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[momlovesyoubest]

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[enviedear]

i've been going solo now ⟶ ben solo

description ⌙ when you get a distress signal from your dad and his life-long goon you're quick to try and come to their rescue. only problem? so is ben solo.

pairing ⌙ smuggler!ben solo x f!reader

warnings ⌙ childhood crush/frenemies turned adults with horrible communication skills, reader is the daughter of lando (biologically or not you decide), ben is a jerk, reader is a brat, petty arguments, forced proximity trope, inner conflict all the time, han and lando are just two pals getting into serious issues that their kids have to fix don't mind them (they're just mentioned), most likely incorrect knowledge of the falcon & starship parts, smuggler!ben solo au because that's canon to me, ben calls reader kid (affectionate, kinda), typos probabaly

word count ⌙ 4.1k

— request | masterlist

i just think ben solo is very much solo by future coded and i wanted to write about smuggler!ben and his smug attitude. special thanks to @crucifiedfaerie for letting me gush over this idea constantly in our dms <3

you never had the stomach for killing— the thought of it or the act itself. the notion of ending someone's life has always been abhorrent to you, leaving a sour sensation in your mouth that lingers long after the deed is done. but right now, you sit, filled with a growing and seemingly unstoppable rage that practically demands blood.

"don't even think about jumping into hyperspace, solo!" your voice is loud but erratic.

the black-haired man piloting the ship gives you a side eye, "and waste hours getting there? sure thing, kid."

you grip the co-pilot seat as hard as possible as he sends the absolutely geriatric ship into lightspeed. the force of it sends your head back onto the headrest, and you screw your eyes shut until the motion of the ship stills.

you've been flying with ben solo on the millennium falcon for a day and a half now, and this isn't even the first time you've wanted to kill him.

no, you'd harbored a hatred for ben solo for as long as you could remember. when you were little your father frequently left you in the care of the organa-solo's. any trip too risky for you to follow him on had you spending time on chandrila han and leia— and ben.

he was a few years older than you and so insufferable - spoiled rotten and full of mischief. the two of you would inevitably end up in scuffles over something, whether it be who got to shower first or which holovid show to watch. you often wondered how your father, han, or leia had managed to handle both of you. a hardheaded pair of troublemakers that needed little excuse to start bickering with one another.

but beneath it all, there had been another layer to your complex relationship with ben solo. even though you feigned anger whenever near him, deep down there had been an admiration growing since those early days spent together. your naive heart fluttered when he would absentmindedly flash his ever-present smirk in your direction. but you'd never admit or act upon any such feelings.

naviagting your crush had been difficult at first. especially having lando calrissian as a parent. you were forced to spend weeks around the source of your teen angst because of your father.

what use is a dad that can sweet-talk a jablogian if he can't fix your unwanted crush on his best friend's son.

you've cursed at his image in your mind every time you look at your ridiculous companion. if not for him, you wouldn't be with ben right now— you'd have never had the displeasure of his company.

you got away from the young solo, and most everyone else, for a good five years, hopping from planet to planet, picking up any honest work. which usually meant boring work— factory jobs, service stuff, a few instances of babysitting.

your life without ben solo is predictable and a little boring.

but you'd rather be bored than deal with the recklessness that becomes your life every time you see the smuggler.

but here you sit beside him, forced to spend an unknown amount of days with him until the both of you find your idiotic fathers.

you had gotten a rouge comm-link message from your dad just days ago. he sounded fine, voice still leisurely and warm, but it was his words that were worrisome, "han's got us in a bit of trouble, little star. would you mind coming to help your old man out? we're somewhere in the trilon sector— i'd try batuu first!"

when you got the message, your mind had gone into autopilot. you had rushed to comm leia, which had been a fatal mistake, as she had ordered her son to pick you up and accompany you. so now you're here, stuck with ben solo and his frightening flying.

"you know, dad should have warned me i'd be flying with a coward." ben's lips are curved into a grin, as usual with his teasing.

you whip your head in his direction, eyes ablaze, "well my father should have warned me that you've gotten even more annoying, somehow."

ben narrows his eyes, a stupid smirk still plastered to his face, "whatever you say, kid."

you feel your blood go hot, why he decided to start calling you kid, you didn't know, but you do know you hate it.

ben's barely your senior, only twenty-three years of age in comparison to your twenty. besides he behaves like an out-of-hand teen away.

"stop calling me that." you groan.

ben chuckles, "aw, what's the matter, kid? tired of following orders already?"

you grit your teeth, the way he talks down to you will forever get under your skin, "i don't take orders from you, solo."

"sure you do. you're on my ship, remember?" ben retorts, his eyes focused on the coordinates displayed to his left.

you cross your arms over your chest, "we're supposed to be working together to find han and my father and get them out of trouble, not bickering like children."

ben rolls his eyes, "it's not my fault you're so uptight."

you take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down. you can't afford to lose your temper and start a fight, not when you're relying on him to get you to your destination safely. so, you force a smile, "look, can we just be civil? we're both here because we care about our dads and want to help them."

ben's expression softens a little, "fine. but if you start nagging at me again, i can't promise i won't call you kid."

you roll your eyes, "deal. now, can you tell me more about what's going on? my dad was pretty vague in his message."

ben hums, "same with mine. all i know is that lando got mixed up in some kind of shady deal, and now he's in trouble with a gang of criminals called the ninth sun. my mom's been trying to negotiate with them, but they're not ones to bend the knee."

you groan, "of course not. what's the plan?"

he shakes a stray black strand of hair from his eye, "no plan, just find them and go from there."

"lovely, that's totally going to work," you bite your lip, "oh and, it was han who made the sketch deal, not my dad."

ben shrugs, "and who told you that?" he rests his elbow on the armrest and brings his hand to his chin, "lando?"

you clench your fists, "let's just focus on finding them. no need to dwell on the semantics."

ben glances at you and for a moment, you swear there's a flicker of something in his eyes. something other than his usual teasing, mischievous demeanor, but it's gone as quickly as it came and he turns back to the console.

the ship hums steadily beneath you, and the silence between you two stretches on, broken only by the occasional beep from the controls. you fidget in your seat, uncomfortable with the unfamiliar hush. you've never been around ben so long without saying anything, and you're about to speak up before he interrupts you.

"we'll have to make a pit stop, i need to refuel." his voice sounds tired.

you nod, "alright. any nearby planets we can stop at?"

ben checks the navicomputer, "yeah, there's one a couple of light years away. i've been there before, it's not too bad."

"okay solo, lead the way." you say, leaning back in your seat.

as he pilots the ship toward the destination, you can't help but study him from the corner of your eye. he's changed since the last time you saw him. the boy who used to pull your hair and steal your toys has grown into a man. he's lean and toned with longer hair, still as sable black as ever. it falls into his eyes, despite how much he wills it not to, giving him a slightly disheveled look that you can't help but find attractive.

you rue the thoughts plaguing your own mind.

the embarrassment you used to feel over your crush has come back ten-fold. the feeling shocks you. he's trying to act all suave and mature, but you know deep down that he's still the same old ben who annoyed the life out of you. you can feel the familiar tug in your heart every time he speaks, and you know he can't have changed much over the years. not when he's making you feel just like you're fourteen again.

but there is something different about him now. maybe it's the way he pilots the ship with ease– no longer the boy who'd cover his ears ar take off, or maybe it's just the way his muscles flex under his tight-fitting shirt. he's almost mesmerizing.

it's clear that he's been doing this for a long time, navigating the stars all alone with nothing but his shitty attitude and perfect hair. you find yourself marveling over him, sure and smooth, his hands deftly moving over the controls.

ever the realist, you try to shake off the feeling, but it's proving difficult. you feel a strange urge to preserve your current addiction.

as you watch him fly, you feel a fixation building within you. it's a sentiment you haven't felt in years, not felt since the last time you saw him.

you try to push the feeling down, knowing that it's not the time to have those kinds of thoughts. you're supposed to be focused on finding your fathers and not getting killed by some lethal syndicate, not lusting after your childhood nemesis.

you feel wrong stealing glances at him, trying to understand what's changed and why you're feeling this way. you're towing a dangerous, line. especially if those feelings are inspired by ben organa-solo.

finally, after what feels like hours, you arrive at the refueling station. as soon as ben lands the ship, you stretch your legs inside the falcon, looking out at the new scenery. the planet is bathed in the evening light, and the scene around you is wide awake. the station itself is a bustling hub of activity, with all kinds of alien species milling about.

ben leads the way to the fueling station, where he begins filling up the ship's tanks. you stand by the ship's entrance, people-watching. your eyes find ben's figure again, and you let them stall. when he looks your way, you advert your gaze and step out of the falcon, swiftly approaching him.

the evening air is cool as it hits your skin. this planet is a strange one, with vibrant purple plants and thick, white fog swirling around. but you don't pay too much attention to it, your eyes are locked on ben.

he's leaning against the ship, checking over the fuel meter with a frown on his face. you walk over to him and clear your throat, expecting to get his attention.

he looks up at you, eyes meeting your own. you feel your heart skip a beat, and you curse yourself for being soft for him.

"you know, you didn't have to follow me out here." he mumbles, hand coming to brush the hair from his eyes.

you hum, "i didn't have anything better to do."

he ignores you and looks back at the fuel gauge, his eyebrows furrow, "i found something for you to do." his voice is monotone, but you're all too familiar with the subtle cut of annoyance within.

"what does that mean?" you own voice comes out a bit too anxious.

ben groans before looking at you, "one of the damn tanks has a leak— i told chewie to fix that weeks ago." he follows up his words with a few curses before kicking the faulty gas tank.

you roll your eyes, "can't we just get another one? i'm sure if we go inside someone would know where we could get another one."

"the problem isn't finding one," he tsks at you, "the problem is that this tank has been leaking fuel into the beacon finder. without that, we're never finding our dear old dads."

your heart sinks. you had been so sure that you would find your dad quickly, but now it looks like that might not be the case. "so, what do you suggest we do?" you ask, crossing your arms over your chest.

"i'll have to fix the beacon," he sighs, "luckily i have the tools for it, but i need to find one more part, and with the sun setting soon…" he trails off, letting his silence complete the sentence for him.

you take in a deep breath at his implication. you can tell what he is suggesting without explicitly stating it.

you will be stuck on this planet with him tonight and forced to share the same cramped room. you thank god for separate cots, at least.

you try to ignore the warmth creeping up your ears, but you know that it's a losing battle. you haven't shared a room with ben solo since you were kids, endless unwilling sleepovers at each other's houses. but those instances were filled with innocent pranks and arguments, not the tension and longing glances you've found yourself giving him.

"alright," you say, trying to keep your voice even, "we'll just get the part and fix the beacon. the faster we fix this, the faster we can find our fathers and get back to our lives." you move towards the entrance of the fueling station, wanting to put space between you and ben.

"you mean so you can get back to your life." he calls out to you, and you look back at him only to be met with contempt in his brown eyes, "the one where you avoid me."

you give him a sharp eye roll before making your way toward a small gaggle of vendors, much more interested in finding this part. ben follows closely behind you, and you can feel the weight of his stare on the back of your head.

you're at a loss as to why ben solo would ever care that you've been avoiding him for the last five years. the ben you remember would've never batted an eye. when did that change?

you find a vendor selling the part that ben needs, and you both split the payment before heading back to the falcon. ben sets to work on the beacon, and you sit nearby, supposedly looking over the coordinates but mostly watching him work.

there's an abnormal sense of calm that fills you as you watch him. concentration is etched on his face, lips bitten bright red. you can't help but admire him, not for the sake of not trying.

you're brought back to reality when he starts cursing under his breath, "what's wrong?" you ask, moving closer to him.

"this damn thing won't budge," he grunts, trying to pry apart two pieces of the beacon.

you move to his side, peering down at the device. his breath is hot on your cheek, and you feel an urge to shiver. trying to focus on the task at hand you take a few breaths.

your eyes keep drifting to his lips, the way they move when he curses. you shake your head, trying to clear the inappropriate thoughts from your mind. "let me help," you offer, reaching for one of the tools he's using.

he hands it to you, and you lean in closer, your sides pressed together as you work the tool. you can feel his heat exuding into you, a warmth that isn't just from the planet's humid air. you try to focus, but it's becoming increasingly difficult. every time he moves, you catch a whiff of his scent, musky and rich, and your mind starts to wander to places it shouldn't.

finally, after what feels like an eternity, the piece pops free, and ben lets out a sigh of relief. he turns to you, a small smile on his face, and you can't help but smile back. his eyes lock onto yours, and suddenly, the air between you is charged with something foreign.

you let your tone come out sardonic, "looks like i saved the day. you're welcome, solo."

ben tilts his head, eyes narrowing, "you're a brat, kid."

"i thought i told you to stop calling me that." you want to hit him.

"i said i had a condition," he pauses, arms coming to either side of you, palms pressing into the falcon's floor, effectively trapping you against him, "a condition you just broke. so you're back to kid, kid."

you feel your resolve slipping, "you're the worst. you always have been, and i can see now that will never change."

he has the audacity to let out an amused breath, "if you're going to say shit like that, at least mean it."

your brows furrow, "pardon me? as if i don't mean that."

his hands creep from the ground and to your hips, you gasp as he pulls you in closer. if he were anyone else, you'd expect him to kiss you next, but he's not anyone else. so instead, he cranes down and whispers in your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "i know you want me," he growls, his fingers digging into your clothed flesh. "don't act like you don't,"

you're completely caught off guard, and before you can respond, he's pulling away from you and grabbing the beacon. you watch in silent horror as he makes for the falcon's exit, leaving you confused on the floor.

you sit there, rooted to the spot, your mind and body in turmoil. you know if you follow him you'd just be throwing yourself into a petty or embarrassing altercation.

what did he mean by that anyway? how could he possibly know?

taking a steadying breath, you turn away from your seat and make for the other side of the ship. you need to keep yourself busy until nighttime, and you know that there's some maintenance to do on one of the storage bays. when you get there, however, it's already been taken care of. your fists clench in frustration as you realize ben must have done it earlier.

you start searching around the ship for any other tasks that might help keep your mind off things and pass the time more quickly- checking cords, tidying up shelves or going through supplies lists so nothing gets low.

the hours seem to stretch on endlessly despite how much work you manage to do, and all too soon darkness begins to fill the sky outside of the cockpit windows. with a heavy sigh, you head back towards where you and ben had been working earlier. he's back now, tinkering away with the beacon as if nothing had ever happened between the two of you earlier— as if his words hadn't sent a tremble down your spine and confused the emotions tumbling through your mind.

you catch an expectant glance from him when he finally notices your presence. you're sure he's expecting you to say something to him. maybe he wants you to yell.

you don't say anything though, instead offering only a terse nod before checking the endless cords around you.

your fingers move quickly and expertly over the tangled cords, your mind too preoccupied to focus on anything else. but you can feel his gaze on you, burning through the back of your skull like a branding iron. his presence is suffocating and you know that if you don't get a handle on your emotions soon, you'll combust.

eventually, you're so lost in thought that you almost miss the soft footfalls approaching you. you turn to see ben standing beside you, his eyes locked onto yours. the air between you is thick with strain, unspoken words, and feelings. there are so many things you want to say to him, but you don't know where to begin.

"so," his voice breaks through the silence like a blaster shot. "when are we going to talk about it?"

you hear the depth in his baritone voice and it's all you can do to keep your face neutral, your thoughts collected, "talk about what?" you ask, even though you know perfectly well what he's referring to.

