#trying to redirect that energy towards finishing the next project

[melioristicbeast]

Now it's 10 o'clock and the meal is done But the conversation's just begun You're fascinating, I feel blessed But I have to be honest I don't know what we're talking about And I haven't for a while

I think Stiles would jam out to most of NSP's songs but especially I Don’t Know What We’re Talking About (And I Haven’t For A While)

Hope you're not tired of silly music headcanon art because i have many more up my sleeve babyyy ( 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 )

Song under cut

[colehasapen]

(ONE SHOT) gar shuk meh kyrayc STAR WARS

(belated)Whumptober no.23 - What's A Whumpee Gotta Do To Get Some Sleep Around Here?

Comfortember no.1 - Rescue

His body feels like one massive bruise. Squinting blearily, Fox tries desperately to push the pain away and keep his attention on the paperwork on his desk. He’s exhausted, and sore, and tired, but he has work to do - he has work that the Chancellor needs done by the end of the day on top of his own paperwork as the Commander of the Coruscant Guard, a Marshal Commander, and the paperwork for the Senate Guard. He has patrols to organize and lead, investigations to take care of, meetings to attend, and Shinies to marshal. He also needs to be available for the most minor of issues the Senators may face.

A clogged toilet? The Coruscant Guard is called.

Mismanaged documents? The Coruscant Guard needs to be mobilized.

An intern gets the wrong kind of meat on a sandwich? This is obviously an issue the Coruscant Guard needs to look at.

Even the most mundane of problems were apparently to be turned over to Fox and his men to deal with, as if they were maintenance droids. To the Senators, and thus in the eyes of the Galaxy, the clones weren’t sentient beings; they were property - less than droids. In their eyes, the Vode shouldn’t need rights or rest or even simple kindness. They were simply things to use, abuse, and discard when they got too broken to continue.

As the Commander of the Coruscant Guard, Fox is the first point of contact of the GAR to the Senators. It’s his duty to always be there, ready and willing to take orders, so that the Vode on the frontlines could continue to get the supplies they need. He’s not the media golden clone like Cody or his pet CT are - the clones serving directly under the Negotiator and the Hero With No Fear are almost always present in Republic footage - but his actions have consequences. One wrong move could have the Chancellor denying a Legion the extra rations they were asking for or the new weapons a Battalion needed just out of spite. He’d done it before, so Fox had no doubt he’d do it again for the sake of making a point to the Coruscant Guard.

One clone out of place, one brother not meeting regulations or following orders to a T, then the Vode neck deep in the War would suffer for it.

Fox has barely slept in the last month, only enough to function in his tasks, and it’s the same for food. He hasn’t had the chance, and any downtime he had had started with him being called to the Chancellor’s office for a quick meeting and losing more time, waking up at the end of his leave without any memory of ever doing so, and feeling more exhausted than ever. It had gotten to the point that Fox had stopped taking leave all together, to hopefully cut down on his episodes, against the advice of Tea Leaf and the other medics under his command.

His batchmates hadn’t been pleased either anytime he had had to turn down sabbac night after sabbac night whenever they were planet-side. Most of his squadmates had stopped inviting him to go drinking with them. Fox doesn’t blame them, none of them know about the episodes, no one does outside of Tea Leaf - they can’t know, because Fox needs to be the perfect Commander or risk them all being on the next casualty report - so to them he’s just been skipping out on them. They were probably grateful that Fox had started turning them down, instead of just never showing up and not being able to explain why.

Prime’s tits - Fox is so tired.

He squints through blurry vision and the stabbing pain behind his eyes. The Marshal Commander lets himself put the datapad down - for only a moment, he tells himself - to rub at his temples and close his eyes to try and fight off the dizzy spell that had come over him. He breathes heavily through his nose, tilting his head back to rest it against his office chair.

Fox would love to do what his body is begging him to. He’d love to toss all the paperwork down a trash shoot and collapse into his cot, to sleep for the rest of his life and never wake up again. He wants what he had on Kamino, to be able to curl up with his brothers in a pile when the Kaminiise weren’t looking, surrounded by the warmth and safety of his batchmates.

But he can’t have that anymore.

The sound of his office door hissing open has Fox flinching as a fresh wave of agony comes over him, and he opens his eyes to glare at whoever had disturbed him. Thorn stands in the doorway, fully kitted out but with his bucket tucked under his arm, and at his shoulder stands a familiar brother in dress greys, a characteristic scar curling around a golden-brown eye.

Cody.

“Told you that he’d be here.” Thorn says cheerfully, stepping into the room, and the door slides shut behind the two Commanders.

“Thorn.” Fox hisses furiously. He had told his men not to bother him unless there was another emergency for him to scream at - bringing his younger brother to witness Fox’s failure was not classified as an emergency. “What do you want?” He purposely doesn’t meet Cody’s eyes - maybe if he ignored him long enough he’d go away to pout at Bly. It had always worked when they were cadets. “You’re supposed to be on leave right now.”

Thorn grins sunnily, flouncing over to Fox’s desk, dark eyes sparkling mischievously in the way that makes Fox leery of whatever he’s ever planned. “And Commander Thorn will be going on leave.”

Fox narrows his eyes suspiciously, and he makes the mistake of letting his eyes drift towards Cody, wondering what Thorn had dragged the other Marshal Commander into, and how he’d convinced Fox’s batchmates not to throttle him on sight. In that moment, as he stares at Cody’s determined expression, Thorn slips past his guard, and Fox yelps when his squadmate shoves his chair away from the desk.

“Thorn!”

His subordinate beams, “We’re rescuing you!” Thorn tells him, stepping back, and Cody takes his place, trapping Fox against his chair. Behind Cody, Thorn starts unclipping his armour, and Fox can only watch in numb confusion.

“What-” Then Cody’s hands are on him, gentle and precise, and a minute flinch racks his frame. His mind and body expect pain to follow, but it doesn’t, instead his little brother works methodically to divest him of his armour.

It should scare him, having his only defense against the outside world stripped away from him, but it doesn’t. The warmth of Cody’s hands sink into his bones, and Fox finds himself going limp and compliant under his brother’s touches.

“You’re working yourself too hard, vod.” Cody is telling him, voice soft, and despite himself, Fox whimpers in response. “You need to take a break.”

“I can’t.” Fox says in defeat, meeting Cody’s worried amber stare. “There’s too much to do.” There’s so much more he should say, to make his brother understand why he can’t let himself relax, but it gets caught in his throat and sticks to his tongue.

It’s a weakness, and Fox can’t let himself be weak.

Cody reaches forward, gently grasping the back of Fox’s neck to tap their foreheads together, “Fox, we’re all worried about you.” His little brother tells him quietly, “Thorn called us and told us what was happening.” Fox flinches again, and Cody rubs his thumb against his pulse to ground him. “You’re working yourself to death, vod. Gar shuk meh kyrayc.”

Fox swallows, his throat feeling tight, “I have to finish this paperwork.”

“And Commander Fox will.” Cody tells him, a small smirk twitching on his lips - it’s the same smirk he had worn the first time he had nearly given Alpha-17 an aneurysm during training, knowing exactly what he was about to do. It spells trouble.

“Cody.” Fox’s chestplate falls away, followed quickly by his kama.

Cody’s smirk widens, “Fox.”

Thorn is back at their side, stripped down to his blacks, and he’s leaning down to start pulling off Fox’s lower armour. Fox’s eyes narrow, his overworked brain trying to mull over what Thorn and Cody are doing. He’s disappointed with himself that it takes until the moment his brothers start replacing Fox’s armour with Thorn’s to figure it out.

Thorn is taking his place.

The two other Commanders have matching mischievous grins on their faces, and Fox doesn’t think he’s ever feared a team-up more. Thorn and Cody are the two most chaotic bastards he knows, and he’d never seen them put their heads together to make a plan without it ending in either explosions or the two of them at each other’s throats. They’d never gotten along, the results of a childish rivalry that Fox will never understand, but it seems that they had put that aside and combined all that chaotic energy to figure out how to make Fox take a break.

He ends up just being swept away in the mess that follows.

 

(When a helmeted Commander Thorn leaves Fox’s office with Commander Cody, heading for the barracks, no one gives them a second glance.)

[shaekingshitup]

unintended part two

A/N: ALRIGHTY FOLKS! WE ARE BACK WITH SOME MORE ACTION FOR MR. JACKSON! As of now, the face claim for the reader is going to be Keke Palmer

But, if you’re anything like me. All I did was just post a picture of someone who wishes they were you and in this fic with you and Trevor Jackson haha. Whatever floats your boats friends. Please note that echoic memory is a real thing. It just doesn’t work how I described it haha. More like echoic and As always thanks to @glittermakesmesmile​ for giving me the first feedback and confidence to even post these things. Also big shout out to @twistedcharismaaa​ who helped me challenge myself to write more even if I don’t feel like it. So, this series will hopefully get some more chapters coming soon!

WHAT YOU NEED TO KNOW:

Pairing: Trevor Jackson x Black OC

Warnings: NONE

Word Count: approx 2500

HERE WE GO!

^ Jayden’s Song Association Fit

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

“Let me take my Black ass to the restroom while we got ourselfs a break. ROCKSY, what’s that cam’ra lookin’ like? We need another battery?”

“We’re good. Jayden, you want a snack?” Roxy redirected at their latest arrival. Jayden tried to sneak a look at the biggest one in the room and failed. He smiled at her. Her glance had caught both of them off guard and it made him feel giddy. It was the most beautiful and natural response she'd received from him-or anyone for that matter- in a while.

“I’m good.” she said hiding her own bashfulness behind her steely exterior. She maintained eye contact with Trevor. Roxy opened up a cabinet to pull out an assortment of Lays and refill the chip bowls that Trevor had demolished when he’d shown up 

“ Imma keep tryin. Venmo? Paypal? Zelle? CashApp? Damn, I can get it to you in Bitcoin if that’s what you prefer.”

“How have you done on the game so far?” Jayden again completely ignored his attempts to repay her. She wasn’t concerned about a few extra dollars. 

“I’m doin alright so far." He also refused to break contact first "So far Song Association has been the easiest game for me to navigate today.” Jayden blinked and conceded for now. Motivated by his win Trevor strolled over to the living room where she was admiring some of Terrell’s music selection.

“Clever.” she tossed over her shoulder as she reached for a vinyl. In one swift motion, Trevor had taken it from her mid-review. 

“Al Green?” He smirked. “ You’ve got taste J. Let me guess.. uh, track 5?”

“What?”

“That’s your single. I see it. No worries though. We can work on that.” he said just as he caught a glimpse of Terrell returning back into the room. Trevor placed the album back in her hands and returned to his stool, readjusting his mic. 

“Alright, Mr. Jackson. YA READY?! No more stoppin’ this midnight train to Georgia.” Terrell hollered. Jayden giggled at his silliness as she glanced at the tracklist for Al Green’s Greatest Hits. 

Track 5: Tired of Being Alone

Damn he cocky. Jayden thought. At least it wasn’t in an overbearing manner. It was a little endearing. He seems a little goofy. That smile was very telling.  But she wouldn’t show that just yet. Sitting back in her audience of one, Jayden watched them continue to play.

 “If I gave you the word “Never” what hits your mind?” Terrell asked the singer. Trevor starts going into a Jackson 5 single that Jayden honestly didn’t know. But, she knows that he is DOING IT. Her eyes go wide as his Michael impression is spot on and before she can even register her own body's movements, she's vibing with it. Music always had a way of helping her with her emotions and channeling a less.. “feisty”,as it had been put earlier, connection with herself and the rest of the world. She was moving around in her seat and doing her best not to spill her coffee over herself or her new friend’s floor.

"Oh shit!" she said clamping her hand over her mouth immediately. That was louder than she expected. Especially since it hadn't meant to leave her head at all. "I'm sorry," she whispered. 

"AHA HA" Roxy guffawed. "I tried to warn you. Don't worry Jayden.  We'll fix it in post anyways"

"Jayden you good girl. I had the same reACTion the first time I laid my eyes- I meant my ears on Trevor" Terrell stated taking a very pointed sip from his mug. Everyone knew he'd meant what he'd said the first time and it was causing them all to try not to break into laughter so they could push forward. 

"Yeah. Very natural response J. Hakuna matata" Trevor confirmed. Jayden playfully rolled her eyes. 

"What's the next word? He's a lil too comfortable" she spoke up.

Terrell nodded at Jayden and refocused on Trevor. "WAY. w-a-y" 

Without hesitation, he bursted into song. It was another that Jayden was sadly unfamiliar with. 

What is in this man's repertoire?

Soon enough Terrell explained that it was an original off of a project called Rough Drafts 2. At once Jayden grabbed her phone and opened her Spotify app. Creating a new playlist, she glanced up at the boys and locking in on Trevor she came up with an idea. "Thotful n Tired 💭" she titled it. She was adding damn near his whole discography when her ears perked up at the fact that he had an additional 200 unreleased singles on his computer at home. The more time spent in his presence the more the question of "Who the hell is this nigga?" rose in Jayden's mind. 

Trevor responded to Terrell all the while staring at Jayden and answering her unspoken question as well.

"So any fans that live in L.A. and you wanna just come and listen to new music not recorded.." he trailed off leaving an open invitation for Jayden and the rest of LA.

He really just said: Come find out

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

Jayden was both relieved and saddened when Trevor was finished with his Song Association. In a very short time, she'd learned a lot about this person she'd never even heard of until that afternoon. As his song had promised, he truly had her beggin for more.  The way they interacted and the feelings she felt towards him had grown quickly but it was familiar. It seemed as if they'd already done this dance before. Jayden was trying to figure out how to rationalize this to herself but she couldn't. It was the way that she and Trevor had silently held private conversations  in a room with others.  Even as they were learning one another, a lot of the pieces already seemed to be connected. 

Trevor was filming his spot for Terrell’s outro. It took every ounce of restraint in Jayden not to cackle out loud when he said “I think we’re gonna queue the rain right now. Mm hmm. You feel that? This is not a joke. It’s a motion in your ocean.” 

