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belovedivies · 10 months ago

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Gurl imagine, just imagine a rejuvenated peter with his three ducklings, bumping into raphael's older sibling how would that go?

a/n: THREE DUCKLINGS LMAO- i had too much fun writing this piece. this should have came out on a while back but uni whipped my ass rip- anw, enjoy!! cw: minor spoiler, minor character death, they have fun clowning around and absolutely nothing bad happened. wc: 3.6k m.list

offshore ft. multi

The sky above is pitch black by the time Soongu leaves his dorm and heads to their promised spot. He goes for a casual look that evening: gray hoodie, black pants, a pair of Sketcher that soon gathers dust on the outsole when the guy navigates his way through the city’s park, dry leaves crunching with every step.

His long legs eat up the distance rather quickly, and there isn’t much until a right turn at the local pub leads Soongu down a dimly lit alley. The streetlights on both sides flicker; it’s a beautiful moonless night. He isn’t on his way to another meeting, not really. There’s a certain ease in his movement, fingers drumming slightly against the lining fabric where he digs his hands into his pockets. Soongu feels lighter, easier to breathe somehow. When he crosses by a traffic mirror attached to a rusty-looking post, a young man stares right back at him. He can almost pretend he’s just another boy; no debt of blood and death marring his youthful features.

The exterior of the convenience store looks tame, but his comrades are already there: lazing around on a long bench that overlooks an empty parking lot through a fairly new chain-link fence. They remind him of a bunch of high schoolers. People with obligations rarely extend outside of the established social circles. It’s Simon who sneaks up to him first, wrapping an arm around the boy’s neck with a cocky smirk.

“Sheesh, took you long enough brother. ” His voice booms against Soongu’s ears like bus tires. “We’re about to ditch your ass.”

“As if,” Soongu replies in faux-annoyance, though there’s no denying how his lips curl up into an amused smile. The years have taken a toll on his old pal, but it’s still Simon at the end of the day and no one else. Lost an arm, chipped a tooth, but still ever the loudmouth who fought with him through life and death during their time as Apostles.

One meter away, Jiwon—the woman of their little team—crosses her legs with a wistful look while Alexander McKing rests his head on her thighs, basking in the little head scratches his owner delivers every few seconds. Simon might have always been the boisterous one, but Soongu was surprised to learn that the hangout today was actually her idea. For someone who constantly fusses and loses her cool over the smallest of mistakes that might give away his true identity, trading her usual gold-plated sanctuary for some simple bonding time on a Friday night is a bit… questionable, if not to say downright odd.

“Jiwon~” Simon sing-songs, still keeping his arm looped around the boy’s neck as his old pal drags him towards the bench. “Bo— I mean Soongu is here, what are the plans?”

“Shut your goofy ass up.” Ah, there is she. Their blind grumpy old mom. Jiwon uncrosses her legs with an irritated face, brows drawn together behind her near-transparent glasses. “I’m trying to remember the name of that BBQ.”

Simon’s face falls at the insult like a child just got robbed of his favorite toy. Soongu lets out a quiet chuckle this time, and it isn’t long until the two of them jump at each other’s throats for another round of bickering. But tonight isn’t about just that. They are here to hang out, as Jiwon has put it—

(—wasted out of her mind halfway past a bottle of Château Margaux. She lamented through the phone about the horrible hangover she had in the morning, yet somehow the suggestion remained.)

“You wounded me!” The gray-haired swordsman exclaims. He’s feigning hurt obviously, but it’s those next words that manage to get on Jiwon’s nerves. “Didn’t you remember how you used to hang around little ol’ me and fawn like a pup—ow ow!”

“I. Was. Young. And. I. Was. Stupid!” With each syllable, her hand strikes down Simon’s back in a poor attempt to chastise her jerk of a comrade. “I’d never date you in a million years, not even Peter—“

Soongu cocks an eyebrow at the mention of his infamous codename. Jiwon clamps a hand over her mouth as the realization of what just slipped out hits her. Peter. It would have been fine to mention it if all of them were lazing around in her fancy lair with ice whiskeys on the stainless marble countertop, but here they were out in the open. Not to mention the mutual agreement to only refer to Soongu as… well, Soongu.

“Shit, my bad.” She gulps, a drop of sweat rolling down her forehead. The dog continues to curl up and snuggle her lap.

“Careless, aren’t cha?” Taking the chance to tease, Simon bends his knees and flashes Jiwon a toothy grin that she luckily can’t see, but pisses her off enough to the point her jaws clench, ready to wipe it off his stupid face with another punch.

“You little—”

“Alright, break it up.” As fun as it is to watch the shenanigans carry on, that brief mention of his name reminds the boy to interfere in the little fight. He puts his hands on either of his friends’ foreheads, creating some distance lest they decide to headbutt each other into concussion. “You’re forgetting someone.”

Kageo tenses up ever so slightly in Soongu’s peripheral vision, not used to being the center of attention now that the spotlight is suddenly on him. In his white T-shirt and 6’7 frame, their new companion still ominously blends into the background and contents himself watching every interaction. Old habits die hard, Soongu supposes. Back then those shoulders were unshackled by the weight of hatred and revenge, Kageo was but a shadow standing behind Yuika, serving the girl with all his might. Now with the corpse of his first love rotting on the seabed alongside what’s left of their ship, Kageo is forced to be who he thought he has never been before.

Someone who actually matters.

“I’m fine with whatever you suggest.”

It takes a while for a response to come. Humble and demure, typical for the guy. Soongu can’t blame him; it’s hella awkward for four of them to just stand here and do nothing but stare at each other.

Simon, unsurprisingly, is the one to break the silence. Taking a step forward, the old man pats Kageo on the back. A classic bro move to let him know there’s no hostility between them anymore.

“C’mon kiddo,” he clicks his tongue playfully. Simon talks to Kageo like an uncle does his nephew, and Soongu can’t help but wonder if it’s a direct result of months of being an undercover guard at that local grade school, “we’re gonna let loose just this one night. Show a little more enthusiasm, will ya?”

The boy in question tenses up, clearly not used to the casual skinship between friends. Then again, he has only ever been with Yuika, and even then there wasn’t really a time for them to “hang out” between the constant killing and running from authority.

Kageo ducks his head with a loud “Y-Yes, Uncle! I’ll try!” that makes Simon’s smile grow impossibly wider around the edge. Almost hard to believe that the swordsman himself was seconds away from slashing the younger boy’s hand back then. Truly the development of all time.

The atmosphere seems to ease up a bit with that interaction out of the way. While the two of them are busy in their bubble, Soongu turns his attention to Jiwon—who somehow chose to stay quiet throughout the past few minutes. It isn’t very much like her, so he takes his spot on the bench next to the woman.

“Are we going in?” He looks over to his comrade, obviously referring to the store next to them.

“Yeah,” Jiwon hums with a smile, sounding happier than what Soongu usually hears from her. The German Shepherd hops off her lap, instead running up to nuzzle against his legs, which the boy happily rewards the dog with more head scratches.

—

This 7-11 smells… nice. Just the usual cleaning chemicals and lavender spray, but still nice. Anything is better than that funky smell of burnt cheese and melted slurpees.

Soongu hasn’t been to that much to draw the conclusion, honestly. Even back then, all he did as a young and invincible Peter was going on missions from one country to another. Between the seemingly endless list of targets to take down and people to protect, his meals only ever consisted of instant noodles and takeouts. Sitting down at a restaurant to enjoy the food was rare, going to a convenience store for it was even rarer. As an Apostle, the boy doesn’t want to risk a mass shooting that would harm innocent citizens. But as a now just-another-D-rank-Glory-killer…

“Danbi!”

His mom-comrade calls out an unfamiliar name before rushing past him to reach someone. He turns around to see a girl, the store’s logo plastered on her red apron as well as a beverage-filled box in her hands. Interestingly, she doesn’t end up toppling over despite how quickly the woman sprints in her direction to pull this Danbi into a bone-crushing embrace.

“You brat—” Jiwon grits her teeth, squishing the younger girl’s cheeks together like Play-Doh. Soongu can’t help but wince just by watching the interaction; she really loved to pull this move back when he first revealed his rejuvenated self, “—where the hell were you?! I called you ten times and you didn’t even answer!”

Her aggressive yelling manages to get the other two’s attention, who up until now were eyeing neatly arranged lines of alcoholic drinks inside a freezer at the back of the store. Kageo gives Simon a mild questioning look when they draw closer to the source of drama, an expression that the old swordsman mirrors. Now it just seems like all three of them are at a loss for this new girl’s identity.

“Ow, ow— unnie!” Danbi squeals like an injured animal. With her hands already occupied, she’s helpless against the onslaught of Jiwon’s pinching. “You’re so mean! You know I can’t use my phone during my shift.”

The blind woman clicks her tongue, unimpressed. “I texted 30 minutes ago too, and you left me on read!”

If she plans to guilt her, it works. Danbi deflates with a sigh. Just before she can say anything else, however, Simon chimes in with a question they’re all dying to know.

“Um… who are you, Missy?”

Danbi’s eyes snap open at the unexpected inquiry. She looks like she doesn’t realize they are right there. Soongu notes how her gaze travels from Kageo’s neutral face to Simon’s amputated arm and then—

—to Soongu himself.

She lingers on him for longer too. Three seconds too long, he counts, with just her blank, doll-eyed stare boring holes directly into his skull.

But then the girl shrivels up, bowing until the box in her hands sweeps the ground, bottles of fizzy drink inside clicking together when she says, “I’m Ahn Danbi, nice to meet you!” then proceeds to straighten up her back with a smile so bright it immediately makes Soongu second guess his decision, but to what?

…to what?

Jiwon grins, the joy evident in her voice. Her affection is softer this time as she returns to wrapping her arms around Danbi’s shoulders.

“Danbi, these idiots are under my care. Idiots, Danbi here is my cousin—“ Alexander walks up and nuzzles its face against said girl’s legs, “—and protégé, too.

Simon looks shocked by the reveal. “We never knew you had one!”

“Now you do~”

The old man just rolls his eyes before turning to the girl, a big smile on his face as he introduces himself. “Nice to meet ya too, kiddo! I’m Simon.”

“Hello~” Danbi, still holding onto the box, manages to shift its weight into one hand while squeezing out of her cousin’s embrace just enough to catch a handshake, “Unnie told me a lot about you!”

Uh oh, that scratches a spot. Soongu watches as Simon’s eyes light up like a Christmas tree before his old pal makes a smug face.

“Oh, did she?” The guy pretends to his stubble thoughtfully, though not without the smirk still plastered on his face. “I hope she didn’t blast your poor ears off talking ‘bout me. You know how obsessed she is—”

Jiwon does end up punching him in the face this time.

—

“So you drain the noodles with these right here…”

Danbi gestures to the tiny dots at the edge of the sealing lid. Using the tip of a wooden chopstick, she pokes three holes before lifting the cup noodle up and tipping it forward so the water can escape through the small space. Above her, Kageo looks strangely out of place as he towers over and watches with hawk-like attention.

“Here you go!” The girl turns back to him, presenting the now soft instant ramen inside. “Now you just need to add the seasoning.”

Kageo tilts his head. He’s more of a lost child than the unfeeling giant Soongu saw on the Ghost Cruise weeks back, void of Yuika’s cunning giggles or million-dollar chandeliers that render him stationary in the golden lights. When she drowned, a part of him no doubt went down along. But here, there’s a small yet still-there glow in those inky eyes when his friend takes the cup, voice filled with curiosity.

“There’s no water?”

“I saved a bit for easy mixing. Other than that,” Jiwon’s cousin gives him a kind smile. Despite the less-than-ideal introduction to their little team, she seems to have no trouble breaking the ice, “this is a type of 'stir-fried’ dry noodle. You picked Buldak Cream Carbonara, which is usually prepared with just the sauce and powder.”

A small hum leaves Kageo’s throat as he takes in the new piece of information. He then gets to work, finishing the rest of the preparation by mixing two said packets together. The fusion of butter and cheese gives Soongu’s nose a funny tingle, though he isn’t that hungry yet to ask for a bite.

Kageo looks quite amazed at his handiwork, watching as the ramen turns from platinum blonde to a shade of amber—coating in the Buldak sauce and cream powder. Unable to resist, the boy digs in. The flavors left an instant impression on his taste buds, and Kageo’s eyes widened almost comically.

“This is amazing!”

Danbi beams at the heartfelt praise, even if it isn’t directed at her. “I’m glad! This brand is popular worldwide. Let me know if you need anything else!”

The conversation ends on a comfortable note, with Kageo giving her a quick thank you before heading out to join Jiwon and Simon on the tables outside, whose heads are probably buried in another meaningless argument. Danbi, all smiles and relaxed shoulders, turns back to arranging the drinks into the freezer. She doesn’t seem to mind the silence that follows, nor the fact that Soongu is still here, leaning against the wall a few steps away. She doesn’t even spare him a glance.

And he isn’t paranoid, definitely not—anyone and anything he’s wary of always turns out to be a threat in the end. Soongu just can’t let loose; he doesn’t know how to. The cool tiles tickle the Apostle’s scalp, his ears buzzing with soft mechanical hums from the AC running above. It’s awfully bright in here, and the more he looks, the more spots and afterimages blind his vision.

Fuck, he needs some nicotine to think.

And a beer.

Nicotine and beer.

Soongu fishes into his pants pockets for a nonexistent cigarette, his chest rumbling with a quiet groan. Of course it isn’t there; he barely smoked this month. He sees Danbi in the corner of his eyes, hands on her lap while she sits on her haunches. She stares at him unblinkingly like he’s strange. Like he’s not a real person. And maybe that’s all he needs. Maybe Soongu doesn’t want to drag the painful interaction out longer than a few surface-level exchanges.

Maybe he’s just that pent-up.

But Danbi smiles again with a glow of satisfaction. She gets up and makes her way towards him, spreading her palms out to reveal a pack of Zest like she’s treating Halloween’s candies to the neighbor’s kids.

“Last one in stock.” The girl goes on like nothing happened; the same customer service smile with a small hint of sugary emptiness. “Enjoy.”

And Soongu doesn’t know how to feel. He’s very much skeptical, some part impressed, yet not at all touched by the deceitfully thoughtful gesture. There’s a stark difference in how Danbi hugs Jiwon back, shakes Simon’s hand, and guides Kageo through a simple routine versus the stench of death she has been subtly reeking from every small pore on her body.

“And,” the corner of Soongu’s lips curl up into a smirk. It takes two to tango, “how exactly would you know?”

Danbi lets out a small sigh, tilting her head slightly to the side with her arms crossed. A wistful look graces her face, and only there does he finally pick up the first glimpse of blood relation between her and his blind comrade.

“That was all the guys in Glory ever bought when they crashed.” The way she sounds it out genuinely feels like a complaint. “Lo Crux isn’t out of the equation, but that’s for older men.”

What a theory. Soongu’s fingers graze one edge of the pack. The sticker and thin wrapper are already peeled, though the whole thing inside remains untouched.

“Why not?” He quips. “Can’t a young man enjoy his cigar?”

“Not really...”

Danbi giggles, leaning closer.

“Unless you’re Peter.”

Soongu froze, his spine growing cold just as the tiles behind him.

But she provides an easy out, clasping her hands together with a sheepish smile. “Welp, that’s just me though! Everybody has their own preference.”

She places the empty box on the ground aside, leaving him to comprehend her words. And that’s it. The girl crouches down and grabs a few cans of beer when she opens the freezer door with one hand, balancing the drinks in the other. Danbi looks at him with a cheerfulness that is hard-wired into her facial muscles, just the right amount of casual insanity to keep the Apostle guessing.

“Give these to her, ok?” She nags him in an easygoing voice, passing them after she dumps the cans into a 7-11 plastic bag. And Soongu takes it. It’s mainly for Jiwon, but they are all likely to share everything later. One look inside reveals more and more boozes, some brands he vaguely recalls to be his friend’s favorites two decades ago before she trades them for high-end goods.

Eating at a well-known local BBQ and hitting a karaoke booth until morning are their ultimate goal for tonight. He’s sure swinging by here has just been an added bonus for Jiwon to see her sibling and grab beers on the way. Soongu stops humoring Danbi’s mind games for a while, opting to let his gaze trail naturally along the see-through glasses that wall this place with the world outside.

The moving smudges of brown, gray, and white in the distance are his friends. Comrades. And he appreciates them. He really does. There’s always more to their bond than that of people who share a mutual goal to take down Glory—there’s a common ground too. A dynamic he finds himself growing comfortable with. They knew who he really was, and Soongu thinks it’s nice: he doesn’t have to put up a mask like he does around Yuna and the Doggo brothers. Around them, he can just simply be him.

A dysfunctional family, but still a family nonetheless.

Danbi watches in his peripheral vision, a curious look etched on her face. When the Apostle pulls up to the counter to check out, she waves her hands dismissively with a smile; Jiwon slipped her something much more valuable under the table.

—

You click the door shut behind you, staring up at the ceiling.

They gang up, and you can mostly get behind that logic.

Kageo is little more than emotionally driven at the moment, but there is plenty of room to grow once the pain mellows out. Simon, too. Goofy and unserious as he is, the man was Peter’s best student back in their days. Even if Jiwon is no match for Johan and his god-like echolocation, she’s still a formidable opponent on her own. Overall a team… a strong one. If they can make it work, they’re bound to be an eyesore for Glory in the long run.

Then why the hell is he there?

That guy is undoubtedly Kim Soongu, the face you saw digging through the pile of documents one night after Nathaniel’s comment about a certain newbie piqued your interest—you weren’t impressed with what you found. Average stats, average height, no remarkable features. What potential was there to tap into?

Washing down the budding bit of annoyance with a huff, you lean against the hollow metal surface of the door.

“Danbi, is there really no cigarette left?~”

No answer.

“Oh.”

You let out a soft chuckle.

A few footsteps forward, Danbi’s body rots away near the entrance leading to the store’s dumpster area. She was like that when you first found her—on her stomach with cheeks caked in a thin layer of mud and rainwater. She’s neither moving nor breathing—her skin grows cold and her muscles become stiff. Even then, Jiwon hadn’t been able to pick up the telltale signs of strangeness and death in your movement—letting her guard down around the ones she called family.

“Huh,” you nudge her corpse with one foot, just enough to get her lifeless eyes to meet yours. “a seizure it is. That surgery sure fucked you up.”

Well, not that’s any of your business!

She’s dead, the security camera is down, 7-11 is empty, and you have a new bedtime story to tell Raphael tonight. Leaving through the door in the back, you bid Danbi farewell with a smile.

Her body is found in the morning.

#killer peter #killer peter manhwa #killer peter x reader #manhwa x reader #reader insert #x reader #killer peter simon #killer peter jiwon #manhwa #killer pietro #x female reader #fem reader

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jennagrinsoverml · 4 years ago

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ML Fic Recs - Love...Square? Hectagon? Octogon??

Happy Friday! I’m back with yet another rec list! As usual, I’m trying to rec fics you might not have read before, going off of AO3 kudos. You can find my other rec lists on my blog at #jennarecsml

If you enjoy these, please reblog so more readers can find these awesome fics!

The love square is already a crazy concept, but now with the addition of Aspik and Multimouse -- well, there are even more fun crazy dynamics for writers to play with. And I love every bit of it! So, here are some of my favourites that play with the expanded love square.

this love is a tangled web by @bugabisous

When Ladybug and Chat Noir decided that they should switch things around with their temporary miraculous holders in order to throw Hawkmoth off, they couldn't have predicted the tangled web they would weave.

Series. Snekmouse? Well, it’s the equivalent in that they know each other’s identities but of course don’t know that the other knows. It’s even more fun with them using different miraculouses, giving us Dragon!Adrien and Snake!Marinette. Plus there’s some multichat content early on, which is a nice precursor to the way Adrien falls for Marinette in this new dynamic. Absolutely great identity shenanigans in this one.

Bad Week by @ominousunflower

Adrien's long and horrible week ends with a stinging rejection--until he sneaks out as Aspik and runs into an unexpected face.

“Hey!” a voice yells from behind him. “What are you doing—I—I mean, who are you?”

Aspik whirls around and finds himself face-to-face with…Multimouse?

With a frown, Multimouse glances at the jump rope wrapped around her waist. Untying it, she grips one end and weakly whips it toward Aspik. It flops on the ground in front of him like a wet noodle.

“AH,” she says. It somehow sounds like a question. “Um. An akuma?”

One-shot. Snekmouse! And then we get actual Aspik/Multimouse! It starts with Marinette trying to ask Adrien out on a date, only for it to go horribly wrong when she sees that he’s upset and takes it back and Adrien takes it as a rejection and concludes she would only go out with him out of pity. I feel bad for him but also it’s HILARIOUS.

