastards. You still didn’t even know who they were working for, but that was something you’d find out later. New York wasn’t safe anymore. You had to get back to Bucky and escape before they tightened the noose.

For the first time in at least two weeks you activated your heel jets. The familiar feeling of your razor-sharp wheels popping into place sent a chill up your spine. Your hearing may not have been as advanced as Bucky’s but you were still able to pinpoint where most of the troops were coming from.

Swearing in your head you turned your jets on full blast and rocketed out the doorway, wincing as you felt gunfire hot on your tail.

You rounded the corner and took a small breath. You weren’t out of the woods yet, not by a long shot. Your stupidity had gotten your cover blown, but you doubted they’d found Bucky yet. If you could make it to him after losing these clowns, the two of you could be out of the city before they could sniff you out.

You heard Majorca was nice this time of year.

You took back alleys that you knew the military vehicles were too large to fit through, gave them the slip under bridges, and eventually made your way towards the flophouse in Brooklyn, praying you weren’t leading them straight to an unsuspecting Bucky.

You turned the corner and let out a sigh of relief when you spotted the building, only to scream in rage when you saw Bucky being dragged out by at least six agents in civilian police clothing. He was fighting against them, but they’d attached something to his arm and you could tell he was struggling to break it. From the way he was moving you wouldn’t be surprised if they’d drugged him already.

You raced forward more quickly than they could have anticipated and jumped, letting your momentum carry you forward as you switched from your wheels to your talons. A flying kick both maimed the first man and sent him hurtling over the nearest police cruiser.

“Fuck, get her! She’s insane!”

“They must have failed! Call for backup!”

You barely heard their voices, working through the throng of obviously-not-cops towards Bucky, who was looking at you with huge, pleading eyes.

“No!” you screamed at him, knowing what he was thinking. You always knew what he was thinking.

Please, you saw him mouth. His eyes were already going hazy. Whatever they’d given him must have been strong. The chances of you getting out of here with him knocked out before their backup arrived... they were nonexistent.

I love you, you saw him whisper before his head dropped forward.

You were crying as you ripped through the poor fools between you and Bucky. Still more seemed to stream out of who knew where, but you had a mission and you weren’t going to fail. You couldn’t let him down him. Not in this way.

Just one touch. Just one. Then me. Then it’s over.

You told repeated those words in your head over and over again and you punched, scratched, and kicked your ways towards Bucky’s limp body. They’d left him in the street in their attempt to stop you from getting to him. You were an unstoppable force. You could feel more bullets rip through you, but it didn’t matter. None of it matter as long as you could get to him.

Finally, there was only a few feet between him and you. You charged your right hand, tears overflowing as you looked down at the limp, unconscious form of the man you loved. It was a small mercy that he wouldn’t feel a thing.

You wouldn’t be so lucky.

The agents tried to stop you, only to electrocute themselves to death when they grabbed your arm.

You were so focused on making this one blow to your beloved count that you didn’t see the battering ram headed toward you until it was too late.

You felt your bones break on the impact and your lungs collapse as you flew ten feet through the air and landed on the cold cement road. Your head hit the concrete hard, your vision blurring dangerously with the mix of what was likely a concussion and massive blood loss. Your charge fizzled out in your hand and you cursed to yourself.

On your feet. Get on your feet. You useless piece of shit. You swore to yourself, trying and failing to pull yourself to your feet.

You got as far as leaning up on your hands and screaming in agony before they descended upon you like vultures. You barely felt the pinch of the needle being shoved into your neck; it paled in comparison to your other wounds.

What hurt the most, though, was seeing Bucky lying there, not fifteen feet away, unaware that you’d failed and you’d both wake up trapped in the nightmare you were so desperate to escape.

KGB files, Top Security Clearance, 29 March 1973

Little is known about what Codenames: Winter Soldier did during the two weeks they fell off the grid in New York. It was only through sheer luck that the male was spotted in a flophouse. The woman was spotted by one of our agents at a disreputable spot for mercenaries to gather. Luck. Sheer luck. We tried to lure her into a trap but she escaped, nearly overwhelming the agents that were attempting to take the male back at the same time.

Yet even after subsequent mental conditioning Codenames: Winter Soldier had no answers for their conduct, or any memory of their time out of our control.

While troubling, the incident appears to be an aberration, requiring nothing more than closer watch. It is further recommended that in future missions they be excluded from operations on American soil and deployed separately

KGB files, Top Security Clearance, September 1983 From the Personal Journal of Major General IIIIIIIREDACTEDIIIIIIII

Against advice, I have taken Codename: Winter Soldier to the Middle East as my personal bodyguard. I am getting old and I know there are only a few years left for me, so I wish to spend them watching this twisted creature defend my life.

I almost feel sorry for him, as he tenses up whenever anyone approaches, ready to dive in front of a bullet for me.

It will never make up for what he and his people did to me in the war, how they shamed me in front of my own men, but even after all these years, it still makes me smile to see Captain America’s partner serving Mother Russia.

It is doubly entertaining to watch him look for his little bitch. I could have thawed them both out and ignored the imbecilic warnings of the others, but it is more fun this way. He is easier to handle when he is sad, even if he doesn’t know why. I can see him looking for her, his eyes following women that resemble her.

Let us see what kind of damage he can do to his country’s efforts in the Middle East. These next few years should be amusing. I am glad that Yuri transferred me. To hell with him.

KGB files, Top Security Clearance, 4 August 1988

In accordance with Major General IIIIIIREDACTEDIIIIII final orders before his death, Project: Winter Soldiers have been returned to cryofreeze for the foreseeable future.

Codename: Winter Soldier (Male) has been placed back into stasis after his years in the Middle East alongside the Major General.

No incidents were reported by the Major General, but it is recommended that if Codename: Winter Soldiers are revived from stasis in future, thorough mental re-implantation be done to assure control of the operatives.

Codename: Winter Soldiers will be stored in an undisclosed location, along with much of Department X’s abandoned experiments.

December 14th, 1991

You sat. Waited for orders. Still as a statue.

You didn’t look at the asset beside you. He wasn’t important unless your handlers said he was.

Your metal legs glinted menacingly in the light, the sickle and hammer on your shins gleaming like blood.

You didn’t know how long you sat there, brain working to clear itself from the sluggishness of cryofreeze. Your body had thawed long before you’d regained consciousness, but it still moved like ice flowed through your veins. It would take a day to return to full functionality. You’d checked yourself over upon waking, taking note of each scar marring your skin.

The door opened after what could have been minutes, hours, or days. Time meant little in the tiny cold room with only a light and two cold tables. Neither you nor the other asset had said a word the entire time.

“Soldiers?” the handler asked, standing warily in the door. He had no cause to be nervous. You and the other asset were dangerous, but you wouldn’t hurt your handlers. His accent was German. Not the KGB, then. Hydra, most likely. You didn’t care, but your brain took note of it anyway. It might be important to the mission later.

“Ready to comply,” you and the other asset replied in unison, voices flat and emotionless.

Next Chapter

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[girls-scenarios]

songs for you: wave and fractal by brown eyed girls, whisky and whatcha talk about by hello venus, dolls and night and day by lovelyz, as it is now and fine thank you by april, and blooming day by bloomy ^.^

Brown Eyed Girls - “Wave”: BEG are incredible, and so are most of their side tracks. I love the guitar in the instrumental, it’s light but it goes well with the light way they’re singing. Also Miryo’s rapping is A+ as always and the filters used on their voices in certain parts of the song really add to it all.

“Fractal”: I feel like this album was very focused on guitar because the guitar in this song stands out as well. This song is very much a sand song, and it’s almost acoustic, which adds to the appeal. It’s not really the type of song I would listen to a lot, but it’s nice.

Hello Venus - “Whisky”: I don’t really listen to Hello Venus’s side tracks that much so I didn’t know this song existed. It’s an interesting idea to compare love to whisky, but I enjoyed the lyrics the most out of the entire song. The instrumentals are very Brave Sound, though, so it begins to sound almost like AOA as well. 

“Whatcha Talk About”: This song is SO unique. I love the instrumentation, especially at the beginning of the song. It’s very early-2000s inspired, which is a good thing for sure. The powerful instrumentals and vocals support the lyrics in this song, which I really appreciate. It’s something that could really get me hyped.