"about me and you," he says, voice low but insistent, "or we can just keep ignoring it. the tension seems to be getting us pretty far."

your expression shifts as you take in his words, the longing that had been coiled in so tightly before now coming to the surface. you can feel yourself flustering under the intensity of his watch but you refuse to look away, instead lifting your chin higher and narrowing your eyes.

"there is no us, solo," you say firmly, though your voice is riddled with a hint of something else entirely, "there never has been, and never will be."

ben seems unfazed by your words, his eyes steady and intense. "you say that," he says, his voice softening. "but i know you better than anyone else. and i know there's some part of you that actually likes me. i bet it pisses you off, doesn't it?"

he's right— it does piss you off that your heart can't seem to let him go. no matter how annoying you find him, he's beautiful and confident. and he does know you better than anyone. he knows what buttons to press and how hard. with ben, there's always the thrill of how perceptive he is— that he can see through the walls of anger and indifference you try so hard to build up around yourself.

you can feel your will crumbling under his words, your heart throbbing in your chest, but still, you push back, "even if there is something there, solo," you say, your voice shaking slightly, "it doesn't change anything. we're two different people living two very different lives."

ben smirks, "you don't know anything about my life."

you let your eyes roll, "as if the life you lead is some kind of mystery," you take a deep breath, "i mean, what's to know? you fly alone, smuggle, and rack up credits. that's your life, solo."

he hums, right hand finding a home beside your head on the wall, "you know me so well, kid. you should write a book."

you feel inexplicably hot, "maybe i will. a long book of all the reasons you piss me off."

he doesn't respond, just looks down at you for an uncomfortable amount of time. he pushes himself from the wall and you, twisting and letting his back hit the durasteel wall. his face is turned to you, eyes downcast.

"you know," he says finally, breaking the silence, "i remember when we were kids, it was always you who used to be the one to instigate. you probably don't remember it that way, but i do, and i loved it. you never hesitated. you were fearless."

you look at him incredulously, wondering what this has to do with anything. but he continues, "you were the only girl that would play with me, and not just that, the only one that could beat me. but then one day you just stopped. you ignored me completely."

you stiffen, unwilling to admit even through body language that he might be right. a pre-teen you found avoiding your ben sized crush the most viable option. you just never thought he'd care.

he continues, eyes unwavering from yours, "you used to look at me like i was the only person that mattered. and then, you just stopped. it's was like… like you had something to hide."

it's like he can read your mind because he reaches out and grasps your wrist in his hand. his touch is nice against your skin, sending a comfortable feel through your veins.

"i miss you, the girl who wasn't afraid of liking me," he whispers, his voice low and husky. "and i want you to admit that you miss me too."

you struggle to find words, to make sense of everything inside of you, but before you can speak, his lips are on yours. his kiss is hot and demanding, and instinctively lean into him, body melting against his in perfect harmony. his hands slide around your waist and hold you close as the kiss deepens, and you can feel all of the frustrations of the past slipping away. when he finally pulls back, his eyes are bright with emotion and a hint of a smile graces his lips.

he looks down at you for a moment before speaking in a low voice, "you want me to do that again?" he steps closer to you and cups your face in his hands, his eyes twinkling with amusement. you can feel the warmth radiating from his body and if it weren't for his strong arms around you, you would have melted into a puddle.

you nod slowly in agreement, too lost in the moment to say anything else. he leans down and brushes his lips against your cheek before pulling away completely, "then be honest. right here, right now. you like me."

you screw your eyes shut, basking in the shame of being found out, "i like you, solo. i like you a lot, but if you don't get off your pedestal and kiss me again i'll withdraw the opportunity."

he gazes down at you with an expression that's tender yet mischievous all at once. "i like you too," he whispers before chuckling lightly, you open your eyes to see.

his dimples are on full display, and for a second, he's the spirit of the little brat you fell in love with all those years ago. "c'mere, kid." his voice is soft as he pulls you back into him, lips meeting yours.

[blacklight-ghoulette]

To accompany the earlier water ghoul Dewdrop thoughts...

TW for vomitting, angst, self harm, and body horror (I think, I'm terrible at writing these out please let me know if they need updating)

One does not take in the fires of Hell and walk away unscathed. It does not care if you do so willingly or not, it eats it's way through blood, bone, and soul with ravenous appetite, wanting, needing, to consume all it touches.

Dewdrop was burning alive.

Skin dried out till it cracked and flaked off as he moved, baring wet, red patches of muscle underneath. It felt as if his blood had boiled away, leaving behind only ash and acid. Maybe that’s what it was that dripped from the seams opening up across his parched skin, Dewdrop thought, swearing that he hears it hiss and sizzle as the reeking black ichor splattered onto the floor. It was bad enough seeing it seep out between fingers clenched into fists so tight he could see the glistening white of bone at his knuckles, but it was worse when it started coming up his throat.

When the searing coal that had burrowed in his chest felt as if it started pouring smoke into his lungs he made the mistake of trying to cough it out. Instead of smoke what came up was the ichor, searing and overwhelming as it left the taste of sulfur, ash, salt, and copper in his mouth, reminding him of the stench of fetid bogs and lakes choked by algal blooms. Dewdrop counted himself lucky in that he was just barely able to make it to the toilet in time as he retched, clinging for dear life to the white porcelain as the disgusting mess spewed up from his stomach and lungs, filled his sinuses and seared his nasal passages.

He distinctly remembers a singular moment of clarity, where he knows there couldn’t be this much of anything left in him to hack up yet still it would come, even after a few minutes when his body seemed to have calmed the need to purge itself of the bitter poison only for his trembling muscles to clench and leave him heaving yet again.

At some point Dewdrop figured he must have passed out, because when he opens salt-crusted eyes he’s no longer clutching at the toilet bowl but instead is curled on his side on the tile floor. For an unblessed moment it seems the worst was behind him, the searing, burning pain finally toned down to a manageable level. He feels desiccated, like he’s been left out in the desert sun till every last bit of moisture has evaporated, leaving him a skeletal husk as fragile as a thousand-year-old mummy. A trembling had started in his core then worked its way into all of his limbs, coming with it a frailty that felt as if a strong breeze were to brush by he’d be knocked over to shatter across the hard tile floor.

Somehow Dewdrop manages to fight through the exhaustion and weakness and push himself upright, though he still has to pause as the motion makes everything waver and sway. Slowly, laboriously, he crawls the scant few feet to the vanity, grasping at the painted wood and heaving himself upright with all the speed and care of a geriatric trying to move without their cane or walker.

Looking into the mirror was a mistake.

Dewdrop stared in disbelief at the creature reflected in the glass. This wasn’t him, this couldn’t be him… there’s no way he was this shriveled up corpse covered in a blacked hide stretched tightly over sharply lined bones, his eyes two searing coals gleaming out from the sunken, black pits of his eyes. Even his fangs seemed longer, sharper, yet still gleaming pristine white. And then there was his hair. His pride and joy. The thigh-length, silky locks no longer the soft blue of seafoam but instead now looking like sun-bleached straw. Dewdrop brought a hand up and touched it so delicately and yet—

It feels as if a pit opens in his chest and starts to pull at him, drag him in as he watches the strands shatter under his fingertips.

“No,” he croaks, “no….no, no, not t-this, no…” His hair falls away in clumps as Dewdrop pushes his fingers into the locks, the strands breaking apart so easily it was as if they were spun from glass. He feels the last remaining shreds of his sanity slip from his grasp, splintering as easily as the remnants of his once-prized mane. The feel of his fingers against his bare scalp made Dewdrop flinch; the callouses on his parched skin felt like sandpaper as the dehydration seemed to accentuate them, giving the edges a coarse, sharp edge. A harsh, broken sob erupts from his scalded lungs as he grasps for the long strands in desperation, a litany of pleas to let him keep this, just this one thing, please he needs his hair, his beautiful, silky hair, he can’t lose it too, not like everything else—But there is no one to hear Dewdrop’s cries, no one to answer what half-formed prayers he choked out from a singed throat and through caustic tears.

As the last piece of what he was—had been—falls, Dewdrop throws his barren head back and screams, digs his obsidian claws in and rakes them down his scalp. The ghoul shrieks and flails, splattering the walls and floor with hissing droplets of corrosive tears and blood. When his voice gives out, his vocal chords too charred to work any longer, Dewdrop grasps his horns with blood-slicked hands, grips them so tight his entire body shakes with the effort.

With one last, soul-wrenching scream, with every remaining ounce of strength his being possessed, he wrenches them from his head. Agony explodes across every sense, his vision whiting out, ears filled with a high-pitched ringing. The last thing Dewdrop could feel before the pain took everything away, was the sharp bite of splintered bone through his palms.

And as the first rays of dawn anoint the carillon tower, in a small room in a forgotten little nook of the abbey, flames as hot as the pits of Hell itself flare bright with rage and anguish. The very last remnants of a water ghoul are boiled away, the once beautiful scales flaking off in the heat, delicate webbing betwixt fingers and toes cracking and splitting apart, the flowing fins along a once-stout tail turned to ash and leaving the hardened spines to jut out from a once stout tail now withered into a vicious, sinuous whip.

Dewdrop dies, only to rise from his own ashes as something else, something completely different, alien—

Hideous.

[igottatho]

Did I miss when the siege ended? when the borders and crossings opened? It’s like the whole world forgot that Palestinians in Gaza STILL have needs. The prices for food and water are still exorbitant. They still have none or very little access to medicine, cleaning supplies, materials to keep them warm - and we are approaching winter months, where these needs will increase.

We’re almost at a solid year for this so-called “war” and I’m watching endless GoFundMe campaigns being shared, with very few donations. The Alwans aren’t seeing much of that recently, but we’re managing (barely) to keep a trickle going. But they’re starving - Mohammad tells me he and his wife are able to eat a snack every day or so. We’re still seeing images of skeletal children and / or shredded children constantly.

I don’t know if it’s correct to expect anyone to forgo their comfort or hobbies or own care while another people are being starved, sieged and blown to bits …… I myself certainly am continuing to paint, to work on my silly art projects, to bring my kids to & from school… but it’s as if people decided since Kamala is taking over they don’t have to worry anymore. Since the Harris campaign (which held no primaries and hosts no campaign policies) started, they have raised $540 MILLION (see img below, as reported by democracy now) and that money didn’t come from nowhere (although with modern politics it can appear that way).

I’m relieved that we won’t have a geriatric in office, and that Kamala Harris is leaps and bounds more productive than Trump, and as a Black woman, it’s past time for her. But people are treating the whole situation as if she 1) already has the job and 2) is going to do ANYTHING DIFFERENT than what Biden’s administration (which she is a part of) has already done/ continues to do. Which is send MORE weapons in US name, with US money, to blow up more children (as reported by the Cradle)

I know people are tired - tired of talking about war, and destroyed kids, families, homes…. Tired of hearing about it, talking about it, donating to victims of it, having our govts double down on how nece$$ary it is, signing petitions to end it - and it all seems endless and helpless.

It would be easy to hand over the reins to Kamala - but we all know in our hearts that she has no intentions of ending this genocide. We need to demand more of her NOW, because if we wait until she’s in office, we have nothing left to bargain with - except our labor, or putting our own bodies (rather than Palestinian ones) on the line.

Palestine woke up the entire world, don’t go back to sleep. Don’t let all of this work have been for nothing. You’re tired, but think about how tired Gaza must be, and all of Palestine, enduring this for almost a century - we can DO THIS. What’s more fam….

We ARE doing this : we ARE impacting the machine and making an impact - Starbucks worth is tanking , McD’s is experiencing loss across the board, and despite the deeply unsatisfied rhetoric with voters right now - WE MADE BIDEN STEP DOWN (well, Us and his inability to verbalize anything). Israel faces more pressure now than ever before and they KNOW IT, it’s why they’re rushing to take as much of the West Bank as possible and destroy as much as Gaza as possible.

We just have to make sure we keep as many healthy and whole as we’re able 🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼

[shurisneakers]

if you're taking ideas for harmless drabbles, i'd love to see one of bucky on one of those dates he mentioned and reader's shenanigans. if you aren't, feel free to ignore this!

a/n: are we really going to let a word limit define what a drabble is? is the vibe and spirit not enough? i say this bc this is 5.7k words long im so sorry. also hey thank you to everyone who piped in with their knowledge of violent geese and how apartment security works in new york!! also thanks to my bby @spiderrpcrker for reading this and telling me to publish this bc i wasnt going to fkjghfkj

warning: swearing, bad luck, dates, frustrated bucky, anxiety, mentions of gore but like only a sentence

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Catch up with the rest of the series here: Harmless Masterlist

Bucky returns only two weeks later. His mission lasted longer than expected and all he wants is to lie down and sleep for forty eight hours straight.

“FRIDAY?” he mumbles, kicking off his shoes. His jacket had already been discarded by his bedroom door when he walked in.

“Yes, Sergeant Barnes?”

“How are ya?” He doesn’t miss a beat in asking, even though he’s exhausted.

“As good as ever. Did you have a successful mission?”

“If by successful you mean one sprained limb instead of two, then yeah.” He wasn’t really cribbing. His ankle was already starting to heal anyway and it was worth the roundhouse kick to a Nazi's face. “Do I have anything scheduled for this weekend?”

“You have a meeting on your calendar scheduled for this Saturday.”

“Could you send a text to Y/N and ask if we can push it to the next day?” His muscles feel sore and God, he could definitely use a hot shower but all of that becomes secondary the minute he feels the sheets under him.

“Would you like me to reschedule the other one as well?”

“What’s that?” He opens one eye in confusion. “There’s another one?”

“It’s on Sunday. You’ve labelled it ‘date’.”

Ah, fuck.

“Would you like me to change it?” FRIDAY never sounds like she’s judging him, which is nice. It also reminds him about how she, as an AI, can’t judge him, which is a rude wake-up call to how he doesn’t have friends.

“No,” his voice is muffled against the pillow, “no, let it be. Where is it again?”

“You’ve only specified diner, Sergeant Barnes.”

Public space, daytime, plenty of escape routes. Good on his less delirious self for selecting a diner.

“Thanks, FRIDAY.” Now that he’s a little more relaxed, he can feel himself slip in and out of consciousness.

“One last thing," her automated voice commands his attention again. "Y/N replied. She says sure and to take care.”

“Yay.” Not even a second later he’s out like a light.

____

“Did you bring me any souvenirs?” Is the first thing he hears as he marches into your lair.

“What could I possibly get you?”

“A postcard, a t-shirt.” You don’t look up from your tinkering.

“Decapitated finger, used bullets,” he continues, “cement blocks.”

“Ew.” You snap the lid shut on the thing you’re working on, spinning around on your chair. "That's not nearly romantic enough."

“That’s all you’re going to get from a Russian underground bunker.” He does a mini jog up the stairs of the platform to where you are.

“Does the finger have a ring at lea- oh hello?” You raise an eyebrow at the sight of him. “You look different.”

He peers down. The outfit was still all black. As always.

“Not your clothes, dummy,” you interrupt, making him look back at you. “Your face. What’d you do?”

He unconsciously raises a hand to his cheek.

“Did you wash your face? Is that it?” you squint at him. “Has it been a few months since the last time?”

“Wow, you’re so funny,” he drawls sarcastically.  “Top tier comedian right there.”

“No wait, it’s the beard.” You snap your fingers in realisation, completely ignoring his comment. “You trimmed it.”

