#I tell my partner and we are searching high and low for this assessment

[chemmerson]

WHY DO THESE THINGS ALWAYS HAPPEN TO ME!!!!!

[hindisoup]

Self-studying a language with self-criticism

If you are a self-demanding person, like me, you may set yourself very high expectations, and then feel upset from time to time when you fail, like me, to reach these unrealistic requirements.

Self-analysis is a healthy skill we can use to assess and measure our success, or to observe our shortcomings in a way that guides us and help us towards our learning goals. But sometimes it turns into counterproductive self-criticism which may drive us to compare ourselves to others or causing us to lose confidence. Lack of confidence and feelings of guilt or shame that may be felt due to those unmet self-set goals may stop a language learner from booking their next iTalki lesson or answering voice call from a language partner - feeding into the cycle of failing to reach our learning achievements.

Here are some tips that I have found helpful when that sinking feeling of failure hits:

First of all, check your energy levels. Sometimes, especially in the autumn or winter, the lack of natural light combined with busy work or study schedule can drain you, and you simply cannot perform at your best every day. If you have a low motivation day and notice that your inner monologue is self-deprecating or overly negative, focus on the basics. Try to give yourself a good night's rest and have a warm meal at least once a day. It's okay to mend your study routine to match your energy levels. Even if today is a bad day, tomorrow may be different. You are allowed to rest and it doesn't mean you are lazy. Self-care is not a failure, it is the key to Success with capital S.

Be kind towards yourself. Give yourself compliments and try to see yourself through the eyes of a friend. Look back and see how far you have already come. Congratulate yourself even on the smallest achievements, even if you think they may seem insignificant to others. It's about your learning and your journey. Focus on the positives, even if you acknowledge that you still have a lot to learn.

Remember, what made you begin to study your target language in the first place. If there was a special song or a film that inspired you, remind yourself of it, and the feeling of inspiration and excitement you might have felt back then. Your initial feelings and thoughts are valid, even if time has passed and your motivations or reasons for learning have grown or changed.

Try to think of mistakes as opportunities for learning. Especially, if you notice that you keep making similar mistakes time and time again, it may be useful to stop and analyse for a bit what particularly is tricky for you. Identify the issues and break them apart into tiny and approachable learning points, whether it's about a certain tense, a verb ending, case or pronunciation of a particular sound that keeps slipping from your mind.

Keep language learning light and fun. Personally, I've found it helpful to try my best to approach language like a child. A child doesn't mind their mistakes, they are curious, they keep exploring and learn through trial and error. What matters is communication, understanding and being understood. It's good to set some goals and targets for learning, but it's also okay to write off your weekly listening task by listening to a podcast from a phone speaker when taking a bath or watch a 10 minute stand up comedy gig in your target language while eating breakfast. Anything, that can give you the feeling that you have already engaged your brain in language learning today, well done you! On days of low energy or motivation, it is okay to do any activity you can squeeze in your schedule that relaxes more than stresses you.

If you are highly critical or demanding of yourself, receiving feedback on your language mistakes can feel awful. Accepting one's mistakes in a way that doesn't cause us to feel overwhelmingly like a failure can require a lot of soul searching and take a long time. It may be easier to think of yourself as a work in progress than to accept that you have failed at handling failure. Set yourself reachable goals and explore within yourself what kind of criticism you can process constructively. It's okay to set your limits and choose the situations where you receive feedback on your language skills. If needed, you can change language partners, limit your time on social media, or other contacts where you feel like you are being unwantedly corrected.

If you feel that your language partner or tutor is too critical and that their well-intended corrections turn into counter-productive punitive thinking in your mind, it's okay to word it. Instead of allowing yourself to wallow in the feelings of shame and ending up thinking about quitting the language altogether, you are allowed to tell people what type of feedback you are looking for and what kind of corrections you would want to get by saying things like: "Last time you pointed out that I should be mindful of pronunciation. I'm working on it. Today I feel like focusing on verb tenses, can we do that?" or "Please ignore it if I use wrong tenses today, I know I need to practice them more. Today I need you to help me expand my vocabulary", etc.

Finally, get connected with other language learners. It can be an extremely lonely journey if you are learning a language by yourself as a hobby, and not part of a group. Learning alone can be effective, but talking to other people at different stages of their language path, even if they are studying other languages, can be extremely helpful in that we all have bad days, most of us occasionally feel like a failure, but we also want to celebrate our small successes together - a native speaker may not fully appreciate the sense of joy when you have finally grasped some bonkers irregular conjugation pattern or are able to pronounce your first nasal sound correctly, but another language learner surely will!

[eggtoasties]

Chapter One: I. Allegro

Pairing: Kuroo Tetsuro x Reader

Rating: G

Word Count: 3.2k

Summary: Kuroo used to think the best sound in the world was a volleyball hitting the court on the other side of the net. Now, he has other things on his repertoire.

Counter point: Good counterpoint requires two qualities: (1) a meaningful or harmonious relationship between the lines (a “vertical” consideration—i.e., dealing with harmony) and (2) some degree of independence or individuality within the lines themselves (a “horizontal” consideration, dealing with melody).

