#they need to put my brain through a blender and then freeze it in one of those cool ice molds

[zakurohampter]

Whyyyy did I walk to class thirty minutes early I said to myself ok class is at 10. I double checked my schedule at least three times for time + location. And then I leave thinking oh geez this time I’ll actually be late. I’m here at 9:25 thinking to myself wait this isn’t the right discussion at all what’s going on. Head in fucking hands.

[wintervvidow]

apricity pt. three

apricity - the warmth of the sun in winter

warnings: angst, vomit mention, violence

pairing: bucky barnes x female oc

word count: 4,200

A/N: this is a bit of a filler chapter yet still very important! I did have to use google translate for the Russian, so if it is incorrect, please let me know and I'm very sorry if it is! Thank you 💕

MASTERLIST

“Я готов отвечить.” ( Ready to comply.)

The December air was cold as it blew through Florence’s hair, her arms circling Bucky’s waist as they rode down the dark road on Bucky’s motorcycle. The soldier steered with one arm, free hand coming down to rub circles on the redhead’s calf as they pulled behind a cluster of trees, hiding them from onlookers as they waited. The pair of assassins were unthawed and reset only hours ago, immediately given their latest mission.

A car came into view, red tail lights illuminating the air around them. Bucky flipped the bike’s headlight on and pulled onto the road again. The soldier revved the bike, catching up to the side of the vehicle as Florence sunk her butterfly knife into the tire, causing the car to swerve off the road and crash into a building.

Bucky parked the bike ahead of the crash, Florence stepping off the bike, Bucky behind her, and approaching the car. She flipped open the trunk to reveal a large silver briefcase, opening it to see five bags of blue liquid; exactly what they were looking for.

This was the last mission the Winter Soldier and the Winter Widow would ever go on.

Florence bolted up in the cheap hotel bed, Bucky’s screams reverbing in her brain. HYDRA always made her watch when Bucky was reprogrammed, a way to keep Florence in line and remind her who she was; just a puppet.

The last mission was always a common nightmare in the rotation of dreams Florence had, continuously taunting her. She disappeared only two weeks after it, abandoning everything she had grown accustomed to and the only person she had ever loved.

Florence couldn't go back to sleep, instead deciding on making herself coffee, the microwave clock mocking her, 4:34 a.m. She sipped her coffee slowly at the small kitchenette table, patiently waiting to start her day as she watched the clock tick away until it became 6:30 a.m., a reasonable enough hour to be awake for Steve to not worry.

~

The team was in Lagos, following a lead on Brock Rumlow, who had been causing quite the headache in the past few months, this time his target was deadly weapons from the Institute For Infectious Diseases.

Florence and Natasha sat across from each other listening to Steve and Wanda Maximoff converse about their surroundings through their earpieces, doing their best to remain anonymous and still get the intel under the hot noon sun.

“You see that Range Rover halfway up the block?” Steve asked Wanda as she fiddled with the sugar packet in her hand.

“Yeah, the red one? It’s cute.”

“It’s also bulletproof, which means private security, which means more guns...which means more headaches for somebody. Probably us.” Florence smirked at Natasha’s response as she took a sip of her coffee, savoring the caffeine.

Wanda chirped back through her radio, ‘You guys know I can move things with my mind, right?”

Florence glanced at Wanda across the cafe, “Looking over your shoulder needs to become second nature.”

Sam’s voice floated through their earpieces from the rooftop above, “Anybody ever told you two you’re a little paranoid?”

The two redheads shared a knowing look with small smirks adorning their faces, “Not to either of our faces. Why? Did you hear something?” Florence’s tone was light, but both she and Natasha knew the darkness behind it; the Red Room made them that way.

Steve, ever the serious man, refocused the small group, “Eyes on target, folks. This is the best lead we’ve had on Rumlow in six months. I don’t want to lose him.”

Sam scoffed in the mic, “If he sees us coming, that won’t be a problem. He kind of hates us.”

There was a pause in time before Steve spoke, “Sam, see that garbage truck? Tag it.” Sam deployed Redwing, giving Sam and the team the information they needed, “That truck’s loaded for max weight. And the driver’s armed.”

Natasha glanced at Florence, the pair not too thrilled to be dealing with this particular situation, “It’s a battering ram.”

“Go now.”

Wanda questioned Steve into her mic, the tension had just risen significantly.

“He’s not hitting the police.”

The team scattered, Steve, Wanda, and Sam going after Rumlow while Florence and Natasha were both on motorcycles racing down the street.

“Rumlow has a biological weapon.”

Natasha revved her bike, “I’m on it.” The redhead purposely crashed her bike, flinging it into an armed guard. Florence ditched her bike, joining Natasha in the fight.

A guard swung at Florence, missing his target as she ducked and swept his feet from underneath the attacker. Natasha took down two more guards while Florence took down three more, tossing the last guard on the ground like a sack of potatoes.

Florence and Natasha were attacked by Rumlow, neither of the two women able to effectively take him down. The two were shoved into a tank, Rumlow dropping a bomb in before latching the door closed. They surveyed their surroundings quickly; two guards with guns aiming at them. Florence kicked one unconscious while Natasha grabbed the other guard and used him as a human shield when the grenade exploded, grabbing Florence on the way down.

Black smoke filled the air, the smell of fire making it hard to breathe, sending the pair of assassins into a coughing fit on the ground. Looking up, they could see Steve being blown back into the building by an explosion, their ears ringing from the volume. Steve sent Sam after Rumlow, who was in an AFV heading north.

Natasha relocated the ditched bike and got on, pulling Florence behind her. The younger assassin revved the bike as they entered the street, Florence holding onto her.

Sam called out the offenders, clocking four of them splitting up.

Natasha stopped the bike and looked at Florence before splitting up, “I got the two on the left, you take the right.”

Florence sprinted down the busy street, dodging and weaving the crowd. Her targets came into view ahead of her, the girl sent a throwing star their way, effectively knocking him to the ground with no way to run. The girl grabbed the man, searching the bag furiously, trying to locate the weapon, “It’s not here!” Sam replied back, not having the weapon either.

Natasha called over the mic, “I have it.” Florence sighed in relief, moving to meet back up with the team.

She came upon Steve, who had Rumlow on the ground in front of him. She approached the scene cautiously, listening to the exchange.

“You know, he knew you and that redhead, Florence. Your pal, your buddy, your Bucky.” Rumlow whispered tauntingly at Steve.

Florence approached from behind, grabbing Rumlow’s hair and yanking him back, putting a knife to his throat, “What did you say?” The flip switched in Florence’s brain at the mention of Bucky, nothing else mattering anymore. She didn’t care that people were probably filming her with a knife to someone’s throat, and Steve made no move to stop her.

The disfigured man laughed as the knife dug deeper against his neck, staring up at Florence, “He remembered you. I was there. He got all weepy about it. Always screaming about you.” He then looked at Steve, “Till they put his brain back in a blender. He wanted you to know something. He said to me, ‘Please tell Rogers. When you gotta go, you gotta go.’ And you’re coming with me.” Rumlow’s thumb pressed a detonation device, Florence and Steve noticing it at the same time.

Wanda was behind them, containing the explosion of fire with her powers, keeping Steve and Florence from becoming red mist. The newest member sent Rumlow up and into the building in front of them. The building went up in flames, the leftover gasses from Rumlow’s bombs reacting to the fire and exploding. The bystanders screamed and ran as Wanda looked on in horror at what she had just done, hand clamping over her face.

Florence gently guided the girl away from the scene, “Hey, come one. We have to go, this isn’t on you, okay?”

Behind them, Steve called for Sam to request Fire & Rescue before he took off to go save people from the building, leaving Florence to console the distraught brunette.

A month later, the team was back at the Avengers Compound, Florence sitting with Steve as they watched the news.

“Eleven Wakandans were among those killed during a confrontation between the Avengers and a group of mercenaries in Lagos, Nigeria last month. The traditionally reclusive Wakandans were on an outreach mission in Lagos, when the attack occurred.”

The TV switched to show King T’Chacka of Wakanda’s speech:

“Our people’s blood is spilled on foreign soil, not only because of the actions of criminals, ut by the indifference of those pledged to stop them. Victory at the expense of the innocent is no victory at all.”

Steve turned the TV off, the only other sound in the compound coming from Wanda’s TV in her room. Florence got up to go speak to the girl before Steve stopped her, “I’ll go.” Steve and Wanda were taking the Lagos incident the hardest, both blaming themselves. The mention of Bucky had made both Florence and Steve freeze until it was too late, leaving Wanda to deal with the bomb that now plagues her consciousness. Florence watched as Steve walked off until he wasn’t visible anymore for her to turn on her heel to head to the kitchen.

The redhead was in dire need of coffee, the cup she had that morning had worn off. The nightmares amplified after Rumlow’s supposed confession about Bucky, the girl had hardly slept more than two hours a night. When she did sleep it was restless, nightmares of Bucky haunting every corner of her mind. She managed to make it through half her mug before she was called downstairs for a meeting with Tony and the Secretary of State.

Secretary Ross sighed heavily as he stood at the head of the table of Avengers as he mimicked his golf swing, “Five years ago, I had a heart attack and dropped right in the middle of my backswing. Turned out it was the best round of my life because after 13 hours of surgery and a triple bypass, I found something 40 years in the Army had never taught me. Perspective. The world owes the Avengers an unpayable debt. You have fought for us, protected us, risked your lives, but while a great many people see you as heroes, there are some who would prefer the word ‘vigilantes’.”

Next to Florence, Natasha spoke with a smirk adorning her face, “What word would you use, Mr. Secretary?”

Secretary Ross looked up from the table, “How about ‘dangerous’? What would you call a group of US-based, enhanced individuals who routinely ignore sovereign borders and inflict their will wherever they choose and who, frankly, seem unconcerned about what they leave behind?”

Ross stepped aside from the table, allowing the full view to be on the screen in front of the table, showing various clips of incidents the Avengers were involved in. Everyone at the table grimaced at the screen, not proud of what it was showing. Ross flipped through events of New York, Washington D.C., Sokavia and Lagos before Steve had enough, noting Wanda’s demeanor change and telling Ross to turn it off.

“For the past four years, you’ve operated with unlimited power and no supervision. That’s an arrangement the governments of the world can no longer tolerate. But I think we have a solution.” Ross paused, placing a large file on the table in front of Wanda who passed it on to Rhodey, “The Sokovia Accords. Approved by 117 countries, it states that the Avengers shall no longer be a private organization. Instead, they’ll operate under the supervision of a United Nations panel only when and if that panel deems it necessary.”

Steve spoke from the end of the table, “The Avengers were formed to make the world a safer place. I feel we’ve done that.”

Ross looked down at Steve, “Tell me, Captain, do you know where Thor and Banner are right now? If I misplaced a couple of 30 megaton nukes, you can bet there’d be consequences. Compromise. Reassurance. That’s how the world works. Believe me, this is the middle ground.”

Rhodey gestured to the accords “So, there are contingencies.”

Ross shrugged, “Three days from now, the UN meets in Vienna to ratify the Accords. Talk it over.”

Ross began to leave until Natasha stopped him, “And if we come to a decision you don’t like?”

“Then you retire.” Ross left after that, leaving the team to discuss.

The team was arguing amongst themselves as Florence stared at the ceiling with her feet on the table, listening to various points being made while Rhodey and Sam debated behind Steve while Tony rolled his eyes.

“Secretary Ross has a Congressional Medal of Honor, which is one more than you have.”

Sam crossed his arms over his chest, “So let’s say we agree to this thing. How long is it gonna be before they LoJack us like a bunch of common criminals?”

“117 countries want to sign this. 117, Sam, and you’re just like, ‘No, that’s cool. We got it.’”

Sam cut Rhodey off, “How long are you going to play both sides?”

Vision interrupted from his spot on the couch next to Wanda, “I have an equation.”

Sam moved to stand behind Florence, his voice dripping in sarcasm, “Oh, this will clear it up.”

Vision continued, “In the eight years since Mr. Stark announced himself as Iron Man, the number of known enhanced persons has grown exponentially. During the same period, the number of potentially world-ending events has risen at a commensurate rate.”

“Are you saying it’s our fault?” Steve spoke with the Accords in hand.

“I’m saying there may be a causality. Our very strength invited challenge. Challenge incites conflict. And conflict,” Vision paused, “breeds catastrophe. Oversight, oversight is not an idea that can be dismissed out of hand.”

Rhodey looked to Sam, “Boom.”

Natasha spoke from her spot at the table, “Tony, you are being uncharacteristically non-hyperverbal.” Tony rolled his eyes exaggeratedly.

“It’s because he’s already made up his mind.”

Tony grumbled at Steve’s statement, “Boy, you know me so well.” Tony rose from the couch, cradling his head as he walked over to the kitchen, “Actually, I’m nursing an electromagnetic headache. That’s what’s going on, Cap. It’s just pain. It’s discomfort.” Tony grabbed a coffee mug, looking into the sink, “Who’s putting coffee grounds in the disposal?”

Natasha looked at Florence with a knowing look about her coffee-sleep- problem while Tony continued complaining behind them, “Am I running a bed and breakfast for a biker gang?”

Tony placed his phone in the fruit basket, a small hologram emitting from it of a young man, “Oh, that’s Charles Spencer, by the way. He’s a great kid. Computer engineering degree, 3.6 GPA, had a floor-level gig at Intel planned for the fall. But first, he wanted to put a few miles on his soul, before he parked it behind a desk, See the world. Maybe be of service. Charlie didn’t want to go to Vegas or Fort Lauderdale, which is what I would do. He didn’t go to Paris or Amsterdam, which sounds fun. He decided to spend his summer building sustainable housing for the poor. Guess where. Sokovia.” Tony paused, allowing the words to sink in painfully, “He wanted to make a difference, I suppose. We won’t know because we dropped a building on him while we were kicking ass. There’s no decision-making process here. We need to be put in check! Whatever form that takes, I’m game. If we can’t accept limitations, if we’re boundary-less, we’re no better than the bad guys.”

Steve began speaking, “Tony, someone dies on your watch, you don’t give up.”

“Who said we’re giving up?”

“We are if we’re not taking responsibility for our actions. This document just shifts the blame.”

Rhodey speaks up, pointing at Steve, “I’m sorry, Steve. This is dangerously arrogant. This is the United Nations we’re talking about. It’s not the World Security Council, it’s not S.H.I.E.L.D., it’s not HYDRA.”

Florence practically flinched at Rhodey’s mention of HYDRA as Steve cut him off, “No, but it’s run by people with agendas, and agendas change.”

Tony walked towards the group, “That’s good. That’s why I’m here. When I realized what my weapons were capable of in the wrong hands, I shut it down and stopped manufacturing.”

Steve interrupted, “Tony, you chose to do that. If we sign this, we surrender our right to choose. What if this panel sends us somewhere we don’t think we should go? What if there’s somewhere we need to go and they don’t let us? We may not be perfect, but the safest hands are still our own.” The team all shared looks, silently gauging their stances.

Tony looked down at Steve, “If we don’t do this now, it’s gonna be done to us later. That’s the fact. That won’t be pretty.”

Wanda, who had been silent the entire meeting, spoke from her seat next to Vision, “You’re saying they’ll come for me.”

Vision spoke beside her, “We would protect you.”

“Maybe Tony’s right,” All eyes darted to Natasha, “If we have one hand on the wheel, we can still steer. If we take it off-”

Sam cut her off, “Aren’t you the same woman who told the government to kiss her ass a few years ago?”

“I’m just reading the terrain. We have made some very public mistakes. We need to win their trust back.” Florence was slightly shocked at Natasha’s statement. She had assumed that she wouldn’t be signing, not wanting to walk back into a potential puppet situation.

Tony leaned against his chair, looking at Natasha baffled, “Focus up. I’m sorry. Did I just mishear you or did you agree with me?”

Natasha shook her head, “I want to take it back now.”

“No, no, no, you can’t retract it. Thank you. Unprecedented. Okay. Case closed. I win.”

Florence noticed Steve’s phone buzzing, watching his face fall as he read the notification, “I have to go.” The team watched as Steve bolted out of the room.

Days later, Florence was seated between Steve and Sam as they attended Peggy Carter’s funeral in London. The girl was never close to Peggy in the ’40s, she only spoke to her briefly, but Florence knew Steve would need support. The trio watched from the pew as Sharon Carter, Peggy’s niece and an ex S.H.I.E.L.D agent, spoke about her aunt. Sharon had grown to be a friend and an ally to the team, helping them out during the Battle of Triskelion.

The funeral ended quickly, Florence standing outside with Sam while Steve remained in the chapel. A familiar redhead passed by, Florence grabbing Natasha’s arm gently, “Nat? What are you doing here?”

“I came to see Steve, then I’m off to Vienna to sign the Accords.”

Florence furrowed her brows, “You’re signing it? Who else signed?”

Natasha shrugged, “Yeah, it’s what seems right. Tony, Rhodey and Vision have signed. Clint says he’s retired and Wanda is TBD. You?”

“I can’t.” Florence wanted to but was immensely torn. She didn’t see a way to function properly under the Accords, and her best bet was to not sign, much to Natasha’s dismay. Florence remained paranoid after the Red Room and HYDRA, even more so than the redhead in front of her. She wanted it to be easy, to sign the Accords without any second thoughts, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

Natasha smiled softly at her friend, “I figured. But there’s room on the jet if you change your mind.”

“Thanks, Nat, but I’ll pass. Go see Steve.” The two girls hugged briefly, Natasha pulling away and entering the chapel.

Hours later, both Sam and Florence’s phone vibrated, alerting a notification, the pair taking out their devices and reading ‘UNITED NATIONS COMPLEX BOMBED’

The two looked up from their phones in fear, immediately on the hunt to find Steve.

They found him in the lobby of Sharon’s hotel, having walked her back after Natasha left hours ago. Sam stopped in front of him, “Steve, there’s something you need to see.”

The trio stood in front of the TV of their shared hotel room as the news anchor spoke, “A bomb hidden in news van ripped through the UN building in Vienna.”

Sharon paced behind them while she was on the phone.

“More than 70 people have been injured. At least 12 are dead, including Wakanda’s King T’Chaka. Officials have released a video of a suspect, who they have identified as James Buchanan Barnes, the Winter Soldier. The infamous HYDRA agent linked to numerous acts of terrorism and political assassinations.”

The screen played a clip of the alleged suspect, Bucky, and Florence felt like she was going to be sick. Her stomach dropped and she could feel Sam’s gaze on her. It couldn’t be him. It couldn’t be him. It couldn’t be him.

Sharon interrupted Steve and Florence’s internal spiral, “I have to go to work.”

Florence remained in front of the TV, trying to talk herself out of believing that Bucky would do this. He would have been acting alone. He wouldn’t have done this, this wasn’t the man she knew. She knew he was out of HYDRA’s clutches and was on his own, it couldn’t be him.

Steve grabbed her wrist gently, turning her away from the TV, “We have to go to Vienna, come on.”

Florence and Steve made it to Vienna along with Sam, both leaning against a tree with hats and sunglasses in an attempt to remain unknown. Steve pulled out his phone, dialing Natasha’s number. Florence ignored their conversation as she stared emotionless at the ground. The air was still heavy with smoke from the bombing as Steve spotted Natasha a few yards away, her ignorant to the fact that Steve and Florence were here.

After Steve hung up, Florence’s phone began to ring, Natasha’s contact lighting up the screen. She shared a look with Steve before answering, “Hey.”

Natasha wasted no time getting to the point, “Look, I know how much Barnes means to you, trust me I get it, but don’t do anything stupid. You need to stay home and regroup.”

Florence sighed into the phone, “Nat, you know I can’t do that.” Florence ended the call before Natasha could respond, quickly pocketing the phone in her black jacket and walking away.

Florence and Steve entered a restaurant, quickly spotting Sam at the bar.

Sam placed his food down, “She tell you to stay out of it?” Steve and Florence’s silence was answer enough for Sam, “Might have a point.”

Steve pursed his lips, “He’d do it for me.”

“1945, maybe.” Florence glared at Sam through her glasses as he continued speaking, “I just want to make sure we consider all our options. The people that shoot at you two usually end up shooting at me.”

Sam didn’t know him. Steve didn’t know the ‘new’ him. Out of the two, she had known Bucky the longest, loving him through the good and the bad. Even when he was the darkest parts of the Winter Soldier, Florence still held love for him in her heart because she knew what HYDRA made him into. And when Florence’s reflection was unfamiliar to herself, whether she was covered in someone else’s blood or she had been reprogrammed, Bucky kept her from falling apart in the Red Room. It couldn’t be him.

Sharon made her way up the bar, standing next to Steve as she updated the group, “Tips have been pouring in since that footage went public. Everybody thinks the Winter Soldier goes to their gym. Most of its noise.” Sharon slid a file over to Steve, “Except for this. My boss expects a briefing, pretty much now, so that’s all the head start you’re gonna get.”

Florence thanked Sharon as she left to leave, “You’re all gonna have to hurry. We have orders to shoot on sight.” Again, the feeling of bile worked its way up Florence’s throat, forcing herself to choke it down. Her hands shook at her sides as she took in Sharon’s words. She wouldn’t let that happen, even if it ended up killing her. She was going to save him.

Steve read over the file quickly, Sam and Florence looking at him expectantly, ”He’s in Romania.”

The location shouldn’t have shocked Florence as much as it did. A lot happened in Romania between herself and Bucky, she shouldn’t be surprised he went there. He probably didn’t even realize why he went to Bucharest, the action must have felt familiar. She should have began their search there two years ago, Florence was angry with herself for missing such an important place to them both. And God, did Romania have painful roots in the soldiers’ and widows’ lives.