Trevor had made her feel a range of emotions in their time together. Jayden had laughed, she’d pondered a topic or two she’d never fully considered, she’d felt sexy and above all else- she felt noticed. Truly seen.  It was a lot. But, the girl was a hustler by nature. So, she was keeping up with each curveball that day had thrown at her. 

“Imma run to the restroom” Jayden announced. She wasn’t certain why she felt the need to do so. But it seemed far more courteous than roaming through Terrell’s halls. 

“Alright we gotta get ready for you when ya done Miss Jayden!” Terrell called out. 

When she returned, there was no Trevor in sight. Just Roxy and Terrell. Jayden wasn’t disappointed for them being there. Although she was a little put off that Trevor had exited so quickly and without saying goodbye?  She wasn’t about to let that show though. Sure, she really thought she’d felt a connection with him. But, she wasn’t going to let it get in the way of the single calendar event of her year- outside of her birthweek of course. 

“My turn?” Jayden asked as she returned back into the kitchen where the green screen was.  

“Mmmhhmm” Terrell affirmed “I just gotta follow you to this res’room. I dun broke my damn seal. Plus,  we waitin on Trevuh to finish his call.” As if he heard his queue, the front door opened and Trevor came back in. 

“Oh.” Jayden let out. Trevor studied her as Terrell turned towards his restroom. Roxy was on the balcony getting some air and making a call of her own. 

She was feening her cool, unbothered mask. But that one syllable had given her away. “What? You thought I left?” he asked. 

“I mean you were gone. So, yeah.” Jayden said shrugging her shoulders and throwing her wrist back dismissively.

  “Huh.” Trevor stared back quizzically. “I can’t do that just yet. One: I don’t think it’s fair that you got to see mine and I don’t get to see yours and two: I still need to figure out a way to make sure we’re even.”

“Ahh. So you’re stayin?”

“I got a little extra time. Plus, this is definitely worth it. But look, promise me something real quick.”

“Yeah, what’s that?”

“Since you’re so gung-ho on not taking back the money which is owed to you. Let me pay my debt another way.”

“What if I like the notion of Trevor Jackson being forever indebted to me?” The smolder he returned to her made her feel that someone had pressed play on Puddles again. But she simply crossed her arms and cocked her head at him. They were in yet another staring contest. 

Trevor let a beat pass as he wound up his pitch in his mind. “Aight, how about-

“Okay. I hope ya’ll enjoyed.. Ya break,” Terrell trailed off as he walked in on the tension that occupied the room. Jayden took a small step back from Trevor. She hadn’t realized that they were all in each other's personal space. 

“Yup. I’m ready.” Roxy re-entered from the balcony and grabbed the mic Trevor had used earlier that day to affix to Jayden. “Feel okay?”

“It does.” Jayden said. All of a sudden all of that calm she’d felt left her. She was getting the nerves again. She wasn’t certain if it was because of the game she was going to play or the one she’d been entangled in since she’d laid eyes on Trevor. He himself was still trying to figure out this woman. She had a hard exterior and a beguiling sexual energy that he couldn’t detach himself from. When she sat on that stool allowing Terrell to compliment her outfit and introduce herself a little bit, she radiated. She also had a pretty good voice too for a Shits and Giggles winner. 

“I’m mad at you” Terrell said. 

“Why?” Jayden

“I hear it. I hear that there in ya throat box. You got them vocals.” Terrell said. “Why you hidin?”

“Ohmygod. Hush. I can hold a tune here and there. But I don’t know about them vocals. I don’t know how to control it.” 

Terrell squinted his eyes. “I don’t believe it. Sing that song again. Because you got the emotion. I can tell you feel these songs here. You haf’way there but you too worried about sounded perfect. Let that go.” 

Jayden was quick to adapt. She took that advice from Terrell and moments later you could hear the difference. Closing her eyes she tried again

Have you ever found the one

You've dreamed of all of your life

Do just about anything to look into their eyes

Have you finally found the one you've given your heart to

Jayden tried her best not to get into her head about fucking up and pushed the nervousness down within her. Because when she became tense it would lock up her voice and she would miss her mark altogether

Only to find that one won't give their heart to you

She exhaled from her nose and smiled because she’d clearly sounded better than the first time 

Have you ever closed your eyes and

Dreamed that they were there

Jayden opened her eyes and stopped. She may not have control; but, she knew her limit 

“Now I know you didn’t stop.” Jayden picked up some of the liquid courage Terrell had fixed her. Her coffee was long gone by this point. She couldn’t keep the fear at bay. She didn’t want to make that big of a fool of herself today and have her voice crack like a pre-pubescent teen. 

Trevor was taking it all in.  She was a whole party when put on the spot and she easily gave off a coolness that made you certain to never cross her. She was not one to be played with.  But it was obvious that music opened up another avenue to Jayden. Trevor had seen it when their roles were reversed. She was empathetic to the emotions of  whichever song he sang. 

Her music taste was eclectic as well. She’d come through with country, gospel, r&b, showtunes and she seemed to have every Chicago rapper’s discography down pat. Trevor was genuinely impressed by her ability to copy and paste an artist’s essence into her own. She was fucking up the game and had songs for every word Terrell threw her way. 

“RIGHT R-I-G-H-T” Terrell announced. Jayden glanced a look at Trevor and then she gave her undivided attention to Terrell. 

Just stand right here

Let me show you what I'm about

To do to that body

And come down here

Let me show you where to touch my body

Let the foreplay begiiiin

Bet you never had this before

Cause once I go iiiiiiin

I'm gone have you begging for more

Boy, I'm talking right now, right now, right now, yeah

Right now, oh

Can we make some love right now? 

Jayden laughed and when she’d finished, there was silence. It was like someone had pressed the mute button in real life. Then the room erupted with noise at once 

“UH UH”

“hOw?” 

“Whoa whoa whoa”  all crashed on top of each other. 

“What?” Jayden asked. 

“WHAT?! This heffa really just said WHAT? TUH!” Terrell hollered.

“Wait. You said you’d never heard of Trevor before,” said a very baffled Roxy.

“Before a few hours ago, no. I hadn’t.” Roxy said. Jayden gave a shrug in Trevor’s direction. 

“But you just sang his song?” Roxy asked

“Yeah. Because I heard him sing it earlier. 

“You mean to tell me, that you heard this negro sang that song one time half an hour ago and you committed it to your memory?”

“Yes. I have perfect echoic memory. Obviously I don’t always process this in a way where I can duplicate it perfectly. But, I can mimic it pretty close.”

Trevor finally spoke up. “So when you hear something you can pull up that audio in your mind and not only play it back for yourself but you’ve trained yourself to be able to mimic it almost dead ass spot on?”

“Yeah. That’s pretty much it.” Jayden said as if she’d just read rattled off the day’s weather report. “You’re pretty sharp.” The compliment rolled off of Trevor in his astonished state of mind. Just then, his phone vibrated in his pocket. “Damn” he muttered looking at the screen. “Aite y’all, that’s my cue.” I gotta head out. Just as his mother had done, Trevor said goodbye to everyone individually. He saved Jayden for last.  “Good luck Jayden. It was nice meeting you. Matter of fact, let me get your info so I can follow up with you to see if you really get that perfect score” He offered his phone out to her with the keypad pulled up. 

“Oh, you already know that I came to win today.” she tapped some buttons and gave him back his phone. Looking down, Trevor realized that she’d followed herself on his Instagram account.  She smiled but her eyes only said one word: 

Checkmate. 

---

TAG LIST: @twistedcharismaaa​ @mygirlrenee @glittermakesmesmile @sarcastic-sunshines @chaneajoyyy @shewrites02 @ghostfacekill-monger @raysunshine78 @shewritestheblues @scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade  @fd-writes @eyeknowmywrites​ @thadelightfulone​ @yoyolovesbucky

Imma update my tag list and this fic soon y’all. Hold me to it. 

[foxtophat]

WHOOO BOY okay here we are! i’m all done with another mercy fic!!! that is honestly amazing, startling, thrilling, all that good shit. i am STOKED!!!

i don’t have much to say about it, other than writing kim and john interacting has been so much fun!!! i’m going to have to come up with more reasons for the two of them to hang out. when john and nick talk it’s like fighting words all the time but with kim john can actually just be a tired adult, and i think he might need that sometimes.

so, i took the fic’s title from a new mountain goats song that i really like. it’s very depressing though. even worms turn into butterflies i guess :(

as usual, the chapter is beneath the cut for those of you who don’t want to leave tumblr’s comfortable embrace.  i absolutely adore kudos, comments, likes, reblogs and those passing glances on the street as you wonder “is that the famous author of a tiny fandom’s niche survival au????”  yeah, i see you out there, looking for me. i’m carmen san diego, bitch!!! good luck with that!!!!

love you guys, have a good day, and thanks for putting up with me!!! <3

John might try to couch it in exasperation and paint it as a tactical retreat, but Kim sees him leaving for what it really is: gut instinct telling him to escape. She doesn't blame him for needing space, of course. From the way Nick watches him go, it's clear that the day's been harder than either of them have let on. She's sure that Nick will tell her the details later, but right now, it doesn't look like he has the energy. That's also fine; John's fragile emotional state is easily put on the back-burner. She has more important things to worry about right now. For one thing, she's got eighty pounds of supplies to handle and a family that's uncomfortable with the responsibility.

"It's still too much for us, isn't it," Nick says mournfully. "We gotta give more away, don't we?"

Kim privately admits to herself that she doesn't want to give any more away. Hell, she's even reluctant to give away what might be kept for bargaining later. The boxes of military rations, the ten pounds of salt, the five pounds of rice — they wouldn't have anything to worry about during winter. They wouldn't even have to leave the house if they didn't want to. But John has left all of that in a neutral fifth pile for them to divvy out equally, and Kim can't allow herself to be more selfish than him. That is absolutely unacceptable.

"We can give away the potato flakes," Kim says, diplomatically moving them to the center pile. "If we still don't feel like it's enough, we can give away more. But right now, we need to conserve the resources we have control over." Sighing hard in an attempt to blow stray hairs from her face, she adds, "Honestly, we should check that everything is still good before we decide to give anything away." After all, everything looks fine at a glance, but Kim has seen first-hand just how insidious mold can be in ill-stored supplies. Just because Jacob seemed to be prepared doesn't mean he couldn't make a mistake, and Kim isn't about to trust any Seed implicitly.

"I guess you're right," Nick replies, picking up one of the mylar bags and examining its contents through the clear side. Kim remembers the brand of powdered stock so clearly that if she closes her eyes, she can see exactly where it was stocked on the store shelves. Nick seems to be thinking the same thing, sounding strangely nostalgic as he asks, "You don't think there's still time to spice up dinner, do you?"

"Maybe if you guys had gotten here an hour ago," Kim says. "Much longer on the fire and everything is going to be mushy paste. And, again, we don't know if it's safe to use."

"Can we have these tomorrow?" Carmina asks, lifting one of the packaged rations up for approval.

"Not unless they won't last through winter," Kim replies. "Now, I know none of us are excited about five-day stew, but we can't let edible food go to waste just because there's something tastier in front of us." That doesn't do much to rally the troops, unfortunately, and Kim is stuck feeling like the bad guy, so she tries again. "Salt doesn't really go bad, though — I'm sure we can use that."

Nick accepts the terms of the compromise, thankfully, because he's an adult when he needs to be. He redirects his leftover energy towards the sealed bags, pointing Carmina towards the neutral pile. "Okay, you remember how to check whether something's gone bad, right?"

It's been a while since they've relied on store-bought goods, but Carmina hasn't forgotten best-by dates or how to spot discoloration. It's easy enough for them to determine the rations are still good; although the packaging boasts a dubious "fifty-year shelf-life," all of the wrappers are fresh and odorless. They'll have to open one up to be sure, but Kim isn't getting Carmina excited for that this close to dinner. The rice and salt are also easy passes, which means Kim hasn't made too lofty a promise to her family just by offering basic seasoning.

They don't risk breaking any seals quite yet, not without clean containers to hold everything, but it's easy to do a visual check even without opening anything up. Jacob had done his job well — other than the triple-wrapped bottles of liquor, the cache is entirely dry and moisture-free, and everything stored inside was meant to last. That tracks with what Kim knows of the oldest brother. He had been a sharp-minded survivalist; cunning, ruthless, and hard to outwit. He must have been a meticulous planner, putting all of this together, but Kim is struggling to understand what he had expected to do with it all. Like John had said — what good would food be to a man who had planned to survive the apocalypse inside a fully stocked, industrial bunker? And if he didn't trust the Project to save him, then why did he put so much effort into building its militia?

Jacob's motivations are a mystery that Kim isn't interested in solving. She's just glad that, for whatever reason, he'd buried these supplies in particular, and that he'd bothered to share the location with John. Thanks to his opaque planning, Kim can scratch some pipe-dream items off her supply list, and that's good enough for her. Honestly, food had been the last thing she'd suspected John could help them with — she still has trouble believing it's all here in front of her.

With Nick and Carmina studiously inspecting the cache supplies, Kim takes some time to pull the food from the fire. It's the third day they've eaten from this particular batch of stew, and the newest ingredients she put in today are almost a week old. The only thing she can say in favor of their leftovers at this point is that there isn't a lot of it left. She can only hope the salt helps, otherwise she's going to cave on the military rations herself.

Kim brings the pot into the kitchen, then decides it's time to check on John. There's a slim chance that he might have decided to disappear into the hangar, or walked as far as the end of the drive, and Kim isn't going to stand around shouting for him like some kind of Little Home on the Prairie character. She gives Nick a thumbs up as she heads for the front door; he doesn't stop her, but the crease in his brow tells her he wants to.

There's a path laid in the dirt between the porch and the truck where John clearly had been pacing, but when Kim comes outside, he's sitting motionless on the porch steps. He doesn't react as Kim comes up next to him, his elbows resting on his knees as he presses his forehead against his palms. She can't tell if he's ignoring her on purpose, or if he's just so deep in thought that he doesn't realize she's there. His turmoil tends to give him tunnel-vision, and he doesn't always notice his surroundings.

