#I just know Oh Louisiana is in her top 3 because it reminds her of her mom

[heauxplesslydevoted]

Have this headcanon that Ethan has a migraine rn because Naomi hasn’t stopped blasting Cowboy Carter at full volume since it dropped lmao

[johnkrrasinski]

𝙞𝙣𝙫𝙞𝙨𝙞𝙗𝙡𝙚 𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜

Chapter 3: chains around my demons

full masterlist // series masterlist // commission open // support my work

Pairings: bucky barnes x reader

Word Count: 1,798

Summary: blessed with telepathic abilities since birth, you were captured by HYDRA and turned into one of their weapons to kill. after the blip, you were pardoned by the government and you were obliged to check up with dr. raynor everyday which you had no clue would lead you to the one soul you’d been waiting for.

Warnings: SMUT!! (18+) angst, mentions of anxiety, nightmares, murders.

A/N: this series is dedicated to the lovely @ohmickeyhenry who commissioned this story and developed the concept. thank you for trusting me with your story. i sincerely hope you like it.

The next day, you packed up your bags and were ready to leave. You were waiting on Sam to arrive at Wakanda with the quinjet so he could fly you and Bucky back to the compound. You were a little bummed about leaving Wakanda, it had been a therapeutic experience for you and Bucky to be here. The thought of living the domestic life, in a beautiful place like Wakanda that is far away from the bustling city of New York was enticing. Sometimes you’d look at Bucky just walking around in his shirt and sweatpants doing the most mundane things instead of getting prepared for another mission and you’d think “I could get used to this.”

You thanked T’Challa, Shuri, Queen Ramonda and the Dola Milaje for everything they had done before you bid your farewell. You promised to stay in contact with Shuri and the Dora Milaje but it was still hard to leave them, they were truly the best people you had ever met. They reminded you of everything HYDRA was not. You could see why Bucky always spoke so highly of them.

Later that night, you had the compound all to yourself. Tony was having a date night with Pepper, Natasha was on a mission to Hungary, Sam was visiting his sister in Louisiana and Rhodey was dealing with some air force matters. As much as you loved the Avengers, you were grateful for this moment alone with Bucky.

The dimmed lights in the kitchen where you and Bucky just had dinner gave him an idea, “doll, get up…”

She did as he told even though she had no clue what he was planning, “for what, Bucky?”

He didn’t answer her but rather, he commanded FRIDAY to play a song called Put Your Heart on My Shoulder by Paul Anka. “Let’s dance, doll.”

He put his flesh hand on your waist and took your left hand with his vibranium arm, “I haven’t danced in ages, Buck.”

“Me neither, doll, but we’ll learn from each other,” he smiled affectionately at you.

It started off slow and you kept your eyes on each other, saying things that words can’t illustrate. It’s love, the realization of how fortunate you both were to have found each other. “I wish we could stay like this forever,” you uttered softly as you fiddled with his dog tags.

“Me too, doll. But we got each other now, I won’t let anything keep me away from you for too long.”

There was a brief silence. “Do you remember the last time you danced like this?”

“1945, Stark Expo, before I was shipped out to England. Her name was Connie and I took Steve with me because I wanted to spend it with him on my last night. I set him up with Connie’s friend but the punk just left to try to enlist in the army.”

Steve. You’d heard about him from Natasha and Tony. No one outside of the Avengers really knew where he was but you knew that he went back in time. That’s all you knew about it. You had also learned about his and Bucky’s friendship and how they really went all the way back. You were often curious about his ‘disappearance’ however you didn’t wanna pry or made Bucky feel worse. Losing a friend was always hard, let alone someone who was his only connection to his past, the life that he knew before he was forced to live out those violent years. You’d heard from Sam about how Steve was the only reason why Bucky stayed alive and how he had thought about committing suicide before. Now that he was gone, Sam often feared that Bucky would snap and give in to it but he always tried to be there for him. You were just glad that Bucky had Sam even before you were around.

“Do you… miss Steve?” you hesitantly asked as you rested your head on his chest.

“All the time,” He confessed. You were a tad relieved that Bucky wanted to open up about him to you. “He was the only family I got left, and when he went back, I felt empty. I was just lucky that Sam didn’t give up on me… And that, I met you.”

You smiled, you lifted your head to look at him. “You’re never gonna lose me. Not again,” you touched his face and he kissed you. It was soft, nothing like the kiss on your last night in Wakanda, but you could feel him pouring all the emotions and gratitude he had for you and you did just the same.

He lifted you as you wrapped his legs around his waist, still maintaining that kiss. Bucky carried you onto the dining table where you just had your dinner and he laid you there as he trailed to your throat and all the way down to your body which was now half-exposed after he lifted the hem of your shirt up until your breasts were revealed.

You weren’t wearing any bra so it was easier for him to access your nipples, he sucked on the right one as his flesh hand made its way down to your pants, unbuttoning it, and he inserted his fingers to find your clit, rubbing it in circles, making you even wetter every second. You shut your eyes, letting him have his way with your body.

His fingers and his tongue worked so magically that within seconds, he had you close to orgasm. “Bucky, so close…” You could feel his smirk against your nipple and he rubbed you faster. You moaned his name as you released all over his digits, soaking them up and he lifted his head to look into your eyes as he sucked your juices all over his hand like a fucking ice cream.

“You taste like heaven, sweetheart.” The sight of Bucky staring intensely at you as he sucked on his fingers that were drenched by your cum was euphoric, like watching a live homemade porn video. Bucky took off his sweatpants and his shirt, discarding them on the floor. Seeing him shirtless never ceased to mesmerize you, his body was a work of art. He’d told you one night that it took him a while to accept the scars on his body, let alone the bionic arm that felt nothing like a human but you told him that you loved every inch of it and if you could, you’d worship it forever.

Bucky then lifted the shirt that was still rumpled on your chest, up to your wrists, where he used it as a makeshift knot, keeping your hands above your head, “stay there, understand?”

“Yes, sergeant.” You had no idea what sparked that nickname, but from the way he grinned, he sure loved it and if he loved it, then you were sure to use that in future steamy sessions.

“Sergeant, huh? You’re in big trouble, darling.” Bucky tore your damp panties and you gasped, not expecting him to be so aggressive… Not that you were complaining though. “Bucky…”

“Shh, let me take care of you, baby.” He kissed you ferociously, with his tongue completely dominating your mouth. Without any warning, his middle finger intruded your body… But it was an entirely different feeling from the last time he did that to you because he was using his vibranium arm and the sensation instantly took over your body, running in your veins like that serum in his blood.

“Oh God, Buck…” You whined as you looked down to where his finger was moving in and out of you at a slow pace.

“Does it feel good?” He asked as he kept looking at your face, searching for any signs of discomfort but with each motion, you only seemed to enjoy it.

“Yes, it feels fucking amazing… Don’t stop, please.”

He began to move his digits faster, and when your wails grew louder, he inserted another finger and you arched your back. “Fuck, oh God…” Bucky curled his fingers to brush your sweet spot, pushing you to the edge and you cum for the second time all over his vibranium hand.

“You’re so hot when you cum,” he whispered in a gravelly low voice that could weaken any woman in the knees. He pulled his fingers out of you and he used your juices to stroke his member to make it easier to slide into you.

Bucky lifted your legs onto his shoulders and he lined his cock to your entrance, slowly as he felt your walls fluttered around him. “Fuck, you’re so tight.” Bucky began moving, he was taking his time with your body, wanting to feel every inch of you and you of him, and you whimpered with every thrust. He felt so heavy between your hips that you could feel your orgasm approaching fast, even with the languid pace.

“I’m not gonna last long…” You said in between whimpers.

“I know, doll. Just let go when you’re ready, okay?” He began to speed up, his grunts and the sound of your skin slapping was obscene, making you nearly forget you were fucking in the place where the Avengers would feast (if they found out what you did on this table, Tony would hire a cleaning service company to scrub the entire surface thrice.)

The coil in your lower abdomen tightened and you knew you were seconds away from rupturing. A few more thrusts and you hit your peak. Bucky kept holding your hips tightly and he continued to pound into you, prolonging your orgasm as he chased his own climax. Your body trembled from the aftershocks but from the way Bucky was impaling you, you could feel a fourth orgasm coming and you didn’t know if you could take it anymore.

He felt you squeezing his cock once again and you both came together, pleasure washed over both of you. He shot his load inside you, painting your walls white. A few more shallow thrusts to blow every drop he had left within him. He stayed inside you as he hid his face between your neck and your shoulder, the warmth of his body on top of you was comforting despite the sweat all over your body.

Bucky lifted his head to look at you and sweep the strands of hair sticking on your forehead, “you okay?” he panted. You could only respond by nodding, not moving because of the weight of him still between your legs and how completely spent you were.

Once he had regained his composure, he retreated himself out of you and he carried you in bridal style to your room, wanting nothing else than to take care of you with a hot bath and forehead kisses under the duvet.

tags; @ohmickeyhenry @suitofvibraniumarmor @themaddies-obx @themaddies-obx @beminetokeep @bluemoon-icecream @bluemoon-icecream @harprs @thefridgeismybestie @abitofeverythingg @wolfonthemoonwatchestvshows @julimelodi @bookscoffeandotherstuff @tanyaherondale @artisancowbells @ferxaniti @intothesoul @hallecarey1 @buckybarnesplumwhore @thefallenbibliophilequote @andiyholly @emizla @capxwinter @jevans2 @alwaysreadingimagineschick @swtltlmrvlgrl @extremelyblackandwhite

[achliegh]

Golden

Prologue

Yeehaw Leo… it's all because this song came on one day (I don’t even really listen to country anymore so it really is fate). Leo is based off that song, each chapter is going to be based off a yeehaw song too.

Characters belong to @lumosinlove

TW/CW: Smut, terrible yeehaw sayings and jokes, injuries, mentions of past death, minor character death, underage drinking, mentions of past arrests, cringe

Chapter 1:

Picking Wildflowers

“Ohhhh Leo! Oh Leo! Leo! More More!”

“Please Leo I’m soooo cloosse! Ah! AH! AHHHH!”

Laughing both Finn and Logan were clapped on their shoulders as Thomas and James came up behind them. Red faced Logan and Finn laughed a long, a little more awkwardly and stiff, but much more relaxed than they were at the beginning of the trip.

They kept poking fun and walking beside each other to bump shoulders. Finn, who had a mild limp, and Logan , who still has a bite mark on his ass cheek, walked into the locker room. Everyone had heard the two of them moaning last night with their angelic cowboy so the chirping wasn’t a surprise. Then again, when everyone noticed Finn limping instead of Logan they couldn’t help but stare in wild amusement.

No one on the rest of the team got to meet Leo so they all thought he was some scrappy hick who is into threesomes. Which he is, but he also is one of the sweetest people Logan and Finn had ever met! He gave them a goodmorning/goodbye kiss. What an angel, but they don’t know that, or that he snuggled with them all night even when Logan thought he was a comforter in his sleep and tried to kick him off the bed. He held them just as close as they have held each other for years.

It brought a lot of feelings to the surface that Logan didn’t want to acknowledge yet. Finn knew he was got to daydreaming about Leo’s sweet words he whispered before they even got him into bed, all day.

“Is this all we are going to hear about today?” Logan sets his bag down in his stall and starts undressing. Huffing annoyed as he looked in his bag for his practice jersey.

“You think we would talk about anything else when your moaning of a hillbilly’s name is still fresh in our brain?” Sirius walks past them and bumps Logan playfully with his hip so he jolts forwards a little having to catch himself with his hands in front of his face so he doesn’t faceplant into the locker behind him. The shorter guy glares a little and sticks out his tongue in a show of true maturity. Taking off his pants and changing before anyone sees the bite, he turns around to sit and put his socks and tape.

He feels a tap on his thigh and looks at Finn who is holding his phone so only they can see it, and there is a text from Leo. They had both sent him good morning texts and added him to a group chat because they honestly really liked him, they literally talked about Leo as they got dressed that morning, but they weren’t for sure he would actually answer them.

Text From: Cowboy Sweet Ass

8:15 am

Y’all want to come help me with something later <3

I want to see you again before you leave :)

They share a look of equal excitement and slight arousal from what this implies, Finn texts Leo back, both having this dazed almost soppy look on their face, especially when they looked at each other. Leo was having an effect on the guy and everyone on the team could feel it. Chirping aside, they were happy for them. Maybe this would get them to finally talk to each other.

They could hope.

Leo was dressed for success, overalls without a shirt that were pretty baggy on him and his square-toed work boots, he was sweating in the summer heat as he pushed his hair back under his ball cap to keep the sun out of his eyes as the ranch hands worked with the horses and he worked on fixing the baler. It was nine am and over 80 degrees, sometimes he doesn’t enjoy Louisiana as much as he thinks. But nothing could ruin his mood, humming cheesy love songs to the radio, tapping the rhythm on the machine. Smiling, he takes a step back from the bailer and wipes the sweat off his forehead with the rag from his pocket.

He sees a light blue 1967 Chevy C/K10 pulls up the dusty driveway and parks in its usual spot next to the main house. Who else but Clayton, the man of the hour, hop out of the truck wearing one of his stupid short ass crop tops that stop just below his nipple, making it easy for Leo to tweak them when he annoys him, with his jeans, belt, and boots that are falling apart. Strutting over to Leo he smiles bright and meets him by the bailer.

Leo smiles and they dap, tapping their foreheads together.

“Sooo, how was last night? I saw you leave with those two buffies and I knew you were getting double.” Clayton smiles and hands Leo the wrench he needs when Leo holds out his hand and laughs a little. Leaning on the machine and tipping his head back to soak in the sun.

Leo and Clayton have been friends since kindergarten, having never been apart for more than two days, they told each other everything. They were so close that their parents think they are going to end up together someday. They feel different about it. But they tell each other everything, everything, maybe even too much sometimes.

Traveling together for rodeo has gotten them so close that people just assume they are related somehow. It gets weird when they drunkenly kiss sometimes though. Clayton roping calves and Leo riding bulls has made them a hot commodity with the ladies but they make it clear that they aren’t interested… or that Leo isn’t interested. Clayton would still tap that.

“Dude, they were amazing! Fuckin Montgomery Gentry got me laid.” Leo waits a second for Clayton to catch on, then when it clicks that he is talking about Save a Horse Ride a Cowboy, when he stands back up from where he was squatting next to the baler to fix the belts and gets a slap on the back as Clayton whoops. Jumping around he shakes Leo’s shoulders.

“That's fucking hilarious! They took that song literally! Damn, you gotta try and keep ‘em, are you seeing them again? Or was this one of your hook ups that could work but you don’t want it.” Leo narrows his eyes at Clayton and grabs him into a headlock, struggling to get away from the 3” taller man. Clayton falls to the ground when Leo lets him go.

“I don’t do that! Plus, I want them to go out to secret with me tonight.” Leo looks at him while wiping the grease off his hands and squinting a little as the sun gleams off the metal right into his eyes. The red creeping down his neck doesn’t go unnoticed by the dusty friend and he smirks at him.

“Playboy Leo going on a real date… damn they must have really had an impact on you.”

“Well they rode me at the same time, so that left an impression. It’s funny how I feel more comfortable with two people rather than one.” They start walking towards the house to grab some water and tell Eloise that Clayton is here, so when Judy calls they can tell her that her son is indeed still here.

“One on the dick and one on the face or something weird?” Leo smiles and shakes his head as he gulps down a glass of water.

“How do you just always know?”

Text From: Cowboy Sweet Ass

6:01 pm

I’m outside Sweethearts

ShortCake

6:01 pm

Comming out

CarrotStix

6:01 pm

I’m gey

Leo laughs a little as he reads the texts, he hasn’t stopped smiling all day after he gushed about the boys to his mom and sudo-brother. Texting them when he could he didn’t have time to change before he came to pick them up, but knowing how they react to him… it will be just fine.

Logan gets into the truck first, sliding into the middle and planting a kiss on Leo’s cheek making them both smile brightly and dopey. Finn gets in and leans over Logan to plant a steamy kiss on Leo’s slightly dry lips, taking him by surprise but he melts into it, pulling away until they are still close enough to bump noses.

“Hi” Leo can’t help but laugh as Finn smiles a blushes before sitting back and buckling up, Logan grabs his face looking a little excited and gives him a kiss as well, a bit more possessive and sharp but when they pull away Logan gets buckled while Leo is still blinking in shock.

“Nice to see you too.” He smiles stupidly and relaxes into the seat before switching gear and starting to drive, the rink is close to the outskirts of town. “Alright, tomorrow is mama’s birthday! So.. that means I need to get her some of her favorite things, like wildflower, smooth rocks, and some honeysuckle. I’m taking y’all to a place only Clayton and I ever go, and it has all of those things… and we can go skinny dipping because I like seeing y’all naked.” Leo smiles innocently at them for a moment as he pulls onto a gravel road and starts driving.

“You don’t plan to kill us right? I mean we could probably take you but… I’d rather you take me” Logan bites his lip and leans into Leo’s side, Leo takes his hand off the steering wheel to wrap it around Logan’s shoulders and takes one of Finn’s hands.

“Ditto.” Finn smiles and is looking out the window in awe, as someone who has grown up in the city and really hasn’t been outdoors much he isn’t used to seeing all of the thick trees and wild plants. He squeezes Leo’s hand in excitement.

After a half hour of driving and listening to some oldies music on the radio, they pull over to the side of the road and Leo turns off the truck. “Okay, one more kiss” He leans over and kisses Logan with hand on the back of his neck, humming in contentment before smoothly pulling away and kissing Finn in one smooth motion. He pulls away and sighs happily leaning his head back on the seat, when he opens his eyes he sees Logan and Finn kissing and his heart skips a beat watching them. “Okay, we have a job to get done before we get into some sexy stuff!” Leo is more so reminding himself than the other two who pulled away and are looking at him the same way they did last night.

Getting out of the truck Leo walks toward the woods he pulled up next to and notices the boys aren't behind him, turning around he sees Finn looking at him with the biggest puppy dog eyes through the window. Oh yeah, the door is sticky.

He can’t get the door open.