“So what if I did?” He leans on your table.

“You going somewhere?” you ask, elastic snapping against your hands as you remove your gloves.

“It’s none of your busi-”

“Hold on a second.” A sly smile begins to make its way onto your face. “Are you going on a date, Bucky Barnes?”

His comeback dies down in his throat. That didn’t take you very long for you to figure out.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” You look smug, to say the least.

“Shut up.” A ray of light glistening distracts him. He traces it to the thing you were working on earlier.

“Where are you guys going?” You cross your arm across your chest, a small smirk on your face.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” It’s a silver box, engraved intricately with swirls that, when he observes carefully, looks like a skull. Wow, terrifying.

“I’m literally asking you.”

“What are those?” He shifts the conversation towards a more productive angle instead.

“Evil in a box and some other stuff.” You shrug offhandedly. “Is it a lunch date or just coffee?”

“Like Pandora’s Box?”

“A discount version, sure,” you confirmed impatiently. “Stop changing the topic, listen to me.”

He tilts his head, waiting for you to continue.

“Do you need a chaperone?” The sincerity in your voice for such a bullshit question has him scoffing.

“Good God- no, I do not need a chaperone. I’m 106 years old, I can go out unsupervised.” He reaches over and plucks the box off your table.

“Sir, you’re a geriatric."

“What are those?” He points to a few ray odd ray guns.

“Minor stuff you don’t have to worry about right now.”

He shakes the box in his hand. “What’s gonna happen if I open this?”

“Very bad things,” you whispered ominously before your volume returns to normal. “How’d you meet this person? Online?”

“She’s Natasha’s friend.” He turns the box over, seeing a small latch at the side. “What bad things?”

“Bad luck and misery. Don’t play with it, it’s dangerous.” You pull the box away from him. “Aw, is it a blind date?”

“Why do you care so much?” he shoots back, tugging the box back towards him.

“Just lookin’ out for you, Bucko,” you huff, adjusting your grip on your device. “Need to keep my favourite senior citizen safe.”

“I have a vibranium arm.” Whose force he could use to grab the box once and for all, but wasn’t. “I think I’ll be fine.”

“What if she has one too, huh? Then what?”

“She doesn’t.” As far as he knows, he’s the only one alive with a metal appendage made out of the strongest metal in the world. That could very well change by tomorrow but he's keeping the title for now.

“But what if she does? I swear to- stop trying to take the box!” You pull a little more forcefully, but he doesn’t relent.

“I want this to get over before this evening.”

“What time’s your date?”

“Why do you care?” He’s sure anyone who saw the dumb tug-of-war you both were playing would just automatically assume he was an absolute manchild, not an Avenger.

“Because.” You don’t explain further. “Tell me what time your date is, you weirdo.”

“Five o’clock, now let go.”

“Fine,” you say, suddenly loosening your grip. Clearly, it doesn't make much of a difference since he isn't struggling to keep his balance from the sudden loss of force.

“Fine.” He clears his throat, straightening up. 

You don’t say anything. He doesn’t either.

A putrid smell creeps into his nose, one all too similar to spoiled milk and decaying seaweed. He has to physically stop himself from gagging.

“Have a good day.” You smile and lean far back. Too far. It looks like you're almost going to fall out of the chair.

Through the tears that are threatening to line his eyelids, he looks down at the box whose latch you somehow managed to lift, leaving the box open.

“What the fuck is this?” He coughs, swatting at the air in front of him to clear it.

“I told you; bad luck in a box.”

“You can’t scientifically create bad luck, that’s bullshit.” He tosses the box back onto your table. You watch it slide past you, not making any effort to stop it. “What is it really?”

“I’m not lying.” You pull open a drawer, brandishing a small table fan that you set down beside you. “If you open it, you’re going to have terrible luck for the day.”

He glowers at you when you turn the fan on, forcing the fumes back towards him.

“Besides, that’s all I was doing today.” You kick your feet up. “So you can leave now.”

He doesn’t care if you’re lying about not having anything else to do today. You could burn down the world if you wanted to but he needs to take a stupid shower. Again.

“You’re the fuckin’ worst.” He tries airing out his shirt, hoping that the smell would dissipate as soon as possible.

“Have fun on your date, sarge!” you encourage him as he stalks out of the lair. “Remember to wrap it befo-”

He turns it into a sprint before you can finish.

____

Six hours later and he’s absolutely convinced he fucked up.

He isn’t used to having his weekends free.

He realises that this is the first time in months that he’s actually stepped out of the Tower for something that wasn’t directly mission-related. He should probably get some air. Touch some grass. See the sun.

His shirt thankfully manages to rid itself of the odour from the dumb box so he didn’t have to go take a shower. With nothing much planned and a few hours to spare, he heads to the coffee shop instead.

It’s a small place, bustling and alive with a crowd of people. They have a little bookshelf that usually is full of books donated by patrons, free for anyone to read.

The barista smiles at him. The coffee costs more than his high school education. He awkwardly smiles back.

He’s not a regular, but they’ve seen him enough times to know that he usually asks for black coffee in a to-go cup, later adding a sugar or two according to his own taste. They're nice to him, occasionally throwing in a cookie or something on the house. He can't tell if it's because of the Avenger status or the sizeable tip he leaves.

He picks up a random book from the shelf, fully intending not to read it but to just sit there and think. The book acted as a shield for his resting bitch face, resting murder face and his resting rage face. More often than not, a good combination of the three.

He sets the coffee down at the corner table he manages to nab in a quick second, along with the two sachets of sugar.

“Is this seat taken?” Someone asks from beside him. He earnestly shakes his head in a ‘no’, gesturing for them to take it.

They give him a quick thanks and drag the chair away from his table.

He does a quick overlook of the book he picked up.

The Princess Diaries by Meg Cabot.

Well, now he’s too anxious to put it back. YA fiction it is.

He reaches for the sugar while glossing over the summary. He reaches a little further when it doesn’t come to his hand immediately, blindly running his fingers across the table.

Bucky peeks over the book, eyebrows knitting together when he notices that they’re missing.

He was sure he picked it up.

He looks underneath the table. It wasn’t there, neither under his seat. Strange, but okay. He picks up the book and the cup, walking back to the station to grab two sugars.

This time he makes sure to tuck it into his pocket, double-checking before going back to his table.

Which was now occupied. He wanted to groan.

His mind automatically reverts back to the box from that morning.

“Come on,” he scoffs quietly to himself. It was a coincidence. “Get yourself together.”

“A seat at the counter just cleared up,” the barista from earlier offers when she sees him standing in the middle of the store.

See? Good luck.

He shoots her a grateful look, venturing over to the barstool to take his place. It’s not the most comfortable, but then again, he wasn’t planning to stay there for very long.

He empties the sugar into the coffee, stirring slowly before opening a random page in the book.

He takes a long sip, ignoring how hot the drink was.

He chokes immediately. Because either he was losing his mind or his order had somehow got switched from ‘no sugar’ to ‘diabetes in a cup’.

He takes another small sip and his face immediately twists in disgust. Definitely too sweet. The sweetener he added only made it worse.

He catches the eye of the barista. She looks on in concern.

“Is everything okay?”

Fuck.

He’s not one to make a scene. He just wants to live as imperceptibly as he could.

“Yep.” The sweetness sticks to the back of his throat. “All good.”

He just closes his eyes and downs the rest of it without thinking twice, trying to hide the grimace in his face. He gives her a weak thumbs up. She doesn't look convinced.

He leaves the shop soon after, hands shoved in his pocket. Maybe he could go sit by the lake at Central Park, watch the clouds. It reminded Bucky of the lake in front of his hut in Wakanda and the hours he'd sit in front of it, feet dipped into the water as his goats fed. He misses it.

He makes a sharp turn at a corner, still thinking about his options when his ankle abruptly twists under him.

He stumbles rather ungracefully, almost hitting the ground, but manages to save himself through the newly built up immunity he has towards falling thanks to all his encounters with you.

His gaze lands on his hardcore combat boots. Their laces had come undone.

Now he just knew that was horseshit. He always double knots them; they had never loosened in the past before.

The box.

He shoves the thought out of his head, crouching down to tie them again. He tugs on them to make sure they’re secure before standing up again.

Central Park is a few blocks away but he’s glad he didn’t bring his bike. The weather was rather nice and the wind in his hair felt good.

He wanders around the park for a while, looking for the lake. He pauses at a board with a map of the park on it, assessing how far it was.

Once he's ascertained which path to go towards, he turns on his heel to go.

He fucking trips again.

“Are you serious?” he says furiously under his breath. “Cut it out.”

He’s half-convinced that he should tie it around his ankle like a sexy lace-up set of heels. He ties a triple knot this time, glares at it until he’s sure it’s fine and checks to see if anyone saw him humiliate himself.

Only a person on a nearby bench who looked like they were passed out drunk, given that their hoodie and sunglasses clad self was slumped over.

No witnesses. No 'You won't BELIEVE what the Winter Soldier did! Critics say it's his biggest blunder yet!' articles the next day on social media.

He manages to make it to the lake in one piece and no more falls, partly because he keeps his eyes fixed on his shoes to ensure no fuckery occurs.

There are a few people rowing and plenty of others lining the bank at scattered locations. There’s a mom and her kid at the place he ends up. She sends him a small smile in greeting and he returns the favour.

There’s a secluded bench that he takes a place on, letting out a small sigh. If he ignores the traffic and the skateboarders and the people in general, it’s actually kind of peaceful.

There are geese and their little goslings swimming around the water close to the shore. Maybe he should have brought some birdseed. Or kale.

The kid beside him is busy fashioning something out of leaves, only occasionally erupting into giggles when it doesn't pan out. His mom watches him fondly, pointing at twigs he could use. Everything seems kind of picture-perfect and his body automatically relaxes, easing further into the seat and closing his eyes for a second.

Until there's a large splash and loud distressed honking. He whips his head around to find the same kid staring straight ahead at the goose with a wide grin. His mother curses quietly, picking herself up off the ground and grabbing his hand, half chastising him for throwing something at an animal and half urging him to walk faster.

The goose turns to Bucky. With no one else to blame for the sudden attack, it logically launches itself at him. His smile drops.

He gets up in a rush. The dumb bird nearly comes for his head, but he deflects with his metal arm.

“I didn’t even do anything.” He swats at it swiftly, trying not to cause any real damage. The goose, understandably, does not speak English.

He flinches when one of them bites at his knee. He can punt it to the sun but he doesn’t want to.

“Stop that.” He sticks his hand out to shove the stupid thing away, retreating back to the road. “Jesus, why are you so aggressive?”

Among the barrage of feathers showering on him, he prays his damn shoelace doesn’t unravel as he shields his head with one arm, the other fending himself while he moves hurriedly away.

The goose honks angrily at him. He scowls at it, not exactly pleased with the reminder that these fucking overgrown ducks were constantly bloodthirsty.

It doesn’t leave him alone till he’s significantly away from where he was sitting. He wants to call it profanity but that’d probably piss it off more.

The box and its effects were definitely starting to feel real.

Fuck it, no more day out for him. The best plan he can think of is to just go to the diner he’s supposed to meet his date at.

The waiter greets him with a courteous nod, which Bucky can only imagine was the best he could muster when a dishevelled 200-pound man walks in covered in goose feathers and irritation.

He won't admit that he’s too scared to eat lunch at this point because he can’t rule out food poisoning. He spends the next two hours on his phone playing Fruit Ninja and plucking feathers that accented his all-black outfit.

Several glasses of water later and a second before he’s about to beat his high score, someone taps on his shoulder, breaking him out of his concentration.

Motherfu-

He clenches his eye shut, inhaling deeply before turning around.

“James?”

“Hey, yeah, that’s me.” Bucky almost falls over the table with how fast he stands up, clearly underestimating his size. “Leah?”

“Hi.” She smiles and he finds himself smiling nervously along with her.

“Hi.” He steps out to pull out her chair for her and she laughs. "Nice to meet you."

“How long have you been waiting here?” she asks while setting down her bag.

“Around ten minutes.” He clears his throat to hopefully hide the fact that he was lying through his teeth.

“Just give me a second, I need to tell my friend I reached,” Leah pulls out her phone and he nods.

“Another glass of water for you?” The waiter seems less enthusiastic about Bucky’s 8th refill.

“Yes,” he answers, hoping he doesn’t call him out on it, “please.”

“You must be really dehydrated."

Bucky turns to look at him slowly. “I like the taste.”

He can’t really blame the guy. Bucky’s been there for hours without ordering anything solid, just leaching off their free water and complimentary bread basket.

“So, James.” She tosses her phone back into her bag, leaning forward on her palms easily. “Tell me about yourself.”

He had rehearsed this a million times. He could do this.

“I, uh,-”

“Menu?” Okay, so someone clearly had a vendetta against him.

“Thank you.” She takes it with a smile.

His morning debacle with the coffee flashes through his mind. Suddenly the idea of a diner didn’t seem so smart.

However, she’s already placed her order and George is standing beside him expectantly, daring him to ask for another glass of water, so he places his usual order and hopes that your stupid bad luck thing wore off.

He quickly learns that his date is laid back, and it isn’t hard to fall into a rhythm with her even though she’s the one asking most of the questions.

“How’d you meet Nat?” Is his attempt at one.

“She used to come in for lunch every week at the place I work.” Leah leans back in her chair. “She can really handle her alcohol.”

He’d be worried about Nat day drinking if he didn’t know about her complete inability to get drunk. She might as well have been downing glasses of lemonade.

“Yeah, she’s-” Intimidating, scary, cool “-really something.”

“She mentioned that you like movies.”  He definitely spends a lot of time watching them. “You got any recommendations?”

It’s easier to figure out how different things are or how much he missed out over the years through them. He’s glad he sat out the early 2000s, judging by their fashion sense and hairstyles.

He's watched several movies over the past few months, a few of them critically acclaimed and others who were just there for the cult following.

But now everything goes blank and the only thing that he can remember are the biopics made about Steve that were somehow hilarious for gifting him the mental image of Freddie Prinze Jr. dressed in the stars and stripes, and highly distressing for the number of historical inaccuracies. Contrary to popular belief, Stevie did not, in fact, consider running for president after he took up the shield, nor did he start his own bar chain.

He can’t name Oh Captain, My Captain starring Channing Tatum as his favourite movie on his first date and hope to make a good first impression.

“Despicable Me was kinda fun.” He wants to kill himself. “I mean, it’s the last one I saw.”

Her face twists in mild disgust, but he can tell it isn't ill-intentioned. “It's a good movie, but God, that just gave me some intense flashbacks to my aunt’s Facebook page. Don’t think I can look at a minion ever again.”

He sniggers with her. He doesn’t know what the context is.

He’s a little awkward, and he can definitely tell he isn’t the most open book but she laughs at some of his attempts at jokes. There’s a distinct discomfort he has lingering at the back of his mind prodding at him, telling him over and over again that he isn’t ready for something like this. A warning bell, asking him to leave as soon as possible because he was in a dangerous situation.

He remembers what his therapist told him about breathing and remembering that the resources he had available were greater than his anxiety and he tries to get out of his head. It takes a few minutes of acting like he's fine but he manages to do it.

Other than the one time he scalds his tongue on the coffee but played it off with a pained smile, shoving down thoughts of your stupid invention, things actually went okay.

It was nice, even though they decided by the end that it was better if they both gelled together better as friends. It lifts the strange fear he feels and he can hear Dr. Mendoza say she's proud of him for taking this step before spending three hours psychoanalysing why they decided to stay platonic.