Kim doesn't think he's trying to give her the silent treatment, so she gives in first. "Dinner's going to be ready any minute," she tells him. "It's going to be the last tasteless meal for a while, so I hope you're excited."

"Thrilled," he replies, with just enough sarcasm for Kim to trust she isn't interrupting him mid-crisis. She gives him a minute, and sure enough, he eventually drops his hands from his face. Sighing heavily, he addresses the dirt when he speaks. "I take it I'll need a good excuse to get out of eating."

"Maybe if you had eaten breakfast, I'd be more willing to look the other way." Even though she knows John won't take her concern seriously, she can't completely hide it under her exasperation. She tries for his sake, but it's a lost cause. "I don't think you've finished a meal in days."

John closes his eyes briefly. "I haven't been hungry," he says.

Kim wishes he would be more petulant about it. She can handle it when John acts like a child — she's got nine years of raising Carmina under her belt, after all — but John's resignation is a weariness that reflects her own. She doesn't know how to help him with it any more than she knows how to help herself. She can hardly help Nick when he gets like this. She has no idea how to handle John.

Kim cranes her neck as she checks on Nick and Carmina, who are still busy with the supplies. Satisfied that they aren't in any immediate danger, she finally takes a seat next to John on the porch. He still doesn't look at her, his eyes fixed on his hands, but she's hardly surprised. She turns her own gaze to the truck, glinting in the sunset, and tries to follow the tire-tracks backward. She bets the dirt's held their tracks all the way back to the field.

"If it makes you feel better, my appetite has been terrible, too. Sometimes, all I can do is try to keep everything down." She sighs, lamenting mostly to herself, "What I wouldn't give for a Big Mac right now."

That earns her an amused huff from John, which is better than she'd expected. If he's able to tolerate her bad jokes, then at least she can be sure she isn't making things worse.

"At least once we get through our leftovers, we'll be able to start adding those emergency rations into rotation," Kim continues. John probably doesn't care about meal planning, but Kim doesn't need him to be an interested sounding board. "And with the extra seasoning, even our leftovers are going to be better than they were." She knows she's pushing it when she tries to relate, but she can't help commenting, "It was lucky that Jacob squirreled so much food away."

"That isn't what he would call it," John heaves. His fingers twist against his jeans. "He was prepared for anything that might happen. Luck had nothing to do with it."

"It was lucky for us," Kim points out. "And, you know... considering how much effort he put into hiding it, I bet he'd be relieved to know that you were able to find it after all this time."

"It doesn't matter what he'd think. He's dead."

John takes a sharp breath after he spits the comment out and Kim watches the regret bloom in real time, his scowl deepening as he stares at the dirt. Sometimes, she suspects he beats himself up like this because they refuse to do it for him. She wishes he would stop, already. It used to annoy her, but lately, it's only managed to make her feel terribly sad.

"Maybe it doesn't matter to him, but it might make you feel better."

John barks out a noise that hardly resembles a laugh. "Nothing is going to make me feel better ," he snaps, his anger flaring up and dissipating too abruptly for him to keep hold of it. All it leaves behind is resignation. "It doesn't matter. He'll just... My nightmares will latch on to anything. Jacob will never be happy in them." He sighs, burying his hands in his hair, twisting his fingers as though he might pull clumps out by the root. "Nothing I do helps. I just want it to stop ."

Kim wishes she had a solution for him, but she has nothing besides a lame suggestion to get more rest. That clearly hasn't worked for any of them, let alone John, who treats his nightmares like physical intruders instead of figments of his imagination. She doesn't know what they do to haunt him so badly, and she isn't sure she's ready to learn. She's only just now starting to get used to him as a person — she's not ready to unpack all of his damage.

John sighs and rubs his temples. "I knew Jacob didn't believe," he admits. "Not in the religious doctrine, anyway. But I didn't know that he had... planned around it. If I'd known, then maybe..."

John trails off, and Kim hums sympathetically after he fails to pick back up. Most of John's trauma is bespoke to him and him alone, but this is something that any survivor would be able to commiserate with. "Hindsight really does suck," she says. "Trust me, you're not the only one wondering what could've gone differently."

Usually, John is almost impossible to console, but it seems like the day has worn the fight right out of him. He only shakes his head miserably at her attempt to sympathize. "It wouldn't have been any better," he mutters. "It would only have been a different kind of worse."

"Maybe," Kim supposes, although she's not entirely convinced. There were plenty of points between the Project's arrival and the Collapse where a split in leadership would have benefited everybody. She's thought about it before now, remembering rare moments when she'd thought she'd seen something beneath the veneer of otherwise devout believers. She's wondered more than once what might've happened, if only they had convinced the right person to turn their back. God, she's hypothesized about a thousand missed opportunities left in that half-decade. There are a million ways things could have turned out better for even just one more person.

At last, Kim surrenders her side of the conversation — or what's left of it, anyway. "Well, for whatever it's worth, you've done us a big favor, and we're not going to let it go to waste. And a lot of people are going to benefit from your hard work."

John takes a deep, unhappy breath. "Yes," he says. He opens his mouth to soften the word with something else, something to hide the fact that he still depends on blind acceptance when overwhelmed, but he can't seem to come up with anything.

Kim doesn't need an excuse. She puts a hand on his shoulder, feeling him tense under her gentle grip, anticipating more than simple reassurance. It offended her at first, how often he seemed to expect them to be violent with him. The idea that he thought either of them were capable of the same awfulness as the cult had pissed her off. But nowadays, she's come to accept that it's simply hardwiring left over from before. She's not sure there's anything to be done about it at this point.

There are no platitudes she can offer him that wouldn't sound insincere, so she relies on facts. "When you're ready, come inside and try to eat something. You look like you wore yourself out."

John's tension slowly ebbs. "I... may have overdone it," he admits somewhat reluctantly, which tells Kim that he definitely overdid it. He scrubs his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. "I needed to know I was right. I... needed him to know I hadn't forgotten."

So much for Jacob being too dead to care about. Despite everything, Kim can't help but sympathize. She feels his remorse in her own way whenever she thinks about her parents, and she knows that everybody carries something like that with them these days. She might not be haunted by her parents the way John is, but she thinks she can understand his sorrow. It might be the only thing about him she really gets.

"That's okay," she tells him, because it is, and somebody should tell him as much. "But you can't let it get in the way of taking care of yourself."

He nods, but Kim knows he doesn't believe her. He treats every attempt to reassure him as empty platitudes — not that she can blame him, really. But sometimes, like right now, she wonders if he would be less inclined to beat himself up so much if they'd just punished him the way he'd wanted from the start. It's just her exasperation talking, frustrated by his continued misery. John needs time, just like the rest of them, and beating him up ten months ago would only have made things worse.

A loud thud interrupts them, followed immediately by Carmina shouting, " Ow !" Nick starts to laugh, which keeps Kim from getting particularly worried about Carmina's safety, but she still gets up to investigate. John doesn't follow, although she catches him turning his head to watch her as she heads inside.

Nick, still seated at the table, laughs at their daughter as she lies sprawled back on the ground, her feet still guiltily stuck in the barrel.

"Told you, you're too big! No way you'd fit."

"I had to try ," Carmina grumbles as she kicks her way out of the barrel.

" Why ?" Kim laughs.

"I dunno, I just had to!"

"Too bad I don't have a blow-torch," Nick laments. "We could've put some eye-holes in it for you, like a helmet. Maybe then you'd be able to ride around in the truck-bed without your mom getting all worked up."

Carmina gasps. " Really ?"

Kim is quick to smother that particular idea. " No ," she cuts in, trying not to laugh at the mental image that her husband's conjured up. She tries to guilt Nick with an exasperated glance, but the bastard doesn't look even remotely repentant about suggesting armor to their child. "There has to be a better use for it than that. Anyway, armored or not, I don't want you to get thrown out of the back of a moving vehicle! I don't know why that's so unreasonable."

Carmina opens her mouth to argue the point, but she's abruptly distracted as she glances into the barrel. Rearranging her legs to sit on her knees, she pulls the barrel towards her. Kim would write it off if it weren't for Carmina's obvious confusion as she peers inside.

"There's more stuff in here," she reveals, tipping the barrel upright. She's uncharacteristically uneasy as she mentions, "Um, I think it's cult stuff..."

Kim is the first one to investigate, peering down into what she'd thought was an empty cache. She finds a circular metal disk wedged catty-corner into the barrel, revealing a hidden compartment. Reaching past the false bottom, Kim finds some black fabric and a box. She figures out the tee-shirts from the tags inside the collars of the factory-starched fabric, but hesitates to investigate the rest. The other packages stored away had been factory-sealed and clearly labeled cardboard boxes; there was no hiding what was in those. This, on the other hand, is a wooden cigar box with no seals, the Eden's Gate cross etched elaborately into the lid.

"Uh, John?" Nick calls as Kim sets the box down on top of the shirts. She wonders if she should open it, or if it might be some kind of trap. Nick looks deeply distrusting as he stares at the emblem and repeats louder, "John?"

John is more confused than any of them when he enters the scene. He scowls as soon as he sees the box sitting on the table, which would be hard to miss even without Nick gesturing widely towards it. "Where did you find that?" he asks, looking from Nick to Carmina as if they might have different stories to give him.

"Where do you think, Mars?" Nick exclaims, exasperated. "You wanna tell me what's inside?"

"I don't know ," John grits out, "I haven't looked ."

But it's clear from his expression that he has an idea of what they're dealing with. He crosses the room and hovers momentarily in front of the box, flipping the lid open before Kim can decide if that's a good idea. It could be a bomb. It could have a tripwire. She doesn't want her home ruined by Bliss all over again!

Of course, nothing happens. Kim supposes that if it had been a trap, Carmina would have set it off by climbing on top of it. The reality is much less ominous than she could have expected. She hovers near John as he pulls a clean moleskin journal out, watching him flip through the blank pages before dismissing it. He's slower to write off the folded mass of paper that he takes out next, although he doesn't examine it right away. Kim doesn't need him to unfold it to see the topography lines and highway markers printed on it.

"An empty journal, a map, and..."

John scowls at the twenty or so bullets that rattle around at the bottom of the cigar box. They can't be any different from the rest of the ammunition, but for some reason, the sight of them triggers a sense of dread in Kim. After all, what kind of ammunition would Jacob have thought needed to be secreted away? It can't be good. It can't possibly be safe .

"Ah," John says. Kim can't say for sure, but he seems almost disappointed.

"What are they?" Nick asks.

"Bullets we infused with Bliss." John tilts the box, examining the ammunition as best he can without touching it. Kim can't help but want to snatch Carmina away, but they're past the point of hiding these things from her. She has a right to understand just how dangerous the cult was. But there's also a lingering fear that somehow, Carmina might be affected by that god-awful drug, even if it's from ten-year-old bullets.

"You don't have to worry," John says. He doesn't need to look up for Kim to know he's talking to her. "The drug would be inert by now."

"What should we do with them, then?" Nick asks.

"Destroy them," John replies honestly. "If not that, then... store them away. We don't need them, but..."

"But it would be stupid to throw away good ammunition," Kim finishes as John trails off.

"Exactly."

None of them make a move to take either action. Kim supposes that the bullets aren't hurting anyone right now, just sitting there, and it seems like Carmina is more interested in the map than the ammunition. She's trying and failing to peek at the folded pages without undoing the whole mess. They didn't have a map in the bunker, which means that this will be Carmina's first chance to see her home spread out as a whole.

"Here, let me," Kim tells her daughter. Nick takes her cue, clearing a space on the table for her as she picks up the map. All eyes are on the accordion folds as they unravel, revealing more and more of the county. Black stars dot locations Kim remembers, like Lorna's and Rae Rae's, and circled points of nothing are marked in the middle of empty fields and mountain road turnoffs. The key is neatly printed in the upper left corner; beneath it is a uniform list of numbers, most likely coordinates, written briskly in red ink.

Even without the key, Kim thinks she understands the various marks around the map. Spread out in front of them, she can see double circles around power boxes, and she spots a few other locations with the same notation. Stars are placed next to several prominent people's homes, including their own. There are other things, too — little ink drawings of wolves, bears and deer in spots across the map. A few lakes have the names of fish written over them in the same blocky letters as the food packaging; the river bend nearest to their home has the word BASS written neatly along the bend.

Standing next to Kim, staring down at the map, John finally says, "This doesn't make any sense."

Nick opens his mouth to respond, probably with something sarcastic, but he thinks better of it and goes a different route. "Why would he hide this stuff?" he asks. "I mean, I get the bullets, I guess... but hiding the map seems weird."

John scowls at the box in his hands, closing the lid vengefully. "This is what the cache should have been," he says. "It should have more of this — more weapons, more maps, more intel . What about all of the blueprints we'd drawn up for housing? Instructions on how to reconnect the power grid, or the deeds to prove we owned the land — that would help, no matter what you believed! We were prepared for an apocalypse, but — where is it all? Sugar and rice and cigarettes aren't helping anybody!"

Kim can't blame John for getting upset, although she wishes he wouldn't shout around Carmina. Knowing that Jacob had planned for the possibility of the Project not being around is one thing, but it must be particularly rough to see obvious signs of a long-forgotten plan. Especially one that John hadn't been told anything about, with only a few disjointed clues left for him to piece back together.

To her surprise, it's Nick who comes to John's rescue, standing to draw John's attention before he completely spirals. "Come on, that's not true. You know we need food more than anything else." He gestures towards the open map. "Besides, there are plenty of other spots we can check. And now we know what we're looking for, right?"

John sighs heavily. "Yes," he agrees.

"Okay," Nick continues, "And now we've got rations and a tent to take with us, so we don't go through another long day like today. Right?"

John rolls his eyes. It's no secret that he hates it when they treat him like a child, but there's not enough outrage left in him to get angry about it. Instead, he drops his eyes to the ground and agrees with a despondent, "Yes."

"So, alright, maybe we aren't going to learn how to reconnect the power grid, or how to build a solar water purifier, or whatever. But at least we know we're not going to struggle through winter. Neither is Grace, or the gang, or the town."