Laughing Leo walks over to the door and opens the jammed door with ease, bowing slightly. “Your majesty” Finn snorts and gets out of the truck before patting Leo’s head and moving out of the way for Logan to hop out.

Logan takes Leo off guard by leaning his full body weight into him after he closes the door, Leo being the sweetheart he is, just scoops Logan up like he weighs nothing and smiles when he lets out the most manly squeak. Finn sneaks a picture smiling as he moves to their side.

Leo leads them through the thick woods and only sets Logan down when they reach a Grove with a crystal clear small lake and flowers everywhere. It was beautiful.

“This is what we call Secret, because we don’t think anyone really knows about it but” He shrugs “Maybe someone does.” He walks forward and sits on a stump, around the stump is a bunch of small white flowers that are two lipped and smell very strong.

Finn walks towards the water and sees a bunch of minnows socializing in the shallows, crouching down he feels the water, taking note of how warm it is. Logan was mesmerized by all the flowers growing, all different colors of shapes. Bee’s buzzed around the surprisingly silent grove and Logan watched them before picking a couple handfuls of flowers.

Leo looks up at Finn first and smiles as he sees him picking out rock he finds because Leo mentioned they needed some, and then his eyes move to Logan who is holding armfuls of beautiful flowers and even has a couple of leaves and petals in his extra curly hair from it drying in the humid heat. Leo felt so at peace with the whole situation. It felt natural.

Logan hears someone walking toward him and looks up with his arms just overflowing with flowers, Finn is carrying handfuls of wet rocks that keep falling out of his hands and he keeps bending to pick up to just… drop more. It was funny and Leo seemed to agree as he was taking a video of Finn dropping and picking up stones.

“Here” Leo holds out a cloth bag and catches the rock that just fell out of Finn’s hand to finally stop the cycle. They put everything in separate appropriate bags before setting them on the stump Leo was sitting on before.

Turning to the boys and smiling, Leo unbuckles his overalls and drops them after he kicks off his boots, so he is just standing there in his tight teal boxer briefs that have dumplings on them. His smiles turns into a teasing smirk as he turns to face the lake having his back to his boys and takes his underwear off before looking over his shoulder at them and then running into the lakes and driving in. Fin and Logan strip so fast, tossing their clothes wherever and following this Casanova into the water.

Two hours of dunking, kissing, splashing and holding each other close. They decide to lay in the short grass of the grove where the flowers don’t reach, sprawling out in a circle, the top of their heads facing each other. They pass around a spliff that Leo brought in the pocket of his overalls. Relaxing in the setting sun as they air dry.

“What day do you guys leave?” Leo has his eyes closed as he is relaxing holding his hand out for the spliff as Finn shotguns Logan, handing it to Leo as they end up sloppily kissing each other before pulling away to answer.

“A week, so you can call us up anytime.” Finn smiles and rolls onto his stomach propping his head up on his hands as he watches the smoke fall from Leo’s lips. His eyelids feel a little heavy as the exhaustion from practice and the cbd from the weed soak into his nerves.

“Are we going to have sex tonight?” Logan also rolls onto his stomach bumping into Finn’s shoulder as he clumsily does so. Leo opens his bright eyes and tips his head back to look at them. “I am really tired but… I also kinda want to suck you dick.” Leo huffs out a laugh and flicks the roach into the lake where a fish slurps it up later.

“I would not say no to that, sweetheart.” Leo bites his lips a little as Logan flushes pink and crawls over to him sliding between his legs leaving light kisses and nips on the tops and inner of his thighs and watching him get hard. Then Logan notices it.

“Do- do you have a worm tattoo with a lasso on your inner knee?” Logan can’t help but laugh as Leo nods smiling. Finn, who has been in heaven watching, joins Logan between Leo’s legs and notices the small tattoo as well and kisses it.

“I have a bunch of little ones. Can you blow me now?” Leo props himself up on his elbows, an adorable blush spread across his cheeks and nose make him look so delicious. Finn and Logan share a look before smiling and licking up Leo’s shaft on opposite sides causing Leo’s head to fall back and his knees to spread more. “Fuck.”

Logan and Finn continue to mirror each other as Logan massages Leo’s taint and balls while Finn sucks on his head, Logan on the base.

Leo is a mess.

His back arching, his jaw tense from making himself hold off from fucking up into their mouths or grinding back onto Logan’s hand. He is gripping the grass so his hands will be stained tomorrow, sweat beading on his hairline and chest. Moaning every once in a while when he can find his voice.

Finn takes him down as much as he can as Logan squeezes just right causing Leo to cum hard, throwing his hands in his hair and tugging it. Once he finishes riding out his orgasm he just flops down all boneless.

“Give me a minute and I’ll get you off.” Leo exhales slowly and props himself up to look at them and a flush of want rushes through him. Finn had gotten himself off on Leo’s leg, how he didn’t notice he didn’t know, Logan looks like he hasn’t moved but his face was blissed out, he came untouched and if that wasn’t the sexiest fucking thing Leo has ever seen. He didn’t know what was.

Cleaning themselves up with some lake water and getting dressed they carry their treasures back to the truck. They all slide in and make their way back to town. Leo sings some shitty old songs with his hand on Logan's upper thigh as Finn has his head on his shoulder drifting in and out of sleep, by the time Leo makes it to the hotel they are staying at, both of them are asleep. Kissing their foreheads he slowly shakes them awake.

“We’re here, come on darlings, let's get you to bed.” He gets them up and smiles as Finn stretches like a cat and snuggles into his side as he supports them on either side. Walking them to their room he waits for one of them to unlock the door and hears a couple of guys yelling around a ‘cheater in go-fish!’ and Leo can’t help but wonder what it's like to travel with a team like Logan and Finn’s.

After a few tires Leo just takes the key from Logan and swipes it to unlock the door. Leo stumbles a little as they both lean forward. He sits them on the bed and get them undressed.

“What do you like to sleep in?” Leo asks as he located their bag in the corner of the room. Logan mumbles something about Finn’s shirt and Finn just mentions boxers. Leo gets them situated, having Logan lift his arms so he can put Finn’s shirt on him. It's baggy and makes Logan look so sweet that Leo can’t help but lean down and give him a sweet kiss.

Tucking a smiling Logan into bed he moves to get Finn under the covers and see him pouting.

“Wa kith” Leo tries not to groan at how these two beefy boys can be so sweet and cute that it hurts his chest. He gives Finn a kiss and pulls away, watching the two snuggle into each other.

Leo realizes he wants this, every night.

Swallowing down the sudden fear that crashed over him he turns to leave, forgetting to put the hotel key on the night stand he doesn’t realize he still has it until he is getting ready for bed himself in his room that's too large for one person.

Now he has an excuse to see them again.

[thadelightfulone]

All I Want... 25 Days of Christmas Challenge, Day 2

November 15-19th, Part 2

Erik Stevens’ office phone rang incessantly, even after he told his assistant to hold all calls. When it finally quieted down, he stood up to stretch the stiff muscles of his neck, shoulders and arms. He moved in front of the floor to ceiling window that makes up the back wall of his office. Taking a few deep breaths, he rubbed his temples when the cell phone in his jacket pocket started to ring.  

“T. Can I breathe? We have been working on this project all morning.” Silence greeted him on the other end. “Hello?”

“My bad. I figured you would be at lunch right about now. It’s after 3 over here.” The voice spoke. 

Erik looked at the contact on his phone and started laughing, “Damn man, I’m sorry. My cousins and I have been working on this project and -- let’s just say I am ready for a vacation.”

“It’s ok. I get it man. I have about 4 students preparing to defend their dissertations next month. I am nowhere near ready.” 

“That’s right, Dr. Oubre, preparing our future doctors of science and research. So, what’s up?” 

“Well, I just spoke with Dr. Giacomo and she said someone came around asking about you.”

“Really for what?”

“Yeah, I guess they came across one of your papers and decided to find you.” 

Erik rolled his eyes, “So, why would they go to her and not just reach out to me directly?”

“Look, I don’t know. I am just letting you know what was relayed to me, but I wanted to reach out to you before I gave out your information.”

“Bruh, give them my email and get off my phone.” Erik laughed at how silly Marquis was being. 

“Aye, you can never be too sure. I’m just looking out for you.” Marquis whispered into the phone.

Erik walked over to his desk and leaned against the edge, “Quis, man what is really going on?”

“I don’t want to send you another stalker.” Marquis sighed before laughing.

“HA, man. No one could have seen that shit coming.” Erik began to laugh as well. “I definitely lucked out when she graduated before us. Who knows how bad that could have gotten?”

“True, true.” Marquis cleared his throat, “By the way, Serena asked about you. She wants to know when you are bringing yo black ass back to Louisiana? You know to see us, your friends and extended family?”

“What else? I know she didn’t stop there.” Erik retorted. 

“Oh, the usual. Has he found anyone yet? When is he gonna settle down? Yada, yada, yada.” Marquis shot back. 

“Of course, she did.” Erik sighed out. “I definitely want to take some time off, so I can come and see you both, including my nieces and nephew. I just don’t know when that will be.” 

“Alright man, I understand. Look, I just wanted to give you a heads up about the contact. But I gotta run to class now.” Marquis rushed out.

“Yeah, I’ll hit you up later this week.” Erik said before hanging up. 

Setting his phone down on his desk, he closed his eyes. Arms crossed over his chest, he relaxed into the moment. Alternating between short and long breathes, he felt himself calming down from the morning and the call from his best friend and brother. 

They met in undergrad and were as thick as thieves instantly. You never saw one without the other anywhere on campus. And then, while they were in grad school Marquis met Serena, who would later become his wife. 

Laughing to himself, Erik recalled being jealous of what they had and continued to build together. It reminded him of his parents’ relationship and the love they had for one another. He rolled his eyes as his mind started to wander. Serena wasn’t the only one asking those kinds of questions lately.

Shaking those thoughts from his head, he decided to focus on the reason for Marquis’ call. Someone from Southern University was looking for him, that’s very interesting. He hadn’t thought of his alma mater much since returning home to Oakland, about 10 years ago. Outside of Marquis and his family, who he kept in touch with; he never needed to think about it. He had written plenty of papers due to his current research and his studies while he was working on his doctorate, so it does make sense. Well, whoever it is will be reaching out to him soon enough. 

---

It’s been three days since DeeDee learned that her mystery man was connected to a current faculty member on campus. She walked to his office and knocked on the open door. 

“Hey Dr. O.” DeeDee said to get his attention.

“Come in, DeeDee.” 

DeeDee walked into Dr. Marquis Oubre’s office and took a seat in front of his desk. She pulled out her notebook and set it down on her lap.

“So, how are things going?” Dr. Oubre asked as he walked over to the chair next to her. 

“They are going, but it could be better.” DeeDee answered as she fiddled with her fingers.

Marquis sat down and crossed his leg at the knee. “What’s bothering you, DeeDee?”

“I’m nervous about how all the interviews went. I mean they were all in September and October, and I have not heard anything.”

“What did I tell you when you left for the first one in San Diego?”

DeeDee sighed and rolled her eyes, “I will know if they are a great fit for me and not the other way around.”

“That’s right. Besides, you visited about 6 schools over a 2 month period. Those are on-campus interviews and that number is unheard of DeeDee.” Dr. Oubre looked at her, “I didn’t even get that many.”

“Really?” DeeDee looked at him in disbelief. 

Dr. Oubre discussed his entire experience of applying for a tenure-track position. DeeDee listened as much as she could manage, but in the back of her mind, all she could think about is the fact that her doctoral mentor knew her mystery man. She wanted to blurt it out when she first walked in, but it didn’t seem like the right thing to do. But now, she is reminded that the man can talk and couldn’t wait any longer. 

“Dr. O?” DeeDee interrupted his current train of thought.

“Yes?”

“Can I ask you about a former student?” She picked up the notebook, pulling out a printed out black and white newspaper clipping. DeeDee handed it to him.

He took it from her, looked at the image and laughed. “It’s you?” 

DeeDee looked at him in confusion. 

“You know people talk around here and I am friends with a lot of folks in Computer Science. Dr. Giacomo told me that someone was looking for Erik. I guess I just wasn’t thinking it would be you.” He continued to laugh. 

“Oh. Of course, she would.” DeeDee huffed out as she scooted further back into the chair.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to laugh.” He reached for her notebook, “May I?” 

DeeDee handed him the notebook. Dr. Oubre pulled the ink pen from his dress shirt and wrote on the first blank page he found. He handed it back to her. 

“That’s his email. He said that he is fine with you asking him anything.” 

“Wait. What? He is expecting to hear from me?” DeeDee fumbled with the notebook when Dr. Oubre handed it over.

“Yes, he was surprised that you didn’t just search for him using the information on the article.”

DeeDee silently chastised herself, remembering what she told the other professor the other day. “About that, I didn’t even think of it. I saw Southern University and that was all she wrote.” She nervously laughs. 

“No problem. I’m sure he’ll be able to answer whatever questions you have.” Dr. Oubre stood up. “So, how’s your unnecessary prepwork going?” 

“It’s not unnecessary. I just want to be prepared, Dr. O.”

“DeeDee, you have been studying this stuff for the last 4 years. You know it and your 150 page dissertation shows that.” He moved around behind his desk, “They are only going to ask you about what is in there and what work you want to do with the information from this study.” 

“I understand that, but --” 

“Look, you have nothing to worry about. It is more a presentation then an actual defense. And I wouldn’t stress about the lack of response from those other universities about your interviews because I know you have applied to others. You got this.” 

DeeDee took a deep breath before responding, “You are right, Dr. O. I have applied to about 5 other places, but those were all in my top 2 tiers.”

“And about your upcoming defense?” 

“Right again. I know it like the back of my hand. So, I will try not to stress about it anymore.” DeeDee stood up and grabbed her things.

“Glad to hear it. Oh, by the way, you do know Dr. Bell is retiring at the end of the year?” 

“Yeah, they told all of us last week. Sounds like the annual department Christmas party will be her retirement party.” 

Dr. Oubre handed her a small flyer, “That’s right. Here’s your invitation. Hope to see you there.”

DeeDee looked down at it, “I’m there with bells on.” She laughed at her little joke.

“Nope, you gotta go.” He pointed at the door, while trying not to laugh. “I don’t think we need to meet next week, unless something comes up and you want to talk.”

“I agree.” DeeDee stopped at the door and held up the notebook, “And thanks again for this, Dr. O.” 

“You’re welcome, DeeDee.” He sat down and watched as DeeDee left his office. 

---

Sitting at her home office desk, DeeDee stared at the blank message box on her computer screen. The only thing typed out was Erik’s email address. She picked up her glass of water and took a sip. 

She spent the last hour looking up information on him. Found out that he’s back in Oakland and not even active in the science field anymore. He was the Director for one of the Wakanda Outreach Centers. It was fascinating what she read and found out about the work he was currently doing. 

And just like that, she was afraid to move forward. It should be simple. Send him an email about finding the little note in an old textbook. The end. He could do whatever he wanted with the information. But DeeDee’s mind was playing out possible scenarios like stuff she had seen in her favorite sappy romantic movies. And while the thought excited her, it also freaked her out at the same time. 

Things like that did not happen to women like her. Sure, she was kind of pretty and low maintenance, but most guys did not find her interesting enough to have a relationship with. And because of that she just didn’t try to pursue them, which is much different than what her friends believed about her. There was no message in a bottle type romance or love for her. So, why even bother?

She closed the email and decided to let the matter go. At least, she found out who wrote the note. Curiosity piqued and answered. Now, time to focus on her future and career.

Taglist: @teakturn @ghostfacekill-monger @shaekingshitup @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @woahitslucyylu @ladymac82 @bugngiz @eyeknowmywrites @ajspencer1892 @blackpinup22 @sarcastic-sunshines​

Let me know if you want to be added to the list.

[alonely-dreamer]

The Valuable Sun | Chapter 13

Summary: The one where Russell Edgington comes in.

Pairing: Eric x OC

Warnings: 18+

A/N: Please, note that I am French so there might be some mistakes here and there.

PS: You can also support me on Patreon if you wish/can! Any support is highly appreciated! Chapter 14 is available there right now! Find me @ patreon.com/alonelydreamer

Words: 2737

Masterlist

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12

The floor and the air were getting colder as the hours passed. Brooklynne could tell when it was daytime because the Magister, who wouldn’t stop torturing Pam, not even to rest, was starting to bleed from his eyes and his ears, even his nose. He once debated out loud if he should feed from Brooklynne, no doubt to scare both Pam and her, who was supposedly the vampire’s, though he did nothing of the sort. Tru Blood only. Some of his men brought a few bottles before they went back to sleep. When the first day was over and night had finally arrived, more men came by to bring more Tru Blood and see if their boss needed anything else. For some reason, he asked them to take Brooklynne to the bathroom and to get her something to eat, at least remembering humans had more vital needs than vampires.

“You have no right to keep a human here against her will,” Pam had said, which had awakened in him some sorts of sympathy towards the telepath.

From what Brooklynne understood, he was one loyal agent of the Authority and he would rather die than break any law, which is probably why he made sure Brooklynne wouldn’t be starving to death as he kept her near him, tied to the same pillar with those same cold metal chains and on that same dirty floor.

She carefully kept watch on her internal clock, waiting for Eric to come back before the two-day deadline. It was extremely hard to stay focused as Pam’s screams of pains were only getting louder. She was drowsing, sometimes falling asleep for a short time before being awakened by another of Pam’s screams.

But, eventually, she fell asleep, too exhausted to stay awake, her brain getting used to the environment and the incessant screams. This time, it wasn’t Pam who woke her up. It was a scream, a shout, but it wasn’t Pam’s.

“Enough!”

She woke up in a jump, her head hitting the pillar behind her.

“Eric,” she heard Pam breathe out, the relief obvious in her unusual tone.

Eric’s eyes quickly moved from his progeny to his human, though, like the other night, they didn’t linger.

“Mr. Northman,” the Magister sighed as he put down his torture instruments on the table where Pam was attached to with silver chains. “It’s only enough if Bill Compton is with you. Is he?”

“No, Magister,” he said, with a calm and assured tone that made both Pam and Brooke confused. That answer wasn’t what any of them were hoping for. “But the queen of Louisiana is.”