Me, My Best Friend, and Her Cat by @ladyofthenoodle

Ladybugs aren't known for being particularly sneaky. Good thing this Ladybug has a fox in her corner, watching her back.

(And giving Ladybug's love life a nudge along the way. Maybe more than a nudge. In Alya's defense, Ladybug can use all the help she could get.)

Multi-chapter. Multichat (as well as Ladynoir and Adrienette). This is a beautiful Marinette & Alya friendship piece where Alya figures out her secret identity early on and helps her. And honestly it’s worth reading just for that alone. But it also plays with the love square in really fun ways (Alya’s a ladynoir shipper over adrienette), with some quality multichat content.

"I have a plan." by @emsylcatac

Marinette probably should have thought twice before joining the fight as Multimouse instead of Ladybug.

Alya, suited up as Rena Rouge, wished she knew where on earth Ladybug and Chat Noir were when they needed them.

And Adrien really, really wished the two heroines would just leave him alone so he could transform.

One-shot. Adrimouse! Okay, this one is already pretty tumblr famous thanks to the amazing comic that preceded it. But I’m still going to rec it! Because Adrien and Multimouse flirting is amazing, the dynamics are fantastic with Rena Rouge in the mix, and it’s freaking hilarious!

For You (I’d Break All The Rules) by snugglebuttkitten

MultiMouse finds herself visiting Adrien Agreste on a Nightly Basis

One-shot. Adrimouse! There’s some great hurt/comfort here, and also a sweet and slow developing relationship. This is just really cute and I love the dynamic and it’s worth a read!

Second Chance Number 12,496 by @11jj11

Adrien, now wielding the Snake Miraculous as Aspik, has been stuck in his time loop of Second Chances for weeks now trying to save Ladybug, and he just needs a moment to rest.

Set during Desperada.

One-shot. Laspik! I think we were all gutted by Desperada, and this absolutely has a bit of that gut punch, but also I love the hurt/comfort here (although the hurt is amplified by the fact that he’s only like halfway through all the cycles, like DUDE.)

The One Where Marinette Knows Who Ladybug Is by bifieri

Chat Noir wants to bring back Multimouse. Ladybug doesn't. A little white lie told to keep him off her tail lands the two at odds- and Ladybug closer to finding out her Kitty's identity than she'd prefer

fair warning I wrote this at 3 am and didn't edit it at all so it's very much trash but I just had to make this idea reality

Two-shot. Multichat. This one plays with the ridiculousness of all the lies these two needs to tell in order to protect their identities, and it’s ridiculous and fun and, as always with these kinds of identity shenanigans, leads to a reveal.

But What About Multimouse? by @trainsinanime

Ladybug and Chat Noir discuss his favourite topic: Bringing back Multimouse.

One-shot. Multichat. It works out well that Chat’s favourite topic is bringing back Multimouse because Chat talking about bringing back Multimouse is my favourite trope! Ladybug is such a tease in this and I absolutely love it. It feels so in-character and they’re so playful and it’s just fun!

Enough by @apopcornkernel

Adrien feels inferior when he notices a difference between how Ladybug treats Adrien/Aspik compared to Chat Noir.

One-shot. Laspik. This one is kind of angsty, but it doesn’t stay that way. I don’t want to give away too much, but the ending kinda punched me in the face and I desperately wish there was more.

The following fic is amazing and absolutely worth reading, but does feature sexual content, so minors beware.

I Dream of Mousey by @lyramae-archer

Chat is tired. More tired than ever before. How is a cat supposed to get some sleep when there’s a beautiful mouse in all of his dreams? A story in which Adrien gets some revelation on the love of his life. For MultiMouse Appreciation Week 2020.

Rated M. Multi-chapter. Multichat! Chat goes a little crazy with thoughts of Multimouse, and it’s gorgeous and hot af. @lyramae-archer does an excellent job of characterizing how Adrien starts to fall for Marinette after her stint as Multimouse, and boy does he fall hard. Add in some steamy dreams and an identity reveal and WOW.

#ml fic rec #fic recs #miraculous ladybug #ml love square #ml lovesquare #multichat #snekmouse #laspik #marichat #adrienette #adrinette #ladrien #jennarecsml

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seb-writess · 3 years ago

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All That Glitters

Pairings: Noctis/Ignis

Rating: Mature (for implied sexual content)

Notes: pls take this self indulgent au :^)

Status: Complete (2,900 words)

Summary: Ignis is a regular at a strip club, and not for the reason you'd assume. He's a bodyguard for a prospective client of his family's, and if it weren't for the cute bouncer he gets to spend his time flirting with, he might have been driven half mad months ago.

Preview:

Ignis heaves a sigh, leaning back against the bar and rolling his neck either way, hoping if he keeps himself loose, he won’t go home to another migraine like last time. He just has to get through tonight. Another of his father’s employees will take over Ignis’s duties for a few days. His weekend starts as soon as this fucker is home and in his multi-million dollar penthouse, and finally someone else’s problem.

“You look stressed,” a soft voice says beside him, and Ignis wonders how he can even hear it over the booming music. He looks to his left, Noctis’ familiar face glowing under the flashing lights of the club, his high cheekbones casting shadows where the light doesn’t reach.

It only highlights his best features. Which is all his features.

“Do I now?” Ignis replies conversationally. “Not at all. Watching some morally-grey bastard with money to burn buy himself the attention of three women at once in a club that smells like the bleach I’m sure they’re forced to overuse is exactly the way I want to spend my Friday night.”

Noctis snorts. “Yeah, okay, sure bud.”

Ignis chuckles with him. “Excuse my vitriol.”

“Your vitriol is safe with me,” Noctis gives him a sly smirk, and the lights cause the shine in his eyes to dance.

READ UNDER THE CUT

Ignis Scientia has a masters degree in political science and social economics. He’s a black belt in karate, jiu jitsu and krav maga. He’s won countless tournaments, and worked his whole life to live up to the Scientia name, to his family’s reputation. He comes from a long line of bodyguards and personal retainers. The Scientia company has served dignitaries, aristocrats, celebrities, even a king many generations ago. It wasn’t a question that Ignis would follow in all his forebears’ footsteps.

His older brothers had made their way up the company ladder far before Ignis was allowed to start his first internship, and as proud as they were to serve the Scientia name, they would also come home with their fair share of incredulous stories. Stories of their clients being rude or difficult, brandies and scotches in hand as they’d try to one up one another with their day’s events. Ignis would listen quietly, silently anticipating being able to join in with his own gossip.

So it’s not like Ignis didn’t know about the other side of the coin when he was finally assigned his first client.

He just had no idea how mind-numbingly, painstakingly, condescendingly patronising the work would be most of the time.

The lights flicker across the room of the club, beautiful bodies covered in glitter draping themselves up and down the poles installed upon every platform. The bass so loud it makes the floor vibrate with every beat. Delighted screaming comes from all corners of the room. Single notes of gil fly from hands, taken between teeth, slipped into g-strings and between body parts Ignis would rather not have to name.

His client, a burly fifty-something year old with a deep, booming laugh and a beer gut is talking to another burly fifty-something year old, probably about stocks, as they throw away their (not even) week’s income on the two girls currently dancing for them. The girls smile and giggle appropriately, batting long and fake lashes while Ignis’ client eyes them seedily and offers another mash of money.

Ignis watches it all, bored as shit, from a comfortable distance. The club has strict rules and although Ignis is technically in charge of guarding the safety of a paying customer, it doesn’t make him a paying customer, so he’s not allowed anywhere ‘near the action’.

And thank Astrals for that.

When his client had first brought him here, he had been able to use his deep and long-built habit of professionalism to throw away the idea of a lap dance on the job before the idea had even left his client’s mouth. He was here under the guise of protecting said client, and couldn’t very well do that if his face was being pressed somewhere unseemly.

His client had just laughed at Ignis, slapped his back, said something along the lines of ‘that’s the Scientias for ya!’ and trotted off to stick his own face somewhere unseemly.

To each their own, Ignis reminds himself.

Fuck if he doesn’t really want a drink, not that he’s allowed one.

It’s been a long, long week. His client has been growing clumsier with his appearance in public, despite the upcoming election that has everyone in spitting distance on edge for a myriad of reasons. Getting cockier in his safety, and has stopped checking with Ignis or his team before waltzing out the door like he’s not one of the most politically important men in Insomnia. As if he doesn’t have a target (or several, Ignis’ included sometimes) on his back. It means Ignis has been chasing him all week like a dog on his heels, rather than being able to guide him amiably through schedules and appointments like he’d thought he’d be doing when he was first assigned this client.

Such is the job, he supposes.

It only highlights his best features. Which is all his features.

Noctis snorts. “Yeah, okay, sure bud.”

Ignis chuckles with him. “Excuse my vitriol.”

“Your vitriol is safe with me,” Noctis gives him a sly smirk, and the lights cause the shine in his eyes to dance.

Ignis nods, silently thanking him.

Noctis turns his attention back to the dancers, keen eyes sweeping, checking all is in place before his shoulders sag ever so slightly, a small sign that yes, all is as it should be. Noctis makes a show of stretching his own neck out, and with his attention elsewhere, Ignis allows himself to watch the muscles in Noctis’ neck dance under his skin. The way his fingers rub small circles into the top of his spine, where Ignis would love to sink his teeth into. Or the flex of his arms under his skin tight, black crew neck, and how Ignis would love to watch those arms flex as they hold onto Ignis while screaming a gods name.

Noctis lifts his eyes, catches Ignis staring, and Ignis pretends to simply be adjusting his glasses.

Noctis’ smirk is still in place.

They’d been doing this little song and dance since Ignis was first introduced to the bouncer of this club. Ignis, having to look very far down to meet Noctis’ eyes, had fought back the instinct to scrutinise Noctis on sight. Who was he to judge one's ability to do their job based on their frame? While Noctis might not match his height, put under analysis, he certainly has more muscle.

Muscle Ignis would love to trace the shape of with his teeth.

There’s loud laughter, Ignis’ eyes flicking dutifully back to perform his own job. The girls are begging his client to borrow his tie, whatever for, Ignis will never guess, and he really doesn’t want to.

“Has your week been that bad then?” Noctis asks.

Ignis heaves a sigh through his nose.

“‘Bad’ is such an understatement for the emotions I felt these past days.” Ignis doesn’t mean for his voice to come out sounding so tense, except that’s all he feels. Tense.

“Substandard then,” Noctis offers.

“More like miserable.”

“Disgraceful.”

“Atrocious.”

“Lamentable.”

“Oh! Good one,” Ignis cheers, and it makes Noctis laugh. Six, he must be wound tighter than a freshly installed clothesline if wordplay is what he counts as foreplay. “And yourself?”

Noctis shrugs before answering. “Could be worse.”

“Which means, it could be better.”

Noctis turns, studying Ignis. Ignis studies right back.

“It is now.”

Ignis feels his cheeks grow warm. Noctis is still smirking at him, and by Ifrit, it’s definitely serving to heat Ignis somewhere deep.

There’s a scream that breaks them out of their bubble, and it’s not like the playful screams of the patrons and dancers they’ve been hearing thus far. Noctis’ head whips around. Some guy across the room, and Ignis can smell how drunk he is from here, has a bruising hold on some poor girl’s wrist, and looking to place his hold somewhere it’s unwelcome.

“Shit,” Noctis hisses, before he’s taking off across the room. “Dickhead! Hands off!”

Ignis watches in awe as Noctis leaps, wraps his legs around the unsuspecting drunkard’s neck, and brings him face first to the floor with his thighs. Ignis wishes he had live rewind, only so he might have the chance to watch every muscle in Noctis shift and settle as he makes the move.

The echoing crash averts everyone’s eyes to the commotion, and Noctis is calling for backup while he keeps a firm hold around his victim’s head. The dancer Noctis effectively saved is rushed off to a back room, hopefully to be helped and calmed down before being sent home, and there's a swarm of bodies in black as they surround their target and keep him down long enough for Noctis to climb off.

It all unfolds in a matter of seconds, less than a minute. Which is about how fast it takes for Ignis to grow ridiculously warm in his stomach, breathing deeply through his nose as that warmth travels down. The other two bouncers on duty take the drunken man away, while he screams profanities and threatens to sue. Noctis barely blinks, rolling his shoulder out where it had crashed into the floor, and giving him the finger as he passes.

As fast as it had come, the disruption fades and everyone returns to what they were doing as if it was a regular Friday night. The bass is just as loud, the lights just as bright, but Ignis cannot stop staring at Noctis. Dark, mussed hair and expressive blue eyes, sharp bones and soft curves where it matters most.

Ignis licks his lips.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” he says, almost sheepish, as if he should be embarrassed by having just taken down a man twice his height in a single movement.

Ignis isn’t sure how to respond, except with a choked, “Are you free after work?” He doesn’t even realise he’s said it until he realises Noctis is staring at him, eyes gentle and almost unbelieving.

“I’m off at two.”

Ignis nods. “I’ll be here.”

They don’t say a whole lot else to each other, and Ignis passes the time by thinking of all the ways he wants to pry those skinny jeans off Noctis’ arse. Gloriously, his own client is now standing, shaking off glitter from his suit, pink-faced drunk as he and his possy of just as pink-faced drunks hobble toward Ignis.

“See you,” Noctis says, softly, like it’s a secret.

Ignis eyes him, and tries to say with his eyes what he can’t with his mouth.

You most definitely will.

Getting his client back home isn’t as eventful as Ignis might have preconceived. He mostly nods off in the backseat of the car, but thankfully awakens long enough to climb out once they reach his building. He nods to Ignis, mumbling something about leaving him a good tip, and heads inside, leaving Ignis blissfully free for a whole weekend.

Ignis realises he has forty-five minutes to get home, shower, change and get back to Noctis’ club.

Doable. If you obey the speed limits.

Ignis does not.

The club is just as wild when he left, perhaps more so, a line out the door telling Ignis he wasn’t even present for the more tumultuous part of a Friday evening. He’s pulling up to the curb outside as Noctis is heading out the front door, saying good-bye to his bouncer buddies as he does. He has a leather jacket on now, short sleeved to allow the night to cool his skin, and perhaps give Ignis a view of those toned forearms.

He spots Ignis immediately, and climbs into the passenger seat.

“You’re punctual. Must have got him back okay.” Noctis’ cheeks are flushed and he might be avoiding Ignis’ eyes as he pulls on his seatbelt.

“I’d be here regardless,” Ignis says, which causes Noctis to finally look up. His breathtakingly sharp jaw clenches. Ignis wants to trace the shape with his fingertips.

“Where are we going then?” Noctis asks, and is that a stammer in his words Ignis notes?

“You’ll see,” is all Ignis gives before pulling away from the club.

They end up going to a quiet bar downtown. It’s much more Ignis’ scene, but still lively enough that it couldn’t be considered boring. Dim lights, private booths, live music. Good scotch. Not that Noctis nor Ignis pay much attention to any of that as soon as they’re alone.

“Pardon me, but you mean to tell me you have no prior training when it comes to martial arts yet you’re able to do…” Ignis gestures blindly at Noctis. “All that!”

Noctis laughs at this. It’s glorious watching him slowly grow comfortable enough to let himself breathe, sparks of his true self igniting in front of Ignis. Ignis has always liked Noctis’ smile, but he felt they weren’t completely genuine, and there was more there for Ignis to draw out.

“I mean, I took a week of karate lessons as a kid. Does that count?”

“You must know it does not.”

“Not my fault they didn’t teach me fast enough,” Noctis says, a slight pout on his bottom lip. It’s adorable, and Ignis wants to kiss it off. “You started when you were young, right?”

Ignis nods.

“My family strongly believes if you’re old enough to walk, you’re old enough to kick, and by proxy, old enough to learn to do it correctly.”

“As long as it lands, and the other guy is worse off than you are when it does, isn’t that correct?”

Noctis’ quips and mannerisms, concrete in place just how different he is to Ignis. How Noctis holds himself while he drinks, long, deep gulps as opposed to Ignis’ calculated sips. How he found his job by pure chance and desperation (his own and the club’s), while Ignis carefully cultivated himself around the job he was always expected to have.

Yet Ignis still finds himself ridiculously attracted to him.

Ignis always hoped, prayed, his obvious adoration for Noctis wouldn’t cause Noctis to shy away. That Noctis wanted Ignis just as badly. Ignis isn’t terrible at reading social-cues, but when he desires someone so deeply, it’s hard not to wonder if bias is playing a role.

Bias is not, as two scotches deep and Noctis’ lips are attached to his neck, and Ignis finally gets to slide his fingers under that deplorably tight shirt and feel nothing but leagues of soft skin underneath. They weren’t paying much attention to their surroundings to begin with, completely enraptured with finally having the chance to see each other outside of their respective jobs, but as soon as Ignis swallows the first of Noctis’ breathy moans, the rest of the world is lost to him.

Luckily, Ignis is still sober enough to drive them home, where he’s slammed up against a wall and Ignis gets to experience all of Noctis’ unassumed strength firsthand. Noctis’ hands under his thighs, lifting Ignis up the wall solely to be a show off. Ignis is already a head taller than Noctis; it’s not like he needs the added height.

It’s addicting.

Even more so is the way Noctis’ stomach twitches and quivers under Ignis’ wandering hands once they get to the bed. Noctis is pulling him into an incredibly dirty kiss, clawing down Ignis’ chest, and Ignis wants to bottle this heat and keep it all to himself.

Then Ignis is kissing down Noctis’ body and kneeling off the bed, head between Noctis’ thighs and enjoying very much the sensation of said thighs trembling under his trailing kisses and soft touches, boring down and licking up. Noctis doesn’t hold back as he moans into a pillow he’s pulled to his face.

Ignis sounds like a dying frog after he’s done and it’s its own kind of gratification.

When he awakens the next morning, Noctis isn’t in his bed. Ignis blinks at the empty space, rolls over, flailing for his glasses, and lets out a short breath of relief upon seeing Noctis make his way across Ignis’ apartment with two coffees in hand. Ignis’ shirt looks good on his form, the silk collar left open. Ignis pulls him in to kiss his shoulders under the collar.

Noctis settles back under the covers beside him and they sip coffee and sink into comfortable conversation, while Ignis thinks about sinking into somewhere else.

“So, I’m not inviting myself to stay or anything,” Noctis starts. He places his empty mug on Ignis’ bedside table and he’s not quite looking Ignis in the eye as he moves. “But I’m free all weekend. If you are.”

Ignis smiles.

“Well, I actually have a lot to do,” Ignis replies, but leans in close before Noctis can look too disappointed. He kisses Noctis’ neck, up the pale column of his throat, laying a soft but deep kiss on his lips and feeling thrilled at the way Noctis moans into it. He pulls back just far enough so Noctis’ can read the mischievous look in his eyes. “I was hoping you’d help me.”

Noctis huffs, and his breath smells like coffee on Ignis’ face. His lips taste like sugar.

“Am I the best man for the job?” he replies, that delicious smirk back on his lips.

“You’re the only man for the job.”

#ignoct #ignis scientia #noctis lucis caelum #final fantasy xv #ffxv #ffxv fanfic #fanfiction #final fantasy xv fanfic

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raymond-reddington-ruminations · 3 years ago

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Well, hiatus is going to end this friday. Yay!

Here's some thoughts that have been percolating.

1. I no longer think Charlene could be masterminding Harold's whodunit. While I might believe she might kill a lover, the whole frame-up situation is just too premeditated. And now with the bartender dead, she'd have to be really off the rails to be doing this.

2. Marvin Gerard has a massive abundance of motive to be the one who ultimately had Liz killed. But there are two reasons, beyond the fact that I like this character, to not want that at all.

One is that the list of characters who were on Red's team and betrayed him is pretty damn long already. Just off the top of my head, we have Newton Phillips, Paul Reubens character, Kaplan, Francesca campbell, Smokey, that Greek guy who ended up getting the story about the carpet factory...

The second reason is that it would just add a lot more tragedy to Liz's death, and we don't need that. It's bad enough that she was killed by dangers that were related to the past, but how much worse would it be if it purely came from within Red's own organization?

That being said, I do wonder if he tampered with the Intel Dembe got before pulling that hit that killed the kid.

Hope not. I remember that Marvin's own background is that he had a young son who committed suicide.

3. I have been wondering if Van Dyke really did shoot her. It may just be the magic of TV that allowed this, but he had his gun already out and almost in the correct position. Which means he had ample time to kill Red before Red could draw his gun, point and shoot. Again, it could just be the magic of TV fights, but it might also be that he did not shoot Liz, only had his gun in the process of being raised to do it, and thus was caught by surprise.