Bucky promises to visit her sushi shop with Nat soon and she says a bottle of sake awaits him for a drinking game. He doesn’t have the heart to tell her that Nat and he share the same tolerance for alcohol.

He makes sure to leave George a tip. A big one. It’s the first time he sees the guy smile the entire evening.

He’s waving goodbye to Leah outside and he thinks that maybe it was a good end to the day and that things actually turned out fine.

Until he turns around to leave, only to have someone walk straight into him with an iced tea.

The cold comes as a bit of a shock, making him jump slightly. He stares at his shirt, using his fingertips to pull it away from his body.

The person melts into a series of apologies immediately, offering to dry clean his shirt but Bucky just forces a shake of his head and says it’s okay even though he can feel the sugar making the shirt stick to his chest. Goose feathers and iced tea. Was there anything else that would like to attach itself to him?

His fists clench and his teeth grit and he has to physically control himself from sprinting to your lair because God knows what else is in store for him and he didn't want to add in any way.

The door to the lair is locked. Fuckin’ brilliant.

When no one answers after minutes worth of waiting, he fishes for his phone and realises that maybe two hours of Fruit Ninja was not the best idea, especially on a phone known for having shitty battery life.

There’s roughly 2 percent left. By the time he opens his app to give you a call, his phone screen goes black.

He groans. He’s desperate at this point and under any other normal circumstances, he would have never, ever considered doing this.

But ten minutes later he’s outside your apartment building. You’re aware that he has your address; no doubt that it was in the SHIELD file he had gotten, and he knows that you know but it was still weird.

The buzzer has your last name listed next to it. He’s sure that he’ll break it if he keeps pressing it at this rate but he really needs you to let him in.

“Who the fu-” your voice comes through the intercom.

“I’m sorry for showing up like this, my phone died and I couldn’t reach you,” He breathes out as soon as he hears you. “But I need you to fix this.”

When he doesn’t hear a reply, he wonders if the thing actually worked. He’s about to start pressing it again-

“Bucky?” You sound a little surprised to hear him. “You’re at my house. Why are you at my house?”

“I need you to fix whatever this is.”

“What are you- fine, I’m buzzing you in,” your voice, initially confused soon trails off into something more dismissive.

There’s a soft click from the door, allowing him to push it open. The elevator is already on the same floor as him so he just uses that.

The elevator goes up a floor or two. His feet tap restlessly against the carpeted floor.

The lights turn off and everything comes to a standstill. His foot stops tapping.

He should have known. He should have fucking known.

Thirty seconds pass. He’s still in pitch darkness with the elevator showing no signs of moving.

In fact, he’s resigned to his fate. He sits down on the ground, only one step away from completely laying down and hoping someone finds his body here someday.

It’s six minutes of plain silence. He might as well get comfortable if he’s going to get stuck here for the rest of his life. Did he change his will? Does he even have a will?

There’s finally a whir. He thinks that maybe he’s going to plummet to his doom as the perfect end to this day, but then the light switches on and it starts moving upward.

It stops at the floor with a ding. He doesn’t get off the ground, only eyes the door wearily. With his luck, it wouldn’t open.

But it does and within a second he’s on his feet, scrambling to get out before it changes its mind.

He remembers your door number, basically charging down the hall to get to it.

The door is white and the paint is starting to chip off it. The handle itself is dented in a few places and he wonders if it was your fault or someone else's.

His knocks are rapid, agitated even. He doesn’t stop until he hears your loud shouts telling him to cut it out.

“What the hell were you doing, trying to break down my door?” It swings open, revealing you in your pajamas. “Haven’t you done that already? And where were you, I’ve been waiting for like, ten minutes.”

He honestly feels bad for showing up uninvited and highly flustered. He can’t imagine it’s a pretty sight either. "This bad luck shit- fix it. My whole day’s been fucked up.”

“What are you-” Your eyebrows knit together in confusion, taking in his appearance.

It takes you a second to realise what he’s talking about but when you do, your face settles.

“How was your date?” You lean against the door frame, arms crossed over your chest.

“Really,” He glowered at you, “that’s what you care about?”

“Yes.” You nod. “Did you have fun?”

He hesitates. “I guess?”

“Was she nice?”

“Yeah.” Where was this going.

“Good, I’m happy for you.” The smile on your face is genuine. “Look at you go, Casanova.”

“We agreed to be just friends, but that’s not the point here. Y/N,” he whines. “I have a mission next week, I can’t afford to fuck up. My whole day was off and I don’t want it to carry over.”

“Your whole day?” you questioned, standing up instead of leaning against the wall. “Buck-”

“Just fix it.”

“Okay.” You lift your hand up, extending it towards his face.

He waits for you to do something.

You flick him on the forehead.

“There,” you declare, going back to your previous position. “you’re cured.”

What.

He says exactly what he’s thinking.

You laugh. “Dude. I was fucking with you.”

Huh?

“Well, actually maybe just like, three things and then I got bored.”

He’s confused.

“You know,” you begin when he doesn’t reply, “taking the sugar packets, switching your coffee order when you were looking under the table, took your place when you left, the shoelaces.”

“The shoelaces?”

“Yeah.” You nod. “That’s the other ray gun you saw this morning. Unties your shoelaces. I stopped after that because I thought you figured it out.”

His face scrunches in puzzlement.

“I mean, you looked right at me and told me to cut it out.”

He racks his brain about what you could possibly be talking about before it hits him. The hungover person on the goddamn bench in the park.

“You were the one in the hoodie and sunglasses.”

“I just followed the Avengers’ code of disguise.” You shrug. “Turns out it kinda works. Also teleportation. So helpful.”

He forgot about the teleportation. That's why you could do all of it so fast without him noticing you were even there.

“What about the fucking geese?”

You pause for a second. “The geese?”

“And the elevator.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” The confusion on your face is apparent. “What geese and elevator? I have no idea what you’re saying right now.”

“Everything’s been a mess today,” he grumbles. “I don’t know what’s real or not.”

“I swear I had nothing to do with it other than what I mentioned.” There’s indignation on your features that quickly gives way to delight. “Holy shit, did I just accidentally invent portable bad luck?”

“Okay-” his palm finds its way to his forehead in exasperation, “-then what the hell was the smell?”

“What smell- oh, the one from the box?”

He nods briskly.

“Secretions Magnifique.” You snorted. “It’s a perfume. The worst rated one I could find.”

“Perfume?”

“With notes of milk, seaweed and sandalwood.”

“It wasn’t an inator?”

“No, it wasn- did you get vibe checked by a goose at the park?” You stifle a laugh when you notice a stray feather on his thigh.

“What does that even mean?” he asks in despair.

“I can see why it attacked you. You got bad juju.” You raise an eyebrow. “Maybe if you stop staring so much-”

“So I just have shit luck.” Is that a fucking relief or even worse?

“Well,” you begin but decide not to continue.

Even with all the irritability masking it, you could see that he genuinely was just not having a good time.

“Wait here a second.”

You leave him at the door. He shifts his balance and sighs, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. He still had to walk back to the Tower. Maybe he could grab a slice of pizza along the way since he skipped lunch.

“Okay, here.” You return with a large glass of water. He only looks at it. “It’s just water, I promise. You look like you ran a marathon."

He takes it from you sceptically, pushing away the urge to sniff at it. It’s gone within a few gulps.

You wait until he’s finished to point at his arm. He draws his eyebrows together, but you only curl your index finger and beckon for him to give you his hand.

He reluctantly extends it towards you.

“Don’t laugh,” you warn him, taking his metal arm. “This usually helps me.”

You tie a small bracelet around his wrist. It has a few beads, which he realises represent the colours of the solar system.

“Keep that for good luck.” You pat it gently after securing it. “I think you just had a bad day; those don’t last very long. Do you want to charge your phone before you leave?”

“Uh-” The bracelet’s pretty, the colours shine against the dark vibranium. “-no, I’m good. I’ll just leave.”

“Okay. Anything else I can help you with or will you be fine?”

He narrows his eyes. “You’re being suspiciously nice.”

“I’m not evil all the time.” You huff. “My hours are in the morning.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” he says again. “I’m gonna go then.”

“See you next week.” You give him a little wave. “I’d say break a leg on your mission but knowing your situation...”

He scoffs. “Thanks.”

You make a move to close the door when starts walking down the hallway towards the exit.

He adjusts the beads slightly so he can see them better. The Earth one has glitter in it. He thinks it’s cute.

“Bucky.”

He turns around.

There’s a hint of a smile on your face.

“Take the stairs.”

He doesn’t have to be told twice.

Next part

[theysayitscrazy]

Chapter Three:

Once Kara had given the guys the all-clear to head into Clay’s room, they went in pairs, and Metal convinced Kara she needed to get some food. Jason had to marvel at the relationship between Metal and Kara. He’d never seen Metal act like he did with Kara, like he genuinely cared about her; and Kara seemed to let her walls down whenever Metal would ask her something or call her out on her selfcare.

Jason was headed down to the main entrance of the hospital with Ray, Metal, and Kara. As they walked into the waiting room of the Emergency Room, Hawkins called out to them from across the room. Kara smiled as he and Nic walked over. “Hey, how’s Clay doing?” Nic asked with a friendly smile.

“He’s doing okay,” Kara answered easily. “The guys are with him. I’m gonna head out with these guys for a few to get some food.”

Hawk tilted his head and looked at her. She stared right back him, clearly daring him to say something. “He’ll be fine,” Nic spoke up, looking between the two of them. “We’ll keep an eye on things.”

“Besides, Hawk,” Metal drawled, staring right at Hawkins. “Our girl here needs to take better care of herself, right?”

Hawkins nodded once but didn’t look away from Kara. “Right.”

As they were standing around in circle talking, Kara looked to the left and glanced at a dark-skinned man wearing a heavy jacket and talking on a cell phone. He was speaking a language Jason didn’t know. Her eyes darted back to Hawk as she tilted her head to listen better.

“What’s happening?” Hawk asked her, watching her intently.

“How’s your Swahili?” she questioned him.

“Not great,” Hawk narrowed his eyes on her. “You?”

“Fluent,” she shot back immediately.

“Alpha Seven, sit-rep,” Metal immediately demanded, voice low.

Kara snapped into action, her eyes stayed on Hawk as she spoke, a small smile graced her face. “Fighting age male, dark-skinned, wearing a heavy black coat, speaking Swahili on the phone. He specifically stated that he was wearing a vest and was ready. 2nddark-skinned, fighting aged male twelve o’clock, also wearing a heavy dark coat. It’s 85 degrees outside. There are 34 people in this room. 6 children, 15 women, including Nic and myself, and 9 men not including the four of you. Of the 15 women, 3 are geriatric.”

Jason was immediately on alert. The moment she started speaking and rattling off the statics of the room around them, Jason was able to zero in and see what she had seen in a moment’s notice. Sure enough, there was 2nd possible tango near the wall of windows that overlooked the parking lot beyond the hospital.

“You caught all that the moment we walked in here?” Ray asked.

“Kara can see the matrix,” Metal explained.

Jason turned to Metal and raised an eyebrow. Metal only nodded back at him. Jason looked down at Kara who was still looking at Hawk with a slight smile on her face, being completely inconspicuous. “Alright, how do we handle this?” Jason asked, differing to her and Metal for a plan.

“Hospital policy dictates in a potential hostage situation to immediately call 911 and avoid contact,” Hawkins stated and pulled out his phone from his pocket.

“We need to go into lockdown,” Nic said. “Keep people from entering the building. We could pull the fire alarm,” she suggested.

“We do that, and every door closes and locks, and we’ll be trapped in this room with two true believers and roughly 40 victims. No, we alert the staff and do a compacity close,” Kara turned to Nic. “Nic, send out a code 8 alert. Close the hospital to all incoming ambos and patients. It’ll lock all exterior doors.”

Nic immediately pulled out her phone and started texting.

Kara turned back to Hawkins, “Call 911, discreetly explain the situation,” Kara ordered.

Hawkins walked away, phone pressed to his ear and purposely going in the opposite direction.

“Won’t that draw suspicion?” Ray asked.

“Not if we play off the overcrowding,” Nic answered looking around.

“I’m gonna need you guys to blend in,” Kara said, and glanced at Metal.

He nodded once to her, clearly trusting her.

Kara glanced around the Emergency Department and sighed. They had gathered attention. Both men were watching them. Kara suddenly laughed and grabbed Nic’s hand in an exaggerated belly laugh as she doubled over. “Oh my god! You’re right!”

Nic immediately followed and laughed too, clutching Kara as they stumbled away from their little group over to the check in desk.

The girls finished what seemed to be a lively conversation in front of the reception desk before they both looked down at the check in sheet. Jason, Ray, and Metal headed dispersed amongst the crowded waiting room, looking for a seat that would allow for a clear line of sight in case they needed to do anything. Without weapons though, it was going to be hard.

Jason could see Nic talking to the check in girl who nodded once before she stood up and headed into the room behind the reception desk.

Kara picked up the sign in clipboard and looked it over before she then looked around the room. “Alright everyone, listen up!” she called out loudly over the noise of the waiting room. She waited briefly for the noise to die down before she continued. “Welcome to Chastain Memorial Hospital in Virginia Beach, Virginia, USA,” Kara drawled, adopting her best gameshow host voice, and letting her eyes make a slow and casual sweep of the room. “My name is Dr. Kara Spenser. As you can see, we are quite busy here in the Emergency Department. Yes, Emergency department. It is no longer classified as just the Emergency Room; we are a whole department. A whole department dedicated to ensuring you get the absolute best care you so rightly deserve. So, I have one rule, and one rule only here in my E.D. and that is, ‘My way or the highway. My word is law.’ If you don’t like that rule, I don’t really care. I’m not here to be your friend, I’m here to ensure that you do not bleed out. And there will be no blood on my E.D floor,” she smirked at Hawkins, who had walked back in the room with his phone nowhere to be seen. “So, this how we’re going to things,” she turned toward Nic. “This is Dr. Nevin, she’s going to take our children directly up to pediatrics. Why wait here, when you can wait there?”

There was a bit of a grumbled from the parents of the children, but they slowly gathered their things and their children and followed after Nic, roughly clearing out a dozen people.

Ray’s throat tightened when he saw Naima walk out of the back room behind the reception desk and glance around.

Kara glanced over at her briefly before she launched into her next spiel, “Next we have our lovely elderly patients. You’ve done a lifetime of waiting now, so we’re gonna get you up and out of my E.D. The lovely nurses Naima and Brenda here, are gonna assist you lovely ladies on up to our geriatrics ward.” There was a shuffle as Naima and Brenda helped the three patients to their feet and they shuffled out.

Kara started to pace the room as she continued. “The rest of you, I apologize for the wait. Dr. Conrad Hawkins and I will be with you shortly. We have your check in information. We will go down the list according to who checked in first.”

Jason had to admit he was impressed with Kara’s quick thinking. She managed to clear half the people out of the room, including Naima and the front desk woman Brenda. All the children and elderly were evacuated. All that was left was the four trained Navy SEALS, Hawkins, Kara, two armed men, and roughly ten others that they could hopefully get out of harm’s way before the men decided they were done waiting.

As she finished speaking one of the men, the one that had been talking on the cell phone, had decided he was done waiting and stood up managed to grab Kara as she was walking by. He managed to get an arm around her neck and pull out a gun before Kara could even move. She froze and flashed her gaze to Metal, as the gun was waiving around in front of her.