As he finished his sentence, a beautiful red head wearing a white elegant suit and white high heels walked down the stairs. She appeared behind the Viking with a disgusted look on her face as she looked around the basement.

Brooklynne looked up at the Magister who looked even more confused than she was.

“Our deal was…”

“I’ll confess that you were correct before in suspecting me. But everything I did was at her behest.”

The Magister frowned then stepped away from the table where Pam was shivering on.

“You realize, of course, you’re committing treason…” he said as he walked towards the two vampires, “throwing your queen under the bus as you are.”

Brooklynne’s heart tightened in her chest as she became not only nervous, but also scared, for her vampire. Treason sounded like something one would be put to death for.

“Oh, but she’s no longer my queen,” Eric replied. “My loyalty is to Mississippi now.”

“And Mississippi is proud to welcome Mr. Northman as her own,” a voice said from the top of the stairs.

The door slammed behind him, the sudden appearance startling Brooklynne. The vampire was elegant, wearing a dirty grey jacket above his clear blue shirt. He appeared short next to Eric though anyone would appear short next to him, but he also seemed shorter than the queen of Louisiana.

“Love the place, love your vibe,” he said as he walked pass Eric, “we must talk franchising later.”

The Magister laughed quietly as if anything in this situation was funny. “Russell Edgington.”

“You may call me King,” Russell said with a smile, a correction that didn’t please the Magister and that made it clear to both Brooklynne and Pam that a switch of power had just taken place.

“Is it true what Northman says?” the Magister asked Sophie-Anne.

With fear on her face, the queen took a deep breath before she nodded. “Yes, Magister,” she confessed.

“Then I’m afraid I’m gonna have to arrest you.”

The queen then didn’t look so sure. Not about herself as the fear had disappeared from her face, but about what the Magister had just told her. She turned her head to look at Russell who was smiling, somewhat amused by the situation.

“By the powers vested in me by the Authority…”

“The Authority?” Russell cut him off, laughing then at the look the Magister gave him. “Are you serious? Who are the Authority?” he asked, taking a step forward. The Magister watched him walk pass him as if he had just killed his progeny. “What gave them the authority?”

As Russell started to rant, Eric took the opportunity that the Magister was distracted to make his way towards his progeny. He discreetly looked down at Brooklynne, nodding as if to tell her that everything was going to be alright.

“You okay?” he asked Pam who nodded.

“Nothing!” Russell continued. “They took it, as I am taking it today. I no longer recognize the Authority.”

“You are aware…” the Magister started to say before he saw Eric trying to get Pam off the table, “she stays on the table!”

Eric obliged. But as Pam had reminded the Magister the day before, the Authority had no right to keep a human against her will, and neither did he. Eric quickly turned around to free Brooklynne from her chains.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, cupping her cheek in his hand.

She wanted to nod, to say yes, but no sound came out of her mouth. She didn’t even have the strength to lie. She put everything she had in trying to keep the tears from falling. As he helped her on her feet, the Magister continued his speech.

“You are aware that just saying that is a cardinal sin.”

Russell rolled his eyes. “I am aware of just what a tough little boat I’m putting you in and honestly, it is kind of fun,” he said as he took a step forward, coming inches from the Magister’s face.

He chuckled without humor. “You know I’m beholden by duty to convey your blasphemy to the…”

“To the Authority? Well, that won’t be happening. But enough about you,” Russell said as he took a step back and went to stand near the queen. “In exchange for the money she owes the IRS, Queen Sophie-Anne…” he paused to put a kiss on her shoulder. Brooklynne watched her try hard not to run away from her crazy future husband. “has kindly accepted my marriage proposal.”

“I had no choice,” the queen said with hidden disgust.

“Your Majesty…”

“Yes, my loyal subject?” Russell’s insult left the Magister speechless and the King of Mississippi took the opportunity to continue, “oh, we would be delighted if you would officiate the wedding for us.”

“I am forbidden to conduct any rights of alignment unless specifically author…”

“Unless specifically authorized to do so by the Authority. Yes, well, perhaps you have not quite grasped the subtext of our earlier exchange, but there’s a new fucking authority in town!” Russell shouted, making most of them jump but especially Brooklynne who squeezed Eric’s hand even harder as she got closer to him.

“I swear fealty now and always to the one true vampire authority in whose wisdom and justice…”

The Magister’s little tirade did nothing but annoy furthermore Russell and make him lose the little patience he had left. In less than half a second, faster than Brooklynne had ever witnessed, Pam was free of her chains and the Magister had taken her place on the table. Eric instantly made his way to her, not letting go of Brooklynne for one second.

“I’m fine,” she breathed out quickly, before either of them had the chance to ask.

The queen was getting more and more nervous, knowing that either way, she wouldn’t win. On the extremely little chance of Russell dying there and now she’d still be condemned to the true death for selling V. But if she did indeed marry him, which was the most likely scenario, she’d be married to a psychopath who was about to be on the Authority’s number one hit list. And so would she.

Russell picked up the Magister’s cane from the floor and started to admire the woodwork.

“You pathetic fool. Blindly doing the bidding of others just like humans. It’s vampires like you who’ve been holding the rest of us back for centuries,” he said before he took off the lid at the bottom of the cane, revealing a silver pointy end.

Brooklynne looked up at Eric and for once wished he could read her mind as she wondered why he would ever ally himself to a vampire like Russell Edgington. Putting her doubts aside, she decided to trust him for the time being, knowing, or hoping, he had a good explanation for this madness.

She winced and jumped as she watched Russell stab the Magister over and over again as he had done to Pam.

“You can dish it out but you sure can’t take it, can you, Magister?” Pam said.

“Let’s see how this plays out, Pam,” Eric replied. “We can always taunt later.”

“Can we hurry this along?” Sophie-Anne asked. “I’m getting cold feet.”

“Of course, my little pudding,” he told her. He took two steps towards the Magister then lifted the table so that he was facing the room. “This could be so much less painful if you just said the fucking words!”

“I am bound by duty to uphold the sacred laws of…”

The Magister was unable to finish his sentence as Russell swiftly placed the end of the cane on his heart. Another word, and he would be nothing more but a gross puddle of blood.

“Uh-uh-uh,” he smiled. “Your call.”

The Magister slowly raised his head, looked at both the King and the Queen, and, realizing there was no way out of this, gave up.

“I hereby pronounce you… husband and wife.”

Russell smiled before he removed the cane from the Magister’s chest. “Thank you.”

“Yes, thanks,” Sophie-Anne said with a fake smile. “I’m so happy I could bleed.”

“Congratulations, Your Majesties,” Eric told them.

“Yes, congrats,” Pam nodded with a smile Brooke had never seen from her.

Russell bowed before he stepped forwards, and as he got closer to her, Brooklynne got closer to Eric. They were about to leave when the Magister made the biggest and last mistake of his eternal life. He opened his mouth.

“You realize, of course, the authority will never recognize…”

“It’s own irrelevancy?” Russell cut him off again. “That’s where you and I differ, Magister. I truly believe they will, and soon. It’s time for you to outgrow your blind allegiance to the Authority and their rule of law. There is only one law! The law of nature. The survival of the fittest. And we need to take this world back from the humans and not placate them with billboards and PR campaigns while they destroy it! That is not authority. That is abdicating authority!”

“Your Majesty,” Eric stopped him, sensing Brooklynne’s fear rise up at the words of his new King. “Shall we?” he asked, stepping aside, freeing the access to the stairs.

Russell sighed. “We shall!”

He took one step, two steps, following his subjects and his new wife before, at the fourth step, he stopped, changing his mind.

“Actually, no,” he said, making his way back to the Magister. “Say hello to the true death.”

Eric quickly turned Brooklynne around and buried her face in his chest, putting both his hands behind her head to prevent her from seeing Russell cut the head of the Magister which went flying across the room and reached the floor in a splash that he unfortunately wasn’t able to shield his human from hearing.

 ***

 The ringing in her ears wasn’t going away. A thousand questions were popping up in her head as she was sitting on the couch in Eric’s office. Russell and Sophie-Anne had disappeared, and the king had ordered Eric to wait for them at Fangtasia, assuring him he’d be back before sunrise. Pam and Eric had been arguing ever since and Brooklynne was listening in silence as some of her questions were being answered.

“When I was human, I witnessed the murder of my entire family. My father, my mother… my baby sister… I’ve been looking for the man responsible ever since. When I was in Mississippi, I found my father’s crown in Russell’s office. In his… collection,” he explained slowly, quietly, while Pam was staring at him in silence, wondering why she was only hearing about this now. “I knew the werewolves had something to do with him. I just didn’t know… it was a vampire.”

“Over a hundred years I’ve been with you Eric, and you’ve never said…”

“It wasn’t your burden to bear.”

“But you didn’t have to bear it alone…”

“Pam,” he cut her off. “I have to do this. And I have to do it alone.”

“And how are you planning on killing a vampire that’s twice your age?” she shouted.

“I don’t know… and he’s three times my age.”

“Russell’s three thousand years old?” Brooklynne finally spoke up.

Eric’s eyes fell on her as if he was suddenly reminded that she was there, as if her silence had rendered her invisible.

“Yes. He’s the most powerful vampire in this side of the world. Maybe in all of the world.”

“But how…”

Brooklynne didn’t have the time to ask her question as Russell suddenly appeared in the office, her new wife behind him. The door met the shelves in a bang and a box of Tru Blood almost fell off of it.

“I’m sorry,” the vampire chuckled as if something was amusing, “about the mess I’ve made in your basement, I’ll send someone to clean it all. We don’t want the Authority to suspect anything, after all, do we?” he said with a smile.

“We appreciate that, thank you,” Eric said with the fakest smile Brooklynne had ever seen.

“Now,” Russell said as he turned around towards Brooklynne. The telepath looked at him with big eyes, wishing she could just teleport out of there. “You never mentioned you had a human,” he continued as he looked up to Eric.

“Nobody’s perfect,” Eric chuckled awkwardly.

“Indeed. You look quite attached to your little toy. Tell me, you’re planning on making her one of us soon, aren’t you?”

“That’s the plan,” Eric nodded with another grin that creeped Brooke out.

“Splendid! It would be a waste to let this beautiful doll at the mercy of time and death, wouldn’t it, dear?” he asked his queen.

“Indeed it would,” she agreed, though not really because she did agree with him, but as to not contradict him. “We should leave now or we’ll meet the sun on our way home,” she said with a hidden grimace, as if she would rather meet the sun than follow him anywhere.

“You are right, pudding. Eric, you’re coming with us.”

There was a brief uncomfortable silence before Eric gave him another one of his fake smiles and nodded. “As you wish, Majesty.”

“Leave your little pet here, however. I have no time for humans.”

Russell gestured Sophie-Anne out of the office and Brooklynne stood up as Eric walked pass her. He stopped, took her face in his hands before he kissed her lips.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “Stay with Pam. Don’t go home.”

“What? Why?”

“Don’t let her go home,” he ordered Pam who had no choice but to nod.

“Don’t die,” she ordered him in return.

He nodded too then looked back down at Brooklynne, stroke her cheeks with his thumbs before he kissed her again. She barely had time to kiss him back that he was already gone.

*********

Tags: @thepoet1975 @nerdysandwichqueen @catchmeupimgettingoutofhere @raegan-hale @colie87 @heavenly1927​

[clansayeed]

Bound by Circumstance ― Chapter 3: Of Monsters and Men

PAIRING: Nik Ryder x trans*M!MC (Taylor Hunter) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Circumstance ⥽

Taylor Hunter (MC) has made it good for himself in New Orleans; turns out moving to a new city fresh out of college to reinvent yourself isn’t as hard as people make it out to be. Things only start to get confusing when he finds himself the target of a malevolent wraith. Good thing someone’s looking out for him though — because without Nighthunter Nik Ryder as his bodyguard he definitely won’t survive long in the twisting darkness of the supernatural underworld he’s tripped into.

Bound by Circumstance and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the book Nightbound and the rest of the Bloodbound series. Find out more [HERE].

Note: Circumstance only loosely follows the events and plotline of Nightbound, and features a separate antagonist, different character motivations, and further worldbuilding.

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Circumstance/series tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

Taylor meets his new bodyguard, debates casual necromancy, and learns the truth behind his hallucinations. All while a fae makes him cream soda.

[READ IT ON AO3]

Taylor doesn’t remember waking up — one second he’s asleep and the next he just isn’t.

Despite the things he’s seen (not really seen, but thought he’s seen) he’s not a fan of these kinds of wakings. Would rather emerge slowly as if from a cocoon. With enough time between breaths and heartbeats to let the dreams that plagued him fade away into fuzzy oblivion — forgotten despite all efforts to bring them back to recent memory.

He prefers it because when he wakes all at once there’s no helping remembering his dreams.

And all of that — the cemetery, Vera’s gloves, Kristin’s tears, the moon and moldy flowers — definitely isn’t something he wants to linger on.

“Are you gonna freak out now? Because these walls ain’t soundproofed.”

The voice resists its accent; clips sounds the Louisiana slang wants to let hang. He’s never heard it before but doesn’t need to.

It does the trick. Reminds Taylor how easily the world of dreams can blend with reality.

He takes in his surroundings with eyes still shut. The scratchy pilling on the cushions underneath, the stale air that’s made his shirt stick sweaty to his body, the repetitive squeak of a portable fan that should have retired a lifetime ago.

If he keeps his eyes shut will it all go away? Can it really be that easy?

Of course it isn’t. He knows it, the stranger knows it… but still a guy can dream.

“I know you’re awake, kid,” the stranger continues, “sleepin’ people don’t breathe like that.”

Taylor’s nose scrunches. “Don’t watch me breathe.”

“Then don’t breathe weird.”

The fact I‘m not hyperventilating right now is a fucking miracle, Taylor wants to say back — doesn’t in favor of inhaling so hard his nostrils burn before letting it out in a whistle on his dry lips.

Instead he snaps his eyes open and stares at the bald patches of peeling paint on the popcorn ceiling.

Something shifts behind him; the squeak of leather on pleather.

“You’re handlin’ this awful well.”

No, he’s really not. “I’m not unfamiliar with waking up on strange couches.”

“Is that so?”

Taylor doesn’t like the way the voice drops into a suggestive purr. It’s enough to get him to sit up on his elbows and try to shake the fog from his head. The familiar words, “how much did I drink last night?” are on the tip of his tongue but without the pounding headache there to accompany them they just don’t feel right.

A hand appears out of the corner of his eye. He watches scarred knuckles on tanned skin flex silvery as a nondescript flask is placed on one of the coffee table’s few bare spots.

“Here — this’ll help. Trust me.”

Taylor takes it. Can smell the familiar simmering honey and spice of whiskey. But he isn’t even tempted — screws the cap back on and sets it pack with a little too much purpose.

The stranger gives a ‘huh’ of surprise. “You sure? It’s not top shelf, but —”

“I’m gonna say this once;” as he does Taylor sits up and digs his knuckles into his eyes to quell the dizzy rush, “don’t ever offer me alcohol again. Please.”

As bright and inconsistent colors flash before his sight there’s silence.

Then, “fair enough,” and takes back the flask.

He can’t immediately tell if the stranger is just prone to dramatics or if the positioning of the lamp-sans-shade is purposefully there to shroud his rescuer (or kidnapper) in all the shadows the apartment can offer.

But it’s definitely him: the guy from the dive bar. Where his memory ends his eyes pick up the slack and fill in the sharp face like a puzzle. Dark eyes — almost black — and evidence of a five o-clock shadow. A little bit of a greying sheen to the hairs at his temples. And a strange scar like an inverted triangle brushed flippantly from left temple to eyebrow to the top of his cheekbone.

So he’s the quintessential ‘rugged, grizzled, don’t-play-by-the-rules’ type. Which, in Taylor’s opinion, just makes the worn leather trench coat overkill.

And his very presence makes things very very complicated.

Makes his head incite a full-on civil war between the things he knows and the things he’s seen — not to speak of the independent faction trying to resist both.

The man grabs something small off of the stand beside him and a glass of water — takes one of Taylor’s hands off of his jeans and pushes it into his palm in a very non-negotiable style.

“At least take this. That headache looks real fierce. Won’t work as fast as the booze, though.”

Oh, he knows. But he’s glad for something to help no matter how little and washes down the aspirin tablet with the entire water glass.

Judging by the awkward silence that follows neither Taylor nor the man know how to actually… begin. Because there needs to be a beginning — maybe not right now but there was earlier and if he thinks about it too much, if he lets his imagination run wild and spiral, he’ll start to panic.

Last time he checked panic wouldn’t bring Kristin back from the dead.

Kristin. Oh god. He needs to find her body.

“Can I…?” He raises the glass. The stranger slaps his knees and hauls himself up with possibly too-much dramatic effort and takes it to refill. “Thanks.”

“Sure.”

It’s a small apartment with only as many walls as needed. Ideally Taylor would prefer a room between him and the man to make his escape (which will be the exact opposite of stealthy) a little bit easier, but…

He waits until the leather-clad back is turned before slowly starting to stand. Not one step and the fucking floor creaks underfoot.

Shit. “Uh — can I get some ice?” Taylor asks; louder than necessary to cover it up.

The man (probably) rolls his eyes. “Want a straw while I’m at it? Maybe a little pink umbrella?”

“I’d prefer yellow.”

“I bet you would.”

Taylor waits, poised like a viper, and strikes when the ice maker on the fridge door begins to rumble to life. Dashes as fast as he can — though it isn’t until he moves more than an inch that he realizes just how sore everything is — to what looks like every closed front door he’s ever seen.

Aaaand it’s locked.

There’s a deep rich laughter behind him as Taylor yanks on the brass handle; twists the lock this way and that in his growing panic and previously undiscovered claustrophobia.

When he looks back the man is behind him, glass in hand — with ice, too.

“Stop laughing!” Taylor’s voice cracks — makes him wince.

With a shake of his head the man approaches. Taylor tenses for some sort of assault but instead watches dumbly while his personal space is invaded. Damn this guy is tall.

“Stop being so funny.”

“What kind of fucking sicko locks an apartment from the outside?!”