It was illogical really, Kuroo thought to himself, having to take a mandatory arts class. He was an athlete. He would probably major in STEM or business the next year if he didn’t go pro. But here he was, staring at the course catalogue, deciding between different bands, choirs, art classes, and orchestra. Irritatingly, Kenma had finished his arts requirement last year, taking a video editing class which Kuroo thought was definitely cheating since he figured Kenma already knew the basics. Plus, he not-so-secretly believed that Kenma would benefit from another non-electronic hobby.

Sighing, he assessed each class. He knew he was tone deaf and did not want others listening to him sing. Plus, he’s seen the red cummerbunds and bow ties the choir had to wear for concerts and refused to give his teammates the blackmail fodder even if Yaku thought it looked “refined.”

To be honest, Kuroo didn’t know much about the arts. He only had the vaguest understanding of the differences between Watercolor 101, Figure drawing 101, and Oil Painting 101. While he thought of himself in the studio, palette in hand with an apron tied around him, working intently at the easel on the next generational masterpiece, he remembered when Kenma threw his pencil-drawn mockups of promotional posters in the trash and told him not to show the rest of the team.

While maybe he could try digital media, he couldn’t help but imagine himself against the romanticized backdrop of more traditional arts.

He had to choose between the several band electives and orchestra. He couldn’t do marching band—he wouldn’t be caught dead in those uniforms, wind ensemble had auditions he surely wouldn’t pass, jazz band had mandatory solos, but symphonic band was for rookies. ‘Beginners welcome,’ was typed out with an asterisk under the listing. But, so did orchestra. Doing a quick search to figure out the difference between band and orchestra, Kuroo weighed his options.

He took piano lessons from ages four through ten before finally convincing his parents to let him quit—wearing them down by crying every week and throwing a mini tantrum at daily practice—not that he intentionally did it as an elementary school student. But, even from an early age, he knew volleyball was it for him.

While he wasn’t well acquainted with classical music, he had grown up with it from his parents. Well, when they were irritated with the bickering matches between him and his older sister, their parents would crank up the car radio, drowning their yelling. His mom would tell him she used to play Mozart for him when he was a baby which is why he grew so tall—which he would always say makes no sense—and occasionally, a film score would make the hairs on his arms rise even when he was trying to focus on the scene.

So he decided. He’d enroll in orchestra for the year, make himself unnoticeable in the back, and fulfill his arts requirement so he could graduate high school and maybe apply to university. Plus, he figured, as he ticked the box next to orchestra, he’d finally be able to wear his suit his parents bought him, saying that he’d need it eventually.

Folding the course registration paper and sliding it into an envelope to be sent to Nekoma High, he stood up from his seat at the low dining room table and decided to go to Kenma’s, figuring they could squeeze some volleyball practice before summer vacation ended.

.

The first day of his third year was unextraordinary. He woke up tired, coaxed his bed head into something manageable, and started his commute to school, picking Kenma up on the way. Double and triple checking his course schedule on his phone and reminding his teammates that they all had to help out in advertising the volleyball club—well, maybe except Yaku—he tapped his toes with a mix of nervousness and anticipation.

His classes were nothing special, most of them a continuation of the year before or courses he carefully picked with the advice of his seniors. But, walking towards the orchestra room at the far side of the building where all the music classes were, he felt a familiar rush of nervous adrenaline spike—not unlike the nerves before a big match. But this time, he couldn’t be confident in his own skills or rely on a team to back him up. Counting the room numbers until it matched the one on his registration, he found the room with its double doors propped open.

Striding in, the large open space was in various states of organized chaos. Other students were already moving chairs in uniform columns, two to a row, and were pulling instruments out of cases. Unsure of what to do, he immediately found the teacher.

“Hi Jouda-sensei, I’m Kuroo Tetsuro,” he introduced. “I’m new—where should I sit?”

“Hi Tetsuro-kun, it’s nice to meet you,” she said warmly. “Ah, yes I see you enrolled as a beginner.” Flipping through the pages on her clipboard she hummed, “Is there a particular instrument you’d like to play?” sweeping a hand across the room. “We could always use more violas, we have enough cellos, weirdly too many basses, but we could also stick you with the second violins?”

Kuroo didn’t quite know the difference between violas and violins but figured ‘second’ violins implied that there was also a ‘first’ violins group and that he’d be more likely to be able to hide in the back in a bigger group.

“Yeah,” he drawled out confidently, “I actually wanted to learn violin.”

“Okay, perfect. Here—” she motioned another student over. “Tetsuro-kun, meet Daisuke-kun.” Daisuke greeted Kuroo with a shallow bow and Kuroo responded with a head nod, mentally rolling his eyes at Daisuke’s subtle disapproval.

“He’s first chair of the second violins,” Jouda-sensei continued, “he’ll get you set up. Daisuke-kun, have him take one of the rentals and teach him the ropes. Today’s mostly getting people set up if they don’t have their own instruments and playing through potential setlists,” she explained while twirling her pen in her right hand. “Testsuro-kun, you’re our only new violin which means everyone can help you learn—take today to be comfortable with an instrument in your hands and observe your classmates!” she finished, walking away.