The gunman started yelling and chaos erupted in the E.D.

“Hey, hey,” Jason tried to call over the yelling of the room, but the gunman yelled louder.

A hush finally settled over the crowd in the E.D while the gunman assessed the situation around him. He was flighty and waiving the gun in front of Kara. His other arm was locked in a headlock around Kara’s neck. She was clawing at his arm to no avail.

“Come on man, let her go,” Metal’s voice was soft and gentle in a commanding sort of way.

Kara’s eyes left Metal’s and landed on the other man in a coat in the room. The man stood up, pulled out a 9mm and turned his back on the crowd behind him. With his back turned, it took Jason all of a second’s decision making to tackle the man.

His gun went flying out of his hand and scattered across the floor at Kara’s feet.

She made a split-second decision and a tossed her head back into her assailant’s head, with a sickening crunch in her ear, his nose broke. He broke his hold on her and she dropped her weight and lunged for the 9mm lying at her feet.

In a trained and liquid move, she grabbed the 9mm, rolled onto her back and with both hands on the weapon, fired off two shots into the extremist’s chest in a tight pattern. His body hadn’t even hit the floor before she turned her body and eyed Jason struggling with the man in the vest. With the gun trained on them, she watched the extremist knock Jason off his back and reach for his torso.

Kara fired off a single shot, straight through the skull.

There was a moment of deafening quiet in the E.D before Kara got to her feet, holding the gun down and aimed at the ground as she assessed the situation around her. Both assailants were dead, everyone else in the room was crouched down, except for the SEALS that were on their feet also looking around for a threat.

Metal slowly walked over and pulled gun out of her hands and flipped the safety into place before he pulled her into a hug. She didn’t even hug him back, just rested her forehead against his chest and breathed in deep, taking in his familiar and comforting scent. “Good work, Alpha Seven,” he stated clearly as he pulled her against him.

Kara had to chuckle softly as she shook her head. “Fucking hell,” she grumbled and wrapped an arm around his waist.

[stevenbasic]

”So, tell me how it went..!” Melissa asked, tucking her fit, bare legs underneath herself on the white leather couch in her new office, attentively turning to me as she sat up. She’d summoned me to her office to have our Friday coffee, and had made us each a cup. Dressed especially informal for our “casual Fridays” in a v-neck green tee and girlish black short-shorts, her figure was on particularly luscious display today and I’d already caught myself staring...twice. “I want to hear everything!”

She was, of course, talking about my long-overdue meeting with her friend Abby, a sales rep from Evolution, a local pharmaceutical company intent on getting my practice involved in a clinical trial of their new product. Melissa, since her start as our new Office Manager, had been unusually invested in setting up a meeting between the two of us; they’d been friends for years, I gathered, and this was a favor to Abby. Little did I know that this favor would quickly spiral into a whirlpool that would threaten to drag me under and drown not only me but...well, read on. 

I took a look into my “World’s Best Boss” mug - a gift from her. Far too much milk, I saw...but I think I was starting to like it that way. “Okay, uh,” I began, taking my first sip, “yesterday afternoon…”

...

…I had just escorted Mr. Kowalczyk to the desk, pushing him along in his wheelchair, helping him start to check out, when Aubrey had given me the message. 

“There’s a sales rep waiting for you in your office,” she told me, eyes sparkling. Aubrey - a slim, elegant brunette - had looked especially pretty yesterday, maybe done her hair differently. We were trying her out at her new position as front desk supervisor, and she already seemed to be taking to the job well. 

“The one from...uh...Melissa’s friend?” I asked, a bit confused, “Abby?” Mr Kowalczyk, hearing the name, asked about Melissa - as he had three times earlier. “She’s off today, she’s not here,” I reminded him, now for the fourth time today, as his wife appeared alongside us. Melissa had this Thursday off, apparently for some doctors’ appointments of her own. 

“Yes, Abby,” Aubrey answered, turning her attention, for the moment, to our patient’s wife, “Co-pay is ten dollars, Mrs Kawalski...”

“That’s Kowal-check,” the elderly woman corrected, narrowing her eyes and apparently none-too-pleased. 

“That wasn’t supposed to be until tomorrow,” I commented, immediately annoyed but feeling my pulse start to quicken, “I was going to sit down with her on Friday…”. I signed Mr. Kowalczyk’s prescription. 

“It got moved up,” Aubrey told me, taking a credit card from my patient’s wife, “she’s here now…”

Why was I so nervous?

“Thank you, Mrs. Kawasaki…”

...

“...yes, sorry, I should have told you myself,” Melissa apologized, biting her lower lip, after a sip of coffee, “but it was a last minute thing. And I was still at my appointment when I heard…”

“Well, yeah, it’s okay…” I replied, eyes dropping to her still-tan thighs as she brushed at them with well-manicured fingers, tips painted a mint green to match her top, “it was just a surprise, is al-“”

“Isn’t she so pretty..??” Melissa asked, and urged me to continue my story…

...

“Thank you sooooo much for meeting with me,” Abby had greeted, immediately standing up from the chair in front of my desk as I entered the room. She stepped to shake my hand, “I’m Abby, from Evolution Pharmaceuticals.”

“Sure, sure, no problem,” I replied, noticing the confidence in her grip and the dimples in her smile. I recognized her right away from a picture Melissa had sent, early on. Maybe in her early thirties, Abby was an attractive person; lots of sales reps are. My guard was up, as it always was in these sort of sales meetings, but something in the sparkle of her eyes struck me...and her figure was nothing to sneeze at, either. I found my attitude softening already. “Melissa’s friend, right?” She had medium-length, medium-brown hair, and a nice tan complexion. Nice hips.

I guess I could give her a few minutes.

“Yes!” she answered, as we both moved to take our seats. Abby was dressed smartly, in a grey pencil skirt and sharp white blouse. “She and I met at Evolution, at our clinic, earlier this year. She’s great, so fun...”

Wait what?

“I know you’re busy, so I won’t keep you,” Abby continued, tucking her skirt beneath herself as she sat, pulling some slick promotional material from the fashionable leather bag beside her, “but I just want to introduce our product, go over some of the opportunities with you…”

What followed was both the typical sales presentation I’d seen a hundred times from different reps and at the same time one of the weirdest things I’d ever heard. From the emails and propaganda with which the company had flooded me over the past weeks, I’d read - or at least skimmed through - lots of it before. They claimed to have developed a novel general-health supplement for women; the science was still sort of hush-hush and what they could reveal was frankly a bit baffling. Normally I wouldn’t touch this sort of crap with a ten-foot pole, it all sounded so fishy at first. They were touting ambiguous improvements in mentation, endurance, strength, a whole host of other things. But I didn’t want to disappoint Melissa and, well, while I knew that the “Lean In” grants we were scheduled to receive - and frankly were going to be dependent on - were tied to us supporting female-led businesses, it soon became clear to me in talking with Abby that, um...we almost didn’t have a choice. I was starting to get the feeling that if we didn’t start working with Evolution, there’d be no money from Lean In. And so, becoming nervous, I was slowly forced to pay a bit more attention as we sat across my desk from one another, ten minutes or so into it. I was beginning to realize...we actually needed them.

But I still definitely had my doubts, my reservations, a whole load of concerns. How safe was this going to be?  “And these patients,” I asked, “for the trial...the subjects. They would come from…?” It was a reasonable question. My practice was geriatric, and this was a product for younger women.

“We’d take care of that, we’d bring them in, we have a whole list of gir-...of women ready,” Abby assured me, her disarming smile doing its job, “We wouldn’t need to involve your current patients at all.” She watched me nodding, knowing she had made more than a bit of an inroad with me. “In fact, you wouldn’t even have to do much,” she continued, proceeding confidently, “we’d supply you with the new staff you’d need, we’d bring in all the supplies and equipment. We’d hook you up with our trial coordinator from corporate, she’ll organize everything. You’d just end up doing some video chats with her once in awhile.” At that Abby smiled strangely.  “Her name's Brenda, you’ll like her.”

“It all sounds, uh, umm…”

Sitting there, at my desk, part of me couldn’t believe I was even considering this, still even talking to this woman. That part of me, though, wasn’t seeing what another small part of me was seeing - that the power dynamic in this conversation, between Abby and I, had gradually shifted. It was her, now, who held the upper hand. She represented the money, she was the big player. I was really the small fish here.  The only thing that kept me from feeling like a nobody was knowing that my practice was somehow important to them, that they wanted me for some reason.

Why exactly was that?

“We’re a small company, but it’s not just money from Lean In that we come to the table with,” Abby continued, eyes sparkling, “we’d been bought a few years ago by a big, international group, so now we’re just ripe with resources. We can help you through tough times like you’ve been having, business down, income fading-.”

“Well, now,” I interjected, my pride rankled, “I wouldn’t say that…” I mean, I wouldn’t say it, but it was totally true. But how did she know all this?? Had she and Melissa been talking abou-

“Oh, shh, you don’t need to be embarrassed, it’s okay,” she said, “It’s nothing to be ashamed about, we understand. We know your practice is shrinking, but your needs are growing. And that’s why we’re growing too, so we can help nurture you, provide for you.”

This was humiliating as fuck but...why was I getting hard? Yes, Abby was attractive, blouse just a little too tight, chest just a little bigger than necessary. She was pretty, yes. No, actually...now with all the power in the room centered on her, with the strength she represented, she was downright hot. And the scenario she was laying out for me, this relationship I’d have with her big, female corporation? It felt positively...maternal. And, it was beginning to feel like a foregone conclusion, that I would be taken under their skirts. But again - why was I getting hard?

“Evolution will take good care of you,” Abby assured me, her voice growing subtly more tender, as if reading my thoughts, “and as we get bigger, and grow, we’ll carry you along with us. We can tuck you in to our...corporate structure. You’ll be safe, there, close to us.”

If I hadn’t noticed the outline of her bra beneath her blouse before, I was noticing it now. 

“Would you like that?” she asked, probingly. 

“Uhh…”

“We’d make sure you don’t get left behind, as the world changes,” she continued, “because the world is changing, Dr. J, and we think our product is going to help women succeed in it. Don’t you want to be there with us?”

“Uhhhh…”

Seeing my anxiety starting to get the better of me, Abby smiled disarmingly. “You probably need to talk to Melissa about it, before deciding on the trial,” she began again, “right?”

Oh my god I couldn’t believe it, how demeaning that was, but I knew it was my out - for now. ”yeah I guess I probably should…” I said, weakly…

“Of course you do…” Abby smiled. 

…

“So…<nnngh>...” Melissa all but groaned, inching closer to me on the couch, “you wanted my approval, first?” 

As I had recounted my story, described the meeting to her, Melissa had slowly, gradually, become visibly more excited, completely engaged. She’d asked me to repeat details, recount conversation, all the while gazing intently into my face and moving intimately closer to me on the soft leather couch in her office. Her curves, her larger body had me slowly retreating, backing up as best I could. An arm rested on the back of the couch behind me.

“w-well I, uh…” I stammered, eyes dropping again for a furtive glance at her thighs, hips, her tiny waist. I was, at this point, already overtaken by the scent of her perfume. “it’s uh-“ 

“It’s like you’re recognizing you need my help, isn’t it?” she asked, a strange huskiness in her voice, “Isn’t it?? That you have an easier time when I make the decisions for you??”

I couldn’t say anything, looking at her. I was tongue-tied realizing, in that moment, how assertive women now framed the borders of my life, affected my daily choices. And they were, if anything, all pushing me into the clutches of other powerful women. If I took this money, allowed this clinical trial to set root in my office, it would mean becoming dependent on both Evolution and Lean In. Lean In, I was learning, was a well-connected, obviously well-funded female empowerment organization, one that seemed determined to get women into places of influence and strengthen them while they’re there. And Evolution Pharmaceuticals was not just the rinky-dink pill pop-up that I’d assumed it was, but rather a small piece of some larger player...and maybe I’m just being paranoid, but probably also controlled by women. If I took this money, I felt like it would be sucking from the big collective teat of the country’s - and perhaps the world’s - most powerful alpha females.

“I, uh…” I began, forgetting where I was, “yeah…”

“Omigod I am SO happy with you right now..!!” she suddenly, finally gushed, sitting up taller, jumping towards me and abruptly throwing her arms around me. Strong hands behind my head now pulled my face to her chest. “You are such a good boss!”

“mmmrf!”

Embracing me to her bosom, she squealed, and hugged me tighter. Soft breast squashed into my face, my head plastered to Melissa's big left boob. 

Oh my god what is she doing?!? I panicked, arms flailing helplessly as I heard her start to laugh. Despite my struggles, she held me firm - if anything, holding me even tighter still. 

“M-m-m-Mulithhah!” I tried, voice muffled by the mushy mass mashed into my mouth. 

“Shhhhh…!” she giggled, “I can’t help myself, I need to hug you!” Pressing herself into me, she moaned in delight. “Hug hug hug! I need to show you what a good boy you are!!”

The warmth, the softness of her breast was overwhelming, and as she held me firm I - despite myself - started to calm, give myself up to her massive tit. “mmmmf…” I tried again, this time my complaint sounding more like a little sigh. 

She looked down at me, quietening down herself. When she spoke again, her voice had softened. 

“That okay, sweetie?” she purred, cupping my head from behind with one palm as the other moved into my hair, “Can you breathe down there?”

I groaned something, something in assent and - god help me - rubbed my nose into her.

She giggled.

“There you go…” she cooed,  now petting my head, “all good now, all good. Just breathe...” 

I sighed again, every breath I took full of her perfume, the scent of her skin. I heard, through her chest, her cooing little praises.

“Good boy...good boy…” she lauded, enveloping me with affection. She was peering down at me, I knew, though my eyes had closed already. I felt her ready herself, and winced in shame even before she asked me the question that I knew was coming:

”So, with the trial…” she asked, “what have we decided?”

=================================================

Thanks so much to the incomparably amazing Dani Doreen for the image. We're so proud to have her onboard as our resident "from the neck down" Melissa and can't wait to work with her some more. She's so awesome and I'd recommend everyone check out her GTS/SM content:

Dani Doreen’s OnlyFans

https://onlyfans.com/danidoreen

[angst-fairygodmother]

🧠 Hargreeves and pets? And/Or animals in general?

A/N: I went with just pets because it got a little long even with just that. And by that I mean so far this headcanon list is the longest word count I've written and barely stays under my 1000 word limit Word Count: 945

At some point when they’re about 10, the children manage to convince Reginald to let them adopt a pet by arguing that it will help them bond as a team and teach them responsibility to all have to take turns caring for it

It’s a $0.05 goldfish. Its scales are faded and looks like it’s on its last leg before they even bring it home, but they are committed to give this apparently geriatric fish the best last days ever

Its name is Charles and it is the most spoiled little goldfish ever. Basically the only thing all seven can agree on is this fish

It lives for the next nine years. 

When he’s very high and very bitter at some point, Klaus makes a snide comment about “the stupid diseased fish” outliving Ben. None of his siblings speak to him for three days.

When they all move out, Vanya takes it with her. When he finally passes away, she calls all of them to tell them the sad news and ask if they want her to bring him back to the Academy for a funeral. Most of them laugh at her. Luther says he’d like that, and Klaus attends, and it’s really the only moment of closeness those three have together

Diego quasi-adopts a stray mutt that lives near the gym.