Bemusement falls into a slight frown. He flinches, feels the stranger reach around…

The door unlocks with a click.

“Dunno, but I’ll let you know when I meet one.”

Not a second into looking up and up into the man’s face does Taylor push him back. Keeps his back pressed against the door and blindly searches for the knob but forces distance between them.

It doesn’t take a psychic to know he’s wary. The stranger sighs and scratches the back of his head.

“Listen — I ain’t holdin’ you hostage, or anything. You’re free to go.” But before Taylor can even twist his wrist he adds; “Not that I’d really wanna run the risk of facing Casper’s Cannibal Cousin again but that’s just me. You seem like a strong, capable guy. Lemme know how it goes.”

Fuck.

Taylor gives him a wary eye. “Are we — I mean… am I actually safe here?”

“With the wards on this place you’d have a hard time being stung by a really pissed-off mosquito.”

“Not funny.”

“Who’s laughing?”

Somehow they end up back in the same positions they were a minute earlier; Taylor’s fingers wet and numb from the glass and the other, well, he couldn’t look more like a middle-aged drunk if he tried; especially now with the coat off and thrown over the back of his chair.

“Do you have a name?” Taylor tries — and fails — not to let it get to him when he gets only a nod. “Wanna share?”

“Just call me Ryder.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“It’s not your name.”

“Yes it is.”

“It’s dumb.”

“You’re dumb.”

A tense and silent stand-off follows. This is why he doesn’t spend much one-on-one time with cis-men, not that Taylor would say that out loud.

Finally ‘Ryder’ relents; “My first name’s Nik. Nobody calls me Nik — they just call me Ryder. That means you’ll call me Ryder, too.”

Well he won’t, but that’s beside the point. “And where are we? Are we still in New Orleans?”

The question catches Ryder by surprise.

“‘Course we are. Just a couple’a blocks over from Bourbon.”

“Oh, good.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

He tries not to feel peeled back into layers by the scrutiny of Ryder’s gaze but with eyes like that it’s kind of impossible. Makes him freeze up — words forgotten.

“Is that really all you wanna ask?”

His face flushes hot. “No, of course not.”

“Then ask.”

“Ask what?”

“You know what.”

“No I don’t,” again his voice cracks — makes him focus on the wet spot the glass leaves on his jeans rather than the look on Ryder’s face, “like — I really don’t. Because… because my head is telling me to ask ‘what happened’ but when I think about it I automatically default back to the fact that nothing about it makes sense — nothing about it could have been real.”

Ryder takes too long to respond.

“Just because it doesn’t make sense doesn’t mean it wasn’t real, Taylor.”

And doesn’t that just fire off a spark in his brain. Makes him turn and slam the glass down and give Ryder the hardest, worst, and most rueful look he can.

“Fine — you want me to ask questions? We’ll start with — with that. How d’you know my name?”

The man shrugs. “Because I’m being paid to.”

“You’re being…” —oh the headache— “so you were stalking me in the bar?”

“No.”

“Uh, you just admitted it.”

“Uh, no I didn’t.” Taylor must’ve hit a nerve judging by the tick in Ryder’s scarred brow. “Strange as it may seem — and we really ain’t short on strange with all this — I wasn’t hired until after I left the Touristy Unicorn.”

That doesn’t help. “Hired for what?”

“For protection detail; bodyguard stuff. For you, kid.”

Does he look like his brain is short-circuiting, because that’s definitely how he feels. And in his silence Ryder takes the opportunity to keep talking without being harassed. “I wouldn’t’ve taken it on a normal day but, shit, you ain’t normal. Not even taking into account that you saw me in my booth —”

“— No shit I saw you. You were just sitting there.”

Ryder shakes his head. “Sure was but I was glamoured up to the nines. Nothing under a century or without some heavy magical aid should have been able to see me.”

Taylor disregards his crazy talk — he has proof. “My friend saw you first.”

“Who, the tipsy co-ed?” he barks a laugh, “Nah, she was more focused on the two mashing mouths to my side. Was too hard to enjoy my drink with the sound of sloppy spit-swappin’ for me to forget.

“She may have been seeing the world a little liquored-up but she definitely didn’t know I was there. But you? You looked right at me; saw right through my glamour and with no small amount of effort judgin’ by how sick you looked after.”

His headache. And wasn’t that what had started all of… of whatever this was? His headache and wanting to go home, getting lost with no signal, and then…

There’s no resisting the permafrost that blankets over his bones. When Taylor looks at Ryder he doesn’t see him; just sees the outline of him and that awful haunting thing in his mind’s eye.

Ryder continues; “You can turn the paranoia down a notch. I was content to mind my own business until I got a call on a damn payphone nearby.”

“A… payphone?”

“Well they don’t ring on their own. And in this town if someone in the know crosses by a phone ringin’ on its lonesome then that means its for them.” He sniffs; brushes something off like it’s no big deal and Taylor’s the fool for not just knowing. “Picked it up and there it was in my head: your face, your name, and the message. That’s how you know there’s something heavy hangin’ in the air… the kind of spellwork that can dig into your head without a trace.”

Magic. Spellwork. This is too fucking nuts.

Still, he has to ask. “What was the message?”

“‘Protect him.’”

How foreboding and creepy that is — well he’ll deal with that later. Because up until shit went down he didn’t need protecting. Had done a fair job of protecting himself all his life. But how can you protect yourself from things you don’t know about?

“What was it?” When there’s no quirky quip Taylor knows he’s starting to ask the right things. “What was that thing in the cemetery?”

“I…”

“Come on, Mister Answers. Where’d your answers go?”

“Hey, now you just —”

“What was it?”

“I don’t know!” Ryder growls through gritted teeth. It’s the first time his posturing slips — shoulders slumped and instinctively seeking comfort in the contents of the flask. “I don’t… I don’t know. I’ve seen a lot of crazy shit; the dead, undead, the undead-dead. But I’ve never seen anything even remotely close to whatever the hell that was.”

Some bodyguard, he wants to say — doesn’t. Strange as it is Taylor finds himself comforted by the fact that he’s not the only one completely ignorant.

Not that it lasts long. Because when his brain finally puts everything together — shadows and skeletal killers and spellwork and the fact that the thing he’s been thinking was a flagpole leaning against the wall has a bright crystal atop it and is most likely something ridiculous like a wizard’s staff — it shuts off.

At least he’s got his answers.

Ryder knocks back the rest of the flask and tucks it between the cushions in his chair. Leans forward elbows-on-knees and studies Taylor’s face.

“I’ve been waitin’ for you to ask me what happened before you keeled over,” he says finally, “but now I’m not so sure you wanna know.”

“I do,” he answers on autopilot.

“You sure?”

He’s sure.

The story Taylor expects goes something like…

“I drew a circle around the creature, sated from its kill. Using the blood of my ancestors and sacred herbs I’ve been cultivating for this exact moment, I conjured magical holy fire and banished the demon back to the depths of Hell.”

But that’s not what he gets.

“I thought I had a shot when you went into hiding — you know how damn hard it is to chase something chasin’ somethin’ else through that shit? — but lost it again. Finally found you at the entryway and used the thing’s distraction to get a few arrows lodged in its, uh, well I think it was its back.

“Thing is those were holy light arrows I used. Blessed by every priest in every religion you’ve heard of and some you ain’t. I’ve used those things to take down malformed conjurings, hundred year-old revenants, the works. But it was about as effective as throwing a rock at its head.”

“I’m guessing that’s a bad thing.”

“You’d be guessin’ correctly.”

Taylor runs his hands over his face. Shoves down the thickness that wants to consume his lungs and keep him there; solid, immobile.

“Okay, okay —” talking more to himself than Ryder, “— okay. This is good. Crazy, but good.”

The look he’s given really shouldn’t be a surprise. “Did I break ya?”

“No — I mean, maybe, but not with that — no you… actually you saved me. So I’m grateful for that. Thank you.”

Ryder snorts. “Finally…”

“But you didn’t save Kristin. So I’m going to push down every… every problem I have with everything you said and pretend with all this crazy that conjurings and holy arrows and whatever-the-fuck-else is real —”

“It is. But, kid —”

“— And you’re gonna help me find some voodoo or hoo-doo or whatever kind of spell you can that’ll bring her back.”

The fact that Ryder doesn’t look the least bit remorseful is an issue he’ll deal with later — though that plate is starting to get a little crowded. But if the universe seems intent on throwing him into this fucking insanity with no warning or even a tutorial mode then he’s going to meet it head-on and screw the rest.

He leans forward and starts rifling through the leather-bound books, tomes, and sheets of paper scattered on the coffee table. “So what here can help us? Do we need a lock of hair, or a personal item, or —”

“She ain’t dead, kid.”

Taylor nods but doesn’t really register what he hears. “Got it. Dead meaning, what, her soul hasn’t crossed over yet? Is she still on the, uh, the mortal plane or something?” He looks around wildly; lifts up his feet like he’ll find her hiding there in miniature.

“Shit — is she here with us? Can you see her? Kristin? Krissy?”

“Whoa — okay, yep, you’ve cracked.”

Then Ryder’s hands are on his shoulders and oh hell no. His body reacts before the brain can catch up and he’s pushing Ryder away — giving himself breathing space.

“Don’t touch me.”

Much like the flask it’s an issue Ryder doesn’t push. Holds his hands up and gives a curt nod but that doesn’t make him look any less concerned. Now he’ll start to argue with the man, because technically it’s his fault Kristin died in the first place.

“There’s gotta be something —”

“To get you to chill out and listen to me? Yeah I doubt it.”

“— No. To help us contact her.”

“Could try a phone.”

Taylor snaps. “This isn’t a joke! I don’t know this crazy stuff like you do. So stop making jokes and — and help me!”

“Christ,” Ryder rubs his head — leans forward but doesn’t make a move to put his hands on Taylor again, “if you’d listen you’d not sound so damn stupid! She’s not dead, Taylor. The thing didn’t kill her.”

No, no… he saw…

“I won’t say it didn’t get close but she wasn’t the target. I don’t know if that limits it’s powers or… or hell, maybe it was feeling merciful or malicious. But your friend ain’t dead. — In a bad way… but not dead.”

It’s not even in the realm of good news — what did that mean, ‘in a bad way’ — but it’s the best news he’s heard yet so yeah he fucking runs with it. Leaps to his feet and doesn’t even bother trying to misdirect Ryder this time because not only is the door unlocked but he’s going to see Kristin alive.

And, really, with the zeal in which he was ready to pursue some form of necromancy to bring her back he’s kind of disappointed in how surprised Ryder sounds behind him.

“Kid — where d’you think you’re goin’ exactly?”

Still walking to the door, only backwards now. “Where do you think? Is she at the hospital, which one? Come on — take me there.”

“Well that ain’t happening but regardless how about we stay up here instead?”

“How about we don’t?”

“Kid —”

“First I need you to stop calling me that. Second I’ll grab a cab if I need to. Thanks, Nik—Ryder—whatever for saving me but I need to go see her.”

Ryder doesn’t stop him from slamming the apartment door behind him and finding his way out. That must mean he’s not entirely devoted to this bodyguard job, right? If that’s even really the case. Not like he has any proof.

It’s probably guilt at not saving her in time, rationalizes Taylor as he looks around the crowded hallway only to spot a winding, iron-wrought staircase almost hidden in the corner.

That makes the most sense. He feels guilty and there was nothing he could have even done in the first place.

Though, finding out where Ryder gets those hallelujah arrows might help.

He’s at the bottom of the steps when he remembers Vera had his phone last — is halfway through entertaining the idea of going back up to ask Ryder if he could borrow his when he takes in the ground level.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

It’s still dark outside but dawn has to be on the approach — last call having already been there, done that.

The bar is small and he can only think of it as oaken. Wood floors on wooden-panel walls with a wooden bartop in the corner decorated in carvings so small and detailed they could only have been done by hand. Even the booths are wooden on the outside with what look like rich mossy-green velvet lining.

But the place doesn’t smell like a woodshop — not how one would expect what has to be a quarter of the population of Louisiana’s deforestation, has to be — rather a forest. Like all the wood is still growing and alive. Pine needles and sap and mulchy earth digging into his bare toes and proving life continues to live underfoot.

Though when he wiggles his toes Taylor is almost surprised to discover he’s got his shoes on.

The place is empty save for two patrons and a lanky young man behind the counter.

One man, hulking in stature no doubt even if he’s bent over the table before him, scribbles diligently in a notebook with a glass of something bright at his side. Must have one of those cheesy lite-cubes within because he could swear the drink is pulsing color.

The other is a woman mostly obscured by the bar and her ombre violet sheen of hair. She’s gotta be decorated for Mardi Gras though the bone-white hand she twirls a lock of hair around would be more suited for a Día de Muertos party.

She notices him first — offers a flawless grin of black lipstick and white teeth before she learns forward and whispers something to the bartender.

He rounds on a practically choreographed flourish of his heel. Beams wide and unabashed as though he’s greeting an old friend and not a complete stranger.

“Taylor, my mortal! Good to see you again. You look famished. Are you famished? You look famished. I should get you something. Are you a vodka-type or a gin-type? You know what — I’ll fix a couple options up. Variety is the spice of life!”

Before Taylor can even process the English language enough to turn him down the bartender disappears in a shock of his albino-white hair. Leaves him staring at the silvery fabric of the partition.

“Garrus is a hoot, isn’t he?” asks the goth girl — she waves over a hand and pats a stool beside her in invitation. “Come, come! I wanna see what he whips up and you will too.”

He casts a longing look to what has to be the front door of the place — the only thing that isn’t wood, as he notes the iron decor with irony. But can’t even step in that direction before she clears her throat in a way that says she won’t take no for an answer.

So… he sits? He sits.

“I’m surprised Ryder didn’t come down with you. Or did you let him drink himself asleep?”

Taylor shakes his head. “No, he’s… he let me go.”

“Huh, funky.” She taps long dark nails against her cheek and stares at him with wonder. Underneath the strange combination of lights she looks even more pale than he thought — almost translucent. It must be her makeup that makes it look like her veins run black under her skin.

There’s a throbbing in his temples so Taylor looks away out of habit.

“You should call your friend back.”

“Why? It’ll be a good show — and even if it’s not your fancy you’ll still get free booze out of it.”

“Well I don’t drink.”

“Drink what, vodka, gin? I knew I called you for a tequila man.”

“No,” and headache aside he looks grim into her purple color-contacts, “like at all. I’m sober.”

Just as the girl’s expression falls into embarrassed horror the curtain brushes back as if by a gust of wind. The bartender Garrus barrels forward with an actual cauldron in his arms and every nook and twiggy-armed cranny filled with various corked bottles and vials.

“Not for lo~ong!” he sing-songs. Drops his things carelessly on the bar surface and starts picking through them intently. “Now I could have sworn I had more cane root than this, but maybe if I sub in —”

Taylor goes to speak but the gaunt hand on his arm stops him short.

“Garrus, he’s sober.”

“I know, Ivy my love, I heard. Honestly what was Ryder thinking trying to unload all this on the poor man without even offering him a drink?”

Ivy gives a sigh of honestly and precariously balances on thick-sole heels to reach over and grab Garrus’ next glassy victim out of reach.

“H-Hey,” he practically whines, “that’s not in the spirit of things!”

“Listen to me,” and Taylor’s grateful she’s going through all the trouble but can’t not laugh when she sandwiches her friend’s face in both hands, “sweetheart — he is sober; dry, straight-laced, whatever you want to call it — go for it. But this human no drinkey.”

If that’s what it would have taken for Taylor to get the man to stop he isn’t entirely sure he’d have had the guts to do it.

As it is Garrus looks like he’s taking it personally before their eyes meet and his face goes flushed pink all the way to the tips of his rather pointy ears.

“Oh.”

Ivy resumes her seat cheerily. “My work here is done.”

“S-Sorry,” Taylor tries to offer, “I’ll take a coke if you’re really, uh, insistent.”

Garrus is interrupted before he can answer. And by a voice that rings startlingly familiar, too.

“Why not whip up one of those old cream colas for him, Garrus? You were just talking about how much you missed making them.”

It’s enough to put the pep back in his leather-booted step. Has Garrus clapping in delight and pointing between them to the only occupied booth with a wink.

“Darling, you’re a genius!”

Garrus gathers up his cauldron and brews; dashes back behind the curtain. Taylor meanwhile whirls around on the stool cushion to the vaguely recognizable face previously ducked in concentration.

Krum — that was his name, right? The more-mountain-than-man he had bumped into heading home from rehearsal earlier that day.

Who gave Taylor the early triggers of a panic attack in how his skin seemed to turn to a literal mountain under the company lights.

Who pushes up an almost comically tiny pair of spectacles and gazes back at Taylor with similar vague recognition.

“Understudy-boy?” He pulls off his glasses and wipes the lenses with the hem of his sweater — as if he’s the one hallucinating things and not the other way around. “Well I’ll be, it’s you!”

Ivy joins the conversation while sipping her margarita through a stirring straw. “You know this guy, Krom?”

“K-Krum.” corrects Taylor.

“Well actually,” says the man in question sheepishly as he slides out of his seat and comes to join them, “it is Krom. It’s a family name, too, and I’m very proud of it. But mortals never hear it right and I just sort of stopped correcting them.”

Ivy croons. “You gotta get thicker skin you big lug.”

When Krom tries to take the stool next to him, though, Taylor flinches back violently. Practically falls off his seat in his haste to get back. His ‘little throbbing’ is a full-on migraine now; the lights too bright and the smells too weird and he has to back up and steady himself on the nearest support column to keep from vomiting all over the nice shiny floors.

Like most concerned samaritans Ivy and Krom are on him in an instant. Their voices blurring together with the ringing in his ears; “Honey are you okay? — what happened — oh no did I hurt him — go get Ryder!”

“NO!”

He’s startled when he realizes it’s him yelling — not them. Blinks through teary eyes to look into the expressions of two ordinary people warped and twisted by his traitorous mind.

Ivy’s makeup looks melded to her face — like if she catches the light a certain way he’ll see her skeleton and the lines above are the tension of her muscles. And Krom is still a literal mountain man but in high-granite definition; he swears he even hears stone grind with every movement.