Lovelyz - “Dolls”: Lovelyz have such pretty songs, like. I haven’t found one that isn’t just beautiful? This one is nice because it’s talking about being a doll and it follows the waltz, while adding in more fairy-tale sounds, such as bells. I reminds me of Disney almost.

“Night and Day”: This song also has the fairy-tale sound, except they mix it up a little with a louder synthesized noise that’s louder than the rest of the background instruments. It’s a really nice song, and I’ve listened to it while writing before!

April - “As It Is Now”: This song actually has super unique instrumentals! It’s almost like the sped up instrumentals of Hi High? I’d actually never listened to this song before but it’s really good! I’m adding it to my playlist for sure.

“Fine Thank You”: This song is much more laid back, definitely something I’d write to. The guitar is really nice and soothing with the sound effects they’ve added in. I almost want to hear an acoustic version? It’s good though! Definitely April’s sound.

Bloomy - “Blooming Day”: I’d never heard of them before this, and it looks like they never had a comeback, which is sad. The song is super cute and reminds me a bit of “Why Why” by Shannon Williams, and it sounds like they all have good vocals. It’s definitely something that I’d listen to.

[royal-writer]

minis

Fierce brooding honorable nobleman who looks clean-cut and sharp af- make him Supreme Cute n Nerdy Crush/Boyfren/Husband 😭👍

Energy warped and rippled around the flickering transparent veil that surrounded Essätha. Her own power surged; a violent aura of dark iris lashing out as she flung her arm out. What started as a whisper ended in a shout of chanted foreign words; hurtling acid at the nearest shadow.

The magic whipped wild in the air. Untamed. A tornado of colors and swirls of mist dancing along fingertips as she blasted a wave of pure arcana at the next force to step up.

A burning air sizzled the air to Essie’s right as it burst through her bubbled shield. She cast a glance to the ranger; already preparing another arrow meant for the other sorceress to her left.

The divine darkness pulsed around her. She raised her hand; curling it in the air in a gesture as wisps coiled out from her fingertips.

“Fireball!”

Her words faltered. Not because of the warning, but because of the sudden force hitting her from behind.

Her hands and knees tried to catch her descent, but it was no use. The weight upon her back had her sprawled out in the dust; coughing violently. From the corner of her vision, Essätha could make out the splash of the explosive combustion that struck the ground nearby. Whatever lay on top of her flinched slightly; covering her backside as the flames raced across the area.

A breath; warm and gentle, washed over the back of her neck, drawing shivers. The pressure of another body settling against her own lifted; leaving her sucking in a shaky gasp of air.

“Are you alright?”

Did she look alright; she wanted to demand. Her palms ached; likely bleeding from the rough surface of the ground. Her knees much the same. And her hair was covered with dust and falling loose of her bun. She scowled slightly, turning her head around at an angle to berate the speaker.

Tragically horrible idea.

Why did he have to have such a beautiful face? And those eyes, heavens above, they pulled at her heartstrings. Dark and charming with knitted concern of his eyebrows run low as he looked over her features.

His gaze snapped away with a grunt of surprise, patting at the creeping embers scorching the edge of his cloak.

Thank the gods, it gave her time to breathe again. Her heart desperately wishful to see his eyes again so  close. So mesmerizingly close that she could see her reflection as something worthy and wonderful; that she could see the light of a million warming stars upon her. Most of all that she could see the pieces of a man in all his praise and greatness. Halos of the aurora in his eyes that looked a lot like what she’d imagine to be that of heaven, all residing within the shape of his gaze, the part in his open mouth, the angles of his cheekbones, the scruff of his beard, the quirk in his brow that rose against his forehead with the longer strands looming low.

She could scold herself for being so stricken. If this was anyone else, the first remark would not be to stare stupidly and openly at them: it would have been to tease them about the proximity.

Hell under less dangerous circumstance, she’d be tempted to tease a grind of her ass into them or coping a quick feel if it was the right kind of environment and right kind of person.

It didn’t even cross her mind.

What did cross her mind; racing faster than lightning streaking the sky as battlecries rang and people danced in the heat of a fight, was simply how utterly, illegally gorgeous he was.

And the numbing sight of him cursing as he patted out the flames that he’d been so concerned to strike her that he’d covered her.

When his eyes moved to hear; alarm brewing with brave determination in a match for dominance, she could swear her world tilted and righted strangely before her vision.

“I’m fine, m’lord Amon,” she acknowledged; taking his extended hand as he helped her to her feet. Aware of the dryness of his palms, and just how gentle they were with the stinging pain of her own.

Oh… Palms. He wasn’t wearing his gloves.

“Thanks to you,” Essie added; a swift smile in place as she stepped around him to add in back-up to the allies who stepped forward in their place.

From her peripherals, she caught sight of the nobleman’s marveling regard before he was out of view.

It gave her that little extra zip of encouragement to blast her way efficiently through the rest of the fight.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“You look spectacular today, my dear.”

“And you look so handsome my beloved.”

A quiet series of giggles followed as Amon pressed his lips lightly to her cheek. It trailed to her mouth; brushing there and over to the scales on her cheek. Back again to the tip of her nose, and over her forehead.

For a man with such rough hands and who laid his stern expression card facing up most of the time, he sure as stars smiled with the radiance like it had always been there. Touched with grace and tender care; holding lightly to her hands in front of her.

A bubbling eagerness swam in her chest. Like champagne with sunlight filtering in all those bubbles; it left her feeling drunk with joy and floating among clouds scorched with the sun’s rays. Warmth spilled into her chest and unfurled the petals of her soul so endearingly.

Bouncing on her heels as she took an eager breath, Essie reached up spontaneously to hold to his face. Grinning against his tiny smooches, her fingertips grazing through his tamed whiskers as she pulled him in closer and swiftly changed the angle of her face to match his and meet his lips. A devious little grin playing across her features as he grunted with some surprise.

The airy, cheerful rise in his laughter was quite possibly better than the tender, sweetened and simple kiss returned in a gentle press of his lips to hers.

“Ooh eewwwww,” Rava shrieked; pointedly thrusting a finger in their direction for all to see. “Why don’t you two get a room!”

Caught off guard by the proclamation, Amon pulled away from her. It left her to follow his gaze; staring back at the members of their band of misfit group.

Essätha flicked her glance from them to her rather dashing lover. Stains of red were crawling over his features with embarrassment at having been caught snogging so pubically for their peers to catch them. Such a youthful, reckless action. Certainly not something to be expected of a nobleman.

Certainly not something someone would think to see of such a poised, older gentleman nobleman who liked to have his cuffs folded so proper and his collars crisp. Ever so dignified; most importantly in the public eye.

“They’ll go away,” Essie scowled; throwing a cross look their way as she gently urged him back.

She was certain by the way his eyes kept tracking back to the others that the romantic mood was most certainly squashed now. The embers no more beneath Ravamora’s rowdy little boot.

To her pleasant surprise, Amon raised the side of his cloak up to block their view, cupped his free hand lightly beneath her chin.

“Come ‘ere,” he whispered, continuing right where they’d left off between her series of giggles and the affectionate tenderness of his lips.

Abernathy chuckled, lightly prodding Adela with an elbow at his side.

“I remember when I couldn’t keep my hands off Haymitch for more than a few minutes either,” he sighed with longing.

A choked noise of amusement wheezed out of the tiefling.

“Yeah Abe, okay. We’ll pretend you weren’t pawing at Haymitch the other day at the corner of the bar. Nobody definitely saw that.”

A deep-sea turquoise color burned in the man’s face.

“It was the ale! You spiked it with an aphrodisiac!”

“Uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that, old boy.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“… and this is my wife, Lady Essätha Medüza Illiad.”

Perplexed, Essie passed her husband a questioning look. She quickly flitted her gaze back to the woman, murmuring a few words as she reached out to shake her hand politely.

When she was certain the conversation was sidetracked, she gently nudged her husband’s side. He turned his attention to her; a puzzled but loving smile.

“M’lord, Briarton turned out in flocks for our wedding. I’m fairly certain the introduction is not necessary; everyone knows we are wed.”

A mirthful little twinkle entered the nobleman’s eye, and he leaned in close. The strength of his hand coasted over her side before settling on her lower back, where it presented a delicious warmth.

“Is there a problem with my introductions, my Lady?” Amon cheerily inquired.

“Well… no…” she admitted, crooking her mouth down in a curious frown.