4. I believe Agnes's personality has been based on Katarina/Red's. She is high energy, seems interested in a lot of different things, good memory, loves games, very personable, and as she has a frenemy at age 11 she can deal with complex relationships. I think she's also pretty good at secrecy, as she faked not knowing Red's real identity when Harold introduced her to Red.

5. I hate that Red and Dembe worked out thir differences so quickly. The whole situation deserves a lot more emotion from Red. That being said, I am eager for them to get back to the close relationship they once had, so that we can get the deeper, insightful, and often fun conversations that Red and Weecha are never going to have.

6. While Panabaker remains a viable suspect in what's going on with Harold and also Liz's death, she'd really have to be gone to the dark side to do this. Especially with the bartenders death. Even if he was scum, that's still some cojones to eliminate a loose thread like that. Panabaker of seasons passed wouldn't have done that. But now that she's a senator... Sadly, her job description does not feature honor very heavily.

We could be looking at a multiple villain season.

I hope the storyline with Cooper, and the hint of Ressler ending up with that woman and her son, are not signs that they are prepping for the series to end. But I suppose without a multi-season renewal they have to prepare for that every season now.

I have rewatched the episode "Anne" countless times during this hiatus. There were multiple signs that she is end game for Reddington. I still believe that.

#the blacklist #the blacklist speculation #rayanne

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themilky-way · 5 years ago

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as the hours pass {loki odinson}

gif credit: littlemisssyreid

pairing: loki odinson x fem!reader (might be considered gender neutral, though)

summary: he afraid of what he feels, so he does the only the thing he knows how to do: lie. based on this ask.

warnings: super shitty angst lol cuz it was 9 pm and my brain cells were FRIED. i think that’s it?? fluff at the end tho so we good

author’s note: this took me a whole mf week to write which isn’t that bad but i have no time now and it’s kinda scary. yolo tho lol

----------

when tony had initially proposed a weekly movie night for the entire team, not a single person would’ve imagined anything like this. a large projector had taken the place of the regular flatscreen television, consequently lining up in all the four corners of the penthouse windows. couches and reclining chairs compiled in a large circle instead of being adequately spread out amongst the common room, and they’d all been filled by at least one avenger. to those wishing to participate, jobs and duties had been assigned the week prior, the list ranging from making popcorn to dimming the lights. it was organized-sophisticated, in a way-how it had all been brought about, and to say the majority of the residents living in tony’s multi billionaire penthouse were surprised was quite the understatement.

over the course of a few weeks, everything began falling into place. reminders didn’t need to be set anymore, and the designated tasks weren’t viewed as chores. natasha made sure to pop three full bags of delicious kernels- ensuring thor’s bowl had just enough butter to lick his fingers clean when he finished-while steve arranged a variety of pillows and blankets around the seating space. soon enough, fading shades of purple would ignite the obscurity of the living room-all due to the led lights binded to the borders of its ceiling-and either a horror or comedy film would commence.

in such a manner, your spot could always be found on the same peculiar couch, next to the same peculiar individual. god, at that. to literally go to hell and back, to get placed in a home that wasn’t his home with people who wanted his head wasn’t particularly an easy life to lead. he wasn’t a man of sentiment, either, nor one who engaged in communal activities, so you took your part as a good samaritan and kept him company. the seat next to loki had been unreserved, with not even thor to take its place, and you shuffled away from a very frightened wanda to settle beside him. he'd been neutral, annoyed perhaps. if a stranger came to sit next to you out of the blue, wouldn’t you be, too?

“mind if i sit here?” a mild pause signaled a response, and the shrug of his shoulders gave it away. “i’m not really enjoying the movie, and the space looked kinda cozy,” you added.

after you had thoroughly felt the soft cushion of the seat and all its comfort, it was rather difficult to stray away from it. every friday evening, the striped bedding of the couch awaited your presence, and a pillow of an identical design lay by the armrest. loki always got there first, a bowl of ice containing two ice cream bars in his grasp, and if the belief that he had ever been remotely inconsiderate damaged your reasoning, the chocolate chip cookie he gifted you at the start of every night proved you wrong.

if loki truly had to be honest with himself-his father, if he was peering down from above-the companionship you bestowed upon him didn’t upset him as he presumed it would. he half-expected his cold and antisocial nature to speak for itself, to grab hold of the kindness of your heart, crush it, and scatter its pieces so your blind hands would have to search aimlessly for them. for him, the opportunity would’ve been so effortless, so relieving in its own wicked sense, but you had already known that from the minute the tips of your sock-clad toes had walked right up to his. your words had been honey to him, simple yet profoundly eloquent that had dripped away every vowel on his tongue. the warmth that encircled you caromed over to him, and then his icy fingers became regular fingers, and his wintry complexion no longer overpowered the person he strived to be.

the thought alone of developing a kinship alarmed the presumably mischievous man, and when time, the most rewarding elements of his beloved universe, presented him with such a miraculous creature, he went into a comatose. the object of his interest was no longer an object, it was a person, an individual that appeared to envelop his nonexistent grace as if they depended on it. so his beautiful, virulent mind, as plentiful of wisdom as it was, conceived what it regarded to be the only correct answer.

the seconds of long anticipated hours grew legs, and urged fragments of minutes to run off. solitude embraced the area loki used to adore being in, and his absence planted a seed of confusion within the person always seated beside him. the following nights were mindless for you, even when wanda had selected your favorite films to view, your headspace drifting off to the god who wasn’t watching it with you. interactions between your team lessened. refusing a handful of thor’s popcorn became a habit, and although he questioned you about it, he never brought it up again. then, a month flew by before you could cognitively process it. loki’s eyes hardly ever witnessed daylight now, or you for that matter. more often than not, his ear perked up at the soft squeaks of sneakers before their shadow halted in front of his door. the air in his lungs would almost escape from him entirely, lips pursed so tightly he felt them turn white, before mere seconds later distorted voices trailed your feet away from the barrier that separated him from you. foolish, he’d been foolish to deceive you so childishly. what could he possibly tell you now, that wouldn’t lead you to scurry away from him?

tonight, the best remedy to get some rest was to fix some tea. a good read seemed suitable enough, too, so a copy of The Scarlet Letter decorated your pillow. you trusted your weary legs to navigate you to the kitchen while your brain busied in forming unrealistic scenarios, as silly as it sounds, and you were doing fine and dandy until a conversation reeled you back in. an all too familiar voice-one you hadn’t heard in so long-was speaking, ranting, about things that bothered him? yeah, that was it.

it was wrong to what you did at that moment, your dear mother had taught you better than this, but the never ending words spewing from loki’s mouth had glued the soles of your feet to the chilling tiles.

a heartbeat shriveled to nothing, a weighty ache engulfing it in all its mighty glory, and everything you ever came to know became deception. “...ridiculous! i’ll tell you one thing, brother, and that is that they’re absurd for thinking i’m better.”

a booming retort-thor’s-defended you. “you’re ridiculous. they’re good to you and you’re going to throw it away because you’re afraid?” he neatly placed his mug on the counter before his firm hand landed on his brother’s shoulder and squeezed in reassurance. “if you keep pushing people away, you’ll outlive centuries-worth of joy.” loki flicked it away. “do they truly matter to you? enough for you to stop hurting them?”

the wall pressing into your shoulder obscured the visual of loki nodding his head. the tea you craved for now sounded disgusting, and no matter how hard you blinked your eyes, a puddle threatened to hover over them. you began toying with the sleeves of your sweater, hating the emerald shade you chose for it, and your head drooped down to focus on its marbled designs. odd shapes helped center your emotions, too much that you missed a figure passing by the entry.

did you jump? yes. did loki jump? also yes.

“what-why are you-why are you standing there?” his voice was shaky, concerned. he looked at your figure over once, his nervous glare lingering a little too closely at the pigment of your shirt, before he focused on you. it was hard for him to miss your anguish. the question his brother had previously asked him looped in his head, and by odin yes-yes, you mattered to him.

“did you hear what i said?” he gulped. “all of it?”

your pupils were fully dilated, mouth inconceivably dry, so you muttered a tiny “yeah.”

“it’s alright, though. i’m not-i’m not mad, or sad, or whatever. i get it.” with enough strength, you pushed your body away from where you’d been cornered and started your leave. a tightening on your wrist stopped you.

“please don’t go.” loki never begged, and he always trusted his ego to prevent him from doing it, but he’d inflicted grief on his most treasured midgardian, and he’d have to remedy that. “please.”

“loki, hey it’s alright. i’ll leave you alone if that’s what you need.” he held you tighter before pulling your palm up to meet his chest. “what are you-look, i’m sorry-”

“you’re sorry?” he cut you off. “i’m sorry, don’t you see what you do to me?” the pad of one of his own hands moved to cover the back of yours to push it further onto his covered heart. it was beating faster than godly possible. if he were anyone else, maybe he was nearing a heart attack. “i do believe you’re the first one to do that.”

you ceased touching him before beginning to speak, but he knew your apologies, your questions, before they even escaped your lips. he fumbled on his words for some time, thorough confessions of his feelings never came as easily as he hoped, but he managed to get the point across. his obsidian, curly locks drizzling over his tiresome face distracted you, and his enticing features, his slurred attempts to achieve your forgiveness forced a tiny grin onto your mouth.

“it’s okay, honey,” you extended a hand outward in greeting. “let’s just start over, yeah?”

he choked on a breath at the name, and then two clammy hands melded into one, and everything was alright for once. “i’m loki, and the pleasure’s all mine, darling.”

#loki x reader #loki angst #loki fluff #loki odinson x reader #loki fanfiction #loki odinson fanfiction #loki laufeyson x reader #loki laufeyson fanfiction #loki odinson #loki laufeyson #my writing!

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shefanispeculator · 4 years ago

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Blake Shelton has announced plans to revive his Friends and Heroes Tour for 2021, assembling a multi-generational group of supporting guests to join him. The trek kicks off August 18th in Omaha, Nebraska, the same city where the Voice coach was forced to cancel the remainder of his Friends and Heroes 2020 Tour as the Covid-19 pandemic took hold.

“I told you we would be back, and I’m thrilled to say we are kicking off the Friends and Heroes 2021 Tour in Omaha,” Shelton said in a release. “I’m giving everybody in every city plenty of notice – you might as well tell your boss you’re gonna be late to work the next day and pay that babysitter overtime, because we are going to play some country music for y’all until they turn on the lights.”

Running 17 shows in total, Friends and Heroes 2021 includes a handful of rescheduled dates from 2020 where previously purchased tickets will be honored. Other new stops include Nashville’s Bridgestone Arena, Tulsa’s BOK Center, and a two-night stint at the Anthem in Washington, D.C., on September 3rd and 4th. The tour wraps up in Milwaukee on October 2nd. Lindsay Ell will support and shows will also feature appearances by Martina McBride, Tracy Byrd, and Trace Adkins. Tickets to new dates will go on sale June 10th at 10 a.m. local time.

More immediately, Shelton will release his new album Body Language on Friday, May 21st. The project includes his country Number One “Happy Anywhere” with Gwen Stefani as well as the current single “Minimum Wage” and “Bible Verses.” Shelton is also currently coaching for his 20th consecutive season of The Voice on NBC.

Friends and Heroes 2021 Tour dates:

August 18 – Omaha, NE @ CHI Health Center* August 20 – Denver, CO @ Ball Arena* September 2 – Philadelphia, PA @ Wells Fargo Center September 3 – Washington, DC @ The Anthem September 4 – Washington, DC @ The Anthem September 9 – Nashville, TN @ Bridgestone Arena September 10 – Evansville, IN @ Ford Center September 11 – Rosemont, IL @ Allstate Arena* September 16 – North Charleston, SC @ North Charleston Coliseum September 17 – Greenville, SC @ Bon Secours Wellness Arena September 18 – Duluth, GA @ Infinite Energy Center September 23 – St. Louis, MO @ Enterprise Center September 24 – Tulsa, OK @ BOK Center September 25 – Fort Worth, TX @ Dickies Arena September 30 – Grand Rapids, MI @ Van Andel Arena October 1 – Detroit, MI @ Little Caesars Arena* October 2 – Milwaukee, WI @ Fiserv Forum*

*Rescheduled date

In This Article: Blake Shelton, live music

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96harmony96 · 4 years ago

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Chapter 6

Hey, Dad. I caught you.” I adjusted my grip on the phone receiver and pulled up a stool at the breakfast bar. I missed my father. For the last four years we’d lived close enough to see each other at least once a week. Now his home in Oceanside was the entire country away. “How are you?”

He lowered the volume on the television. “Better, now that you’ve called. How was your first week at work?”

I went over my days from Monday through Friday, skipping over all the Lauren parts. “I really like my boss, Mark,” I finished. “And the vibe of the agency is very energetic and kind of quirky. I’m happy going to work every day, and I’m bummed when it’s time to go home.”

“I hope it stays that way. But you need to make sure you have some downtime, too. Go out, be young, have fun. But not too much fun.”

“Yeah, I had a little too much last night. Cary and I went clubbing, and I woke up with a mean hangover.”

“Shit, don’t tell me that.” He groaned. “Some nights I wake up in a cold sweat thinking about you in New York. I get through it by telling myself you’re too smart to take chances, thanks to two parents who’ve drilled safety rules into your DNA.”

“Which is true,” I said, laughing. “That reminds me…I’m going to start Krav Maga training.”

“Really?” There was a thoughtful pause. “One of the guys on the force is big on it. Maybe I’ll check it out and we can compare notes when I come out to visit you.”

“You’re coming to New York?” I couldn’t hide my excitement. “Oh, Dad, I’d love it if you would. As much as I miss SoCal, Manhattan is really awesome. I think you’ll like it.”

“I’d like anyplace in the world as long as you’re there.” He waited a beat, then asked, “How’s your mom?”

“Well…she’s Mom. Beautiful, charming, and obsessive-compulsive.”

My chest hurt and I rubbed at it. I thought my dad might still love my mom. He’d never married. That was one of the reasons I never told him about what happened to me. As a cop, he would’ve insisted on pressing charges and the scandal would have destroyed my mother. I also worried that he’d lose respect for her or even blame her, and it hadn’t been her fault. As soon as she’d found out what her stepson was doing to me, she’d left a husband she was happy with and filed for divorce.

I kept talking, waving at Cary as he came rushing in with a little blue Tiffany & Co. bag. “We had a spa day today. It was a fun way to cap off the week.”

I could hear the smile in his voice when he said, “I’m glad you two are managing to spend time together. What are your plans for the rest of the weekend?”

I hedged on the subject of the charity event, knowing the whole red carpet business and astronomically-priced dinner seats would just highlight the gap between my parents’ lives. “Cary and I are going out to eat, and then I plan on staying in tomorrow. Sleeping in late, hanging out in my pajamas all day, maybe some movies and food delivery of some sort. A little vegetating before a new work week kicks off.”

“Sounds like heaven to me. I may copy you when my next day off rolls around.”

Glancing at the clock, I saw it was creeping past six. “I have to get ready now. Be careful at work, okay? I worry about you, too.”

“Will do. Bye, baby.”

The familiar sign-off had me missing him so much my throat hurt. “Oh, wait! I’m getting a new cell phone. I’ll text you the number as soon as I have it.”

“Again? You just got a new one when you moved.”

“Long, boring story.”

“Hmm…Don’t put it off. They’re good for safety as well as playing Angry Birds.”

“I’m over that game!” I laughed and warmth spread through me to hear him laughing, too. “I’ll call you in a few days. Be good.”

“That’s my line.”

We hung up. I sat for a few moments in the ensuing silence, feeling like everything was right in my world, which never lasted long. I brooded on that for minute; then Cary cranked up Hinder on his bedroom stereo and that kicked my butt into gear.

I hurried to my room to get ready for a night with Lauren.

“Necklace or no necklace?” I asked Cary, when he came into my bedroom looking seriously amazing. Dressed in his new Brioni tux, he was both debonair and dashing, and certain to attract attention.

“Hmm.” His head tilted to the side as he studied me. “Hold it up again.”

I lifted the choker of gold coins to my throat. The dress my mom had sent was fire engine red and styled for a Grecian goddess. It hung on one shoulder, cut diagonally across my cleavage, had ruching to the hip, and then split at my right upper thigh all the way down my leg. There was no back to speak of, aside from a slender strip of rhinestones that connected one side to the other to keep the front from falling off. Otherwise, the back was bared to just above the crack of my buttocks in a racy V-cut.

“Forget the necklace,” he said. “I was leaning toward gold chandeliers, but now I’m thinking diamond hoops. The biggest ones you’ve got.”

“What? Really?” I frowned at our reflections in my cheval mirror, watching as he moved to my jewelry box and dug through it.

“These.” He brought them to me and I eyed the two-inch hoops my mother had given me for my eighteenth birthday. “Trust me, Camila. Try ’em on.”

I did and found he was right. It was a very different look from the gold choker, less glam and more edgy sensuality. And the earrings went well with the diamond anklet on my right leg that I’d never think of the same way again after Lauren’s comment. With my hair swept off my face into a cascade of thick, deliberately messy curls, I had a just-screwed look that was complemented by smoky eye shadow and glossy nude lips.

“What would I do without you, Cary Taylor?”

“Baby girl”—he set his hands on my shoulders and pressed his cheek to mine—“you’ll never find out.”

“You look awesome, by the way.”

“Don’t I?” He winked and stepped back, showing off.

In his own way, Cary could give Lauren a run for her money…er, looks. Cary was more finely featured, almost pretty compared to Lauren’s savage beauty, but both were striking people that made you look twice, and then stare in greedy delight.

Cary hadn’t been quite so perfect when I met him. He’d been strung out and gaunt, his emerald eyes cloudy and lost. But I’d been drawn to him, going out of my way to sit next to him in group therapy. He’d finally propositioned me crudely, having come to believe the only reason people associated with him was because they wanted to fuck him. It was when I declined, firmly and irrevocably, that we finally connected and became best friends. He was the brother I’d never had.

The intercom buzzed and I jumped, making me realize how nervous I was. I looked at Cary. “I forgot to tell the front desk she was coming back.”

“I’ll get her.”

“Are you going to be okay riding over with Stanton and my mom?”

“Are you kidding? They love me.” His smile dimmed. “Having second thoughts about going with Jauregui?”

I took a deep breath, remembering where I’d been earlier—on my back in a multi-orgasmic daze. “Not really, no. It’s just that everything’s happening so fast and going better than I expected or realized I wanted…”

“You’re wondering what the catch is.” Reaching out, he tapped my nose with his fingertip. “she’s the catch, Camila. And you landed her. Enjoy yourself.”

“I’m trying.” I was grateful that Cary understood me and the way my mind worked. It was just so easy being with him, knowing he could fill in the blanks when I couldn’t explain something.

“I researched the hell out of her this morning and printed out the interesting recent stuff. It’s on your desk, if you decide you want to check it out.”

I remembered him printing something before we got ready for the spa. Pushing onto my tiptoes, I kissed his cheek. “You’re the best. I love you.”

“Back atcha, baby girl.” He headed out. “I’ll head down to the front desk and bring her up. Take your time. she’s ten minutes early.”

Smiling, I watched him saunter into the hallway. The door had closed behind him when I moved into the small sitting room attached to my bedroom. On the very impractical escritoire my mother had picked out, I found a folder filled with articles and printed images. I settled into the chair and got lost in Lauren Jauregui's history.

It was like watching a train wreck to read that she was the Daughter of Geoffrey Jauregui, former chairman of an investment securities firm later found to be a front for a massive Ponzi scheme. Lauren was just five years old when her dad committed suicide with a gunshot to the head rather than face prison time.

Oh, Lauren. I tried to picture her that young and imagined a handsome dark-haired girl with beautiful green eyes filled with terrible confusion and sadness. The image broke my heart. How devastating her father’s suicide—and the circumstances around it—must have been, for both her and her mother. The stress and strain at such a difficult time would’ve been enormous, especially for a child of that age.

Her mother went on to marry Christopher Vidal, a music executive, and had two more children, Christopher Vidal Jr. and Ireland Vidal, but it seemed a larger family and financial security had come too late to help Lauren stabilize after such a huge shakeup. she was too closed off not to bear some painful emotional scars.

With a critical and curious eye, I studied the women who’d been photographed with Lauren and thought about her approach to dating, socializing, and sex. I saw that my mom had been right—they were all blondes. The woman who appeared with her most often bore the hallmarks of a KaKasian heritage. she was taller than me, willowy rather than curvy.

“Magdalene Perez,” I murmured, grudgingly admitting that she was a stunner. Her posture had the kind of flamboyant confidence that I admired.