“I’m Sato Daisuke, a second year,” Daisuke reintroduced, emphasizing his year.

“Kuroo Tetsuro, third year,” he said smugly.

“Ah—okay,” Daisuke said standing straighter, “Kuroo-san, follow me,” turning towards the back of the room.

Chuckling Kuroo said, “Just Kuroo’s fine—you’re technically my senior here since I’ve never played violin before.”

Stuttering a bit and covering it with a cough, Daisuke nodded once. He stood in front of a wall of neatly labelled cubbies and pulling a black rectangular case out, he handed it to Kuroo. Explaining the rules of the rental and making him sign a form, Daisuke taught Kuroo how to properly tighten the bow, use rosin, clean the instrument, and taught him simple exercises to practice posture.

Fiddling a bit with the shoulder rest as Daisuke excused himself for a second, Kuroo ran through the exercises to get himself acquainted with the feel of the violin under his chin and a bow in his right hand. It was uncomfortable, he noted. His left shoulder wanted to scrunch up towards his face, his left wrist wanted to press towards the neck of the violin, and he couldn’t comfortably hold his bow. For the first time in a while, Kuroo felt out of his element—he felt as though his body couldn’t do what he wanted it to do. He felt awkward and unsure and the back of his neck prickled as he caught other students look his way.

Finally, Daisuke came back. Holding a thin blue book in his hand he explained, “This’ll teach you the basics of reading music. The thickest string on the left is G, followed by D, A, and E. Notes go in order of A through G and it just repeats.” Making sure Kuroo was following along, he continued. “So, If we start on the G string and put a finger down,” he moved over to place Kuroo’s index finger on the first tape, “what note is this?”

“A?”

“Yup, great. Follow the tapes for where you should put your fingers, I taught you how to tune and you need to study and practice every night so you’ll be able to partially follow along in class.”

Head a little dizzy with the new information but also proud to have understood some of the basics, Kuroo nodded. Daisuke took Kuroo to the back of the group, explained to a student who Kuroo was, then took his place towards the front.

Kuroo’s stand partner was a first year—Hayato. He’d been doing orchestra since middle school, didn’t take private lessons like many of the other students, but enjoyed orchestra enough to continue in high school as a hobby. Although a little awkward, Hayato was patient when giving Kuroo a more detailed explanation of reading music, since six years of piano lessons had completely left him, and set him up with basic exercises.

“You need to make sure your left wrist is down and relaxed,” Hayato said, tapping a pencil to Kuroo’s inner wrist. “Also, your bow grip is atrocious, but that’s one of the hardest things for a beginner.” He showed Kuroo how the bow was supposed to be held, stressing how it should look relaxed and curved.

Making small adjustments while Kuroo shakily moved the bow across the strings, Hayato said, “Sensei will probably have you come during study hall to practice, but you need to practice at home too or Sato-san and the concertmaster will probably chew you out.”

Bow stuttering crookedly across the strings, making Sato tut at him, Kuroo paused. “The concertmaster,” he asked disbelievingly. “What is that?” imagining some despotic conductor in long tuxedo trails and a clipboard.

Laughing at his confusion, Hayato explained. “The concertmaster is the first chair violinist. In orchestra they’re like the leader of the group. They tune the group, come out second to last before the conductor during concerts, make decisions on bowings, and everyone kinda follows their lead.”

Nodding to himself Kuroo said, “Okay, so he’s like,” he trailed off, “the captain of the team?”

“Exactly. Except she’s a third year like you and pretty well known in the music scene in our area, y’know.”

Frowning at his assumption he admitted, “Ah, okay so,” he trailed off, “concertmistress? I play volleyball, I don’t really know music.”

Hayato laughed and Kuroo raised a brow. “I mean obviously—you don’t really look like a violinist.”

Affronted Kuroo said, “Oi, what does that mean?”

“Kuroo-san, you’re like, huge,” Hayato squeaked out.

Trying not to preen, Kuroo waved his hand and turned his head towards the front of the class.

Jouda-sensei stood on her podium and tapped her baton on the raised stand in front of her. “Hi everyone, good to see all of you again. We have a few new faces so make sure to welcome them and help them out. I’m super excited for our potential set list this year, but before I pass out the folders, let’s a hear a few words from our concertmistress!”

With scattered applause and stomping, a girl rose to the podium as Jouda-sensei stepped off. Holding her violin and bow in her left hand she beamed at the class. Briefly introducing herself and sharing her excitement for the year to make music with everyone, Jouda-sensei interrupted her return to her seat.

“For the first rehearsal, how about you formally tune us?” Jouda-sensei offered.

“Aw, no it’s okay—some people are beginners and all the section leaders already took care of it right?”

Next to her, her stand partner threw an eraser at the podium making her scowl. “Just do it, her stand partner complained,” drawing laughter from the class.

Giving her partner the finger, hidden from their sensei’s view, she laughed good naturedly and straightened her shoulders.