He’s not allowed to bring it inside, but he feeds it scrambled eggs and meat scraps out behind the building and builds a little lean-to of plywood so it has somewhere to shelter from bad weather

One day the dog disappears and he is Distraught. He calls Patch to ask if she’ll help him find “Luther.” She thinks he means his brother and is annoyed when finds out otherwise

Until they find said dog a few blocks down in an overgrown lot. Along with her seven newborn puppies.

Diego stops calling her Luther at that point and lets Patch do the honors of renaming her: Violet, after the flowers growing around her little nest. Secretly, he names the puppies after his siblings, but only ever refers to them as a collective so no one will know

Patch convinces him that the best thing to do for Violet and her babies is call a local rescue so they can get vet treatment and have proper homes. He’s sad about it, but knows it's for the best. The one he misses most is the runt of the litter, who was clumsy and reckless, and thought he could take on targets much bigger than himself, just like his teleporting namesake

Allison wants to get Claire a kitten for her third birthday. 

Patrick vetoes the idea in favor of a stuffed one, believing that she’s too young still for that kind of responsibility (he’s probably right, but they fight over it after Claire has gone to bed for the night, several times. Allison considers rumoring him into agreeing, but eventually decides not to do it)

In the 60s, she brings up the idea of getting a cat and Ray is all for it. They adopt a little calico out of a box of free kittens on a street corner. Her name is Rosa. 

The first night after Allison leaves, Ray spends all night on the couch crying into Rosa’s fur, and she stays there on his lap, purring comfortingly. 

Klaus spends most of a summer sleeping on a park bench near an artificial lake. He starts considering the ducks “his.” 

They all have names and elaborate backstories and when children come by to feed them, he tells stories about them like they’re characters in a Shakespearean drama (or a bad telenovela depending on the day). Most of the local parents just accept it after a while, since for all that he’s a weird homeless man, he’s harmless. 

Five doesn’t really understand the concept of pets anymore post Apocalypse. Why would you burden yourself with something totally useless and totally reliant on you for everything forever? At least with children they grow up and you can make them useful.

When the long, black-haired, one-eyed stray cat that usually hangs out in the alleyway behind the mansion is spotted in his room one day everyone very distinctly Does. Not. Say. Anything. (a few pointed looks and whispered comments about how even with Dad dead there are two grumpy old men in the house do occur however)

Vanya is actually the least animal-loving of her siblings. 

The only reason she takes Charles when she leaves the Academy is because she and Luther are the only ones with any stability (technically Allison is pretty stable too, but she’s not about to take a silly goldfish on a plane to LA with her). And Luther is so busy on missions all the time, she fears that Charles would get forgotten and die. 

She does buy another goldfish after his death though because she finds herself feeling strangely lonely without him around. It dies about two weeks later of disease. She tries again and the second fish lasts almost three months before she wakes one morning to find it floating at the top of the tank, dead. There is no third fish

Mr. Puddles occasionally ends up in her apartment when he escapes and she kind of hates it, just for the sheer number of things he manages to knock over or make a mess of. Not to mention she’s itchy and sneezing for days afterward because she’s mildly allergic and his hair gets everywhere and sticks. 

She doesn’t mind the horses at Sissy’s farm, but also doesn’t think of them as pets so much as tools for doing the farm work

[cocktail-party-in-an-abattoir]

In Memoriam Herschel (2005-2021)

           It was the late summer/early autumn of 2005. I was 16 years old. I went to a friend’s house for a get-together with other friends. She lived in a more rural area, so stray cats were not uncommon. One of these strays had recently birthed a litter of kittens. They were corralled into a blocked-off area in my friend’s den. Naturally, we all gravitated towards the kittens. We spent a good while petting them, playing with them, holding them, and watching them with their mother. A particular kitten was a gray and white tabby. This kitten had made its way towards me and tried to crawl up one of my jean legs. I was wearing bootcut jeans, so it actually managed it. I was immediately drawn to this kitten, the idea of asking my parents if we could keep it already forming.

While my friends and I were playing with them, we decided to give them all smartass, noncommittal names. None of us could sex kittens, so that was reflected in the names we chose. I named the gray and white tabby (of which there were two, but I zeroed in on the jean leg kitten) “Herschel.” Why? Well, when I was eight or nine, I used to play House with friends. I had heard the name “Herschel” on some sitcom, and I liked the sound of it. So, I often named my fake son “Herschel.” This became an inside joke between my best friend and me.

            Back at home, I asked my mom if we could adopt the kitten. She had veto power. She was kind of hesitant at first but eventually relented. A few weeks later my friend and her mom brought the kitten over to my house. By that point I was already seriously referring to it as “Herschel.” We all just kind of assumed it was male. The first thing Herschel did after getting out of the carrying case was hide behind one of our bookcases and stayed there.

            We took Herschel to the vet. Upon examination the vet tech proclaimed he was, in fact, she. Her exact words were “You have a little girl!” For better or for worse, I was committed to “Herschel” (much to my mom’s chagrin), so from then on, I had a girl cat with a boy name. This led to years of various people (mostly veterinary staff) getting her sex wrong. I don’t know that I ever bothered correcting them because, well, they were going to find out the truth soon enough.

            Between 2005 and 2010, Herschel grew from a kitten with what my mom described as “Yoda ears” into a gorgeous young lady. She had the most beautiful green eyes. People always had nice things to say about her looks. She had an adorable bow-legged gait from the beginning. She grew into an affectionate little cuddle-bug once she adjusted to us. She was wary of strangers, which was probably for the best. She did not like to go outside as much as our older cat, Simba (RIP)—especially after being treed once—but she was a very skilled huntress. She even managed to get two hummingbirds. Obviously, I’m not a fan of such “presents,” but I couldn’t help but be impressed by her prowess.

            In 2007, we adopted 2 labs named Olive and Penny (RIP x2). 2010, we adopted two fluffy black kittens from our vet’s office. We named them Buttercup and Licorice (RIP x2). Herschel respected Simba because of his seniority, but she absolutely despised the other pets. She would growl and hiss at them on sight. Because of this, the dogs had to stay downstairs while the cats had free rein upstairs. By 2012, Buttercup had gone missing, and we had adopted two more animals: a cat named Kid Twist (“Twist” for short) and a blue heeler named Bleu. Herschel did not care for them either. That same year my parents moved one state over, and I moved to a nearby city to stay with a family friend. The Menagerie went with my parents.

            One day in 2013 or 2014 my mom commented about how Herschel hid under a guest room bed much of the time. She would only come out to do her business or eat. Since the dogs had free rein over the entire house, this meant there was no real “safe space” for Herschel. Thus, her reclusiveness. Mom was worried about her well-being. I offered to take Herschel under my wing. Mom agreed. Now, my housemate already had a few cats, so it wasn’t perfect, but it was an improvement over a house with dogs. Herschel had been under my care since.

            In 2015 Herschel moved with me into the apartment I currently live in. Despite my apartment’s smallness, she was finally the one cat in a one-cat home. I had stopped letting her out because a) my apartment complex is positively labyrinthine b) the complex is next to a busy highway, and c) I wanted her to live longer and not harm any wildlife (although her hunting days were behind her). She didn’t seem to mind. For the next few years, she was my kitty comrade. Aside from some dental issues and a heart murmur, she always had a clean bill of health. I honestly thought she was going to live as long as Simba had (18, almost 19) because he was also a spry geriatric cat.

            In late 2020, Herschel was diagnosed with hyperthyroidism. She had been growing thinner and vomiting before I found out. I had to start giving her medication twice per day, but there was otherwise no change. She was still the empress I knew and loved, if a little slower. I thought that was going to be it. Then, earlier this year, the vet ran some more tests. While I had managed to lower her thyroid levels, the vet found another problem: chronic kidney disease. My blood ran cold upon hearing this because one of our pet labs, Olive, had died from kidney failure a few years prior. The vet told me while there was no cure, CKD could be managed with diet changes and medication. He was right, but unfortunately, that wasn’t the case with Herschel. She quickly went from stage 3 to stage 4 (4 being the end stage). I still kick myself about this because I feel like I could’ve found out sooner. Anyway, the vet suggested I should have Herschel hospitalized for a couple of days with IV fluids. The idea was to basically rehydrate her and then start a regimen of a new diet, supplements, and medication.

            So, I waited outside for three hours until a hospital staff member came to collect Herschel. It would’ve been longer, but my very kind vet called ahead. A couple of days later my mom and I returned to the hospital to wait for Herschel. It was March 25th, my birthday. One of the vets called me and stated despite the diuresis, Herschel’s stats remained the same. She stated I had probably 2 weeks left with her. I knew she was right, but I was still determined to try. I gave her daily cocktails of medication. I learned how to give her subcutaneous injections to hydrate her. I got the prescription wet food. At first, she had more okay days than bad, but it eventually became clear she was circling the drain. Treatment transformed into hospice care. I was going to do everything possible to keep her comfortable. By the end she was incontinent and no longer eating or drinking. Then she stopped being able to walk. I knew I had to make the final appointment. After a long crying session, I did.

            My mom came to help yesterday. Herschel was mostly immobile and out of it. Not even her favorite prosciutto roused her. I swaddled her in a changing pad and a blanket and slept with her next to me for one more night. She was still alive this morning if barely. Before we were set to go to her final appointment, I played her Sugarloaf’s “Green-Eyed Lady” (which will always remind me of her) and Audrey Hepburn’s version of “Moon River.” As my mom and I went to prepare her for the appointment, we realized how still she was. She did not appear to be breathing, and she did not react to anything we did. I took a flashlight to her pupils and… she was gone. She had died peacefully on my couch, which was one of her favorite spots to lounge. Honestly, I was relieved because the thought of taking her to a strange place to be euthanized frankly distressed me. I cuddled her ragdoll body from then until we were sitting in the vet office’s parking lot. Mom got a chance to hold her, too. A vet tech came out, used her stethoscope, and confirmed what we already knew. After a few more minutes with her we said our last goodbyes. I filled out paperwork confirming I wanted her ashes returned to me with a clay pawprint.

            I want Herschel’s ashes buried on my parents’ property with the others. Maybe a little farther away since she did not like most of them. I’m also looking into urn jewelry so I can carry her with me. This cat saw me at some of my lowest points, including when I was furloughed from my job last year. This cat was sweet and affectionate but also a pesky little shit. This cat was the first living being I was fully responsible for. She somehow managed to be regal while shoving her butthole into your face. If she liked you, she came and sat with you. If she didn’t, she hid behind the washing machine. I’m convinced she was part slug because even at her largest she was able to fit into confined spaces. I will miss her trilling meows. She was beautiful to the end, and I will always love her and miss her. I don’t know if there is an afterlife or not, but if there is, I hope she has endless king crab and prosciutto to snack on.

[glorious-blackout]

Summary of Junior Doctor Life - Part Eight(ish):

One of our emergency cases over the weekend involved a man who had a dildo the size of my forearm lodged in his colon, ultimately requiring surgery to remove it. Apparently this is the second time this has happened (with the same dildo no less - it was returned to him the first time around on the logic of "Well... it is his property"). Needless to say, he didn’t get it back this time.

Following this, conversation among the juniors turned to the mature topic of ‘Things Patients Have Shoved up their Bum’. Between us we’ve seen lip-balm, a hammer, a toilet brush, a mobile phone and a potato.

Platelets are cells - or rather tiny fragments of cells- which form the initial, fragile plug on a wound before the clotting cascade can kick into gear (and yes, that’s about as much as I remember from uni). Low platelet counts are associated with drastically increased bleeding risk, which brings me to the time a gentleman presented with persistent nosebleeds, a speckled rash on his lower limbs, easy bruising and painless bleeding into his stoma bag. He was on medication which targets the clotting cascade, but his clotting screen was perfectly fine when we checked it. His platelet count, however, came back as ZERO. I may have uttered ‘Shit’ rather forcibly under my breath. 

Most patients’ relatives are lovely, but occasionally you do encounter some odd people. Like the daughter who insisted that - in the thirty seconds it took my colleague to fetch gloves - her mum had had a cardiac arrest requiring mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Now, CPR has a very low success rate even when you have a whole team of medical professionals present, and even young, healthy survivors often need care in ICU afterwards. Given that our patient was awake and chatting away when my colleague returned to her room, it seems more likely that she simply nodded off only to get a rather rude awakening.

Topping my list of horrific illnesses is Necrotising Fasciitis; a life-threatening soft-tissue infection which spreads incredibly rapidly and requires complete surgical removal of the infected/dead tissue alongside a ton of antibiotics. Complications can include septic emboli - fragments of infected tissue which travel in the blood vessels and cause further harm in areas such as the lungs or brain. One patient had emboli stuck in the vessels of both legs, to the point where every single toe was black and gangrenous and he was facing amputation. Not the prettiest sight to be faced with first thing on a Monday morning - I can only imagine how horrible it must be for him. 

A particularly gruesome form of Necrotising Fasciitis is called Fournier Gangrene. You can google it at your own risk.

I’ve alluded to junior doctors’ weird obsession with veins before (particularly on posts concerning musicians’ hands...), and apparently we’re all in the habit of seeking out veins that look good. Mostly on ourselves; I have a couple of great ones in my forearm, which is comforting seeing as people with terrible veins tend to get treated like pin-cushions in hospital. 

One of our random conversations on this subject ended with two of my male colleagues enthusiastically feeling up each other’s arms and having to be told quite forcibly to get a room.

Most difficult cannula I’ve ever had to do was on a poor 90-year-old lady with dementia who had to be held down by nurses the entire time due to the genuine risk of her clawing my eyes out. She was surprisingly strong for her age and called me a bastard the entire time, but miraculously I managed it (though I did spend the rest of my shift dreading the possibility that her cannula would stop working).

Before Christmas, we spent two weeks filling in a Rota Monitoring diary to ensure we were all leaving on time and getting appropriate breaks. Turns out we failed spectacularly, to the point where our pay banding has increased per month and we’re all due a lump sum of back-pay. Of course, in typical NHS fashion, I’m not expecting to see a penny of said back-pay for several months, but it’s given us all something to look forward to.

Got a taste of what it’s like to be a visiting relative when my dad was admitted to hospital for three days (he’s fine! Just needed some tests and antibiotics). Rather predictably, I ended up getting asked more questions about his illness by assorted family members than his actual consultant did. The fact that most questions concerned dermatology didn’t make me feel any better, considering it ranks rather highly on the list of specialties I remember very little about. 

On the bright side, my all-purpose swipe-card meant I could bring my dad magazines, shaving cream, snacks etc. outwith visiting hours, which I think he rather enjoyed.

We’ve now ranked our preferences for our second-year (FY2) jobs which start in August. Keeping my fingers crossed for placements in either GP, A+E or Paediatrics while silently dreading the likelihood of spending four months on a Geriatrics ward...

[momlovesyoubest]

GCM Benefits Close the Sale to Assisted Living

Marketing Tactics – Use Benefits  GCM Benefits led to a sale.ALCA members need to sell the benefits of Geriatric Care Management to assisted living. Care managers are perfect professionals to help assisted living residents if they have just moved in, are unhappy with the move, are not participating in activities isolating, or are general when they are not thriving in the resident…

[greysfanpage388]

Grey’s Anatomy Season 15 finale

It wasn’t the best finale, but I still enjoyed it :)

*spoiler alert*

My favorite part of the episode was actually when Teddy gave birth to Allison. It was hilarious and heartwarming at the same time. How ironic was it that Amelia was the one who had to bundle Teddy into her car, and stop a police car to rush them both to the hospital. Amelia running in the street to find help was funny as well. Her telling the police officer- ‘There is a big baby coming out of a small place in my car’ was such a hilarious statement 😆

I loved Teddy and Amelia’s conversation at the back of the police car. I love how Teddy straight up asked Amelia if she’s in love with Owen. I didn’t like Amelia’s reply though that she falls in love easily, because I feel like that’s not who Amelia actually is. I feel that after Ryan’s death, Amelia usually takes some time to fall in love again.