“Oh god…” he wails and covers his eyes. Scratches at them like maybe he can claw off the tears instead of just wiping them away.

In the bright darkness there’s muttered, muffled noises. Footsteps echoing on wood, then metal.

Then the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He knows there’s a hand hovering just above the surface of him.

“The more you go on fightin’ it, kid, the more it’ll hurt.”

He doesn’t have to open his eyes to imagine the look on Ryder’s face.

Words seem impossible but he finally manages to grit it out. “I won’t.”

“Won’t what?”

“I won’t give in. I’m sober. I’m sober!”

He manages two good smacks to his skull before Ryder snatches his wrist ironclad. “Hey—Hey! Stop that!”

“I’m sober fuck’s sakes! This should have stopped! I’m sober and I’m not. crazy!”

They struggle over his hand but Ryder’s strength beats out Taylor’s fright and panic. Just lets it hang limp in midair in the calloused grip.

“You were up there with me fully ready to take on some high-level necromancy bullshit and this is what sets you off?”

“You were gonna let him do what?!”

“Relax, Iv’, relax,” Ryder sighs, “I wasn’t gonna let him do it. But still he believed. You did believe, didn’t you?”

Did he? He doesn’t know. Can’t even tell if he’s still awake right now or if this is all some awful feverish nightmare he can only hope to never have again with the help of his sponsor.

Ryder tries again. Closer, this time — almost a whisper.

“Didn’t you?”

“I —” the whole bar hangs on his every word, “— I think so.”

“So believe me now when I say this: you aren’t crazy. Weird I guess, and maybe a bit gutsy. But not crazy.”

It isn’t much. But it’s enough for him to pry his eyes open and look at the man above him through the tears.

“You don’t get it. I… they look like…”

“Like what?”

He shudders the words out; “Like monsters.”

“HA!”

The cackle — or shriek — is so loud and so close it startles both of them out of their closeness; out of the intimacy of his admission. Makes them both look at where Ivy sits cross-legged on the floor with them sucking on a lollipop.

“Well I should sure hope so,” she teases, “because my glamour looks like a cheap imitation of the real thing! That’s what I get for skimping with B-O-G-O spell goods.”

Glamour. He knows that word. And Ryder knows he knows too judging by the wry little smile he gets. “Yeah, them too.”

“But —”

“Glamours are for all kinds’a things, kid. Here, c’mon up ya get,” with both hands Ryder helps him stand, “that particular one of mine was for secrecy. Most common ones you’ll run into though are harmless little shifts — ways to make the not-so-human look a little bit more that way.”

There’s a gasp and all eyes fall on Krom, now fully stone. His hairline replaced by filed-off pointed edges and skin rippling with crystalline sediment.

“You can see through glamours?” He asks, mortified.

Ivy’s black lips peel back with her grin. “Wicked.”

Garrus appears from around the bar with interest. Still pale but there’s no denying the actual point and tilt of his ears or the way his skin seems to almost shimmer. His eyes pale but reflective like bright diamonds.

“I wondered what set off my wards when Ryder here dragged you in. Seeing through glamours is some high-level magic. What’ve you charmed?” He looks Taylor over with interest.

“What have I… what?”

Ryder answers for him. “Already did my due diligence, guys. He’s not wearing anything charmed — he is charmed. Can see through the veil au natural.”

“Wicked.” repeats Ivy.

“Guess you’re my not-so-mortal, huh?”

Krom shakes his head with hands clasped together. “No wonder you were so frightened at the company. I’m so sorry, Taylor. I had no idea.”

Taylor swallows but manages a smile. “It’s… it’s okay. Not your fault, right?”

And the more he looks at them — really looks instead of seeing passing glimpses and resisting their existence — the less everything hurts. The ringing in his ears fades and like a drum at the end of a song his head abruptly clears. Along with the clouds that seem to hang invisible over his head every time he has one of his hallucinations.

But they aren’t hallucinations. They’re real.

It’s all real.

There’s a hesitation before Ryder lightly touches his shoulder. Taylor doesn’t flinch away — in fact a little human (maybe?) warmth is kinda comforting.

“You good?”

“Y-Yeah, I think so,” he inhales shakily, “I just can’t believe it’s all… I mean that it’s not in my head. It’s real. Everything I’ve seen is… is real.”

But everything means everything. Makes his heart settle down somewhere in the region his stomach ought to be occupying.

Makes him look Ryder head-on.

“So why does it want me dead?”

[roaminginspiration]

The Empty Space Next to Me

chap 1 (x)  / chap 2 (x) /  chap 3 (x) / chap 5 (x) / chap 6 (x) / chap 7 (x) / chap 8 (x) / chap 9 (x) / chap 10 (x)

Chapter 4

His phone screen shows half a dozen missed calls and twice as many texts. Mostly from Sam and Bucky, but also from other fellow teammates.

Sitting on the bed of his room, Steve is bent over, his elbows resting on each thigh, hands joined together in a fist with his chin resting upon it. He hasn’t given real news since he left the compound four days ago, or only vague ones to avoid causing any worries.

He was hoping to call — or even better, turn up to New York with Natasha — but the situation has become complicated. He is not sure how to bring her up, or he should at all considering how she has made it a point never to return to that life and that she has just kicked him out of her new one. Involving the whole team would just stir more tension; but then he owes them the truth, too.

His phone buzzes — it’s Sam calling in for the third time in the past hour. He answers the phone but Wilson immediately picks up something is wrong. But is something wrong, really? It should quite the opposite. Natasha is alive — that should be enough to make him happy. And as much solace he finds in the thought that she is alive, he cannot ignore his heartache right now.

Steve yields and tells Sam the truth. He explains the reason for his sudden departure and debriefs the current situation. Sam is stunned.

“Want me to come?” his friend says but it isn’t a real question. Steve can hear how his voice is slightly shaking with emotion — he’s missed her, too.

“Not now. She’s not ready — and I don’t know if she ever will. We need to respect that.”

A few seconds go by before Sam agrees to the terms.

“Do you want me to call Barton and let him know about the situation.”

Steve frowns. “No,” he says, shaking his head.  Clint has mourned her and he has started to move on — maybe keeping him away from all this, for now, is for the best. “No. I think it’s better if we wait for now.”

The conversation somehow veers off to more trivial matters, mostly related to the Avengers. But only briefly. At the end of the conversation, Sam asks:

“How is she?”

Steve nods slowly. “She’s well. I think she’s happy.”

It is a blissful thought. One he could live on for the rest of his life and that would ease the void inside him if he were to leave this place without her.

“Well, I’m glad,” Sam echoes his thoughts wistfully, then he adds. “Steve, I’m sure you’ll work this out.”

But he is not so sure about that. Nodding silently to himself, he hangs up.

Dinner is cold — and it is not the food — the three of them eat silently in the dining room. Katherine started it off, Steve could not do much about it and kept his tail between the legs, and Eliza had no choice than to adjust. Katherine keeps her eyes on her plate, sometimes throws a glimpse at the elderly woman, but they wander farther across the table.

Once the meal is over, she gets up to wash the dishes, before excusing herself and disappearing upstairs. He tries to make eye contact with her as she swings past him without success.

Eliza is probing him but he has not noticed, his eyes fall back down to the floor.

“You know her, don’t you?” she eventually says. “You knew her from before.”

He is startled and looks across at her with a deep frown. “The way you look at her…it certainly is not like someone who met her three days ago. More like you’ve known her for years.”

There is no point denying it.

“She was my friend.”

Eliza furrows her brows, slightly surprised.

“Friend isn’t what I had in mind,” she comments.

“Well, it doesn’t matter now. She moved on. She’s made it clear she doesn’t want me in her life.”

“She doesn’t want you in her life or did you not make your place in it?”

He looks at her quizzically.

“If you allow me an analogy,” she begins. “Being amnesic does not mean she is shapeless; it means she has taken a different one. You can’t mold her, you can only learn to know the new her.”

“You do pottery?” he asks with an arched eyebrow.

Eliza smiles. “Tried it years ago but dropped out of class after three weeks.”

He snorts quietly then turns pensive again. “I think it’s too late,” he says softly. “I don’t think she’ll let me stay.”

The woman’s eyes light up and she smirks. “There’s nothing that can’t be fixed.”

A loose board from the parquet flooring squeaks under his foot. His eyes suddenly to the entrance door and the frown on his face disappears.

Katherine comes back an hour later, finding him and Eliza conversing over a glass of lemonade.

“Oh Katherine,” Eliza calls as she catches sight of her. “I have some good news. It looks like we may have found a handyman.”

She puts her purse down in the touch and approaches cautiously. She pretends to ignore Steve’s presence.

“Great. Who?” she asks.

Eliza glances over at her guest. “Steve said he’s interested in the job.”

Katherine furrows her brow.

“What a surprise,” she comments with a dubious expression. “Because Steve is supposed to check out today.”

She shoots him a long and penetrating look — not the friendly kind.

“I can stay,” he assures. “I think spending some time here might do me good.”

She crosses her arms and her body turns completely in his direction, leaving Eliza out of the equation.

“But you were so eager to get back to New York just this morning,” she reminds him dryly with an arched eyebrow.

“Katherine dear, we urgently need someone to mend the plumbing.”

“We need someone with experience. I doubt the wrench is his weapon of choice,” she answers to Eliza, but really, she said to Steve.

“As if we had a list of candidates,” Eliza chuckles. “The ad has been out for weeks and we didn’t have a single call.”

She is now frowning deeply. She eyes Steve with a perplexed expression and a slightly worried look. It is brief, but long enough for him to notice it. He has known her long enough to recognize any shadow of emotion that passes through them. It does not leave him different him — worse, it troubles him.

She disappears into another room without protesting longer but he cannot her silence for victory.

The last thing he wants is to be a cause of worry for her.

So he goes to find her in the backyard as she tidying up old crates and boxes. She pauses upon seeing him then resumes her work.

“I’m sorry,” he begins. She throws a glimpse in his direction and walks over to pick up more boxes. He leans against the corner of the house façade. “You were right. You set boundaries and I overstepped. I was just so…,” he sighs and looks at her. “I just wanted you back so badly that I overlooked what you wanted. But I can see you’re happy here, and I shouldn’t have been so selfish and tried to change that.”

She is looking at him at him, and he pauses. Her intense gaze somehow strips him off his ability to speak. He clears his throat and quickly glances away. “That’s why I’d like to stay. I want to know about you — about the new you — and about your life. Maybe get you to like me: I promise you I’m usually not such a dick. I just…I got blinded by my emotions. I want to make it up to you, now.”

“I don’t know if I want to engage on that path. I don’t want to wonder if I’m living up to the expectations of whatever strong relationship you had with Natasha.”

“And you don’t have to,” he steps off the distant corner, coming closer. “I’m given this second chance and I don’t want to blow it. I can’t.”

He is suddenly caught up by the memory of his crying on his knees on Vormir. “But I want to do everything right this time. I won’t take the job if you don’t want me to. But don’t cross me out of your life completely, please. Katherine…,” he whispers softly and realizes it is the first time he says it aloud. She looks at him with a surprised expression. It feels unexpectedly pleasant on his tongue. “Allow me to stay and be your handyman, an acquaintance that visits you from time to time, a partner, your l—,” he stops and swallows the lump in his throat. “I’ll be anything you want me to be and I promise you I will fill whichever role you choose without ever crossing the line. As long as I don’t lose you again. But I cannot go on with my life with that empty space next to me. I tried and I failed miserably.”

His hand instinctively goes up to cup her face without him realizing. She holds back her breath and glances down at it, before gazing into his eyes again. “Just tell me who you want me to be,” he murmurs.

Everything has disappeared: the mansion, Louisiana, the Avengers, his duty, even Jake. God, he truly wishes the latter has vanished into the abyss of oblivion.

But alas… Katherine reaches up, lays her hand on top of his and slowly pulls away. She smiles a genuine smile he has not seen since he turned up for the first time a few days ago.

“How about a friend?” she asks.

He reminisces an old conversation in a stolen car. It almost feels like old time.

Almost.

He closes his fist and lets her move away before lowering his arm.

“Looks like we have a deal,” he answers with a smile.

She does not recognize the shadow of wistfulness which passes through in his eyes.

She then bends down, picks up a couple of crates and drops them in his hands.

“Welcome to Miller’s Guesthouse,” Katherine says with a smirk.

[kadian-theodosia-xanthos-blog]