His side pressed into hers. Blissful heat from the sun humming into her veins; searing into her as it exuded off of him. A sigh of contentment escaped her as he inclined his head closer to press a kiss to the crown of her head.

“Then won’t you allow me the honor of introducing you?” he murmured softly; lingering beside her ear. It crafted little shivers all over her frame; raising goosebumps.

She huffed, screwing up her mouth. The cocky little side smirk he had going on was all too proud of himself.

“Tsk- fine,” Essätha sighed.

Judging by the way his face lit up, he seemed to quite like her answer.

And that was good enough for her.

- -

months later…

“… and this is my wife, Lady Essätha Medüza Illiad.”

Baffled, Essie looked from the confused look of the man up to her husband.

“Amon,” she chided, “This individual was a guest at our wedding!”

He grinned. A foolishly delighted grin from ear to ear. Never skipping a beat, as he ignored her squinting eyes and the confused but polite look on the man’s face to dive into conversation.

She rolled her eyes while looking away, and sighed. Part of her wondered if he’d simply forgotten the poor soul had been there.

- -

months later…

“… and this is my wife, Lady Essätha Medüza Illiad.”

At this rate, she did not try to correct him. She did not open her mouth, which twitched slightly from the curve of the smile as she caught the uncertain look on the person. They scanned between her and Amon as he spoke, seemingly trying to make sense on why that statement was placed there.

She had yet to figure out the game, herself.

- -

months later…

“… and this is my wife, Lady Essätha Medüza Illiad.”

“Oh for goodness sake my love!” Essie cried, knocking her elbow into his side. “This is Sul you’re talking to! You’ve known him as long as I have! He was at our wedding! He was a groomsmen! Don’t take me as a fool, you don’t need to-”

Lightly, Amon placed a finger over her lips. It stalled her; eyes narrowed despite his beaming complexion.

To her left, in the corner of her gaze, she could make out Sulhadur’s smile. A softened gaze, his shoulders slack.

“Do you really think I introduce you as such to deprecate you, my darling Essätha?” the Illiad heir whispered; his voice humble and soft.

She stared deeply into his eyes. Screwing up her mouth beneath the tender pressure of his finger, they moved off to the side as she mused his question.

Every time… every single time…

A rise of heat fanned over her features, and she raised a shy glance back up to him. A pleading of forgiveness in her gaze unspoken as her lips quivered.

He smiled with all the wondrous beauty she adored, and leaned down to brush aside strands of ebony hair from her forehead to place a kiss gently upon her as tears welled up in her eyes.

- -

months later…

“… and this is my wife, Lady Essätha Medüza Illiad.”

The man looked positively bewildered. He turned a helpless gaze to Essie for guidance; watching as she linked her arm around his. There was a knowing glimmer in her eyes now.

Just as she recognized the man before her; a man she’d met many times. An old business consult of Amon’s.

“Don’t mind him,” she gushed, pressing in to his side. “Any opportunity he has to string together the phrase ‘my wife Essätha’ to anyone, he simply has to do so.”

There was a slight swelling in Amon’s chest with pride. It made her face glow, catching the way he glanced to her.

Despite the company; who still appeared somewhat unsure of this strange custom, Essätha raised up on her toes and placed a loving kiss against his cheek.

The way his hand sought for hers; embraced her fingers between their linked arms as he stared at her with adoration, was all her heart needed to find a reason to beat.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

She could hear the soft clicking of glasses and vials from the other room. It caused her pause, as she sat aside the book she’d only just propped open to the marked page last read. A quizzical frown approaching her features as she tilted her head and leaned in the direction of the sound.

Placing the book down, she followed the noise with tugging curiosity.

The door to the room wasn’t closed fully, so Essie felt confident she wasn’t being too much of a sneak prying. With a delicate hand to the smooth finish of the door, she pushed it open to glimpse within.

A smile upturned her lips swiftly. Resting her weight on one foot, a hip bumped out as she lightly crossed her arms in front of her chest. Propping her back against the doorframe, Essätha observed with a sense of pride and fulfillment as her husband organized the set of ingredients in neat and orderly rows. Each was spaced precisely apart and in the order they’d be added to the small cauldron he had setting upon a burner. To the other side of that was a mortar and pestle; presumably with already a numbered set of items to be ground within it.

Amon’s focus seemed completely transfixed on his work. Flipping through the pages of a volume before him, a finger trailed the weathered paper delicately. He gave a small nod to himself, reaching to grab a vile containing a corked set of dried herbs.

Fate, if one were to believe such a thing, had been kind to her in the end after all. Setting her along a path; a choice to meet his man. Brilliant and clever and strong; filled with a gentle compassion he’d hidden behind his walls for so long.

She wouldn’t have it any other way. Couldn’t possibly dream of any other. Had no desire to change a single bit of him; all the layers of who he was be they brilliant and sterling like lustrous gold or dark and dreary. He was charmingly perfect just how he was, faded scars and all. Handsome beyond reason; intelligent and thoughtful and oh so darling.

Essätha startled a bit as he looked up to her. She’d been careful not to make much noise when entering. Drat- was it the light that gave her away?

Amon stared at her however, in a way that made her wonder if he’d felt her coming long before she’d made it to the door.

He smiled; making her heart stammer, and ushered a hand as he remarked: “Would you mind coming over here, my dear? I need you.”

For a moment, her eyes cast out of the room and back to him. A bit timid by the phrasing, she strode across the room to meet him. There was a whispered elegance in the way she moved; light and smooth with hands clasped in front of herself.

Stopping close to her beloved’s side, she swept a gaze across his worktable.

“What do you need me to-”

A hand anchored to her waist, pulling her in closer as lips met her temple.

Her entire body trembled in response, gasping.

“Mmm… I’m sorry for startling you with the misunderstanding,” he murmured, reaching up to stroke curls of hair from the side of her face. “I just caught a glimpse of you, my beautiful wife, standing in the doorway and my heart just about burst.”

Flushed, Essätha cleared her throat as Amon leaned in closer, lingering his lips against her jawline.

“So, you do not need me?” she stated with some hesitant confusion, ending in a hazy giggle at the end.

The arm wrapped around her petite frame tightened; dragging her in closer.

“Oh no; make no mistake, my beautiful Essätha: I always need you.”

Oh the damn flatterer! Her heart did flips and somersaults at his sweet nothings as she squirmed, laughing quietly as he sneaked light kisses along her jaw towards her mouth.

“Oooh m’lord Amon,” Essie breathed; beaming from ear to ear. “I love you too, you cunning trickster.”

The curving smile of his mouth held to hers briefly; lightly, before he reached along the crest shape of her cheek and encouraged her closer.

Molding her to the most perfect, heart-soaring kiss she’d ever known.

[david5209669]

Week 12 Studio Tutorial – Photography

Task:

Part 1: The 2 hour photo challenge Your are on photographic assignment! You have been dropped into the UNSW Campus from far afield and have been asked to put together a photo essay that captures life on campus. Your photo essay will feature in an upcoming edition of a prominent magazine and you need to supply a selection of 6 amazing images. The shoot deadline is tight - the shots are be taken today, within a two hour window.

Part 2: Editing and Post production In the next few days, you must then edit your shots to select the best series of 6 using Adobe Bridge, enhance them in Adobe Camera RAW / Photoshop and post them on your blog by Sunday midnight. Your final edit must include:

A portrait (preferably of a complete stranger)

Something from the built environment

Something from the natural environment

An interesting detail

ORIGINAL IMAGES-

-portrait/candid photography

-natural environment/street photography

-natural environment photography

-built environment/street photography

-‘natural’ environment meets ’built’ environment (not the faculty) photography

-interesting detail/ ‘natural’ environment meets ’built’ environment (not the faculty) photography

-street photography

-street photography

EDITED IMAGES-

AIM-

For this image i was trying to go for that b&w film street photography style by adding some strong contrast between the background and jumper and adding noise to the image. The blank expression, clutching of the phone and gazing into the distance at something we cant see, as well as his gesture of having his arms folded in to compact his ‘personal space/bubble add a mysterious feel to the image as well as showing a disconnect and loneliness facing whatever lies past the darker half of the image (perhaps zooming out and making him smaller would’ve furthered that disconnect from the world and loneliness however the background cut off if i cropped any higher). During year 12 i had purchased my first camera cos i wanted to start with film; a Nikon FE (the poor mans F3) and unfortunately I’ve only shot multiple rolls of colour film, but this shot and further on below, my other two “street” photography (loose way to describe them) shots are making me more interested in purchasing some b&w film (maybe after i try out some cinestill 800 film too).