All of a sudden, Kuroo noted, the atmosphere in the room changed. Students were no longer whispering to each other, playing random tunes, or shuffling in their seats. Everyone’s eyes were on her at the podium. She offered an open palm and nodded towards the back of the room. A single note penetrated the silence.

She swept her hand towards the back and Kuroo was suddenly flooded with the sound of the deep and rich brass section. After a few seconds, she repeated the process and the woodwind instruments close to Kuroo in the back began to tune.

Hayato leaned towards Kuroo. “Before concerts and rehearsals everyone should’ve tuned beforehand. This more for last minute checks and also a show for the audience. The order and how many sections tune at once is usually decided between the concertmaster and the conductor—Kuroo-san, we’ll tune last.”

Nodding in appreciation, Kuroo turned his attention back to the podium. The woodwinds trailed off and after a beat of silence, she nodded once again for the tuning note to be played and she waved her hand towards the cellos and basses at her right. The gravelly resonance of the strings filled Kuroo with a strange sense of full contentment and marveled at the size of the basses, whose strings seemed to be quadruple the thickness of his own.

Finally, the concertmaster gave one last nod and tucked her violin under her chin. Hearing the drone of the pitch, everyone around Kuroo began to tune. Unsure of what to do, he stumbled to mimic Hayato who was adjusting his tuners. Since Sato Daisuke already tuned his instrument, Kuroo just played open strings and waited for the rest of his section to stop. Glancing to his left at Kuroo’s right hand, Hayato whispered sharply, “Keep your pinky curved!”

.

After tuning, folders were passed out to each student, filed with sheet music. Hayato organized the sheets on their stand.

“Since you’re on the inside—the left hand side of the stand—your job is to turn my pages,” he explained. “It’ll be good practice to see if you can follow along even if you can’t read, but no worries if you want to spend today just watching and listening.”

Thanking Hayato and teasing when he fumbled in embarrassment, Kuroo spent the rest of class in awe. Although the group was seeing the pieces for the first time, he couldn’t help the goosebumps on his arms as the orchestra came together. Even when he heard Hayato miss a note, noticed when the conductor would glare at a section, or when they had to stop and regroup, listening to individual instruments try come together as one left Kuroo wanting to be a part of it. From the inside, he watched as bows moved in unison and fingers slid up and down the necks of stringed instruments. He was hyper aware of the instruments behind him providing support to the main melody, and leaned towards them to catch their individual parts.

He set his gaze towards the front of the room and watched the concertmaster. Powerful yet graceful, her bow made sure movements across the strings, fingers moving quickly and accurately. Her body swayed with the music and her face, unlike Hayato’s, was not one of extreme concentration. She seemed focused as she watched the conductor and indicated entrances to her section through her body, but despite the multi-tasking, it was clear to Kuroo that she was having fun.

She trusted her section to follow along, for her stand partner to flip the pages at the right times, and for the rest of the orchestra to do their parts. When Jouda-sensei made the class begin again, she would lean towards her stand partner and share whispered giggles and Kuroo caught the glint of shiny pink polish and traced the way her hair fell across her shoulders.

He knew what being a captain was like—he had been captain since he was voted in at the end of his second year and he wondered how long she’d been playing for, how much she practices, and how she encourages her section. He wondered what the differences and similarities were between leading a team and an orchestra were—the differences and similarities between them, even.

At the end of class Kuroo promised to himself to practice a little every day to be able to play with the group and hold his own. For the rest of the school day, he idly hummed the melodies they had played in class and replayed images of bows and hands moving in unison.

.

In the club room before practice, Kuroo came in with his violin case. Greeting his teammates, he started to change.

Loosening his tie and pulling his sweater over his head, Kuroo heard Lev ask about his case. Swapping his school top for his practice one, Kenma responded.

“Kuroo’s taking orchestra for his arts credit.”

“Why would you take a band credit, you should’ve taken sculpture like I did,” Yamamoto exclaimed proudly.

“Your sculptures were ugly,” Kenma said evenly, over the sounds of his video game.

Before Yamamoto could respond, Fukunaga menacingly shook his water bottle at the two of them causing Kenma to turn his back and hunch defensively over his game.

Narrowing his eyes at Kenma, Yamamoto turned his attention back to Kuroo who was idly flipping through the practice book Daisuke had given him.

“Yeah Kuroo, band classes are so much work when you’ve gotta learn the instrument, why’d you enroll?”

Before Kuroo could respond Yaku jumped to Yamamoto’s side and jabbed him. “Band and orchestra are two different things you uncultured swine!”

Doubled over and grasping his stomach, Yamamoto glared tearfully at his senior, then directed his glare towards Lev who was slapping his knee in laughter.

“Kuroo-san,” Lev shouted, “can you play us something?” he asked excitedly.

Gaining the interest of the rest of the team, everyone crowded around Kuroo, nodding in unison. He rubbed the back of his head in uncertainty.

“I’ve literally just learned how to play. I don’t know if you’d really want me to.”

“We really want you to!” Lev said, encouraging him to open his case.

Begrudgingly, Kuroo went to his violin and briefly explained how to setup and tune, to the amazement of some of his teammates. Even Kenma peered curiously over his video game in the corner. He tucked the instrument under his chin, carefully held his bow and placed the hair on the A string and played. Kuroo focused intently on ensuring that his bow grip was loose, but secure, that his pinky and thumb were curved and that his bow was making straight lines across the string.