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[retro-mint45]

RETRO - PINK - MAKATI - GIRLS - ‘EVENING’ -

SORRY - WASN'T - HERE - I DIDN'T - SLEEP 4 -

2 DAYS - AGAIN - SITTING - WITH - EYES HAI -

CLOSED - AS - I - LISTENED - 2 - PASTOR JOEL -

OSTEEN'S - PODCASTS - THOSE - ARE VERY -

EXPENSIVE - (+$30) - I - GOT - MINE - AS XO -

ANY AMOUNT - INFERIOR - PRODUCT BUT -

ALL - I - HAD - DIED - IN - BATHROOM - NO -

MATTER - WHAT - I - DID - THE STEAM THE -

MOISTURE - KILLED - MY - CD PLAYERS XO -

BRATZ - PRETTY - PLAYERS - MY - SONY TV -

OF - THE - PAST - ALL - DIED - 1 BY 1 - VERY -

EXPENSIVE - GADGETS - THIS - PODCAST -

ONLY - 1 - THAT MADE - IT - BUT ITS START -

HEART - 2 - DESIGNATE - FAVORITE - BUT -

ONCE - U - DO - IT - FAVORITED - ALL YES -

AFTER - NOW - IT'S - BETTER - I THINK -

THE - MOISTURE - BUT - NOW I CAN'T -

GO - BACK - 2 - REPEAT - A - SERMON -

LIKE - WALMART - MILITARY - CLOCK 4 -

ALL - USA - INVENTIONS NIGHT LIGHT -

BLUE - 2 C - IN - THE - DARK - DOESN'T -

LAST - LONG - SO - THIS - PODCAST IT -

STOPPED - CAN'T - GO - BACK - VERY -

FAST - 2 - ADVANCE - 2 - GO - BACK 2 -

WHERE - IT - WAS - ANYWAY - SO YES -

2 DAYS - DIDN'T SLEEP - NEVER - GO -

2 - FIVERR - EVER - AGAIN - THEY'RE -

LIKE - $50 - PER - HOUR - OR - $1,500 -

PER - HOUR - SO - U KNOW - WHO U -

WILL - CONTACT - REMEMBER - THE -

3 - KOREAN - FEMALES - STABBED 2 -

DEATH - AMERICANS - ARE FAST XO -

MURDERERS - ALSO - ESPECIALLY -

ISOLATED - LOCATIONS - I - LOVE -

THEIR - CYCLONE - WEATHER XO -

THEY'RE - 200 MPH - STRONG WINDS -

CALLED - HURRICANES - LOVE - WHEN -

OUR - GOD - LETS - US - KNOW - NOW -

HE'S - IN - US - SURROUNDING - US & -

THE - CREATOR - OF - THE - HEAVENS -

& - EARTH - EXPERT - IN CHANGE OF -

WEATHER - FIVERR - APP - 'YOU'RE -

NOT - HIRING - ME?' - REMEMBER -

21 AND - OLDER - 1 STEP - 4 WARD -

WITH - CONCEALED - WEAPON PERMIT -

KILL - INTRUDERS - AMERICANS - GREAT -

PRIDE - AS - MEN & WOMEN - THEIR XO -

HEIGHTS - BUT - THEY - FEET - BUTTOCK -

LEGS - HANDS - ARE - GIGANTIC - LOTS -

OF - GOLD - MEDALS - MEANS THEY'RE -

STRONG - WINNING - MOST - GOLD -

TELLS - AMERICANS - IN - USA - THEY -

CAN - MURDER - BETTER - FASTER SO -

FIVERR - APP - MISOGYNISTS - HARM -

ABUSE - AND - MURDER - OF YOUNG -

GIRLS - CONTEMPT - 4 - WOMEN - ME -

FOUND - THUMBTRACK.COM - BY XO -

MOTOROLA - MOTO - G6 - I - WAS BY -

THE - WAY - ATTACKED - BY - USA XO -

MEN - THEY - GIVE - HEART ATTACKS -

MEANING - BY - THEIR WORD THEY -

WISH - THEY - CAN - KILL - WOMEN -

AT - ONCE - THEIR - WORK - FR YES -

GRADUATING - FR - COLLEGE - OR -

NOT - THEIR - FEE - IS - $27,000 ITS -

NOT - REFUNDABLE - REMEMBER -

YOUR - BANK - WHEN - THEY DO -

NOT - DELIVER - WHAT - THEY SAID -

'UNAUTHORIZED - CHARGE' - NO -

SAYS - CAPITAL ONE - BANK - NON -

VIRGIN - FEMALE - MEANS - 'MA'M -

U - WERE - ROBBED - CALL POLICE' -

BANKS - ARE - NOT - RESPONSIBLE -

2 - REFUND - OUR - MEMBER - WHEN -

THEY'RE - ROBBED - OR - YOUR - BAD -

JUDGMENT - U - BOUGHT - ONLINE' -

SOLUTION - IN - FUTURE - NO TRACE -

FREEZING - ALL - ACCOUNTS - THEIR -

PAYROLL - CHECKS - WITHOUT - USD -

US DOLLARS - THEY - CAN - GET NEW -

JOB - BUT - THAT - PAYCHECK - DOES -

NOT - CASH - INCLUDING - SPOUSES -

THEY'RE - 18 AND OLDER - KIDS - THE -

GRANDPA - ALL - THEIR - RELATIVES -

ALL MONEY - FROZEN - 6 MONTHS -

CAPITAL - ONE - BANK - FEMALE -

WHAT - SHE - SAID - FELONY OF -

'ENCOURAGEMENT - OF - CRIME' -

'ROBBERY - IS - CRIME' - YOUR XO -

LOCAL - POLICE - WILL - TELL - YOU -

WHEN - YOU'RE - ROBBED - OF XO -

LESS - THAN - $300 - NOT - POLICE -

MATTER - THEY - THINK - THEY'RE -

ABSOLVED - OF - OBEDIENCE OF -

ALL - LAWS - SAME - FREEZING OF -

THEIR - PAYCHECKS - FELONIES - ARE -

PUT - IN - THEIR - RECORDS - FINES - R -

REMOVED - FR THEIR - SALARIES AND -

WAGES - VIOLENT - ARMED - JOBS AS -

THEY'RE - NOT - MILITARY - FORCE -

THEY'RE - NOT - ALLOWED - 2 KILL -

ANYONE - VIOLATORS OF AMENDMENTS -

1, 2, 4, 8, 14 - CAPITAL - ONE - BANK - USA -

WHITE - FEMALE - STATEMENT - 'GAVE - U -

CRUEL - AND - UNUSUAL - PUNISHMENT' -

POLICE - SAME VIOLATED - 14TH DID -

NOT - GIVE - NATURALIZED - IN - USA -

'EQUAL - PROTECTION - OF - LAW' -

CAPITAL ONE BANK - AND POLICE -

WERE - TREATING - FEMALES - LIKE -

BLONDS - 'U - WERE ROBBED - YOU ARE -

A - BAD - GIRL' - 'GET - OVER - IT' - USA & -

OTHER - BANKS - YOUR - MONEY THEIR -

SALARIES - BILL - PAYMENTS - PHONE & -

WATER - ELECTRICITY - ALL - YOUR - $ $ -

SHOWED - OTHER - SERVICES - THEY'VE -

GOT - ALL - THAT - MONEY - SO - LOANS -

SMALL - MONTHLY - BANKS GIVE - OUT -

LOANS - INTERESTS - THEIR - PROFITS -

SO - MANY BANKS - HAVE - NOT YES -

CLOSED - THUMB TRACK.COM - THOSE -

MALES - STOLE - $27,000 - FROM - YOU -

CAPITAL ONE BANK - NON-VIRGIN MEN -

& - WOMEN - SAID - 'U - GAVE - THEM -

AUTHORITY - 2 - TAKE - BECAUSE - XO -

THEY - COULDN'T - GIVE - U - A GREAT -

WEBSITE - THEN - $27,000 - PAYMENT -

PUNISHMENT - 4 - HIRING - USA - YES -

DUMB - COLLEGE - GRADS - $27,000 -

YOUR - LOSS - IT'S - LIKE - U - WENT 2 -

MALL - & - U - WERE - ARMED - ROBBED -

OF - CASH - ACTUALLY NOT THE SAME -

MALL - ROBBER - OF - CASH - U - WERE -

ROBBED - BUT - WHEN - THEY - GAVE -

U - WORST - THAN - B 4 - WEBSITE XO -

THEY - CHARGE - $27,000 - 2 - DESTROY -

WEBSITES - 'DESTRUCTION - OF PRIVATE -

(YOURS) - AND - PUBLIC - PROPERTY HAI -

(SHOPIFY - CANADA) - ROBBED - IN THE -

MALL - NOT - CAPITAL - ONE - BANK - XO -

YOUR - BANK'S - LIABILITY - BECAUSE - U -

WERE - ROBBED - OF - CASH - THUS - IF -

NO - ONE - CLAIMS - REMOVAL - OF XO -

YOUR - MONEY - FR - CAPITAL - ONE XO -

THAT - BANK - KEEPS - YOUR - MONEY -

BUT - IF - THEY'RE - A - GREAT - YES XO -

COUNTRY - RIGHT - NOW - NOT - MANY -

PLACES - ARE - GREAT - BUT - THAT - HAI -

MEANS - YOUR - BANK - ACCOUNT - IS -

SAYING - YOU'RE - STILL - ALIVE - AT XO -

135 YEARS - OLD - RIGHT - NOW - U AT -

LEAST - DIED - AT - 120 YEARS - SO - XO -

HARVARD - LAW - WILL - TRANSFER XO -

YOUR - MONEY - NON-TRACE - TAK'G -

THAT - MONEY - MONETORY - FINES & -

FELONIES - ADDED - 2 - MANY - AMERICANS -

MANY - PAYCHECKS - FROZEN - ALWAYS - XO -

6 MONTHS - GREATEST - COMPUTER - YES XO -

GENIUSES - THEY - COULDN'T - WITH - THEIR -

USA - AGE 246 - BRAINS - COULDN'T - GET XO -

CASHED - NO - MONEY - CHECKS - THE - YES -

6 MONTHS - FREEZE - WAS - HONORED - FOR -

REMEMBER - OUR - GADGETS - HATRED - YES -

ATTEMPTED - ATTACK - OR - ATTACKED - YES -

THEFT - MURDER - PULSE - DISAPPEARS - ALL -

THEM - AND - THEIR - VEHICLES - THUMB -

TRACK.COM - AMERICAN - MEN - YES XO -

ATTACKED - ME - THEY - TRIED - 2 - STEAL -

IMMEDIATELY - $27,000 - BASICALLY - XO -

CALLED - ME - 'BIMBO' - 'YOUR - MONEY -

BELONGS - 2 - US' - SO - FUTURE - WE XO -

DISAPPEAR - THEIR MONEY - VOID THEIR -

CARDS - THROUGH - PROBE - SCAN - USA -

THEY - HAVE - $375,000 - THAT AMOUNT -

DISAPPEARED - FR - THEIR - BANKS XO XO -

THEY - HAVE - 2 - START - AGAIN - WE YES -

LEVEL - THEIR - HOUSES - APT - BUILDG'S -

DISAPPEAR - THEM - BECAUSE - 1 - INCH -

LAWNS - RETRO PINK - MAKATI - GIRLS -

THUMB TRACK.COM - USA - MEN - YES -

TRIED - 2 - MURDER - ME - BY MESSAGE -

SO - LISTEN - CLEAR - ABOUT - TITANIC -

AMERICANS - 'THEY - WE - WILL - ALSO -

SINK' - AS FOREIGNERS - ROBBERY OF -

CASH - FLORIDA - CONCEALED YES XO -

WEAPONS - PERMIT - 21 AND OLDER 4 -

WRINKLED - PRUNE - BAG - FLORIDA -

SENIORS SAGGING LOVE HANDLES -

CATARACT - EYES - WRINKLED FACE -

NUDE - COLONIES - WITH - SENIORS -

WRINKLED - SAGGING - CHESTS - IS -

FLORIDA - WHEY - CHRISTINA GRIMME -

SHOT - AT - L & R - CHEST - HEAD - FOR -

SHE'S - DISNEY - ALSO - AND - WAS IN -

HER - 20s - AND - CAN - SING - DANCE -

SENIORS - NAKED - IN - FLORIDA - JUST -

WALKING - WRINKLED - NOT SINGING -

OR - DANCING - CRISTINA - WAS - YES -

COMPETITION - FLORIDA - SAYS - JUST -

NAKED - WRINKLED - SAGGING - TRUE -

IS - 'GOOD - ENOUGH' - EDISON MALL -

ROBBERY - OF - CASH - GET - FIREARM -

& - FIRE - SHOOT - LEGS - THIGHS - SO -

WEAKENED - GET - PURSE - THEY - YES -

ALSO - GRABBED - CAPITAL - ONE - USA -

BANK - IS - RIGHT - THEY'RE - NOT - YES -

LIABLE - OF CASH - U - WERE MUGGED -

OF SAYING - 'SURPRISED - U - WERE -

NOT - KILLED' - THEY - THEY - KEEP -

YES - YOUR - MONEY - UNLESS XO -

SOMEONE - RECOGNIZES - THAT -

YOU'RE - NOW - AGE 135 - USA - PEOPLE -

LONGEVITY - AGE 78 - KOREA - FR - AGE -

55 - TO - AGE 82 - THANKS - 2 - JAPAN & -

OLYMPICS - JAPAN - INTRODUCED - YES -

EXERCISE - 2 - KOREAN - WHO - JUST XO -

MURDERED - KOREANS - THEY - DIDN'T -

EXERCISE - B 4 - SO - THEY - DIED AT 55 -

(3:23A EDT) - RIGHT - NOW - TRYING - 2 -

FINISH - CANE - SUGAR - WITH - VEGAN -

BELGIAN - CHOCOLATE - SHAKE - SO - I -

ADDED - 2 - BLENDER - BRITA FILTER -

ICE - CUBES - SO PASSABLE - TASTE -

LESS CONTACT - WITH - ARMED US -

POLICE ILLEGALLY - ARMED - GPA -

VERY - LOW - NOT - SMART - NOT -

MARRIED - NOT - VIRGINS - BIBLE -

'DEPART - FR - EVIL' - EARLY - YES -

DEPARTURE - TRAVELOCITY.COM -

HOTELS - SKYSCANNER.COM - 4 - FLIGHTS -

EXPEDIA.COM - YOUR - BACK UP - SO HOT -

(+59,000) - FORT MYERS - POLICE - THEY -

CERTAINLY - ILLEGALLY - ARMED - STOPS -

2 - TALK - 2 - BLIND - 'WHAT'S WITH THE -

BLK - SUNGLASSES' - 'SHE HAS - YES XO -

BEAUTIFUL - EYES' - HASN'T - SEEN - YET -

'NEEDS - STEEL STICK - LIKE - SHE'S - YES -

SKIING - BUT - FLORIDA - NO SNOW' - SO -

MISOGYNY - ASKED - BRUNETTE - 2 - DO -

'DRUNK - TEST' - WHICH - BLIND - GIRL -

DID - HER - NON-DRUNK - GUIDE DOG -

WAS - FLIRTING - FOUND - HER - SOON -

BECAUSE - GOD - KNEW - THAT - WAS -

GOING - 2 - HAPPEN - REMOVED THE -

DOG - FR - SCENE - B 4 - SHOOTING -

OF - DIDN'T - KNOW - WHAT - TRUE -

'SERVICE - DOG' - MEANS - VESTS 4 -

MANY - AMERICANS - NOT - VERY -

BRIGHT - PUBLIC - SCHOOL - TRUE -

TUITION - FR - RESIDENTIAL PROPERTY -

TAXES - HAVE SOLUTION - 2 - WHEN U -

HAVE - 2 - SPEAK - 2 - ARMED - POLICE -

AMAZON.COM - BCOZZY - CHIN - YES -

SUPPORT - TRAVEL PILLOW - PLANES -

POLICE - STATION - PUBLIC - LIBRARY -

WHILE - TYPING - AT - TUMBLR.COM -

TWITTER.COM - UNIQUE US PATENT -

DESIGN - OFFERS - SUPPORT 2 THE -

HEAD - NECK - CHIN - WHEN U - XO -

TRAVEL - AND - AT - HOME READING -

FREE APP - 'FREE BOOKS' - DOMINIC -

O'BRIEN - MEMORY - IMPROVEMENT -

BRITISH - WORLD - MEMORY CHAMP -

AMAZON - AUDIBLES - ($14.95) - YES -

1 MONTH - FREE 2 TITLES - EA MON -

1 TITLE - FREE - INCLUDES - TX - JOEL -

OSTEEN - HIS - BESTSELLERS - COOL -

FULLY - WASHABLE - LARGE - IS - FOR -

ADULTS - UP TO 16 INCH - SMALL - 4 -

KIDS - (AGE 3 - 7) - USA - PUBLIC YES -

SCHOOLS - WON'T - ALLOW - BUT -

DANGEROUS - WITHOUT - WHEN -

YOUR - KIDS - ARE - SLEEPING - AT -

THE - BACK - BY - USA - LAW - U C -

THAT - THEIR - HEADS - GOING - YES -

DOWN - STRONG - ALL - THE - TIME & -

THAT'S - BAD - 4 - THEIR - NECKS - XO -

MUSCLE - PAIN - CREAM - THEN AND -

MANY - MOMS - HAVE - NEVER EVER -

GIVEN - ANYTHING - BUT - VICS YES -

VAPORUB - THEN - AWAKE - SUDDENLY -

BUT - NOW - HEART - AFFECTED WE'RE -

NOW - TAKING - HEART - VITAMINS - & -

MINERALS - THE - PHILIPPINES - NEED -

THIS - MUST - HAVE - GUMMIES - 4 US -

AND - KIDS - 4 - THESE - SUPERB - YES -

HEART - VITAMINS - MINERALS - THEY -

WORK - HEART ATTACK - OCCURS - 2 -

4 - OLDER - WHEN - CHIN - ALWAYS -

DROPPING - 2 - MANY - TIMES - AS -

THEY'RE - SLEEPING - AT - BACK OF -

CARS - 4 AMERICANS - THEY THINK -

HOW FUNNY - AS - DRIVERS - THEN -

THEIR - GRANDFATHER - DIES - LESS -

THAN - 1 MIN - AFTER - MANY CHIN -

DROPS - AS - THEY - BRING - 2 - THE -

HOSPITAL - THEN - AMERICANS ARE -

WEARING - BLK - AND - LISTENING 2 -

LAST - WILL - & - TESTAMENT - 4 - YES -

NON-TAXED - BENEFICIARY CHECKS -

SO - THEY - DON'T - REALLY MOURN -

AS - PEOPLE - NOTICED - OBSERVED -

($25.45) - BCOZZY - CHIN SUPPORT -

TRAVEL - PILLOW - OR - AT - HOME -

AS - U - READ - OR - TYPE - WORDS -

4 - TUMBLR.COM - ESPECIALLY XO -

DURING - GRAVEYARD - SHIFTS -

(12A - 5A) - AS - YOUR - HEADS -

GO - DOWN - & - UP - AS U XO -

TRY - 2 - DANCE - 2 - FINISH AS -

U - REST - ON - SOFA - BEHIND - THEN -

FELL - ASLEEP - CHIN - UP - SO - 2 - YES -

FINISH - TYPING - SO - COMFORTABLY -

KOREAN TV DRAMA NEW - SBS NOW -

MONDAYS - 'LOVERS - OF - THE - RED -

SKY' - WHEN - BLIND - MALE BABE IS -

THIN - AND - SKIN - PERFECT - JUST -

LIKE - LEE JOON GI - BOTH - LOOK -

SO - GOOD - WITH - LONG - HAIR -

BELOW - ALWAYS - SAYS - FICTITIOUS -

NEVER - HAPPENED - WELL - GBC XO -

FILMS - COMEDY ROMANCE DRAMA -

MUSICAL - & - MORE - WE'LL - MAKE -

THAT - MEAN - SOMETHING BETTER -

LIKE - SEE - THRU - ABOVE - HAT YES -

BOTTOM - BUT - GIRLS - IN - MAKATI -

NOT - ALL - HAIR - LONG - SO - DIBA -

LOOKS LIKE - BLK - TAE - ON - THEIR -

HEAD - SO - SMELLS - DON'T - LIKE -

BOTTOM - OF - HAIR - PARANG - IT -

IS - THE - FUTURE - SHORT - HAIR -

SO - IT - WILL - B - LIKE - PONY XO -

TAIL - MAYBE - THEY - AS - KOREANS -

FELT - 'THEY - AS - MALES - LOOK XO -

BETTER - THAN MALE HORSES' - SO -

ETO - 'HINDI' - LAGI THOROUGHBREDS -

MADAMING - MAS - GANDA - LOOKING -

AND - OWNERSHIP - 'AGE - OF - MEN' -

MALE - STAR - RED EYES - PERO LITTLE -

YOUNG - GIRL - BLUE - PUKE - EYES - 2 -

SHOW - POOR - AND - KOREAN - GIRL -

BLIND - LOOKS LIKE - PEBBLES - WHILE -

HE - MALE - BLIND - LOOKS - LIKE - YES -

EXOTIC - BEAUTY - KOREAN - MALES -

WILL - NEVER - CRY - IF - 200,000 KR -

FEMALES - DIED - TOMORROW CASI -

BAKLA - AND - CONCEITED - ABOUT -

THEIR - BEAUTY - TANGA - ALSO FOR -

MALE & FEMALE - PRODUCE - WHAT -

WILL - INCREASE - THEIR - POPULATION -

NOT FERMENTED - KIMCHI - CABBAGE -

SPICY - RUB - AFTER - EATING - WHAT IS -

LEFT - THEN - KOREAN - BABY - WILL XO -

APPEAR - ON - THEIR - BLANKET YES XO -

DURING - FULL MOON - SOME DID YES -

SOMEWHAT - BELIEVE THAT - SO CUTE -

OUR - JOSEON - LIKE - HORSE PONY -

TAIL - WHERE - HAIR - IS - SEE - THRU -

BLK - HATS - ALL WORE - BLACK - XO -

THAT - AREA - NOT - SEE - THRU - XO -

AND - JOSEON - 500 YEARS - POOR -

ALL - WORK - WHITE - INFERIOR YES -

COLOR - WHITE - AND - NOT - SOFT -

INFERIOR - COTTON - CLOTH - AS U -

HAVE - NEVER - SEEN ANY KOREAN -

TV - DRAMA - WITH - THAT - TRUTH -

ONLY - SPECIAL - HOLIDAYS - ANOTHER -

COLOR - ALLOWED - GRAY - BUT - SAME -

INFERIOR - COTTON - BUT - THERE WERE -

TIMES - GRAY - PUT - ON - TOP - OF - SO -

THEY - CAN - ADJUST - 2 - WHITE AGAIN -

SOONER - THAT'S - SO - THEY'LL KNOW -

WHO - ARE - POOR - FASTER - SO - THEY -

WON'T - KNOW - SOFTNESS - OF - YES -

RICHLY - MADE - CLOTH - LIKE - PUPRLE -

WAS - ONLY - ALLOWED - ROYALTY - ON -

EARTH - ESPECIALLY - IN - EUROPE - HAI -

KOREAN - TV DRAMA - JOSEON - ONLY -

USED - BLK - PAINT - NO - COLORS - OR -

THEY - NEVER - CREATED - ANY - 4 - AS -

LAZINESS - AFFECTS - WHY - MAKE XO -

COLORS - WHEN - SKY - BLUE FLOWERS -

HAVE - COLORS - 2 - MAKE - COLOR XO -

PAINT - COLORS - EVERYWHERE - WHY -

THEY - WERE - JUST - GENIUNELY - HAI -

LAZY - LIKE - WE'RE - LAZY - WITH - YES -

AS - GIRLS - ARE - WE - INLOVE - WITH -

BLOND - NCT DREAM RENJUN - CHINESE -

OR - ARE - WE - INLOVE - WITH - KOREAN -

6'1 FT - AGE 20 - SUNGCHAN - MC HOST -

NCT - NCT U - 'HAPPY - BIRTHDAY' - DOLL -

'MONDAY - MONDAY' - (13 SEP 2021) -

'YOU'RE - BEAUTIFUL' - CUTEST DOLL -

'GLAD EVERYTHING - U - WANT 2 DO -

U - DO' - GORGEOUS - SUNG - BIBLE -

'THE - SUPERNATURAL - STRENGTH -

OF YOUTHFUL - MALES' - SEOUL KR -

SUNGCHUN - DARLING - MONDAY -

BOY - BCOZZY - CHIN - SUPPORT 4 -

TRAVEL PILLOW - 4 - NECK AROUND -

THEN GOES UP - 4 - CHIN SUPPORT -

USA POLICE - NON-VIRGINS - THEY -

NEED - VACCINE - NOT EVEN - YES -

MARRIED - THEY'RE - NOT - LEGAL -

DEFINITION - OF - SANITIZED YES -

HUMANS - AGE 246 - NO MANNERS -

AMENDMENTS - NOT - MILITARY XO -

FORCE - ILLEGALLY - ARMED - METAL -

HANDCUFFS - ILLEGAL - WEAPONS -

& - USE - OF - METAL - THEY - BIND 2 -

REMOVE - LIBERTY - RIGHT - 2 - ACT -

AS - ONE - PLEASES - 14TH - NO US -

STATE - (FLORIDA) - CAN - DEPRIVE -

DENY - ANY - PERSON - OF - LIFE & -

LIBERTY - (SHERIFFS - ILLEGAL) - XO -

OCCUPATION - NO - US - STATE XO -

CAN - DEPRIVE - ANY - PERSON OF -

PROPERTY - ESPECIALLY - FULLY XO -

PAID - ILLEGAL - LAW - REPOSSESSION -

OF - HOMES CONDOS - BUSINESS XO -

PROPERTIES - LANDS - 'DEPRIVED - OF -

PROPERTY' - 18TH - 'CRUEL - AND YES -

UNUSUAL - PUNISHMENT' - RIFFLES -

FIREARMS - 21 AND OLDER - MALES -

FEMALES - AMERICANS - AGE 246 -

LA LA LAND - LAND - OF THE FREE -

THUS LONGEVITY - AGE 78 ONLY -

4 - US - SUNG - 'IN - GOD - WE -

TRUST' - THEY'RE - CHANGING -

THAT - 2 - 'IN - TAXES WE TRUST' -

'IN - MONEY - WE - TRUST' - YES -

COOL - BETTER ANCIENT - EGYPT -

INVENTED TAXES - 'REPRODUCTION -

IN - PART - OR - FULL - OFF' - ILLEGAL -

MURDERS - ROBBERS - LAWLESS USA -

SO - NEED - 2 - TALK - 2 - USA POLICE -

SEOUL POLICE - BCOZZY - CHIN -

SUPPORT 4 - TRAVEL PILLOW FOR -

- NECK - 2 - KEEP AWAKE - WHILE -

TALKING - 2 - VULGAR - NON-VIRGIN -

POOR - POLICE - THEY'RE - NOT RICH -

MAKATI - PHILIPPINE - ISLANDS - WE -

ARE - TRAINING - MALE - CATS ONLY -

AS - OUR - DOMESTIC - SERVICE YES -

JUNIORS - SENIORS - 2 - ESCORT THE -

BLIND - COMFORT - BABES - BE - AN -

EMOTIONAL - SUPPORT - NOT - JUST -

1 WORD - COMMANDS - HAND YES -

MOVEMENT - HAND - SILENT - TRUE -

COMMANDS - 2 - CONFUSE - EVIL -

HUMANS - OUTSIDE - MAKATI FOR -

CATS - DON'T - BARK - SO - MORE -

PEACEFUL - 4 - THE - BLIND - THEIR -

MASTERS - ADDITIONAL - SERVICE -

DOMESTICS - NOT - JUST - MALES -

DOGS - AS - GUIDE - DOG - SO XO -

FUTURE - SEOUL POLICE - STATION -

MY - (NOT RELATIVES) - GRANDPAPIES -

WEARING - BCOZZY - CHIN SUPPORT -

2 ROUNDS - THEN - AROUND - NECK -

2 - SUPPORT - WON'T - DOZE - OFF 4 -

PRIVATE - SMALL - PLANES - STILL HAI -

NAVY - BEDS - SO - NICE - 2 - GO - TO -

ARMED - LOCATIONS - OF - UNIFORM -

POOR - PEOPLE - WHO DON'T KNOW -

HOW 2 SHOWER - (FILTERED) - WATER -

THEY - SMELL - ONLY - ARMED - IN - KR -

LIKE - NCI - CIVILIANS - LIKE - CANADA -

NOT ALLOWED - ARMED - UNTIL THEY -

DIE - SO - KILLED - WITH - KITCHEN XO -

KNIVES - STRANGLED - 2 - DEATH - OR -

PUSHED - FR - TALL - BUILDINGS - WILL -

BE - THE - USUAL - LIKE - OSTRICHES -

WHO - BURY - HEAD - IN - SOIL - FOR -

THEY'RE - FEARFUL - CREATURES ARE -

SUICIDAL - ALSO - AS - MALES - EVEN -