"I know," John sighs. "I know." He drops the box onto the table, grimacing at the sound it makes. "The map alone is worth all of today's effort." He doesn't look convinced, but Kim can appreciate his almost-apology for what it is.

Carmina, who has been examining the map to avoid John's outburst, finally sees an opening to speak up. "Um... Where is our house?" she asks.

Nick squints over the map, trying to pinpoint the spot from his upside-down vantage point. Neither he nor Kim are quick enough to answer, though, as John reaches out and taps his finger against one of the black stars in the lower-left corner. He doesn't even have to look — he clearly memorized their location a long time ago.

"Here," he says.

"Oh, good," Nick sighs, "We got a star."

"It meant you had something useful that you weren't willing to give up." John's finger drags across the paper to the label on the river. "But I don't understand why he marked fishing spots. And hunting locations. And these..." He taps the red numbers. Kim spots a few red dots on the map, hopefully corresponding to the coordinates, but they seem to be in random locations. Whatever logic the Project was using, Kim can't make it out.

"I don't know what any of these are," John says. His voice lacks the anger from moments ago, replaced by a growing fascination with the mysterious notations. "They're all up in the mountains, so I think... Well, except...."

He moves around Carmina, who watches him with wide eyes as he seems to forget she's standing right next to him. John's given her more attention in the last hour than he has this entire year, but it figures that his indifference to her is what's sticking out.

"This one," he says, tapping a red dot near the old Eden's Gate compound. "This might be the furthest south... No, wait. This one." He moves his attention again, indicating another red spot closer to town.

"Are they more barrels?" Carmina asks.

John is momentarily startled to find Carmina right beside him, but he doesn't immediately leap away to put some distance back. Mostly because doing so would send him right into Kim's personal space. "It could be," he admits, only letting Carmina's input rattle him for a second before he turns his attention back to the map. "They must have been late additions. But... I didn't hear anything about these, and I don't remember seeing them on other maps. If they were for the Project, I would have found out about them eventually."

"Wouldn't they have told you upfront?" Nick asks, surprised when John chuckles in response.

"There were plenty of things I had to learn second-hand. There are probably more secrets I never learned at all. But — this cache was buried weeks before the Reaping. We kept our maps updated almost daily, but I don't remember either of these being marked. And there's one at the compound... I would remember emergency supplies being stored at the church."

Carmina stands on the opposite side of John from Kim, watching his hand move as he talks. Seeing the two of them side-by-side should probably upset Kim. She should be worried about her daughter putting too much trust in John — even if he wants to do the right thing now, he doesn't always understand what the right thing might be, and Carmina is at an impressionable age. If John says or does something wrong, he could shift Carmina's entire worldview.

In reality, though, Kim doesn't particularly mind. John is clearly not comfortable around Carmina, even though her lukewarm interest in him is hardly a threat, and he's highly cautious when he talks to her. Whether it's because Carmina is Nick's kid, or because he's bad with kids in general, Kim doesn't know. All she knows is that John is always careful with his words when Carmina is around.

"Stars are people's homes, right?" Carmina asks. "What about crosses?"

John frowns, tearing his eyes away from the mystery coordinates long enough to look where Carmina is pointing. "Shrines," he tells her. He points out a few more symbols, although it's clear he's doing it to keep her from asking him more questions. "Triangles are silos. Circles are established caches. Unfilled squares are locations we wanted. Filled squares are places we owned."

Carmina frowns at the map. "There are a lot of those."

Nick clears his throat loudly, and John immediately opens his mouth to apologize. Nick doesn't seem to need it, though, scratching at his chin as he tells Carmina, "The cult stole a lot of property right from underneath the real owners. They didn't actually own any of it. They just lied, and pretended."

John frowns, but he makes no effort to defend the cult one way or another. "And now the Project holds none of it," he says, gesturing at the map. "You could take it all back. Nobody will be there to stop you."

"Yeah, assuming any of it is still useful."

"We're one-for-one so far," Kim points out. Nick purses his lips at her taking John's side, but he's the one who suggested armoring up Carmina earlier — he can deal with a little payback. "Besides, I think we could all use a little direction right now. Something to work towards beyond surviving day-to-day."

"There could still be useful intelligence stored away," John says. "Jacob had plans for a multitude of projects we could make use of. The only problem I can see is that Joseph might have a similar map. We may have to compete with him for resources."

"From what I've heard, they've been keeping to themselves. Something about Mennonites with bows and arrows, I don't know." Nick waves a hand dismissively over the map. "If we can use cult resources against Joseph, then I'm all for it."

"That makes two of us," John agrees.

Kim's eyes rove across the map, following the river eastward. The cattle ranch is marked by a star and a cross, but there isn't much there to see along the southern border; for whatever reason, the cult focused most of their resources on the northern half of the valley. It isn't until the now-jungles of the Henbane's territory that more outposts pop up, although she can't imagine any of them are used now. According to what's left of the rumor mill, the cult has mostly remained on what used to be Dutch's island. So far, they haven't seemed interested in making contact with outsiders, much less trying to make amends — if John and Nick do go out and encounter some cultists, she can't know how it will turn out. They seem to want to keep to themselves — but how long can that possibly last?

It's a worry that she'll have to deal with later. She's already anxious enough for the present; she doesn't need to add future paranoia to the mix. For now, she can focus on appreciating the stark benefits laid out on the table in front of her. Even if Joseph has his own map, he doesn't have gasoline, or working vehicles, or guns . He doesn't have radio communication across the entire county, whereas monopolizing the resources will only take Kim a few quick calls. Anything the cult tries to pull off will have to be done much more slowly, and with Joseph being in control of it all. It's a strange way for the tables to turn, but Kim can't say she doesn't like the satisfaction it brings, knowing that they're at least one step ahead of the Project. It only took, what, nine years?

"Well, damn, John," Nick says at last, "Way to set the bar high for next time."

"Don't expect more miracles," John replies, lifting one hand neutrally. But there's something in his expression, a sort of awkward bashfulness, that reminds Kim of Nick's own humble pride. Kim's surprised to find that humility is a good fit for John. It's better than the cold arrogance he used to display, that's for sure. Who knows — maybe in a few years, it won't take dragging him through one long, emotionally-draining day to get him to open up. If they're lucky, it won't take that long, but knowing John, he'll fight it every step of the way.

That's okay, though. Kim's got more than enough patience to wait him out.

[scorchviox]

Your Touch [ShigarakixOC]: Chapter 3

Chapter Index

Sunday had finally rolled by and Souseiki laid in bed scrolling through her phone. It had been three days since she had the encounter with the significantly unknown villain. She had made it her mission to look him up and see if he ever made the news, but nothing came up. He had no social media account and seemed to not exist in any school roster she looked up online. He had to be enrolled in a school since he was around her age, right? All fifteen-year-olds are in their second year at least, but he was nowhere to be found. “This is pissing me off,” she muttered to herself as she dropped her phone onto her pillow and kicked off her covers.

   She made her way to the restroom in order to start her day. Once refreshed she changed into a mere white blouse with a floral pattern and denim shorts. Souseiki walked out to the living room where she found her mother. “Good morning, you,” her mother chirped as she looked away from the television screen. Her mom’s hair was up in a bun and her hands were tightly wrapped around a mug that had steam rising from it.

   “Good morning,” replied Souseiki as she walked to the front door to put her shoes on. “I'm going to get the paper,” she said walking out.

   The weather was clear and sunny as she stepped out of her home. She smiled and stretched her arms out. It felt peaceful until she heard children bickering. “Move it, quirk-less!” Sounded a voice. The girl’s face soon turned sour as she looked out beyond her fence to see her neighbor, Bakugou, harassing one of his friends once again. Since she could remember he had always been on Midoriya’s case after he found out he didn’t have a quirk.

   “Ka-chan, I didn’t-” trembled the green-haired boy’s voice.

   Before Midoriya could finish a sentence the rabid boy, that is Bakugou, lifted his hand and screamed, “Die!” But nothing happened. Seeing this outcome, Bakugou’s head snapped in the direction of the Yabe residence. There, at the fence, stood Souseiki waving at the two with the day’s newspaper in hand. “Get out of here, you useless trash! Can’t you see I’m dealing with something?”

   The girl gave a smirk as she stared at the two, “Good morning to you too,” her attention then shifted to Midoriya as he slowly backed up towards her. “Morning, Midoriya,” she greeted, “What’s going on today?”

   The stuttering mess of a boy replied with, “I accidentally bumped into him. It was an accident.”

   With a nod she looked back to Bakugou, “It was an accident, ya hear? Stop being an ass,” she remarked as the blonde began throwing profanities left and right at the two.

   “I wouldn’t act so tough when you have such a lame quirk!” He said loudly.

   Souseiki laughed as she looked at her heated neighbor and inquired, “What about you? Right now you don’t have one at all!” With that being said the boy went on an entire tangent about how he was better than the two, but he was ignored. A large lightbulb went off as she turned to Midoriya. “Hey, you like studying quirks, right?” She smiled remembering he always carried a book with Pro Heroes’ quirks and their techniques.

   “Yeah, I do,” he beamed smiling at her.

   “This is going to sound odd, but have you heard of any pros fighting someone with a quirk that decays?”

   Midoriya stood there with a pensive look on his face. “Not that I know of,” he said shaking his head, “Why?”

   Souseiki shrugged, “Just thought I saw someone with a quirk like that, but maybe I was just seeing things,” she lied. “I’ll see you two around. Bye, nerd!” She said waving to the blonde as she made her way back into the house. Her eyes scanned the paper for more news on her new friend, but once again there was nothing but talk of the explosions she had been caught up in. They had been caused by a villain with a quirk that allowed him to project bombs and he had used this in order to flee a robbery attempt. Souseiki sucked her teeth at the lack of information and tossed the paper beside her mom.

   “Why so fussy?” Questioned Mrs. Yabe as she looked back at her daughter. “You should go out and train. At least learn how to fight properly,” She said nonchalantly. “Your brothers are already in internships. The least you could do is train and try to get into a good profession.”

   Such unsolicited remarks made the teen’s blood boil. Souseiki eyed her mother with her lips pulled down in a frown. “Sure,” she muttered. The young brunette knew it was useless to bicker with someone so unmoving. “I’m going out then,” with that response she trudged back out the door.    

   The day was peaceful so far, but all she did was walk aimlessly. The training wasn’t in her plans at all. Souseiki had a pretty good idea that she wouldn’t become a hero from the second she took the entrance exam to enter the UA hero course. She failed and here she was now as a normal student at a normal school. What would have been the point in putting in extra work? No hero agency would bother taking in someone who wasn’t groomed by UA. Besides, an erasing quirk? It was like having no quirk in her opinion.

   Just thinking about it riled her up. From having such a simple quirk to being forced to try and enter some prestigious hero academy. It was irritating. “Assholes,” she muttered cursing her parents. They tried hard to get the girl to become an honorable hero, but it just wasn’t meant to be.

   During her aimless walk, Souseiki managed to arrive at the mall courtyard. Her brown eyes scanned the stores’ window displays before stopping at a particular shop. She walked closer and eyed a table full of cute home decoration. A small, pale pink elephant caught her eye. With delicate hands, she picked it up and awed at its beauty in the sunlight. This would make a beautiful addition to her desk. Maybe it would have if a bast hadn’t hit her.

   Without warning, she flew back as an incredible force racked her entire body. The momentum of the attack had her rolling until she clashed with patio furniture in the courtyard. “Told you it would work!” Cackled a masculine voice from afar.

   Souseiki whimpered in her spot on the ground. Her sore arms tried to push herself up, but with each effort, she slipped to the ground. “Fuck,” she whimpered as tears threatened to spill. Pain surged through her limbs as she looked up to see a man alongside a girl staring straight at her. The girl’s lips were curled back in a wicked smile as she stomped a foot on the pavement.

   Another strong, invisible force of energy attacked the brunette and sent her flying once again. The two began walking closer towards her as the civilians that were close by screamed for a hero. “You’re the hero Flux’s daughter, aren’tcha?!” Spat the man with the deepest hatred.

   Hearing the hero name, Souseiki shook, but couldn’t reply. Her head was bowed to the pavement as tears fell. Every inch of her body burned from the impact. She turned her head and through the curtain of hair, she eyed the two. That was her father they named.

   Closer. She needed them to come closer. Why weren’t these idiots coming closer? Where were the heroes?

   “You know what Flux did?” Questioned the lilac-haired girl with psionic blasts. “He’s a hero, he’s supposed to save people-” Souseiki groaned, but this time it was out of annoyance rather than pain. This woman’s words seemed endless as she described the job heroes were supposed to perform. “Flux killed my..”

   “I don’t care,” muttered Souseiki quietly.

   The female stopped her monologuing. The two stared at her with glares that could kill. Their brows knitted and their lips pulled down into a frown. “Are you mocking us? You’re going to die! You should be begging, you and your useless quirk should be begging for your life!”

   From her spot on the ground, the brunette remained silent at the remark. Her mother’s words ran through her head about training and not to worry about villains, yet here she lay being unable to move. It was comical.

   “Tch, fuck this,” cursed the man as he held out his hand. Souseiki closed her eyes as she saw a colorful light charge at the palm of his hand. A cacophony sounded, but no pain reached her body this time around. A broad spectrum of colors destroyed the building structure to her left. From the looks of it, the attack was redirected.

   “Satoru! You fucking missed!” Roared the female’s voice. “She was right the-” her voice then cut off before a shriek filled the air, then that too was cut short.

   Due to the destruction, the area was now filled with smoke and debris. Large fragments of the mall were resting around her. By some miracle, not one managed to crush her during the wreckage. After hernia little to no bickering from the avenging fools, Souseiki peered up at the damage. Ahead of her, she saw two dark figures approaching. “Took you heroes long enough,” she quipped with a ghost of a smirk.

   “Guess again,” rasped a voice.