“Okay, it’s been long enough,” Cary interrupted with a soft note of amusement. He filled the doorway to my sitting room, leaning insolently into the doorjamb.

“Really?” I’d been so absorbed; I hadn’t realized how much time had passed.

“I would guess you’re about a minute away from her coming to find you. she’s barely restraining herself.”

I shut the folder and stood.

“Interesting reading, isn’t it?”

“Very.” How had lauren’s father—or more specifically, her father’s suicide—influenced her life?

I knew all the answers I wanted were waiting for me in the next room.

Leaving my bedroom, I took the hallway to the living room. I paused on the threshold, my gaze riveted to lauren’s back as she stood in front of the windows and looked out at the city. My heart rate kicked up. Her reflection revealed a contemplative mood. Her gaze was unfocused and her mouth grim. Her crossed arms betrayed an inherent unease, as if she was out of her element. she looked remote and removed, a woman who was inherently alone.

she sensed my presence or maybe he felt my yearning. she pivoted; then went very still. I took the opportunity to drink her in, my gaze sliding all over her. she looked every inch the powerful magnate. So sensually handsome my eyes burned just from looking at her. The rakish fall of black hair around her face made my fingers flex with the urge to touch it. And the way she looked at me…my pulse leaped.

“Camila.” she came toward me, her stride graceful and strong. she caught up my hand and lifted it to her mouth. Her gaze was intense—intensely hot, intensely focused.

The feel of her lips against my skin sent goose bumps racing up my arm and stirred memories of that sinful mouth on other parts of my body. I was instantly aroused. “Hi.”

Amusement warmed her eyes. “Hi, yourself. You look amazing. I can’t wait to show you off.”

I breathed through the delight I felt at the compliment. “Let’s hope I can do you justice.”

A slight frown knit the space between her brows. “Do you have everything you need?”

Cary appeared beside me, carrying my black velvet shawl and opera length gloves. “Here you go. I tucked your gloss into your clutch.”

“You’re the best, Cary.”

He winked at me—which told me he’d seen the condoms I had tucked into the small interior pocket. “I’ll head down with you two.”

Lauren took the shawl from Cary and draped it over my shoulders. she pulled my hair out from underneath it and the feel of her hands at my neck so distracted me, I barely paid attention when Cary pushed my gloves into my hands.

The elevator ride to the lobby was an exercise in surviving acute sexual tension. Not that Cary seemed to notice. He was on my left with both hands in his pockets, whistling. Lauren, on the other hand, was a tremendous force on the other side of me. Although ahe didn’t move or make a sound, I could feel the edgy energy radiating from her. My skin tingled from the magnetic pull between us, and my breath came short and fast. I was relieved when the doors opened and freed us from the enclosed space.

Two women stood waiting to get on. Their jaws dropped when they saw Lauren and Cary, and that lightened my mood and made me smile.

“Ladies,” Cary greeted them, with a smile that really wasn’t fair. I could almost see their brain cells misfiring.

In contrast, Lauren gave a curt nod and led me out with a hand at the small of my back, skin to skin. The contact was electric, sending heat pouring through me.

I squeezed Cary’s hand. “Save a dance for me.”

“Always. See you in a bit.”

A limousine was waiting at the curb, and the driver opened the door when Lauren and I stepped outside. I slid across the bench seat to the opposite side and adjusted my gown. When Lauren settled beside me and the door shut, I became highly conscious of how good she smelled. I breathed her in, telling myself to relax and enjoy her company. she took my hand and ran her fingertips over the palm, the simple touch sparking a fierce lust. I shrugged off my shawl, feeling too hot to wear it.

“Camila.” she hit a button and the privacy glass behind the driver began to slide up. The next moment I was tugged across her lap and her mouth was on mine, kissing me fiercely.

I did what I’d wanted to do since I saw hee in my living room: I shoved my hands in her hair and kissed her back. I loved the way she kissed me, as if she had to, as if she’d go crazy if she didn’t and had nearly waited too long. I sucked on her tongue, having learned how much she liked it, having learned how much I liked it, how much it made me want to suck her elsewhere with the same eagerness.

Her hands were sliding over my bare back and I moaned, feeling the prod of her erection against my hip. I shifted, moving to straddle her, shoving the skirt of my gown out of the way and making a mental note to thank my mom for the dress—which had such a convenient slit. With my knees on either side of her hips, I wrapped my arms around her shoulders and deepened the kiss. I licked into her mouth, nibbled on her lower lip, stroked my tongue along her…

Lauren gripped my waist and pushed me away. she leaned into the seat back, her neck arched to look up at my face, her chest heaving. “What are you doing to me?”

I ran my hands down her chest through her dress shirt, feeling the unforgiving hardness of her muscles. My fingers traced the ridges of her abdomen, my mind forming a picture of how she might look naked. “I’m touching you. Enjoying the hell out of you. I want you, Lauren.”

she caught my wrists, stilling my movements. “Later. We’re in the middle of Manhattan.”

“No one can see us.”

“That’s not the point. It’s not the time or place to start something we can’t finish for hours. I’m losing my mind already from this afternoon.”

“So let’s make sure we finish it now.”

Her grip tightened painfully. “We can’t do that here.”

“Why not?” Then a surprising thought struck me. “Haven’t you ever had sex in a limo?”

“No.” Her jaw hardened. “Have you?”

Looking away without answering, I saw the traffic and pedestrians surging around us. We were only inches away from hundreds of people, but the dark glass concealed us and made me feel reckless. I wanted to please her. I wanted to know I was capable of reaching into Lauren Jauregui, and there was nothing to stop me but her.

I rocked my hips against her, stroking myself with the hard length of her cock. Her breath hissed out between clenched teeth.

“I need you, Lauren,” I said breathlessly, inhaling her scent, which was richer now that she was aroused. I thought I might be slightly intoxicated, just from the enticing smell of her skin. “You drive me crazy.”

she released my wrists and cupped my face, her lips pressing hard against mine. I reached for the fly of her slacks, freeing the two buttons to access the concealed zipper. she tensed.

“I need this,” I whispered against her lips. “Give me this.”

she didn’t relax, but she made no further attempts to stop me either. When she fell heavily into my palms, she groaned, the sound both pained and erotic. I squeezed her gently, my touch deliberately tender as I sized her with my hands. she was so hard, like stone, and hot. I slid both of my fists up her length from root to tip, my breath catching when she quivered beneath me.

Lauren gripped my thighs, her hands sliding upward beneath the edges of my dress until her thumbs found the red lace of my thong. “Your cunt is so sweet,” she murmured into my mouth. “I want to spread you out and lick you ’til you beg for my cock.”

“I’ll beg now, if you want.” I stroked her with one hand and reached for my clutch with the other, snapping it open to grab a condom.

One of her thumbs slid beneath the edge of my panties, the pad sliding through the slickness of my desire. “I’ve barely touched you,” she whispered, her eyes glittering up at me in the shadows of the backseat, “and you’re ready for me.”

“I can’t help it.”

“I don’t want you to help it.” she pushed her thumb inside me, biting her lower lip when I clenched helplessly around her. “It wouldn’t be fair when I can’t stop what you do to me.”

I ripped the foil packet open with my teeth and held it out to her with the ring of the condom protruding from the tear. “I’m not good with these.”

Her hand curled around mine. “I’m breaking all my rules with you.”

The seriousness of her low tone sent a burst of warmth and confidence through me. “Rules are made to be broken.”

I saw her teeth flash white; then she hit a button on the panel beside him and said, “Drive until I say otherwise.”

My cheeks heated. Another car’s headlights pierced the dark tinted glass and slid over my face, betraying my embarrassment.

“Why, Camila,” she purred, rolling the condom on deftly. “You’ve seduced me into having sex in my limousine, but blush when I tell my driver I don’t want to be interrupted while you do it to me?”

Her sudden playfulness made me desperate to have her. Setting my hands on her shoulders for balance, I lifted onto my knees, rising to gain the height I needed to hover over the crown of Laurens thick cock. Her hands fisted at my hips and I heard a snap as she tore my panties away. The abrupt sound and the violent action behind it spurred my desire to a fever pitch.

“Go slow,” she ordered hoarsely, lifting her hips to push her pants down farther.

Her erection brushed between my legs as she moved and I whimpered, so aching and empty, as if the orgasms she’d given me earlier had only deepened my craving rather than appeased it.

she tensed when I wrapped my fingers around her and positioned her, tucking the wide crest against the saturated folds of my cleft. The scent of our lust was heavy and humid in the air, a seductive mix of need and pheromones that awakened every cell in my body. My skin was flushed and tingling, my breasts heavy and tender.

This is what I’d wanted from the moment I first saw her—to possess her, to climb up her magnificent body and take her deep inside me.

“God. Camila,” she gasped as I lowered onto her, her hands flexing restlessly on my thighs.

I closed my eyes, feeling too exposed. I’d wanted intimacy with her and yet this seemed too intimate. We were eye-to-eye, only inches apart, cocooned in a small space with the rest of the world streaming by around us. I could sense his agitation, knew she was feeling as off-center as I was.

“You’re so tight.” Her gasped words were threaded with a hint of delicious agony.

I took more of her, letting her slide deeper. I sucked in a deep breath, feeling exquisitely stretched. “You’re so big.”

Pressing her palm flat to my lower belly, she touched my throbbing clit with the pad of her thumb and began to massage it in slow, expertly soft circles. Everything in my core tightened and clenched, sucking her deeper. Opening my eyes, I looked at her from under heavy eyelids. she was so beautiful sprawled beneath me in her elegant tuxedo, her powerful body straining with the primal need to mate.

Her neck arched, her head pressing hard into the seatback as if she was struggling against invisible bonds. “Ah, Christ,” she bit out, her teeth grinding. “I’m going to come so hard.”

The dark promise excited me. Sweat misted my skin. I became so wet and hot that I slid smoothly down the length of her cock until I’d nearly sheathed her. A breathless cry escaped me before I’d taken her to the root. she was so deep I could hardly stand it, forcing me to shift from side to side, trying to ease the unexpected bite of discomfort. But my body didn’t seem to care that she was too big. It was rippling around her, squeezing, trembling on the verge of orgasm.

Lauren cursed and gripped my hip with her free hand, urging me to lean backward as her chest heaved with frantic breaths. The position altered my descent and I opened, accepting all of her. Immediately her body temperature rose, her torso radiating sultry heat through her clothes. Sweat dotted her upper lip.

Leaning forward, I slid my tongue along the sculpted curve, collecting the saltiness with a low murmur of delight. Her hips churned impatiently. I lifted carefully, sliding up a few inches before she stopped me with that ferocious grasp on my hip.

“Slow,” she warned again, with an authoritative bite that sent lust pulsing through me.

I lowered, taking her into me again, feeling an oddly luscious soreness as she pushed just past my limits. Our eyes locked on each other as the pleasure spread from the place where we connected. It struck me then that we were both fully clothed except for the most private and intimate parts of our bodies. I found that excruciatingly carnal, as were the sounds she made, as if the pleasure was as extreme for her as it was for me.

Wild for her, I pressed my mouth to her, my fingers gripping the sweat-damp roots of her hair. I kissed her as I rocked my hips, riding the maddening circling of her thumb, feeling the orgasm building with every slide of her long, thick penis into my melting core.

I lost my mind somewhere along the way, primitive instinct taking over until my body was completely in charge. I could focus on nothing but the driving urge to fuck, the ferocious need to ride her cock until the tension burst and set me free of this grinding hunger.

“It’s so good,” I sobbed, lost to her. “You feel…Ah, God, it’s too good.”

Using both hands, Lauren commanded my rhythm, tilting me into an angle that had the big crown of her cock rubbing a tender, aching spot inside me. As I tightened and shook, I realized I was going to come from that, just from the expert thrust of her inside me. “Lauren.”

she captured me by the nape as the orgasm exploded through me, starting with the ecstatic spasms of my core and radiating outward until I was trembling all over. she watched me fall apart, holding my gaze when I would’ve closed my eyes. Possessed by her stare, I moaned and came harder than I ever had, my body jerking with every pulse of pleasure.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she growled, pounding her hips up at me, yanking my hips down to meet her punishing lunges. she hit the end of me with every deep thrust, battering into me. I could feel her growing harder and thicker.

I watched her avidly, needing to see it when she went over the edge for me. Her eyes were wild with her need, losing their focus as her control frayed, her gorgeous face ravaged by the brutal race to climax.

“Camila!” she came with an animal sound of feral ecstasy, a snarling release that riveted me with its ferocity. she shook as the orgasm tore into her, her features softening for an instant with an unexpected vulnerability.

Cupping her face, I brushed my lips across her, comforting her as the forceful bursts of her gasping breaths struck my cheeks.

“Camila.” she wrapped her arms around me and crushed me to her, pressing her damp face into the curve of my neck.

I knew just how she felt. Stripped. Laid bare.

We stayed like that for a long time, holding each other, absorbing the aftershocks. she turned her head and kissed me softly, the strokes of her tongue into my mouth soothing my ragged emotions.

“Wow,” I breathed, shaken.

Her mouth twitched. “Yeah.”

I smiled, feeling dazed and high.

Lauren brushed the damp tendrils of hair off my temples, her fingertips gliding almost reverently across my face. The way she studied me made my chest hurt. she looked stunned and…grateful, her eyes warm and tender. “I don’t want to break this moment.”

Because I could hear it hanging in the air, I filled it in. “But…?”

“But I can’t blow off this dinner. I have a speech to give.”

“Oh.” The moment was effectively broken.

I lifted gingerly off of her, biting my lip at the feel of her slipping wetly out of me. The friction was enough to make me want more. she’d barely softened.

“Damn it,” she said roughly. “I want you again.”

she caught me before I moved away, pulling a handkerchief out from somewhere and running it gently between my legs. It was a deeply intimate act, on par with the sex we’d just had.

When I was dry, I settled on the seat beside her and dug my lip gloss out of my clutch. I watched Lauren over the edge of my mirrored compact as she removed the condom and tied it off. she wrapped it in a cocktail napkin; then tossed it in a cleverly hidden trash receptacle. After restoring her appearance, she told the driver to head to our destination. Then she settled into the seat and stared out the window.

With every second that passed, I felt her withdrawing, the connection between us slipping further and further away. I found myself shrinking into the corner of the seat, away from her, mimicking the distance I felt building between us. All the warmth I’d felt receded into a marked chill, cooling me enough that I pulled my shawl around me again. she didn’t move a muscle as I shifted beside her and put my compact away, as if she wasn’t even aware I was there.

Abruptly, Lauren opened the bar and pulled out a bottle. Without looking at me, she asked, “Brandy?”

“No, thank you.” My voice was small, but she didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe she didn’t care. she poured a drink and tossed it back.

Confused and stung, I pulled on my gloves and tried to figure out what went wrong.

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incoherentbabblings · 5 years ago

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TimSteph FanFic Recommendations (2020 Edition)

Because my original one was put out two years ago. This includes much of the same stories as before, as they are my personal favourites, plus some ones that have been written in the past two years. These fics are where the pairing is the main subject, not just one feature.

Under the read more due to length.

Favourite of Favourites

Rainy Nights by aravistarkheena

Tim has to walk home in the rain, feeling miserable until Steph cheers him up with bed snuggles

All The Ghosts That Bring Us by Downmimosaeyes

“It’s been a rough night,” he says, then after a moment’s pause clarifies delicately, “You’re hurt. Let me help.” Set at a handwavey point sometime after Steph’s return from Leslie faking her death.

Mosaic Hearts by fightforyourwrite

In an odd way, they found each other once more after falling apart. It wasn’t a matter of starting again on the holy grounds of their past, but rather, picking up the pieces of their broken devotion and hoping that an artist, or someone, could create some sort of mosaic masterpiece out of the mess.

Sorry That I Bruced You by quipquipquip

He tied a purple ribbon around a brick and left it on her windowsill with a note that said: Want to catch a movie on Friday? - Alvin. Post Batgirl #24, Tim/Steph fluff.

Un-Bottled Thoughts by TBPOnTheSide

Tim accidentally ends up drunk at a Wayne event and calls Steph for help. He turns into an over-confident flirt and confesses more than he's aware of.

Drabbles and One Shots

We'll Make it Right For You by Sohotthateveryonedied

Tim’s reflection stops in the doorway, taking in the scene before him. Steph’s shirt is still rucked up, showing off her ugly C-section scar. Tim insists that every part of her is beautiful, scars and all, but Steph knows better. She sees how people stare on the rare occasions in which she dares to wear a crop top, wondering what kind of a slut could have gotten pregnant so young. “Steph? You okay?”

“Do you think she hates me?” She doesn’t need to clarify who she’s talking about; they’ve had this conversation enough times for Tim to know by now.

Adventures in Death Traps by faile_neume

Tim and Steph are stuck in a trap and shenanigans ensue.

Hallways by fightforyourwrite

Things would be a lot less awkward if Stephanie wasn’t wearing a dress shirt and shorts.

Photograph by redbirb

A lazy morning with Tim & Steph

Don’t Wake by MeRascalJoy (DarkQuill)

*Spoilers for Detective Comics #940* This. THIS was Tim. Solid, warm, breathing, alive. Not disintegrated on some clocktower’s roof.Just a dream. It had only been a dream. (A nightmare.)(Pre-52 Steph and Tim’s “death.” Alternatively, Steph has a nightmare and Tim comforts her in his own awkward way.)

Spoiled Again by WanderingJane

Tim would like everyone to know that he really hates catchphrases. (Please make her stop.)

Brick to the Face on Tumblr

Multi-Chapters

Little Black Bird (Help Me Find My Way) by butterflyslinky

Steph would do anything for Tim.

Especially when he's in this much trouble.

It Takes Two by inheritanceofgeek

Stephanie and Tim have been back together for eight months, and everything seems to be going wonderfully! They're young and in love, and couldn't be happier. Yet the pain of the past is still taking its toll, and if they don't deal with it soon it might just destroy their future.

Meanwhile, all across Gotham Homeless kids are going missing, and there's a new designer drug hitting the market that the Crime Families of Gotham seem particularly interested in. It's a case designed for Batgirl and Red Robin, but they'll need to be working in perfect unison if they want to save the day.

Take Back the Cake, Burn the Shoes, and Boil the Rice by IncoherentBabblings

I know I know I know but I had to let me be obnoxious

Within two months there have been two murders of Gotham newlyweds moments after the ceremony. The only connecting factor was both brides wore the same designer's work. Needing to establish who exactly is behind the crimes, Bruce enlists Tim and Stephanie to have the biggest wedding Gotham high society has seen in decades, putting a target on their heads not just for the killer, but Gotham society too. It goes about as well as you'd expect.

Smut

It goes without saying but please only check these out if you’re of age. Please.

Make This Go On Forever by boywonder_iii

Stephanie thought she was just imagining things when she saw the darkness in Tim, but the more and more she was with him, the more she realized he was slipping further towards the point of no return. Unbeknownst to him, she had something up her sleeve to keep that from happening.

Learning By Doing by iesika

“There’s a first time for everything.”

Countdown to a Bad Idea by Nimravidae

Stephanie has that feeling in her gut that says she’s either about thirty seconds away from making a bad decision. It’s the feeling she gets right before she jumps off a rooftop or into a den of criminals. Or when Tim Drake is standing too close.

Slick by Merit

Why stop at one?

Ready or Not? by AHaplessBystander

Tim and Stephanie have a close relationship but have yet to have sex. After years of being together and having their romance interrupted Tim finally feels ready but is Stephanie? He wants their first time having sex to be perfect so he decides to head to the one person he trusts most for advice: Dick Grayson.

#dc #timsteph #tim drake #stephanie brown #fic rec

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imnotwolverine · 5 years ago

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It’s a 50/50 thing

Henry Cavill x OC Lisa - multi-chapter fic

Author’s note: A little bit of cute fluffy fluff. I’m also slowly adding more imagery to my stories, since I realise they do get a bit lengthy every now and then. Hope you ladies and gents enjoy that. Have a nice Thursday!

Word count: 2.420

Disclaimer: fluff

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This is part 10 of the Tea for Two story.

Find the Masterlist here.

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< Go back to part 9

The end credits rolled over my dark laptop screen. It was evening and the house smelled of our activities today. Meaning: sweat, sex, pizza, in that order. We had not even bothered to put on any clothes today - Henry had simply slipped in my fluffy pink robe when Kal needed a pee break - and right now we had ended up more then satisfied and mildly sleepy, in my bed, watching a movie. Or should I say our bed? I looked over at Henry, who was scrolling through some memes on his phone, smiling occasionally. Cute dork. And as if he hadn’t completely bruised me with his love making yet, I once more felt my loins fire up. Gosh. We were like horny teenagers who’s parents weren’t home for the day.