As Kuroo looked over to his teammates, he noticed Yaku’s shoulders starting to shake while he pointed a finger at him.

“I-Is that the best you can do?” Yaku nearly screamed, howling in laughter. “You’re not even moving your f-fingers!”

To Kuroo’s embarrassment, the rest of the team tried desperately to hold in their laughter and Lev deadpanned, “That kinda sucked, senpai.”

Stuttering out an indignant scoff, Kuroo’s brow furrowed, “I told you I just learned this today! A-and posture is important you heathens!” shaking his bow at Lev and Yaku.

[the-melting-world]

art by @ mineshaft-birdie

For @totatoti

Nali x Amani

Morning after starters: “I gotta go, sorry." + “I can’t find my shirt.” + “You’re really beautiful. Even if you drool. ” + For our muses to wake with no recollection of the night before.

cw: mentions of alcohol

~ 780 words

****

Amani Ayad didn’t know what she was doing inside this strange, tiled chamber. From what she could see through the narrow, rectangular slits running along the base of the ceiling, she was underwater in something large and mobile.

Amani let her gaze drift down to take in the room in which she had slept the night before. It was like something out of an interior decor boutique… for someone with very specific tastes.

Pink. Purple. Glitter. Shimmering dragonflies and pastel bunny rabbits. Geometric designs in sharp, neon shades.

My eyes hurt, Amani snorted to herself as she got up to assess the damage from the night before. Because by the gods, she could not remember a damn thing.

Amani’s movement caused the blankets to slip down her naked chest. She swore under her breath and started to rummage through the fluffy pillows.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a tangled spool of cloudy pink hair.

She ignored it.

“You’re really beautiful.” The pink mass of curls rustled until a tan, scarred smile emerged. “Even when you’re drooling. ”

Amani assumed that this was the person she had spent the night with.

The rogue’s lantern gaze absorbed the other’s full figure. Not bad for a one night stand that she couldn’t even remember.

By now, Amani had found her bra. Never having been ashamed of her body in front of others, she put it on slowly, still taking in what parts of her bed partner that she could gather from the gaps in the starry blankets and fluffy pillows. By the assessment taking place in the other woman’s eyes, she was delighted by the sight of Amani’s red-inked tattoos.

Flattered, but still cautious, Amani said, “I can’t find my shirt, um…”

“Adrenaline,” she answered, wrapping her starry sheets tighter around her shoulders. Then she pouted a little and rocked her shoulders back and forth. “Sure you don’t want to cuddle a little longer? Get to know each other.” Adrenaline paused and added with a cheeky smile. “Or get reacquainted should I say. My memory’s a little fuzzy.”

As tempting as the offer was, Amani shook her head. “Sorry. I gotta go.” She turned away from Adrenaline’s pout before she could change her mind.

“I get it,” the pink-haired woman sighed. “Take your time looking for your shirt. There’s no rush, Amani.”

Lifting up the edge of a glitzy rug, Amani mused, “You remembered my name?”

“One of the few things I remember. And it’s a shame. You sure you don’t want to remind me what happened between us?”

And give myself a reason to stay… to come back? I don’t think so.

Amani only snickered and made a negating gesture. But Adrenaline didn’t seem offended. If anything, she kept trying to get Amani to return to the bed with banter. Meanwhile, Amani searched high and low for her shirt. She came up with nothing.

“Tell me something, Nali.” The nickname slipped from her lips without her even thinking about it. “If we got so hammered last night, why don’t I have a headache or anything like that?”

Adrenaline’s eyes sparkled in what could only be mischief.

“My shipmates helped us out. They have all sorts of weird powers. Erasing some of the side effects of alcohol is just one of their cool tricks.”

Amani approached the low, circular bed where Adrenaline was wrapped up in her blankets.

The rogue asked, “Do your shipmates have any tricks that involve bringing back my clothes?”

When Adrenaline’s smile only deepened, Amani trampled over the pillows and yanked the starry sheet off of her shoulders.

“My shirt! You were wearing it the whole time?”

Nali didn’t look the least bit guilty. Her eyes beckoned and her pierced dimples glimmered in a way that left Amani both aggravated and charmed. Before the rogue could think twice, she was deep in the heap of blankets, trying to wrestle the clothing off of the giggling pirate.

Despite herself, Amani wound up laughing too. She couldn’t help it. Adrenaline’s energy was infectious.

Amani could tell by the way Nali rolled with her that she wasn’t even trying to fight back. Not really. Still, Amani was breathing heavily by the time she got Nali onto her back with her arms pinned above her.

“You know what?” Amani snuck a kiss on the soft underside of Nali’s arm. “You can keep it.”

Amani lowered Adrenaline’s arms from over her head and kissed her on the lips this time. The pirate returned the affection, tugging gently at Amani’s bottom lip whenever she could.

“If I remember correctly,” Nali whispered, dragging her knuckles against the faint markings trailing under Amani’s eyes, “you told me the same thing last night.”