Next

[mimymomo]

Unremarkable, you? Never. ~ Angst Parr part 1

Oh look it’s me starting something new even though I haven’t finished the OTHER project I started...oops? But anyways here’s my angsty Parr fic that yes...has parrlyn in it. I have no self control.

It started off innocent enough.

“Can we get a picture with you all?” a teenage girl with blonde hair asked excitedly, her brunette friend shyly hiding behind her. A simple question that should’ve had a simple resolution.

“Sure thing, hun! Just let me nab the rest of the girls real quick and we’ll be all set,” Anne laughed, wiping a stray bead of sweat away from her forehead. She was beaming in the bright artificial lights. It had been a lively show that night, the Queens feeling the energy surging from the audience after every song. Jokes landing harder than usual resulting in an uproarious frenzy. Now they were ending the night by taking pictures and signing autographs for fans.

“Cathy!”

Catherine, finishing up signing another fans programme, turned back at the mention of her name to see the rest of the queens gathered around two teenage girls. Anne waved her hand wildly in the air, “Catherine Parr, hurry and come get in the picture!”

Catherine shook her head and smiled at her friends antics before walking over to the group. As walked closer, she could see the smiles on the two girls faces slowly change into frowns as they whispered to each other.

“Uhh well, we,” the brunette spoke up.

“We actually just wanted a picture with you five, without her...” the blonde completed.

Catherine froze in place. Not being wanted for a group picture? That had never happened before.

“You want a picture with us...but, without Catherine?” Katherine asked stunned.

“Yeah, that’s not-” Anne began but Catherine quickly cut her off.

“That’s fine, here,” Catherine said promptly reaching out to take the girl’s mobile phone,“I’ll take the picture.”

“Are you sure Catherine?” Aragon questioned with a sharp frown, not happy that one of them was being excluded.

Catherine waved her concern off with a flick of her wrist, “everything’s fine.” She displayed the best fake smile she could muster, “now, you all smile for me ‘kay?”

...

Catherine never really minded being the queen mostly in the background.

She kept her distance from the queen's most of the time, valuing her private free time whenever she could receive any. She stood to the sides for the majority of the show and let the other queens fight and squabble, only taking center stage when needed at the very end. She’d make her part, resolving the conflict and deliver the primary message of self-importance almost every night, eight times a week. That was enough for her.

So why was this one incident bothering her so much?

Catherine kept replaying that night over and over in her brain, the scene now firmly cemented into her subconscious. She tried not to let it get to her, or at least not visibly show that it was getting to her as the days passed. But here she was, days later, still wondering why she wasn’t wanted for a stupid photo. ‘Was I just not good enough?’

“-atherine. Catherine. CATHERINE!”

Cathy jumped at the sound of her name. Six pairs of eyes were glued to her, each mixed with different emotions ranging from amusement to dismay. “Yeah?”

“Jeez, we’ve been hollering your name for five minutes now! You’ve just been staring out the window,” Anne smirked, but Catherine could see the concern behind the look.

“Oh, sorry!” ‘Come on Catherine, get your head straight.’

“We’re at the studio love,” Jane cooed with a sympathetic smile. The queens along with the band and one of their alternates Grace were performing on a talk show that morning as a way to promote the show. ‘Great publicity’ their producers said when they pitched the idea.

“Can you believe I’m going to be on television? Me,” Anne squealed as they hopped out of the car and made their way into the studio venue.

“It’s a good thing that the rest of us are here or they’d immediately switch channels,” Aragon muttered under her breath. They walked into the tall, pristine building and where guided down some long halls until they reached the sound stage.

“Long night?” Grace asked sweetly.

“Yeah,” Catherine sighed, giving the taller woman a tired smile, “you could say that.”

“Ah, ladies welcome to the show!” An older gentleman cheered, arms high in the air with enthusiasm. His hair was dark and slicked back and he wore a black blazer over a white button up and dark slacks. His smile wide and cocky. “I’m the producer. Let me run through where you all will be placed.”

He guided the girls into the spots center stage, Jane and Catherine in the front, followed closely by Anne, Katherine and Anna. Cathy and Grace took up the back. He then began to position the girls in their places, “okay, Aragon here, then Boleyn, next, Seymour, Cleves, Howard...perfect!”

The producer turned towards Cathy and Grace, “and you two must be the understudies.”

“Oh, no actually I’m-” Catherine spoke up but was quickly silenced by the producer.

“Oh wait a second...of course, there’s six of you queens aren’t there? I always forget the last one. What was I thinking!” he said dramatically placing his hand on his forehead. “My mistake.”

The producer turned to Cathy, “dressing rooms for the band and company are back down the hall, but you’re welcome to watch.” He grabbed Grace’s hand and started pulling her over in the direction of the group leaving a mortified Catherine in her place, “now come on love.”

“But wait I’m not-”

“She’s not Catherine Parr,” Anne crossley spoke up from her position, marching over to Cathy who was still standing awkwardly in her spot, her face noticeably more disheartening and out of it than even before. She placed her arm around Cathy’s shoulder. “This is Catherine Parr here.”

The producer released Grace’s hand and walked back to Cathy and Anne. “My apologies Ms. Parr. I guess you just don’t manage to stand out as much compared to your fellow queens.”

Silence. The air in the room grew thick and the temperature dipped tens of degrees. Anne narrowed her eyes in an icy glare at the mans blunt comment. “What?” she asked in faux disbelief.

Aragon and Cleves and the rest of the girls made their way to the group of three. “I just meant that, well,” the man backed up, now somewhat understanding the predicament he had gotten into. “Surviving isn’t as memorable as well, being beheaded or dying after childbirth or being divorced over arbitrary reasons. That’s all.”

The ice turns to fire as things heat up between the Queens and the ignorant staff member. Catherine’s face was blank as she stared at the floor. She swears she can hear the other queens but their words just sound like ringing static, background noise to the blaring thoughts pounding and repeating in her head. ‘You just don’t manage to stand out as much compared to your fellow queens. Surviving isn’t as memorable. Don’t stand out. Isn’t memorable.’

Anne is trying her hardest not to hurl heinous insults at this producer when she feels Catherine remove her arm from her shoulder.

“Actually, I believe Grace should fill in for me this performance. Not feeling so hot.”

“Cathy?” Anne questions, shocked.

“It’s fine, Grace you can handle this right?” Grace hesitantly nodded her head and Parr gave her a smile that shined nowhere near as bright as usual. “Alright then.”

Anne reached out and gripped Catherine’s forearms, her fingers digging in her skin slightly. “Catherine, is this what you want. Are you okay with this?”

Catherine nodded her head, eyes refusing to meet Anne’s, “just got a bit of a headache that’s all.” Catherine gathers some courage and locked eyes with Anne, “better to be on the safe side right?”

“If that’s what you want then okay, right Anne?” Jane comments picking up on the tension between the two.

Anne stares into Catherine’s eyes for a second longer before turning away and bringing down her hands. “Yeah,’ she laments still bewildered and not entirely convinced by Catherine’s words.

“There seem to be a problem here?” another producer for the show asked, stumbling into the unsuspecting war zone.

“Everything’s fine,” Catherine responds. She pulled away from Anne and backtracked a few steps back. “You lot do your best okay?”

The Queens along with Grace gave half hearted affirmations except for Anne, who was oddly silent. The second producer redirected their attention to begin soundcheck and Catherine walks out the double doors, the instrumentals sounding distant and disjointed the further she walked.

The performance goes off without a hitch. Catherine watched her girls and Grace sing and dance their hearts out from the flat screen mounted high on the wall in the studios green room. Each movement was perfectly in step and no note was out of pitch. In a way , seeing them all perform fine without her, Catherine felt worse than before. ‘They don’t need you. They have Grace and Courtney and Vicki. You’re not special.’

Catherine hastily shook her head, as if the harder she shook the faster the idea would fly out her head. But throughout the day it was always there, like a parasitic leech sucking out every positive thought in her brain.

Tag: @a-slightly-cracked-egg

[afewmarvelousthoughts]

Truth Pt. 8

Master List: @afewmarvelousthoughtsadmin

Request:

What’s up sug! sorry you’re struggling right now but I’ve come to help you If you could bring this to light for me I’d absolutely love for YOU TO DO JT So basically Bucky X Enhanced reader who are fuckin enemies. Hate each other to every last fiber of their beings bc Bucky is rude and she calls him out on it. AnywHs, they get drunk, truth or dare (go crZy baby) and LOTS LF dirty talk if u wanna do smut but if u don’t then buck taking care of her while she’s drunk cause she admitted her feelings

Pairing: Bucky X Reader (Enhanced)

Summary: Since The Avengers gave you a home the only blight has been Bucky Barnes, a ghost from your past that you can’t seem to shake. It makes you hate him. The feeling, it seems, is mutual. But… a simple game reveals that maybe things aren’t quite so simple. (Post Winter Soldier AU)

Warnings: References to past violence

A/N: I don’t know what to say about this one. It’s stressful, and soft, and... yeah. 

Hope y’all like this one!

Tags are open!

“Sargent Barnes, Mr. Stark, and the others are on their way here,” Jarvis says softly.

Bucky grimaces and looks down at you curled into a tight ball next to him breathing softly. It took about 30 seconds for you to drift off after you laid your head on his chest. You need this rest, desperately, so the thought of waking you pains him but it has to happen.

“Doll,” he gives your right hand a squeeze and kisses your head, “you have to wake up.” You groan a little and shift, “Come on, we’ll get this over with and you can sleep all you want.” He’d make damn sure of that.

Sitting up you rub your eyes, “How long was I out?”

“Just about fifteen minutes.” He reaches for your mug, “Here.”

“Thanks,” you take a huge gulp and go to get up for more.

“I got it,” Bucky plucks the mug from your grip.

“I can-” you begin to protest.

“Hush,” he says, “you’re a guest let me fill your mug.” As he’s pouring Jarvis announces the arrival of the team.

He meets your gaze from across the apartment. You look worried for an instant, unsure. He’s pretty sure he feels the same. But still, you nod strongly, ready to face whatever came.

“Let them in, Jarvis.”

Everyone flows in as he hands you the mug and takes his spot next to you once more. He knows it’s bad hosting etiquette, his ma would have a fit at him for not rising to greet guests or making them their drinks. It doesn’t matter. They aren’t his priority right now and he knows, it’s a power move.

Steve’s the first one in, “Coffee?” He asks.

“Yup, carafe full in the kitchen, help yourselves.”

Natasha is after Steve and she casts a worried look at Y/N who is refusing to lift her eyes from the coffee table, hands white-knuckled around her mug. Bucky gives her knee a reassuring squeeze and she looks at him with a halfhearted smile. Even that sends his heart fluttering a bit.

No one says anything as they fill their mugs and find a seat. Natasha takes the spot next to you on the couch. You turn to her. Bucky catches the warm smile she offers you and hears the whispered, “I got your back.” The loose bun on top of your head bobs as you nod in acknowledgment of her statement and your eyes focus back on the table.

He notices your right hand gripping your knee, small sparks just visible under the surface of your skin. Uncaring he takes your hand in his metal one. To his surprise you take it, holding tight enough to break a regular human's delicate bones there. For him though, it feels reassuring.

Tony sits across from you in one of the dining chairs and Steve is in the large chair to Bucky’s right, where he always is when he’s over. Everyone else but Thor is here, having had to leave a few days prior for some god business or other.

Bucky hears Tony take a breath as if about to speak but he’s interrupted by Sam.

“Hold up,” he lifts a hand in the air and gestures to the two of you on the couch, “I obviously missed something. Didn’t you threaten to kill him the other day?” Anger flashes through Bucky and he glares at Sam. You however just let out a little laugh.

“Sharp aren’t ya?” You quip and Sam’s face softens in a look that’s almost relief. He is your friend, after all, Bucky reminds himself.

“You owe me,” Clint whispers loudly at Natasha and she rolls her eyes. Another giggle comes from you and Bucky feels like he’s the one missing something now.

Sighing Tony dives in, “Sam does have a point there. You did threaten to kill a team member, Y/N, that’s a pretty serious issue.”

“I deserved it,” Bucky says staring Tony down.

“Oh?”

Your hand squeezes his and he continues, “I made a bad call. Would have gotten myself killed and probably everyone in range too. Y/N, made a better call. I behaved like an ass after. So any repercussions should be on me, not her.”

Steve snorts, “This isn’t the army, pal.” Bucky looks at his best friend, leaning forward in the chair smiling a half smile at the two of you. “No one’s going to get court marshaled. And this sure as shit isn’t Hydra, no one is going to be punished. We just need to know what happened.”

“And what exactly you were all up against down there,” Tony takes a sip of the coffee and gives an approving nod toward the cup before continuing. “Nat and Steve said… well that whatever came at you was-”

“Like me,” you finish the statement, voice hollow.

Tony nods, “Not that we even know exactly what like you means, Y/N. Plus there were the two other…”

“Assets,” Bucky whispers, the word leaving a bitter taste on his tongue.

“Yeah. Three seemingly high investments left alone? What’s that about?” Everyone is staring at the two of you waiting for an answer.

Bucky takes a deep breath. “That was an Asset Facility. It’s where… where they work on special projects as they call them. Where they make-”

“Weapons,” your voice again is devoid of any emotion. He looks at you a second before continuing.

“They likely got wind of our surveillance somehow and abandoned ship. Knew the project wouldn’t survive anyway and the other two assets were expendable puppets, not a high investment like…” He almost said like us but the words won’t come out. They all seem to understand anyway.

“We found the woman, the… project,” Tony grimaces a bit at the dehumanizing term, “and another corpse that was…”

“Incinerated…” you say. Bucky looks at you, he wasn’t aware of this.

“So you saw that one too?” Tony leans back in his chair. You nod. “Did one attack the other or?” You shake your head, eyes focused on the coffee in your left hand, grip tightening on his hand.

“No…” your hand trembles and he’s about to demand they all leave when you keep going, “they… it… I guess the best way to put it is spontaneous combustion. They burned themselves out. Alone. In that cell.” It’s the last bit that sucks the air out of the room, each person imagining what that kind of death would have been like.