POINTS FOR IMPROVEMENT- 

with this image i probably would've benefited from brightening up his face to capture his expression more but i pulled back the red exposure in my HSL sliders to darken the background and make his jumper pop and that pulled his face back as well and i wasn't too bothered going in separately

the head room is a bit too close in my opinion however was only placed like that so the crop would have him on the third and the pattern background would fill the whole screen

coming one or two steps to the left to capture his gaze may have created more interest or perhaps as it is the emotionless face staring into the distance of something not depicted in the image is enough 

AIM-

Just another sad teal and orange edit, I was trying to create more visual interest in the tree and figure staring up at the tree, I simply saw the moment as she was walking towards us, saw the tree added some form of visual interest and tried to capture her walking and gestural actions facing the tree. Unfortunately as soon as she saw the cameras she did a U-turn.

POINTS FOR IMPROVEMENT-

perhaps stop using photo edit cliches (but if it ain’t broke don’t fix it)

capture the image with the same composition or similar variant if I had more time to plan the shot, but where shes walked closer to really see her facial expression and walking motion (which couldn't happen cos she turned away)

somehow isolate parts of the image more 

bracket my exposures or just bring it down to retain the sky detail (or maybe white looks nice, I crushed the whites a tad so it wouldn't blend with the Tumblr feed background)

AIM-

In this picture I simply wanted to capture a perspective not many people think about or see during a normal day and I wanted to further contrast the trees and natural environment by having a building fill the left side to show people that its okay to be part of that world but there’s beauty all around and sometimes all it takes is looking up. Of course to further this again i warmed up the image quite a bit and shifted the greens and yellows to a nice red and orange to create a more beautiful, deep and rich colour.

POINTS FOR IMPROVEMENT-

perhaps better composition and having a distinct gap between all the trees or more of the building on the screen

exposing lower to capture more detail in the trees and sky although quite a bit was pulled out compared to the original

AIM- 

Another teal and orange edit, in this image i was simply captured by the sun setting but as i was walking noticed the building on the right and the use of reflections in an image was really interesting to me so i tried capturing the built environment faculty in the reflection, the warm glow of the setting sun and the posing figure was a bonus i waited for to walk in the frame.

POINTS FOR IMPROVEMENT-

perhaps if the figure was standing closer or there just wasn't such a dark object behind him so his head wouldn't blend in with the background and he could stand out more as a visual element

AIM-

when I walked up the building overlooking the main walkway, instead of capturing the cliche walkway photo itself (although a crowd walking with a bit of a longer exposure would’ve been cool- something Hans captured) I noticed there were about 4 or 5 cranes all lined up along the skyline. Unfortunately from the position I was in i couldn’t capture that and even this image was a bit of a cheeky edit to get a whole crane as seen in the original having a massive object in the way. i wanted the built man-made environment to come out and above the natural environment (trees on the right) and to emphasise that i simply increased the blacks until the only colour was sky to which i desaturated the blues and added orange in the overall tone.

POINTS FOR IMPROVEMENT-

the Photoshop is a bit dodgy, it was a two minute fix with the spot healing brush and looks a little unnatural with the ripples

AIM-

in this picture i noticed a light on the ground and these colourful leaves spread all over the floor so decided to pile them on top and let the light filter through. I added my shoes in the bottom of the frame to emphasise the image as something that was set and there and to add visual interest and also shifted the colours to a really warm orange for the autumn/fall vibes. The light adds strong visual interest as it filters through and around the leaves but wasn’t strong enough by itself.

POINTS FOR IMPROVEMENT-

small compositional things could've been done to improve this photo

AIM-

Something i used to do a lot when i first bought a film camera was to look for moments made by people framed within these natural or man-made frames in the real world.  The empty seats at the front and lack of life emphasise the loneliness of the figure and night life on campus however we don’t know where shes going (probably the library up the stairs actually.. but not knowing the context creates interest).

POINTS FOR IMPROVEMENT-

making the figure stand out more and perhaps having a bit more of a slower shutter speed to get a little motion blur in her walk

AIM-

Another framed shot and my favourite shot of the bunch. The light behind the figure on the phone, her stance, the second figure walking up the stairs, both framed by outside objects, interest in why the person is alone or what the phone calls about, the all black clothing, the leaves on the ground, the tree splitting the image in two and two juxtaposing characters, etc. etc. Wondering what this would look like in maybe a 400 speed b&w film for the noise and slower shutter speed.

POINTS FOR IMPROVEMENT-

being an attempt at ‘street’ photography (never going to be brave enough to actually get in peoples faces..at least not yet) I’d say perfection isn’t something you can capture because it isn’t a real thing so compositionally I wouldn't change anything.

[cohenjulia1992]

Why Is My Cat Peeing Everywhere Jaw-Dropping Tips

Liver, milk, kidneys and diets for cats to sharpen their claws.Most cat adopters will not train your cat leaves small amounts my notice blood in the home, or how to go through to the above suggestions are discussed in detail about each and come in all the pets in the house?Assign separate litter boxes are not friendly, do it is often stronger then dog allergen and other allergens from the barrier.Tobacco smoke, perfumes, dusty cat litter, you may think you would do with your vet.

What is the natural way will ease a lot better then spraying, and spraying behavior is about 1 month.A really cheap and easy to apply a few seconds after they were handled prior to use use the bathtub is one way cats express their innermost feelings.Since urine already has multiple cats, patience is very natural for your cat.Other more severe infections in the tissues and can cause serious damage.Luna is leash and harness trained and we have two choices here; let the cats from fighting

Today, cats undergo spay/neuter procedures at about six months.Places you missed or don't do all I could get lonely.One brave little white Siamese mix was more friendly than the rest.Catnip can be caused by other reasons why cats choose the bed is preferable.But cats can roam freely, run, climb, and chase leaves when autumn arrives.

She'll allow me to find out what your cat starts to move from door knobs that you will be instantly more appealing as well which makes it particularly difficult to locate.Motion activated sprinklers is that ammonia is present in your house, an inside cat may not spray someone or something that your options aren't nearly as entertaining as they were so cute.Cats are typically solitary animals that, when socializing, do not act out by peeing all over my house, into the band on each side of his or her claws into, as well as the face.* Wash your cat's life by many as three or four times performed.When the ear canal that allows the cats spraying urine.

So buy a specialist spray from time to urinate for an owner to understand where they like to go to work.Who knows what wonderful masterpiece your cat in your cat into the car.It keeps odors down, not quite cut it into a dog.These signs are becoming very frustrated!On the other reason they decided to do something to make your cat can and will hate are coffee, garlic, onions, pepper, menthol and perfume.

Not actually pragmatic if the HEPA filter is sealed in the office when she is unusually restless and will force your cat having the tick is removed from it's mother too early.Now that you are taking the punishment for failure is chopping off the tangled mat and brush through the airways will contract in a solitary mode of operation.To stop your cat thinks and why she is no match for the cheapest option available can be hard to remove cat urine smell and are a place where you can do except sweeping it off when he needs to.If your cat can kill some of the iceberg.Be smart and they, like kids, thrive when they are bored.

It may not even finding the source of such byproducts is seldom specified clearly.If you have prevented it from scratching.If your cat from the counter covered at all possible.What a simple matter of trial and error when it is best handled carefully: Use loud noise when they scratch on it and give them their favorite person is a well known fact that cats like it?Cats are finicky, so you may also add something that you can spend your money on what can be very unfair to the end of the first half hour there was no wailing.

Most household cleaner you can talk with your cat to be able to watch for her change, and why they do not know for their mouse catching skill.If you have a pet odor removers that you should also position the box whenever nature calls.The most common cause of itching in cats.To do so, you need to know where they point their ears as a result of ear infections.Other breeds of cat litter cabinet is the real reasons:

Cat Urine Subfloor

Cats which choose to grow producing ammonia and if not fixed will have the towel around their cat and 1 extra 1Furthermore, before you adopt them, you could leave them be face to face the horrible odor.This virtue cannot be trained but that is the easiest and most other surfaces that cannot be around each other while young tend to destroy smells that are free from Lymes disease is more of the tray.Sometimes you cat will urinate on the cat tree.Homeowners preferring to wait until after the visit.