Envy is Everything Chapter 1

Tink-a-link. I stepped into Distant Encounters, the light of the setting sun illuminating the dusty thrift store. The assortment of knick knacks blankly stared at me as I walked past looking for a large calligraphy set. I got to the back of the store where a glass display case detained my objective. A noise made me drag my eyes up to the source of it. A large woman with graying eyes, a side effect of too many emotion potions, raised her also graying eyebrows at me. I gave her a sheepish smile and cleared my throat. "How much for that?" I asked pointing at the set. I glanced at the bedazzled lanyard hanging around her thick neck. Celeste it read. She continued to stare me down making me fidget until she sighed heavily getting a rusty from behind the counter to, hopefully, unlock the display case. I gave her a puzzled look since she hadn't answered my question. She removed the set from the case and handed it to me still saying nothing. Celeste walked around a shelf of cracked porcelain dolls and disappeared for a few minutes, leaving me to stand awkwardly at the display case. She returned with two spiral notebooks. My confusion grew with each passing second. "$10 please." She told me. "What?" I asked almost dropping the calligraphy set. "The notebooks are $5 each and with 2 of them your total is $10." Celeste explained. "Oh, of course." I realized that my head wasn't in the conversation. I pulled a $10 bill out of my wallet. Before I could ask about the price of the set again she started shoving me towards the front door, past the previous knick knacks. Then I was outside on the street with the door closed and locked behind me. "What just happened?" I said to the empty street. A stray cat meowed in response before staring at me like the woman did. I hissed at it before heading in the direction of my apartment. Once home a wave of exhaustion hit me like the tsunami on Japan in 2010. I settled the calligraphy set and notebooks on my cluttered desk and fell asleep just before I hit the bed. That night’s dreams were even stranger than usual. The typical terrors invaded my dreams, clawing at my sanity again with frenetic brutes from my past. A salmagundi leviathans with serpentine bodies, gnarled hands, floating severed heads with fanged yellow teeth, and many other ghastly apparitions. Amidst the onslaught of devils I saw something truly monstrous. My eyes were completely froze. It was the sliver of hope in my Pandora’s Box, with curly black hair and ice blue irises inside of black eyeballs. They were often described them as icy comets floating in deep space. He turned his head finally acknowledging that I was there. I froze, recognition flashing on his pale face. If I remembered correctly the name that he went by in that incarnation was Rook “The Raven Sword” Saxon.  This incarnation was from the 1920s in New Orleans, Louisiana. It was strange that he recognized me since in the last incarnation that we were together I looked very different. I guess when you’re soulmates you just know. Pure hatred and loathing engulfed his face and he lunged for me. I bolted out of sleep covered in a gelid sweat. Leaping from my bed, I bounded to my desk and took out the calligraphy set, knowing that I wouldn’t be sleeping for awhile. The box was simple enough, just a typical cardboard box. The contents were the same as any other calligraphy set as well except for the weird rattle I heard in the plastic. Placing the contents of the set on the desk, I ripped apart the the plastic sending a cylindrical object flying across my bedroom. My eyes widened as I stared at it: I feared that it had been damaged or worse. A few beats passed before I went over and picked the object up. A light purple crystal was the mysterious object. Something told me not to mess with it anymore but of course it was just a friendly suggestion courtesy of my conscience. I shook the crystal and a sloshy sound came from inside of it. Puzzled, I put a hand on each end and twisted. To my surprise the ends moved like the way a screw does. “What the hell?” I inquired outloud. I continued to twist until half of the crystal portion came off completely. It was a pen; a calligraphy pen to be more specific. The pen looked much better than the calligraphy pens today with the rough grip and uneasy flow ink. I brought it closer to my face for further inspection. The design was 200 years old at least but the pen itself looked to be only 5 years of age. I turned it to see every angle. I glanced at the clock on my nightstand. It read 3:49 AM. I went back over to my desk and grabbed one of the notebooks. Opening the polka-dot cover, I started to write when a stream of ink started to float around my room, my level of puzzlement rising. It stayed suspended in the air for a few minutes before gravitating towards the rest of the ink. The blob had formed a large glob and started shaping itself into that of a human. “Welp, I’m dead.” I stated bluntly. The ink began to define itself, making all the nitty gritty details of the humanoid. The humanoid was the other half of my soul, Phoenixis the god of wrath. It was the incarnation from my dream. I hate prophetic dreams worse than dandelions. Nix’s (his nickname) comet eyes, full of loathing, narrowed at me but he didn’t move. “What’s the matter, your insides still liquid?” I stabbed. Then his face softened, followed a faint scratch on my hardwood floor behind me. “Great.” I said sarcastically. Turning around slowly, I tensed anticipating some kind of monster but all that was there was the cat that had meowed at me outside of Distant Encounters. “Oh it’s just…” I started before the cat jumped up in my face, scratching and biting. I could hear Nix’s familiar laughter at my predicament. Black fur clouded my vision. “Don’t just stand there, help me!” I demanded but it was rather muffled so I probably sounded like the Swedish Chef from The Muppets. His laughter finally ceased. “Temperet.” He commanded with a hint of real magic lining the word. “Let me guess not your average cat based on that locution.” I said not really caring about his answer for my rhetorical question. I started the search for my first-aid kit in case I had anything that needed tending. Sitting down at my desk and pulling my mirror closer to inspect my face, I remarked. “What’s the matter cat got your tongue?” “I am not human. I never was. Over every incarnation I tell you this. So why do you keep expecting me to act like one?” He finally spoke. “ Sorry just trying to make polite conversation. By the way, your soul may not be human but your body sure is so get off your high horse before you fall and break every single bone in that human body of yours.” I snapped. “Why you planning to finish me off, Sweetheart? Nix snapped back. “Only if you want me to.” I said sweetly. He rolled his eyes. “What stray did you pick up this time?” I said closing the first-aid kit since none of the scratches were worth worrying over. Nix ignored me. If he was going to be like this the whole time I’d end both our suffering and kill him now. A little thing you should know about the world I live in, almost everyone is born with a number somewhere on their body. This number indicates the amount of previous lives we had endured. I mean experienced because not all lives are horrific. Most people seem to have a 3 or 4 but occasionally there is a 10 or so usually they tend to disappear relatively quickly. I wonder where they go, hm? My number isn’t really a number: it’s an infinity symbol. Nix has the same sign. How about we just call it a sign to save confusion for something complicated like math. The bulb in my desk lamp when out. “Oh Satan bless it! I should throw out this fickle thing!”I said sounding like an old woman. I walked out of the room into the dark hallway and flipped on the switch. The door to the apartment opened as the light turned back on to reveal my roommate and best friend, Elisheva Ramon. She was holding a box of donuts from the bakery that she works at. The treats from Heavenly Magic were just like, if not better than, the food of the gods. Trust me I would know. I heard Nix come out of my room behind me reminded me of the onslaught of rules in the roommate agreement that I signed 72 times. She had set up a very long list of “basic” rules and regulations to make sure everything was orderly. One of them happened to be if we invited anyone over to alert the other member of the domicile, in order to prevent any unnecessary encounters. Elisheva started ranting to me about how I should have told her, how I should have this and that, blah, blah, blah. Cue insane amount of eye rolls now. Now would be a good  time for that cat to start clawing my eyes out. Thankfully after 10 agonizing minutes she stopped and handed me the box that I was probably drooling over. Elisheva gestured to Nix, saying that he could have one too. “Yeah, right,” I muttered. I picked a Boston Creme donut with chocolate icing, licking all the chocolate icing off the top. A black ball of fur came soaring into the kitchen. My eyes shot daggers at it. The cat did a backflip into the air and disappeared in a flash of light. The three of us turned away so we wouldn’t be blinded by the mini sun. When we had turned back a dark haired pale slender figure was where the cat was supposed to be. “Diablo gato!” Elisheva shrieked ducking behind the kitchen island. I facepalmed saying, “Like hell I would let any kind of demon in my home.” The lights flickered again. “What kind of power source are you using? This stuff works worse than the stuff in 1922.” Nix said looking around the kitchen. The human version of the cat sat down crossed legged on the floor. “Spurious energy source!” I complained. I went outside to give the leaning lamppost a good kick. This usually gets the magic flowing again for some reason. Elisheva and Rook followed closely behind me out to the edge of the property with the the first rays of dawn peeking through the sea of buildings. A woman was walking down the sidewalk wearing a sweatshirt to keep the chill off her. I looked at the woman's face. It was the woman from Distant Encounters, Celeste. Turning to the post, I told Elisheva to go back inside to see if the magic was showing a constant flow. She did as I asked, hopping up the stairs back inside. Rook hadn’t seemed to notice her even though the clicking of her stilettos would at least spike someone’s curiosity to glance in her direction. I glanced at him then. His icy eyes were closed but they were moving under his eyelids as if they were searching for something. “The magic that you spoke of,” he paused. “It’s quite anomalous.” Rook finished opening his eyes. “That’s because it’s about as artificial as this.” I told him taking a mint out of my jacket pocket and tossing it to him. Rook caught it and popped it in his mouth, nodding. The clicking stopped. I whirled around taking a step back, almost into Rook’s booted feet. “We meet again Theodosia, goddess of envy, and Pheonixis, god of wrath.” Celeste said looking at us each in turn. A red flag started waving just behind my eyes. How could she possibly know who I really was just by a single meeting? “Thea, it’s alright.” Rook said. “ This woman is a descendant of the man that saved me from dying during our last joint incarnation.” He clarified as if that would make the fact that she knew our real identities any less of a reason to raise alarm. The door to the building opened letting out Elisheva. She bounded back down the cinder steps, “It’s good.” She said taking in the situation with her dark eyes. “Elise, stay there.” I told her. Elisheva and I locked eyes and I knew that she wouldn’t. Ya know, she listens about as well as a rock. My eyes widened and I gave her frozen jazz hands. “Elisheva can come along as well, if she would like?” Celeste interjected. I glared at her. “No, Elisheva cannot come if she would like. Now, let us be going.” I shook my head and asked. “Where are we going? And why are we going there with you?” I air jabbed my pointer finger at Celeste. “He may trust you but I sure as flapjacks don’t.” As soon as I had stopped yapping at how I distrusted Celeste all four of us were enveloped in a blue light. We had been Zipped! Once the room had been starved of the blinding light, Rook observed. “It didn’t matter if we wanted to come and take the job offer freely. Your instructions were to shepherd us hear regardless of our protests or approvals.” Celeste nodded indifferently. The room had many layers for court officials, each row a level higher than the last. Every level had colored flags hanging over the edges of the front, most likely to exhibit the  difference in rank between the levels of court officials. At the opposite end of the colossal room was, quite possibly, the judge. He was in a depression in the wall that was enclosed by the same stones that made up the pews. The flag that draped off the front of his booth was pale white and outlined in blood red with the presidential crest; a golden eagle with its wings spread wide ready to could fly off the banner, emblazoned in the center. The setting of the meeting makes me uneasy due to the resemblance to that of a 16th century courtroom. I’ve been on the receiving end of their so called justice. I was able to get my own justice when their howls of pain erupted from the burning court room like the crimson flames. I shook my head dragging it out of the Dark Ages. We were herded down the room until the judge’s box was upon us, the eagle staring us down with its golden, beady eyes. The eyes of the official were much like that of the eagle, although I would take the eagle over the officials, at least I knew what to expect from the eagle. “Welcome to those that have accepted our gracious offering of employment,” came a booming voice. “This is a job that has been assigned to you because only you can do it. You have been chosen by the magical force that we have come to rely on.” The voice definitely belonged to a man, unless puberty messed up and hit a poor woman with the wrong stick. It resonated throughout the courtroom by sound magic. In the early 2000’s scientists had predicted that the world would run out of coal by the year 2050 and they were almost right. Unfortunately, we ran out halfway through 2045. The world was in the third world war for the remaining coal. (Technically the fourth, hello the War on Terror) Real magic has been around since the beginning of everything. That’s what the gods were created from and have to obey. Yes even gods have to obey rules, we can’t just do what we want willy-nilly. The alternative energy source that the world has come to rely on is artificial magic. It's much easier to use and contain but not as powerful as actual magic. “Hey, can I get the MoJo incantation?” Elisheva inquired slowly raising her hand. “You are here to get employment not to play games.” Rook snapped. MoJo is like early 21st century WiFi for our almost mid 22nd century technology. I turned around and looked at Rook. The look on his face told me that he was also remembering the 16th century. During that time he was a member of the court sometimes saving people’s lives by persuading the king that they needed to be punished justly, not simply executed. Other times his persuasions had the opposite effect. The king would condemn to death a simple farmer that had stolen some seeds for payment crops. I put my hand on his arm to silently tell him it was going to be fine. He nodded, shaking my hand off and facing the source of the voice. “What does the job entice?” Rook bellowed at the box. “It is quite simple. All you must do is go back and stop a few mass murderers.” The voice replied. ELisheva cocked her head her dark ponytail swinging to the side. “Go back where?” She bubbled. “You’re concerned where you would be going but not the whole ‘stop mass murderer’?” Celeste chuckled. “Enough, please allow me to finish with the details Miss Lyda.” A small man materialized in front of us. He had a pot belly that was emphasized by how he stood, opposite slouch. He wore a robe styled like that of priest with the colors of the presidential flag. “It is a pleasure to finally meet the last two creators of mankind. Would the rest of you come and meet them please?” 5 other people came out into the aisle, 3 were male and 2 were female. Rook stepped up next to me. The two of us surveyed them all in turn not knowing whether to embrace them or attack them. The 5 of them starred us down just as intensely. “Kadi, you don’t have to intimidate every person you meet.’ Elisheva said poking me in the ribs. “Elisheva Ramon how ya doin?” She held out her hand in hope that one of the 5 would shake it. “They aren’t much into the whole friendly greetings thing there, Elise.” I told her pulling her hand back.

I am with everyone but no one wants me

A goddess of sin in every era

I have been cast down from above with he who is forever my enemy

But also my love

A man that looked about 23 had recited part of a poem that I had written to be able to identify myself as Theodosia by any of the other gods of sin. My only response was a simple nod.

I am killed by my love in every life

Strings stronger than fate are what tether us

Sewn into everyone’s souls is that of my essence

I am also a sin

A 15  year old girl finished the rest of the poem. Nix had the same response. ‘It really is you!” A 27 year old woman with purple eyes crushed the two us into a bear hug. I would know those eyes anywhere. They belonged to the goddess of pride, Verena. Each god had some kind of physical attribute that was colored to that of our sin. I have green eyes because the color associated with envy is green. “Sid get over here and say hello to our old friends.” She told a guy about the same age as her with light blue eyes. The god of sloth, Isidor. “Well it’s certainly been awhile. The Holocaust was it?” He said. I nodded looking back at Elisheva. Her reincarnation number is 4. During the Holocaust she had experienced it through the eyes of two people. My sister was her second incarnation where she had been killed by disease in the Theresienstadt ghetto. Elisheva’s third incarnation was my daughter in that same ghetto. It was a miracle that either of us survived birth since a few of the Nazi soldiers thought it would be hysterical to tie my legs together when I went into labor. Any time the Holocaust is mentioned Elisheva would get really angry or scared as if she was remembering anything from that time. It happened 200 years ago so I had my doubts that her soul would remember it, but considering how traumatic it was even to me. Her soul will never forget anything that happened there. She didn’t even look bothered by it, thankfully. “Let me see if I can do this correctly.” Elisheva said. She pointed at each person in turn. “Verena, goddess of pride.” The woman with violet eyes. “Isidor, god of sloth.” The man with light blue eyes. “Ogden, god of gluttony.” A teenage boy with a slight pink complexion. “Keyshia, goddess of greed.” A blonde teenage girl. “Jotham, god of lust.” A man with red hair. Elisheva then looked closely at me and Rook as if she needed any additional thought to who Theodosia and Pheonixis could be. She pointed at me and said. “Theodosia, goddess of envy.” Her eyes examined Nix trying to find where his color distinction for being the god of wrath was. He pulled back his black hair to reveal his pale forehead and a small orange circle just above his brow. “Pheonixis, god of wrath.” Elisheva finished. “Do you all still have your marks?” I asked putting my hair up so it would be easier to reveal mine. They all nodded moving to show us. Verena had her infinity symbol on her left hip. Isidor had his on the right side of his abdomen. Ogden’s was on his right shoulder. Keyshia’s was on her left wrist. The symbol on Jotham was on his left ankle. Nix held out his right hand and I pulled back my left ear. All the symbols had been accounted for. “Am I supposed to reveal mine too?” Elisheva asked. I shook my head at her. “What exactly are you asking of us?” I asked. “We are asking you to go back in time and stop mass murderers from killing. The first place you would be going would be Victorian London when Jack the Ripper roamed the streets a free man until the day he died.” (fill in word for president here) informed us. I pursed my lips thinking it over. I was hesitant since I was his 5th victim out of 7. “Would all of you be joining us?” Nix asked. “Yep.” Jotham answered. “Can I have some time to think it over?” I inquired. “But, of course. We wouldn’t want you to do something against your will.” He answered. I bit back the comment about being brought here without any of our consent. “Now best be on your way. You three have a lot of thinking to do in not a lot of time. Tomorrow at 10:00 am is when I would like your decision please.” He instructed with a wave of his wrinkly hand. With that simple gesture the three of us were back in front of the apartment complex.

[flauntpage]

One Man’s Quest to Watch the First Day of the NCAA Tournament, Against All Odds

Three months ago my boss came to me and told me I would be covering a conference beginning on March 21. I’m sure I blankly looked at up her with my dead, beady eyes and agreed to it. It was three months away. Who cares about something that’s going to happen in three months.

Two weeks ago my wife asked me if I had put any thought into a March Madness bracket.

Oh shit. Does that start on the third week of March or the fourth? THE THIRD WEEK OR THE FOURTH?!

Of fucking course. March 21. First day of the tournament. Basketball, alcohol, legalized gambling….. CONFERENCE?!

That dog won’t hunt.

So here I am, in some God forsaken state, in a God forsaken convention hall, listening to much more successful men and women talk about their accomplishments that I couldn’t begin to understand. But am I a quitter? Am I just going to sit here and let the greatest four days of the year slip through my fingers?

Am I not going to watch any of the first two rounds of the March Madness tournament? Of course not. I’m no communist.

I decided to keep a running diary of my trials and travails of the first day of the tournament and my desperate attempts to stay connected on one of the greatest sports days of the year.

And yes, I’m well aware this is a complete ripoff of a Bill Simmons creation, but I’m sure he never did one for the first day of the tournament (don’t Google that please).

7 a.m. – Alarm blares. Wake up in the heartland in a terribly humid Marriott. It’s the best day of the year, baby, and being stuck in a conference will NOT stop me from indulging in my basest desires of losing money, making rash, last-minute decisions, and watching exploited college athletes perform for my amusement.

7:30 a.m. – First hurdle of the day. I’m not registered for the conference. After a 10 hour trip yesterday that included a three hour delay in Philadelphia and a 3 hour delay in Charlotte, I’m ready to quit and go home. Nobody would miss me here. I could drop dead in the lobby and they’d roll me into the nearest dumpster. Sadly, the person checking me in is accommodating and non-combative, and she quickly rectifies the situation and gets me checked in for the next four days. God damnit. I could taste sweet freedom for a mere moment.

7:35 a.m. – First presentation of the day begins. Did you know there are treatments that could be the next big thing when it comes to treating inherited diseases?! Who cares! (unless you have an inherited disease, in which case I’m sorry) I’m already exhausted. How is that possible? Five minutes down, only 65 million more to go (approximately).

8:02 a.m. – Successfully get my laptop online with the shaky convention center wifi. I am surrounded by hundreds of industry leaders. I immediately regret my decision to sit in the second row of a 600 person amphitheater. Why couldn’t I have been one of the cool kids and sit in the back. DAMN MY DEDICATION TO MY PROFESSIONAL CRAFT.

8:03 a.m. – Open a web browser and fire up the two brackets I’ve filled out. I minimize the browser so it’s just a small square in the top-left of my screen. Dutifully pretend to take notes on a presentation. Nod solemnly and crinkle my brow during lulls in a Power Point presentation I don’t understand at all. Give a few “Hmmms….” And “Wows!” to show I’m very invested. Fascinating insights.

8:04 a.m. – Brackets looks good. I immediately panic because both have way too much chalk. Duke, Michigan, UNC, Virginia final four in one; Duke, Michigan State, UNC, Virginia final four in the other. Virginia winning it all in one, UNC winning it all in the other. Not exactly taking a huge leap with either of these.

8:05 a.m. – Try to compensate for my cowardly Final Fours by picking some earlier upsets, which always go well. It’s best to tinker with your brackets, I find, mere hours before the tournament begins on a whim. Always a formula for success.

8:06 a.m. – I’ve heard great things about #13 Vermont. I pencil them in for a first round upset and feel very confident in my decision to do so. They seem RIPE to shock the world. Of course, I’m probably just daydreaming about Gus Johnson’s call of Taylor Coppenrath hitting one FROM THE PARKING LOTTTTTTTTT in 2005 against Syracuse. I know nothing of this year’s team (other than them beating my Alma mater SUNY Binghamton in the second round of the American East tournament). Fuck it. Vermont for life baby.

8:10 a.m. – Changes Vermont pick back to FSU.

8:46 a.m. – Sure, these speakers are rich and successful, but can they tell me if UCF stands any chance against Duke in the second round?! Probably.

9:01 a.m. – I keep getting notifications from my phone about gambling. I’m not in Jersey right now, phone, please stop reminding me. It’s really all sinking in now that during the first year of legal gambling I STILL won’t be able to gamble on the first two rounds of games. I’m like Tantalus in Hades, dying of thirst and hunger while standing in a pool of water and standing just under a tree of low hanging fruit. Each time I reach for a piece of fruit, or bend to drink from the pool, they move tantalizingly out of reach. I’m a tortured soul. I JUST WANT TO LOSE MONEY BETTING ON TEAMS I’VE NEVER SEEN PLAY, IS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK?

9:34 a.m. – I’m hunched over my computer, debating the merits of Cincinnati and agonizing over a potential second round matchup with Tennessee, when I look over and see my boss is sitting no less than 10 feet away from me. DEAR GOD. He could have been there for 20 seconds or the last two hours, I have no idea. Need to put a bell on him so he can’t sneak up on me again.

10:02 a.m. – Look at my brackets again. I’m hearing good things about this Vermont team! Real scrappy underdog squad. They’re good for an upset over FSU, fuck it.

10:35 a.m. – Changes Vermont pick back to FSU.

11:15 a.m. – Only 45 minutes left until the tip off to Louisville and Minnesota. If you think I didn’t watch a second of either of these teams play this season, you sir would be right. If you think I don’t have strong opinions on this game, YOU SIR DON’T KNOW ME AT ALL. REVENGE GAME FOR MINNESOTA AND THE PITINO’S, BABY! What did Rick Pitino ever do to Louisville? Oh yeah, all that horrible sex stuff to that woman and the massive amount of corruption over years in the program. Yeah, but still!

12:15 p.m. – The lunch break couldn’t come quick enough, a glorious hour of uninterrupted NCAA March Madness basketball in lieu of eating lunch with potential sources for future articles and career success. Going back to my room and eating a bag of chips I bought from Starbucks for lunch is the morally correct decision.

12:25 p.m. – There’s no tradition like completely overreacting in the first minutes of the first game of the tournament. WHY DID I PICK MINNESOTA?! WHAT WAS I THINKING?! Minnesota 5, Louisville 7 after 2 minutes of play.

12:26 p.m. – Minnesota hits a three to go up 8 to 7. I AM A BRACKET STAR. A BIG BRIGHT SHINING STAR.