Thinking of…parents. Hmm. My eyebrows knitted together at the uneasy thought of meeting his parents next week. At the fucking London premier of this Witcher season. Talking of a bad moment. But I guess we might as well get it over with…

‘What are you thinking? I can almost hear the cogs and wheels turning in your pretty head dear.’ Henry hummed, finally looking away from his screen. He looked so devilishly beautiful with his dark long curls messily framing his strong features, those satisfied, loving blue eyes lingering on my face. His body was propped up against some pillows, the duvet barely covering his private parts. Henry raised an eyebrow as he saw my eyes linger down his abs. ‘Again?’ He purred, chuckling softly. ‘Oh..oh no. I was just..thinking of meeting your parents.’ I said, sucking in my lips - something I did whenever I felt a bit uncomfortable. ‘Hmmm.’ Henry rolled on his side, pulling my face closer so he could place a kiss on my forehead. ‘Are you nervous?’ He asked honestly, looking down into my eyes. GODS why did this man smell so good. Okey brain. Not now. ‘I ..eh..think so. A bit. That’s normal right?’ I rolled onto my back, looking at the ceiling. ‘Especially since it’s going to be at the ..premier.’ I added, sighing softly.

Henry let a hand travel over the soft skin of my arm before finally resting it on my hand, which I had folded over my belly. He hesitated a moment, putting away his phone on the night stand, then propping up his head on one arm. ‘I eh…maybe we can…’ He halted his words, studying my face as I kept looking at the ceiling. ‘Are you upset?’ He said softly. I looked back at him, a reassuring smile playing softly at my lips. ‘No…I know you can’t help it. It just happens to be the way it is.’ I shrugged, staring back at the ceiling before closing my eyes, breathing out softly. ‘Sweetheart..’ His hand cupped my face, turning it towards his in a gentle manner before placing his hand back on my belly. I kept my eyes closed. ‘Hmm?’ I hummed. ‘Look at me.’ He begged softly. I instantly opened my eyes, seeing a flash of insecurity and hurt in his eyes. ‘Bearr…’ I whispered, also cupping his cheek. ‘Oh!…You do know I really want to meet your parents? And that other then a slight inconvenience, it really isn’t the end of the world that I’ll be meeting them there?’ I searched his eyes, but saw he had closed off his emotions again, trying to be strong. Why did he keep doing that? What happened that he got so insecure about this?

I sighed as he remained quiet, then continued; ’You know. I’ve had some rather..interesting meet-the-parents moments with my exes. The best one yet is probably when I met the parents of a german ex boyfriend. He was a musician and I had, on a whim, decided to join him to one of his shows in Germany. He had said his parents weren’t home that night, so we’d be staying at his parents place. It saved us a whole night of driving, so that seemed like a solid plan. Little did we know that his parents were to be having a family brunch the next day, and they’d be bringing grandma and some aunts and uncles..you guessed it; at his parents house. We had been sleeping in since we’d gotten home around 4-ish..and just while I wanted to go pee - wearing only his shirt - I was welcomed by his grandmother who also wanted to go to the toilet. MAN. That was…embarrassing. Yes. Embarrassing.’ I smiled, remembering the look on that grandma’s face all too well. Henry chuckled, nodding. ‘I’ve once introduced a girlfriend to my parents, just hours after finding out she was leaking pictures of us to the press, spreading lies about us being betrothed. I don’t know if that was wise..but..I didn’t want to ruin the night. She didn’t even know that I knew. Gosh…’ He sighed, looking down at his hand down on my belly. ‘That sounds pretty fucking awful.’ I sighed in turn, looking at his face as the heavy furrow in his eyebrows slowly released, his face relaxing. He looked back at me. ‘You sure have had some..interesting girlfriends huh?’ I said.

‘Interesting..yes.’ He sighed again, before wrapping his hand around my waist to pull me closer. ‘Oh sweet Lisa. I don’t know what I did to deserve you.’ He hummed in my hair, placing a few kisses on my temple. I chuckled, wrapping my arm in turn around his large body, our other arms now trapped between our bodies. ‘Dinosaur arms.’ I laughed, wriggling the fingers of my trapped hand. He laughed in turn, wrapping his fingers around mine before his other arm pulled me even closer, almost crushing me against his chest. I continued, the sound slightly muffled by his chest: ’And you deserve every bit of happiness and love, dear bear. You are a kind and gentle man. You are patient, smart, funny. You show you care about the people around you. And you always give more then you take. Sometimes too much maybe. Sometimes you don’t even allow yourself to have needs.’ I spoke. I felt his breath choke up a bit, but I couldn’t move away to see his face, his arm keeping me flush against his chest. ‘You okay?’ I asked softly. He nodded, hiding his face in my hair. ‘Thank you.’ He said, before finally easing his arm into a loose embrace, his lips brushing against mine. ‘Thank you for being here with me. And thank you for being yourself. I guess I can get a little insecure and try to push these memories away by keeping myself busy.’ ‘Well..you sure are a BUSY man, mr. Cavill.’ I smiled, before laying another kiss on his lips. Our eyes met for a quiet moment, just looking at each other, our arms entangled. ‘Thank you for telling me.’ I whispered, keeping my gaze on his eyes. He nodded before rolling on his back again, looking over his right shoulder to find a softly snoring Kal.

‘Let’s go to sleep.’

‘Yea..let’s.’

——

It was Friday. Henry had barely been at home. And if he was, he was constantly calling or reading and writing emails. I on the other hand had little to no work. The Witcher project was wrapped up for this year and my next job wouldn’t start ‘till the beginning of the new year - a whole month from now.

Instead I had busied myself with meeting up with friends here in LA. It felt like ages since I last spoke to them. One of them had gotten a girlfriend..which in the nerd community is HUGE, and another had just started a new job. I had paid them a visit last night, soon finding the whole friendgroup cramped up in a small dungey apartment. It had felt so good to be around them again. I had almost forgotten what it was like to have no cameras constantly pointing at me. Just drinking wine, playing boardgames and chatting. Life with Henry sure was weird, when I came to think of it.

I heard the front door click open and looked away from my laptop. It was about 4 pm and I hadn’t thought I’d see Henry again until we were actually at the premier here in LA. Kal sprinted off to greet the friendly intruder. ‘Honey, I’m home.’ Henry chanted from the small hallway, before appearing in the doorway of the living room. He was smiling from ear to ear. ‘Hey you.’ I said, moving my laptop to a spot next to me on the fluffy couch. I sat up to get a better look at Henry. ‘What are you doing here?’ I said, raising a surprised eyebrow. ‘We wrapped up a little earlier then expected and I just wanted to see you two…’ He gave Kal another ruffle through his fur before he stepped into the small living room, leaning over the couch to kiss me. His eyes were dragged to my laptop screen. ‘Shopping huh?’ He chuckled, picking up the laptop and taking the seat there, before placing the laptop on his lap. ‘Yea..I had thought that that one fancy dress I own would be more then sufficient for this whole Witcher premier thing. But alas..I suddenly got myself into attending TWO Witcher premiers. Surely the fashion police will have my head if I appear in the same dress twice..in less then a week’s time.’ I chuckled. Henry smiled.

‘Found anything you like?’ He said, mindlessly scrolling through the page - had I ever seen a man shop for women’s dresses? - I chuckled. ‘A few, you can go to the checkout. I’ve added some dresses there so I can make up my mind later.’ I moved in closer, hooking an arm around his and laying my head on his shoulder. I could feel the gentle flexing of his arm as he moved his fingers over the small trackpad of the laptop. ‘Why don’t you just get all of them?’ He asked genuinely. ‘Oh, Mr. Cavill, I don’t feel like dragging around 10 dresses in my tiny suitcase, thank you very much.’ I laughed, before moving up a bit and kissing his cheek. ‘Well, in that case I’d say the black and white one.’ He nodded, as if that was his final decision. ‘Yennefer would approve.’ I smiled, moving my hand to close the laptop and get his attention.

Henry sighed in mock annoyance, then put the laptop on the coffee table before patting his lap. ‘Come sit.’ ‘Me?’ I asked, a bit confused. Had I been naughty? ‘Yes you.’ He said, finally glancing over at me, a playful grin on his lips. I obediently climbed on his lap, wrapping an arm around his shoulder to steady myself. ‘Well daddy..what is it?’ I quipped playfully. His grin grew wider. ‘I have…’ He looked me in the eye. ‘..A proposition.’ I felt his hand snake around my waist. ‘I have been discussing a lot with my management team. Discussing about ..the future.’ I felt my stomach do a summersault as he spoke. Future? I remained quiet, looking expectantly at him. He however didn’t seem phased by my silence, as he continued: ‘I wish to make a bit more room in my schedule, so we at least have a good chance of ..making this, us, work.’ His eyes searched mine. I felt my cheeks flush. ‘What are you trying to say Hen?’ I asked feebly. ‘I’d like to say that I want to split our schedules. We both have jobs we love. Both have time consuming, very demanding jobs. So how would you feel about going 50/50? Half of the year you’d follow my footsteps. The other half of the year I follow you.’

It took a good few seconds before it sank in what he was saying. What this would mean. What he was sacrificing. ‘Oh my.’ I finally stammered, the surprise in my face more than evident. He smiled, one of his hands languidly caressing my back, giving me the time to mull it over. ‘…Really?’ I asked, still not completely believing what he just said. ‘Really really.’ He laughed happily. ‘Will you agree to that?’ He asked, his eyes searching for an answer in mine. ‘Heck yes! Uh..well… at least…only if your managing team has not set out a murder for hire contract to get rid of me.’ I smiled, wriggling in excitement on his lap. He laughed out loud. ‘Don’t worry. They’ll have to get past me first.’

—

I remember when I first met Henry. I had caught Kal somewhere in the Hollywood hills, his leash dragging behind him through the rough bushes. I had called the number on his tag and not long after Henry had shown his face. I swear, within those first 20 minutes of knowing Henry he had shown me more than a hundred facial expressions. So cute. But my favourite facial expression of his was still the dorkily staring one. The one I had first seen when I had looked around one last time before disappearing behind the steep curb of his house, that first day we met.

It was tonight that I was once more graced with the presence of THAT face. The exact moment being when he finally found me standing far away in the crowd of the premier’s reception. He was mid-conversation with one of the scenario writers when his eyes caught a hold of mine. The way his breath kind of halted, his mouth slightly drooping and his eyes glazing over with admiration.

I waved.

Gosh. What is wrong with me. I don’t know why I waved, but I guess I waved. You know, the type of silly, excited waving that is totally not appropriate for the situation. And just like that he awoke from his silent stare, only to break out in such loud laughter, I think half the room looked up to know what was so funny.

It was then I realised we were both just silly dorks. Like two peas in a pod. And I was more then a little glad that he was willing to be my other half. The 50% to my 50%.

Henry had made his way over to me. ‘Hi.’ He smiled. ‘Hi.’ I smiled in turn, still feeling a blush on my cheeks, before feeling his fingers gently tug up my chin, his body pushing closer to mine.

It was the first time he kissed me at a public event.

Part 11 >

#henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill fanfic #fanfiction #bed #snuggles #fluff #fluffy #henry cavill #50/50 #sharing #season premier #the witcher #witcher #teafortwo

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cagestark · 6 years ago

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-Defender-

Read here on AO3.

Warnings: homelessness, poor!peter. Adult!Peter. Mean!Avengers. Not Steve Rogers friendly. Also, in this AU I’ve taken it upon myself to change some aspects of Spider-Man (not too many, no worries). Enjoy.

The first time he meets the spider-kid, it is after hours on the eighty-second floor of the main building of Stark Tower.

But the kid is on the wrong side of the glass.

“FRIDAY, run that by me again,” Tony says. He’s in his pajamas—a pair of hastily pulled on pants with not even boxers underneath, donned only when FRI sounded the alarm. The holographic video plays in front of him, but what it shows him makes no sense. It isn’t even possible. “What exactly am I seeing?”

“Fifteen minutes ago sensors on the first floor were triggered, suggesting a human presence. On closer examination, the intruder seems to be scaling the side of the building using grip enhancements that I can’t identify.”

“Okay, but is he doing what I think he’s doing?”

“Do you think he appears to be washing the windows, boss? Because all signs point to such.”

As they speak, the figure (barefoot—barefoot and more than eighty floors above Manhattan) dressed head-to-toe in black including a dark balaclava that obscures their features, pulls a squeegee from where it is secured to a multi-purpose belt around their waist. They wipe the glass clean in long, smooth strokes, flicking the water and soap off behind them. The way they move across the glass gives him goosebumps, makes him shiver with terror and awe.

He takes the elevator down from the Penthouse, passing the Avengers’ floor where the others are sleeping peacefully (God knows he doesn’t want to wake any of them up). There’s no indication that this person is a threat—and if they were a threat, this is hardly a dastardly plan.

The eighty-third floor is dark and quiet. It’s an accounting floor where they work to manage his assets and the company’s assets. He passes cubicles on his left and right, and though he visits this floor maybe once a month or less, he feels at home here. The entire building is home to him, and he knows it the way Steve and Bucky knew their tiny homes in Brooklyn, the way Clint knows the farm his wife maintains.

The south wall is entirely glass. Tony stands back in the shadows to watch as the dark figure crawls from east to west. They become preoccupied when they realize that their bare feet are leaving smudges on the glass, and their floundering is—well, it’s almost cute.

Tony approaches that glass cautiously, unwilling to startle person and send them plummeting to their death. When they pass by, squeegee pressed to the glass, the freeze with their face just inches from Tony’s. The balaclava has goggles on over it to obscure the person’s eyes, but Tony doesn’t need to see those eyes to know they are wide with alarm.

Grabbing a paper and pen from a nearby cubicle, he writes a quick message and presses it to the glass.

MEET ME ON THE ROOF.

They stare at the paper for so long that Tony begins to question their literacy. But then they attach the squeegee back to their belt and lift the bottom half of the balaclava. They reveal a cut, angular jaw and thin lips. Leaning in, they come so close to the glass that Tony thinks they’re going to kiss right where Tony’s mouth is—but instead they heave a silent breath, and in the fog of it, write with one bare finger: NO.

“Are you kidding me, right now?” Tony mutters. He uncaps the pen again, holding it in his teeth, and writes on the other side of the paper. TRESPASSING!

They breathe again, write: BUSY. Then they squeegee over the words and continue on like they aren’t dangling 1200 feet above Manhattan.

“Boss?” FRIDAY says. “I believe I’ve pegged the identity of our intruder. It wasn’t until he wrote on the glass that I was able to get a decent map of his fingerprints; all other readings keep coming back inconclusive. His name is Peter Parker. He was hired by Stark Industries in early August as a member of the maintenance department. Twenty years old, native of Queens, emergency contact is one May Parker, also of Queens—”

“Thank you for solving the mystery, Velma, any ideas on why he’s acting like an oversized microfiber cloth on my building’s glass at the devil’s hour?

“Jinkies, Shaggy, I’m an intelligent digital assistant, not a mind reader.”

“Shaggy? You’re grounded, baby. I’m a Fred guy all the way.”

“If anything, boss, you’re most similar to Daphne. But according to Mr. Parker’s recently opened emails, the maintenance department was mandated just yesterday to wash the windows on the main, north, and south towers. It appears Mr. Parker is getting a head—and unorthodox—start.”

“This maniac works for me?” Tony mutters. He follows along the window while the kid cleans, though he loses him when Parker crosses around the corner of the building and disappears onto the west side. “How the hell is he sticking to the window, FRI?”

“I can’t tell, boss. Diagnostics can’t find anything between his hands and the windows, but whenever he is sticking, the characteristics of his fingerprints change. It appears he grows scopulae.”

“Scopulae? As in, spider hair?” Tony stands at the window for several long minutes, lost in thought. At last, he heads back towards the elevator, shivering in the air conditioning. Instead of asking FRIDAY to take him to the floor Parker is currently cleaning (Floor 69, as of now), he tells her to take him back up to the penthouse. If the kid’s enhanced, then he’s safer on climbing the walls than anyone else Tony knows.

Not to mention, the windows are fucking spotless.

Peter is up to his eyes in the HVAC unit of zone 3 in the Stark Tower main building when his ears pick up the sound of the elevator door opening on the other side of the floor. With a building as tall as Stark Tower, heating and cooling takes division of the building into several zones with their own separate units. Zone three is for floors twenty-four through thirty-six—and twenty-four in particular, where the HVAC home base is, is a marketing floor. People here come and go without noticing him, walking briskly and talking on their phones. The elevators open and close all day long, but something about this particular incoming occupant has the office going silent.

The hairs raise all over Peter’s arms and legs. Danger? he wonders. But then he hears the murmuring of voices, a name said over and over in reverence: Mr. Stark. Tony Stark.

Tony Stark. The man who had caught Peter scaling the side of his supertall last night. Emblazoned in Peter’s memory is the image of the man coming out of the darkness on the other side of the glass, wearing nothing but some low-slung pajama pants. And who knew that Tony Stark, forty-plus years old still had the remnants of a six pack? Peter had been distracted for the rest of the night, even almost losing his grip around floor 21. Which wouldn’t have killed him (probably) but would have been very shocking to anyone walking down below on the street.

And now the man is on Peter’s floor? Well. It doesn’t take a genius to know what’s coming.

“Fuck,” Peter mutters. He immediately starts packing away his tools, tucking his hat down lower on his forehead to obscure his brow. His senses activate accidentally and suddenly a wrench is stuck to his hand and he shakes and shakes but for the life of him, it won’t come off—

“Well, hello.”

The wrench goes flying out of Peter’s hand, and Tony Stark barely manages to dodge it as it careens by him, hitting the wall and denting the plaster. They stare at each other, eyes wide, neither of them expecting such a thing to have happened and not being entirely sure how to proceed. The man is even more handsome in the light, eyes like the whiskey he drinks, hair immaculate and threaded with grays around the temples, lips full and curving into a smile. Fuck, Peter has had a crush on this guy since his Uncle Ben took him to a Stark Expo more than a decade ago. Seeing him in the flesh is almost too much to handle.

“Sorry,” Peter mutters, going to pick up the wrench.

“Don’t be. You’d be surprised how often I get that reaction.” He sticks out a hand, and Peter’s got no fucking clue what Tony wants him to do with it until the older man wiggles his fingers. For a business guy by day (and a suited superhero by night), Stark’s hands are calloused and strong. He looks Peter in the eye, gaze soft and unassuming, like he isn’t the most powerful man in the business world, like Peter isn’t some gum he’s tracked in on his shoe.

“I’m sorry for the wall, too,” Peter says. “I’ll fix that.”

“No, you won’t.”

Peter’s shoulders hunch. Of course, he won’t. Stark’s going to fire him. Peter will be back to shelter hopping and picking pockets until he finds another job. At least now he might have some references from coworkers who all seem to have taken to Peter, the youngest of their troop. The quiet woman Sam saves him a seat every lunch hour in the breakroom, and Carlito has started asking his wife to pack him two sandwiches so he can give one to Peter. Everyone has been so nice.

Peter should have known it wouldn’t last.

“You’ll be much too busy, I imagine,” Stark says. He takes the toolbox from Peter, like Peter is some dainty girl who can’t carry her own books to class, or something. Like a gentleman might. Peter is keenly aware of everyone’s gaze on them while the older man escorts him to the elevator. It must look ridiculous: Peter in his dirty work clothes, sneakers taped together, walking beside Tony Stark.

“Are you calling the cops on me?” Peter asks when the elevator door closes. He can tell that it’s moving upwards and not downwards, though—

“Why would I do that?” Stark asks. He’s wearing tinted glasses, and it’s a crime, because he’s so fucking pretty Peter would kill to see his face without them.

“Because of last night.”

Stark’s face smooths out. “I wasn’t sure if we were going to pretend like I didn’t know it was you—but I guess this makes it all a lot easier on my part. No, I’m not calling the cops on you.”

The elevator opens on the most lux penthouse Peter has ever seen: modern decore with glass tables and marble countertops and windows that show Manhattan below them like a toy city that Peter could step out and crush if he so felt like. The wood floors are polished and gleaming under Peter’s disgusting tennis shoes, and he’s never felt more out of place and more at home all at once.

“Thirsty? Hungry? I’ve got leftovers, if you don’t mind my germs. If you do mind my germs, I can order in for you. What do you like? Any food allergies?” Stark’s head pops up from where it had disappeared into the refrigerator. With narrowed eyes, he assesses Peter’s silence.

“Water would be—that’d be cool.”

“Sparkling? Distilled? Alkaline?”