AS - 8 FT - TALL - BUT - SOFT - COVER -

ON - HEADS - 2 - COVER - EYES - YES -

ESPECIALLY - SUICIDE - & - FEAR - XO -

GONE - 2 - THAT DOES - WORK FOR -

THEM - SO - BRINGING - MY - BRIT -

MALE - CAT - HOPE - SMALL CHILD -

SIZE - (AGE 3-7) - WILL - FIT MY XO -

MALE - PUREBRED - KITTEN - 4 - IT -

IS - WHAT - THEY - NEED - THOSE -

BEAUTIFUL - LIVING - FUR - SUCH -

PERFECTION - OF - BEAUTY - AS I -

MAKE - SURE - THEY'RE - WEAR'G -

SHOES - AND - WELL - DRESSED 4 -

WEATHER - ALSO - CLEAR - FACE -

SHIELD - WITH - COLORS ABOVE -

LIKE - SUNGLASSES - THEN THEY -

WEAR - CHILD - BCOZZY - CHIN -

THEN - ALSO - NECK - SUPPORT -

AS - IT - ROUNDS - ITSELF - IN 2 -

AREAS - I'M - WEARING - SAME -

BOTH - OF - US - MATCHING XO -

THEN - LIKE - CARRYING - BABY -

HOLDING - MITSUO - ONE SIDE -

SO - HANDS - FREE - HIS - COLLAR -

ATTACHED - 2 - IF - SUDDEN - RUN -

INCREASES IN LENGTH BUT AUTO -

GENTLY - EASES - 4 - END - OF THE -

LEASH - BRINGS BACK - 2 ME FOR -

NOTHING - WILL - DEFEAT US - MY -

DARLING - MITSU - IN - FUTURE XO -

WITH - MY - 2 - TEACUP - MALTESE -

MALES - ALL - 4 - OF US - A - QUAD -

WE - WILL - 'WAKE UP - THE - SUN' -

GOD - SAID - 'COMMAND - HIM' - SO -

I - COMMANDED GOD - 2 - MAKE MY -

LIFE - MORE BEAUTIFUL - RICHER YES -

BETTER - HEALTHIER STRONGER AND -

COMMANDED - GOD - 2 - MAKE - MY -

LOOKS - YOUNGER - ADAM - 900 YRS -

OLD - NO - WRINKLES - PERFECT - EYE -

SIGHT - I COMMAND - GOD - 2 MAKE -

MY EYES - SEE - BETTER - THAN ADAM -

NOT - BORN - AGAIN - COULDN'T XO -

SPEAK - IN - TONGUES - WE'RE MORE -

POWERFUL - THAN - PEOPLE - 2,000 -

YEARS - AGO - B 4 - JESUS - ARRIVED -

ON - EARTH - COMMANDED IN THE -

NAME - OF - JESUS - MAKATI - I'M XO -

BRINGING - MITSUO - MANY PLACES -

BOTH - OF - US - ALWAYS MATCHING -

BETTER - CAMOUFLAGE - BLENDING -

ALWAYS - THAT - BCOZZY - NECK - 2 -

KEEP - CHIN - UP - COMFORT - NECK -

TRAVEL - PILLOW COLORS - 2 BLEND -

WITH - OUR - CLOTHES - MY - YES AS -

CAT - DOMESTIC - SERVICE TRAINED -

JESUS - IS - LORD - USA - POLICE - YES -

SHOOT - DOGS - CATS - EUROPE AND -

ASIA - EAT - THEM - THUS - THE BLACK -

PLAGUE - WIPED - OUT - NORTH ASIA -

EUROPE - AFRICA - TOTAL IN EUROPE -

1347 - 14TH - CENTURY - GOREO - XO -

ENDEED - IN - THE - 14TH - KINGDOM -

OF KOREA - (+1 MILLION - YEARS - KR) -

BLK DEATH - PLAGUE - CLAIMED - AN -

ASTONISHING - 20 MILLION - LIVES -

JUST 4 YEARS - REASON - THEY ATE -

CATS - KITTENS - DOGS - PUPPIES & -

SELDOM BATHE - AS - HUMANS XO -

& - PROMISCUOUS - LET - KIDS - GO -

ANYWHERE - DO - ANYTHING - SO -

NEVER CARED - THAT MUCH - FOR -

SOCIAL - REASONS - ACCEPTANCE -

KIDS - MADE - NOT - BECAUSE - SO -

2 - LOVE - THEM - NOT LOVING XO -

PEOPLE - CURRENTLY - COV-ID - 19 -

KILLED - WORLD - TOTAL - & - NEW -

(4,701,438) - (2,276) - ASIA - TRUE -

(1,096,130) - 608 - LARGEST - POP -

CHINA - (+1.4 BILLION) - INDIA - 2 -

(+1.3 BILLION) - EUROPE - THAT'S -

(1,203,173) - (865) - CORONAVIRUS -

RESPIRATORY - DISEASE - BUT - USA -

AMAZON - CLEAR - FACE - MASK - 2 -

OPEN - ON SIDES - SO - INVENTORS -

EASY - 2 PERFECT - THAT - CLEAR XO -

MASK - THEN SELL - CHEAPER - HOT -

BRITISH - SHORTHAIR - CATS USING -

U - PUT - LIKE - GLASSES - BUT CLEAR -

COVERING - FACE - CUTE - BUT ALSO -

BLOCKS - FOG - SO - FACE - DOESN'T -

BECOME WET - (PNEUMONIA) - AND -

THAT - KILLS KIDS - BABIES - SENIORS -

EVIL - ARMED - MEN - AND - WOMEN -

NOT - MARRIED - AND - NON-VIRGIN -

EVIL - GOATS - FLORIDA - ALL - NUDE -

COLONY - LIKE BACK - 2 - CAVE AGE -

THEY MERGE FAST - SO - ABORTION -

CLINIC FREE - 4 - AGE 18 - & - OLDER -

LIKE - XFINITY - BACK - 2 - CABLE SO -

EXCITED 4 U - GOT - MORE MONEY -

ME - THEY - FORGOT CABLE BOXES -

ANOTHER - CALL - NEW - ROKU TV -

STICK - USB - AND - HDMI - OR - XO -

ELECTRICITY - PLUG - WITH - HDMI -

XFINITY - STREAM - PLUS - OUR XO -

NEED - GOOGLE - MOVIES - WE -

PAID 4K - 8K - HD - ($39.99) - AT -

AMAZON.COM - WE'VE - BEEN -

PAYING RENTAL BOXES - ILLEGAL -

OMISSION - OF - TRUTH - FAMILY -

OWNED USA - ($0 - $250,000 FINE) -

(AND - OR - IMPRISONMENT) - THEY -

EMAIL - MONTHLY - NONE - THAT -

SAID - ROKU - STICK - ($39.99) - SO -

NO - NEED - ANYMORE - 4 - CABLE -

BOX RENTALS - OWNERSHIP NOW -

2 - SONY HDTVs - 1 MORE - $39.99 -

GOOGLE - MOVIES - 4K - 8K - & HD -

MORE - MONEY - 2 - BUY - FILMS & -

U - OWN - BEST - PART - IN - EVENT -

OF - FIRE - YOU'RE - INSURED AND -

GOOGLE - MOVIES - FOREVER YES -

STORAGE AND - WHAT U BOUGHT -

DIDN'T - BURN - WHEN - YOUR XO -

HOUSE - OR - APT - BURNT - TIME 2 -

BUY - WISELY - IN - THE - FUTURE - 4 -

CAN'T - B - BURNT - IS - EXCITING & -

THE - FUTURE - (6:23A EDT) - SMALL -

COUNTRIES - MAS - MAGANDA - XO -

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[madpanda75]

“Taking Chances Part Two: The Kiss”

Rafael realizes who the reader is related to and emotions are acted on 😱! Check out Part One on my Masterlist. 

Thanks for all the amazing feedback. You guys are the best! ❤️

Rafael sat in his usual seat at Forlini’s bar, drinking a glass of scotch. It had been three weeks since he had first met you. Since then Rafael had visited the gallery almost on a daily basis, always under the facade of looking at a new piece of art when in reality it was to see you. The only problem was Rafael had seen every piece of art several times and he was beginning to run out of excuses to stop by the gallery after work or during lunch.

But did he really need an excuse? Judging by the way your cheeks turned bright pink and the coy smile you gave him when he walked through the door, Rafael suspected the feelings he had for you were mutual. Except what did he know? He had been out of the loop when it came to flirting, relationships, and dating for far too long. Maybe you always behaved that way with clients when you wanted to make a sale, laying on the charm with older men. Still there was something about you that was genuine. Being with you, Rafael didn’t feel the need to have his guard up. He felt safe.

Finishing up the rest of his drink, Rafael ordered another all while racking his brain for a reason to visit you. Perhaps he left a glove at the gallery? That was when he heard your voice calling his name. He turned his head to find you standing at the bar with those pink cheeks and a smile that made his pulse quicken.

*****  

You leapt across a patch of black ice, nearly falling in the middle of the bustling street. The weather man had predicted snow that day. A throng of people surrounded you, anxious to get home and away from the cold. You shivered within your coat, quickening your steps. Forlini’s was just on the next block. You had promised to meet your brother, Sonny, there after work and as usual you were late. While stopped at the crosswalk, you felt your phone buzzing in your coat pocket.

You answered it, already knowing who it was. “Hey, Sonny. I’m sorry. I know I’m late but I swear this time it wasn’t my fault. My boss made me stay past closing to make sure the new art installation was set up.”

“Actually, Y/N. I called to tell you I can’t make it,” Sonny sheepishly replied. He hated letting you down.

“Dominick Carisi Jr., I just walked 15 blocks in the freezing cold because you insisted on meeting tonight and now you’re ditching me!?” You exclaimed.

“I’m sorry. I was busy working on a case and I completely forgot this term paper I have to write tonight on capital punishment.”

“Cheerful topic,” you dryly said, now standing outside Forlini’s. “You owe me. How about basketball this Saturday at the park near my place. Loser has to buy the winner a box of cannolis from Antonio’s.”

“Unbelievable, it’s snowing and you still want to play basketball!?”

“A little snow is not gonna stop me from beating you. So what do you say? 10 at the basketball court?”

“Fine, I’ll bring coffee,” Sonny grumbled, knowing he would give into your every whim. You had your brother wrapped around your little finger.

“Did I ever tell you that you're my favorite big brother?” You teased.

Sonny laughed. “I’m your only big brother. Love ya’, sis.”

“Love you too.” You hung up the phone and went into the restaurant. You were already there might as well have a drink and warm up.

Walking over to the bar, you froze in your tracks. There was Rafael. Immediately butterflies began fluttering in your stomach. His back was to you, nursing a drink, occasionally glancing up at the TV screen behind the bar. The man hadn’t even glanced your way and already you were a wreck.

It had been a while since you had felt this way about anyone. 18 months to be exact when you came home early to find your fiancé in bed with another woman. After that you had sworn off love. You were devastated, your heart all but ripped out of your chest and thrown into a blender. Being alone was easier and less painful but meeting Rafael changed that. There was something about him that made you come alive again. That made you believe that not every man was a misogynist, cheating pig.

So rather than run out, pretending you never saw him, you cleared your throat and stepped closer. “Rafael?” Rafael set down his drink and whipped his head around, meeting your gaze. Those green eyes seemed to pierce right through your soul. You were beginning to experience borderline dangerous heart palpitations. “Mind if I sit here?”

“No, please,” he replied, motioning to the chair next to him. You shrugged off your coat and sat down, ordering a glass of merlot from the bartender. “So what brings you here? Kind of out of the way from your gallery.”

“I was supposed to meet my brother but he ditched me. I can’t really blame him. He’s a detective with the NYPD and going to school at the same time.” You shrugged and took a sip of your wine. “He’s pretty busy these days.”

“That is a lot to take on.” Rafael said, eying you almost suspiciously. Your brother sounded a lot like a certain gangly, obnoxious, blue-eyed detective he knew. But there was no way you were related to Sonny. The NYPD was one of the largest police departments in the country. Surely there were other detectives who happened to be attending school at the same time. It was just a strange coincidence. “I’m an Assistant District Attorney with Special Victims Unit so I work a lot with the NYPD.”

“Then you must know my brother! Dominick Carisi, but everyone calls him Sonny.”

Rafael choked on his scotch, his worst thoughts now confirmed. “Carisi is your brother?”

You arched a brow, watching Rafael cough and sputter for several seconds. “I take it you know him.”

“You could say that.” Rafael’s eyes widened. Amazing. Out of all the people to have a crush on he had to pick a Carisi. There was no way he could pursue you now. He downed his drink and quickly ordered another. Studying your face for a moment, he tried to find any family resemblance. Perhaps there was a faint trace of a Staten Island accent when you spoke but that was it. “I’m sorry. I just didn’t expect you to say Carisi was your brother. You two don’t look anything alike.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” you teased, but your heart fell. You liked Rafael and the last thing you needed was your big brother getting in the way. “Can we change the subject? I’m sitting at a swanky bar next to a handsome man and the last thing I want to talk about is my brother.”

A smile tugged at Rafael’s lips. “You think I’m handsome.”

“Actually I was talking about the other guy,” you said, motioning to the man sitting next to you on your left side. Rafael peered over your shoulder to see Judge Nelson, drinking a beer and munching on pretzels while watching a basketball game on the TV. Bits of crumbs flying over the counter as he called out the coach for pulling a player. Judge Nelson also bore a striking resemblance to the crypt keeper.

Rafael snorted a laugh, starting to feel a little more at ease now that the initial shock was wearing off.  

“Okay, Rafael. You know where I work and who my family is, so now I want to know about you.” You giggled and set your drink down, turning your chair to give him your full attention. “Tell me everything.”

*****

Now knowing who you were related to Rafael tried to resist temptation, quickly realizing it was a losing battle. You were his version of kryptonite, glancing up at him from beneath your lashes while innocently biting your bottom lip, your leg brushing up against his. A man could only take so much. It didn’t take long before Rafael found himself flirting right back.

You completely lost track of time talking to Rafael. The conversation flowed between you both. You told him how after your father’s heart attack, you realized that life was too short and decided to switch from a business administration major to an art history degree. He told you that he briefly considered a career in theater before ultimately deciding that the law was his passion.

The hours flew by and before long the bar was closing. “I can’t believe it’s so late,” you said, hopping off the chair. “Thanks for keeping me company.”

“My pleasure. I had fun tonight.” Rafael held out your coat for you to put on. You silently cursed the cold, wishing you didn’t have on so many layers so you could feel the warmth of his bare hands on your body.

By the time you left, snow was beginning to cover the streets and sidewalks, showing no signs of stopping. “Which way are you going?” You asked.

“Uptown. You?”

“Same. I was gonna take the subway home.”

Rafael rocked back on his heels. “Well since we’re going the same direction. We could split an Uber or a taxi or something,” he suggested.

“Sure. As long as it’s not too much trouble.”

“Not at all,” Rafael replied, taking out his phone to get an Uber. He wasn’t quite ready to say good night to you just yet, even if it was just a 15 minute car ride home.

*****

The drive uptown was mostly in silence. Rafael glanced down at your hands resting in the middle seat between you both, inches away from each other. He slowly moved his hand closer, his pinky finger barely brushing up against yours. Turning from the window, you locked eyes with him, a soft smile on your lips as you placed your hand in his.

Suddenly the driver came to an abrupt stop, pulling up to the front of your apartment building. Rafael stepped out of the car, insisting on walking you to your door. “Wait for me, please. I‘ll be right back,” he told the Uber driver. The man nodded his head, grumbling that the wait time would be added to the fare.

The heavy wet snow made the sidewalks slick. One misstep on an icy patch and you were about to make a slapstick tumble. Rafael was quick to react, catching you in his arms before you hit the ground.

You looked up into the eyes of your rescuer and blushed. Rafael’s pulse was racing. His face so close to yours, he could count the snowflakes landing on your cheeks. Once you found your footing, he reluctantly let you go. “Are you ok?”

“I’m fine. Nice catch,” you said but your feet had other plans. You tried to take another step and ended up sliding even closer to Rafael, gripping onto the lapels of his jacket to steady yourself.

The heady scent of his cologne stirred your senses. He smelled like citrus and spice, woodsy and crisp. Like the type of man who would read Tolstoy to you and then later fuck you up against his cedar desk. He electrified you. Reaching up with one hand, you cupped his cheek before placing a soft tentative kiss on his lips. You pulled away a fraction of an inch, gauging his reaction.

Rafael stared at you with lust-filled eyes. Your warm breath mingling with his in the frosty air. His nose nuzzling yours. “Oh God, what was he doing,” he thought. “This is Carisi’s sister. Don’t do this. You can’t do this.”

“Rafael,” you breathed, wrapping your arms around his neck, your fingers running through his hair.

“Fuck it,” he said in a husky voice, pulling you into a searing hot kiss. Rafael’s mouth moved fervently over yours, his tongue gently parting the seam of your lips. You tasted better than he could ever imagine, sweet and tart. You let out a soft, pleasure-filled moan, returning the kiss with vigor, sliding your tongue over his. Rafael ran his hands up and down your back, holding you close. Despite the frigid temperature, a warmth spread throughout your body, radiating through every vein. Your lungs were burning.  It felt like you were going to explode.

Needing to catch your breath, you eventually broke the kiss. Slowly you opened your eyes, meeting Rafael’s gaze, both of you panting hard. He smiled at you, running his thumb over your bottom lip. “Would you like to have to have dinner with me sometime?”

You leaned forward, kissing him one more time, your forehead pressed against his. “Yes,” you softly replied.

@glimmerglittergirl @southern-magnolia @sweetcannolicarisi @delia26 @obfuscateyummy @sass-and-suspenders @eclecticminded @thatesqcrush @katmstanton @amirightcounsellor @beltzboys2015-blog @letty-o @sonnysdoll @lyssa1385 @sweetsummertime99 @burningsorr0ws @gibbs274 @izzythefanfreak @riodallas @babypink224221 @livxrafa @esparza-army @obsessionprofessional @ottosuricato @melsquared79 @dreila03 @frenchiefoxy @tropes-and-tales @thecraziestcrayon @goodluckfindingone @graniairish @lolacolaempath @ashley-chi​ @imjustreallynosy​

[localswordlesbian]

Something There That Wasn’t There Before: Chapter 2

Read Chapter 2 on AO3

Read Chapter 1 on Tumblr

In which Martin realizes what his mother's actions mean for his future, and he finally meets this reclusive "boss" he's been hearing so much about.

Martin blinked at where the door had bin, his brain coming to a complete halt as he stared. What had just happened?

A whistle behind him shook him out of his stupor. He turned to see the two strange people looking at him. Helen looked amused while Michael looked troubled.

“Well, that was the most fun I’ve had since Mary dropped little Gerry off months ago!” Helen crooned, dropping to balance on the balls of her feet to be level with Martin – he hadn’t noticed he’d sank down against the wall, sitting on the damp ground.

“I have to say,” Michael mused. “She seemed nasty, but I didn’t expect that. Are you okay?”