12:31 p.m. – Body Armour sports drink? Perfect, there aren’t enough sports drinks on the market already. You mean to tell me this one tastes great AND REPLENISHES VITAL BODY NUTRIENTS AND ELECTROLYTES SO I CAN WATCH BASKETBALL ON MY ASS AT PEAK PERFORMANCE? I am sold, baby. Plus James Harden endorses it, so you know it’s great. I can’t wait to see this commercial 10,000 times over the course of the next three weeks.

12:33 p.m. – Jarvis Omersa on Minnesota has a shockingly frosted blonde curly afro. It’s….odd, to say the least. I feel weird commenting on it. Forget I mentioned it.

12:34 p.m. – God that afro is amazing. Omersa was just subbed out. I’ll miss him.

12:35 p.m. -Just realized his afro is bleached blonde because Minnesota are the GOLDEN gophers. I am an idiot.

12:37 p.m. – Louisville is up four. I’ve already metaphorically ripped my bracket to pieces. The lesson, as always, is Minnesota and all of its denizens can go straight to hell.

12:38 p.m. – Minnesota cuts the lead to one after a gorgeous steal. SKOL SKOL SKOL SKOL!

12:40 p.m. – I’ve paid more attention to half an hour of this game than anything else I’ve done today.

12:41 p.m. – Dupree McBrayer nails a three to put Minnesota up by 1 after a 9-1 run! Fuck yeah, Minnesota. Maybe you’re all not a bunch of morons and losers like previously thought! McBrayer, of course, is the brother of famed 30 Rock actor Jack McBrayer (unconfirmed).

12:44 p.m. – I had no idea there was even another game going on. LSU is trouncing Yale after 5 minutes of play. Hmm…who would have thought a team of finely tuned LSU athletes would put a hurting on five nerds from Yale who miss their abacuses? Combine that with the voodoo curse undoubtedly levied on the Yale program by a Louisiana valedictorian who was denied admission because they needed room on the wait list for Lori Loughlin’s dimwitted daughter and it’s bad news for the Yalies.

12:47 p.m. – Nine to nothing for LSU now. One of the Yale forwards collapsed at center court and started speaking in tongues as black blood spewed forth from his eyes. He coughed up an entire skull as several EMTs wearing ratty tophats with crows on their shoulders carted him off the field. Great sign for the Yalies!

12:49 p.m. – Omersa takes a huge charge! IS THE FRO OK? PLEASE GIVE US AN UPDATE.

12:55 p.m. – The afternoon sessions of this conference are about to start. Boo. BOO I SAY. I turn off my room television and let a out a hearty SIGH to nobody. That was fun.

1:15 p.m. – Walking back to the conference I pass another guest who is wearing a Louisville hat. I give him a knowing nod and point to my head as if I’m wearing the same hat. I am not, nor am I wearing any hat at all. My nod goes unreturned.

2:15 p.m. – I’m now reduced to checking the scores on my phone as the meeting is more and more crowded and I can’t risk looking on my computer. After rooting on Minnesota for the last two hours, I check both of my brackets and find that I had actually picked Louisville to win in each. CRIPES. I’m guaranteed to make this mistake no less than 200 times more over the course of the tournament.

2:20 p.m. – Louisville down 10 with 40 seconds left. They’re about to be prematurely ejected from the tournament, a huge bust that disappoints everyone as always. The ghost of Rick Pitino still haunts the program.

3 p.m.  – JESUS CHRIST, the voodoo curse held on just enough for LSU to stave off Yale’s push and win by five. The gumbo pots will be a boiling tonight in the big easy. Yale fans probably had no idea there was even a game today. WHO COULD CARE ABOUT SPORTS AT A TIME WHEN THE ECONOMY IS IN SUCH SHAMBLES? LSU notches me my first win of the day. Now we’re COOKING baby.

3:12 p.m. – Those goddamn Vermont hippies are tied with FSU at halftime. Hopefully they’ll listen to the great Phish song “Bird Vacuum” at halftime to pump themselves up and forget they have to come out to for the second half. Playing in all-hemp uniforms must be itchy as hell.

3:13 p.m. – Trying to get updates on my phone and computer without actually watching these games absolutely sucks. It’s just the worst. Prisoners of war aren’t subjected to such torturous conditions. When is the Geneva Convention ever going to work in my favor for a change?

3:43 p.m. – AUBURN…what it is you doing, baby?! I go away for 30 minutes and come back to this? TO THIS?! I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed. I can smell Bruce Pearl’s flop-sweat from here. 77-76 with 8 seconds left….do we have the first huge upset of the day?! New Mexico State University, will you pull this off? Si or no?

3:49 p.m. – Twitter tells me Auburn fouled a shooter taking a three point attempt with 1 second left. I’m sure this isn’t as exciting as it sounds. I’m probably not missing a whole lot, right? I’m having just as much fun as everyone else.

3:50 p.m. -And the NMSU bastard promptly misses two of three free throws to bail out fat faced Pearl. You blew it, kid, I’m sure that moment won’t haunt you forever. By the way, I want to die. This is awful. Even my phone is sending me notifications asking me why I’m a loser and not watching these games on TV.

4 p.m. – My computer is dead. Long live my computer. The battery gave out after a nearly 7-hour struggle. She was a good computer and she’ll rise again when I get back to my room. I’m reduced to writing updates on my phone and EMAILING them to myself like I’m in a Conestoga wagon train heading West on the Oregon trail. Our supplies are low. That NMSU kid who missed the free throws has died of malaria. My brother Fartface is in ill-health.

4:10 p.m. – FSU holding off the unwashed masses of Vermont University despite the overpowering stench of patchouli oil emanating from the Vermont bench. Looks like Vermont’s performance down the stretch wasn’t too “groovy” as they’re down 8 with 2 minutes left.

4:11 pm – Just noticed MSU is down 1 at halftime to Bradley. That certainly wouldn’t be too crunch if they lost. If you gave me 10 chances to win a million dollars to tell you where Bradley is I wouldn’t come close. is it a trick question? Is it in American Samoa? Maybe the real Bradley University has been in our hearts all along?

4:15 p.m.– They’ll be crying CBD oil tears in their bongs tonight up in Vermont. Get a job, hippies. Part-time ski instructor at Killington doesn’t count if you’re only paid in weed and gummies. GROW UP.

4:28 p.m. – MSU pulling away now from American Samoa’s Bradley University. Tom Izzo and NCAA Tournament success are as consistent as John Harbaugh losing to Notre Dame every year! FOLKS! LET ME TELL YA!

4:29 p.m. – I’m so, so tired. I’ve been in this horribly lit convention center going on 11 hours now. What news is there of the outside world? Who’s the president?! WHAT YEAR IS IT?

4:39 p.m. – I swear to god this presenter gave the same presentation in the morning. I feel my soul rising away from my husk of a shell body.

4:40 p.m. – My decades dead grandma appeared before me and is urging me to let go of it all. Is that bad? She looks glorious.

4:41 p.m. – Tell my wife and son I love them.

4:42 p.m. – I’m so cold.

4:43 p.m. – I can barely breathe. I feel my heart slowing. I let out a prayer for forgiveness for my tortured soul before it leaves this ethereal plane.

4:44 p.m. – MSU up four. Sweet.

4:45 – My eyes shut for a mere moment….and the presenter finally stops blathering on and the director says the days events are over. Is it true? Could it really be true? I burst through the doors of the convention center and grab the nearest person I can find.

“Tell me, what day is it? For the love of god what day?” I ask.

“Today? Why, it’s NCAA Tournament day, sir!” He responds, as I run through the halls of the convention center, set free from my shackles to return to my hotel and watch the remaining slate of games unfettered. What joy! What freedom!

Until I realize I have to stay in this conference until Sunday.

Kill me now.

The post One Man’s Quest to Watch the First Day of the NCAA Tournament, Against All Odds appeared first on Crossing Broad.

One Man’s Quest to Watch the First Day of the NCAA Tournament, Against All Odds published first on https://footballhighlightseurope.tumblr.com/

[strivingscribe]

Salt of the Earth ~ Ch 006

Salt of the Earth by MsMoon

Chapter 6 ~ That Meghan Trainor Song

Chapters: 6/?

Chapter Navigation: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6,

Fandom: Young Justice

Rating: ExplicitWarnings: Angst, Feeling? Violence?

Relationships: Nope.

Summary: After responding to an incident, members of the team are saved by an unknown metahuman. But no protocols are in place to deal with the series of unfortunate events that assail Anitia Moore. What exactly should the team do when a someone with powers needs training but doesn’t want to be a member of the team?

Author’s Notes: In case anyone is wondering, the Meghan Trainor song that’s referenced in the title is supposed to be ‘Lips are Moving’ :)

Without further ado!

Tim Drake wasn’t an ungrateful sort of person by nature. In fact, he’d like to think that he looked back on any given day of his life and focused on the silver lining, the good news, the reason to keep going.

 Today, it was the enormous size of the computer interface at the team’s HQ.

 It came in handy during times when he needed to focus on multiple points at the same time.

 Currently, he had recognition software running over both Anita Moore’s behavioral patterns for the last—he double checked the time span it was currently at—seven months and climbing.

 He was also running a program over her academic records—a more fine-tooth comb. It was going through her papers to catalog patterns of speech and recurring themes.

 He was also searching the photos of her bedroom that Bumblebee had taken, in order to catalog the specific items in her room. The bugs were still in place, and the transcript software was running simultaneously (though no one was currently at the Moore house), and he was also monitoring cell phone activity...

 Not only was it impossible for the Moore family to do anything with Anita without him knowing about it, but within a few short hours… he’d have a decent sense of who she was as a person.

 “Have you slept?” 

Robin didn’t look away from the screen as Artemis approached. “I didn’t need much.”

 “Hmn.” she grunts, but otherwise she’s satisfied without adding further comment. Conner wanders in as well, and he is gracious enough not to mention Tim’s sleeping habits. “What’s the word, bird?”

 Conner gave Artemis a questioning look. Her sense of humor had been… odd lately.

 “The Moore girl is at school. Her brothers too. Her mother’s probably at the family bakery.”

 “Probably?” Conner only wants to clarify, because it isn’t often that Robin fails to speak in absolutes.

 “Her cell phone is pinging near there. We haven’t bugged that location, but it’s still a decent enough estimation.”

 “It’s still too early for drama.” Artemis grumbled.

 As if on cue, a box popped up with an alert.

 “What’s that?” Conner asked.

 “Text message.” Robin said, squinting at the text that had popped up. “‘This shit is crazy. You won’t even believe.’” He read robotically.

 “Is that from Anita?”

 “Yes. To her mom.” Robin informed. Another text popped up in the same window. “‘Don’t be surprised if you get a call. I’m on my way home.’...” As the new information registered, it made his eyes nearly bulged.

 “Oh, shit.” Artemis breathed. Conner was already in the elevator, because there was no time to lose.

Anita couldn’t fight the slouch she’d slipped into. Her shoulders were hunched forward and her arms were folded across her stomach, because she couldn’t stop herself.

 Her teeth ached and her stomach felt like it was on fire. It came in throbs and waves. Throbs in the teeth and waves in the belly. 

Pain was such a strange thing. The throbs faded in and out, and the waves crested, peaked, washed through the rest of her nerves and then…. petered out. Meanwhile, the bwong noise from Inception was still raging in her molars.

 “Goddamn lead.” she muttered to herself.

 “Mrs. Douglas, might I steal Anita Moore from you for a moment?”

 That voice brought her momentarily out of her fog. She looked up to see Mr. Davis poking his mostly bald head into the room. The man should just shave… the wispy brown hair that haloed his shiny bald head only made him look older. If he shaved, he’d probably look much younger.

 “Uh.. very well.” Mr. Douglas looked her way, and nodded.

 Out of habit, Anita grabbed her backpack, which she’d yet to really unpack. Class had only just started and she was… she was not doing well.

 “You won’t have to worry about your things, dear.” Mrs. Douglas assured, but Anita ignored her.

 She didn’t trust her classmates (or anyone else)....and she preferred to keep her things on her person or in her locker. Nothing else made sense to her.

 “What’s going on, Mr. Davis?” she asked, her voice low and a little more creaky than usual.

 “I have the greatest news and the best surprise for you!” Mr. Davis enthused. “Come with me.” he said, leading her down the hallway.

 “...I hate surprises.” she monotoned.

 This lanky, red-faced man was mostly harmless, but he still didn’t understand boundaries properly as far as Anita was concerned. He was the teacher that sent her essay into the local university for publication.

 “Well, how does a scholarship opportunity sound then?” He asked, an enormous smile on his face.

 ...the man meant well, he really did. But… He and Anita had different ideas about her future. 

He had some weird notion that he was Michelle Pfeiffer and she was the entire class of at-risk ne'er do wells from Dangerous Minds, and if he only prompted her properly, she’d blossom into an ambitious student… At least it wasn’t the plot of She’s All That.

 “I...don’t know that I want a future in science.” Anita admitted reluctantly. It was true, but she was hesitant to relent her truths to anyone.

 “Oh! Don’t worry about that.” he waved off her admission. He probably didn’t believe her, or thought she was ‘just being shy’.

 This was part of why Anita didn’t like talking to people. They so rarely listened.

 She followed along, eyeing the dingy tile until he led her into his office. She was distracted, again, by the weird pewter award he had on the corner of his desk. It looked like a large circle set into the top of a pyramid, with a bunch of metal dings all over it.

 “So, this is the student.”

 Anita whirled around, very nearly colliding with the corner of the desk, to find a sharply dressed man closing the door. He had been behind the open door, so she hadn’t noticed him till now…

 “Anita Moore, meet Mr. Lex Luthor.” Mr. Davis beamed as he motioned between them.

 When Mr. Luthor stepped forward to shake her hand, she stepped back, keeping the corner of the desk between them. She stared at his face in shock, his expression calm and somewhat expectant. Her eyes finally drifted down to his hand. Mr. Davis was giving her that, ‘well go on!’ look, which only served to annoy her.

 She blinked rapidly, shaking herself out of stasis. She took Lex Luthor’s hand in a firm grip.

 “That’s quite a handshake you have there.” He said.

 Anita swallowed past her parched throat. “Why is Mr. Luthor shaking my hand?” she asked the room in general. Also, why wasn’t he letting go yet?

 He let out a little laugh and nodded. “Right to the point! I do appreciate directness.” he said, releasing her hand. She was more than a little relieved when he stepped back. “I’m sure you know that Lexcorp awards several scholarships to promising young scholars.”

 Anita felt a tenseness creep up into the back of her neck.

 “I was delighted with your essay about the Mississippi River and the Louisiana Wetlands.”

 “The swamp essay?” Anita clarified.

 He smiled, and Anita was reminded why charisma was not a dump-stat. This man could sell ice to Eskimos.

 “Yes. The leaps you made, connecting the damming of the Mississippi river to the erosion of the—”

 “None of that research is new or unique. I made those conclusions from the library here.” Anita tried to argue.

 “That is what makes it significant. I can’t imagine what you could possibly do with proper funding and on-site exposure.” Anita just stared at him wide-eyed. “You don’t appear to understand what’s going on.”

 “Anita is very modest.” Mr. Davis assured, which only made Anita glare at him.

 Mr. Luthor half turned to Mr. Davis and smiled. “Mr. Davis, perhaps I could speak with the young lady alone.”

 Anita blinked rapidly, more than a little shocked by this absurd request.

 “Of course!” Mr. Davis said. Anita’s eyes practically bugged out as the science teacher quickly shuffled out of his office and shut the door.

 Mr. Luthor smirked. “There’s no need to be so shocked. Mr. Davis wants what’s best for you, and he knows I can offer you an easy academic future.”

 “I don’t need an academic future. I need a practical one. Or...just one at all.”

 An eyebrow arched as he surveyed her. “I wonder. Do you really mean that? You have no intentions of going to college?”

 “I love science, but that doesn’t mean it’s going to make up my whole life.” Anita argued. “I’m a teenager. I only know that I don’t want to wake up in my 30’s realizing I made a snap decision and ended up putting all my time and energy into a career that I hate.”

 Mr. Luthor turned and inspected Mr. Davis’s bookshelf. “That’s understandable.”

 When he moved, Anita suddenly felt… vulnerable. Like she needed to keep an eye on him, because he was obviously dangerous… but she couldn’t figure out why.

 Her hand landed on the award, her fingers stretching out over the metal… she pulled at the pewter, feeling it seep into her fingers, but it held nothing offensive. It felt...like..like... a shield? Her thumb slid over the little pyramid and the brass nameplate on its base… Brass. Oh, that felt promising.

 “I wonder at your passing up this opportunity. You don’t have many good connections as it is, and the pressure of your future will not wait. You need to start making plans now. ” he said without turning to face her.

 “I beg your pardon.” it was a demand, not a question.

 “After all, you have very few resources. Your mother can’t possibly support you all by herself, nor should she have to. She has three other children to consider, and they’ll all need her money and attention.”

 It was then that Mr. Luthor turned and eyed her, his gaze dropping to her hand on Mr. Davis’s award, his smirk deepening. “Do you intend to hit me with that?” he asked, sounding almost delighted at the prospect.

 “I don’t need to hit you for you to feel it.” Anita challenged. 

Technically, the lead and kryptonite were still in her system, and jasper never left her person. So… she could probably fight her way out of anything. Maybe.... but how bad would it be if it came to that? What sort of fall-out was she looking at?

 Both of his eyebrows rose. “Interesting.” 

Her eyes narrowed, because his face was… strange. It wasn’t the genial showman he had been when Mr. Davis was here. He was something else now… It was like he had decided that she was some sort of puzzle, and he wanted to figure her out.

 Putting what he’d said earlier about her family—knowledge he shouldn't have—together with this new behavior… Anita’s eyes widened, her shoulders hunched forward and her chin jutted out. “You need to explain yourself right now.” it wasn’t quite a challenge, but at the same time it wasn’t a request. Not that she was in any position to threaten him...

 “I’m not here because of your essay.” he admitted.

 “I assumed that was a lie.”

 “What gave me away?”

 “Your lips were moving.” she snarked, infuriated when he chuckled.

 “A girl like yourself can do many things, Anita. You can go very far, given the proper connections, but… you’ll always want to keep your family safe...won’t you?”