[diyunho]

The Joker x Reader - “Gotham Comic Con”

The Joker and his girlfriend decided to attend “Gotham Comic Con” this year dressed as The Batman and Cat Woman. It took Y/N some time to convince her boyfriend but here they are about to have fun and nothing could spoil the event. Right?...

“Oh my God, this is awesome!” you giggle entering the venue designated for the yearly special event “Gotham Comic-Con” dressed as Cat Woman.

The Joker is right behind you sporting The Batman outfit and he flexes his knees a few times, growling.

“What’s wrong?” you ask although you have a clue because J’s been complaining about since he got off the van parked on Lot B5.

“I hate these stretchy pants! I don’t know how that asshole does it!”

“You’re the one that insisted to come as Batsy,” you reveal point out the truth. “You could have been anyone else.”

“Like who?”

“Cinderella,” you elbow him and your boyfriend is not a huge fan of the concept.

“Why??!!”

“The drama, obviously,” you keep walking alongside him and he’s definitely ready to blow at your insinuation when you gasp. ”Baby, I think that’s Bane!” you gesture towards a massive individual flaunting a Sub-Zero costume.

“How can you tell?” The Joker squints his eyes and the bubbly Y/N has to say it:

“I would recognize his physique anywhere! Plus, he still has the scar between his eyes,” you pucker your lips and The King mumbles a bunch of PG 13 rated things regarding his business partner.

Why?

Last week they got into a brawling and almost killed each other.

The reason?

Y/N.

The Joker believes that Bane always flirts with you (which he does since he likes to refer to you as “a breath of fresh air”); stuff escalated until you had to break it up: J ended up with a busted lip, Bane with a cut between his eyes due to The Clown trying to stab him in the head and you ended up with an inflated ego.

“Hello Mister B.,” you tap the pile of muscles and he turns around to see who’s bothering him.

“Y/N!” he excitedly exclaims, immediately unhappy at the sight of his business partner. “Joker…” the low tone greets.

“Bane…” J sneers.

“What are you two doing here?” Bane inquires.

“Having fun; I finally convinced him we should do this and mingle for once. No better way to spend the day,” the bubbly comment pleases your conversation partner. “So we dressed up and here we are.”

“I must say you’re like a breath of fresh air,” Bane admires your skin tight costume and stilettos which prompts The Joker’s disapproval:

“If you want fresh air, go outside!”

“Make me!”

Oh no! Not again!

“Are you here alone?” you change the subject and distract them from getting into a fight. Not that you wouldn’t enjoy it, but… too many witnesses at the packed Comic Con, it could end up in a total disaster.

“With my niece and nephew. I lost them for a second and I’m searching the premises; they can’t be far,” Bane reports. “Which reminds me: I should get going and find them otherwise my sister will go ballistic. I’ll see you later, Y/N,” he acknowledges you and ignores your man.

“Bye Mister B.,” The Queen snickers at the evident teasing.

“Just her, huh?” The Joker grumbles. “What about me? Did you forget we have a meeting next week???”

“Too bad and super sad: I’m not talking to you!” Bane’s attitude emerges.

“I certainly could care less because I’m not talking to you either!” The King strikes back.

“Then what are we going to do?” Sub-Zero’s better judgement brings up a good argument.

“Y/N will translate!” J proudly states.

Oh no! Not again!

That means they will snarl and make weird noises and you’ll have to guess what it means; an absolutely excruciating task that even a breath of fresh air can’t accomplish without losing it.

Maybe you should let them kill each other. 

“Fine!” Bane decides and distances himself from the couple while the Joker shouts since he has to have the last word:

“Fine!”

“Mister Batman?” the 5 years old dressed as a hobbit shily tugs on J’s cape.

“Hm?” the fake vigilante looks down. The little boy suddenly sneezes and wipes his nose with the fabric as the mad man is less than lenient at someone ruining the outfit replica he paid a fortune to have.

“Goddamn…” and he can’t finish his sentence because a large group of screaming children surround him in a heartbeat.

“Batman! Batman!” they jump up and down hyped up to see their hero.

“Go away!” J attempts to reason with the sea of kids he has no patience for. Of course nobody can hear him over the deafening sounds that attract more offsprings and parents.

“That’s so cute!” one of the moms gushes and takes a picture. “It’s delightful seeing a guy dressed as The Batman performing such a public service for our town!”

“He loves people, especially babies, “ you lie without blinking and immortalize the moment yourself.

“Awww,” a few people sigh touched by your praises.

“He must be a nice dude,” a kid’s dad concludes and you sweetly smile from under your mask:

“You have no idea.”

Somebody from the crowd places an infant girl in The Joker’s arms and the mob goes ballistic!! Rosie cheeks keeps sucking from her binky, glaring at the interesting person.

Clapping, cheering and whistling intensify whilst J feels compelled by his increasing popularity to lift the 6 months old above his head for everyone to see how cool he is.

This is not bad, The King enjoys an endless string of applause and the sudden explosion occurring in the diaper followed by quite a foul smell puts an end to his exuberance.