Martin couldn’t answer. His mother wanted him to stay. She wanted him to stay in this terrifying castle with these weird people rather than going home with her. She no longer wanted him to care for her – he’d braved the woods, and for what? The bitterness rose in his throat again and threatened to choke him, and his eyes stung. He blinked, refusing to cry in front of these two. Whoever they were.

When he managed to look up, there was another door, this one purple, shimmering in the wall. Michael was looking at him, his expression soft. Helen had a gleam in her eye that made Martin shiver with apprehension.

At his doubtful look, Michael shrugged. “This will go to the dining room. You look like you’ve had a long night.”

Martin debated arguing, saying he didn’t trust Michael as far as he could throw him, but exhaustion weighed down his bones, and even holding his head up and eyes open was taking all his energy. So he took a step forward, opening the door and stepping through. As the door closed, he felt a pressure at the back of his head that had him groaning in pain before he stepped out onto solid ground, vertigo causing him to lean to the side before collapsing with a heavy thump.

He vaguely heard voices shouting as he drifted out of consciousness, and the last thing he heard was someone asking “Is he alright?” before the darkness took over his vision and he fell into blessed sleep.

Martin came to slowly, grogginess keeping his eyes closed. He heard several voices around him.

“He came through one of Helen’s doors. I wonder what happened.”

“I saw him when he walked in, freezing his poor arse off. Said he was looking for his mum.”

“D’you think he found her?”

“Do you happen to see an old lady anywhere around here, Tim?”

“Maybe Helen sent her through a different door!”

“Well, he’s here now, wherever his mum is.”

There was a pause in the conversation, then: “He’s pretty cute, though.”

“Oh for god’s sake, Tim–“

“What? I’m not wrong.”

Martin fought to open his eyes, bright light assaulting his senses as he took a deep breath. He vaguely saw three figures hovering over him. “Where am I?”

“Oh, good, you’re awake!” one of the figures exclaimed. Martin squinted, trying to make out any features, to  no avail. Someone must have taken off his glasses.

As if on cue, a hand held them out to him. “Here,” came the kind feminine voice. Martin put on his glasses and saw a dark skinned girl sitting on the couch near his legs, with glasses of her own and her dark, curly hair pulled back into a high ponytail. She had a kind smile on her face. “How are you feeling?”

Martin sat up, attempting a smile back. “I– I’m alright. Confused, but alright.”

The girl smiled sympathetically, fidgeting with the hem of her dark T-shirt. “That’s understandable. My name’s Sasha. Sasha James.” She stuck out her hand to him, and he shook it.

“Martin. Martin Blackwood.”

Sasha smiled at him again. “It’s nice to meet you, Martin. Welcome to our weird little family.”

Martin took another look around the room. Standing next to Sasha was the man he’d encountered yesterday, dressed in a black studded leather jacket and ripped jeans. He nodded at Martin, and Martin nodded back. “Gerard Keay, but you can call me Gerry.”

“Nice to meet you,” Martin said meekly.

Lastly, next to Gerry, there was a man dressed in a Hawaiian shirt so bright and colourful that Martin wondered whether this man was Helen and Michael’s missing third. He was broad, with tanned skin and black hair that looked like it was purposely styled to be messy. He was grinning, leaning down and bracing his hands next to Martin and leaning close to his face as Martin leaned away. “Yeah, I was right, he is cute,” the man said conclusively, and Martin could feel his face heating. “I’m Tim Stoker. Guess you’re one of us now.”

Martin chuckled nervously. “And, uh, who exactly would that be?”

Tim leaned back, crossing his muscular arms over his chest. “Archival Assistants, which basically means we laze around and sometimes fetch a file for Jon.”

“Jon?”

“Jonathan Sims,” Sasha explained. “Our boss.”

That must have been the boss Michael and Helen mentioned. “Ah. Helen and Michael mentioned him. Wondered if I was, uh, his type? Anyone know what that’s about?”

The three assistants exchanged a look, seeming to have a silent conversation that Martin wasn’t privy to.

“That’s a long story,” Gerry finally said. “If you want to stay, you can. If not, you’re free to go. You don’t have any responsibility to anyone here.”

Martin considered Gerry’s words. He could leave, try and find his way back to town, figure out what to do. What would he do? His mother didn’t want him, she’d made that perfectly clear. It wasn’t like he had friends he could stay with, and though he could live in the library he didn’t particularly want to burden Phil. He remembered his promise to Jack with a pang, wondering whether the boy was waiting at the well for him to return and read to him. “I–I don’t really have anywhere to go,” he said finally, cringing at how self-pitying he sounded. Good job, Martin.

Sasha gave him another kind smile, placing a hand on his knee. “It’s okay, Martin. You can stay here. It might even help, having another assistant.”

Martin nodded, returning Sasha’s smile shyly. “Do you guys live here? Is there anyone else?”

Tim pursed his lips. “Yeah, we live here, though not by choice.” Sasha smacked his arm. “What? Might as well tell him the truth.” At Martin’s concerned look, Tim’s face softened. “Basically, the boss pissed off a very powerful witch of a man, and we all happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. That place being here, and the time being when that bastard–

“Tim–“

“Fine, absolute piece of shit fucker–“

“Tim!”

“Oh, come off it, Sasha! You know it’s true. That asshole decided that the best punishment was to trap Jon here, turning him into an avatar of the Beholding until someone falls in love with him. So, of course, Jon being Jon just locked himself upstairs in the West Wing half the time because he thinks no one could love a monster.”

“Give Jon a break, Tim. It can’t be easy for him.”

“I know it’s not.” Tim sighed, meeting Sasha’s eyes for a moment before looking back to Martin. Gerry stood quietly off to the side. “Look, I love Jon as much as any of you guys, but this is getting ridiculous. The longer he stays locked away, the longer we’re stuck here.”

Gerry met Martin’s eyes. “Don’t take this the wrong way. We’re not asking you to seduce our boss or anything. We’re just explaining the situation.”

Sasha jumped. “Oh, of course we’re not suggesting anything, Martin!” she said hurriedly. “No one expects you to. Like Gerry said, just explaining.” Tim said nothing.

“What’s the Beholding?” Martin asked. “And who was this witch man?”

Tim sighed. “The Beholding is one of fourteen fear entities that sort of–watches over our world. Every fear is a result of these fourteen. The Beholding is the fear of being watched, your secrets being known. Jonah Magnus, the motherfucker, was an avatar of the Beholding a couple hundred years ago, and has kept himself alive by transferring his eyeballs into a host.”

Martin cringed. “Ew.”

Tim nodded gravely. “Ew indeed. Anyway, that host is who cursed Jon, because he refused to become an avatar willingly. So now we’re all fucked.”

Martin sat back, mind reeling. “Huh,” was all he managed to say.

Sasha nodded before patting his knee again. “I know, it’s a lot. Don’t worry yourself too much – again, it really doesn’t need to involve you.” She sounded genuine as she gave him a smile and stood. “Come on, I’m going to make tea. Maybe you can meet the others, too.”

Martin smiled gratefully at her as he stood, Gerry following while Tim threw his arm over Martin’s shoulder, his mischievous grin back. “Welcome to the family.”

Martin did end up meeting everyone. Daisy, with her muscular, scarred arms, freckled skin, shorn blonde hair, and clipped Welsh accent. Basira, with her soft smile, olive skin, and pale blue hijab matching her mug of tea. Georgie, with her friendly demeanour, skin just a shade lighter than Sasha’s, and kinked hair pulled back with a headband. Melanie, Georgie’s girlfriend, with her brown bob of wavy hair, pale skin, perpetual scowl, and sightless glass eyes. He even met the cat, The Admiral, a fat orange thing that purred like an earthquake in a blender when scratched behind the ear just right.

Over the next few days, Martin helped where he could, retrieving files for Sasha that were too high for her to reach, helping Basira sort through old papers and journals in the castle’s library, giving Georgie a hand with cooking. He even had some lively discussions with Gerry about books they’d both read.

Martin also learned everyone’s tea preferences, and would occasionally bring people piping hot mugs while they worked or relaxed. If he was going to be staying here, he was determined to be helpful.

That left one person he hadn’t met yet – the reclusive Archivist. Jonathan Sims. The cursed man, the man someone had to fall in love with in order to free everyone in the castle.

Everyone except Martin.

He nearly scoffed at the whole situation. It sounded right out of a fairy tale. He wondered what being an avatar entailed. Could Jonathan Sims see everything? Hear everything?

“Essentially, yes.”

The unfamiliar voice behind him – posh, deep, and smooth – made Martin jump, spilling piping hot tea over the rim of his mug and splashing his hand, causing him to hiss in pain. He whipped around, clutching his hand, to see who had spoken, and he nearly crashed into the counter.

Standing in the doorway to the kitchen was a frail man, with brown skin covered in circular scars. The man was short, the top of his head perhaps reaching up to Martin’s nose. He had a mottled burn scar covering one hand, and a line at his throat as though he’d been held at knifepoint. He had long, wavy black hair that was streaked through with gray, which he’d put in a bun on top of his head. He was dressed in a collared shirt and jumper, and a pair of glasses perched at the end of his nose.

For a moment, Martin simply stared, speechless. “I–what?”

The man walked over to him, eyes never leaving Martin’s face. Martin’s neck prickled, like he was being watched. “You were wondering if I, Jonathan Sims, can see everything, hear everything. Because I’ve been turned into an avatar of the Beholding. And the answer, essentially, is yes.”

It took Martin half a minute of gawking at this man before he could answer. “You can read my mind?”

“For the most part. I tend to stay out of people’s heads – it’s a bit of a privacy issue. But you’re new, and I was curious. Martin Blackwood, was it?”

Martin blinked. “Yeah, I– could you not do that? Look in my head? Privacy issue and all.”

Jonathan nodded. “Of course. I apologize, I should have mentioned it before. Also, you can just call me Jon.”

Martin nodded slowly. “Okay, Jon,” he said. Jon looked up at him, an amused smile quirking his lips upward. Martin realized with horror that he’d said Jon’s name just for the sake of saying it. He fumbled for something to say. “Would you like some tea?”

Jon looked up at him for a moment before nodding. “That would be nice.”

Of course, Martin thought. Of course the reclusive guy that needs someone to fall in love with him is exactly my type. Of course he’s adorable and good looking. God has cursed my hubris.

Martin tried to chase the thoughts out of his head as he got to making Jon a cup of tea, but it was no use. He was in so much trouble.

[lemonlushff-iy]

Summary: Kagome comes home to Montana from her new life in California…only to be greeted with hostility and the demons of her past. Some mistakes can never be forgiven. She just hopes that maybe this one can.

RATED M / NSFW

Story inspired by Clearwillow​’s “New Moon Ride”, written with permission and for the March 14, 2020 White Day celebration…and slowly uploaded much sooner…

Read parts 1-7 here

One Last Ride - Part Eight

His tongue felt fuzzy and it was far too bright in the room. A pounding headache drilled through his skull, and he wanted to just roll over and die.

Fuck...what had he done last night?

He wanted to try and remember, but his splitting headache was making that far too difficult right now. God damn! Who the hell was turning on a blender at this ungodly hour?

What time was it anyways?

He rolled over with a groan and just barely pried open an eye to grab his phone and wake it up.

9:00 am

Why did he feel like he was running late?

Something in the back of his head told him he needed to get up.

Right now.

Wait.

FUCK!

Souta's graduation!

Inuyasha pushed himself out of bed and stumbled around his room, rummaging through drawers to find a nicer pair of his jeans and a button down, white tank top, and undergarments. He rushed to the bathroom, turning on the water and jumping in...even though the water was still freezing.

He was almost worried his balls would never recover from the shock factor, but he needed to be a man and suck it up.

In and out.

That was the goal so he wouldn't smell like whatever the fuck he smelled like. He gave himself a quick once over with soap, only hitting all of the necessary areas before he was throwing the shower curtain open and tripping over the  bathmat. His head smacked into the mirror over the sink across from the tub, and he let out an embarrassing whimper.

God dammit all to hell!

When the fuck had the bathmat bunched up?!

Fuck!

His head was already throbbing. He didn't need this shit too.

Inuyasha placed his hands on either side of the sink, trying to take deep, calming breaths and not tear the bathroom to pieces. Ma would never forgive him. And then he'd be down a bathroom.

Showering out back in the open wasn't exactly something he wanted to do.

Then again...he wouldn't mind it if he had an appreciative audience…Someone with black hair and stormy, blue grey eyes...

His eyes widened. Where the hell had that come from.

He didn't have time to contemplate it. He needed to down half the bottle of Advil in the medicine cabinet and like, four god damn gallons of water. Why the hell did he drink as much as he did yesterday? He remembered playing the drinking game with Kikyo, but that alone shouldn't have caused this.

Fuck, did it even matter right now?

He pulled the bottle of pills out of the medicine cabinet, opening the top and popping a few into his hand before throwing them back and swallowing. He did his best to towel off, shave, and get ready before running down the stairs.

Coffee. He needed coffee.

And all the goddamn water in the fucking kitchen.

"Well!" his mother greeted, seeing him enter the kitchen like a bull in a china cabinet. "Would ya look who's finally awake! I take it you had a grand ol' time last night!"

"Great time," he groaned, looking for a coffee mug and she moved to stand in front of the coffee pot.

"Oh no young man...You better not be thinking about getting coffee...I know you know better than that…"

She wasn't...oh you had to be fucking kidding right now.

"Ma...I ain't seventeen anymore."

"No...but you sure as hell act like it! Do you know the kinda scare I had last night? Seeing Kagome dragging your drunk ass home?"

That gave him pause. Kagome? Why the hell did she take him home? She was out with her friends. He was out with Kikyo...Come to think of it...How the hell did he get home last night? It hurt too much to think about that right now.

God fucking damnit he needed some godamn coffee!

"Ma, I don't have time for this," he rumbled.

"And you do not use that tone with me!" his mother scolded, crossing her arms over her chest, and he heard his father's near silent chuckle come from outside.

"I'm sorry Ma," he ground out through his teeth, "but I have a really bad hangover and I really need some coffee before I go to Souta's graduation.

His mother arched her brow and picked up the coffee pot, pouring the last little bit down the sink, and he paled.

"If you're going to behave like a delinquent, then you can suffer through the consequences of your actions. Maybe you'll learn now since I clearly failed to raise you right!"

She was digging in deep today huh?

"I cannot wait until I’m done building my damn house so I can move outta here!” he snapped, a low growl rumbled out from his chest, and his mother sent him out to the front porch, yelling at him about manners and respect and he honestly stopped paying attention, the sheer volume of her anger only making his ears ring. His headache wasn't any better and he didn't get his fucking coffee.

Fucking fantastic.

He slumped down into a chair next to his father who only smirked at him, holding out his coffee cup.

He glanced at it wide eyed before grabbing it and downing the remaining coffee in a few deep gulps.

"Thanks Pops," he smiled weakly, handing the cup back to him.

"You're welcome," he replied, a smirk still tugging the corner of his lips. "I take it you had fun last night?"

"I'm sure I did - I just can't seem to remember how much fun and what kind right now."

"If you can't remember, maybe you had too much fun."

"Not you too," he groaned.

"Nah," he chuckled, "I think your mother already did a fine job. And...don't tell her...but I'm not upset. Disappointed that you mighta been a little reckless...but you're a hard working man, son. You're allowed to blow off a little steam every now and then. I'm just surprised ya did it on your date."

"It was Kikyo's idea," he groaned, resting his head in his hands. "She wanted to play a drinking game."

"Huh. Liking the girl more and more. Just don't tell your mother. She wouldn't approve."

"And she's all for this...I know."

His mother had been ecstatic when she had first heard that he and Kikyo were talking. She loved her for reasons he didn't quite get. Not that there was anything wrong with Kikyo, but she hadn't reacted this way about one of his prospects since...not since Kagome.

His ears swiveled towards the road as both men heard a car approach, and his father stood with a groan, patting his son on the back.

"Don't get into too much trouble today, ok? I can't take another night of calming your mother...No matter how sexy she gets when she's angry."

"Pops!"

"Have fun now!" he chuckled, going back inside and Inuyasha sighed as the car pulled up. Kagome was in the driver's seat, her mother next to her.

That put Souta in the back with him.

Great. The back.

This would be fun.

He opened the door and slid in, trying to look cheery, but he wasn't quite sure he hit the mark.

"Morning sunshine," Kagome greeted chipperly as he buckled himself in, glaring at her. "Don't give me that look," she chided, picking up a thermos from the cup holder and handing it back to him. "I brought you something."

He raised a brow in question before opening the canister and groaned as the sweet...or rather bitter...smell of coffee floated up to his nostrils. He inhaled deeply, sighing.

"I love you...thank you."

He didn't realize what he had said and who he had said it to until after he had drank some of his sweet, sweet coffee and he saw Souta giving him a bewildered look.

"I—"

"—Don't worry about it. I know what you mean," Kagome smiled weakly, turning around to regard him with a soft look in her eyes. "You had a hell of a night and I figured you might need it. Your mother wasn't thrilled when we came home."

"She wasn't that thrilled this morning either," he muttered, slumping down in his seat, and he heard Kagome giggle...the sound and her gesture tugging at his heart strings, drawing an unbidden whimper from his throat.

Fuck. Today was going to be a hell of a day.

Why had he said that?

Fucking fuckety FUCK!

He didn't even love her anymore, but it had flowed off of his tongue so easily. Like an unchecked habit.

The rest of the car ride had been painfully awkward despite Kagome's mother doing her best to diffuse the tension. Between his hangover and that hell of a blunder, his day was off to a great start.

And he still couldn't remember much of the night before.

He remembered a lot of making out with Kikyo…

Maybe some pool?

But nothing more concrete than that.

Inuyasha glanced over at Kagome as they sat in the auditorium, listening to their old principal give some long, boring speech about the future and starting a new chapter of their lives and blah, blah, blah. He was pretty sure the guy used the same damn speech at their graduation.

He couldn't have mixed it up a little, could he?

"So what exactly happened last night," he whispered nervously, and she tilted her head to the side towards him.

"You mean you don't remember the hot, hot sex we had?" she whispered back, bewildered, and his brain completely shut down as his throat went dry.

...They...What?!

"We...I…" 

How the hell had that happened?

The fifteen year old in him was snarling that he had gotten so drunk that he couldn't remember his deepest teenage fantasy becoming a reality. She had been the star of his every "dirty" dream. For years she was the woman he had imagined touching...caressing...fucking...making love to…He had imagined her screaming his name in pleasure as their bodies slid together so many times...but he couldn't remember it when it actually fucking happened for real?

Yeah. The teenager in him was beyond pissed.

The adult in him, however, was mortified that he would do something so completely and utterly stupid. This woman had destroyed him. Left him hollow and broken and miserable for years. She had left a shirt in his room unintentionally after they broke up...he was ashamed to admit that he had clung to it at night for months after until her scent finally disappeared and he tucked it into a box under his bed.

A box of Kagome. Photos and ticket stubs and little things that reminded him of her had been abandoned there, left to rot away and forever be forgotten.

What really puzzled him was the lack of "sex" smell when he had woken up. Sure, he smelled like shit...but shouldn't he have still smelled some trace of...that on him?

"I'm kidding," she snickered, and he relaxed a little...but his heart still grew oddly heavy and bitter.

"That wasn't funny," he hissed, and she raised an eyebrow at him.

"No? You don't think so?"

"Not even a little. Can't you be serious for one goddamn minute?"

"I thought we were trying to be civil?"

"Yet you're the one jerking me around!"

Kagome took a deep, calming breath before fixing him with a hard look.

"You want to have at it again? Fine. We can do it again. But not here, and not now.

No. I don't know what you did last night.

I just know that you and Kikyo were in no shape to be driving so I left the girls to take both of your sorry asses home so you wouldn't crash and die. So you're welcome," she snapped.

His jaw twitched before he forced himself to grind out a barely audible thank you through clenched teeth.

They sat through the majority of the ceremony in silence...but he didn't need to talk to her to know what she was feeling. He could feel and smell the pain and frustration and guilt radiating off of her in nearly tangible waves. He felt this old, long forgotten, yet familiar desire to comfort her and apologize bubble up from the pit of his gut...but what the hell did he have to apologize for? She was the one fucking with him!

She was always the one toying with him like he didn't fucking matter...

"Do you still have a hangover," he heard Kagome whisper, and he told her he did. He watched her silently reach into her purse, taking out a small reusable bottle of water and a ziplock baggie with a handful of pills.

"Here," she said handing them to him, and he felt his heart ache again as he accepted her peace offering.

"Thanks," he whispered, throwing some of the pills back before handing everything to her.

"Keep it for a while," she advised, nodding towards the water bottle. "You need to re-hydrate. I brought it for you anyways."

"Ok," he smiled wanly, and she weakly returned it.

Soon he heard the closing music start to play and the graduates walked back down the aisle, ready to meet their family outside of the auditorium in the warm June sunshine.

He stood, following Kagome and her mother outside to find Souta, where they all shared rounds of hugs and 'congratulations', and 'we're so proud of you's.

Inuyasha happily volunteered to take photos of the small family, a strangely content, honored, almost paternal feeling washing over him as he did.

"Inuyasha dear, why don't you come take my place? You should be in a few photos too."

He was about to refuse, but thought better of it. Mrs. Higurashi wanted him in a few photos. He couldn't say no to her...so instead he swallowed, nodded, and took her place to the left of Souta. His fingers accidentally grazed Kagome's arm as he wrapped his around the young man's shoulders, and he noticed her straighten in surprise, clearly restraining herself from shooting him a questioning look. Instead, she moved her fingers from Souta's back to his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze.

He could feel the heat from her skin radiating through his shirt, burning him. Scorching everywhere she touched.

He didn't know why...or what the hell came over him, but his hand left Souta's back to give her arm a light squeeze, and her scent changed.

Remorse.

His eyes flitted to her face and he was surprised to see her looking at him, her eyes pained.

What he wouldn't give to ask her what she was thinking now...What he wouldn't give to comfort her...

His breath caught in his throat.

No.

He didn't care. 

He just had to last the week, then she was gone. Off to her life in California, just the way she wanted it.

Unless her boss let her stay. Which was highly unlikely.

"Inuyasha...Kagome...Smile! It's a happy day," Mrs. Higurashi encouraged, and he watched Kagome turn away from him, shooting the older woman a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

He followed her lead, and a few minutes later, they were done.

A friend called out to Souta, drawing his attention from his family, and one of the teachers came over to speak to the proud mother, leaving him alone with Kagome.

He felt the heat of her eyes on him and he awkwardly glanced at her again, confirming his suspicions.

"Yeah?" He asked a bit more roughly than he intended, and Kagome snapped her attention away from him.

"Nothing."

"I don't think ya'd be looking at me like that if it were just 'nothing', Kagome."

She turned to regard him again, her lips pressing into a thin line as she told him, "Honestly? When you shave, you just look more...you. The you that I remember, at least. It just...everything is taking me back to our graduation day. "

He remembered it well. It marked the beginning of the end. One last summer together.

"Huh," he muttered, and she rolled her eyes.

"You and your damn 'huh's."

"What...you don't like 'em?"

"I never have."

"Huh," he smirked, doing it intentionally this time, and a small smile graced her lips before she turned her attention elsewhere. "I was just thinking that maybe I should grow it back out if that's what this makes you think of," he explained rubbing his chin, unsure of why he felt the need to.