“Uh—tap?”

“Excuse me, tap?” Stark shuts the door with a thud. “Now I am calling the cops. Seriously. You? Sit.”

Peter sits at the stool tucked beneath the island countertop. The marble cools his heated palms when he presses them against it. Despite his words, the man does not make any move to call anyone. He moves a Styrofoam dish to the microwave and heats up something that smells lovely, like marinara and basil. He cracks open a bottle of water and places it in front of Peter. It’s the crispest, most tasteless water he’s ever had. Probably harvested from mountainous glaciers or something.

At last Stark joins him on the other side of the island, sitting the dish of—yes, pasta—between them. He hands Peter a fork. “Dig in, kid,” he says. “I don’t have cooties.”

What the fuck, Peter thinks as he shares pasta with Tony Stark. Unbidden to his mind comes a scene from some Disney movie, when the two dogs share the piece of spaghetti and it makes them kiss. Just the idea of it has Peter staring resolutely at the wall of cabinets, chewing mechanically, hoping his face isn’t as red as it feels.

“Shall we talk shop while we eat?” Stark asks, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin.

Peter shrugs. He has no idea why he’s here. No idea what shop this man could possibly have to talk about with the likes of him.

“You’ve got mad skills,” he says at last. Stark lays his phone flat on the table and from it comes a holographic projection. Peter watches himself in 3-D scale the side of Stark Tower. Yeah, he looks pretty cool—except for the squeegee. That’s kind of dorky. “How are you doing that?”

“It’s—a long story,” Peter says, rubbing his thumb against the prongs of his fork. Society has made a lot of advancements regarding its treatment of enhanced humans, but there’s still a minority of people who are afraid in their ignorance. It was on the news last week when Peter was killing time in a McDonalds before he could arrive at work to Stark Tower: an enhanced teenager was murdered by some concerned townsfolk who believed she was destroying the crops with her weather-controlling capabilities.

He can feel Stark’s gaze on him. It makes him bristle, makes his shoulders hunch. Peter doesn’t do well with authority—that is, most authority seems to just use and abuse Peter. He’s suddenly keenly aware of how vulnerable he is right now: a twenty-year-old with no family, no friends to come looking for him, in the penthouse of the most powerful man in the world who has perfect blackmail material on him. Peter’s palms start to sweat, and he wipes them on his pants.

“Are you going to hurt me?” Peter asks, voice low and quiet. He can’t look. But he has to know—has to prepare himself.

Stark stands, abruptly. “No—Parker. Peter. Look at me.”

Peter does, his jaw clenched and eyes flat. He might be scared, but he’s no coward. Only, Stark doesn’t look anything like a man who is about to hurt him. His mouth is downturned in the softest expression of tragedy that Peter’s ever seen. “I’ve just realized,” Stark says. “This won’t do. I need Burger King.”

“Sorry, what?”

“Burger King. Don’t you know that I’m an eccentric billionaire, doomed to give in to my every whim? And my whims want a Whopper. Come on. Grab your metaphorical coat—or your literal coat. Should we stop by the maintenance floor?” Stark strolls to a closet and rifles through it, pulling out a long, dark, very expensive looking coat. Peter can almost feel it under his fingers, it must be so soft. “Kid? Are you hearing me?”

“I don’t have a coat.”

“Alright, take one of mine. Let’s go. My stomach waits for no one.”

When Peter tries to step onto the elevator behind Stark without grabbing a coat, the man insists on going back in and finding one for him. The billionaire puts him in a half dozen coats made of the soften Italian wools and genuine cashmeres, before settling on one that’s very similar to Mr. Stark’s, only with a collar that Peter can pulls up around his throat to keep the wind away. It smells clean, but faintly of cologne, like the man has worn it out recently and put it away without washing it. Thank God the coat is thick enough to hide the semi he sports.

They end up hiding in a booth in the back of a Burger King two blocks away, both of them with Whoppers and Large Fries and Cokes. Peter inhales his—an enhanced appetite, not to mention the general lack of food he suffers from on a typical day’s basis—but Tony keeps up, holding his own. He takes out his phone and sits it on the table again, tapping several buttons, and suddenly Peter’s head throbs a little, senses spiking.

“Is that bothering you? I’m using it to scramble anything we say from being overheard by anyone around us, but we can do it the old-fashioned way if we must—you know. Whispering.”

“It’s fine—that’s, that’s amazing.”

Stark blinks. “I—thanks. I made it.”

“I figured—how does it work? Can you tell me?”

And the man humors him. Actually humors him, explaining in laymen’s terms even though he might be surprised at the level of conversation Peter could keep up with. When Peter asks a question, the other man grins showing neat, white teeth that Peter would give anything to run his tongue along.

“You’ve been really nice,” Peter says when their food is gone and cups nothing but ice. It’s an understatement, because this is the nicest anyone has treated Peter in a long, long time, and the way Stark talks and looks at him isn’t condescending or pitying. It’s like he sees Peter as a human. “But why am I here? So, you know. About me. What are you going to do?”

“Nothing,” Stark says. “It’s not illegal to be enhanced. And while it is illegal to trespass, mostly it’s very unsafe to do it more than a quarter mile above the ground, so I do ask that anymore night time adventures aren’t spent scaling my building.”

“Okay,” Peter agrees. “I just wanted to make it easier for the other guys. They really look out for me. I didn’t want to make them have to work so hard, when I could do it so easily.”

“That’s very generous of you, Peter. May I call you Peter?”

Peter shrugs.

“I’ll take that as a yes—and you can call me Tony, okay kid? I’m not here to call the cops or to fire you. As a matter of fact, I want to offer you a job. Tentatively.”

“You want to promote me?” Peter asks, brow furrowing.

“It’s hardly a promotion. The hours are longer. The pay is—well, under the table. There’s danger too. Potentially mortal peril.

“Tell me, Peter, what do you know about the Avengers?”

#starker #homelessness #adult!peter #mean!avengers #badass!peter

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etherealwaifgoddess · 5 years ago

Text

More Time - Chpt.17

Summary: Emma and Steve are both devoted to helping Bucky recover from his injury though the process is slow going. The guys finally admit their feelings to Emma and make her an offer she can’t refuse. Then her decision sets her life on a course she never could have imagined. Master list can be found HERE.

Warnings / Content: Fluff and feels all the way :)

Word Count: 2.9k

Author’s Note: Hello lovelies! So this chapter has the scene that started the whole fic. I had a dream one morning a few months ago of being bed with Bucky who was trying to distract me while Steve was trying to sketch me. It was so freaking clear and vivid that I knew I wanted to write it, and the more I laid in bed and daydreamed, this whole little world came together. We only have one chapter left too! The final chapter AND the epilogue will be posted tomorrow evening around this time. And then I will be taking a much needed hiatus for a week! In the mean time, enjoy this penultimate chapter! XOXO - Ash

Chapter Seventeen

It was three weeks before the news finally started dying down. Bucky was getting around much easier on his crutches but still needed help with some things. Emma had returned to work part time but still spent every night at the guy’s apartment. She had used up every last day of her paid time off but didn’t regret a second of it. Steve was back on schedule with his appointments and had adjusted his hours at the VA so that someone was always home with Bucky. Though Emma still went back to her apartment for things from time to time she had started referring to their place as “home” without even realizing she was doing it. Bucky and Steve both knew she had effectively moved in and they were more than pleased with that development. They wanted to officially ask her but she seemed so content with things as they were, they were afraid of rocking the boat. Eventually Bucky had made Steve promise that they would ask her the next time the opportunity presented itself.

Bucky had pushed himself too hard the previous day when he’d insisted he was up to walking to the coffee shop for breakfast. It was only half a block away but it was the furthest he’d gone in weeks and had proved to be a little too much. He paid for it dearly for the rest of the day, and the following morning he was still stiff. Emma insisted he stay in bed for breakfast and Steve curled up with him to make sure he stayed put. She didn’t make anything fancy, just bagel sandwiches and coffee so that they could eat while still nestled in their big, overly soft bed. The morning sun was shining in the room, bathing it in a golden glow that made Steve restless until he got out his sketch pad. He needed to capture the way Emma looked in that moment before it was gone. Bucky watched with amusement, remembering all the times Steve had convinced him to model for him.

It took a few adjustments but once Steve got Emma where he wanted her he started drawing at lightning speed. Emma was laying on her stomach, head cradled on one arm with her hair spilling out around her. She was in just her sleep shirt with her bare legs crossed up in the air behind her. It wasn’t the most comfortable position to hold without moving for minutes on end but she did her best to hold still. Until Bucky intervened. He couldn’t roll around much because of the cast but he was able to stretch just enough to tickle the sole of one foot when she stretched for a moment. Emma squealed and wiggled away while Steve pleaded for them to behave so he could finish. Bucky held up his hands placatingly, retreating back to the head of the bed. He could tell Steve was almost done a few minutes later when he kept glancing up and making random little adjustments. Bucky decided Steve had seen enough and with a great flop he flailed himself forward, landing right next to Emma who he attacked with tickles. Steve grumbled, setting down his sketch pad while Emma screamed for mercy. Not willing to miss out on the fun, Steve pounced as delicately as he could on Bucky while avoiding his cast. Bucky liked to say he wasn’t ticklish but Steve knew better. There were two small spots, one on each side of his torso, on one particular rib, that if hit just right made him howl. After skittering his long fingers along Bucky for a moment he found it and Bucky rolled into a ball the best he could with the cast, yelling at Steve to take it easy on the cripple. Emma was hysterical watching them, relieved to have a moment to catch her breath.

The chiming of Emma’s phone interrupted their fun and she groaned as she turned off the alarm. “I don’t wanna go.” She lamented, clutching the phone to her chest. She was being dramatic, she knew, but having to go to work and leave the guys in bed was practically torture.

Bucky exchanged a look with Steve before speaking. “What if you didn’t have to?”

Emma rolled her eyes, “Oh sure, I’ll be sure to grab a lotto ticket on my way in.”

“No, I’m serious.”

Emma sat up to look at Bucky with wary eyes, “What do mean?”

“You love art, it’s why you got your degree in it. You should be doing something in your field.”

It was hard not to bristle at being told what she should be doing with her life but Emma bit back the snarky response she wanted to give. Choosing instead to just be realistic, “That would be great but nowhere that’s hiring can offer me enough to go full time and still manage to live in the city. I have bills, Bucky.”

“That’s what I’m saying. What if you didn’t have to worry about all those bills? What if you could just take a job at a gallery and work your way up from there?”

“I won’t take your money.” that Emma did bristle at.

Steve, knowing he’d feel the same in her shoes, jumped in to clarify, “We’re not offering you money, doll. We want you to live with us. You’re here every day now and most of your clothes are here too. After Buck got hurt you basically moved in, it’s just a matter of logistics.”

“I didn’t realize...” Emma was quiet a moment, she knew he was right and a pang of guilt hit her, “I didn’t mean to take advantage of you guys, it just kind of happened.”

“You didn't take advantage.” Steve assured her, “We want you here. And if you were actually living here you wouldn’t have to worry about rent or utilities and you could take a job at a gallery.”

“I’m not going to just move in and mooch off of you. I’d have to be able to contribute.”

“You can help with groceries sometimes but you should focus on your student loans first since you’re not finished paying them.”

“It still doesn’t seem fair.”

“Well, it doesn’t feel fair to us that you have this huge debt hanging over your head that you really didn’t have a choice in taking out so you could get an education. But, since we know you won’t let us pay it off, you can put your money towards paying it off faster yourself.”

Emma was floundering her way through pros and cons, refusing to let herself get carried away at the idea of living with the guys. “But what if… what if things… don’t work out? I can’t do that to you guys.”

Bucky gave her a sad smile, he knew she was worried about their well being just as much as her own. “We love you, darlin’, how could it not work out?”

“What?” she squeaked out, not having expected that answer in a million years.

Bucky hauled himself up so he could pull her in against his chest, “I love you.” he told her earnestly.

Steve took her free hand, rubbing his thumb over hand soothingly, “I love you too. We both do, and we want you to move in with us. Not because it’s convenient, not because you have more socks in this apartment than we do, but because we want to share our lives with you.”

“Oh.” Emma squeaked out between tears. The guys were quick to wipe them away from her face, waiting with baited breath for her response. “Okay. Let’s do it. I love you too, both of you, so much.”

Steve and Bucky enveloped her in a hug, holding her close while tears turned to giggles and then sweet chaste kisses and a few more happy tears.

Emma was fifteen minutes late to work and gave her two weeks notice that very day.

The places hiring in the city varied from large world renowned art collectives to small hipster galleries who only featured up and coming artists of one scene or another. Emma saw the allure of both types of places and applied everywhere that looked even remotely interesting. She got a few offers her first week, none that really felt right and one that was completely unpaid. The second week, panic was starting to set in. She was down to her last three shifts at the bar and had two more weeks on her apartment lease. Emma knew the guys wouldn’t push her to take a job for the sake of taking a job but she didn’t want to be out of work long. Her savings had dwindled a bit when she was down to part time while Bucky recovered but she had enough for another month with no pay if it came to it. She really hoped it wouldn’t though.

Emma was chatting with a group of Friday night regulars, it would be her last shift seeing them, Sunday being her last day. Her phone buzzed angrily in her back pocket and she waited for it to die down but it persisted like a hive of bees. A call then, not a text. She pulled her phone out, trying to catch the call in time but it went to voicemail right as she swiped frantically to accept it. The number was unfamiliar and she hoped it was a gallery with a new offer instead of someone offering a timeshare sales pitch. Two agonizing minutes later a voicemail notification flashed and Emma excused herself for a minute to dart out back to listen to the message.

Hi Emma, this Pepper Potts. Steve and Bucky’s friend. Steve mentioned that you were looking for a job in an art gallery in the city and I was hoping to talk to you about that. I might know of an opening you would be perfect for. Give me a call back when you get a chance. Thanks, bye.

Emma stared blankly at her phone for a moment, dumbfounded. Pepper Potts, a friend of Steve and Bucky’s. Not Pepper Potts, famous, multi-billionaire, savvy business woman who Time had made woman of the year twice now. Emma blinked a few times, still getting her head around the seemingly causal call. She had to call her back, it would be rude not to. But what were the guys thinking not warning her that this could happen? And why would Steve, of all people, who railed against the evils of nepotism and the whole “it’s who you know” side of politics, try to have a friend give her a job. Well, she could at least give the woman a call back. Taking a steadying breath Emma dialed.

“Hello?” a cheerful, but slightly frazzled, voice answered.

“Hi, Ms. Potts? This is Emma. Steve and Bucky’s… umm…” Emma trailed off. What was she anyway? Girlfriend, partner, lady friend? Emma added that to the mental list of discussion topics for when she got home. Meanwhile, she sounded like an idiot.

“Oh, Emma!” Pepper chirped, saving her from further fumbling. “Thanks for calling me back.”

“Of course. I don’t know what Steve told you but I’m just looking for entry level jobs at a few galleries around Brooklyn right now.”

“Mhmm. Yeah, he mentioned - ohGodnotagain - sorry, can you hold on a minute Emma?”

Emma didn’t even get out a “yes” before she heard Pepper yelling “Morgan H. Stark!” followed by the sound of a crash in the background. There was a moment of hushed scolding and then a child crying and whining unintelligibly.

Pepper came back to the phone with a long sigh. “Sorry about that. Every time I turn my back Morgan is taking a screwdriver to something trying to see how it’s insides work.”

Emma bit back a laugh, “What was it this time?”

“The roomba. She’s only five but I swear she’s just a miniature version of her father.”

“Sounds like you have your hands full.”

“And then some. Now, about the job. It’s not too far away, still in Brooklyn, it’s a nonprofit gallery where they feature up and coming artists who need help getting some exposure. We need a gallery assistant to start as soon as possible.”

“We?”

“Yeah, I’m on the board of directors there. When Steve gave me your resume I hugged him. The timing is perfect and I think you’d be a great fit.”

“What’s the name of the gallery? Maybe I’ve already applied.”

“The Hideaway. We haven’t listed the job yet though.”

Emma swallowed roughly. She knew of the gallery in one of Brooklyn’s trendier, more affluent neighborhoods. It was known for being the starting place for many well known modern artists. “Pepper, really I’m just looking to get my foot in the door to gain experience. I appreciate the offer but…”

“But what? You can get experience anywhere, come do it with us. How about this, let me stop by the guys apartment tomorrow and we can look at the portfolio of artists we have right now. Give you an idea of what we’re about? If you don’t want the job it’s fine, but at least take a look. I’ll bring brunch?”

Emma shook her head, she was going to wring Steve Roger’s neck for this. “Okay, I’ll take a look.”

“Great! I’ll come over tomorrow around ten thirty?”

“We’ll be home.”

“Okay, I’ll see you then.”

Emma hung up, torn between stunned and angry. She wasn’t taking a pity job at Steve’s friend’s gallery. He should have known her better than this. It was tempting to text him, vent some of her frustrations before she got home, but instead she tucked her phone away and went back out to the bustling bar where she could distract herself for a few hours.

It was a little past eleven when Emma finally dragged herself into the apartment. She was not going to miss the exhaustion of a ten hour shift bartending. Steve was perched on one end of the sofa, glasses slipping down his nose while he read a book. Bucky was laying across the other two seats, his head nestled on Steve’s lap. They looked so sleepy and sweet, she wanted to join them but she had a bone to pick first.

“You have some explaining to do.” Emma announced, setting her purse down on the breakfast bar.

Steve looked back with wide eyes, pushing his glasses up a little, “What?” He sounded guilty too quickly. He knew.

“Oh, I think you know. Let’s see if you can guess who called me at work tonight? It’s a friend of yours.”

Steve gulped, “Sam?”

“Don’t play cute, Rogers. Why would you try to get me a pity job?”

“I didn’t think-”

“Oh damn right you didn’t think. Do you know how that feels, Steve? I can get my own job! I know we’re cutting things close but I still have applications out there and if worse comes to worse I can call back one of the places that was interested and just take one of those until something better comes up.”

Steve opened and closed his mouth a few times like a fish, a torn expression on his face.

Bucky, who was woken by their tiff, cleared his throat. “We know you can, darlin’. And we’re gonna be proud as hell when you find the right job. No matter how long that takes. Don’t take some job you’ll hate just because it’s there, that’s why you quit Matty’s.”

Emma shook her head, “I can’t just take a job I’m not qualified for because you’re friends with one of the directors.”

“You’re not.” Bucky countered, “Steve mentioned it to Pepper because she asked how you were doing when they were talking this morning. It was a friendly call, that’s all. Pepper asked for your resume to see if she could throw out some feelers in the community for you. We didn’t know she was going to offer you a job.”

Deflating a little, Emma scrubbed at her face. Annoyance turning onto herself for biting Steve’s head off. “I’m sorry Steve,” she mumbled “I’m an asshole.”

Steve gave her a wry smile, knowing all too well the chagrin of putting his foot in his mouth. “Hear that, Buck?” he poked Bucky in the side, “I’m not the asshole this time.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, “You’re always the asshole, punk.”

“Yeah, but you love me.”

“God help us all.”

xxXxx

Pepper arrived the next morning with arms weighed down by a large leather tote on one arm and take out bags on the other. “I didn’t know what to get so I got everything.” she huffed out, setting her stuff down on the living room table.

Bucky was sprawled out on the sofa watching yet another episode of How It’s Made because “Did you see it Steve? Who would have thought it was all in one tube like that?” He had been hooked on the show for months and Steve didn’t have the heart to make him pick something else. It reminded him of Bucky before the war, always so curious and eager to learn. Bucky did have the decency to turn off the TV and slide up so he was mostly sitting, making room for Steve and Emma while Pepper set up. Steve popped out from his studio and started rifling through boxes of take out before Pepper could even set them down on the table.

“Thank you so much for bringing all this.” Emma told her, trying to play hostess since the guys were lost in the array of breakfast foods.

Pepper swatted Bucky’s hand away from a box of frittata, “Mine,” she practically hissed at him before turning to Emma with a smile, “No problem! I’m glad you were willing to at least look at the portfolio from The Hideaway.”

Brunch was a mostly quiet affair. The food was plentiful and delicious, Pepper having impeccable taste in restaurants, as usual. Between bites of eggs benedict and maple pecan french toast, Steve and Bucky got updates from Pepper on a few things going on with the training program at the Avengers Compound. Steve huffed when she mentioned him coming out to speak to the new trainees. He still wasn't convinced they would want to hear from him since he no longer wore the mantle of Captain America; regardless of how many times Bucky told him that it’s a lifetime title, like being President. Emma agreed with Bucky but Steve forced a change in topics before she could do more than chime in with a “he’s right”.