“Jesus!” he crinkles his nose, appalled. “Whose kid is this?” he yells and the thrilled parent waves at him, taking back the stinky, adorable bundle of joy. “Uncle Batsy needs to run!!” J makes up a random plan although nobody can hear him: the noise is overwhelming after he hyped them all up.  “Let’s bail before they trap me again! Pretty soon I won’t be able to walk, Princess. Everything is crammed in there, a total mess! I hate stretchy pants!!” he addresses his woman and quickens the pace until an atrocious abomination stops him in his tracks.

A specimen mocking The Joker wearing a purple suit is getting quite the attention: over exaggerated red lips smudged over the lip line, tattoo on the forehead that spells “Cabbaged”, a bunch of cheap golden chains from the Dollar Store around his neck and a sloppy green wig complete the assemble in a cringy manner.

You are equally speechless and The Joker manages to utter:

“What… THE HELL… is that????!!!!”

“Ummm… a Clown?” your sassy remark doesn’t score high marks as expected; you feel his eyes burning holes through you.

“You’re hilarious! Would you like to share your standup comedy talents on the stage??!” his index finger points at the platform meant to host a guest appearance from Bruce Wayne in the next hour.

Courtesy of “Wayne Enterprise” sponsoring the event: free food and refreshments for everyone under 18 years old.

You don’t answer and pout, upset J’s pissed attitude is already ruining your mood.

“I’m going to kill that buffoon posing as me!” he inhales full of spite and reaches for the knife hidden in his left boot.

“You can’t…” you hesitantly halt his movement. “Dozens of people, that’s just asking for trouble!”

“I’m not going to let a prick disrespect me!”

“You won’t, we’ll figure something afterwards. We can wait for him outside in the parking lot and take care of it without drawing attention! Please?” you beg hoping he’ll listen to you. “Pleeeaaaase!!!!“ you insist, perfectly aware he’s about to commit murder regardless. “I have a bunch of VIP passes to take pictures with celebrities. You promised J!” you stomp your high heels, exasperated. “You promised we’ll have a fun date!!”

“Why do I have to take pics with celebrities?! I don’t like anybody!”

The look on Y/N’s face: sheer disappointment; most of her features are covered with the mask yet he can tell.

“But I like you so the most I’ll do is take a selfie with you!” The Joker makes amendments on his own terms.

The Queen sniffles, trying to bottle up her emotions and she can’t help it: she bursts up in tears at her boyfriend’s candor.

Oh no! Not again!

Why?

The King of Gotham says nice things maybe twice a year and each time you struggle not to cry but it’s impossible: how can one resist such charm?!

Your complete meltdown makes him roll his eyes while your shaky hand takes a picture of the royal duo.

“Ugghhh…” J’s grimace turns your attention towards him.

“What is it baby?” you wipe your tears with his cape.

He would probably criticize such affront still there’s a pressing issue taking precedent.

“Princess, these tights are making my legs numb. I can’t feel my crown jewelry anymore.”

“Huh?” you forget to weep, startled.

“Cursed stretchy pants! I think I won’t be able to have sex for a month!” The Joker stretches his feet, uncomfortable.

“What??!!!” you raise your voice, panicked. “A month???!!”

Hell no!

Y/N grabs The Joker’s right hand and starts dragging him after her, yelling:

“Out of the way! Out of the way, it’s an emergency!!” whilst everyone is wondering how can someone wearing those 7-inch stilettos can march so fast.

“Where are we going, Pumpkin?!” J is inquiring and you yank at his arm, alarmed.

“To the car!”

“Why?”

Y/N doesn’t have time for explanations: she basically flies across the parking lot to get to section B5, opens the van’s back door and shoves J inside. He lands on his abs as you relentlessly pull on his boots, accomplishing to take them off in record time. Then you heave at his tights, huffing a storm at the stiff garment:

“I’ll be damn if I’ll wait a month for a ride in Funky Town!”

A mother and her 11 years old son pass by and she covers his eyes, horrified at the indecency as she guides him throughout the maze of vehicles.

“There are children here!” the woman protests. “Get a room!”

Luckily, she wasn’t heard by The Clown and his girl because… victory! The stretchy pants are off, J only in his boxers now.

“How are you feeling?” you roll him and he exhales, assessing the damage succeeding Y/N swift actions.

“Not sure, same?... Sit on my lap,” J offers and you don’t need a second invitation.

“Well?” you hold in the anxiety reaching high levels under these dire circumstances.

“Dunno, kiss me and we’ll see.”

You kiss him and he purrs.

“Well?” you interrogate again.

“Kiss me again!” he orders and you put more passion into it since your future happiness depends on it. “Hmm…” J groans. “I believe things are improving.”

“Yeah?” Y/N is about to have another breakdown although J didn’t say sweet rubbish; it’s just that kind of occasion.

“U-hum!”

“Then… what do you say we go home and celebrate your recovery?” you whisper in his ear.

“What about Comic Con?”

“Screw it!” you hop off his knees. “I’ll drive, you focus on your convalescence, ok baby?”

“Ok,” The Joker agrees and begins to stride around the van as Bruce Wayne’s limousine happens to drive by, the billionaire preparing to attend the event he sponsored.