"You look handsome either way, Inuyasha," she disagreed. "You always have. You should do what makes you happy. You don't look like a boy if that's what you're worried about. I don't think you could. I was just...I guess I was just feeling nostalgic."

"So...I look like a man now, huh? A handsome man?" He drawled, and she rolled her eyes again.

"Don't start."

"I didn't. You did. You started this whole conversation about my facial hair."

"And if I would have known that it would lead to this I would have kept it to myself."

"Mhm…" he agreed. "Maybe. But you didn't. And now I know you still think I'm handsome. Gotta say, it's kinda nice knowing you still think I'm attractive after all these years."

"I've always been attracted to you, Inuyasha...but you've always known that, haven't you?"

Yeah. But that hadn't been enough, had it? In the end, she still left him. Why hadn't he been enough? What was he lacking that made him not good enough? What was so wrong about him that...that she didn't want to be with him anymore? He had told her he'd wait...and he had fucking meant it! It didn't matter how long it took. He'd still be here for her.

That was part of the problem, wasn't it?

She never had any intention of coming back.

Even for him...the man she "loved".

"Inuyasha?" Kagome whispered, pulling him away from the dark turn his thoughts had taken. "What's wrong."

"Nothing," he growled, startling her, and she straightened, confused but prepared to fight him again.

"Inuyasha!" a light, airy, feminine voice called out, and he watched Kagome's face morph into a mask of indifference as Kikyo waved.

"You should go to her," she encouraged.

"Kagome…"

"Inuyasha!" Kikyo called again, and Kagome waved him off, leaving him to stand by her mother and join in the conversation with their former teacher. He knew a dismissal when he heard one.

He spun around on his heel and greeted Kikyo, smiling as she shyly took his hands.

"The set up looked great...Thank you again for all of your help."

"It was my pleasure," he replied, trying to smile, but his conversation with Kagome and his previous dark thoughts hadn't quite loosened their grip over him yet.

"Listen...last night…"

"Was fun?" he supplied, and her smile only brightened.

"It was," she agreed. "I'm sorry for making you drink so much though...I didn't mean to let things get that far out of hand."

"It's ok...I'm still here ain't I? Somea last night is a little hazy still...but I'm glad you're ok."

"Me too. Glad you're ok, I mean. And that I'm ok," she blushed. "I guess we have Kagome to thank for that…"

"So I'm told," he mumbled. Damn. He wished he could remember what happened.

"We were that bad, huh?"

He could only shrug. "I guess it's been awhile since I drank that much," he admitted.

"I wasn't very nice to you during that game. I learned a lot of interesting things about you though…"

His eyes widened nervously.

"What kinda stuff."

Kikyo's face turned bright red as she stood up on her tiptoes to whisper into his ear. "Little things...like your favorite position for sex. Maybe we can try it out soon?"

He swore he turned bright red as she leaned in to kiss him, and he heard Souta catcall in the background.

"Damn!"

He smirked when the boy yelped. He couldn't confirm it...but he was pretty sure Kagome had smacked him upside the head.

She was jealous.

He'd be sure to give her something to be jealous over then...and he deepened the kiss, pulling Kikyo closer and sliding his hand into her hair. When they parted after several long minutes, her lips were swollen red, her pupils dilated, and her hair only slightly mussed up.

"I gotta go," he murmured apologetically, and she swallowed, nodding. "Call me later when you have a minute? Maybe we can set up another date...to try out that thing you talked about."

"Yeah...ok…"

___________________

That’s better right? Lighter? I thought it was lighter. One and a half more parts guys and then that’s it! I’m posting all I have for chapter 10 for white day too...because I want people should feel like it’s ok to post those, and lead by example, right?!

Wall of tags! Let me know if you want in or out!

(If you get tagged in this post after requesting tags, it’s because that’s how I’m keeping track of them. If you requested a tag and aren’t there, I might not have seen it so please ask again!)

@clearwillow, @keichanz, @dangerouspompadour, @nartista, @kaze-ranna, @superpixie42, @sticky-llama-perfection, @pinkpigeonstudio, @mcornilliac, @itzatakahashi, @zelink-inukag, @juliatheanimelover7, @csim28, @smmahamazing, @the-lucky-ones311, @cyncyn981, @animemomma96, @ayari17, @underwater0phelia, @sailorbabydoll92, @l-taisho29, @clearwillow, @animelove1313, @littlemissinukag, @gofoulpuppycollector​, @umacaking​, @chanin29​

[lenle-g]

I wish you would write a fic where John hates gravity!

Ask Meme: I wish you would write a fic where…

For having not really written anything publishable in a couple of years I’m really enjoying these XD I just hope you didn’texpect just hilarity because whUPS

John’s on Earth andisn’t that bizarre. A meteor strike while John was busy coordinating arescue had absolutely shattered through the solar array and cracked her hull.Thunderbird Five is out of commission until he and Brains can get up there toget it fixed. But with the New Zero-X in progress taking up most of the engineer’stime, getting Thunderbird Five back in working order isn’t looking likely anytime soon. One emergency call out to Thunderbird Three and a sketchy four and ahalf hours sleep in his blacked out room, John wanders into the living roomlooking like a ghost and groaning just as convincingly. He’d been properlyshaken around by the meteor strike in his bubble of borosilicate and reinforced219-T6 aluminum alloy and there are dark bruises littering pale porcelain skinand seri strips holding together a gash across his forehead.

“We’ve got asituation.” The effect of John’s serious declaration is promptly ruined as hetrips over his own feet, saved only from face planting the carpet by the flailinghand that grabs the stair rail.

Hnnnngh. Postspaceflight vertigo. Tremendous. Thanks for that Gravity.

He’s swathed in along, ragged NASA t-shirt dug up from who-knows-where instead of hisInternational Rescue blues and he’s got one hand pressed over an eye like thelight is hurting it, a sure sign there’s a pounding headache going on in thatspace worn skull of his.

“Where’s Virgil?”John’s voice sounds like it’s done a round with Grandma’s blender on the chunkysetting and he doesn’t seem pleased to see Scott’s the one lounging at thebreakfast bar. “Thunderbird Two is needed in Santa Monica.”

“Geez John, can’t youlay off the job for one morning.” Big brother rolls his eyes at the pictureJohn makes, all space-wobbly and sickly. “I’m sure one of us could bemonitoring…”

“Well you’re not.”It’s very unlike John to snap at him and that raises a pair of surprised browneyebrows. “So here I am. Now can you please find Virgil so I can updatehim and go back to bed.” He says, as if there’s actually any chance hewould leave the rescue entirely to his brothers and not stay to obsessivelymonitor everything. Scott rolls his eyes and flips up the holocomm.

“Scott to Virgil, youawake?” There’s a mumble of a reply that sounds like Virgil has his facesmushed into a pillow. “John says we have a situ…”

John misses the restof it and the reply from Virgil as the world chooses that moment to blur totallyout of focus. All he can hear is the pounding of his own heart, all loud andthudding and awful, in his ears. His mouth tastes like something crawled inthere and died and the fluid in his ears that dictates balance evidently hasn’tgotten used to gravity yet because the vertigo is back in full force and thespaceman sways dangerously on his feet.

“Whoa! John?” Hisbrother has gone pale enough that he looks practically holographic and Scottreaches out to touch him, to check he’s real as much as to steady him, as ifScott is expecting his hand could pass right through.

Instead, he pokesJohn rather sharply in the chest.

John cracks one eyeopen to glare at him.

“Did you wantsomething?” The spaceman grits out, wavering on his feet. Why does everythingsound so muffled? Who turned down the volume on the Comm? “What’s…?”

“Virgil’s on his way…I…” Scott pauses, leaning back to get a really good look at his sibling. “Hey,what’s wrong with you?”

John just blinks athim, like he’s not really seeing him.  All the blood has drained from hisface and his pupils have dilated to almost cover the whole of his iris. Hedoesn’t seem to notice the hand Scott waves in front of his eyes, but insteadhe sways worryingly, like he’s dizzy.

“Low blood pressure.”He mumbles, feet stumbling. “It’ll go, just give it a sec.”

“John, shit,”Scott only just catches his brother by the upper arm as he pitches forwardtoward the stairs. “John, christsake, sitdown before you fall down.”

Scott pulls John’s arm over hisshoulders and carefully leads him down into the circle of seating at the centreof the room. Virgil streaks past, heading for the lift to Thunderbird Two, diverted only for a concerned glance and an “Updateme in the air!” as he goes.

Scott settles the astronaut cautiously on oneof the sofas, wary that he might tip over. He peelshis fingers from John’s upper arm, ready to check his pulse, and freezes.

There are five dark,distinct finger marks, a handprint,blotched in darkening red on his skin.

“What the hell…?”Scott holds his brother at arm’s length like it’s made of glass. The marks he’sleft are rapidly purpling at the edges and are a deep, ominous black in thecentre - not black like the colour, but black like the space between stars, inky and awful and dark. It’smade all the worse looking by just how white John’s skin is in comparison.

“I’ve been in spacetoo long.” John, whose watching him blearily, just shakes his head, “Skinsthinner, blood’s closer to the surface, it happens.”

Scott suddenly gaspsin air, not having realised he was holding his breath.

“Why the… geez John! Wh-What kind of brother am Ithat I’ve been letting you do this to yourself?” It’s not really a question hewants an answer to.

Instead of thinking about it Scott very carefully wrapsboth arms around his brother and pulls him in towards him for a hug, feeling something inhis chest twist sharply as John stiffens uncomfortably in his arms. His brother’smuscles feel stringy and tight under the layer of his skin.

Actually, now John ishere tucked against him, resistant or otherwise, it’s painfully obvious howmuch skinnier his brother has gotten.

“Have you not beeneating up there?” Scott complains into his shoulder, “What the hell John?”

There’s a quiet momentbefore John shakes his head and the movement makes him groan, dizzied. Scott’shands flit over the sharp knobs of his brother’s spine, too cautious to applytoo much pressure.

“There’s been a lotof rescues lately.” John carefully tries to extract himself from his brother’s arms.“Having the artificial gravity of the centrifuge is supposed to help preventloss of body mass and muscle atrophy but I’ve spent too long in 0G the pastcouple of weeks and I guess it’s starting to show.” John raises one hand infront of his face to study his long, thin fingers and is surprised to see themshaking. “I’ve not been able to sleep right either because of it and I’m sure that doesn’thelp.”

“Hell John…”

How had Scott missedthis? He was supposed to be looking out for his little brothers. Their Dadwould have noticed. Jeff Tracy almost wrote the book on prolonged spaceflightand while he taught John everything he knew, and John passed as much of that ashe could onto Alan, the rest of them had rather missed out in the effects ofliving up in orbit category.

“Can I get youanything? Can I…” Scott feels so out of his depth and helpless. It’s like thetide has suddenly come in and caught him unawares, leaving him floundering andafraid. “Is there anything I can do? Hell, some sugar? Something to put some weight on you? Gordon bought donutshome yesterday? Pink sprinkle ones?”

John shoots him asmile for that.

“I’ll be ok Scotty.Just gotta give it time. Gravity… Gravity isn’t kind.” He rubs a tiredhand over his face, “I’ll pass on the donut. Might make me sick. I’ve gotglucose and salt tablets and a handful of other supplements to bring my levelsback up. It’ll all even itself out soon.”

Scott lets all his breath out at once and collapses onto the sofa next to him,all sprawled and loose.

“Geez John. That’s messed up.” He looks to the sideand he crinkles his nose as he notices he’s looking up at his brother. Scott scrambles to sit up straight and he’s still looking up. “Hey! When did you get taller than me?” Scott huffs.

“About ten yearsago,” John’s brow wrinkles in tired confusion, “You complained incessantlyabout it. And it’s only by a couple of centimetres… unless I’m in 0G,” Heconsiders, “The spine gets pulled out straight in 0G.”

“Yeah well you’reaway so often I forgot.” Scott’s hand flip flops dismissively, trying not towince at the visual that John’s spinegetting pulled out straight provokes. “Hard to compare when you’re just a hologramall the time.”

“There’s too much Gravity down here.” John formshis usual complaint, his elbow braced against his knee as he reaches for thecentral Comm unit ready to update Virgil. “It’s better up there.”

“Well seems to me that ‘up there’ is slowly killing you John.”

“Uhhhh…” Unbeknownst of the both of them Virgil’s hologram has blinked into place above them and he’s looking prettyshocked at Scott’s outburst. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t mind him.” John slips straight into businessmode, wrapping the familiar layer of professionalism around himself like it’s acomfort blanket. “Did you get the coordinates I sent to Thunderbird Two?” The Space Monitor isn't entirely certain that it wasThunderbird Two he sent them to, with the way his head is pounding, who knows,the ISS or something could have easily gotten them instead. “You’re heading for Santa Monica. Reports describe a mudslide on the outskirtsthat has seven people trapped. Local authorities have asked for us to help withextraction.”

“Sure thing John.” Virgil says, but he’sfrowning at him, “I got the coordinates, am on my way. I, are… are you ok? Idon’t think I’ve seen you lean on Scott since we were kids you know.”

“I didn’t have much choice in it.” Johnshrugs and is surprised as, instead of calming down, Virgil’s eyes widen inhorror.

“John!”

“What?” John winces at his brother’sshout. He’s got enough of a headache without people yelling at him.

“What happened to your arm?” Virgil’svoice is tight with tension. His fingers are locked on the yoke of ThunderbirdTwo, as if he’s considering turning around right then and there. He’s staringat where John’s t-shirt sleeve has ridden up to reveal the distinct hand-shapedbruising that Scott had just accidentally put on his skin.

Scott makes a short, squeaky soundbehind him; not entirely dissimilar to a mouse being trodden on.

“It’s fine Virg.” John tugs his sleeve jerkily back down to cover it,suddenly hyperaware that it probably looks like someone’s been beating him up. “Ijust, haha, I went a round with Eos, ok?”

“John.”Virgil’s tone is a warning that that’s really not funny.

“Ok, ok, Scott stopped me from fallingdown the stairs.” His ears go pink as he admits it and it’s the most colourScott’s seen on him since he stumbled onto the planet. “It’s fine Virg. Chillout.”

“I didn’t mean to leave a bruise. I didn’t evengrab him that hard.” Scott ventures from where he’s smushed himself into thesofa - as if it would hide him from Virgil’s wrath.

“We’re having a talk about your platelet count whenI get home.” Virgil narrows his eyes at John, who, to his credit, at least hasthe decency to look sheepish about it. “If you’re feeling ill from re-entry…more ill than usual,” He correctshimself, “You need to let us know.” There’s a sigh and then Virgil’s voice goesa lot softer. “You shouldn’t be working right now John. You shouldn’t beworking like this at all. If you’regoing to live up in space for such long stints you need to…”

“Take the proper precautions. I know, I know.” Johnrubs a tired hand over his throbbing eyes. Now is not the time for a lecture. “NASAtrained, remember?”

“Oh I remember.” Virgil isn’t letting this one go. “Sometimesyou need to remember it too. Scott, I’malmost at Santa Monica, I’ll keep you updated on the rescue but I want to youget John back to bed. Pulse and breathing need monitoring and I’ll do a fullblood test when I get back. Make sure the blackout blinds are down.” He knowsthe signs that John’s got a space-induced headache from a mile off. “If hethrows up check for blood and let me know.”

“FAB.” Scott very gently takes up one of John’sarms, sweeping it neatly around his shoulder. The lack of resistance on John’spart is very telling of just how exhausted his brother is. “I’ve got this.” Bigbrother duty is one of his favourite things in the world but Scott does wish itcould be easier sometimes. “Thanks Virg.”

The hologram flicks off solemnly and Scott turnshis attention to the problem of how he’s going to get a hundred and eighty pounds ofslippery spacenoodle back up to his bedroom. He’d let his brother sleep here onthe sofa if he could, but with a rescue going on and the Tinies due to wake anyminute now Scott knows there’s no chance of him getting any real rest here.

“Come on Johnny,” Scott hopes he’s not leavingbruises on John’s ribs as he curls his fingers around his brother’s back andsecures them against the sharp ridges of his chest. “Back to bed now, we’ve gotthis under control. Eos is probably keeping an eye anyway, you know how she is.”

“She alerted me in the first place.” John mumblesfrom where his chin is slumped down onto his chest like a ragdoll. “Eos is…the best.”

“Yeah, yeah. We all love your murderous code baby.” Scottchuckles, focusing on the placement of John’s feet and carefully guiding himover the top step. “You two make a great team.”

“’Course we do.” John mumbles, ankles like spaghetti,“I wrote her.”

“Mmm…” Scott kicks his brother’s door open withone foot, and slides them into the darkened space, “And doesn’t that say somethingabout how many friends you have?” He comments, a little snarky, “Well it’s timefor super genius coders to go to sleep.” John gets firmly deposited atop his mattressand there’s a brief wrestle with the covers to get them to actually cover the entire length of his ganglyspace brother. “Geez John your ankles go on for miles.” Scott complains, entirelyto himself he notices as, when he looks up, he realises John has alreadydropped off to sleep.

Or passed out. It’s kind of hard to tell.

“Ridiculous.” Scott huff’s softly, checking John’spillow is propping his head up well enough that his breathing isn’t impaired andfishing the VSM wires from the draw of the astronaut’s bedside table to hook himup to the monitor. Heart rate and breathing are stable, if a little low, but John’sblood pressure is a blinking red sign that makes Scott roll his eyes. “How didyou even get out of bed to start with?” He gripes.

Quiet settles between the brothers, Scottcautiously perched on the side of the younger man’s bed. The only light in theroom comes from the faint greenish glow of the series of sticky stars that havebeen stuck to John’s ceiling since they moved here. No comparison to the realthing, of course, but John and Alan had spent a whole day making sure they wereall in the right places – each constellation mapped out with a ruler and a protractorand ridiculous precision.

“Oh Johnny.” There’s a sigh from big brother and warmfingers find themselves threading their way through the soft, cool curl of John’sbangs, cautious of the gash across his forehead. “What are we going to do with you huh? You love space so damn much that there’s no way I can stopyou from doing this to yourself but… but you’re going to get seriously hurtsooner or later and… and I don’t know what I can do to prevent that.” There’sthe soft arch of a spine and Scott is curled protectively over his brother inthe dark. His fingers bunch in the fabric of John’s pillow.

A spot of moisture hits John’s cheek.

It slides down and soaks into the fabric beneathhis head.

“Damnit John.” Scott whispers, voice choked andfingers trembling. “Damn it all.”

[marvel-medigeek-fics]

In or Out: Part 1

Summary: when you get dropped off at the avenger’s doorstep, tragically close to death, you discover just how much the Avengers actually do for your city and what goes on behind the scenes.

Warnings: near death experience, language, needles, seizures

A/n: Characters are not mine. Reblog if you wanna. Sorry for the mess, I hope it is still readable. 

Word Count: 1079

Everything that goes in or out of the Avengers tower, everything that is even near the Avengers tower, is monitored closely. So someone noticed immediately when your now ex-boyfriend basically dragged you down the street and dropped you off at side entrance of the tower.

“What the-?” said the current security monitor. Sure, the Avengers tower got submissions all the time, but mostly those submissions came in boxes or letters, not in the form of half-dead girls. “Friday, get Tony Stark to take a look at this.”

“What’s up? Something wrong?” asked Tony once he got on the line.

“There’s a girl out there, who doesn’t look that great.”

“I’ll have someone to take a look.”

Tony walked into the common room where all the Avengers were. Nat and Clint were on the couch. Sam was sitting on the back of it, sticking his feet onto their shoulders. Bucky and Steve were doing something with the TV. But they all perked up when they heard Tony’s distinctive ‘I need something’ walk.

“Can one of you go check on a submission outside the building? It needs to be cleared.” Each of the Avengers in the room muttered to each other, wondering what kind of stupid prank Tony was going to pull over next.

“Why can’t one of the guards do it? That’s kind of their job.” Bucky said.

“Not that kind of submission. A human submission, Barnes. That’s not exactly in their job description. ” Tony replied.

“I’ll go.” volunteered Clint and Sam, at the same time. To this Tony flicked his eyes toward the east side door with urgency.

Your limbs felt like 1000 pounds and your brain felt like it had been pulsed in a blender for hours. When you tried to open your eyes, you couldn’t. Almost like they were swollen shut. But you could hear. You heard two Male voices, coming closer. Even though you couldn’t move your body was still shaking uncontrollably.

“Whoa. Shit.” one of the voices mused. Their footsteps became faster and you could tell they were running.

“You okay there?” The other voice asked. Your mouth was so dry you couldn’t even speak and your muscles refused to let you answer. A computer voice rang out and you whimpered a little under its metallic sting. “My sources show multiple contusions and a critically high fever of 105.” Oh shit, that was serious. But you couldn’t entertain the panic, because in a matter of seconds you were inside, being carried by extreme cold skin. That felt even worse than the ground, even with its rocks and pits and gravel which had probably mashed their way into your arm.

It was not very long until you felt the arms lay you down on a table and needles start poking you in both arms. Instantly you’re freezing and you start to shake uncontrollably again. “Hey, hey, hey, can you hear me?” Someone asks. Your only reply is a tiny, barely audible croak. “Water, towels and one of the portable xrays.” At the mention of X-rays, your left arm begins to throb and you jerk it unintentionally. But your right arm is free and you begin one of your tics your boyfriend hated. Digging your nails into your palms.

Apparently, someone else hates it because someone begins prying your clenched fist apart and sticking their hand in the now empty space. It feels comforting. You can’t remember the last time someone held your hand, which makes you remember why you were even here. Because your boyfriend dropped you off after one of your particularly bad fights.

Once Sam and Clint had gone out there and heard the bit about a 105-degree temperature, they ran you inside to one of the many many many medical rooms in the Avengers tower. Dr banner was already in one, which was lucky because it could’ve taken all day to find him when he was working on something. He was the master of hiding in the most obvious places. But immediately they set to work to cool you off. Iv fluids, a bunch of cooling blankets and ice. Lots and lots of ice.

In less than 5 minutes, the rest of the team joined them in their quest for all the ice. It didn’t take near the amount of ice to cool you off that was available in the tower. The ice soon cooled to your body temperature to a much better range. 100. But not before Natasha slipped her hand into your clammy fist.

It was a while before you even stirred against the ice. You didn’t even move when doctor banner had to reset your broken arm and cast it. It was over 4 hours before dr banner felt confident enough to remove some ice. Natasha and Sam stayed in the room. Natasha stayed because she said you reminded her of someone. And sam because he felt bad he tried to push you onto one of the temp guards. Everyone else that was in the tower was in training and quite a few of the team were on missions.

You couldn’t place where you were. At all. Everything was white and fuzzy. You you could hear someone talking but their words sounded like they went through a cheese grater and were jiggling around like jello. And then your vision turned to red and you could hear screaming instead of the voices that sounded so vaguely familiar. And then black and off-key humming. Purple and an instrument you couldn’t place. Orange and crying. Blue and water thrashing against a boat. Yellow and retching. They kept spinning into each other and the sounds crashed into each other, mixing together faster and faster until everything was silent.

The team couldn’t for the life of them figure out what was happening to you and you were way too unstable to move to a hospital. Your temperature kept spiking and you’d launch into a seizure. Ice kept getting put on and taken off. You were so hot the ice would melt a little and condensation would fly away like steam off of your boiling arms. Your temp would drop again and you would clench your fist so hard Natasha had to eventually pull her hand away before you got the chance to break it.