Steve offered to clean up the disaster on the living room table so Pepper and Emma could go over the portfolio binder for the gallery. Not wanting to be a distraction, Bucky politely escaped to the bedroom. Forty five minutes later Emma had to admit she was impressed. More than impressed, really. The Hideaway was the exact type of gallery she wanted to be a part of. Pepper gushed about the current team and how lucky they were to have such a tight knit group. It was a dream job but Emma was still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“You don’t have to decide anything today. I can hold off posting the job publicly until Monday.” Pepper offered.

Emma considered it for a minute, still unsure. “I really am tempted. It’s an amazing opportunity.”

“You would be such a perfect fit for the team. I can see you thriving there.”

“Me too but, Pepper I gotta be honest; would you be offering me this job if my application came through with the swarm of others?”

“It would depend.” Pepper was direct, “If it came along with other equally educated and experienced people, then yes. And then for sure the interview would have sealed it. If it had come over with a batch of people more qualified and well suited, then possibly not.”

“Thank you for that.” Emma was relieved by the honesty in Pepper’s answer, “I’ll think about it and let you know by tomorrow night.”

“Perfect.” Pepper smiled widely like she already knew it was a done deal. Emma thought it was too but she really needed to weigh things out before she jumped in with both feet.

After Pepper headed home, Emma joined Bucky in bed where he was reading a new copy of National Geographic. She figured that she might as well be comfortable while she made her mental pro and con list. Steve joined them after a little while, snuggling his way in between the two of them.

“Have you decided then?” Steve asked Emma, throwing an arm around her waist.

Emma groaned, “Yes and no.”

“You want to take it, don’t you?”

“Yeah, so badly. But...”

“It seems too good to be true?” Bucky butted in.

“Yeah, it does. It’s the perfect opportunity. Great work environment, paid vacation and sick days, benefits, and holy shit pay bump.”

“I seem to remember you stressing over something else that seemed too good to be true a few months ago.” Steve teased.

Bucky nodded along in agreement, “And look how well this turned out.”

“I love you.” Emma kissed Bucky and then Steve in turn. “I think I’m going to take it. But,”

“No buts!” Steve exclaimed.

Emma rolled her eyes and continued unphased, “But, I want you to seriously consider giving a few talks at the compound. You would be such a good example for these kids, Steve.”

“What’s the point? Who’s going to listen to the guy that can’t raise his voice without risking an asthma attack? These kids are training to work with the Avengers, with some of the best mentors on the planet. They’ll be fine without listening to the ramblings of a retired old man.”

“Oh sweetheart no.” Emma wrapped herself around Steve, pulling him close so she could run her fingers through his hair and litter kisses across his face. “You are so much more than your body. Your mind is one in a million Steve, and those kids would be damned lucky to hear anything you have to say.”

Bucky shifted himself over to curl around Steve’s other side, sandwiching him between them. “Erskine didn’t pick you for your body.” Bucky reminded him gently.

“What would I even say?” Steve relented.

“That would be entirely up to you. Just think about it, okay?” Emma pleaded.

Steve nodded in silent agreement. Thinking about it and actually doing it were two very different things. If he could actually think of something to say to a room full of twenty year olds then maybe he’d come around.

Tag list lovelies: @godofplumsandthunder @remilupin22 @supraveng @hiddles-rose

If anyone wants added or removed please lmk!

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newstfionline · 5 years ago

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Sunday, October 11, 2020

Enrollment drops worry public schools as pandemic persists (AP) Rather than wait to see how her children’s Florida public school would teach students this fall, Erica Chao enrolled her two daughters in a private school that seemed better positioned to provide instruction online during the uncertainty of the coronavirus pandemic. The virtual lessons that Emily, 8, and Annabelle, 6, received in the spring while enrolled at a Miami-Dade County elementary school became a “free for all,” Chao said. The private school classes, by contrast, hold the girls’ attention, and their mother no longer worries they will fall behind if she doesn’t attend school with them at home. “For the first time since March, I was able to walk away,” Chao said. Parents across the country have faced similar choices about whether to keep their children in public schools as the pandemic extends into a new academic year. Some opted for private or charter schools. Others are dedicating themselves to homeschooling, hiring tutors to oversee multi-family “learning pods” or struggling to balance their children’s educations with work when school times and technology keep changing. Such personal decisions could exacerbate the financial problems of public school systems that receive a set amount of state funding for every student they enroll, which are the vast majority. With preliminary figures showing unexpected enrollment declines in many places, school officials used letters, phone calls and volunteers going door-to-door to persuade parents to register their youngsters before this month’s fall student census.

With Americans anxious to go out, walking tours pick up pace (AP) With an eerily quiet and empty stadium plaza behind him, the tour guide tried to help people picture what they would have seen there more than 160 years earlier. His audience of eight, all on foot, peered over masks at maps as he described hundreds of groceries, saloons, blacksmiths and 100,000 people living across two square miles—one of the pre-Civil War United States’ most congested areas. For so many Americans, this is a time of being cooped up, of being unable to interact with fellow humans and, in many cases, with the landscape itself. COVID-19 and its impact have kept many away from air travel, cruise ships and crowded beaches. Enter a decidedly unplugged alternative, a very concrete antidote to a suddenly more virtual life: the walking tour. Maybe not the most exciting outlet, but far better than being surrounded by the same four walls. “Our mental health matters also, and it’s very important for us ... when we’re really feeling extremely alienated from each other and feeling trapped in our homes, to walk our streets, in the safest way possible,” said Rebecca Manski of Social Justice Tours in New York City. Such tours have picked up in popularity for people seeking outdoor social activity while maintaining health safety precautions and staying in small groups.

With whipping winds, Delta drenches Louisiana, Mississippi (AP) Ripping tarps from already damaged roofs and scattering debris piled by roadsides, Delta inflicted a new round of destruction on Louisiana as it struck communities still reeling after Hurricane Laura took a similar path just six weeks earlier. Delta hit as a Category 2 hurricane, with top winds of 100 mph (155 kph) but rapidly grew weaker. By Saturday morning, it dwindled to a tropical storm with 45 mph (75 kph) winds. Still, forecasters warned of danger from storm surge and flash floods across much of southwestern Louisiana and parts of neighboring Texas. Mississippi also got its fair share of rain overnight.

Fishy idea (Foreign Policy) As the United Kingdom tries to beat a path out of the European Union, demanding a significant increase in fishing rights as it leaves the bloc’s common fisheries policy, Belgium’s Ambassador to the European Union Willem van de Voorde made an unlikely invocation on Wednesday: a charter signed in 1666 by King Charles II granting 50 fishermen from Bruges “eternal rights” to fish in England’s waters. It’s not unprecedented for centuries-old documents to play a role in British diplomacy today; the Anglo-Portuguese alliance of 1373 still stands and was invoked during the Falklands War. Although unlikely to sway the negotiations, the ambassador’s intervention underscores how fraught discussions over fishing rights have become.

Europe’s Economic Recovery Is a Summer Memory (NYT) What faint hopes remained that Europe was recovering from the economic catastrophe delivered by the pandemic have disappeared as the lethal virus has resumed spreading rapidly across much of the continent. After sharply expanding in the early part of the summer, Britain’s economy grew far less than anticipated in August—just 2.1 percent compared with July, the government reported on Friday, adding to worries that further weakness lies ahead. Earlier in the week, France, Europe’s second-largest economy, downgraded its forecast for the pace of expansion for the last three months of the year from an already minimal 1 percent to zero. Over all, the national statistics agency predicted the economy would contract by 9 percent this year. The diminished expectations are a direct outgrowth of alarm over the revival of the virus. France reported nearly 19,000 new cases on Wednesday—a one-day record, and almost double the number the day before. The surge prompted President Emmanuel Macron to announce new restrictions, including a two-month shutdown of cafes and bars in Paris and surrounding areas. In Spain, the central bank governor warned this week that the accelerating spread of the virus could force the government to impose restrictions that would produce an economic contraction of as much as 12.6 percent this year. The European Central Bank’s chief economist cautioned on Tuesday that the 19 countries that share the euro currency might not recover from the disaster until 2022. Summer increasingly feels like a long time ago.

North Korea parades huge, new ICBM, but Kim Jong Un stresses deterrent nature (Washington Post) North Korea showed off what appeared to be a huge, new inter-continental ballistic missile at a military parade Saturday, although leader Kim Jong Un stressed the deterrent nature of the weaponry on display—and even held out an olive branch to neighbor South Korea. The military parade, marking the 75th anniversary of the ruling Workers’ Party, featured a vast array of modernized military systems, from small arms through antitank and air- defense systems. The most closely watched, however, was what looked to be four huge, new liquid-fueled ICBMs, rolling through the main square in Pyongyang on 11-axle vehicles. Military experts—monitoring the parade through North Korean state television—said the new missile would be one of the largest road-mobile ICBMs in the world if it becomes operational, and could represent the threatened new “strategic weapon” Kim had talked of at the start of this year. For the international community, Kim’s message was: North Korea was a military force to be reckoned with, but not a threat.

Azerbaijan and Armenia Agree to Cease-Fire in Nagorno-Karabakh (NYT) Azerbaijan and Armenia negotiated a limited cease-fire early Saturday after almost two weeks of fierce fighting over a disputed province, with the goal of pausing combat long enough to collect bodies from the battlefield and to exchange prisoners. The Russian-brokered agreement, which takes effect at noon on Saturday, was short on specifics. The issue of the how the cease-fire would play out on the front lines was left to the sides to agree to in “additional” talks. People fleeing the fighting on Friday described the violence as more intense than what took place during the yearslong war between Armenia and Azerbaijan in the early 1990s that killed some 20,000 people and displaced about a million, mostly Azerbaijanis.

Clashes erupt between ultra-Orthodox and police, youth set fire to city (Jerusalem Post) Clashes broke out between police and dozens of ultra-Orthodox people late Thursday night in Modi’in Illit as a gathering was held in a synagogue in violation of coronavirus and lockdown regulations, Walla reported. Several ultra-Orthodox were arrested, and youth set aflame trees and vegetation throughout the city in outcry. A video of the scene shows dozens of ultra-Orthodox people in clashes with the police as violence erupts among the crowd, and the congregants yell “shame on you,” at the police.

Nigerian protesters demand end of an anti-robbery police unit that robs people (Washington Post) The police officers accused him of speeding, but Dare Olaitan felt that wasn’t true. The 29-year-old filmmaker in Nigeria’s biggest city, Lagos, recalls requesting proof. “Then they slapped me, yanked away my phone and keys and said, ‘We are going to an ATM,” Olaitan said. The men, who’d pulled him over in an unmarked van, identified themselves as part of the Federal Special Anti-Robbery Squad, or SARS, a Nigerian police unit that has been tasked over the last three decades with fighting violent crime, including banditry and kidnapping. Similar tales blazed across social media in recent days as thousands of protesters filled the streets in several Nigerian cities, urging the leaders of Africa’s most populous nation to disband the squad, which they say routinely commits the kind of crimes it is supposed to thwart. Human rights activists have campaigned against SARS for years, but violent videos that surfaced online this week shoved a fresh spotlight on what demonstrators condemned as police brutality. A number of Nigerian celebrities took up the cause, helping #EndSARS go massively viral. As pressure mounted, Nigerian President Muhammadu Buhari vowed Friday to investigate the squad.

#headlines #news

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thepermanentrainpress · 5 years ago

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THE IMPOSSIBLE STAIRCASE – A CONVERSATION WITH ANDREW JUDAH

Andrew Judah is based in Kelowna—but don’t call them a Kelowna band.

“It’s impossible not to be influenced by your environment in some way, but I’m not writing about the Okanagan and the sound is not based on anything to do with the Okanagan,” their frontman (and namesake) told us over coffee earlier this month.

“Yeah, it might be shaped by the people you spend time with… less by the lake,” bassist Caleb McAlpine chimed in beside him.

Fair enough, some of the band members themselves having grown up or spent extended periods of time in other cities. Andrew Judah was a solo project first; his debut album, The Preacher’s Basement, came out in 2011.

Judah still writes the material and handles most of the instrumentation on studio recordings, but the group of like-minded musicians has been a boost to his live shows and creative process. McAlpine even co-produced the new record with Judah – or, in the latter’s words, “pulled me back from the ledge when I was having doubts about something, or about to delete everything.”

Impossible Staircase, set for release on April 20th, pulls back from the synth-y melodies of Judah’s last album. It was written about a close friend’s battle with addiction, and ties into an overarching concept of being trapped in a feedback loop.

There is piano, guitars, and drums, but also hints of the less conventional—violin, autoharp, trombone. The recently released single “Burn it Down” is eerily cinematic; Judah’s lyrics are a mix of metaphor and literal, his vocals poised amidst the pulsing rhythm.

Impossible Staircase by Andrew Judah

One of the few instruments Judah didn’t play on every track himself was the drums. Most of the percussion was recorded by Zac Gauthier – who was featured on Judah’s last album, Metanoia, as well – in a cabin near Salmon Arm.

“There are some pretty explosive moments [on the record] that only he could pull off,” said McAlpine. “He is amazing,” Judah agreed.

Chloe Davidson, who is a member of Kelowna bluegrass quartet Under the Rocks, handled violin duties.

Every song on Impossible Staircase flows into the next as if in – you guessed it – a never-ending cycle. Judah also incorporates Shepard tones—audio illusions which give the impression of a pitch rising, or falling, forever.

“It’s a loop, but it tricks your ears into thinking you’re hearing this very stressful, continuously descending sound,” Judah said of the technique. (Film score composer Hans Zimmer is a fan, if you needed another reason to appreciate its emotive power.)

Judah’s favourite song on the album changes day to day, but at the time of this interview he settled on “Lose My Mind,” which will be released as a single on Friday.

“It’s just a very sincere song about a very serious topic, and I managed to do it in a way that… I don’t hate?” He laughed. “It’s hard to write from an honest place about something that’s happening in your life, and not have it be cheesy. I’m pretty critical of things that feel cheesy.”

McAlpine went with “Penrose” – a seven-minute tune that has proven to be quite the challenge in rehearsals.

“There’s a repeating line that feels like it goes on for two minutes… there's no room to breathe. I'm going hard on a shaker, playing keys, singing, and I'm just not thinking. Almost every time without fail, I feel like I'm about to pass out.”

It’s something we don’t often consider—complex arrangements, pieced together between the walls of a studio, written with the headphone listener in mind and not the immediacy in having to recreate them. Rehearsals are the first opportunity the band members have to flesh out the songs for their live show.

Andrew Judah was set to embark on a BC tour this month, but postponed the dates due to COVID-19 concerns. Victoria was one city they were most looking forward to revisiting; they played a sold-out show at Vinyl Envy in October, and have also been on the bill for Psych & Soul – an annual music showcase put on by the record store.

“Really good community there,” said McAlpine. “We will never not go to Victoria to play shows.”

In light of the circumstances, they recorded a live set at Judah’s studio, Sounds Suspicious. It can be enjoyed with a glass of wine, and a friend, providing that friend is streaming the video from the confines of their own home.

youtube

The band is no stranger to larger crowds, having been a part of Skookum, Vancouver Fringe Festival, and Rifflandia in recent years. They were scheduled to play the (also postponed) AltiTunes Festival at Big White alongside Canadian rock darlings Arkells and Dear Rouge.

But there’s nothing quite like the charm of a room, and they lean towards intimate, self-made events at coffee shops and other less traditional venues when performing locally. It is time consuming, Judah acknowledged, but makes the end experience that much more worthwhile. “Everything is intentional, as opposed to playing in a bar where half the people might not even be listening.”

The most anticipated part of their set is also the most unpredictable: the group marches from the stage to the middle of the crowd, and play a song without the use of mics or amplification.

They’ve done it surrounded by hundreds under the cozy lights of Canoe Coffee Roasters, to a lone table of three in Port Alberni. It is a moment that lends itself to connection and vulnerability – and audiences have been receptive to that.

“It turns things from look at what we’re doing, to look at what we’re engaging in,” McAlpine said. “We go back on stage and it changes from that point on.”

The cover art for Impossible Staircase was drawn by Max Weiner, who also did the art for two of Judah’s previous records. Keeping with the cyclical theme, it shows an ouroboros – a snake eating its own tail – in the shape of a DNA strand—“which speaks to our behaviour being more ingrained than not,” said Judah.

The last music video Andrew Judah put out was for “Best in Show” – a song that will appear on the new record, albeit a more resonant version than what is currently released.

They don’t have any others in the works, McAlpine noting it’s something they’ll revisit once the album is out, and they see an opportunity to carry the art forward.

“I'm not a giant fan of music videos in general,” said Judah. “I don't think they’re worth doing unless they're something that can stand on their own; truly another way to look at a piece of music, as opposed to just… (The PRP: A band performing it?) Yes, exactly. That feels reductionist to do it just because.”

When he’s not working on material under the Andrew Judah banner, the frontman is a freelance composer for film and television.

It started back in 2012, when he remixed the song “Let Go” by New York experimental artist Son Lux, a.k.a. Ryan Lott. Lott’s day job was as a composer at Butter Music; one thing led to another, and Judah was offered a residency there himself.

Asked how the commercial avenue has influenced his approach to solo material, Judah admits he wasn’t very intentional with his writing when he started out. “Music was just this thing that happened… the inspiration would lead wherever it led. Since it became my job, [I think more about] what sounds are going to make people feel a certain way. It’s been an education in what to do with my own music.”

McAlpine has his own solo project, Common Fires, and a new single coming out April 13th. But he had always wanted to play in a band, and joked that he was “very sad, very bored. Never getting any better, just getting more sad and bored; slightly worse,” in the solitary endeavour.

He returned to Kelowna in 2014, having not lived in the city for about 10 years, and was planning to move again when the opportunity to collaborate with Judah – whose work he was already a fan of – arose.

“It’s been a very fruitful relationship,” McAlpine surmised.

The other members of the live band are Nathanael Sherman (guitar) and Kevin Dreger (drums). Sherman also releases music under the moniker N. Sherman, and put out a single titled “Sweet Boy” last week.

So, it seems Impossible Staircase is a fitting analogy for the musicians themselves. Multi-faceted and never satisfied. Continuously pushing their craft.

“You as a musician are probably always practicing,” McAlpine said. “You’re never not riding that bike.”

And we can be appreciative of that.

Written by: Natalie Hoy Header image by: Nathan Peacock

#Andrew Judah #Caleb McAlpine #Nathanael Sherman #music #interview #Kelowna #Natalie #Canadian music #Impossible Staircase #new music #Burn it Down #Vancouver #indie rock #band #Common Fires #ylw #yvr #Kevin Dreger

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askiisoft · 6 years ago

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FAN ART FRIDAY: ALL THE WARRIORS, Part 2

And to think I was planning to fit all of the OCs into one week...yeah, not happening. With 50+ entries and counting, I’ll be lucky to fit them all into four parts.

Welcome back to Part 2 of “All The Warriors”, a multi-week showcase of the Katana ZERO community’s awesome fan characters! The volume of submissions for this event has been mind-blowing, to the point where I’ve had to create a dedicated Excel spreadsheet to keep track of them all. If you haven’t submitted your character yet, there’s still one week left! If you have, rest assured that it’ll will be included eventually, so please be patient!

For those who missed it, don’t forget to check out Part 1 of this series.

[WARNING: The work herein is based on fan creations, and should not be considered canon.]

Alpha 13, “Believer” by @DokusatsuMurXer

What is the loneliest number? ‘One’, you say? Nope, it’s 13...Alpha 13, that is.

Being one of the first Alpha-series NULL, it’s likely that Thirteen joined purely out of adoration for the illusive “Great Scientist”—a noble cause compared to the violent psychosis that defined the later Gamma-series NULL. While it’s clear he’s taken lives in service of his one-sided infatuation, it’s hard not to see him as another victim, still pining for his senpai’s attention even after everyone’s graduated and moved away years ago. Why do we always love the one who will hurt us the most?

According to @DokusatsuMurXer’s, the drunken swirls in his Post-war portrait are hiding something much steamier. I can only imagine.

Please, senpai. By @DokusatsuMurXer

—

Beta 6, “Blade” by @Khwany_kawawii

In the Third District, there’s only two ways to get what you need: by coercion, or by force. Beta 6 opts for both, and seems to have a reputation on par with The Dragon amongst hapless goons. Ironically, it seems amnesiac NULL like Blade or Zero are the ones who kept going on killing sprees after the war, instead of throwing in with criminal syndicates or settling into an ordinary day job.

Her giant curtain of hair, while a bit ridiculous-looking standing still, would certainly add a sense of dynamism as she flipped and pirouetted in midair, tossing knives left and right. Also, knives.