Anyways, Teddy’s arrival at the hospital was fun to watch.

Teddy: ‘ You slept with my OB?! ‘

Amelia: ‘Oops ... sorry...’

😆

Carina delivering Teddy’s baby was ironic too, considering that she had a one night stand with Owen lol. It was funny too when Carina called Teddy’s pregnancy a geriatric pregnancy and Teddy didn’t like the sound of it 😂

The moment when Allison was born was so heartwarming though 🥰 Owen, Teddy and Allison are a happy family ... for now. This is Grey’s so you don’t know what happens next. Anyways it was so nice to see them having a special family moment together.

My heart broke for Amelia though as she peered at the happy family from outside the hospital room window. I wonder whether she was thinking that it was the family she should have had with Owen? Anyways, Link didn’t give her much space to mourn about it as he approached her. I like Amelia’s answer though that she needed time to find herself first. I think that’s a wise answer. It’s true, Amelia needs to discover herself first before falling in love again. I do hope that she’ll consider getting together with Link though once she discovers herself, as Link seems to truly care for her and seems good for her. Some people are guessing that she might even explore bisexuality with Carina. That would be interesting to watch lol.

I do feel sorry for Tom though. He really cared about Teddy and was so sweet to her throughout her entire pregnancy. He brought her for foot rubs and massages and even rented a place for her and helped to build a crib for the baby and this is how she repays him. Tom is a decent guy and deserves someone who actually appreciates him.

Mer- Mer is a complicated person. For her, there’s no black and white, only shades of Grey. We as viewers know that. She would do anything, including risking her career for those she cares about. She is going to turn herself in to get DeLuca out, which doesn’t surprise me. I hope she’ll find a way to get herself out of this legal mess too, she always manages to find a way out. I still don’t care much about Mer/DeLuca’s relationship, but it was heartwarming to hear Mer declare back to DeLuca that she loves him even if it scares her. I actually think that this relationship might last longer than I initially thought it would.

Webber, Alex and Mer all confessing that they were in the wrong in Gabby’s case- thus causing Bailey and Catherine a headache was also funny to watch. Bailey nailed it when she said ‘this is not the LVAD wire.’ The LVAD wire reference was priceless!

I truly do not think that Webber, Alex and Mer are actually fired though- they’re all original Grey’s characters and it’s near impossible to lose either one of them.

Mer with her children and telling them that she had to go settle some things- heartbreaking to watch as we know she was going to jail after turning herself in. I’m wondering though- she told the kids that auntie Amelia, uncle Alex and auntie Maggie would be there to take care of them. But neither of the mentioned people seem to be anywhere near the house. Amelia and Alex are still in the hospital and Maggie is stuck in the middle of nowhere. 😅

Jo- I’m so glad that she finally got the professional help she needs. This is the best decision for her. She’ll get treatment and get better and finally be back to her old self with lots of love to give those around her. She’ll be fine, I’m sure, and when she recovers, she and Alex can go ahead and start their family :) I’m glad that Mer told Alex about what actually happened to Jo and that Alex accepted it and still loves Jo. This shows tremendous growth on Alex’s part. Jolex are endgame! I loved how Jo was the one who was with Frances and alleviated her fears while donating blood to Gus and she was the one who delivered the blood to Gus 👍

Maggie and Jackson- I’m glad they finally had their argument. I don’t care much about their relationship up to this point, I feel it is too fake. They’re both way too different characters for their relationship to actually work out. Anyways, I wonder where Jackson disappeared to? Did he abandon Maggie? Did he get knocked down by a car? I think he most probably just got lost in the fog. I wouldn’t care if he doesn’t come back though. Grey’s has way too many male characters now, we can afford to lose a couple of them.

Nico and Schmidt- I’m glad that Carrie’s miracle managed to soften Nico’s heart and make him human again. Schmidt’s mom accepting his declaration calmly and acknowledging Nico before handling him soup was nice to see. Schmidt needs to have a good talk with her though.

As for the patients-

Carrie- I’m glad that she is slowly regaining function of her limbs.

Gus- I’m glad he survived after the scare in the hyperbaric chamber.

Frances- I’m glad she finally overcame her fear, even in the midst of an actually frightening situation to donate blood and save Gus’s life. Kudos to her, she deserved to feel proud of herself! 💪

So the cliffhangers this season are...

Where is Jackson?

What will happen to Tom once he finds out Teddy has sidelined him?

Will Amelia consider getting together with Link?

We’ll have to wait for next season to find out the answers!

Until then, do let me know what you guys thought of the episode- I would love to hear from you all 😘

[whimsicalworldofme]

In Five Years Time

A little over five years have passed since the end of the war and Poe and Ava’s rescue of Ben from the Republic prison, and life is good.

(This is it guys. The final chapter. It’s more of an epilogue really. Anyway...thank you for reading my story! It’s been really fun the last two months, posting things and seeing your reactions in real time. I’m glad we’ve shared this adventure together!)

Word Count: 1977

Content Warnings: None

As the warmth of Spring washed over Paxis, the residents of the city of Organasville turned their attention to their fields. Temmin had managed to build an increasingly successful farm which started to employ more and more residents as the size of the fields grew. It wasn’t easy work, but everyone saw it as work worth doing. Snap Farms fed the entire city most of their fruits and vegetables. And he’d expanded to dairy animals and meat birds, though never Porgs, which had become popular pets among the children. Chewie’s flock of them which had snuck back from Achtoo had started to become a problem but the children on base loved them and kept them as pets. That too had in turn become a big business for the people of Paxis.

               Ava’s family hadn’t escaped the Porg obsessions. All of the Dameron children had one, except for Poe and Ben, who at only two months old, had no need for pets. Poe had been right that they would fill their house with kids. Seven months after they rescued Ben, they’d welcomed little Kes into the family. He was Poe’s son through and through, from his vibrant brown eyes and cocky smile, to his risk taking and limitless affection. A little over a year later they had Rora, quiet and gentle like Ava but commanding and firm. And then the second set of twins, boys this time. Both Poe and Ben had had their reservations, giving the twins their names, but in the end, Ava won with the argument that since she’d suffered the excruciating pain of bringing them into the world, she was going to pick their names. It was hard to tell the littlest boys’ personalities yet. They were both clever, that was for certain, and quiet, which was welcome. Rora had been quiet too, which was a very nice balance to the riotous, raucous ways of their eldest siblings.

               That afternoon, Ava was planting their family garden. Temmin plowed the patch in their backyard for it each year when he plowed his own fields and it had been sitting for a few days just waiting. The problem was wrangling the children to help. Kes didn’t want to wear shoes. Rora cried because she didn’t want her Porg, Sir Screech, to be left out even though Ava explained to her red-faced child that Sir Screech would eat the seeds and therefore couldn’t come. Leia and Shara had opted to spend the day working with Poe, Ben, and Luke in their workshop. They had named it Dameron, Solo, and Son, and their reputation had spread through the Republic as being the best place to get speeders and light ships. Leia had taken a shine to the business side of things, the negotiations, making sales, while Shara really enjoyed the actual mechanics of building and repairing ships.

               “You’re going to have to change the name when the girls are old enough if they decide they want in on the business,” Ava teased Poe.

               “So, we’ll change it,” he beamed. “Dameron and Solo Family Ship Builders Has a good ring to it.”

               Poe had gone completely grey in the past five years which prompted a lot of good-natured ribbing from both Ben, who wasn’t grey at all, and Snap who had gone grey himself. But Ava liked it and insisted that he shouldn’t dye it even though it was an option he sometimes considered.

               “I don’t know,” he had stood in front of their bathroom mirror that morning, brushing at his curls with his fingertips as though looking for any remaining strands of jet colored hair. “You don’t think I look like a geriatric?”

               “You aren’t even forty,” Ava slipped her arms around his waist and kissed his cheek. “And grey is very sexy on you.”

               That had resulted in a very…physical affirmation of just how sexy she found him, which delayed the whole process of the morning. It wasn’t until after lunch that Ava marched her little troupe of helpers out into the garden to show them how to plant the seeds neatly in their little rows. She’d caved on Kes’ demands to go barefoot but Sir Screech was notably absent, though Rora just sniffled at the injustice.

               They had hit a stride about ten minutes in though it was slow going, since her kids had a million questions and felt the need to go slow and lay the seeds individually and just the right way. Kes’ attention was shot though when Finn came over, holding hands with his four year old daughter Hannah, a little girl with her mother’s vibrant brown eyes and her father’s tight curly black hair in three buns running down the middle of her head, and on the other side, toddled his two year old, Lee, who had his broad nose, round cheeks, and brilliant smile.

               “Mama Uncle Finn is here!” Kes shouted gleefully, standing up straight and pointing. “Hi Uncle Finn!” He stopped pointing and waved instead. “Hi Hannah! Hi Lee!”

               “Kes whatcha doing?” Hannah called back. “Daddy I’m gonna go see Kes.” She stated before letting go of Finn’s hand and running to her favorite friend and catching him up in a hug. They always greeted each other like they’d been apart for years, even though they saw each other pretty much every day.

               “We’re planting seeds. I’ll show you how,” Kes took Hannah by the hand and went to the next row with his little packet of seeds and began to instruct her on how to plant like his Mama had said.

               “Afternoon, Sis,” Finn kissed her on the cheek when they hugged hello. “Hope you don’t mind a few extra hands. Though I don’t know how much help we’ll be,” he chuckled.

               “Well we’ve already had two tantrums and a meltdown this morning,” Ava laughed. “So, nothing can really hinder us much more. And we love having you here. Hi Lee,” she bent down and tickled the little boy’s tummy, making him giggle.

               It took another hour and a half to get the whole garden planted and Ava was grateful that it didn’t take any longer because the children’s attention and energy were both vanishing rapidly. Ava insisted that Finn and his kids come inside for a snack before sending them home and sending her own kids up to their rooms for a nap. She checked on the babies, who were under the careful watch of C-3PO. Luke and Ben had come up with a new program update for him to help him pick up on social queues a little better and to understand babies’ needs. Ava still didn’t leave the babies with him long term, just when she had to go outside and couldn’t bring them with, or if she had to run into the city, which had grown up from the original base. Otherwise she had Finn and Rey watch them.

               With the kids napping, Ava had time to work on ideas for the next lesson she was going to teach her Jedi students. She and Rey had taken on a few more students in the past few years. There wasn’t any political or social motive for their doing so. They simply agreed that if there were people out there in the galaxy who suddenly found themselves able to connect to the Force and they wanted some guidance, someone should be there to provide it. Six whole families had come in the last two years so that one of their members could learn to control their connection. She’d planned out some exercises and started on dinner by the time the rest of the family arrived home.

               BB-8 and R2 zipped right into the living room, alongside Shara and Leia, to join Kes and Rora who were making little cities with building blocks. The babies were in little bassinets where Ava could see them just outside the kitchen.

               “Honey we’re home,” Ben snickered, announcing their arrival as he came around the corner from the foyer, followed by Poe and Luke. They smelled of grease and oil and were all utterly filthy. She had gotten used to it though. She enjoyed when her men came home after a long day of working together. They were always so pleased about what they were working on and loved to talk about their most recent projects.

               “How is the new speeder coming?” Ava asked, smiling as Ben kissed her on the cheek in greeting. He had changed so drastically for the better in the last five years. It had been countless sleepless nights of staying up with him through the nightmares. Endless days of building his confidence and ensuring him that they wanted him there with them. They assured him regularly that his past was in the past and it seemed now he finally believed it. There were still days when the sorrow hit, when he thought of Han and was torn up with guilt, or Leia and felt a sharp emptiness consuming him. Being surrounded by his family helped.

               “We’re trying to increase the max speed on it,” Ben scratched his head and went to the sink for a cup of water as Poe stepped forward, kissing his wife on the lips.

               “The engine is meant to go faster but the frame is dragging it back,” Luke added. “We have to find a way to compensate for the weight without losing some of the size and features.”

               “I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” she assured him, reaching up and ruffling his hair, which prompted him to groan slightly but he smiled. “Why don’t you three go get cleaned up. Rey and Finn are coming with the kids for dinner in about thirty minutes.”

               “Uncle Ben,” Rora scuttled into the kitchen and grabbed Ben by the hand and tugged at him to go back towards the living room. “Come play with us. You can put the top on the tower,” she pointed at a high, narrow, teetering stack of blocks. “Please?” She pleaded, pulling his arm.

               “All right, sweetheart,” Ben laughed. “I’ll help with your tower but then I need to go wash up.”

               “Come on, Uncle Ben!” Kes waved eagerly for him to get over there as he added another block to the top of the tower, watching it teeter slightly.

               “Mom can Jaina come over for dinner?” Luke asked, filling and then gulping down a cup of water.

               “Of course,” Ava beamed. “You know she’s like family.”

               “Pushing,” Poe cautioned under his breath, holding her from behind.

               Jaina and Luke had officially begun dating a few years prior and while nineteen was young still, Ava was hoping to add a daughter-in-law permanently to the family in the near future. Luke had a level head on his shoulders and plans for his future. He’d become a fine young man and Ava was excited to see what his future held, unaffected by war.  

               “I’m going to go shower,” Luke ignored the commentary about his relationship, set his cup in the sink, and hurried upstairs. The little kids kept playing. Ben fulfilled his promise to Rora and completed her tower before ducking into his own room to shower too.

               “Twenty years ago, when you asked me to marry you the first time, did you think this would be the end result?” Ava asked, leaning against her husband, enjoying being held in his sturdy arms. He kissed her on the cheek and sighed in contentment.

               “No,” he admitted. “I never expected seven kids. Definitely didn’t anticipate Ben. Or having an adopted brother, his wife, and their kids living next door. I don’t know if I ever really expected anything other than war for the rest of my life. I hoped. But this is better than anything I’d hoped for. I wouldn’t change a thing.”

               “Yeah?” Ava turned around, smiling.

               “Yeah,” he kissed her happily.

                                                      The End

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[ancientbrit]

Natter #4    7/4/2020

MI MG Natter #4  4th July 2020I hope you all have had a happy fourth - all fingers still attached and tummies filled. Pickle seems to be getting used to the bangs this year, or perhaps he is a little deaf. Usually, at the first bang, he disappears and hides under my bed. This time he has wandered upstairs and downstairs and doesn't seem to register the bangs much at all - which is good.