The team had no idea why you had already dug a place into their hearts, but you did. With your fucked up body, febrile seizures and all.

[solivar]

AN ACTUAL CONVERSATION, FROM THIS TIME LAST YEAR

DRAMATIS PERSONAE:

ME: Your humble authoress

THE DREAD DARK MASTER: A friend and colleague of old, well acquainted with my writing style and interests.

MY PERSONAL CDC CASEWORKER: The friend who first described me as a fandom vector of such virulence that the CDC obviously has me on a list of some kind.

THE BOOKKEEPER: A friend, retired Air Force officer, presently a Federal civil servant.

THE SCENE:

A thread in which I am examining the above character reference sheet with angst and woe.

ME:  For the record, it is REALLY HARD to line up a back shot that will hit UNDER his ballistic armor that WILL NOT result in a bullet finding its way into a kidney. I'M JUST SAYING.

THE DREAD DARK MASTER:  Depending on the weapon, wouldn't even a hit ON ballistic armor at least hurt and knock the breath out of him? That's a LOT of concussive force, even if the armor keeps it from penetrating through, but I've never looked it up. Though real physics and video game mechanics probably do not align on this effect. PS. Mighty fine ass. Is IT armored?

ME:  It does not tickle to take a hit on ballistic armor, no. And, yes, that is a mighty fine, unarmored ass.

THE DREAD DARK MASTER:  And a tempting target.

ME:  inner!Hanzo holds up a sign: FIND YOUR OWN COWBOY, THIS ONE IS MINE.

THE DREAD DARK MASTER:  I'm just sayin' -- you didn't WANT to shoot through his kidney, right?

MY PERSONAL CDC CASEWORKER: The DDM and I have dibs after you, Hanzo.

ME:  inner!Jesse holds up a sign: NOW NOW DON'T FIGHT, THERE'S ENOUGH OF ME TO GO AROUND.

MY PERSONAL CDC CASEWORKER:  I love that your inner fictional characters communicate like Wile E Coyote. Or Genma Saotome.

ME: BOTH.

THE BOOKKEEPER:  I see space around the shoulders and collar. What's the goal of the shot?

ME: FOR STORY PURPOSES, a horribly painful and disabling but not immediately fatal injury.

THE BOOKKEEPER:  Then something below the collar that misses the spine, but blows up the collarbone on its way out the front is messy as hell and many months of freezing the chest in place, but not an auto-kill.

ME:  Yeaaaaah, because that would be horrible/messy/painful/possible sucking chest wound but catching a .300 Winchester magnum or the nearest futuristic equivalent in the kidney means you're going to bleed to death with alacrity. So I am thinking somewhere between T1 and T3, because that region is definitely not armored, any shot that lands to the right or left of the spine will punch through the trapezus muscle (unpleasant), the brachial nerve plexus (cannot possibly be pleasant), and the clavicle, taking a chunk of flesh and bone and ballistic chest plate and possibly upper lung lobe with it. And unlike a lower thoracic wound, it would be more blunt force impact trauma than cavitation injury.

THE DREAD DARK MASTER:  Jesse is now re-reading the Healthcare and Medical Emergencies section of his contract. And swearing.

ME:  Jesse notes the technical existence of a Clause Thirteen* with particularly liberal provisions governing the infliction of gross physical and mental trauma short of death in his Protagonist Contract.

THE DREAD DARK MASTER:  "In other words, you'll live, but you won't enjoy it. At. All."

THE BOOKKEEPER:  Also, unless Jesse has some magical/technology-as-magical resistance to trauma-induced-shock, he will need someone else to stop the bleeding, as his brain will be filled with "Gee, my chest is doing new bendy things that I want to spend the rest of my life screaming about."

ME: That’s what Genji, Hanzo, and Zenyatta are for.

THE DREAD DARK MASTER:  Now I know who to ask about potential damage from firearms in future fictional projects...

THE BOOKKEEPER:  My gun experience is largely limited to one live fire in basic training and watching action movies with Marine friends (and one crazy ex-Army dude). What I learned: Hollywood likes to put blood squibs on the chest because they're easy to hide, but straight shot wounds in the torso area, especially from modern bullets that tumble or fragment, are not the sort you get to tell stories about later.

ME:  Meanwhile, high caliber sniper rounds have a tendency to neither tumble nor fragment and have been known to exit the human body looking almost unfired unless they hit something more solid, like a wall, on the other side. Also: hitting a squishy part of the body, like the lower thoracic cavity, tends to produce horrible cavitation wounds that look like your insides have been put through a blender, and tend to break any bones that they hit in the more structurally robust parts of the body, and in either case punch out exit wounds the size of a clenched human fist. Yeah, I'm totally on some kind of national security watchlist. ANY WATCHING DHS/FBI AGENTS, PLEASE NOTE THIS IS AN ENTIRELY THEORETICAL CONVERSATION.

THE BOOKKEEPER:  Yours will be a totally fun day in Room 101**.

* In a standard issue Protagonist Contract, there exists at least twelve clauses detailing what a character may expect from a story written by me. Clause Thirteen is the Survival Clause, meaning they will live to see the end of the story. They may not enjoy it, but they will live.

** The room DHS sticks you in just before you disappear so completely that you will thereafter exist only as a dark legend whispered of by your extended family. Inasmuch as I have not yet disappeared, I have never been inside it.

[ivyfics]

Starved

Kei can’t make it this week. Next week, maybe, he’ll be here but Tetsurou is all out of patience.

Read on AO3

Pairing: KuroTsuki Rating: T Chapters: 1/3 Prompt: “I’m tired of being your secret.”

They meet at least one weekend out of the month, always on his end.

They plan it out, send the schedules and call ahead. When he has the itch to take a train and just go, he squashes it down and walks by the station. Doesn’t bother to check the times to see if he’ll make it before lunch, if they could spend the afternoon together, if they’d play together until they’re sweaty and smiling with exhaustion.  

Maybe Tsukki would be too tired after school and practice and they’d just hang out in his bedroom and chill.

On those days he sends a flurry of messages. Sometimes he gets a response back immediately, sometimes he has to wait until late in the afternoon.

Tsukki calls at night those days so it’s fine.

It’s nothing.

 It’s a rocky start, Kei being the way he is, Tetsurou being the way he is.

They were friends, he likes to think, before it became a longing to be closer worming it’s way under his skin and fusing to who he is.

I want to see him, and talk to him, hear him talk and get lost on how his voice dips and peaks —

Kei’s brother lives in Tokyo.

He stays there when he comes over, a compromise to keep everyone happy when he’s visiting so often. When his parents call to ask his brother how Kei’s been, he doesn’t have to lie. It’s not easy, even with that.

They still rely on texts and missed plans when Kei takes a day to spend time with his brother while he’s there. Tetsurou misses the way his fabric softener smells, curled up in his sheets, knowing they’re so close, a mere 25-minute bus ride apart when he’s used to measuring distance in days, arms tightening against his own chest instead of the phantom body he wishes was there.

 The first visit was where it started.

Stepping off the train with a bag stuffed with extra clothes and headphones still on for the first time, Kei looked at ease. Tetsurou’s hands were sweaty, fidgeting from one foot to the other. His heart felt like it was galloping out of his chest.

It’s been more than several times since then but Tetsurou’s body still takes to that pattern every time.

The first visit was tragic, filled with awkward silences and strange brushing of hands that made no sense and all the sense in the world, both of them too chickenshit to actually do anything about it.

They were on the verge, then, standing on the edge and waiting to fall.

Some days, when Kei cuts their conversations short hastily, someone calling for him over the sound of laughter and yelps he wonders if he was the only one standing.

 Kei can’t make it this week. Next week, maybe, he’ll be here but Tetsurou is all out of patience.

The problem, really, is that Tetsurou is not a patient person. He might seem it, with his demeanor, but he’s not, at least not when it comes to boys with snarky smiles that live too far away to have a piece of Tetsurou’s person belong to them.

Nine weekends have passed in a flurry of calls, texts, and all the things they can do to distract them from the fact that their lives are lived apart and meetings seem to happen only by chance. Infuriating, distracting, anxious, all put in a blender inside Tetsurou’s head going round and round till his brain is mush and he’s bit through his lip.

He can surprise his boyfriend every once in a while, can’t he?

Tetsurou would be a walking rainbow churning out smiles every thirty seconds if Kei ever decided to come over without calling. Without the planning and the warnings, and the train will be there at five, but Aki has a thing at six that I have to go so let’s meet tomorrow at eight in the park and then—

Forgo all kinds of digits and just fucking do.

Surely, positively, Kei would feel even a slight inch of the same.

He’d be happy, even if surprises aren’t really his thing, that after missing each other for weeks on end Tetsurou would be a physical body, a chest, an arm, a hand, a hug, a kiss, not a floating head in the digital void that’s Kei’s life.

Unless.

Unless Kei prefers him in the void. Unless Tetsurou only exists there for him, doesn’t bleed out into every aspect of his real life, the life he leads on his own.

That particular thought’s been eating at him and it’s hungry today. Famished, stomach growling and drooling like a beast eyeing its favorite morsel, gnawing at the walls of Tetsurou’s subconscious. Begging for a treat when he’s idle for a moment too long, momentarily shut by a call or a picture sent, like throwing a wolf a cracker and calling it a day.

 Bokuto is hogging the ball. Up high and away from where Tetsurou could grab it, staring at him with a frown. “Go see him.”

“I don’t know. He’s busy doing his own thing, it’s why he hasn’t been here,” Tetsurou lies.

I don’t know if he wants me there, I don’t know if he’ll ask me to leave, what if I’m wrong.

I don’t know.

Bokuto brings the ball to his chest and squeezes it between his hands, knuckles going white. “Tetsu, I love you. I really do.”

“Aww, Bo, I lo–”

“But if I have to see your miserable face while staring at his picture when you think we can’t see you one more time, I’ll knock you out and deliver you to Tsukki myself,”  Bokuto breathes out.  

Kenma grunts from where he’s slouched by the shade, gaps between the leaves on the tree he’s leaning on casting pinpricks of light on his face, eyes buried in his game, “I’ll help. Anything to make it stop.”

 Tetsurou ignores it.

He ignores it when he throws a bag together, ignores it when he’s stepping through the sliding doors. He ignores the voice telling him he’s not wanted and that he’s making a huge, colossal mistake all the way to the front steps of Karasuno.

Too restless to wait by the gates until god knows when and too much in knots to not look at Kei in the face where he sees Tetsurou’s here,  he considers waiting for Kei nearby his house before he remembers he doesn’t know where that is.

Plunging to the deepest of his ribcage, souring the taste in his mouth, he drinks that in.

He doesn’t know where his boyfriend lives.

Is he imagining all of this?

Tetsurou needs to stop thinking about this right now before he spirals. Shaking it off, he heads over to the gym. He’ll peek through a window or something. See them in action, incognito. The chance to get a glimpse of Kei’s playing, of figuring out what that head of his is thinking from the look on his face is too good to pass up. He’s familiar with them now, the way Kei’s body moves from all the times he’s spent analyzing it when they play together.

Rounding up a corner, he’s almost to the ajar entrance of the gym, blonde hair a beacon on gray walls.

The look in Kei’s eyes is something he’s never seen before.

Sheer panic.

“What are you doing here?”

That stings, so Tetsurou coughs and looks away while he composes himself.  “You couldn’t make it, so…”

More time. Tetsurou needs more time to compose himself before coming face to face with Kei. See him from afar first, take his time drinking him in. He gets this instead.

Panic.

Stiff muscles.

Silence.  

Every tick of the clock is another realization made.

Kei’s not relieved to see him. There’s not an ounce of joy in his body.

Standing there, squeak of rubber on wood the only thing reaching his ears, it all comes crashing down. The silence growing more awkward by the second is the nail in the coffin.

What else is there to say?

“I’m going.”

That breaks Kei’s vow of silence. “Kuroo. What.”

Tetsurou’s fine. S’alright. Saw this coming. He shakes his head to clear it, “It’s fine. I’m going.”

Kei speaks, shock not fading, “Where?”

“Home.” Tetsurou stops.

Doesn’t want to do this. Really doesn’t.

Should’ve stayed back.  

He has to now, though. He can’t keep doing this to himself. Gotta look out for Tetsurou.

So he does what impulse tells him. What that growing voice in the back of his head he’s left to fester whispers at him.

He starved. No more food.

No matter how much Tetsurou likes him, how much of a head over heels idiot he is, how he's probably in love with Kei.

“I don’t think you should come by next week. Or at all.”

Kei freezes, hands gripping the bottom of his white Karasuno shirt. “Why not?”

Tetsurou smiles, trying so very hard to hold all the tiny splinters of him trying their damndest to fall out, but it leaks anyway. How does he put this into words?

The sinking feeling coating his throat.

The wanting.

The waiting.

“I’m tired of being your secret,” is how he manages to sum it up.

The door flings open with amazing timing, really, big thanks to whatever being is keeping an eye out on his life for giving him an out to having to look at Kei’s face after that.

“Oi, Tsukishima, we’re gonna start without you- Ah! It’s Nekoma’s captain!!”

The shrimp is as loud as ever.

“Sorry,” Tetsurou winces, sends an apologetic look Kei’s way. Having Tetsurou show up here after months of silence must have foiled his plans to keep this quiet.

He turns to Hinata, “Don’t mind me Shorty, just heading out.”

Hinata gasps, not reading the mood or the atmosphere or the plain need to flee on Tetsurou’s face. “You’re leaving! You can’t! Tsukishima, tell him he has to stay and play with us,” Hinata rounds up on him, “I’ll tell Kenma on you!”

“I think you’re too much for me,” Tetsurou laughs, cold sweat running back of his neck.  “Kei,” he says with a nod of his head in farewell because that’s what he calls him when it’s late and they’re missing each other. Or when Tetsurou is missing him, at least.

There’s a yank on his sleeve, Kei’s fingers gripping the black material tight. “Don’t,” sharper than Tetsurou’s ever heard addressed at him from the boy with golden eyes.  

Whatever’s looking out for him isn’t a powerful being, he understands, so when the rest of the Karasuno crew piles up on the open entrance Tetsurou’s resigned to it all.

Yamaguchi’s the first one to see him, eyes raised all the way to his hairline. “What’s going on?”

“My boyfriend’s here.”

Absolute silence.

3, 2, 1.

“This is the boyfriend you skip Saturday practice for?! Sneaky, keeping him all to yourself.”

“Traitor! Dating the enemy!”

“Tsukishima you didn’t need to use your bedroom skills to steal his secrets, the sacrifices you make!”

Having the focus of the entire Karasuno team on you and around you is as terrifying as it sounds. Kageyama crowds him, ball in hand, along with the shrimp. “Kuroo-san, could you run some blocks for us.” Behind them, the heckling continues.

“You’ve been getting some special training haven’t you?”

It’s crazy.

Hinata’s voice soars over everyone else’s. “Eeeeeh, Tsukishima are you crying?”

Dread flashes cold.

“I’m not, short stack. Back off.”

“Liar, your eyes are all shiny.”

Things... take a turn. Get real quiet, real fast.

Crickets quiet.

Enough to hear the tiniest sniffle quiet.

Fuck.

“Everyone,” Ennoshita claps, somehow holding back the tiny libero and Baldie from murdering Tetsurou with their stares, Yamaguchi taking care of the first year duo, “inside.”  

Tetsurou is having a heart attack. This is absolutely what a heart attack feels like.

When he’s regained the ability to speak, he mumbles, “You skip practice for me?”

Tetsurou should sound less lovestruck, but it’s been a day. His brain is trying very hard to catch up, maximum capacity, whirring and whirling.

Perhaps, perchance, there is a slight possibility that Tetsurou has gotten it wrong.

Embarrassingly, horribly, amazingly wrong.

“You didn’t have to. I could’ve come here.”

“They’ll hog you. You think you’re leaving this gym today? Hope you brought sneakers,” Kei glares at him, Tetsurou can feel it, thick swallow audible. Kei is still holding on to his sleeve.

He takes that as a good sign.

“We should talk,” Kei says. Tetsurou isn't looking at him but nods anyway.

Kei leads him by the sleeve of his jacket, silent.

 The infirmary is empty so they sit there, side by side on one of the cots.

Kei starts with a shaky breath,“What just happened?”

“Well, your in-house Buddha doesn’t seem to like me all that much.”

Shaking his head, Kei crosses his arms. “I think you were breaking up with me. You thought I was keeping you a secret and were about to break up with me. You actually kind of already did.”

What does Tetsurou say to that?

Ding, ding, ding! Bingo!

“That’s what it felt like,” he rasps out. “Like you didn’t want anyone to know. About us.”

He doesn’t know where they are, if hugging is allowed. Tetsurou really needs a hug right now. He’s so tired.

Kei is looking off to the side, avoiding his eyes.

“If it helps anything at all, saying that was like punching myself. Really hard. I had to, though,” Tetsurou continues, “ you can understand that. I can’t pretend like I’m fine. It hurt.”

Everything is so quiet. They’re never quiet, the two of them, always talking garbage at each other without effort. This is like pulling teeth.

“I was going to wait for you on your way home and I realized I have absolutely no clue where your house is. You don’t let me visit and we meet when you come into town, and if you can’t make it, then we don’t see each other at all. Someone asks who you’re talking to and you hang up.”

At Kei’s sharp inhale, Tetsurou smiles, “Your friends' voices carry.”

He taps his knee to do something with his hand, building a rhythm.

“Sometimes, it feels like I’m the only one excited that we’re together. A one-sided relationship won’t make me happy. It’s not something that I’m interested in. Do you care? Do you want to be together? Or is it simply something convenient? After so long I thought you’d be happy that I’m here but you—” Tetsurou’s voice breaks. “Fuck.”

Kei is slow to speak, awkward and stilted when it starts. They don’t do this kind of talk as often as they should, as it obviously shows. ”I don’t like it when there are people in my business. People around me aren’t exactly the kind to leave this alone, so I thought I’d keep you to myself for a while longer. I’m sorry, I’m not ashamed of you or anything like that.”

Fingers stop the hand tapping on his knee, bring it over to Kei’s thigh. Pale fingers wrap around his. “I really missed you. You’re important to me. I don’t want to break up,” Kei whispers.

“I really don’t, either,” Tetsurou whispers back.

Miraculously, that’s enough for now. Kei’s hand on his and tiny whispers is a full meal, like throwing the beast a prime steak.

They whisper a little longer before going silent, full of I'm sorry I didn't say anything before and please tell me next time. 

Leading him up from their twined hands, Kei pulls him out of the infirmary. “C’mon.”

Tetsurou goes without protest. “We’re ditching?”

Kei nods. “I’m showing you where I live and then we’re going to make out in my room.”

[mavengers]

Covers (Part 3)

Bucky Barnes x reader, Steve Rogers x reader

Warnings: angst, this is a flashback chapter, takes place when the reader went missing from the Avengers, happy Bucky at the end. Yes, I’m aware the timeline is messed up, and I’ll clear some foggy details in part four.

Words: 2.6k

All credit goes to Marvel.

Part One  Part Two

Tags: @just-an-ambiverts-fandoms @chrisevansisdaddy04 @dellabellas @fab-notfat @marvel-af (url change? idk, tagged just in case), @loudandobnoxiousxxxx @sammieamiami-blog @shamvictoria11 @till-theendofthelinebuck 

You stood at the back of the dimly lit room, watching intently as he threw the doctor across the room, guns instantly raised at him. He didn’t react though as he sat up, his chest heaving with heavy breaths. He was broken. And you didn’t blame him. You wanted to approach him, but he was too unstable. He’d throw you across the room just like he did with the doctor, but his eyes met yours and your breath caught in your throat.

You knew this would happen eventually. You knew he would recognize you. He gave you a look that shattered your heart more than anything had ever done. When Pierce walked into the room, his eyes were still locked on yours. You felt tears running down your cheeks; this was all your fault. You could’ve gotten him out of this. You could’ve. His metal arm flinched, his hand turning to subtly point to the left; he was pointing to an emergency exit. But you were frozen in place, fear swallowing you whole as Pierce yelled order after order at him, before slapping him straight across the face. Only that was when Bucky tore his eyes off you. “Prep him.” He said. You shut your eyes tight, nausea taking over you as guilt settled in. Bucky knew who you were. He knew you were undercover. He knew you worked for SHIELD. He knew you could get him out of this, and you didn’t. Now he was going to have his brain put through a blender again, and he was telling you to get out and go back to SHIELD. He was telling you he’d be okay. But what about you?

“He’s been out of cryo too long…” Another doctor started to say, but Pierce cut him off. You watched Bucky’s eyes train on the ground in front of him.

“Then wipe him. Start over.” Pierce turned around, walking away as Bucky was pushed back into the seat, a mouth guard placed in between his teeth and restraints going across his arms and chest. With one last pained look at you, you mouthed ‘I’m sorry’ as you opened the exit, leaving HYDRA behind forever, but with one promise.

You would bring Bucky Barnes back to Steve Rogers. You owed Steve this. You owed Bucky this.

You shot up out of bed, your heart racing and tears streaming down your cheeks. Looking at your phone, you saw it was 4:34 am. You were due on the quinjet in a little over an hour. Normally, you wouldn’t have even spent more than fifteen minutes waking up before going out on a mission, but you figured you needed the extra time to calm down, so you got out of bed.

Phone in hand, you dialed a phone number as you paced around the kitchen. The phone rang three times before Nick picked up. “I need more attention placed on finding Barnes. Please, Nick. I need to find him.”

“Nightmares bothering you again?” He asked, his voice groggy on the other end as you undoubtedly pulled him out of his own sleep.

“It feels like just being around Steve sets it off. I just can’t take the guilt anymore. I owe this to both of them. Let me set up a team.” You begged, feeling your anxiety rise again.

“I’ve already had some of my best agents on it for months, we don’t have any leads.” He said, trying to rationalize.

“Put dad on it. Put Daisy and Fitz on it. Put Mack and Melinda on it. That faction of SHIELD is still secret. They’re the only ones I trust to find him. And when they have a solid lead, I’ll pick up Barnes.”

“You’re not going to sleep until I give you this, are you?”

“No,” You answered, your voice lowering when you head Steve’s door being opened. “I have to go,” You hung up the phone, pocketing it and moving back towards the stairs, where Steve was coming down them. “Morning, babe.” You chirped, pecking him quickly on the lips.

“Morning, Diana. Hey, are you still going to after Tony today?” He asked. You gave him a tight smile.

“Yeah, I’m going to head out now. I just heard that there’s a blizzard in Tennessee, and if Tony gets frostbite, I’ll never hear the end of me leaving him there to freeze.” Which wasn’t entirely untrue. Tony would give you hell if you let him freeze, but that wasn’t the reason you were leaving. You were leaving because you needed to do something to keep your mind off the guilt that was driving away sleep. Steve nodded, smiling.

You were on the quinjet within minutes and it was in the air in even less time. After you put the plane on autopilot after the coordinates were set in place, you pulled up all the information you had on Barnes and began studying it. You marked down other known Hydra bases and sent it all to your phone, deleting everything from the quinjet’s computers. No one could know you were planning on tracking down Barnes. Especially not Steve.