Bruce clears his throat, fingers toying with a loose thread on his cardigan, “We, uh, did an autopsy on the woman.” You don’t look at him, just nod. “Her internal organs were… almost…” He clears his throat again trying to find the words to make the horrific more palatable and coming up empty, “Cooked, basically. She was burned from the inside out. There was no way she would have survived much longer in that state.”

Something like a hollow laugh comes from you, “Yeah. Call it a mercy killing if you want.”

“What we want is to know how someone in that condition could pose such a threat.” Tony’s tone is matter of fact, not aggressive, but it rankles Bucky’s nerves either way.

“You saw what she did to Steve,” it still made Bucky shiver, thinking of Steve being hurt.

“True,” Tony nods, “but you can’t tell me that you two couldn’t have handled that faster or-”

“She was going to blow,” your voice is surprisingly steady.

Bucky’s eyes shoot to you, “Don’t.” Your gaze slowly meets his. The two of you should have spoken about this earlier, should have worked out a plan.

“They need to know,” the look in your eyes feels like a knife in his belly. You’re terrified. He feels your hand release a bit but he refuses to let go. Taking a deep shaky breath you go for it.

“Like me, is a complicated thing to quantify… I don’t even really know how I do what I do or exactly how they made this happen. But at some level I’m…” You shudder and squeeze his hand, “I’m basically a human-shaped atomic bomb.”

Silence hangs as you gather your thoughts. “This… ability can be overloaded, pushed to a point that the energy will release all at once with enough force… well, I don’t actually know how much. I’m still here so that obviously hasn’t been tested. And she…” You're shaking all over now.

Bucky takes over, “There’s a tell. Bright pulsing, all over the body, one solid light. The project did that. We both knew what that meant in context to Y/N.” He glances at you and notices a tendril of light snaking up the side of your neck, “I made the call to hold the project off until Y/N could get the others to safety. The more I could distract her the less time it would take to blow. A gunshot or too much physical contact could cause it to go off too. It was a… delicate situation.”

“So how did you…?” Natasha says softly.

“She lashed out at Bucky, I took the blow like I had earlier, redirected her own energy back at her straight through her heart. I hope-”

“Wait…” Tony’s brows are knit. “You’re telling me you have the capacity to… overload?! And you don’t actually know what the consequences of that could be? So anytime you could just snap and kill everyone in range, Y/N?!

“That’s enough, Tony,” Bucky knows murder is dripping from each syllable.

“No. It’s not,” he slams his mug down. “That’s putting not only this team but innocent civilians at risk every time, all the time, you’re-”

“I’m not like her,” your voice is barely above a whisper, tremors visibly shaking your body. “I’m. Not.” You look up and meet Tony’s furious stare, “I have control. For whatever reason, I was able to contain this. I wouldn’t… I’d never… hurt any of you…” Your eyes dart around the room, frantically, begging someone to believe you. Bucky does, though he knows that control is… a relative term.

“I know,” Natasha lays a reassuring hand on your left thigh. “We know,” she flashes a murderous look at Tony.

“Wanting and doing aren’t always the same thing,” Tony says sighing. “Sorry, I’m not attacking you I’m just… thrown.” Your lips are pursed trying to keep your composure. Bucky catches Natasha’s worried look over your hunched shoulders.

“I can handle her,” Bucky’s voice is gruff. He hates saying this.

“What does that mean,” Sam’s gaze is cold.

“It means I can keep her from doing anything she can’t live with.” Sam just shakes his head and looks away, anger clear. Good, Bucky liked that Sam hated the thought of that almost as much as he did.

“But you couldn’t handle the one in the facility?” Tony again, isn’t trying to be an ass but that’s how it seems to Bucky.

“Not in the same way…” Fuck, he doesn’t know if you know exactly how he can handle you but… well, now you would. “It’s… there’s trigger words.” Your head shoots to him. Great, so you didn’t know. “Somehow they redirect the energy inside and cause…” He swallows hard, unable to say it, looking down at your hand still somehow confidently gripping his.

“Like the one in the cell?” Clint asks, voice soft. Bucky nods.

Tony lets out a long sigh and looks to Steve, begging him to take control of the situation.

Finally, Steve speaks. “How many more of you are there, Y/N?”

You stare at him for a long minute, “I didn’t know there were any." Bucky feels you begin to shake again. “As far as I knew I was the only one. They stopped when it worked with me. Even then…”

He remembered them complaining. Wipes lasted shorter times on you, the chair wasn’t as effective likely due to your own energy, making you difficult to control. Because of that, you were only brought out to the field for very select ops and often with not only a handler but the Soldier in tow.

“Why would they make more of you now?” Steve’s tone is measured, he can tell you’re shaken and he’s trying to be gentle. Bucky appreciates him silently. He’s worried you’re about to break but you take a deep breath, steadying yourself, this question seems to somehow bring you back to center.

“Why not? If they have the means a human-shaped bomb… that’s a statement maker. After everything it’s possible what’s left of Hydra is in the mood to make just such a statement.”

[Reader]

Nail meet head.

Everyone falls into a heavy silence. They’re either looking anywhere but you or right at you. The weight of your statement weighing on each individual.

You’d been thinking this over since the mission. It’s been one of the few things you could focus on with any accuracy. Setting your coffee down you hold your left hand up you watch the tiny points of light glow under your skin.

“I don’t really know how they did it…” Solid threads of light glow up your fingers, “All I know is it took years.” Natasha shifts next to you, the thought of that making her uncomfortable, Bucky gives your right-hand a reassuring squeeze. You hadn’t spoken of this… ever. “Years, trial and error… and a whole hell of a lot of pain. Unless they were working on them before, and I doubt it, they’re rushing this.”

“So their chances of success are slim,” Tony says, relief in his tone almost hopeful.

You cast him a dark gaze, “Their chances of repeating me are slim. Even more so without some form of the serum but…”

“They don’t need to repeat you to make a statement,” Natasha says next to you. You nod in agreement.

“All they have to do is place some half baked human bombs in key locations and people will start looking at high profile enhanced individuals with distrust.” You look around the room, “More distrust than they already do that is…” It was Hydra’s way. Indirect control.

Tony lets out a loud breath and gets up. He paces around the room a few times while your words sink into everyone.

“Ok,” Bruce huffs out. All eyes shift to him. “They’re trying to replicate you as best they can, given their limited resources. That means you’re the best lead we’ve got.” He pauses looking over at Tony, “We’ve been wanting to… examine your abilities for a while-”

“She’s not a science experiment,” Steve snaps. Bucky looks over at him, a pleased smile on his face.

“Of course not,” Bruce hold up his hands. “We never said anything because we wanted to give Y/N time to settle in here.” Tony slumps back in his chair.

“Look,” Tony leans forward, elbows on his knees, “we would never do something without your consent but… Y/N, you gotta throw us a bone here. We don’t even know what we’re dealing with when it comes to you and now this-”

“This is-” Bucky’s tone and the tremor in his hand says he’s about to go off, you cut him off.

“I’m down.”

“Y/N…” Bucky turns to you, face a mask of concern.

“It’s ok,” you give him a small smile. “You’re right, Bruce, I’m the best lead. What do you need from me.”

The shock on Bruce’s face is evident, “Oh… uh… no-nothing invasive. If we can get some solid energy scans from you, blood samples while your power is active, stuff like that we can start putting together an algorithm that can scan for that specific energy signature and variants close to it. See if they’re trying this elsewhere.”

“I can also try to come up with a suit or something similar that can keep you from… overloading so Manchurian over here,” you glance at Bucky, he hates this nickname from Tony, “won’t ever have to use whatever Jedi mind trick he has to make you blow yourself up.”

Relief floods your system. You hoped for an outcome like this but you didn’t let yourself believe it could really happen. A shaky half laugh trips over your lips, “That’s it?” Tears prick at your eyes as you scan the room.

“For now. Give me 24 hours I’m sure I can cook up some other fun ideas if you’re going to let us play with this,” Tony sweeps his hands up and down in your direction, “whatever the hell it is in your system.”

A soft smile lights his face, “You’re one of us, Y/N, we just needed to know you were ok. That you weren’t about to light Ice Boy on fire at a moment’s notice.” The smile turns impish, “And since it looks like you’re lighting him up in a whole different way-”

“Excuse you-” You jab an elbow hard into Bucky’s ribs. The tension breaks as everyone laughs at his surprised wheeze. Even Bucky is smiling as he looks down at you.

Steve stands, “I think that’s all we need to worry about for now.” He looks down at you two, a tender look on his face, “We’ll get out of your hair.” Everyone stands, including you and Bucky.

You sway a bit on your feet as Natasha pulls you into an embrace, “Get some rest please,” she whispers in your ear. You give her a solid nod in acknowledgment.

“Sparks,” Tony calls to you as Steve and Bucky embrace. You make your way to him, feeling more and more unsteady. He rests his hands on your shoulders, supporting you, “Anything you need you let me know, anything.” His gaze is intense.

“I will, Tony.” His eyebrows raise in doubt, “I promise. This was… I just…”

“I get it,” he smiles. “I’ll make you a recovery playlist,” he pats your shoulder and heads for the door. Turning he points to you, “Be sure to play it loud enough to annoy the grump.” You look to your right as Bucky approaches you, his eyes rolling.

You laugh, “You got it, boss.” Tony winks and heads out as Bucky slips a supportive arm around your waist. You’re grateful and lean into his steady frame.

“You have so much explaining to do, traitor” Sam quips, a kind smile on his face.

“You’re still my number one jetpack, Wilson, don’t be butthurt.”

He cups your cheek then glares at Bucky, “Take care of her.”

“I will,” you’re surprised at the smile playing on his lips.

“If you don’t, Winter Soldier or not I’ll beat your ass.”

“Sam, grown nuclear risk woman here,” you pat his hand still resting on your face, “I’ll be good.”

He smiles, “Oh I’ll whoop your ass too if you don’t take care of yourself. Just making sure he knows what’s what.” Tenderly, he pats your face and steps back. “Call your therapist,” he winks, Sam was always on you about it. He claps Steve on the shoulder before he’s gone too.

Steve is the last one there. Pulling away from Bucky you give the Captain a heartfelt hug. “Look out for him,” he whispers in your ear. Everyone could see how wrecked you were. Bucky wasn’t much better, it was just less visible. But Steve could see it plain as day. Your heart swells a bit in your chest to know someone is paying attention to Bucky’s needs too.

You hold his gaze and nod. A smile fills Steve’s face telling you he can sense just how much was held in that gesture.

“You both get some rest,” he says after he and Bucky exchange a hug.

“Aye, aye, Cap,” you give him a half-hearted salute.

“You’re worse than Tony,” he calls over his shoulder.

You laugh, “That cuts deep Steve.”

He turns back, “So sure. Call if either of you needs anything.”

Immediately you bury your face in Bucky’s chest, breathing in his reassuring smell. His arms curl around you, holding you tight pressing a kiss on top of your head.

“I told you it would be fine,” you say pressing your cheek against his sternum.

“That you did,” he sighs, “could have easily not been though.”

“Can’t live on could have beens Buck,” his stomach growls. “Wait,” you pull back and give him a once over, “you didn’t eat anything earlier.” He shrugs. Guilt washes over you for not realizing before. You grab his hand and start to drag him to the kitchen.

“I’m good, Y/N,” he laughs a little, “really. You don’t have to-”

“Shut up,” you push him on to one of the stools. “What kind of food do you have here?” Opening his fridge you groan. Eggs, protein shakes, a couple more of those Pedialyte drinks, and a few pre-made meals from one of those ‘healthy’ restaurants on the lower floors of the tower.

Groaning you look around the door to him, “You are such a dude.”

He laughs, “Not up to your standards?”

“Not by a long shot,” you flash him a smirk. “Ok, eggs, one of those terrible meal things, or order out?”

“Those meals aren’t bad,” he protests.

“They taste like fucking cardboard.”

“Eggs, because I don’t want to face your judgement,” he says smiling standing up, “but I can make-”

“Get back on that stool before I tie you to a chair.”

He sits and smirks at you, “Maybe later, doll,” he winks.

Once he’s eaten and you’ve downed a protein bar and bottle of Pedialyte you’re both just about ready to topple over.

“Thanks,” he smiles back at you as he loads the dishwasher.

“Just returning the favor.”

He rounds the island and tilts your face up to his, thumbs grazing your cheekbones. “I don’t know about you but I need sleep.” You nod.

Wordlessly the two of you undress and crawl into bed. The feeling of his skin on yours, his soft breath on the back of your neck, the steady thrumming of his heart, they make everything else fall away.

“Sleep well, doll,” he whispers against your ear.

And you do.

@midnightdream83 @mywinterwolf @disagreetoagree @breezy1415 @peachthatdrinkslemonade @wonderlandmind4 @piensa-bonito @handplucked @buckysstar @sam-jae @marauder--harder @for-the-love-of-the-fandom @andreagf56 @meg-asaur @jewelofwinter @fairislesheets @animegirlgeeky @lydklein1 @katecolleen @siriuslycloudy2

[julias-on-jojo]

I wrote a fic for the first time in like 9 years. I hope y’all enjoy it. It’s self-indulgent and I wanna see my red headed boy happy.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27292222

Or read here, if you’re so inclined:

The summer afternoon hits; the air becoming warmer and warmer, flowers blossoming and thriving in their pots or in the earth. The water demand grows ever higher with every day that passes, not only for the blooming buds and full foliage, but for hard working students who hustle and bustle to finish the first session of the school year.

Two larger figures swim through the crowd of high schoolers dispersing from the campus grounds; one head with bright, red hair, signature cherry earrings framing either side of his face. The other is a jet black mess of hair, hidden underneath a tattered hat, adorned with golden pins.

“School is surprisingly mundane still,” Kakyoin opened, stretching his arms out.

“Mmhmm,” Jotaro nodded.

“You’re not very talkative.”

Jotaro just shrugged at his friend, continuing their usual walk back to their homes. He didn’t say much unless he had to, or if he felt like it. How mundane school is wasn’t necessarily a topic of interest either.