“With no drugs, I will die. But with the drugs...I am the Killing Angel.” By @Khwany_kawawii

—

Ema by @Khwany_kawawii

Well, would you look at that. Not only is Ema our first non-NULL OC, but also the first...*drum roll*...Cromag! That’s right—as a child, Ema barely survived a NULL attack that killed her family, and she’s dedicated her life to finding whoever was responsible ever since.

The concept of a private eye in Katana ZERO’s neo-noir metropolis, especially one who suffers from such intense trauma and racial discrimination, has fantastic plot potential. What if she finds the NULL who orphaned her, but they don’t remember it? What if they have to team up? I can’t help but wonder how long an average woman (bionic arm aside) could survive in this dark underbelly of drugged-up super-soldiers...

—

Gamma 4 by @camellia_066

Not every hero dies on a battlefield.

Being a commander means taking responsibility for those under your command. For some that extends beyond wartime, and especially so after the one-way process of becoming NULL; while an Alpha could skip doses of Chronos with nothing more than a nosebleed, a Gamma might require twice the dosage just to stay lucid.

Maybe the weight of New Mecca’s defeat was too much for him to bear. Maybe he knew that a cure for Chronos was a pipedream. But it was better to die for the slim chance of salvation than witness his former comrades slaughter one another for just another dose.

—

Gamma 12 by @wqwrppwu

So this is who’s been stealing my Uber Eats.

The idea of a Gamma-level NULL—especially one as devious-looking as Gamma 12—working as a pizza guy is hilarious to me. I have a soft spot for features like thin noses, wild eyes, and razor teeth that just scream “bad guy, stay away”. Most other NULL would just kill the cashier and take what they want, but Twelve uses his powers to steal booze and cigarettes and get away with it, every time.

It makes sense that he’d be best friends with Alpha 25, “Pomidor” (see Part 1) thanks to their mutual eccentricity and love of mayhem.

Camaraderie at work. By @wqwrppwu

—

Gamma 5 by twink-182

Beta 6 had better be a wizard to claim the nickname “Blade”, given how many Gamma-level knife experts roam the city’s underbelly. Once part of Fifteen’s circle of former NULL, Gamma 5 evidently saw the writing on the wall and decided to leave before his comrade’s vendetta drew him deeper into danger. Otherwise, who knows, we might have had a quick, teleporting knife-thrower heckling us throughout the Headhunter boss fight...yeah, maybe it’s for the best that he’s M.I.A.

I’m guessing the photo and red string is just another point on Fifteen’s byzantine conspiracy board; I hope we get to see the whole thing one day.

—

Alpha 4 by @kym0433

As with any conflict, the end of Cromag War produced massive windfalls for organized crime in terms of illegal weapons, war drugs, and super-soldiers thirsty for Chronos. Luckily for Alpha 4, the Chinese had carved out their own niche in New Mecca’s Chinatown, and they offered him a steady supply of "ke le nuo si”, as they called it, plus a cushy job as a bodyguard; after all, who would dare to start trouble on their turf? Who, but a certain samurai who walked up to the roulette table one day...

While Ted might not be the strongest NULL, he leads the pack in terms of fashion. No musty olive fatigues for this killer—whether it’s a traditional patterned chengshan or tasseled shawl, Ted makes it look awesome. No one would even suspect he’s hiding weapons under there!

By @kym0433

—

Beta 24, “Cecil” by @Tacoyaki86

Contrary to popular belief, the inability to feel pain is not a superpower, especially when paired with a military specialization as hazardous as demolitions and bomb disposal. Imagine not realizing your hands got blown off until you reached for a sip of coffee. That, and you’d be stone deaf from constant close-range explosions and minigun fire.

Knowing that, I can understand Beta 24′s desire to spend a quiet veterancy at a manga café, where the otaku don’t want to chat anyway and the biggest risks are coffee burns and paper cuts.

Also, is that chevron on his beret the same as Headhunter’s? That must indicate rank, or possibly explosives experts. Given Headhunter’s propensity for sticky mines and suicide vests, I’d believe it.

“Detonation successful!” By @Tacoyaki86

—

Gamma 767, “Retana” by @TailWood

Given how many NULL prefer close-range weapons like knives, swords, and bludgeons, having to fire artillery from kilometers away must seem like a crushing indignity for a Gamma like 767: slowing time just means it takes longer for his rockets to hit their targets, and he can’t even collect any trophies to show off to the guys at the bar once they’re off-duty! But hey, someone’s got to do it; I don’t think even the sharpest steel would do much against a tank...

By @TailWood

—

Gamma 9, “Nara” by @couriervictor

Sadism and sharp objects don’t pair well together. It was never explained why Headhunter chose to wear her old uniform everywhere, but in Gamma 9′s case it’s pretty clear: he’s an elite, and he wants you to know it. Lack of physical strength doesn’t matter, since everyone in Katana ZERO died in one hit anyway, and his affinity for throwing knives reminds me of Biker’s levels from Hotline Miami. More knives.

—

Alpha 35, “Sako” by @matsumatsu_kou

For a Gamma NULL, overcoming a debilitating wound is as simple as using their powers to ‘reset’ and try again until they can win the battle without a single scratch. Sadly, that wasn’t an option for their lesser Alpha brethren, as evidenced by Alpha 35.

There have been known cases of NULL choosing to retain scars and other superficial injuries as badges of honor, but if there’s a reason why Sako chooses to fight with a blind eye and busted arm, it’s beyond me. However, if Proto-15 is anything to go by, battle damage is a huge plus for you ferals out there, and it gives him an extra place to store those KNIVES. *snickt*

By @matsumatsu_kou

—

Beta 74 by @cheezysucks

“Take everything from a man but his weapon, and do not judge him thereafter.”

Even in the far-flung future of New Mecca, it seems PTSD still haunts soldiers returning from conflict, even those as exceptional as NULL—if a near-death experience is harrowing, imagine the trauma of countless actual deaths, each instance being dragged backwards in time to start over.

Still, as far as ex-NULL go, Beta 74 chose as honest a job as his ilk can manage, given their stigma abroad. And oh, wow, is he wearing a pair of those funky four-eyed night-vision goggles? Look them up, they’re real, and just as absurd-looking.

—

Gamma 5, “Heatseeker” by 6at

Pour one out for another fallen warrior, Gamma 5 (yes, I know there was already a Gamma 5 earlier, won’t be the last time this happens). Five seems more like a tactical fire commander than your average NULL, with actual combat armor and a bubble helmet seemingly inspired by early concept versions of Headhunter’s gear, replete with a digitized HUD; pretty slick-looking, I must say.

Knowing how far far New Mecca went to cover up the NULL program, I’m surprised they let Five live as long as they did, though his hermetic lifestyle likely made him a minimal risk. I’m guessing he was terminated around the same time the government halted the production of Chronos. Coincidence?

Seems like ‘Heatseeker’ attracted a bit too much heat, heh heh.

—

And that was Part 2 of our Katana ZERO OC event. Is your finger tired from scrolling yet? Not as much as mine...

Click here to read ‘Part 3: Was Going To Be The Finale But I’m Drowning’. Thanks immensely to every single artist who’s submitted their characters and expanded the world of Katana ZERO just a bit more!

By @wqwrppwu

#askiisoft #Devolver Digital #fan art #fan art friday #original character #do #not #steal #katanazero #katana zero

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murphystarr · 7 years ago

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not so self assured

a sort of companion piece to chapter 10 of @ch-ch-ch-ch-cherrybomb‘s twin skeletons. features leslie harris, my harris kid, and a lot of self-reflection and some uneaten chicken enchiladas.

mentions of suicide

The coroner had estimated that Brian had died sometime around 11:30 that Friday night. He had been dead for nearly ten hours before Leslie had found him, stiff and cold, dangling from the rafters, a makeshift noose made out of an electrical cord tight around his neck.

That was six days ago.

No.

Five days, sixteen hours, seventeen minutes and 48 seconds.

She was still pretty numb about the whole thing. Then again, nothing could really prepare you for finding your older brother dead. The paramedics had checked her out when they arrived to set Brian free from his noose and take him to the morgue; they took her blood pressure, put a stethoscope to her chest, shone a light in her eyes, asked her what day it was and her name. They calmly explained to her that she was in shock, then a paramedic who reminded her of her older sister, Morgan, took her to the living room and guided her to the couch, advised her to lie down and put a pillow underneath her legs. She stayed there with her, making small talk while Leslie heard her mother’s screams from the garage, and the faint voices of police officers, asking her father questions that Leslie thought would never relate to Brian:

“How long has he been depressed?”

“Did he say that he had a plan?”

“Has he flat out said that he wanted to hurt himself?”

Hurt himself? No. Hurt other people? Maybe. It really depended on the person.

Back when they were younger, Brian was the kid that future Brian would have loved to pick on. He was the fat middle child while his older sister was an actual pageant princess and his younger sister was a point spot flyer for their state’s most prestigious competitive cheerleading team. He was boxed in and overshadowed by his sister’s accomplishments and his parents’ divided attention. On Fridays, their father went to Leslie’s cheer competitions and their mother accompanied Morgan to the multi-day pageants. They would all return Sunday afternoon with trophies, tiaras, medals, and flowers, usually with the expectation that they were heading to higher and higher things.

The summer that Brian went to fat camp, Leslie’s team, Cheer Extreme Great White Sharks, placed first in their division at Worlds, and Morgan won Miss Virginia Teen USA.

Was Brian depressed? Leslie honestly couldn’t tell. The only thing she could point at was that when Brian was fat, he often parked himself in front of the television with an armsload of food, not moving for hours.

Kind of what Leslie was doing right then and there.

She had made herself comfortable in a hoard of blankets that would make any dragon proud, armored in four-day-old sweats, decked out in a messy bun that hadn’t seen anything but dry shampoo in days, staring at reruns of Family Feud, all while nursing a cold plate of chicken enchiladas that her cheer friend, Tazzy, and her two dads brought over yesterday. She wasn’t hungry, she had only cut out a slice of the dish an hour ago when Morgan begged her to eat something. It had been nearly 20 hours since she ate something, she needed to keep up her strength for the funeral tomorrow.

“You need to take care of yourself, babe,” Morgan had said when she put the enchiladas in the microwave for her. “Keeping yourself away from food isn’t the best thing for your body right now. I’m sure your coaches feel the same way.”

Oh, right. Her coaches. They had stopped by the other day with white chrysanthemums and a card signed by the entire team for Leslie. They uttered the usual platitudes, how sorry they were, how was she holding up, if there was anything they could do let them know, but they needed to know when she’ll be back. The Sharks had a huge competition coming up soon and they really needed her back at the gym.

Leslie missed the gym where she had been training at for the past ten years. Five times a week, since she was four, she was in her own world. Surrounded by her teammates, they tumbled, danced, stunted, jumped, and cheered. Practicing over and over until they could easily perform award winning routines in unison. Leslie found a second home in The Shark Tank over the years, a place where she found refuge from the drama in her family, where she was surrounded by the girls she grew up with, girls she considered to be her sisters, and her coaches: Anthony, Dallas, and Regan, who she looked up to as mentors.

But since Brian died, it seemed that cheer and all desires to return to The Shark Tank had been put on the backburner. She hadn’t brought herself to go through her at-home conditioning drills. She hadn’t even bothered to stretch, something that was vital to any cheerleader, especially to a point spot flyer. She was the focus of the entire routine whenever she and the other flyers went in the air, she had fought tooth and nail for that position, dealt with numerous concussions, conditioned her body and pushed herself beyond her limits to be the ideal flyer. She was the best flyer on the team, the entire team depended on her.

But now, all kind of spirit she could muster up for her team was reflected in her Great White Sharks hoodie, the one that had WORLD CHAMPION pressed on the back in obnoxious, blocky letters.

She wasn’t supposed to be going through this. This isn’t how it was supposed to be. Leslie was supposed to breeze through her freshman year at Central High, making her place in student council and yearbook committee. She was supposed to travel with her team to Disney World in June, where they had the opportunity for a threepeat as World Champions. She was supposed to keep up with her photography, having her pictures place in local shows like they had been for the past year and half. She was supposed to look up to Alana Beck as a guide, like she had been since her freshman year started. But the moment Brain let out his last breath, all of that went away. She wasn’t a two-time World Champion anymore, she wasn’t one half of the freshman representatives on the Homecoming court, she wasn’t a member of student council or the yearbook committee or even a photographer, she was just Brain Harris’ sister. She had been his sister at the beginning of the year, but she had worked hard to differentiate herself from him for the past two months, not wanting to leech of his popularity by blood association and the fact he drove them both to school every day.

But Brian killed himself in their garage, next to where they kept their bicycles and his snowboard. He waited until his family was asleep, disabled the alarm, then tiptoed downstairs into the garage, with no intention of coming back out alive. And Leslie wasn’t Leslie anymore. She was just his sister who was listed in the obituary as one of his surviving family members. Nothing she did mattered anymore.

She felt a warm hand on her shoulder. Leslie looked up to find an identical pair of hazel eyes looking down back at her. Morgan must’ve finally taken a shower, Leslie noticed, her hair was damp and skin was flushed rosy red. Her older sister looked down at the plate on Leslie’s lap, frowning slightly.

“Did you eat any of that?”

“Yeah,” she lied. “I’m not that hungry right now.”

Morgan didn’t fight it. She circled the couch and sat down next to Leslie, then began to softly play with her hair. Leslie instinctually leaned next to her, resting her head on Morgan’s shoulder.

“When was the last time you took a shower?”

“I don’t know.”

“Les.”

“Five days ago?”

Morgan just let out a sigh. Leslie closed her eyes. Let Morgan pet her head in a soothing motion.

“Are you ready for tomorrow?”

“Not really.”

That was a lie, Leslie had her outfit picked and had laid on her desk two days ago. Black scalloped dress with a black cardigan, black pumps and sheer tights, even black pearls to go in her ears. The pearls had been from her grandmother, a gift to celebrate her starting high school. Leslie had never predicted that she would have to use them so soon.

Physically, she was ready. Emotionally? Not a chance in hell. She wasn’t ready to face all of Brian’s teammates and friends, her dad’s clients and colleagues, her mom’s book club friends and old sorority sisters from college. She wasn’t ready to see some of her teammates who had texted her a few days ago that they would be at the funeral to support her. She just wanted to stay in bed, isolate herself until everything was normal again, press some sort of button that would skip the entire grieving process, exterminate every emotion she was feeling that arose when she saw her brother’s body hanging from the garage ceiling last Saturday morning.

She wanted to disappear.

“...gonna be there.”

Leslie must’ve tuned out again, only coming back to hear the tail end of Morgan’s announcement.

“Who’s gonna be there?”

“Mr. Murphy. He’s coming to the funeral tomorrow.”

That made sense, he and her dad worked at the same law firm downtown together. They had known each other from their days rushing Pi Kappa Delta. It was natural that Mr. Murphy would be there to support his friend during this time. She had once heard that Mr. Murphy and her father had to wrestle in mud pit during their time pledging, only Brian had told her later they had to do it naked.

“That’s nice of him. Are any other Murphy’s gonna be there?”

“I’m not sure about Mrs. Murphy, but I’m pretty sure Zoe might be there.”

Leslie nodded. She liked Zoe. They used to dress up together and play make-believe when they were younger, and Leslie taught Zoe how to do a backflip on their trampoline. They spent a lot of time together in the summer, when Leslie didn’t have cheer and Zoe didn’t had guitar lessons, usually swimming in Leslie’s pool or riding their bikes down to the park to play on the swings. She hadn’t seen Zoe since last winter break, when they went to Colorado for the annual “Harris-Murphy Skiing Trip / Disaster”. Morgan chose to stay back in Chicago with her boyfriend for the holidays, and Brian had decided to torment Zoe, snapping her bra and mimed jerking off whenever she passed by. But Leslie and Zoe made the best out of that week, making friendship bracelets out of colored string and making snowmen outside of the timeshare.

“That’s good. I like Zoe.”

Neither of the Harris sisters had to bring up the fact that Connor Murphy wouldn’t be attending the funeral. Even if he wasn’t in rehab, he wouldn’t want to show up within three miles of the service.

During that same ski trip, he wasn’t any nicer to Connor either. She vaguely remembered him trying to shove Connor off the ski lift when they were high off the ground, but Connor had gotten revenge by dunking Brian’s head in the toilet. Leslie remembered silently cheering for Connor during that trip, Brain wasn’t any nicer to Leslie as well. He had stolen her Nintendo 3DS and wiped her save file of Ocarina of Time, “just because”. So when she saw Brian’s hair soaking wet, running off to tattle, she couldn’t help but snicker.

Was she a bad person for still thinking that was funny?

She didn’t bother to answer that question, instead choosing to lean in closer to her sister. She then heard something buzz. Morgan fished her phone out of her pocket, swiping it open.

“It’s Eli. He’s gonna swing by in an hour and pick me up to get dinner. You wanna come with us?”

She just shrugged. She liked Morgan’s boyfriend enough, but she didn't think she could handle a sympathy dinner at the moment.

“Not really.”

“Are you sure? He invited you.”

“I’m not that hungry.”

Morgan just let out another sigh, typed out some words to Eli, then sent the text.

“Okay, I won’t push you. But can you promise me you’ll try and eat something tonight?”

“I’ll try.”

“And will you take a shower?”

“Yes, mom.”

“Thank you.” She kissed Leslie’s forehead, gave her a last squeeze, then got up, ready to head upstairs.

“Oh, hey, I found a cute picture of you and Brian on my phone. I sent it to you a while ago, I thought you’d like to see it.”

“Okay, I’ll look at it.”

She waited until the thump-thump-thump of Morgan’s footsteps trailed off upstairs before fishing for her phone. She thought it was somewhere in her blanket pile, but she eventually found it between some couch cushions. She turned it on, and sure enough, between thousands of notifications from Instagram, GroupMe, and Snapchat, she found a text from Morgan, sent about an hour ago. She tapped on it, revealing a picture of her and Brian last June at Orlando. It was just after Leslie had gotten off the mat from Finals at Worlds, and she was somehow sitting on Brian’s shoulders. She think Morgan might’ve forced Brian to let her up there, but she could barely remember anything just after the performance from all the adrenaline pumping through her veins. She remembered hitting a solid routine, no one had fallen or slipped, and just an hour later she heard her team’s name was being called as two-time champions.

She was in her uniform, decked out in a full face of makeup with blue and silver eyeshadow, her team’s colors, what seemed like five sets of false eyelashes, hair teased to the Heavens in a high pony, and the biggest smile on her face she had ever seen. She could see that she had picked out gray rubber bands on her braces, a choice that she had made at the orthodontist’s just weeks before. But what really stood out to her is that Brian was wearing a Great White Sharks T-shirt. She recognized that shirt, it was the shirt that the team gave to parents and siblings when the girls made the team every year. She knew that on the back it said LESLIE “BIRDIE” HARRIS. Brian was giving a smirk to the camera, flexing both of his arms while Leslie had her arms in a high V. It was a picture that her team’s Instagram would have loved to have posted a few days ago when they announced their support for Leslie, instead of Brian’s Sophomore yearbook picture.

But Leslie continued to stare at the picture. She didn’t know what to think. It all looked so… fake. Sure, Leslie looked like a model for a Great White Sharks’ Barbie doll, but the fact that Brian and Leslie could be civil for a moment to take a cute picture together was strange. Brian didn’t take cute pictures with Leslie. He stole her epsom salts way beyond when football season was over and would hog the upstairs bathroom to soak when Leslie was sore after three hours of conditioning at the gym. He didn’t show up to support her at her competitions. He didn’t even seem to care that Leslie was already being scouted by colleges as a freshman. He didn’t even seem to care about Leslie.

So why was Leslie sobbing on the couch, ears burning red and ugly tears cascading down her face? Maybe it was because when they were younger, he would hold her hand while they walked anywhere together. Maybe it was because he taught her how to play Legend of Zelda and would read the guide out loud to her because she couldn’t read yet. Maybe it was because he took care of her when she lost her very first cheerleading competition and held her while she cried. Maybe it was because she was grieving for the Brian she knew, and mourning for the relationship that they could have had.

But Brian had killed himself.

Leslie managed to calm herself down enough to reply to Morgan with a heart emoji, save the picture on her phone, and set it as her new phone background.

She was mourning her brother, but not for the brother she had lost five days, seventeen hours, fifty-seven minutes and 21 seconds ago. The one she lost what felt like forever ago.

And she didn’t know how to feel about that.

#twin skeletons #leslie #my drabbles #is this me coming back to tubmlr?#we'll see #jk its likely a yes

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