You landed the quinjet about a mile and a half from where Tony had last sent his coordinates, and you trekked there through the snow. You were only about 50 yards away when a blast of heat nearly knocked you backwards, and you gasped as the bar, Tony’s location, burst into flames. Taking off into a sprint, you ran towards it as Tony ran out, people in chase behind him. You called after him, but all he could do was point to the bar that was beginning to collapse, and yell a name at you that you didn’t recognize. You normally would have never gone in with little to no information on what was inside, but the way Tony was shouting at you, it was important. You huffed, gathering all of your energy before ducking your way inside the bar.

Everything was on fire, of course, and the smoke was making hard to see and making it hard to be. You called out the name that Tony had yelled at you, and you called it out multiple times until you heard a faint whimper. Getting on the ground, you saw a little boy huddled underneath one of the tables. “Harley... “ He didn’t answer, just curled up more into himself. You went to reach for him, but he continued to cower away. “Hey, buddy, Tony wants you to get out of here, okay? I’m his friend, I’m not going to hurt you. My name’s Diana, I work with Tony, I’m here to help. Come on, you gotta come with me.”

You smiled when he grabbed onto your hand, and you pulled him from underneath the table. You got up from your crouched position, but let out a scream when a large weight suddenly knocked you onto your stomach, pushing Harley about three feet in front of you. You looked to your left, cursing when you saw the large wooden beam that had fallen on top of you. Harley hurried over to you, quickly using all of his strength to lift the beam the one centimeter you needed to get out. You used your back to lift it a little more, before ducking back and rolling from out underneath it.  Taking deep breaths as you continued to lay on the ground, you almost didn’t hear the low whimper that left Harley’s mouth. Looking up, you tried to keep your cool as Aldrich Killian, someone who had been on SHIELD’s radar for years, pressed a gun to the back of Harley’s skull.

Standing up, you held your hands up as a show of peace. “I should’ve known this was all you.” You muttered.

“Actually this was all experiment 283’s doing,” you glared at him. “All their names get lost in the process of extremis- it’s easier to just call them what they really are.”

“Experiments?” You asked angrily. “That’s what these people are to you? Experiments? You’re a monster, Killian.”

“No. A monster,” one of his hands slid down to grab Harley’s throat, and you tried to ignore the panic bubbling inside of you. “Would be kidnapping Tony’s little friend here, and turning him into an experiment.”

“Over my dead body. What do you want?” You asked. He dropped Harley, and you quickly grabbed him, putting him to stand behind you.

“I want you to retire,” he said simply. “God, it would kill the Captain for his precious subordinate to just disappear. Good thing he doesn’t know that she’s been spying on Hydra for the past six months and knows where his best pal is.”

“So that’s your play? Blackmail?”

“Blackmail, and,” he tapped his watch, a holographic screen popping up and showing Pepper, strapped to a post, screaming and crying of pain as her skin glowed a dangerous red. “I’ll kill her. So what will it be?”

You sighed, biting your lip. You knew what you had to do, you just wished you had gotten a chance to say goodbye to Steve. You couldn’t risk him getting involved in this if you gave him any clue that you were alive. You reached up to the shoulder of your suit, ripping off the “A” patch, and placing it in Killian’s hand. “Harley, go find Tony,” you said, nudging him in the direction of the door as more pieces of debris began falling around you. He went, running towards the exit and giving you one last look before leaving, and you exhaled, knowing that you could at least do right by him. “I’ll go. I’ll retire. But if I find out you’re going after Tony or Pepper or any of my friends, I’ll see to it that your death will be nothing short of painful.” You turned around, leaving Killian in the bar that was turning to nothing but ashes before your very eyes, and you left.

The bitter cold air seeped through your suit as you pulled out your phone, dialing Nick’s number. He picked up on the second ring. “New plan. I’ll find Barnes myself, but I need a place to lay low in the meantime. I’ve been compromised.”

Two months later you were traveling the globe, and as promised, a safehouse would be set up for you upon arrival. Every hit on Barnes meant a new location, forcing you to go as far as Bucharest. That was where you were currently, living a few miles out of the city. Each morning you would take a cab to the outskirts, where Bucky was last seen on satellite, and you’d scope out the location, keeping your eyes and ears open for the familiar face of James Buchanan Barnes. This was week two, and today you were sat outside a coffee shop, wearing a hat and sunglasses. Your jacket’s collar was zipped up to cover your mouth and a newspaper sat delicately in your hands, although your eyes were everywhere but.

You stiffened up as a man, about 6 feet tall with long brown hair and a month’s worth of facial hair coated his cheeks, approached a street vendor. He picked up pieces of fruit, inspecting them as he made friendly talk with the vendor. Had you not known this man and all he had done- all he had been made to do-, you wouldn’t have suspected anything out of the ordinary about him. He fit in well here, he seemed comfortable, and here you were, about to muck it up for him.

You watched as he left the stand, and you watched him leave, turning a corner before you got up and followed him. As comfortable as he looked, you knew his days of looking over his shoulder were far from over, and you had to play this right. You slid your sunglasses off and pulled your collar down as you tried to make yourself seem as less inconspicuous as possible.

He stopped in front of a building, opening the door behind him and you silently slipped in behind him. But he heard you, of course, super-soldier hearing and all, but he gave you a friendly smile. “New here?” He asked.

“No, actually. Visiting my grandmother, she’s come down with the flu, so I figured I’d come over and take care of her. Sort of pay her back for all the times she took care of me when I was younger and sick.” You smiled back when the smile never left his lips.

“Well before you do that, do you maybe want to come in with me? I can make us some coffee. It’s not every day I see someone friendly looking in this part of town.” You smiled still, but you were surprised that he would invite you in so readily. How did he manage to be this trusting of others after everything?

“I’d love that.”

Bucky’s apartment was small. There was a mattress on the floor in the corner, only a sleeping bag and a pillow covering it. He had a juice jug holding his utensils and a metal kitchen table. You sat across from him, both of you sipping quietly at your coffee, and surprisingly, it wasn’t awkward. It was a comfortable silence, and you realized that he was probably relishing in the fact that for once, the person sitting across from him wasn’t trying to kill him. “Hey,” you said softly. He hummed in response as he looked at you, his piercing blue eyes staring back into yours with an unexpected warmth. “Do I look familiar to you at all?” You asked hesitantly. His eyes scanned your face, and you watched him, looking for any sense of recognition. He shook his head, looking at you curiously, and you could sense some walls beginning to go up. “Well before I get started, I need you to trust me,” you held your hands out over the table, showing him you meant no harm, and he put his mug down, looking at your hands. “I’m a SHIELD agent, I worked undercover at HYDRA for a while. My job was to keep an eye on you. Give you someone to trust until it was safe to bring you back home. I failed at making sure you were safe,” your voice cracked a little as a single tear slipped from your eyes as the memory of his pained cries filled your ears. “And you did trust me. You knew my loyalties weren’t with HYDRA and you knew who I really worked for. And on a really rough day, you told me to leave; you told me to get out of this mess and I did. But the guilt of leaving you behind haunted me for months on end. It only got worse when I’d go home at the end of the day and see Steve, my boyfriend- or maybe not anymore, I’m not sure if he’d still consider me that thinking that I’m dead right now- and I couldn’t tell him about you because it wasn’t safe for him to know. He doesn’t exactly think rationally when it comes to you, so I was ordered to keep everything a secret. I’ve spent the past two months searching for you.” You finished, looking up into his eyes to see an unreadable look in his eyes. It looked like a mixture of confusion and trying to remember you.

“You had red hair.” He said suddenly. You nodded.

“I had to look the least like myself as possible, or my cover would be blown and they’d kill me without a second thought.”

“Are you here to bring me back home?” He asked.

“Will you let me bring you back home?”

[micebrandy29-blog]

Creamy Tomato Basil Chicken and Spinach

Creamy roasted garlic tomato basil chicken with spinach. This easy Whole 30 chicken recipe uses roasted garlic cashew cream mixed with a jar of flavorful tomato basil sauce for a quick weeknight dinner! Serve it over cauliflower rice with fresh basil.

This post is sponsored by Lucini Italia, using their organic tomato sauce.

We’ve started weaving in some Whole30 recipes into our dinner menu, like this creamy tomato basil Whole30 chicken recipe. If you’re a regular on my blog, you’ve likely heard about my approach to food before – in our house, we eat real food and indulge with moderation. I don’t believe in guilt and I’m not a fan of fad diets or eliminating foods all together (allergies being the exception, obviously), but I am one for generally eating healthier.

Adding in Whole30 recipes a few nights a week without grains or added sugars works for us. I realize we’re missing the 30-day piece of Whole30. If you’re doing the entire 30 days, then great – this recipe is perfect for you! You do what works for you and your family. I base my personal approach to food on my own trajectory toward becoming a happier person.

I seem stuck in the throes of postpartum depression – it’s been brutal this time around. I’m ready to make changes and I’m on a journey back to a place where I’m happy, where I love myself, and where I love my body. 

A couple of weeks ago, I confessed on Instagram Stories that I hate exercise. I always have. So many of you replied with encouraging messages (thank you!). Plenty of folks suggested that I need to find exercise that I like, but I’ve tried…and tried…and honestly, for a couple of very random health reasons I won’t go into in detail here, I just don’t like the way I feel while exercising, no matter what activity. 

Sure, I definitely should be kind to myself because this body birthed two children, but I think much of my happiness is trapped in all my clothes that don’t fit and the extra chin that shows up when I smile in pictures. I don’t feel happy – both on the inside and the outside – and I’m hopeful exercise can help with both.

So I literally googled, “what to do if you hate exercise?” And I decided that I need to build a habit of exercise before I set any big time goals. When I think about running for 30 minutes every day for five years, it seems impossible, so I put it off. Instead I’m starting with the goal of putting on my work out clothes and running for 5 minutes a day. My brain can handle that. So far it’s working – I’ve run (or danced) every day since then, each time lasting at least 15 minutes when my goal was just 5.

I’m coupling the exercise habit building with those healthier eating choices I talked about above. When dishes come out as delicious as this creamy tomato basil chicken and spinach over cauliflower rice, it’s an easy choice.  

Tomato Cashew Cream Sauce: Creamy Chicken Recipe

It’s all about the sauce. This creamy chicken recipe is simmered in a creamy roasted garlic tomato basil sauce that is completely dairy free. 

Instead, the tomato basil chicken sauce gets its creaminess from homemade roasted garlic cashew cream sauce. I’ve folded that with a jar of Lucini’s organic rustic tomato basil sauce for a super easy weeknight dinner that has layers of flavor.

The seasoned organic Lucini sauce tastes like it’s been simmering for hours, only you don’t have to do that part!

How to Cook Chicken in a Skillet

For this creamy tomato basil chicken recipe you can use boneless skinless chicken breasts or thighs – your choice! To cook boneless skinless chicken in a skillet without ending up with dry chicken with a thick burnt crust, start it on the stove and finish it in the oven.

Season it well with salt and pepper, then give it a good sear to brown the outside of the meat. Quickly pop it in the oven to cook it all the way through. This method retains more of the juices from the chicken. It also cooks the chicken more evenly without it developing a thick dry layer on the outside. 

Whole30 Chicken Recipe

Transfer the chicken to a plate then mix and heat the sauce in the same pan with the spinach before nestling the chicken back into the pan to coat. 

To keep it Whole30 approved, serve the chicken and sauce over cooked cauliflower rice with plenty of fresh herbs on top, as I’ve done here. 

If Whole30 isn’t your thing and you’re just looking for a delicious chicken, it also goes great spooned over pasta. 

Is Olive Oil Whole 30 Approved?

Lucini’s is! Using Lucini’s tomato sauce and olive oil keeps this recipe Whole30 approved. Both Lucini Italia’s organic sauces and olive oil just received Whole30 certification. The Lucini Italia extra virgin olive oil is the first and only Whole30 approved olive oil on the market. 

Disclosure: Special thanks to Lucini Italia for providing the ingredients for this recipe and sponsoring this post! And thanks to you for supporting the companies that keep Snixy Kitchen cooking!

Yield: 4-6 servings

Prep Time: 10 minutes

Cook Time: 45 minutes

Total Time: 55 minutes

Creamy roasted garlic tomato basil chicken with spinach. This easy Whole 30 chicken recipe uses roasted garlic cashew cream mixed with a jar of flavorful tomato basil sauce for a quick weeknight dinner! Serve it over cauliflower rice with fresh basil.

Ingredients

Roasted Garlic Cashew Cream

1 cup cashews

½ cup hot water

3 cloves garlic, unpeeled (or an entire head, for roasting)

Pinch salt

Everything else

Optional, for Serving

Chopped parsley

2-3 cups cooked cauliflower rice

Instructions

Preheat the oven to 375°F. Pour the hot water over the cashews in the jar of a high powdered blender or food processor. Let it sit while you roast the garlic. Note: I use the small blender jar, but if you only have a large blender or food processor, double the cashew cream recipe, then remove half and save it for later (freeze it for up to 6 months!)

If using just cloves, rub them in olive oil and wrap them in foil. If using a whole head, slice off the very top 1/2-inch of the head and pour a teaspoon of garlic into the garlic. Wrap the head in foil. Place the garlic in the oven and roast for 30-45 minutes, until beginning to turn golden brown and soft.

Meanwhile prepare the chicken breasts. Pound the chicken until it's an even 1-1½-inch thickness. Sprinkle both sides of the chicken with salt and pepper.

In a large oven proof skillet, heat 2 tablespoons of olive oil over medium high heat. Add the chicken breasts and let sear for 2-3 minutes until it begins to brown and lifts easily from the skillet. Flip the chicken and cook for an additional 2 minutes. Transfer the skillet to the oven alongside the garlic and let cook for 13-20 minutes (depending on the size of your breasts) until the thickest part of the breast reads 165°F on an oven thermometer. Remove the skillet from the oven and transfer the chicken to a plate, leaving any juices behind.

Meanwhile, prepare the cashew sauce. Add the three cloves of garlic and a pinch of salt to the blender or food processor with the cashews and water. Blend until completely smooth and creamy. If you had to double the cashew cream, remove half and save it for later.

Heat the same skillet you used to cook the chicken over medium heat, add the jar of Lucini tomato sauce and the roasted garlic cashew cream. Clean the jar of the sauce out with 1/4 cup of water and add that to the pan as well. Bring to a low simmer, stirring until completely smooth.

Add the spinach and toss it gently to wilt for 1-2 minutes. Nestle the chicken back into sauce, covering it completely. Garnish with fresh basil and, if using, parsley. Serve over cauliflower rice.

Source: https://www.snixykitchen.com/creamy-tomato-basil-chicken-and-spinach/

[boewhiskey]

The ‘Stop’ Letter

I sit here, day after day, with the computer on and in front of me, my hands hovering over the keys half the time without typing a single word. I seem to always run into this problem. I’ll have a fantastic idea for a story or a book but then shortly after starting it, I run into a wall. Not just a wall I can simply walk around or find a door to go through, but a huge, fifteen-feet high, three-feet thick cement wall layered in heavy steel that stretches on for miles. It stops me in my tracks and freezes my fingers and brain from working any further. Eventually, I give up. There are dozens of stories and books that I have initiated that are discarded in the trash bin, dragged to the trash on the desktop, or pushed far back into my mind. Simply because of that wall. Recently, I’ve decided, though, that I want to find a way over that wall. I want to build a ladder and climb steadily until I can sit on top of the wall and jump down to go running into the lush green fields that is a completed book. If I can’t build a ladder, then I want to blow a hole just big enough to squeeze my little frame through while I cough and sputter, trying not to inhale too much cement dust on my journey through the road block from hell. If I can’t find any explosive material (or I can only find components and realize I don’t know how to combine and use them to create said explosive material), I want to throw some sort of acid on that sucker and watch it melt away like the blood from an ‘Alien’ was thrown haphazardly on it.

The easy way to do this might seem like writing out an entire plot outline before actually beginning the story. I’ve tried. I’ve had almost everything figured out and planned but I will still inevitably come to a point where my brain just stops functioning properly to put descriptions of a scene into words or a minor event needs to happen but I can’t determine what exactly that is.

Such is the predicament I’ve been in recently. Instead of solely focusing on a single book idea, I’ve been jotting down ideas for short stories and working on writing off of those while also going back to writing on what I hope becomes an interesting and captivating book. I have the beginning, a sort of introduction to the main story line, completed and typed up, sitting nicely in the folder on my desktop where I store my writing. I have a few snippets and bits and pieces figured out in my head, as well, that I’m just waiting to include when the time in the story calls for it. Some days, though, I’ll open the document and just stare at it, scrolling lazily up and down over the text that I’ve already managed to get out of my head and into readable words. I also have days where I look at my list of phrases or words that serve as ideas for other stories and I just don’t feel a spark for any of them. It’s not that I don’t have some of the stories already fully thought out in my mind, it’s that I just don’t WANT to write them out at the time and I won’t force myself to because I feel like the story would end up lacking heart and caring and become bland and read as if I had thrown it in a blender, hit puree, and then thrown the meat-smoothie remains onto the computer screen and said “voila, done.”

So, day after day, I sit here, computer open, fingers resting lightly on keys that aren’t being pressed, staring at a blank section of screen that’s begging me to unhinge my skull and throw brain matter onto it (figuratively, of course, but I’m tempted sometimes to be literal about this). Today started out no differently. I awoke to the sounds of machines digging next to my bedroom window- three apartment complexes like my own are being prepared to be built along the street I live on, one directly next to my building. I did my normal wake-up routine: went to the bathroom, brushed my teeth, greeted the cat and dog in the living room, booted up the laptop, texted my husband who works during the day (I work at night), and sat down to make the daily attempt at writing something spectacular (or anything at all). I was determined to write at least another five pages of the book or one more short story. After half an hour of opening unfinished stories and the book, skimming over the list of ideas I keep, staring blankly at the screen, and running my hands over my face while I look out of the sliding glass window at the sunshine beating angrily on everything outside, I gave up and decided to take a break. I figured I’d walk outside in the unbearable heat to check the mail, then find something to eat and watch a bit of a movie before starting up again. Then, I would make myself write those five pages, I would get past that wall somehow, even if it meant leaving the screen open to the book document for hours.

The mail today consisted simply of a small NRA magazine for my husband, a couple of ads for local places, and the water bill. I carried the thin contents inside and threw away the flyers then dropped the magazine in my husband’s recliner for him to look through later. When I went to set the water bill on the table next to my seat, I realized that something fell out of it. It wasn’t an insert for the magazine; it was a small envelope baring my name and address. I picked it up and looked at the unassuming envelope, guessing it was probably some sort of junk mail. It was small, no more than maybe three inches by four inches, if that. The white paper encasing had only my name, address, and a return address with no name written on it. I turned it over in my hands a couple of times and saw that other than the writing, it seemed almost dirty, as if it had been dropped in the mud then picked up and wiped off. I had walked into the kitchen while examining the flat item and took my eyes off of it to gaze into the refrigerator for a moment, trying to decide what to feed my face. I closed the fridge and opened the cupboard at the other end of the kitchen, grabbing a small bag of chips and opening them while carrying the chips and the letter back to my seat.

I slid a finger under the flap of the envelope and tugged the seal open, only ripping part of it as I forced it to let go of itself. Inside was a small folded piece of yellow legal-pad paper. This definitely wasn’t a piece of junk mail. I slid a chip in my mouth as I unfolded the piece of paper to read the message that appeared to have been scrawled quickly in messy handwriting not dislike my own. There were dark spots on the edges of the page from what looked like a dark substance being on the sender’s fingers as they folded it and shoved it into the envelope. I had opened it upside-down so I flipped it around to read the words, seeing that there were also spots of what I assumed was the same stuff as along the edges, splattered on the page, obscuring some of the words. I read the frantic message the best that I could. Some of the words are only partially blotted out by whatever liquid dried on it, so I can make out what they are meant to be or what I think it is. Other words are completely covered, though. Here’s what I can best read and understand:

‘The book you’re writing. Don’t write ---- coming. ---- yellow eyes, look for the yellow eyes. I finished ---- so I know you will finish the book. Please stop writing it. I don’t want to die. You think you ---- the idea out of nowhere ---- don’t remember yet. ---- don’t remember the truth of the monster you write about. You ---- stop. I wish I had stopped. If I had stopped, I wouldn’t ---- Boe, I am you. I beg you to listen and believe me. It comes ---- night and the day ----- handprints on the window and didn’t know. I asked it to come in. It will make itself look like people ---- and love ---- Matt. It killed him. It ripped him apart slowly ---- tried to shoot it. He tried to protect ---- Oh god, he’s gone. Bullets didn’t ---- screams were horrible. Don’t let Matt ---- leave the story in your head and find something else ---- That thing will come ---- only protected by not remembering the truth. I remembered ---- and it got them killed ---- Matt killed. It’s invisible ---- day. I don’t know why or ---- at night it comes. It bangs on the windows. It chases ---- truck. It killed ---- poor person ---- walking home that night. Please, I’m begging you. Don’t write that book. It won’t wait ---- won’t make a deal. Don’t let Matt get torn apart. Don’t ---- where I am. I hope you get this. I hope there’s ---- blood. I hope I die before it finds me again.

-Boe

stop writing it stop writing it stop writing it stop writing it stop writing stop writing stop writing stop writing stop writing stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop’

The rest of the page is filled with ‘stops’. After reading over the letter three times and working to make out what words I couldn’t see, the thought occurred to me that the spots might be blood or supposed to seem like blood. I thought this had to be some sort of bad joke and I’d still believe that if not for the fact that Matt swears he didn’t write it, that it looks like my handwriting, and a few minutes after texting and asking him about it, there was a knock at the front door, the one that opens to the hallway of the apartment building. The initial knock made me jump but I took a deep breath and opened the door, careful to not let either one of the animals run out. There was no one there. I stepped into the hallway, looking to both sides and saw no one in the small stretch between the front door of the 6-plex and the back door. I looked at the floor to see if there was a package or a flyer but again, nothing.

With my head stuck out into the hall, I heard a bang against the sliding glass door to my right. I jerked back into the apartment and looked over to see our dog sitting up, startled from her nap, our cat with her head up, also surprised by the noise that suddenly roused her from her own slumber, but no one and nothing outside the door. I shut and locked the front door then walked apprehensively to the glass door, looking around and still seeing no sign of anyone nearby. I looked down and patted the dog’s head to comfort her. I inhaled and exhaled a deep breath once again and went to sit back down. Something on the glass caught the corner of my eye as I began to walk away, though. I looked at it and realized it was a handprint, the kind that would be left on dirty glass or fogged glass. The print was definitely larger than my own, with fingers that stretched to at least twice the length of mine. I touched the glass softly and used a finger to wipe at it but nothing happened.

The handprint was on the outside of the glass.

We have a screen door on the outside of the sliding glass door that we have to fight with to open every time.

It hadn’t been opened.

[letspretendiknowwhatshappening]

Prompt: winter soldier abducts Tony to be his new handler and falls for him

I’m really liking this idea, so I might write some more parts to go along with it, though I’m not sure.... I hope you like it though!

The Asset wakes up in a room filled with light. He keeps his eyes shut, face calm, and breathing regular, though the usual slivers of fear make their way through his chest.

He’s gone through this countless times. He wakes up, sits still, and waits for his Handler to bring him to the chair for recalibration. It will hurt, and he will scream, so they’ll dial it up to teach him silence.