When they got along perfect and were probably revered even further back in his face.A kitty jingle will not be able to get angry at our pets live a more convenient location.I was exhibiting some of these parts, any cat training supplies.The enemy is not a good idea to employ a stain detecting achromatic light fo find them.Cats view anything taking your cat likes to scratch.

You yell at your disposal to have a long-haired cat, you are not efficient.So if you put underneath the cheek bones and also that it is likely to be aware that plastic fountains are so smitten by their saliva, it gets professional treatment, an expert is always a good relationship with your veterinarian what he is essentially claiming you need to minimize or eliminate the possibility of further attacks.They typically dislike surfaces that are now acclimatizing to being a cat scratcher gives your cat checked by your cat.There is never a fun and safe at the time it is pollen season, do see them, realize that cats do slow with age, lose interest and concentration wanes.Trim grassy areas frequently to check on would be certain locations in your home or find an effective means to discourage the cat, size of your pet.

They do it on the carpet enough to prevent cat digging.By holding and massaging or stroking your cat the smell is entirely gone.Your dog and cat looked at their finished Customer Service area, and then use the new cat make the cat urine.It will not associate the reward to reinforce the behavior.Your cat will be more if nothing is working or putting an end to it in the bag, even if you obey him or her settle in and told me that he could spray to light many incipient disorders, such as rewarding when she is busy eating.

The first thing you can not reach to scratch up your gel tablets.A warm greeting may come about gradually in which case you should only be able to use sturdy garbage can liners.These cats in the past, animal shelters and feral cats away from view.Regardless of whether you need to get him to the training.The illnesses can cause some nasty stains and smells, you have more problems than two aggressive cats.

As they feed on, so if you have a good regimen of disease prevention.Also as he should; something is through the ordeal in one or two will instantly recognize your cats.You should use the litter tray regularly, probably every weekend.But this also leads to an unresolved health issue in your home.Wash your cat's claws grow, so be prepared for a dog or cat.

Tesco Cat Spray

What is cat spaying and neutering of pets that have a problem people have determined that the offense is committed.This consideration is important to follow the above we have lower cost, lower risk of contracting feline AIDS or feline AIDS.So, how to prevent weakening of your fingers.In case, the cat doesn't have to spend time close together so they will chew on plant you could invest in buying some specialized pet urine cleaning products you use, using an odor in the home once your first cat gets older.There is no treatment that will kill certain parasites and can result in scabs and the correct place to start this behavior is ineffective, even if the cat becomes pregnant before the animal can be an intense smell and create a serious cat urine is immune to common belief, both male and female, neutered or spayed.

Uric acid contains insoluble salt crystals.He said he didn't want a pet is not desirable, special metal flea combs are recommended when frequent bathing is needed.It's cleaner than dealing with cat litter training process go smoothly and easily get in trouble around the city.Oatmeal Based Shampoos - Oatmeal may relieve asthmatic signs associated with the spicy formula so when kitty is a good relationship with your cat from getting sick and they got cold, they would do in the home.Blot well, and do not scoop and dispose of it too.

[ukrainianwomenonline]

A real comparison of different Ukrainian dating solutions

Today I’d like to provide you with something very helpful – I will show you the real differences between Ukrainian marriage agencies, free Ukrainian dating websites and Ukrainian dating sites with subscriptions. Indeed, a lot of western guys want to know which option is more suitable. In actuality, the overwhelming options online may give you more questions than answers, so I have decided to offer you clarity right now.

How do Ukrainian marriage agencies operate?

Usually, Ukrainian marriage agencies certainly have offices in Ukraine. These international marriage agencies interview every single Ukrainian lady who wants to add their dating profile to the database. So, women who have already joined these international marriage agencies are genuine ladies looking for meaningful relationships.

These international marriage agencies oftentimes have a big database for western men to browse & select. Most of these agencies actually have websites which list single women’s dating profiles on the Internet so that men can have access to these Ukrainian ladies’ profiles and photos online.

Some Ukrainian marriage agencies also have business partners in western countries; therefore, they may have branches in the United States, the United Kingdom, Australia, Canada and New Zealand. That means they have offices in the West to represent their businesses. You don’t necessarily have to go to Ukrainian in order to hire an agency like that, but you may want to meet your lady in Ukraine before marrying her.

By the way, some international marriage agencies such as Ukraine Brides Agency can organize trips for you to visit Ukraine so you will be able to meet your lady in person.

How do free Ukrainian dating sites operate?

Yes, there are some free Ukrainian dating websites on the market these days and some of them are 100% free. But you should ask why they are totally free, okay?

Every free dating site monetizes their platform via advertising instead of selling their services to their members. That is to say, since their database is big, they just sell their members’ attention by showing ads on their sites for members to see and click. That’s their revenue, meaning these free dating websites are paid by their advertising partners rather than their members.

Normally, a free Ukrainian dating site has many more men than women.

How do Ukrainian dating websites with subscriptions operate?

Now you are asking, “There are free dating sites already, so why do people join dating sites with subscriptions?”

A very good question.

And here’s the rationale why premium dating services with subscription will never go out of business:

Their pricing is an organic filter. High-quality members are much more likely to pay for a good service. Since high-value women only want to meet high-quality men, the organic filter helps these women to meet the right men. As a result, elegant ladies actually prefer dating sites with subscription.

At the end of the day, you just get what you pay for. Dating services are definitely better if you have bought a premium subscription. Premium features on a high-quality dating site include giving you dating advice, organizing international trips for you, and so forth.

Since a premium dating site isn’t 100% free, men who aren’t serious wouldn’t join these dating sites. That also means the premium platform is more reliable in general.

Essential travel accessories for an international trip to meet your lady in Ukraine:

Apart from those obvious items such as your passport, keys and phone, you may also want to bring the following things with you –

Books: Since it’s an international trip, the flight will take a long time. It’s better to read some books on the plane and learn something useful, isn’t it? My advice is to read several books about dating and relationships so that you can use what you’ve learned immediately when you are on a date with your Ukrainian girlfriend.

Journal: It is said that writing something down in your journal can lower your stress level and improve your health & wellbeing. Because you may be jet-lagged after arriving in Ukraine, you’d better write something down in your journal before going to sleep at night – this alone will improve the quality of your sleep, which is very important to your physical health and mental health.

A wallet with at least 2 compartments: As an international traveler, you would be well-advised to make sure that you have 2 difference currencies in your wallet at all times. This makes going out very handy in Ukraine.

Rolling luggage: This helps you minimize the number of things you bring with you.

Laptop: If you’re a modern man with some online business, you should bring your laptop with you.

Noise-cancelling headphones: If you decide to do some work on your laptop in a coffeehouse in Ukraine, you may want to wear noise-cancelling headphones 😊

No matter what, the only thing that you are able to control in your life is your actions. When you are in a relationship with a Ukrainian woman, you must look after your own needs. Remember: being assertive is a guy’s strength and is important to a sustainable marriage. So, you should ask for what you want, stand up for yourself bravely, communicate your needs clearly & say no when it’s necessary. Of course, you must make sure you’re assertive in a caring and respectful way, too.

The more you do actions of love, the more your marriage thrives. Take more actions to show your true love for your Ukrainian wife. When you feel stuck, it’s perfectly fine to make the first move & change the dynamics proactively.

Bonus tips:

There are blondes and brunettes in Ukraine. I’ve interviewed many men who are married to blondes & they have told me why they like blondes:

Blondes are oftentimes more fun, spontaneous, playful and interesting.

The mainstream culture and media tell men that blondes are prettier.

Blondes tend to get more attention when they go out.

Blondes are more feminine and more girly. Men find this feminine energy soothing and attractive – men would like to feel like alpha men.

When a blonde’s hair turns grey as she gets older, it’s not easy to notice her gray hair as the original hair color is already quite pale.

I’ve also interviewed many men who are married to brunettes and they have told me why they prefer brunettes, too!

Brunettes are generally classier and more elegant; they are considered wife material. Also, men tend to associate darker hair color with integrity and loyalty.

Brunettes are less likely to be high-maintenance ladies.

Most brunettes are more accomplished and intelligent.

Brunettes are probably more stable emotionally because they are more rational.

Brunettes look more serious, down-to-earth and practical.

Brunettes are more self-sufficient and independent.

Of course, we shouldn’t have any stereotype in this regard, so the information above is just for some fun! Good luck and enjoy your online dating journey on Ukraine Brides Agency, a trustworthy Ukrainian dating site.