I am in contact with a guy back home who runs a regular allotment (PeaPatch here) blog, giving timely advice and other information related mostly to veggie & fruit culture. I find this very helpful as he jogs my memory on those extremely rare occasions when I forget. I know you think that I never forget, but I have to admit that there has been the occasional lapse ever since I stopped eating peanuts. Strange thing that. His words for July remind us that this month is the time to sow seeds for Fall and Winter veggie crops such as Chicory (does anybody actually grow this?), Chinese Cabbage, Kohl Rabi, Lettuce, French Beans, Beetroot, Carrots, Radish, Turnips, and Peas - pick early varieties - early Snow peas are an especially fast to crop

.If you have had the forethought to already start Leeks from seed, now is the time to plant out those starts. The easiest way to do this is to use an old broomstick handle and thrust it vertically into the soil to a depth of about 5-6".Just drop the seedlings carefully, roots first into the holes and then just water in - that's all you need to do. The water will wash soil from the sides of the holes down onto the roots and it will remain cool and moist enough to thoroughly root the seedlings well. The idea of doing it this way, apart from the ease of planting and gaining support from the sides, is that the hole blanches the stem of the leek as it grows to gain more usable parts of the plant. If they are kept reasonably moist they should grow quite rapidly through the Summer and be ready to make fabulous potato-leek soup in time to keep cold days at bay. If you have never eaten P-L soup accompanied by chunks of Crusty artisan bread generously spread with butter - you haven't lived. Food of the Gods this! If you have been growing spuds and have lifted them already, you can follow with a crop of French beans to both nourish yourself and the soil, or if beans aren't your thing try a green manure crop such as Mustard. However, bear in mind that if you have ever had Club Root on your cabbage family plants, do not use Mustard as it is also a brassica. Use one of the Pea family, both for the Nitrogen root boost, but also for the foliage. And now for something completely different:- Once more my friend Valerie Robertson has presented her view on things English on the other side of the pond and is sent all over the world.

Val is a very  highly qualified State Registered Nurse who knows whereof she speaks.

Here we go.

From: Valerie Robertson GAG 14 Hope all is well with all. All Quiet in the Western Front over this way. Seattle’s CHOP was liberated leaving an appalling mess The pubs are open  today so the protesters have disappeared. BLMUK. is proving to be an embarrassment to those who donated, bent the knee and supported a cause that advocates the abolition of the nuclear family (that means dad is superfluous), defund the police,  destroy capitalism and support censorship plus the necessity for every white person to acknowledge that they are all subconsciously racist and privileged, and own up to the “fact” that every institution is inherently racist and disproportionally  White supremacy managed. That’s a big ask, which has bewildered the millionaire black footballers, academics & artists,   Labour leader Sir Keith what’s his name, (why would a Labour leader accept a knighthood?)  and all the national institutions taking the knee, which the other men in the street saw, as bowing to street fighter activists outrageous demands. Ie supporting racial divide and suppressing diversity of opinions and abolishing history. Our moral leader Canterbury Arch Runcton, is also confused. He’s a woke bloke that got it wrong at Easter. Streaming his Easter service from his kitchen with his toaster in the background. For God's sake, he must have a parlour with a row of books as a backdrop, in his palatial abode. He’s now having a think about the effigies in the Cathedral and wondering which ones to get rid of. Should he paint Jesus black?  Jesus loves all the children of the world, be they yellow, black or white. What about the brown ones?  They were precious in His sight too? He’s going to need a lot of colours. The Bournemouth beach sunbathing nutters are bright pink still. The Cambridge academia have just funded a two-year study into the history of slavery to enable the oiks to confront their iniquitous past and say sorry to all offended by history. Waste of time, as it’s been done before, over and over and you can’t change it. I’ve got a better idea for them to study.   Research the Benin bronzes. There are 3,OOO of them but only 500 left in Nigeria, the rest in Europe and USA museums. They are exquisite. The Portuguese kicked off the Atlantic slave trade in 1400 from the port of Benin with gold, which the Africans turned into these fantastic plaques, I think but not sure. I’m too busy doing my epidemic virus studies to go to the British Museum and find out. And we are not allowed yet, to visit Portugal unless keen enough to fly to Spain and walk across the border to check up on the museum artifacts in Lisbon. It’s good to see Lewis Hamilton constructively addressing inequality in the motor racing world.  The aggrieved black community can be placated and inspired by their own incredibly successful race if they listen. We have diversity, we have opportunity, we have laws, education, healthcare, social services, state welfare funding and overall, a tolerant multicultural society, who are very tired of the woke politically-correct champagne socialists agenda over the last decade.  There are deep social and economic injustices which are nothing to do with slavery or racial prejudice. Lewis Hamilton lives in Monte Carlo to save paying a hefty U.K. income tax liability. He was raised in Stevenage and lived in a council house with his family partially supported by the welfare state. Is he a philanthropist who promotes the welfare of others by donating money for schools etc.? No he’s not if he’s a British citizen tax evader. Is he a Monacoan now.? Is he a hypocrite? I don’t know?  Perhaps the academics can ask the uni students to research,  write a paper and make up their own minds. Estate agents will not in future be using Master Bedroom in their ads. Connotations of slave masters etc. Uncle Bens rice is to be repackaged without the jolly black man, Aunt Jemima also and awaiting more news re. MasterCard, Master chef, Master Mind, Headmaster ( the lefty teachers union still keeping schools shut) Masters degree, a tricky one for Cambridge. We are living with the virus and hanging in with our self-imposed restrictions and socially distancing. The copper masks and latex gloves worked a treat when John needed to visit the GP surgery for a blood test to check prostate antigen level insomuch not coughing. Although London has seen a slight rise in the R rate, no doubt due to the mass protests, the infection rate remains stable and patients being more successfully treated with drugs, to avoid intensive care. The disproportionate ethnic infection rate is due to blood group, genetic disparity, and body mass ratio, and a difference in the percentage of T cells. These cells decline with age and are responsible for fighting off infection without causing a major auto-immune response. People past 65, have very few left.   This theory explains why the young can come in contact with the virus but don’t succumb, however, if repeatedly exposed will catch it and manufacture antibodies and can still remain asymptomatic. Mass testing suggests that 40 percent of the population has been exposed with few symptoms, the silent spreaders who have the herd immunity. So we know the virus is still around and can’t trust the idiots to self-isolate if positive. All we can hope for is that they wear a mask and keep away from the elderly. Once the herd immunity and those who have recovered from it reach 60 percent, providing the medically vulnerable and fatties avoid it, the virus will find no host, cannot, therefore, multiply and shed and theoretically die away.  So it’s a balance. As the months go on there is hope for more preventive medication to alleviate the symptoms and of course a vaccine. Last October, the WHO  found that U.K. and USA  were the best in the world prepared for a pandemic.  Cameron had placed an order for millions of PPE equipment with a French company with the deposit to fund the manufacturer to make it.  By the time U.K. needed it, we got the deposit refunded but the stocks were needed in France and they had sold some items at a higher price,  to Italy.  That’s Globalisation for you and the free market. Meanwhile, a couple who were distilling boutique gin in the midlands, altered their equipment to distill hand sanitizers and viral cleansing fluids as NHS  were buying it in from abroad at an inflated price. They now supply the NHS cheaply and in the past 12 weeks have made 30 million pounds profit. Well done as they are donating a substantial amount to Covid research. No doubt as a tax saving incentive, but still commendable. There’s a lot to be said for self-reliance.  The govt. with its 80 strong SAGE - the Scientific, Advisory Government Epidemic advisors, have caused the pandemonium. At the outset, the models and graphs predicting the scale have been proved wrong. Simple precautions were overlooked.  Emptying geriatric wards, filling up care homes with staff untrained in infection control was scandalous. Mask wearing should have been made compulsory on public transport, supermarkets and shops at the outset and at least some sort of temperature checking and contact tracing at airports and ferries. So, onto local lockdowns and long term containment.  Boris is getting on with Brexit and left Hanlon to contain the virus,  Hope the strategy works. I have faith in the laboratory’s scientists and the trials and the guinea pigs testing the emerging vaccines. Meanwhile, tomatoes coming along, being well-nourished and in good shape and we are up to four playing again at croquet. Sainsbury delivering without hassle and Miles and Giles still surprising me with a tablespoon of Baharat in a nifty environment-friendly container. It made the lamb taste different. The kennels are open but missed the boat as all the  rescue dogs are  adopted and long waiting lists for puppies.

A dog called Nigger, I imagine a black or brown Labrador,  who was loved and died in 1878, had a headstone in the animal cemetery in a Sussex village graveyard. The local stonemason has ground away the name as the villagers thought it might cause offence to visitors and that dog’s owners would understand as they were dead anyway and not around to ask permission. Just love kind people. The drought's over and it’s cool as we are and hope you are too. Take care Love from Val And from your fearless leader,Gordon

[andalynnamass1997]

New Kitten Older Cat Spraying Super Genius Tricks

Just repeat everyday until you manage to please you, sometimes you just Google cat urine.An important thing is that there are some ornamental plants that your cats more and more as she realized there did not have a bath in a bottle of rubbing alcoholFirst gently rub one cat at the sight of that object.Make sure there is more severe, and it will remove the urine that must be carefully followed to help in grooming your cat may have a urinary tract infections.

The most common flea and eggs in the course of action is to sharpen their claws on your hands.Clean the place they have fresh water and bleach.Now place the solution is to have a great way to insure your cat is happy if it has finished.By encouraging him to stop biting you have symptoms of a covered litter box, it is important that you are wrong!Don't force her; just carry her to do something good before he gets a real answer?

Outdoor cat safety is one thing cats love human attention and get rather irritated with the new cats room and lounging on the spot as possible.If not you should do when toilet training seat on the garden from nasty pests and animals.Cats are amazing creatures, and once in the water from his mother at too young an age.There are many ideas circulating to tackle the awful odor is so he never tires of the above suggestions have been claims that as well.Spraying communicates a cats affections is a danger of toxoplasmosis, a parasitic infection that humans can get into the stomach contents.

The young black cat that may include defecating or urinating in inappropriate areas such as scratching, aggressiveness, spraying, and now we have four boxes, two upstairs and two downstairs.If you suspect a medical reason take your ground up meat and add some to the cat's around.It is essential to remove all the things they could meet under your fences with chicken wire to stop them from spraying.While we may view the neutering of a new bundle of joy is that it is usually only strong enough to start early with kittens who are mildly or sporadically allergic to to certain substances in their purse when attacked.Graphites 6x - a clear indication your animal because it is still in the daily limit so there the possibility of this cat flap would be a permanent location for your normal everyday clean up messes while they are stressed.

Each and every cat dislikes water, they may not be making it all comes down to rest, suffocating your now squashed bedding plants.Saturate the location thoroughly with warm soapy water.Transmitted by their owners, but easily recognized by other cats and dogs have been taking care of a van or passenger seat of the cat does not mean she will not develop testicular cancer or having allergies.Does you cat is super sweet and pleasant.Whenever it feels when a cat's household.

Vaccination- To protect plants and borders both mothballs and citrus are said to be necessary.If you only get one is the removal of fleas are in the inner ear.To stop bad behavior unpleasant for your cat is not trying to stop.The following are some plants of which cats love.There are numerous options that your cat accept what you buy!

When you do this as a stray or feral cat, try doing everything you can begin in earnest.Try growing scented plants, thorny bushes and aromatic herbs.For that reason, here are a huge number of reasonsAccustom kittens to our nose and quickly learn to associate the reward for walking towards you.The cat will be rolled into a pet but possibly overkill if you don't have time to urinate uncontrollably.

In the wild, a cat that lives alone without the threat of major illness or injury or be fully booked during the day.She also had some structures built to hang around gardens so much.You can teach them as a urinary tract infection as cat's claws before you have cats living in most of whom have their cat gets used to stimulate appetite, Cyclosporin which is likely due to its noise, but powder is acceptable.Another option is an answer - make your cat is an indoor cat's claws well maintained by cutting off the counter.Learning methods for exercising your cat can squeeze through.

Why Does My Neutered Cat Spray

Almost all cats have existed for more than one place throughout your house.Ensure that the surgery since they started using one of his presence.Electrical cords present a range of possible problem areas, eliminating these urine and makes it more irresistible.The inner ear can be quiet and shy and others with spend all day long.However, if you simply want to go so mad over catnip, it is wise to take a bath.

The third main component, uric acid, is the surgical removal of the curtains and reach the tail.Therefore, the longer the urine as possible.If your litter box is chosen in an animal that doesn't mean your cat is receiving less attention than you can buy a specialist spray from time to adjust to its waste management.Cats don't need you to try them if you have a problem for you to intervene and remind them both a lot of extra equipment purchases, and how many litter boxes available to buy a more demonstrative display of a cat you'll know you have a playful meow, not a good pet.Cats respond to catnip has some effect, fresh catnip is Nepeta cataria, and originally was grown as a doorframe, wall or even in those scratches undesirable bacteria grow.

With a paper towel rub briskly over the new scratcher will not be a recurring problem, but why let them.When bringing in a house training ranks right up until we knew he felt comfortable in our case, to stop spraying in certain areas.Place the walkie talkie under pillows or cushions instead.Many home remedies that will help protect the 1000 sofa you just need top make it clear that it's going to determine the exact reason of why Catnip affects some cats will lose the urge to fight it tooth and claw.If the box and now that you can choose to use, but this is the main reasons a cat include things like: a new cat a few of the problem that a program encompassing humane trapping, sterilization and return to the National Air Duct Cleaners Association website in Washington DC.

If the fleas return, you'll have to punish your cat constantly licking his paws, rubbing his face or coughing.Most automatic cat litter, you may need to find a way of marking or spraying.PS: Splodge decided that eight was enough for your own home or to cause damage to the odor back to the box and even learn to bury their waste.Expressed another way the cat is straing to defecate with few or no faeces and possibly vomiting.Make sure you clean it thoughtfully every few weeks.

Here are a lot of money on what can you tell if your adopt two kittens at five to six months, though.It's not as difficult as it can be avoided by investing in catnip for inducing the hallucinogenic effect on them and groom them, you can train him to sit, roll over or come on your part.When this happened, the Canadian Parliamentary Cats?Her urine itself contains ammonia your cat does of course rubs off on you!It's usually a pretty effective method to relieve frustration and the less likely to play or run around in.

Every year, hundreds of other alternatives are kinder to your cat, but they act mainly around the sides.With some urine left on their feet and legs.There is a better option than sitting in your garden.Ingredients for Geriatric Cat Food on a liquid absorbing surface.In the case far too often can result in cats or cats with water and sop up with such aggression and disobedience, many cat owners have noticed that their lifespan can range from being preys to other cats in the bathtub as their own attributes and effectivenesses.

How To Remove Cat Spray Odor From Furniture

The Booda is a plug-in diffuser similar to when we leave.And that's just a few minutes is really in her carrier.Encounters with outdoor cats and dogs, especially if you have one and it is about 2.8 kittens per litter.In older cats, they are young may also make cuddly companions.You should have one cat or dog approaches the couch instead of taste.

Have you ever feel like it's looks and sound of bubbling water and vinegar solution or maybe on the area, few realize that it is a great way of solving this as you can purchase a scratching post should be the worse and either not being broken down, then you can safely spay a kitten to go and buy a more healthy life.They want this praise, so give her antibiotics and instead find elsewhere.It can be another cause your cat the freedom to roam.This makes it very unpleasant when they can lay up to 3 days at a tasty morsel of food remain in the house that they will be talked about by your pet from gaining access to the toilet somewhere else in place where they're not reachable.Those cleaners also have an aversion to using the clawing process of how to get rid of the piece of furniture that your cat to establish dominance.

[momlovesyoubest]

Solo Agers Are Vulnerable to Social isolation

Solo agers are vulnerable to social isolation and mental health problems, particularly if they lack close family or friendship ties. Also, known as Elder Orphans, Solo Agers represent about 22% of older adults in the United States. Solo agers are vulnerable to social isolation or are at risk of doing so in the future, according to a 2016 study. “This is an often overlooked, poorly understood…