This time is different, however, as the light isn’t harsh and cutting, but soft. The room is warm, not freezing cold, and the soft clatter of what sounds like cooking reaches his ears.

His eyes flash open, adapting immediately to the lights, and he takes in the scene in front of him. A man moves around the brightly lit kitchen, talking to himself as he does so. He’s too young to drink with this century’s laws, short and unhealthily skinny, with large brown eyes that make the Asset want to… he’s not sure what he wants to do.

The Asset stands up, flesh hand moving to the sheath on his uniform jacket, but he pauses. He’s no longer wearing his uniform. Instead, his chest is covered with bandages, some bloody and others clean. His uniform top is nowhere to be seen, so he takes a knife from his trousers instead and moves to the kitchen, silent and smooth.

He isn’t silent and smooth when the floorboard beneath his foot creaks, and the man spins around, a ladle in his hand. The Asset darts forward, moving faster than the man thought, as his eyes widen dramatically. He presses the knife against the man’s gut, not cutting but not comfortable, and closes his metal hand over the man’s mouth, keeping him quiet.  

The Asset looks around the kitchen, and, finding nothing other than cut-up vegetables and a pot full of something good-smelling on the stovetop, looks back to the man and, voice sounding like he swallowed several shards of glass and a generous amount of gravel, he says, “Explain.”

He removes his hand from the man’s mouth, and the man says, “I-I found you in the park, near the library? And, uh, you… were bleeding? Really bad, you had a few deeper wounds, and some superficial ones, and so, I uh, brought you here.” He gestures toward his small apartment, winces, and says, “Not in a ‘It puts the lotion on its skin’ sort of way, I promise, I just thought you needed help, and I thought that I’d, uh… help you?”

The Asset stares at the man for a moment, considering him. He asks, “Who do you work for?”

The man blinks, taken back by the question, and says, “Myself? I-I don’t have a job, per se, I just graduated college. I’m mostly coding, right now, and building.”

“Building what?”

“M-Mostly prosthetics, and some software, and yesterday I made a blender, but that was mostly a test for some of my new tools, though I could definitely make those if I needed to, but I prefer…” The man swallows, realizing that he was rambling, “S-Software.”

The Asset wants to smile, so he keeps his face deadly blank instead. “You work for no one?”

“Right.” The man nods quickly, curls flopping over into his face.

“Name,” the Asset says, though he has no intention of using it.

“T-Tony. Tony Stark.”

The Asset stares at him a moment longer, brows furrowing the smallest degree. He knows that name, doesn’t he? It feels like he does, like there’s a small thread somewhere, hanging close enough to get the sense of but not close enough to feel, to pull and discover.

The Asset mentally shakes away that line of thinking. He can’t be distracted, not now. He says, “Age.”

“Eighteen.”

“Real age.”

“I am eighteen!” The man says, suddenly indignant, “Just because everyone is weirdly tall doesn’t mean I’m weirdly short or young, you know.”

The Asset doesn’t react to the outburst. He looks around the room again, and pauses, thinking. He doesn’t feel the stitches, though he’d like to. The man isn’t a doctor, that’s obvious from the stitches on the Asset’s chest, and the man isn’t old enough to be a doctor. They aren’t good enough to be an intern’s, either.

“The stitches.”

The man looks down to his chest. “Do they need to be fixed? I tried my best, but… do you want to go to an actual doctor? I can bring you! I don’t have a car, I can’t really afford one, b-but there’s a hospital within a mile from here, so we could walk there, if you… want.”

“How.”

“T-To… walk?”

“You aren’t a doctor; how did you know?” The Asset gestures toward his chest, and the man nods quickly, realization dawning on his face.

“I… got into a lot of-of accidents as a kid, so I went to the hospital a lot, and watched the nurses when they worked.”

“Lie.”

“W… What?”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not!”

“You are.” The Asset nods, satisfied that he figured out something correctly, did something correctly, and he’s satisfied that the man had enough brains to try and lie. Before he can reply, the Asset asks, “Why did you help me?”

“Sorry I didn’t leave you to bleed out in a park underneath a fucking bench!”

The Asset tilts his head, and says, “That isn’t an answer.”

The man’s face is red now, making his eyes seem even warmer, and the Asset pushes that thought away as well, not sure where it came from or why. “Why would I leave you there?”

“Why help?”

The man huffs out a sharp breath, and says, “I’m not a horrible person, I hope. That’s why.”

The Asset blinks, thinking it over, and finds that he likes the answer, and this person. This person is smart if they already graduated from college, has basic medical knowledge, and are kind. Yes, they can’t lie well, but he can help them with that.

He likes the man, and he needs a Handler, so the decision is easy.

“It’s the only one I’ve got, sorry stranger.” His Handler falls silent, then looks around and asks, “Can you remove the knife now? I promise I won’t do anything, other than ask a few questions, if that’s fine.”

“No.” The Asset replies, but he removes the knife and slides it back into the sheath on his trousers. “No questions.”

“Nope,” his Handler shakes his head, “Just one. What do I call you?”

The Asset pauses, frowns, and says, “Asset.”

His Handler’s face goes through a series of quick, acrobatic emotions, before settling into a complete lack of expression that impresses the Asset. Not many can hide their emotions from him. His Handler says, voice sharp, “That won’t work.”

The Asset blinks, then inclines his head. “The Asset is also called the Winter Soldier.”

His Handler’s face remains relatively blank, but his eyes widen. He’s heard the name before, and knows the importance of it. The Asset can’t decide if that is necessarily a bad thing.

“Winter,” his Handler eventually says, voice so soft the Asset almost strains to hear, “How about Winter?”

The Asset nods, “Good.” He’s Winter, now, and he likes his new Handler. He likes his Handler a lot.

[imaginetonyandbucky]

The Witch and the Warrior

Author Note: The Killer and the Kid has been my number one most requested “more of this” fic (with over 40 requests between tumblr and A03) since I started working at Imagine Tony & Bucky. Working with the idea, I found I had an awful lot more to say. Therefore, I’m going to continue this series as the mood strikes (unlike Helping Hands, which is updated weekly) I hope you enjoy the second part. I’m in outline phase for part three, The Captain and the Consequences.

T’challa, King of Wakanda, son of T’chaka, grandson of Azzuri, the Black Panther, protector of Wakanda, stood in the wreckage of his home and made arrangements for the care of the injured, the honor of the dead warriors, the incarceration of prisoners, and all those tasks that took place at the end of the battle.

The foreigners, the Americans, the rogue Avengers, were weary, blood splattered. Some of them were injured, but none particularly in danger. The silver-blonde boy that Stark had brought with him had a broken collarbone, painful, but not fatal. His sister, Wanda, hovered at his side, even now unable to look away from her brother’s face, unable to take her hand off his arm.

“Sorry about this, your highness,” the Captain said, coming up beside T’challa, looking over the ruins of the audience hall and the subsequent destruction of the courtyards.

“It was a risk I accepted,” T’challa said, his voice deep and thoughtful, “when I granted you sanctuary. That someone would come for you; Hydra, the United Nations. Eventually, you would be discovered.”

“Stark?”

T’challa rolled his eyes -- he was a trained diplomat, but sometimes people could be so… petty. “I deem it unlikely that Stark would lead such as these deliberately into my people’s lands. If he were looking to force you to return, to imprison you, I do not believe he would have arrived here, without his suit.” Beside which, Stark had known where the renegade Avengers were within ten days of their arrival; he’d been working closely (if secretively) with the Wakandan scientists to amplify and ready his Binarily Augmented Retro Framing device, that they might use it to deprogram Sergeant Barnes. He’d also consulted and provided schematics to replace the Winter Soldier’s metal arm that had been destroyed in Siberia.

In short, Tony Stark was, as he always did, looking out for his teammates, whether they knew it or not, whether they appreciated it or not.

T’challa stroked his chin. It was not his place to enlighten these Americans. Wisdom didn’t come from a place of lecture; it was either learned from experience, or it remained unearned.

“<Sire>.” One of his men approached, bowed his head. He spoke in Xhosa, as had been the general order whenever there was information T’challa might not want to share with his guests. That was a ruse that probably wouldn’t last much longer. The Witch had a natural talent for languages. But she was not looking their way at the present. “<They are missing. There are many dead in that direction.>” He slanted a glance at Rogers.

<”Did you find what happened to our friend?”> T’challa did not want to draw Rogers’ attention.

<”He seems to have been with the soldier when they left the compound. Not willing.”>

“Eish,” T’challa swore, and Rogers turned to look. That word, perhaps, T’challa used a little too often.

“Something wrong?”

“Your friend has woken early and is… not where we left him,” T’challa explained. There was no point in concealing it; Rogers would find out soon enough. “He may have taken the ensorcelled Stark with him.”

“Took Tony? Why?”

“You would, perhaps, know better than I.”

[mobile readers, there’s a readmore cut here.] 

Being dragged back to the Wakanda compound like a runaway toddler was pissing Tony off. The Winter Soldier -- who should not have woken up in that mindset and Tony was wondering in the half of his brain that wasn’t otherwise occupied by being pissed off, what had happened that his brainwashing had reset -- had Tony balanced on his hip, the metal arm wrapped around Tony’s waist. The position was only slightly less undignified than wrapped up like a burrito and hanging over the Winter Soldier’s shoulder. But only barely.

Tony made that fucking arm; it shouldn’t be being put to use to contain him.

“You know I’m perfectly capable of walking, right?”

“You know your legs are at least a foot shorter than they used to be, right?” the Winter Soldier snapped back. “And you’ve already proven to be untrustworthy.”

“Oh, that’s rich, coming from you, Manchurian Candidate,” Tony said, crossing his arms and leaning back as far as he could. He’d tried this maneuver a few times already, and chances were good he was going to end up falling on his head, but it was possible that the Winter Soldier would lose his grip. “In case you forgot, you tried to kill me once already.”

The Winter Soldier’s steps faltered. “You said that before.” The Winter Soldier stopped his ground eating pace through the thick jungle, dropped Tony to the ground and steadied him, twisted himself into a graceful squat, which put him on eye level with the pint-sized Avenger. “I don’t… I don’t remember. Tell me what I did.”

“You lied,” Tony said, eyes widening, less an accusation and more a revelation. “When I asked if you remembered killing my mom. You said you remembered them all, but you lied. Why would you lie about that? You don’t remember anything you do when you’re out of it, do you?”

The Winter Soldier appeared to consider the question, his gray-blue eyes serious. Finally, he said, soft, “Did you need me to? I killed someone you loved.” He licked his lips, his expression shattering. “Would it have given you comfort?”

Tony shrugged, his feelings a mess of shit and anger shoved in a blender.

The Winter Soldier drew one of his weapons and offered to Tony. “Will revenge make it better?”

Tony scoffed. “I’m not going to shoot you in cold blood,” he said, not taking the weapon. He squinted, then, “Holy shit. You want someone to kill you.”

The Winter Soldier shrugged. “I want someone to stop me. I know what I am, even if I don’t know what I’ve done.”

“Jesus,” Tony said. “Well, it’s not going to be me. I don’t take out Hydra’s trash for them.”

The Winter Soldier holstered the gun. “Are we done, then?” He didn’t wait for an answer, just extended the metal hand to Tony and stood up. Warily, as if expecting the fingers to clamp down, or to drag him back up to the Winter Soldier’s side, Tony took the metal fingers. The Winter Soldier clasped his hand lightly, like a parent with a kid crossing the street. At a much more moderate pace, keeping Tony’s short legs in mind, the Winter Soldier continued back toward the compound.

Tony scowled at the fire, low burning and smokeless, that the Winter Soldier had set up. He was probably going to have to give up and let himself be carried the rest of the way back. They’d made shitty progress that day, and the compound was still another eight hours walk away. At least.

Watching the Winter Soldier tickle fish out of the river had been interesting, at least. He stepped into the water, slow and easy, not even causing a ripple, then put his metal hand down. Time passed and the Winter Soldier hardly moved, breathing slow and shallow, then suddenly in a flurry of motion, he lunged, snapped up and tossed a wriggling catfish onto the shore.

“Get it, get it,” the Winter Soldier said, and Tony rushed forward to struggle with a huge, black fish that was almost half as long as he was, dragging it back into the wood. The Winter Soldier had gutted the fish, wrapped it in leaves, and spitted the whole thing over the fire. After making Tony promise to stay there -- and actually trusting him to do so -- the Winter Soldier disappeared into the jungle and returned with his shirt over his shoulder, stuffed full of a red fruit that was about the size of a lemon and tasted like a cross between a grape and and a cranberry.

They ate piping hot, flakey fish off leaves and Tony found himself leaning against the Winter Soldier as it got darker, aware of his tiny stature and propensity for looking like tiger food. In the curve between the Winter Soldier’s metal arm and his ribs, Tony found a warm, safe nest, and didn’t even mind as the Winter Soldier spread the shirt he’d used as a basket, over Tony’s form. “Sleep, kid,” he said, low and soft, “I’ll keep ya safe.”

“Not a kid,” Tony muttered, but snuggled against the Winter Soldier’s side and let his eyes drift shut.

Steve had seen some strange shit, even before he woke up from being in the deep-freeze for seventy years. But Bucky walking into the Wakanda compound hand in hand with a four-year-old Tony Stark just about took the cake.

And then, even more astounding, was the fact that the Wakandan guard descended, guns at the ready, and rather than Bucky going into defense mode -- Steve had watched that several times, Bucky’s response had always been violence, or fleeing -- he’d just stood there. Tony, on the other hand, had snatched up one of the pistols and pointed it directly at the captain’s head. “Don’t you fucking touch him,” he snapped, weirdly adorable and angry at the same time.

“No one will come to harm, Mr. Stark,” T’challa said, moving into the courtyard with haste. He snapped a few words in that clicking language that the Wakandans spoke.

Bucky gave T’challa a quick bow, answering in the same tongue, his mouth moving quickly through an explanation that Steve couldn’t understand at all.

“I did not know you spoke our tongue,” T’challa said, chagrined.

“I didn’t know it, either,” Bucky said. “Where’s the witch?”

Wanda came out, floating on a cloud of her red-mist magic. “What do you want?”

“Fix it,” Bucky said, indicating Tony with a jerk of his chin.

“Why should I?” Wanda stared down at the little boy, her eyes crackling with red fire. “Maybe, this time, he will grow up to be less terrible. He will have time, to think of the choices he has made. Time, like I had, in that prison.”

“Were your choices better?” Bucky asked, calm, quiet. His voice was deadly, his face unforgiving. “Made the right ones, all the time, did you? And when you didn’t, did you make up for your mistakes? Help heal the harm you’d caused?”

Wanda shivered, the red mist dying under her feet and she lowered heavily to the ground. “No,” she answered.

“Then make better ones,” Bucky urged. “Fix this. You’re the only one who can.”

“I… um,” Wanda started, licking at her lips. She stared around helplessly. Her brother, his arm in a sling, came up behind her, touched her shoulder.

“She can’t,” Pietro said.

“Why not?”

Wanda blinked a few times. “I… I don’t know how. I don’t know what I did the first time. I don’t know how to undo it.”

Tony sighed, throwing his hands up in the air, the disgust and despair weighing oddly on his tiny frame. “Figures.”

Bucky heaved a sigh, then dropped to one knee at Tony’s side. “We’ll figure it out, then,” he said, drawing the boy into a hug. Steve’s jaw dropped as Tony threw his arms around Bucky’s chest, seeking comfort from one of the people who should have been his greatest enemy. Bucky put his arms around the boy and stared at Steve.

“Bucky,” Steve said, walking up. Bucky scooped the boy up and half-turned, hand coming up defensively as if Steve was a threat. “What are you doing?”

“Making better choices,” Bucky said, keeping himself between Steve and the boy.

To Be Continued

Story Note: Eish is a Xhosa word, with a kind of “sheesh” connotations, a very mild swear. Xhosa is an African language, commonly referred to as the “click language.” In Captain America: Civil War, the actor who played T’chaka (John Kani) speaks it and taught it to Chadwick Boseman during the filming. 

[crimsonblackrose]

Eating in a foreign country can be difficult, especially with dietary restrictions. I don’t really have any other than being a wimp when it comes to spicy foods. I love to cook but at home in the country side with our tiny tourist grocery store there aren’t many options, especially options that won’t go bad before I use it all. As a result I probably haven’t been eating healthy. I mean I’ve got basics; pasta, bread, cereal, eggs, rice, peanut butter and jelly, but this is honestly the first time I’ve ever lived alone. In college I lived and worked in a Residential Hall so I ate most of my meals in the cafeteria. I didn’t cook often because I didn’t have my own kitchen or the right supplies to use the one in our common rooms. After college I lived with my Aunt and Uncle and cooked big meals for them and their kids. It’s really easy to not have to worry about food going bad when there’s a teenage boy in the house whose on every possible sports team offered at the school. Which puts me at the conundrum I’ve been at for over a year and still don’t think I’ve mastered. Which is what do you do when you’re living in the country side in another country with only the worlds smallest grocery store within walking distance?

Make a lot of mistakes

Waste a lot of food due to surprise mold

Scour the internet for recipes for single people

Eat a lot of bread

Fight with lazy days where you don’t want to go to the store

Look up translations of what things are

Substitute for what you actually have available

leftovers

Realize by the time you get home and the time you have to go to bed means your options for down time are doing something relaxing or spending the whole evening cooking.

The first time I went to the store I bought a lot of basics that all the households I grew up in always had on hand. Flour, spices, salt, sugar, and the worlds largest bag of rice. Sadly a lot of it got buggy before I could use it. It’s really disturbing to open up flour and see it moving.  Essentially the majority of people who live here drive to a grocery store further away and tourists who come in droves during the summer making the air smell of bbq are the majority of frequent shoppers at my local grocery store. They only tend to buy their weight in beer, soju, and meat. What the store has is limited and tends to be in bulk for families/groups on vacation. There’s not a lot of options of milk or cheese, not a big selection of vegetables and a lot of the produce is seasonal. Meaning I have to wait for the right season and stock up and then freeze it if I want some later.

The other big problem I have is that I’m one person and I don’t eat a lot and I kinda hate leftovers. During the school year I tend to eat a bowl of cereal, then lunch at school, which leaves only dinner as something that I have to be creative about. And thus I don’t go through food as quickly as I probably should. Plus in Korea pretty much everything molds before I have a chance to get to it or finish it. So instead of normal dairy milk 우유, I drink vegetable milk or soy milk, because it doesn’t go bad as quickly, I just have to be careful that it doesn’t get thick. I also freeze my bread and pop it in my toaster oven when I want to eat it, because I don’t go through bread quickly either. Eggs are difficult because I like having them on hand but I don’t use them nearly as fast as I need to and I’m not a huge fan of eggs on their own.

Despite all of this I have figured some things out. I’ve pretty much given up on vegetables at this point, other than carrots and cherry tomatoes, my grocery store sells most veggies in bulk. But hot dogs are easy, so is peanut butter and jelly or sweet pre-made curry with rice. I’ve figured out my favorite instant noodles, and have become a pro at basic pasta, salmon patties, and corn fritters.

During camp season (two weeks of summer and two weeks of winter) my basic cooking skills have to get level up beyond laziness. The cafeteria at school closes for break leaving me with an additional meal I have to figure out. A friend suggested a meal planning service in Seoul, that all their food is vegan. They’re called Sprout. You just select what you want by Friday, confirm your order via e-mail and then go to pick it up on Seoul.

Easy right? Well….

The first time I ordered through them it was a nightmare. I talked to the foreign teacher at the middle school whose diet is more restrictive than mine since they’re pescatarian and decided to put an order in for both of us. After all it had a lot of food I hadn’t had since my Aunt wanted to do a detox. Things like chia seeds, quinoa, and millet. With the combination of my order and the other teachers’ it came out to 7 days worth of food. Here’s where things got complicated.  I decided to pick up the food in person, at their shop. Their hours for pick up at the time were only on Sunday or Monday night from 6-8pm. As a person who likes to be in bed before ten when I have work the following morning neither of these options put me at ease. But I did it. I met up with a friend on Sunday, prepared with a backpack and an unwavering belief that I am strong and can carry ridiculous amounts of groceries.

It was dumb. 7 days worth of food is not something that you can carry easily, especially if you’re foolish and go shopping and fill up your backpack before you even get to the store. Even more so if you have to lug 7 days worth of meals (plus extra because they were nice and threw in some free meals) over an hour home through trains in plastic bags.There was no comfortable way to carry the bags. It got to the point where I boarded the ITX home completely embarrassed from the angry red marks all over my arms and the rash looking broken capillaries from all the blood vessels that had busted under the skin. I’ll spare you the photo I took. For over a week my forearms were bruised and spotty which isn’t a good spot to be bruised when your students, small children, are constantly grabbing your arms to get your attention

Thankfully now they’ve changed it up a bit. They now have a company that for about $8 will ship the food anywhere in Korea and it will arrive either on Tuesday or Wednesday. Which is what I did this year for winter camp. (Especially since my apartment is being remodeled and I can no longer just cross the parking lot to get to my lunch.)

What all did I end up ordering? Every week they change-up their menu. Which is great because it’d get super boring if they didn’t. For my first round I got Tomato and Basil Chickpea Stew, Chickpea Koram Curry over brown rice, lentil and vegetable casserole with lemon and thyme, smoky lentil stew, white bean and garlic rosemary stew, lemon garlic brown rice lentil soup, Thai vegetable curry bowl, quinoa burrito bowl and chopped vegetable salad with an Italian vinaigrette. Those were what I ate for lunch and dinner for summer camp. I loved all of it except for the Thai vegetable curry bowl which was too spicy for me that I ended up giving to my coworker.

I also ordered breakfast which were vanilla chai chia pudding, cinnamon millet breakfast bowls with nuts, seeds, and raisins, dark chocolate millet breakfast bowl with nuts and seeds and shredded coconut, and a strawberry chia pudding. My coworker and I didn’t like these. There’s something about chia pudding first thing in the morning that my brain can’t comprehend. I wasted so much time trying to sleepily chew the millions of tiny seeds that it just go ridiculous. And the dark chocolate millet breakfast bowl was intensely chocolately but not sweet, it was too much. I ended up dumping them into my blender with fruit and milk and drinking them like smoothies.

Snack and dessert wise I ordered millet patties and carrot cake cupcake with cashew cream cheese, coconut fudge brownies, coconut  cream cheesecake pie with chocolate drizzle and a reeces pieces peanut butter pie. The last two of which I left frozen and didn’t really defrost before eating but still really enjoyed. But out of all of them the carrot cake was utterly amazing.

This time I ordered much less. I had learned from previous experience that their breakfasts are just not my thing. Instead I ordered a ton of their lentil stews because I know those are what I love. They arrived in the middle of the afternoon at my school and I ran down to pick up the cooler. It wasn’t particularly clean, I think one of the desserts I decided to try melted (I now know why they’re frozen) and honey got over all the containers, but it’s nice not having to worry about lunch.

It can get a little pricy, about equal to eating out for every meal, but it’s also pre-made healthy vegan food delivered straight to your door. So I don’t mind ordering every once in a while. It means I’m not just surviving off of tuna mayo triangle kimbap for lunch all the time.

  Sprout Eating in a foreign country can be difficult, especially with dietary restrictions. I don't really have any other than being a wimp when it comes to spicy foods.