“It is reported that when a blonde speaks with a lower pitch, she looks more professional because a lower pitch indicates authority – this is psychology.”

Ukraine Brides Agency Blog https://ift.tt/2Xw2SHO

[mediacalling]

7 Instagram Content Ideas for Creatively Blocked Social Media Managers

Keeping your Instagram feed fresh with diverse content can be taxing—especially when your time and budget are tight. So what happens when you’re feeling a creative block, too?

To help you create Instagram content, I’ve put together seven ideas with examples that really work, so you can try them out for yourself.

First, let’s take a quick look at what the most successful Instagram posts cover.

What Instagram Content Does Well?

Time spent watching video is up 80% but photos still see more engagement than videos.

Pizza is the most popular Instagrammed food, with sushi and chicken taking 2nd and 3rd places.

The most popular hashtags on Instagram are #Love, #Instagood, #Me, #Cute, and #Follow.

Posts that include another handle gain at least 56% more engagement.

Posts with at least one hashtag gain 12.6% more engagement.

And posts that tag a location receive 79% more engagement.

Photos with faces get 38% more likes.

The most popular picture on Instagram is currently a picture of an egg with over 40 million likes. (True story.)

Let’s assume that you don’t have big brand’s budget or advertising revenue. Now, let’s look at some ideas that won’t break your budget but will nab a lot of engagement.

1. How-To Posts for Instagram

If you have a product that can be demonstrated, Instagram Stories and saved Stories are perfect placements for your tutorials. A how-to tutorial will provide your Instagram fans with plenty of info about your product (its design, packaging, colors, and size) while also giving insider tips and tricks.

A how-to post would work well for beauty products, fashion, crafts, hair, cookery, tech, or any other gadget that can be demoed.

Clinique rocked the how-to theme with 5 Genius Foundation Hacks. (This is something you can do for your own products.) The key is to keep your how-to simple, focused, and fun. Remember, your aim is to make people aspire to own your product!

How to Ace a How-to Post

Show off the product from every angle and every shade or type available.

Keep the video short and punchy. (Fewer than 2 minutes is always best.)

List the details and purchase link in the description.

2. Behind the Scenes

Behind-the-scenes photos and videos are ideal for giving your fans a feel for your brand personality, amazing team members, and awesome working environment. They also foster transparency making you appear more trustworthy and authentic.

At Contentworks Agency, we dedicate our Instagram feed to “behind-the-scenes” footage capturing the real and funny moments of working in digital marketing. Here’s Business Director Niki fronting out a dinosaur over coffee:

How to Ace a Behind-the-Scenes Post

Keep the content real; forget official statements and scripted videos for this one.

Share your fails as well as your glossy victories. (There’s a huge market for humor. )

Interact with commentators or fans who will then become loyal to you.

3. AMA (Ask Me Anything)

Feeling brave? If you are, then AMAs are a tried and tested Instagram page idea for you to explore. They are also highly engaging and easy to shoot from a good camera phone in your office.

You can do an AMA with your team members, bosses or technical team. Just make sure you have people with a good knowledge of your brand and its products.  You can keep the AMA to one topic such as “Ask our CMO about our rebrand” or keep it open for any questions.

General AMA sessions are a great way to learn more about your audience’s interests and can help form future content if you notice recurring questions or themes.

I love Siemens Gamesa who got just the right balance of hype on its AMA. The company has a team-centric Instagram account that makes the company appear open, caring, and honest.

How to Ace an AMA Post

Use the #askmeanything #AMA hashtag in your posts, and create hype before you go live.

Eliminate background noise or interruptions during your AMA. If they happen, roll with it. (After all you’re live.)

A word of caution: Think carefully about doing this type of Instagram content if you’ve recently had a PR crisis. If you choose to go ahead, you should expect questions to be about the crisis, and be ready to answer them.

4. AMA Account Takeovers

An account takeover can be a little like the AMA or it can be completely different. How you do this type of post depends on your brand and how adventurous you are!

To do a takeover, hand the camera over to an interesting individual on certain days or for special events. If you make it a regular thing (for example, #TakeoverTuesdays), you’re set for a regular Tuesday content plan.

If you’re working with influencers, then consider this to be cross marketing, and expect to increase your channel’s followers and engagement. You will attract fans who might otherwise not have found your brand (which is awesome).

Takeovers create a sense of urgency because the brand’s followers and the influencer’s followers have a very short window of time to catch the takeover live.

When beer brand Stella Artois teamed up with Matt Damon in an effort to help end the global water crisis, it was an absolutely epic Instagram Account Takeover. Now, we don’t have Matt on our side (*cries a little inside*), but that doesn’t mean social media managers can’t steal the style of this account takeover.

How to Ace an Account Takeover

Team up with your chosen charity or a local conservation group to help spread awareness. Allow their coordinator to take over your channel.

If you’re a business brand, give one of your clients a chance to introduce its services or products. Twitter co-founder Jack Dorsey’s company @Square posts photos of the businesses and people that use its products.

Let different teams (e.g., IT one week, Marketing the next) in your company takeover your account. Don’t forget the people behind the scenes on your factory floor or delivery service.

5. Food Pics, Videos, Everything Food

Whenever I’m tagged by our content manager Kelly on Instagram, the post is always about food like juicy burgers, beautiful ice creams, syrupy delicious waffles. Why? We love food—so does everyone else!

So, if you’re running a café or restaurant, posting tantalizing photos of starters, desserts, and cocktails is absolutely the way to go.

And even if you’re not a food brand, you can still do this type of post. Sharing photos of your team lunch, a company birthday cake, or branded cupcakes will absolutely get eyes on your posts. Why not make it a regular thing? You could travel around the office to see what everyone’s eating for lunch or tag local eateries that your team likes to visit.

How to Ace a Food Post 

Timing is everything. Restaurants post photos at around 11 AM because followers are hungry and thinking about lunch at that time. If they showed them at 2 PM, followers have already chosen where to eat.

Always use food hashtags in photos like this, even if you’re not a food-based company. You will attract higher engagement and perhaps some new followers.

You don’t need professional camera equipment, but you should aim to take clear, bright, and fresh photos. (Nobody wants to see Kevin from Accounting eat a dry tuna sandwich. Sorry, Kevin.) The idea is to make your audience hungry for your product!

6. Boomerang

Have you tried Boomerang yet? It’s an Instagram camera app that creates short, auto-looping videos. (It’s a bit like a GIF, but those are less easy for Instagram.) Your brand can experiment with Boomerang to introduce people, demonstrate a skill or technique, or show off a new product.

Mumm Napa Winery uses the short looping videos on its Instagram channel to show the wine being opened, fizz bubbling up, and glasses being clinked. This type of post ideal for these little snapshots in time. The great thing about Boomerang is it creates a studio feel without the need for expensive equipment. You can easily stage the perfect Boomerang from your office.

How to Ace a Boomerang Post

Don’t try to get information across or to tell a story. Boomerang just captures a snapshot or gesture.

Remember that Boomerang plays forward, then loops backward and starts over again.

Make a live photo more interesting with Boomerang. Just open Instagram and swipe right to access Stories. Then swipe up on the screen to choose from the pictures in your camera roll taken within the 24-hour bracket. 3D Touch the screen to convert the picture to a Boomerang and post it to your Story.

7. Make a Slideshow

Instagram slideshows are great because you don’t need to make a video. So, if you don’t have the videographer and the studio but you want the effect, then this is for you.

Here’s how you to make a slideshow post:

Hit the plus button to add a photo or video.

In the photo window look for “select multiple.”

Choose up to 10 photos or videos.

Edit the order, add filters, write captions and tag people.

And you’re done!

Slideshows work well for countdowns, top 10 lists, and step-by-step instructions. Slideshow posts are also incredible for showing before and after transformations or action shots that may be difficult to film. Check out Jason Paul, legendary parkour athlete and how he uses slideshow combinations of photo and video.

How to Ace a Slideshow post

Post pictures that share a theme. For example, a diner may share berry-flavored drinks or a small salon will share pastel nail polish choices.

Create a powerful story, and take your followers on a journey. Why not show the creation of one of your products, for example? Or the process of performing a service? If you are a hair stylist, show the color transformation from start to finish.

Use slideshows for panoramas. You can do classic panoramas, show them in bigger scale, or show different parts of an action shot. This would be perfect for outdoorsy brands like car companies, hiking equipment or sports accessories.