“I wanna have things shake up a little, y’know? Good grades and high test scores be damned, we both know there’s more outside of this!” Kakyoin’s burst of energy was certainly a change of pace, considering the months he’d spent bedbound and drained.

“You sure you’re not overdoing it?”

“Hmm?” Kakyoin raised an eyebrow, a pensive expression on his face. Jotaro’s shoulders went back as he adjusted his posture, standing up straighter, his height overshadowing his friend. “Oh, yeah, that ...”

The redhead’s arms wrapped around his torso. The skin grafts and scarring hiding beneath the fabric of his shirt, lacking the full sensation his skin once had. The middle of his spine downward now inorganic, attached with wires and an artificial, metal covering that stuck out like a sore thumb. Thankfully, it wasn’t incredibly obvious by looking at him, but it’s still a painful reminder of the journey to Egypt.

“Your doctor said your mobility may wane over time. I know it hasn’t been long, but you sure you’re not off balance or anything?”

“I- I’m okay,” Kakyoin sighed, gripping his gut. “I haven’t been pushing it, staying out of PE helps, and I’ve been doing the exercises I was told to do! The neurologist and PT cleared me to walk without the braces on, so-“

Jotaro moved one hand from his pocket to his friend’s shoulder, “I just don’t want your energy to get ahead of you.”

Kakyoin laughed and swatted the hand away, “if I collapse you’ll just have to- ... Jojo, whose car ... cars? Whose cars are those outside of your house?”

Jotaro’s eyes shifted forward, taking in the view before him. A van and a luxury vehicle? His mother didn’t have anything like this, and his dad wasn’t the one driving if a car was around. The van would maybe be one of the neighbors, but it was too new. It didn’t have the worn out, finger-smudged, family “loved” appearance as any other family’s car. Why on Earth would that be parked next to a nice luxury rental?

Jotaro’s expression went from thoughtful to shock as he heard his name being bellowed in a familiar, gruff voice.

“JOTARO, THERE’S MY GRANDSON!!”

“Oh good gri-oof!” The catchphrase was cut off by a smiling Joseph Joestar, wrapping two muscular arms around the grouchy teen and lifting him slightly.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Joestar!! Welcome back to Japan!” Kakyoin smiled with a wave.

“Kakyoin!! Glad to see you up and walking!” Joseph grabbed him and the two hugged, having been apart since the trip.

“More than that, I assure you. I’m basically back to normal!”

“What are you doing here, gramps?” Jotaro asked, straightening out his uniform.

Joseph frowned, “What? Am I not allowed to visit my daughter and grandson?!”

“Excuse me, Mr. Joestar? I take it this is the boy you’ve been talking about?” A new voice, not Holly, and certainly not Japanese.

Joseph turned back toward the house, his signature grin spreading across his face, “The one and only!”

A girl stepped forward from the house and into the entrance of the Kujo household. Overshadowed by the three crusaders, chestnut colored hair laying straight, and hazel eyes taking in the two, new figures before her.

The girl stepped forward, clearing her throat, and, in the best Japanese she could muster, “<It’s nice to meet you! My name is Mae.>” Her hand outstretched for a handshake.

Jotaro and Kakyoin looked at each other, and while Jotaro rolled his eyes and scoffed, Kakyoin laughed and shook her hand.

“Your Japanese is great! I’m Noriyaki Kakyoin,” his hand dropped from their mutual grip and pointed over at the taller boy, “and that guy over there is, indeed, Jotaro Kujo.”

“Thank you! I’m glad I said everything right, I’ve been practicing for so long ... your English is fantastic!”

Kakyoin smiled, “Thank you. I appreciate your willingness to learn the language, <but you don’t speak fluently, do you?>”

“Uh ... <hold on, wait a moment,> um ... I- sorry, I uh ...” the girl became flustered trying to respond, “I don’t speak as much as I wish I did.” Embarrassment crept up on her cheeks as a pink blush.

“No need to worry about that here, miss Mae,” Joseph reassured her, “In this household, English is enough to communicate!”

Kakyoin couldn’t help but feel a bit out of place, even if English was a second language to him. He turned back to Jotaro, who was doing his best to just try and shrink away, despite his massive size. English wasn’t his friend’s forte, even with having an American mom. With someone who wholeheartedly accepted her husbands culture like Holly, Japanese was the primary language in the house. Jotaro’s English wasn’t terrible, per say, but definitely not fluent.

“< You okay? >”

“< I hate women, they’re so annoying! >” Jotaro snarled.

“< Be nice! She’s a guest with your granddad! >”

“< Doesn’t stop her from being rude. >”

“< What do you- >“ Jotaro pointed over at the girl. Even if Joseph was busy speaking at her and being the doting old man he’s proven to be, Mae was staring.

Jotaro walked forward and entered the house, arm colliding with Mae’s shoulder, nearly knocking her over ... and definitely out of her stupor.

“Jotaro! What the hell was that?! Is that any way to treat someone, especially a guest?!” Joseph scolded, chasing after his grandson.

Mae turned, her gaze following the Joestar men into the house, rubbing her shoulder. The embarrassment was visible on her face.

Kakyoin sighed, wrapping an arm around Mae’s shoulder, “Don’t mind Jojo. He’s just kinda like that. He warms up as you get to know him.”

“He’s so .. big,” Mae replied, looking up at the redhead, “Mr. Joestar didn’t say he’d be a giant!”

Kakyoin couldn’t help but laugh, “He’s not a giant! Tall, sure, but he’s no giant! Besides, you’re .. what? 167 centimeters?”

“I’m 5 foot 6.”

“Okay, 167 and a HALF. But don’t let his size intimidate you! Jotaro is just the strong, silent type.”

“Is he mute or something?”

Kakyoin hesitated, “Selectively.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re normal, at least, so far,” Mae said with a small, nervous laugh. “I’m sorry, that’s rude. I didn’t mean to stare before, I’m just ... taking it all in. Mr. Joestar moved my dad out here for business and -”

“Your dad works for Mr. Joestar?”

“Oh, yeah!” Mae smiled, puffing out her chest in pride, “dad’s one of the top sellers for Joestar Real Estate! When Joseph wanted to expand to have some international business, dad was one of his top choices!”

“And Japan was a first location because of Ms. Holly?”

“Bingo!” Mae beamed, snapping her fingers and pointing finger guns.

The two were interrupted by the sounds of high pitched screaming and the sound of heavy footsteps. Jotaro came darting back out of the house, two younger kids hot on his tail.

“TEACH ME YOUR WAYS, MUSCLE MAN!!” screamed the older boy.

“Leave him alone!! That’s no way to treat my body guard!!” shouted the younger girl.

Jotaro fled behind Kakyoin, “< THERE’S MORE. >”

The redhead looked at his friend, then back to the feisty children standing before him, having stopped dead in their tracks to figure out how to remove Jotaro’s human shield.

“You two are insufferable and violating all kinds of space!” Mae scolded, grabbing the younger child and picking her up. The older one took two steps away before his arm was yanked, “You don’t call someone that, you don’t designate them as your personal protection, and you leave them the hell alone in their own house!”

“Yeah, but he’s so-!” the older one was cut off, his arm hold becoming a headlock.

“No! You’re the older brother, you KNOW better!” Mae turned to the boys behind her, “I’m so incredibly sorry about these two, they know no boundaries. I’ll make it up to you with food or something.”

Mae walked back into the house, the sounds of protesting children following her.

“< What the fuck just happened? >” Kakyoin asked.

“< She has siblings, and they’re little goblins. >” Jotaro replied, straightening his hat.

-

Jotaro’s nightmare did not end so easily. His grandfather had introduced his mother to his star employee and his family of 6.

Mr. Ben Harrison, his wife, Jean, and their 4 children; Mae (18), Greg (9), Lila (7), and the baby, Charlie (1.5).

“< It’s a welcome party!! Isn’t this exciting, Jotaro?! >” Holly squealed, busily moving about the kitchen.

“< No, >” Jotaro sneered, having dragged Kakyoin inside to provide an excuse for escape.

“Don’t be rude!” Joseph snapped.

“< I- I have a guest of my own, I need to do schoolwork! >”

“Since when have you been focused on more than just passing?!”

Jotaro glared at his grandfather, grabbed Kakyoin by the arm and lead him away from the mass of people. Kakyoin gave Joseph a worried smile and a small wave as he was dragged off.

Jotaro went immediately to his own bedroom and slammed the door shut, letting out a groan of aggravation.

“... You wanna talk about it?” Kakyoin asked, placing his school bag down.

“No! Those dumb little fuckers got onto me and wouldn’t let go!”

“They’re kids, Jojo. They don’t mean you any harm, if anything, the little girl wanted you for a body guard! That’s a compliment! ... A weird compliment, but still.”

Jotaro groaned at the suggestion, “They kept touching me, climbing onto my arms and just violating my space, no matter how much I tried to remove them!! They’re worse than their older sister.”

“You just met them. I know those kids were wrong, but Mae literally just introduce herself.”

“She’s a woman. She’s annoying. End of story.”

Kakyoin rolled his eyes and sighed, “if that’s how you’re going to be, fine, but I feel like you should know someone a little before you decide to hate them.”

“I don’t hate her, I just don’t want to deal with her.”

“Whatever you say, Jojo. How’s about we actually do that schoolwork you were talking about?”

Jotaro sighed, there was no way around getting things done with Kakyoin. Not unless he wanted to play video games, and then he’d just be more annoyed by how much of a show off his friend is. He grabbed his bag and began to remove the papers and books from inside.

A knock, then the door crashed open, “What the hell was that?! How dare you leave your mother and I alone to host so many people!!” It was Joseph. Of course it was Joseph.

“Go away, gramps, mom is good at this stuff and you’re the one who taught her. You’ll be fine without me,” Jotaro sneered.

“That’s not the point! Get your ass out here and be social!”

Both boys just looked at the older man, “I don’t know if Jotaro is best suited for that, Mr. Joestar.”

“Papaaaa! Come back here and help!!” Holly demanded from the kitchen.

Joseph sighed, “I know you’re not the most social person ever, but I’m trying to make a good impression on a very reliable employee. He’s moved his entire family from America to Japan and it would be really helpful if-“

The clattering and crashing of pots and pans, then the sounds of a small human crying.

Jotaro huffed and moved to the doorway, moving his grandfather aside, “I ain’t doing this for you, old man. You owe me.”

Joseph smiled and sprang back toward the hubbub, Jotaro sauntering behind, Kakyoin following along to witness the potential disaster unfold.

The trio was greeted to a father holding his toddler in his arms, trying to comfort the little boy while cleaning up the spilled kitchenware. Apologies were repeated, Holly reassuring this strange man that it was okay and it happens with little ones.

The man stood up, rubbing his baby boy’s back, “Shhh, come on Chuckie, it was just loud, you’re okay!”

Mae walked across the scene, removing the tot from her father’s arms, “I got this, dad. A change of scenery and he’ll be right as rain.” The girl took her baby brother to the other room, patting his back and swaying gently to try and calm his screaming.

The stranger sighed and sank, elbows on the counter and hands holding his head. Joseph clapped a hand on the man’s back, “You’ve got a good one on your hands with her, Ben.”

The man’s hands slid back to his neck and he looked up at his boss with a weak smile, “Thank you, sir. That means a lot.” The man’s eyes moved over to the two teenagers looking cluelessly in his direction, “Sorry about that, boys.”

Joseph’s hand moved across his employee’s shoulders, bringing him in for a half hug, “Never mind that! Charlie’s little! Like Holly said, happens all the time.” The older man looked up and gestured to Jotaro, “He’s eventually gonna be a grouchy teenager like my grandson!”

“Ah! YOU are the famous Jotaro! Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Ben Harrison-“ the man walked over and exchanged pleasantries in English, Jotaro just nodding and politely shaking his hand as greeting. Ben’s attention shifted to Kakyoin, “and you, son?”

“Just a fellow guest, sir,” he replied, shaking Mr. Harrison’s hand.

“Nonsense!!” Holly interjected, “Kakyoin is basically family! He and Jotaro have been friends for a while now, and they’re practically inseparable!”

“Practically,” Kakyoin repeated, stepping to the side and wanting to be as far away from the kitchen as humanly possible.

The conversations continued, Jotaro being roped into cutting ingredients for his mother while the grownups discussed whatever it is grownups talk about, the middle siblings keeping each other busy under Mrs. Harrison’s watchful eye. Kakyoin actually managed to slip away and notify his own family that he won’t be home for dinner.

[edivupage]

The Importance of Creating a Nurturing, Safe Environment for LGBTQ Students

If you have been following my work, you know I spent 7 years a K-12 teacher and 7 years as a university professor, eventually becoming the dean of a school of education. As a teacher, I was passionate about helping students reach their academic potential and become productive citizens. As a professor and education dean, I was devoted to developing the next generation of teachers and education administrators. For the last two and a half years, I have been an education entrepreneur, launching an education company, Lynch Educational Consulting, which also manages the following web properties: The Edvocate, The Tech Edvocate, and Edupedia.

However, I often miss being in the classroom, and when I do, I usually channel this energy in an article, resource, or project that will benefit educators everywhere. This time I decided to create a series of case studies that are meant to help pre-service teachers get a glimpse into the problems and issues that they will encounter in the field. These case studies will also give them a chance to reflect on how they can use each scenario to inform their own practice. Let’s get started.

As teachers, we must be champions of all our students, regardless of their race, religion or sexual orientation. We must treat them with respect and make our classroom and the entire school a safe zone, where they feel protected. Read the case study below entitled “Amanda: Classroom Climate to Support Student Individuality and Safety,” where a teacher is confronted with an instance of LGBTQ bullying and fails to handle the situation in an appropriate manner. This could potentially lead to physical harm being done to the student being bullied. Afterward, reflect on the questions below, using your thoughts to shape your own practice.

Consider Tom Gates’ remark. Is Josh “asking for it” by wearing a dress? What might this reveal about Gates’ attitude?

How does Amanda respond to Ben’s remark?  Is her response specific enough to address the issue? How might she have handled this more effectively?