 “This is starting to smell a hell of a lot like coercion with the faintest whiff of bullshit.” Anita grumbled.

 Mr. Luthor opened his mouth, but was interrupted by the door opening. Anita was never so happy to see the school’s guidance counselor.

 “I’m so sorry!” Miss. McGuire stormed in, her high heels clacking on the old tile and her curly blond hair looking even more frazzled than usual. Her glasses hung like a necklace against her blouse, but those keen blue eyes were both determined and just a touch irate.

“Not at all, I was just—”

 “Mr. Luthor, I’m afraid there’s been some mistake.” she interrupted. “We cannot allow one of our students, especially one of our female students, to be left alone without accompaniment.” she said, stressing the obvious predicament they were in.

 “I’m certain Mr. Luthor’s intentions are not—” Mr. Davis began.

 “Intentions are not our business, Mr. Davis.” Miss McGuire rebutted. “Our business is the safety of our charges, both actual and perceived.”

 It was then that Anita realized exactly how bad this would look. She obviously hadn’t wanted to be here, and yet Mr. Davis had cornered her in his office with another man… and then he left her there, alone with him. It made her skin crawl anew.

 Now that he was back in magnanimous showman mode, Mr. Luthor only nodded. “Of course, I understand that.”

 Anita tried to remember how Mom held herself. The way she spoke and how she behaved. Right now, she needed whatever gumption Mom possessed. She slammed her shoulders back, straightening her spine and holding her chin up from her neck.

 “Thank you for your offer, Mr. Luthor, but I’m not interested in being a commodity.” she bit out, walking past him without making any eye contact. She wanted him to feel shelved, ignored, inept. She did meet Mr. Davis’s eyes. Honestly, Mom would probably threaten legal action...but Anita didn’t know if she had that sort of chutzpah. Still, she paused long enough to growl, “Expect a call from my mother.” before stalking out.

 She overheard Mr. Davis grumble, “Fantastic.”

 She kept walking, turning down another hallway and then jogging to the nearest exit once she was out of sight. 

Somehow she still didn’t feel safe. She exhaled heavily, trying not to pant as she leaned back against the doors…. she didn’t want to be dramatic, but… she really just couldn’t make herself go back in there! She pulled out her cell phone and quickly texted Mom.

  ‘This shit is crazy. You won't even believe.’ 

She felt some heaviness in her ankles, and had to wonder if that was the pewter...or maybe the bronze. Still, there hadn’t been a lot of bronze there to draw on. Now that she was stationary, it was starting to feel...awkward. 

 She took a deep, fortifying breath, letting it out slowly. For some reason, this sounded so clear to her. The way you sometimes stuff your ears and listen to yourself breathe...and yet she could still hear everything else.

  ‘Don’t be surprised if you get a call. I’m on my way home. Mr. Davis threw me in a room with Lex-effin-Luthor for no reason than because Luthor wanted to. You were right, school was a mistake today. I can’t even right now.’

 She shook her head again, still completely baffled by what happened. She started her walk home. It’d take a while by foot, but that time would help her clear her head…. she hoped.

 …

 Six blocks from school, she scuttled into an alleyway when her eyes landed on a free-roaming Superboy.

[roaminginspiration]

The Empty Space Next to Me

Sorry it took onger than an hour, guys.

chap 1 (x)  / chap 2 (x) /  chap 3 (x) / chap 4 (x) / chap 6 (x) / chap 7 (x) / chap 8 (x) / chap 9 (x) / chap 10 (x)

Chapter 5

“You’re gonna work as a what?” Sam exclaims on their video call with unconcealed bafflement.

Steve rolls his eyes. “She gave me a second chance, Sam. I can’t blow it.”

“But are you sure you got this?” his friend asks, slightly worried.

He shrugs. “Sure. I mean, I did some housework in my apartment after moving to DC.”

Silence follows. “Steve, you assembled a bookcase using the instructions guide. That hardly counts as housework.”

“Well, there are still online tutorials,” Bucky chimes in behind his shoulder.

Sam turns to shoot him a dark glare.

“Thanks Buck for your input,” Wilson answers to him dryly. “It’s always useful when you remind me what the modern world I have grown up in has to offer.”

Then he turns to face the phone again.

“What about the team?” he asks.

Steve nods. “Since Thanos things have been different. I’m not really needed. You take the lead, Sam — I trust you. And if something comes up just give me a call and of course I’ll help.”

His eyes glance over to his best friend. “You guys got this,” he says assertively. “Let’s say I’m on an indefinite break.”

Sam frowns while Bucky nods calmly.

“Is that what we should tell the others?” Sam asks.

“For now.”

Going downstairs, Steve finds Eliza reading through papers at the dining room table. She smiles and takes her glasses off as he sits down.

“I am no longer used to dealing with all that paperwork — Katherine just handles it for me.”

“Nothing bad, I hope?” he asks.

Eliza shakes her head and smiles. “Just the usual billing and other mundane admin papers.”

She puts them away and looks at him closely.

“I didn’t think you would take my advice of fixing things with Katherine so literally,” she comments with a little smirk.

He snorts. “Well, I’m a very literal person.”

She probes him quietly. “No, you’re not,” she says. “So about the job…”

“He shakes his head “I’m not asking for any money. Your hospitality is more than enough.”

Eliza leans back on her chair. “Looks like you’ve thought it all through. But it wouldn’t honest of me to have you do all this housework without paying you.”

“I assure you, that it’s perfectly fine by me. I’m not here for the money.”

“Oh, that I am aware,” Eliza comments knowingly.

“If I may ask,” he begins. “Why are you helping me?”

The woman eyes him attentively. “I want what’s best for Katherine and I feel you sticking around is what she needs. Besides, it’s a pretty quiet place — nothing exciting ever happens around here. I could use some entertainment.”

Katherine appears at the door, outside on the porch. Jake has just driven her home, he kisses her on the cheek — Steve stiffens slightly— and waves at Eliza who nods back.

“Yeah. I definitely look forward to seeing how this all plays out,” the woman whispers.

A cheeky smile comes to her lips then she puts her glasses back on.

_____________________________

The first housework turns out to be more arduous than he had predicted. Handling tools does not come as naturally as yielding the shield or Mjolnir did.

He works all day, has dinner with Katherine and Eliza in the evening, then when he goes to bed, he watches video tutorials and diligently takes notes.

Eliza did not lie: the house was in desperate need of maintenance. Most of the flooring needs fixing and the dull paint and wallpapers need a glow-up, and that is without mentioning the plumbing or the outside. As different a life as it is to avenging, he quickly grows to appreciate this new routine. The physical exhaustion at the end of the day is different but he likes the tranquility of this new lifestyle.

Days go by and things have already begun to feel different. He asked Sam to have his car collected and brought back to the compound. As for clothing, he stopped by a store while running errands for equipment. The style has changed quite noticeably: he has traded the shiny shoes for leather boots and most of his urban outfits have been replaced with more practical ones; mostly T-shirts and jeans.

On a sunny afternoon, he is working on the roof, replacing some loose tiles. Katherine suddenly appears on the yard, Riley following close behind with her wailing tail. Katherine looks up and smiles.

“Everything all right, up there?” she asks.

He takes his eyes off of the tiles and breathes out. “Yeah, all good.”

She is smiling. “So…,” she begins. “If you fall off you can just fly, right?”

He snorts while running a hand over his sweaty hairline. “I don’t do that.”

She pouts. “I know. That’s my point.” She then puts a hand up to her forehead to shield herself from the sun and smiles at him.

She is teasing him and he likes it. It almost feels like old times.

“Well if you need a break, there’s iced tea ready.”

And she disappears under the roof.

He holds the hammer and to hit the nail into the nail. He sinks the nail, and half of the hammer, too.

He sighs. It will take practice and time before he comes to grips with all this.

____________________________

Katherine brings Eliza her daily pills with a glass water, then after an hour of tidying up goes to do some painting. Steve is in there too, covering the walls with a light shade of mauve.

Standing on a stepladder, he stops when he sees her walk in. He begins to come down to leave the room and give her her privacy but she tells him he can stay. He picks up his brush again and resumes painting the wall.

She is mixing colors on her palette but he doesn’t notice the few peeks she casts in his direction. She doesn’t notice how his body has slightly stiffened as he tries to remain focused on his work.

She eventually turns her attention back on what she is doing and dips her small brush into the paint.

“So what do you draw?” she eventually asks from where she is sitting in the middle of the room.

It takes him by surprise. He finally allows his body to pivot so he can look at her. She is sitting on her stool in the middle room, wearing high-waisted loose blue jeans cuffed up above her ankles with a slightly cropped cotton striped top revealing the rim of her pants and a bit of her skin. Her hair is down her shoulders with a natural wavy aspect.

“It depends,” he says, resuming his work. “It can be pretty much anything.”

“Sounds nice,” she says musingly but genuine interest. “Maybe someday you could show me your sketches.”

He pauses and glances at her. “I haven’t drawn in a while.”

Her green eyes gaze at him over the canvas. “Why not?”

He tries to recall the last time he wandered into a sketch. It was on one of the early days during their fugitive period. They had been sitting in a car on an isolated road for hours while waiting for Sam to come back with food and other supplies. Natasha was in the driver’s seat, alert and surveying their surroundings she always did. He was in the seat next to her, doodling on the back of a paper, head down.

“Do you think I should dye my hair?” she asked out of the blue.

“Why? Your hair’s perfect,” he commented matter-of-factly, absorbed in his task.

“I know. But red is kinda eye-catchy. Besides, you’re not the only one allowed to have an in-the-run makeover with that stubble of yours.”

“…Which I intend to let grow into a full beard by the way,” he finishes coolly, eyes fixed on the paper.

“Yeah well, my point is…if I blended in more easily, I could go and run the errands myself. I’d know what to get us. And I’d be faster, too.”

She glanced at the dial clock on her dashboard and sighed. She leaned her head back on the headrest and gazed at him.

“Clearly you’re handling boredom better than I am.”

“You should try sketching,” he said.

“Uh-uh,” she shook her head. “I can’t afford to let my mind wander into drawings. It would mean I would have to let my guard down.”

He looked up at her. “Yeah, I know the feeling,” he said.

“Except your guard’s down now.”

He closed his hand around the pencil and gazed at her.

“Only because I know you’re watching my six.”

She looked numbly at him for a short moment and he smiled at her. He folded the paper and put it in the glove compartment along with the pen.

“When you’re ready to swap the roles around I’ll be there to share some drawing tips.”

Natasha snorted then both resumed surveilling the area.

The old memory floods back accompanied with a feeling of wistfulness it didn’t have then. But although he can only sadly realize Natasha never allowed herself to let her guard down (because she never had the luxury to), he notes Katherine has reached that place where she never has to have her guard up.

“Circumstances didn’t allow it…until I completely fell out of the habit.”

Katherine looks at him musingly. She seems to understand what he kept implicit.

“Louisiana might work its magic on you eventually. Just wait and see,” she says.

All he hears is how she is open to him ticking around for a while. He smiles to himself as he dips the brush into the pot; she mirrors him then both resume their painting.

A couple of hours later filled with many long conversations, the familiar voice of Jake rings out in the other room.

She turns to look at Steve with a nervous wince.

“Does he know?” Steve asks.

“I’d rather stay anonymous as long as possible,” she answers.

He understands she hasn’t told Jake who he is and why he is here.

“Ok,” he whispers. Just then Jake walks into the room.

He walks up to her, wraps his arms around her from behind and plants a kiss into her neck.

“You’ve got paint,” he comments.

“Where?”

Jake dips a finger into some liquid and pokes the tip of her nose with it. They both laugh.

Jake eventually looks up and notices Steve standing on the stepladder across the room. He frowns in surprise.

“Wow,” he comments with a frown. “I didn’t think you’d still be around…”

She gets up and wipes her nose with a piece of cloth.

“Steve is our new handyman,” she says.

Jake eyes him quietly for a couple of seconds then finally musters a response. “Awesome,” he exclaims with a smile and it fades away soon after. “Careful the amount of work doesn’t discourage you.”

Steve climbs down the stepladder.

“I’m not the quitter type,” he answers, watching him with a great deal of self-assurance.

Jake rubs the back of his neck, then forces a laugh. Steve’s look doesn’t waver.

“Kate, do you mind if I join you for dinner?” he asks. He reaches over to hold her hand.

“Tonight?” Katherine arches an eyebrow.

“Yeah. I haven’t seen you all week.”

She pauses, slightly surprised by this unexpected self-invitation.

“I’m sure Eliza won’t mind.”

“Great. See you tonight, then.” He murmurs then pecks her lips.

He waves at Steve. “Good luck.”

Dinner is almost ready. All three of them are gathered in the living room, and Eliza has been noticeably zealous since she found out Jake would be joining.

The engine of his car eventually thrums in the yard and he comes inside.

Eliza sits at the head of the table, Jake next to Katherine. Steve unhurriedly joins to sit across from them. Soon, dinner begins.

“You look kinda familiar. What did you do before coming here?” Jake asks.

Katherine glances over at him with a slightly concerned expression.

“I ran a company,” he answers casually. If leading the Avengers can be seen as such. “Lots of traveling.” Including on space ships and through time.

Jake nods, keeping a poker face to conceal he is impressed. “And you just stopped?”

“Things were rough for a few years but now that it’s come back to normal I thought it was the right time to have some indefinite vacation.”

“Must be a real change, though. I heard it’s very difficult to hang it up and pass the mantle. It’s the kind of life you have in your blood.”

“Yeah, the pace sure is different around here,” he says, and his eyes shift to look at Katherine who is staring back at him. “But I’m liking it.”

His eyes then flicker back to the man sitting next to her, with his arm draped over her backrest.

“And you, what do you do?” he asks.

“I work in a farm 15 miles South. I’m hoping to buy my own house soon. Maybe have a few horses,” he adds, squeezing her shoulders and she laughs.

Steve looks at them quizzically.

“Kate here loves horseback riding,” Jake clarifies. “And she’s great at it. But what isn’t she good at, right?”

“It’s just a hobby I took up,” she explains dismissively with a sheepish grin.

“She goes to the Dawson’s who own a stable from time and time.”

Steve had no idea she liked or did horseback riding. At least, he knows for a fact Natasha didn’t. It is one of Katherine’s new interests.

As different from the woman she once was, he enjoys discovering these new little things about her.

At the end of dinner, Katherine gets up to pick up the dishes. Steve stands up to help but Jake has already beaten him to it. He takes them all to the kitchen and spends the next 15 minutes with her in the kitchen to assist her with the washing and wipe the wet plates she hands over to him. Steve watches them from the dining room, given no choice but to acknowledge the obvious affinity between them.

One yet so different from the one he had with Natasha. While the latter was more implicit, synchronous and unostentatious, theirs was more conspicuous and boisterous.

Two different types of energy, but both as genuine and earnest.

Steve gets up and takes Riley out for a walk. The dog was the first to warm up to him. She sometimes waits outside his bedroom door for a morning jog in the woods.

After a sullen stroll along the lake, he comes back to the house. Jake and Katherine are saying good night at the door, then he steps out on the porch.

Riley runs up to him, walks around him to quickly collect a stroke then runs back to Steve and stands by his side. Jake comes down the stairs toward him.

He shakes his hand.

“Well, it was nice to have a proper chat. I guess I’ll see you around a lot, huh?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Steve replies, shaking back.

Jake smirks. “Great. Me neither.”

And he gets in his car.

The next day a couple checks in for the weekend, people in their late forties on a short getaway from Mississippi. Steve deems it best not to make himself visible to minimize the chances of getting recognized. So far, he has been lucky not to pique the locals’ curiosity, the main reason being the guesthouse is quite isolated and the majority of the people living in the area are more or less old and prefer radio as a medium than the internet or television.

So he spends most of the day working outside. The porch has all his attention at the moment. He has already replaced half of the railings and has moved on to smooth the surface with sandpaper.

It is such a hot day he had to take off his shirt and work in a grey tank top. His arms and chest are glistening with sweat.

Eliza is sitting in the shadow, chatting away.

“I’ve never been to New York. Robert was always scared of flying,” she says with a chuckle. She readjusts the blanket under her. “We should replace this agonizing bench with a swing with a proper, thick mattress.”

He nods. “I’ll look for one next time I go to town.”

Katherine comes through the door, carrying a tray with refreshments. She slowly puts it down the round table, pours Eliza a glass and brings over to the elderly lady. She is staring at Steve the whole time. He turns and smiles at her before getting back to work again. Suddenly hit by a wave of heat, Katherine pours herself a glass and absent-mindedly gulps down a sip from it while taking on sight in front of her.

“Katherine, you might want to pick up your jaw from the floor,” she hears Eliza say.

The words irk her and she stiffens and flips her neck to look at her. The elderly woman is smirking cockily, eyes fixed on Steve working.

Katherine arches an eyebrow. “After you, Eliza.”

And she goes back inside the house.

After the guests’ departure, Eliza calls it a day off and asks to go on a picnic. Katherine prepares sandwiches and wraps the fresh muffins while he packs up all the blankets.

They spend the afternoon at the lake. Riley spends half the time trying to catch frogs; she spends the other half asking for more food. Eventually, she lies down to nap next to Eliza whose back is leaning on the old oak tree.

Katherine and Steve walk down the wooden pier nearby. She sits down, takes her shoes, rolls up her skirt above the knees and gently dips her feet into the cool water. He does the same after pulling his jeans to half his calves.

They both watch the circles their feet make spread indefinitely over the water. She slowly raises her foot out of the water and looks at the drops of water roll down to her toes and eventually fall into the water.

“Thank you,” she says while staring into space. She then turns to look at him. “For not saying anything to Jake.”

He nods with a slightly clenched jaw. “Sure.”

She smiles and resumes looking at the scenery.

“So Jake…he makes you happy?”

She bites her bottom lip, pensive.

“I think so. He’s the first person I met after Eliza. He’s the person who knows me the best.”

He feels his chest tighten as he takes that punch. He smiles sadly to himself; it seems he will always be too late.

“I’m happy for you, Katherine. I really am.”

She doesn't need to know about the part where he is unhappy, because it is secondary.

A bird chirps in the tree behind them.