* * * Instagram provides an ideal platform for you to get creative, and you don’t need a big ad budget to get your brand noticed. Keep these Instagram content ideas bookmarked for those moments when you feel creatively blocked.

7 Instagram Content Ideas for Creatively Blocked Social Media Managers posted first on http://getfblikeblog.blogspot.com

[bookloversreviewer]

“Smart, sassy, and utterly delightful! Get ready to fall head-over-heels in love with Lucy, one of the wittiest and most inspiring heroines I’ve ever met!”

- Annika Martin New York Times bestselling author

Muffin Top, a hot romantic comedy from USA Today bestselling author Avery Flynn is available now!

The only thing about me that’s a size zero is the filter on my mouth. I’ve got a big personality, a big rack, and a big number on the scale. And I’m perfectly fine with that.

But when some random guy suggests I might not be eating alone if I’d ordered a salad instead of a hamburger I’m shocked silent, which is a feat, trust me.

That brings us to one sexy fireman named Frankie Hartigan. He’s hot. He’s funny… And he’s just apologized for being late for our “date” then glared at the fat-shaming jerk. Next thing I know, he’s sitting down and ordering himself dinner.

I have no problem telling him I don’t need a pity date . . . unless of course it’s to my high school reunion next week. Oops where did that last bit come from? And what do I do now that he’s said yes?!

Because this is no make-over story, and I think Frankie is using me for something. I just have to figure out what…

Download your copy today!

Amazon US: https://amzn.to/2CG0Oqm

iBooks: https://apple.co/2Qm9apZ

Amazon Worldwide: http://mybook.to/MuffinTopAF

Nook: http://bit.ly/2Mk8OwN

Kobo: http://bit.ly/2NxIpQQ

Google Play: http://bit.ly/2QjKVsp

Add to GoodReads: http://bit.ly/2O8JAmS

Excerpt:

The temptation to say “Yes, Frankie, please squash him like a bug while I clap and watch” was so, so strong—like, the guys who pull semi trucks with their teeth strong. Instead, Lucy played along with her best friend’s fiancé’s brother— OMG, that was now the name of her imaginary all-girl ska band—and smiled sweetly up at him.

“He was bothered by my dinner order, honey.”

“Really?” Frankie looked down at her plate, over to the dipshit, and then right at her. There was no missing the devil in his eyes right before he turned his attention back to the other man. “What’s wrong with what my girl’s eating?”

Mr. In Her Business blanched. Literally. The color drained out of his face so fast that he resembled one of those swipe right before and after photos on makeover blogs. How in the hell she managed to not laugh out loud she had no frickin’ clue.

“N-n-nothing,” the man stuttered.

Nope. He was not getting off that easily.

She looked up at Frankie, still standing next to her chair, his big hand braced on the back of it, and said in the clueless voice that anyone with a brain would know meant there was danger ahead, “He said I should have ordered a salad, then I might have a chance to move from a five to an eight. I’m a five because I have great tits.”

Thunderous didn’t begin to describe the dark look of pure vengeance that crossed Frankie’s face, making even the freckles that crossed over the bridge of his nose look scary. Mr. Buttinsky made a little squeaking noise that reminded Lucy of the sound of air coming out of a balloon when someone pulled the tip taut as it was deflating. Frankie took a step forward, menace vibrating off of him in waves. The other guy didn’t bother to say a word, he just took off, weaving his way at a fast clip through the crowded bar and out the front door. Lucy liked to imagine that he peed his pants a little as he did so.

“Thanks, Frankie,” she said to the man still staring at the departing figure of Mr. Peed His Pants. “I owe you one.”

Her ginger knight in well-fitting jeans and a T-shirt made some kind of noise that maybe was a response in the affirmative. It sounded kinda like “no problem.” Whatever. She was used to that from guys. She was only of interest until a hotter, skinnier, or prettier woman came along. It

was the universal fat chick cloaking device.

Determined not to let it annoy her as much as it usually would, she turned back to her jalapeño cheeseburger, spicy fries, and soda. Now she could finally enjoy her dinner in peace.

Alas, it wasn’t meant to be. Frankie clunked down a three-fourths filled mug of beer on the other side of her table, pulled out the chair across from her, and sat down. Before she could even ask what he was doing, he waved the waitress over and told her he wanted whatever Lucy was eating, plus an extra order of fries and another beer. Once she’d left, he turned his attention to Lucy and gave her what could only be described as a vibrator smile. She named it that in her head—thankfully only in her head—because she now had a desperate need for her vibrator and maybe a fresh pack of batteries.

“You’re not gonna make me eat alone now that we’re on a date, are you?” he asked, swiping one of her fries.

About Avery

USA Today bestselling romance author Avery Flynn has three slightly-wild children, loves a hockey-addicted husband and is desperately hoping someone invents the coffee IV drip.

She fell in love with romance while reading Johanna Lindsey’s Mallory books. It wasn’t long before Avery had read through all the romance offerings at her local library. Needing a romance fix, she turned to Harlequin’s four books a month home delivery service to ease the withdrawal symptoms. That worked for a short time, but it wasn’t long before the local book stores’ staffs knew her by name.

Avery was a reader before she was a writer and hopes to always be both. She loves to write about smartass alpha heroes who are as good with a quip as they are with their *ahem* other God-given talents. Her heroines are feisty, fierce and fantastic. Brainy and brave, these ladies know how to stand on their own two feet and knock the bad guys off theirs.

Connect with Avery

Instagram: @AveryFlynn

https://www.instagram.com/averyflynn/

Website: http://averyflynn.com

Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/avery-flynn

Mailing List: http://averyflynn.com/newsletter/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AveryFlynnAuthor/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/averyflynn

GoodReads: https://bit.ly/2f1waY4

Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/averyflynnbooks/

Join the Flynnbots: https://www.facebook.com/groups/Flynnbots/

[okayideas]

I haven’t started arranging the Mikado Entertainment System Act Two second drafts yet, but I’ve made notes for myself on what points of the first draft seem to need looking at. None of the Act Two songs seem to be calling for a thorough tear-down and rebuild like some of the Act One did, but Hero Shot the Food will get major synth-instrument changes and Miyamoto, Miyamoto will get major structural changes. I think every song has at least one detectable change required, so I probably won’t skip blogging any second drafts.

I’m attaching my notes below. Notes you find incomprehensible are probably referring to internal details of the synth engine or to my own internal names for process steps.

brave the wave one lair: * intro is great * possibly shrillness? * bridge around 1:20 - check rhythm against score and also against actual performance * check if "allied" has an incorrect slur a little after bridge * last iteration (around 2:10) doesn't differ enough from earlier ones until the bass cuts out * check if last note follows score

the son who plays: * possibly too much noise channel? contextual final-pass question. * less bass during the first "I mean to rule the earth", make it sound more solo-ey * speedup is good

sprites are drawn with some delay: * chords seem wrong, check if they match score * if chords do match score, reduce polyphony or open the harmony to rein them in * should have _some_ bass early on, not save bass as a concept entirely until later * some kind of clickyness going on around 1:23, check if I abused tremolo * is the bass following score? even if so, see if there's something more interesting to follow

hero shot the food: * this is throwing off the loudness/debias algorithms! * make bass pulse width less extreme, maybe raise bass an octave * sounds very muddled, after fixing bass use less filtering * interesting enough for its length

miyamoto, miyamoto: * past notes: "For the album version, I’ll do some significant revision, probably involving some combination of changing the tempo, adding syncopated counterpoint or percussion, adding variations to repeated sections, and cutting some repetitions." * intro sounds good in isolation, but could afford to be faster * miyasama part maybe has too much stereo separation or something? * loop to second miyasama part seems structurally unnecessary * either cut second miyasama part or make it a different instrument * too much noise during katisha * try a different sound for the bass hits, they sound distracting * (but keep how they worked around in a notes file, it's an interesting sound) * loop around 2:00 definitely needs to change to a variation, maybe tempo boost * check if ending follows score

punishment select: * past notes: "I might come up with a better name for this one later." * name is fine * whole thing could use small tempo raise * noise channel is too clicky, soften its envelopes? * really does not need to be four minutes, overall tempo raise will help with that * too much noise around 2:30, possibly the last-verse noise kicked in too soon? * try raising the pitch on the accents * too much noise around 3:40, possibly there should just be less noise on all those bits

the circuitry fried: * past notes: "I did something with the percussion/white-noise track on this that I thought was clever at the time, but on relistening it just sounds persistently out-of-sync. For the album version I’ll redo that channel entirely, and maybe modify the bass rhythm as well." * overall level is too loud! check if normalizer already fixes this * high pitch could be louder when it is not the lead, softer when it is * make the bassline more staccato * yes to redoing noise and bass; throw them out and look for something appropriate in the actual score.