What hints does Amanda have based upon Josh’s behavior toward Ben, after Ben’s remarks?

What action, if any, should Amanda take at this point? Whom might she speak with, about the situation? An administrator? A counselor? What might be an appropriate intervention?

Amanda didn’t respond to Josh’s comment that being called gay was “insulting.” How might Josh ’s comment be hurtful to other LGBT classmates?

West Ridge High School was buzzing with excitement. Student government officers had received permission from the principal to arrange “spirit days” the week before homecoming. Each school day, students could wear outfits with different themes, as long as they didn’t violate the dress code. Skirt lengths had to be within regulation, and off-the-shoulder tops were forbidden. Boy’s torsos had to be covered, and shorts had to meet length requirements. Within those parameters, students were free to be expressive.

Although the celebration required a little extra diligence and supervision, teachers and administrators agreed it was a fun tradition that promoted school spirit. For the most part, it didn’t interfere with instruction, and all accepted it with grace. Some teachers joined in the fun and dressed up as well. Amanda had taught American History for 6 years at West Ridge and looked forward to spirit week. She enjoyed working with the junior class officers to coordinate their float.

Monday was “cartoon character day.” Students dressed as Looney Tunes characters, SpongeBob, and other favorites. One group organized themselves and represented the cast of Scooby Doo. Tuesday was “kindergarten day” and Wednesday was “career day.” Most wore business apparel or uniforms, but a few were extremely imaginative.

A group of boys wore blue coveralls and hard hats. They cordoned off a section of hallway with striped tape, orange street cones, and a “Men Working” sign. Between classes, they redirected “traffic” around the “road work.” Thursday was “movie character day.” Some were instantly recognizable: Rambo, James Bond, and a few Lara Crofts. One girl was a dead ringer for Elle in Legally Blonde. It was a lot of fun.

That morning, Amanda’s students filed into first period, laughing and admiring each other’s wild attire. Amanda enjoyed their outfits but had carefully prepared lessons that week, to ensure that students were focused on academic content for most of the period. Students were expecting a quiz, and, in good spirits, they settled in for some last-minute studying.

Just before the late bell rang, someone appeared in the doorway, in a white sleeveless dress that flared at the knee, red pumps, and a glamorous blonde wig—the perfect picture of an Asian Marilyn Monroe. It took a minute for Amanda to recognize Josh. Students were speechless as he posed suggestively, framed by the doorway. As the bell rang, he tottered into the classroom in his high heels. The class reacted with giggles, whistles, and sneers.

“That’s quite a costume, Josh! You’re a looker.” Amanda said with a smile and a giggle. “Let’s get ready for your quiz; you’ll need to use your time wisely.” Josh nodded and smiled at the class as he pulled paper out of his backpack. Students continued to snicker as they found pens and paper.

“Dude, you look totally gay!” Ben bellowed from across the room. “Did you shave your legs too?”

Josh puckered and blew a big red kiss in Ben’s direction. “Thanks for looking, but I didn’t have to shave. I’m Japanese; we’re not all hairy like you.” Students laughed. “Anyway, just because I wore a dress doesn’t mean I’m gay. That’s insulting. Marilyn was totally hot!”

Amanda cleared her throat and began to distribute the quiz. “All right, boys, that’s enough! A quiz means silence! Any talking will result in a zero.” She raised an eyebrow at Ben and handed Josh a stack of quizzes. “Please take one, and pass the rest back.”

As Josh complied, Ben whispered audibly, “She said boys. Not fags.”

“Ben! I will not tolerate insults in my class. We will talk about this later.” Amanda said emphatically, her eyes locked with Ben’s, as she handed a stack of quizzes to Gabrielle. “Take one, and pass them back, and no more talking until everyone has finished with the quiz.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Ben nodded, but cut his eyes menacingly at Josh. Students worked quietly for the next 30 minutes. Amanda walked around the room, checking their progress. She eyed Josh cautiously. He seemed agitated, glancing furtively at Ben, who seemed oblivious. Amanda continued to watch as students finished the quiz. Afterward, there was a brief discussion of the Alien and Sedition Acts, and students had time to talk about the group projects due the following week.

Josh took off the wig and joined his group, taking charge of their planning. He made several suggestions about their skit, which his group adopted eagerly. They agreed to meet over the weekend to rehearse. Amanda saw that Josh was still keeping a close eye on Ben, as the bell rang. The class gathered their belongings and bustled out the door. Josh seemed to take longer than usual to get his backpack arranged. He put his wig back on and rearranged it carefully.

“Josh . . . is everything okay?” Amanda asked.

Josh smiled apprehensively, and nodded.

“I really like your costume,” she smiled. “You went to a great effort. I think there were people who were surprised by it. Maybe it made some of them feel uncomfortable with you.”

“Will I get in trouble?” Josh winced.

“No, Josh, probably not. Technically, you’re decently covered and not violating the dress code,” she said, trying to put him at ease. Josh looked a little nervous. Amanda escorted him to the hallway. He checked to see if Ben were lurking nearby, and then made his way down the hall through the crowds of other “movie stars.” Tom Gates, an administrator, stopped at Amanda’s door to chat as he wandered through the hall on his rounds.

“That boy is going to be bloody by the end of the day,” Tom said, shaking his head. “But he’s asking for it, dressing like that. What a terrible idea.”

The post The Importance of Creating a Nurturing, Safe Environment for LGBTQ Students appeared first on The Edvocate.

The Importance of Creating a Nurturing, Safe Environment for LGBTQ Students published first on https://sapsnkra.tumblr.com

[constructionfirm]

4 tips to optimize hotel construction costs

Hotels are straightforward. They provide a safe, comfortable resting place for people away from home.

It’s a rudimentary idea on the surface, but behind the veneer it’s clear that hotel construction projects have many moving parts. The key to success is optimizing a wide array of hotel construction costs associated with these projects.

As an experienced hotel and housing construction firm, we’ve put together these tips for owners considering a new hotel project.

Understand hard costs in hotel construction Construction materials, equipment and labor make up the hard costs owners incur on a construction project. You’ll pour most your construction investment into these costs, so it pays to be thorough in the search for cost saving solutions.

5D Macro-BIM is a key estimation tool that can help. This software combines three-dimensional CAD capabilities with an exhaustive database of construction materials and their costs. It helps hotel owners fine-tune design and construction decisions, saving money where savings can be found and providing opportunities to redirect those savings elsewhere on the project.

Where a hotel is built can lead to cost savings, too. Some municipalities and states work together to spur economic development by waiving state sales taxes on construction materials purchased in-state. At The Korte Company, it’s our job to know whether this is on the table for your project. We’ll also help you navigate potential negotiations with local officials if costs can be saved through the creation of other tax incentives or local business districts.

Note, however, that saving money on construction materials on the front end should be weighed against overall lifecycle cost analyses. Committing to higher-quality, higher-cost materials may be a better business decision in the long run.

Labor costs are also complex. We’re currently facing a skilled labor shortage across the construction trades. Finding enough workers to keep work moving is the primary challenge. To make sure this cost component stays under control, you’ll want a contractor who can guarantee they’ll attract and retain the necessary skilled labor force for the duration of the project.

With six decades in business and 3,000-plus projects under our belts, The Korte Company has ample experience identifying and implementing the best mix of cost saving measures.

Maximize soft cost management These costs are not directly related to getting a building off the ground, but they’re still critically important. They include: • Construction permit fees payable to the applicable jurisdiction. • Legal fees associated with property acquisition and any other proceedings related to construction. • Survey costs and engineering fees. • Architectural design fees. • Construction project insurance premiums. • Applicable local and state taxes.

It’s a lot to keep track of from an administrative standpoint, and mistakes or non-payments can be costly. At best, you might owe a fine that could have been avoided. At worst, your project could be legally halted.

Owners concerned about the administrative aspect of a hotel construction project should consider the Design-Build method of construction. Not only does it save time and money, it streamlines project administration by keeping all aspects of a project under one roof. That eliminates headaches and can lead to reduced soft costs compared to other methods.

Weigh your hotel construction financing options Hotel construction projects are paid for in different ways depending on who the owner is. It might be a big-time nationwide hotel brand, a partnership of regional developers eyeing a franchise opportunity or a local independent owner.

Whatever the case, securing construction financing will play a big part of the early stages of a project. Many financing options are available, and not all construction loans or other financing schemes are created equal. It pays to weigh your options carefully.

You can learn more about matching your long-term business goals with the right construction financing package by reading our guide to financing your construction project.

Consider operational costs ahead of time Normal operating costs don’t kick in until after we leave a site. But some decisions made even before groundbreaking can help you run your hotel as efficiently as possible.

Operational costs include: • Electrical, water and sewage utility bills. • Guest room supplies and other regular purchases like food. • Employee wages, non-wage benefits and training costs.

Electricity is the most prominent of these costs. It’s no surprise that high-consumption facilities like hotels try to control these costs. Your construction partner can help.

Choosing energy efficient systems and building materials goes a long way toward reducing utility costs and minimizing a hotel’s demand on the power grid. High-efficiency climate control units and good insulation work together to keep guests comfortable without breaking the bank. Smart hotels are slowly gaining in popularity, too. Room key-activated smart systems connect each guest room to a central computer system that lets guests control their environment when they’re in the room but goes into an “energy saving” mode when they’re not.

In certain circumstances, hotels can also reclaim wastewater. Potable water is required by law for food handling, bathing and other water-intensive tasks in hotels. But recycled “gray water” can be used in place of fresh water for some non-critical cleaning and landscape management.

For more about how green construction principles can help reduce operational costs and secure positive return on investment, consider these green construction tips.

Choose diligence: Design-Build for hotel construction If what we discussed above is any indication, making the most of your hotel construction investment is no easy task. That’s why a partnership with the right Design-Build firm sets owners up for success from day one.

The Korte Company has delivered hotel construction projects across the U.S. for a wide variety of customers. And despite the uniqueness of every hotel project we take on, our approach stays the same: Stay on-budget, finish on schedule and find ways to innovate—no matter what.

You can see that approach in practice on these showcase hotel construction projects. And as you consider your next hotel build, get familiar with the wide range of construction financing options at your disposal. Our guide to construction project financing will help you secure the financing package that makes the most sense for you.

Author Bio Todd Imming is Chief Marketing Officer for The Korte Company, a nationally-recognized Design-Build firm with over 3,000 projects completed across 44 U.S. states.

[karen-carlisle-off-the-artboard]

Writing through Writers' Block

http://karenjcarlisle.com/2017/03/26/writing-through-writers-block/

“What?” you ask. “How can you write through writers’ block? Doesn’t it mean you’re stuck, and can’t write?”

Well, yes… and no.

Here’s how Cambridge dictionary defines writers block: the condition of being unable to think of what to write or how to proceed with writing.

I’m currently in the middle of writing the third (and last book) in the Adventures of Viola Stewart, The Illusioneer & Other Tales. The first story rolled onto the page. In From the Depths, Viola is in Scotland, recovering at a beach resort after her ordeals in Eye of the Beholder.  Of course, she is swept up in a series of unexpected events. We meet a new character. This story ended up twice as long as previous shorts. I didn’t want it to end.

I started on the next short story, Tomorrow, When I Die. This is a more convoluted story, requiring fiddling of … (spoilers!) and some fun research on Victorian Christmas traditions. Then it happened. It crept up on me, taking me by surprise; the realisation that this was to be Viola’s last set of (traditional) adventures. (“Gasp!” I hear you say. Never fear, dear Reader, I have a few plans up my sleeve – but that’s for another time, another blog.)

About this time, a late bout of dust-induced summer bronchitis hit. I felt like shite. Being ill is certainly not helpful when trying to build up the will-power to wade through the dreaded marshland I designate Writers’ Block. I see it as a marshland as it is inconvenient, an impediment to moving forward and I must plan my way to proceed or sink further down.

First find the cause: why do I get writers’ block? I’ve thought about this in depth (perhaps way too much!). It seems to strike me at two different stages:

When I’m staring at a blank page. I know the gist of the story. I can usually see the end scene in my head, the mood I want to create. But the words refuse to flow from my brain onto the screen. At this point, I am usually working pen on paper; words seem to flow better with a pen or pencil in my hand.

when I am nearing the end of a story. I’m finally having fun. The characters are co-operating, even enjoying themselves. Then the penny drops; it has to end. I panic. I don’t want it to end. I don’t want to leave my characters behind. But I must. Perhaps if I don’t write those final words…?

These are things I have to deal with. They are not new. In 2014, I had almost finished the first draft of what I thought would be my first novel, The Department of Curiosities. I had about four scenes to write. Crunch, the writers’ block hit me.  What was I to do? I started on a short story, (reviving) a character from An Eye to Detail, short listed the year before in Australian Literature Review’s murder and mystery short story competition.

The block shifted. I kept writing Viola’s s adventures with gusto (There were minor blocks but nothing as long-lasting as that with DOC.)  I’m now ready – and can’t wait – to return to The Department of Curiosity – my next project after The Illusioneer. 

How do I Tackle Writers’ Block? I have a box of story ideas. I keep getting them. Not all are worthy of a full story, but they are there. I usually have at least three (sometimes four or five) stories on the go. When I hit the wall, I redirect my energies toward another story and let the original one bubble away in the background – ensuring I move forward, and not wallow.

This time I was side-tracked onto a story to submit to a (absent) Sherlock Holmes anthology: write a story in the Holmes mileaux, sans Sherlock himself.

Bang! The main character was there. Her enthusiasm was contagious. I could see, hear, smell the final scene. This short is now being polished with final edits and about to be submitted. Wish me luck. (And another series is born. I can’t wait to write another story with my new detective and her soon-to-be-drafted side-kick. Though I need to finish The Illusioneer and the DOC first.)

Short stories are fantastic. They give me a brief holiday from my main project, just enough time to let the original story gurgle back up to the surface.

April is Camp NaNoWriMo and I’m ready to plunge Viola back into her adventures. I hope you’ll join the ride.

Photo © 2017 Karen J Carlisle. All rights reserved.