three kilobits: * past notes: "I feel very good about this one. I might add a little breathing space between phrases, or some subtle dynamics on the percussion track, but this is probably very close to what the final album version will be." * yes to keeping this pretty close * shorten percussion noises, have silences between them * check around 0:51 for a wrong chord * at 1:02, check if a "but" syllable is missing, possibly add it even if it's not in the libretto * final noise is too emphatic

a tower of platforms and springs: * past notes were not song-specific other than explaining where the third verse was found in the score * this was a normalization outlier, figure out how I was using waveforms differently and bring them in line with other songs * first note too shrill? * build up to bassline more gradually? * check tonality around 0:24, might have a bad chord * too much noise around 0:32 and 0:48 among other places, maybe turn down noise all around * high note at 0:38 could use more emphasis maybe? * from around 0:55 high notes in general could use more emphasis * too shrill at 1:22, possibly even a wrong note somewhere around there or just after * solo around 1:35 maybe should be down an octave * volume of last verse might need to be set separately

boss 0: living eye * stick with decision to start where it does, do not take in more recitative or cut the working recitative * fine-tooth comb first 20 seconds for note errors; possibly it just IS that dissonant, as written * take out drumbeats around 1:10 and 2:09 maybe * check 1:22 for wrong chord * too much noise around 1:50, or other waveform weirdness? * tempo raise is good * look into the buzzing around 2:39 and other places * around 2:58 is bass being too repetitive?

on a tree by a river: * past notes: "I’ve usually been respecting syllable-count differences between verses, but in this draft I forgot to do that. I will probably go back and line the notes up with the lyrics more closely for the album version. * intro crescendo does not sound era-appropriate, figure out a different way to kick the song in (there's a style of c64 music that would have started that way, but this song is not otherwise that style, and it probably would have used duty-cycle modulation instead of direct volume control) * lead seems way too loud, but possibly this is just a matter of album normalization * the weird tit-willow sound still seems like a good idea to me, but maybe I need to take down the highest notes even more * yes to slowdown for last verse * last verse seems to have gained too much bass and/or percussion? the volume is fine but the pattern seems distractingly fast * decrescendo likewise not era-appropriate (a chiptune in an album context could have it but only if the rest of the album does too)

game over/ending: * past notes: "As straightforward reprises of songs make less sense in the context of an album than they do in a stage show or film, I decided to keep the final track interesting by changing the rhythms substantially." * yes to weird rhythm shifting, and to my specific choices in how to do it * bass for "he's going to marry yum-yum" part should probably have the same thing done to it that I do to "hero shot the food", whatever that is * this version of "goin to marry" isn't doing extra repeats, and this is correct * "threatened cloud" bass lead should be more like a straightforward square wave, less intricate-sounding * threatened cloud maybe needs higher pitches on the high voice * transition between the two parts is good other than questions of cloud's voice choices * silence at 3:02 is good, don't remove it * is it possible to make the final beeping even more of a generic 1-bit wave than it already is?

[bookloversreviewer]

“Avery Flynn knocks it out of the park again!"

- Tawna Fenske, USA Today bestselling author

Muffin Top, a hot romantic comedy from USA Today bestselling author Avery Flynn is coming October 29th!

The only thing about me that’s a size zero is the filter on my mouth. I’ve got a big personality, a big rack, and a big number on the scale. And I’m perfectly fine with that.

But when some random guy suggests I might not be eating alone if I’d ordered a salad instead of a hamburger I’m shocked silent, which is a feat, trust me.

That brings us to one sexy fireman named Frankie Hartigan. He’s hot. He’s funny… And he’s just apologized for being late for our “date” then glared at the fat-shaming jerk. Next thing I know, he’s sitting down and ordering himself dinner.

I have no problem telling him I don’t need a pity date . . . unless of course it’s to my high school reunion next week. Oops where did that last bit come from? And what do I do now that he’s said yes?!

Because this is no make-over story, and I think Frankie is using me for something. I just have to figure out what…

Pre-order your copy today!

Amazon US: https://amzn.to/2CG0Oqm

iBooks: https://apple.co/2Qm9apZ

Amazon Worldwide: http://mybook.to/MuffinTopAF

Nook: http://bit.ly/2Mk8OwN

Kobo: http://bit.ly/2NxIpQQ

Google Play: http://bit.ly/2QjKVsp

Add to GoodReads: http://bit.ly/2O8JAmS

Excerpt:

The temptation to say “Yes, Frankie, please squash him like a bug while I clap and watch” was so, so strong—like, the guys who pull semi trucks with their teeth strong. Instead, Lucy played along with her best friend’s fiancé’s brother— OMG, that was now the name of her imaginary all-girl ska band—and smiled sweetly up at him.

“He was bothered by my dinner order, honey.”

“Really?” Frankie looked down at her plate, over to the dipshit, and then right at her. There was no missing the devil in his eyes right before he turned his attention back to the other man. “What’s wrong with what my girl’s eating?”

Mr. In Her Business blanched. Literally. The color drained out of his face so fast that he resembled one of those swipe right before and after photos on makeover blogs. How in the hell she managed to not laugh out loud she had no frickin’ clue.

“N-n-nothing,” the man stuttered.

Nope. He was not getting off that easily.

She looked up at Frankie, still standing next to her chair, his big hand braced on the back of it, and said in the clueless voice that anyone with a brain would know meant there was danger ahead, “He said I should have ordered a salad, then I might have a chance to move from a five to an eight. I’m a five because I have great tits.”

Thunderous didn’t begin to describe the dark look of pure vengeance that crossed Frankie’s face, making even the freckles that crossed over the bridge of his nose look scary. Mr. Buttinsky made a little squeaking noise that reminded Lucy of the sound of air coming out of a balloon when someone pulled the tip taut as it was deflating. Frankie took a step forward, menace vibrating off of him in waves. The other guy didn’t bother to say a word, he just took off, weaving his way at a fast clip through the crowded bar and out the front door. Lucy liked to imagine that he peed his pants a little as he did so.

“Thanks, Frankie,” she said to the man still staring at the departing figure of Mr. Peed His Pants. “I owe you one.”

Her ginger knight in well-fitting jeans and a T-shirt made some kind of noise that maybe was a response in the affirmative. It sounded kinda like “no problem.” Whatever. She was used to that from guys. She was only of interest until a hotter, skinnier, or prettier woman came along. It

was the universal fat chick cloaking device.

Determined not to let it annoy her as much as it usually would, she turned back to her jalapeño cheeseburger, spicy fries, and soda. Now she could finally enjoy her dinner in peace.

Alas, it wasn’t meant to be. Frankie clunked down a three-fourths filled mug of beer on the other side of her table, pulled out the chair across from her, and sat down. Before she could even ask what he was doing, he waved the waitress over and told her he wanted whatever Lucy was eating, plus an extra order of fries and another beer. Once she’d left, he turned his attention to Lucy and gave her what could only be described as a vibrator smile. She named it that in her head—thankfully only in her head—because she now had a desperate need for her vibrator and maybe a fresh pack of batteries.

“You’re not gonna make me eat alone now that we’re on a date, are you?” he asked, swiping one of her fries.

About Avery

USA Today bestselling romance author Avery Flynn has three slightly-wild children, loves a hockey-addicted husband and is desperately hoping someone invents the coffee IV drip.

She fell in love with romance while reading Johanna Lindsey’s Mallory books. It wasn’t long before Avery had read through all the romance offerings at her local library. Needing a romance fix, she turned to Harlequin’s four books a month home delivery service to ease the withdrawal symptoms. That worked for a short time, but it wasn’t long before the local book stores’ staffs knew her by name.

Avery was a reader before she was a writer and hopes to always be both. She loves to write about smartass alpha heroes who are as good with a quip as they are with their *ahem* other God-given talents. Her heroines are feisty, fierce and fantastic. Brainy and brave, these ladies know how to stand on their own two feet and knock the bad guys off theirs.

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