“Stop the car!” Bruce commands at the weird view in the distance: a man wearing a replica of his Batman suit-- helmet, mask, gloves, cape… but no pants or boots, the bottom part of his attire consisting solely of underwear. “Right when you think you saw it all…” he shakes his head in denial, oblivious about who the person is.

Mister Wayne should at least have some empathy for the man enduring those tights for as long as he could; it might not be a record, but who could ever beat the real Batman at wearing stretchy pants anyway?!

Also read: MASTERLIST   

https://diyunho.tumblr.com/post/153664676321/joker-x-reader-masterlist

You can also follow me on Ao3 and Wattpad under the same blog name: DiYunho.

[eclecticstarlightconnoisseur]

EDINBURGH TO BOSTON - CHAPTER 19 - THE KING’S GAMBIT

Good evening all. So now that we are all caught up with the previous two chapters, I am posting the most recent chapter called The King’s Gambit. This one also is NSFW. It will be the last of this type for a while, since are many other things these two babies need to do, like go back to work. 

Why did this chapter take so long? I don’t know. All I know is I couldn’t get it right. So thank you to @scubalass​ who kept on me until it become something worth posting.

I appreciate any thoughts, comments, suggestions, recommendations that anyone may have. Any questions anyone has fire away.

So without any further delay, I give to you, for better or worse:

Edinburgh to Scotland

Chapter 19

The King’s Gambit

The pale cold light from a winter sun came through the bedroom window. It was the type of light that illuminated but did not lend warmth. It was, however, warm and cozy in bed next to Claire. Jamie didn’t want to get up by a long shot, but the reality of life would intrude today and there was no sense in postponing it.

He quietly got up rummaging through a drawer finding an old pair of sweatpants and a tee-shirt; he dressed quickly turned and looked at Claire sleeping.

Her hair was a wild mess, like a dandelion puff that exploded. She’ll hate it, he thought. He, on the other hand, rather liked it as he thought it suited her, ferocious and untamed. Maybe that was what he loved about her. She reminded him of the Highlands, fierce, unrestrained, yet warm, loving, and tender as a spring flower. And beautiful. He gently brought the blanket up to cover her properly and silently left her to her slumber.

Claire turned onto her side searching for Jamie only finding a cold empty bed. Cracking one eye open she scoured the room for any sign of her Scot. To her dismay, he was nowhere to be found. She wiggled her bum intending to burrow down into the inviting bed for a few more minutes of sleep when the enticing smell of fresh coffee wafted under her nose pulling at her like a doomed sailor to a siren’s song.

Standing up, Claire smiled at the pleasant soreness between her legs remembering their amorous activities of last night and earlier this morning. Thinking she would find him in the kitchen, she wrapped her robe around herself and padded off in search of her Scot and coffee. 

She found him seated at the island, a coffee mug in hand staring intently at his laptop. Leaning over, Claire wrapped her arms around him resting her head on his shoulder. 

“Good morning,” she murmured, placing a delicate kiss on his cheek.

Jamie took her hand lovingly kissing her palm, “Ye slept well then, lass?” he inquired. 

“Very well. Better than I have in a long time,” Claire replied sounding pleased.

She turned her head to observe the screen realizing he had logged in to the hospital’s portal to review their upcoming OR schedule.

“I see you’re busy checking our calendar.”

“Aye, I have. There’s a CABG followed by a mitral valve repair/replacement as soon as we get back. The remainder of the week is just as busy.” He was crestfallen at not being able to help her. “Ye ken I canna help ye. So I was looking tae see who was free.”

Claire poured a cup of coffee and sat next to Jamie to review the surgical roster. “Look, I think Pound is free all week. He’s getting ready to graduate and could use more hands-on time. And he is quite good. I trust him. I think we have our problem solved,” Claire said as she sipped her coffee. “Do you think you could cover my other duties while I’m operating? That should ease the burden on the two of us.”

“I can. Now I just need to tell the Chief,” Jamie rolled his eyes and grimaced with the prospect of having this conversation with the pompous old windbag.

“Then I shall leave you to it,” Claire grabbed her cup and stood as if to leave wanting to give Jamie some privacy for the phone call.

“No, I dinna want ye to leave,” he reached out grasping her hand.  It was strange how he had come to rely on her in such a short time. Claire became his pillar, his strength. 

“I dinna like the man. He may be Chief but…there is just something about him that’s no’ right.”

She looked at him with sympathy. “I know what you mean. I have thought him to be rather Janus-faced, friendly and kind but insincere and unscrupulous. I have heard rumors about how he treats other surgeons,” provoking a shiver to run down her spine. “But, he likes you. I don’t think there should be much of a problem.”

“Aye, that's what I fear. “I dinna like his attentions,” he huffed. 

“You are very talented and a much better surgeon than he is. He knows it and I have a suspicion he doesn’t like it.”

Jamie blushed at her praise. That kind of praise coming from Claire Beauchamp meant something.

Tightening his grip on her hand, he pulled Claire closer. He looked up at her beseechingly. “Besides, mo nighean donn, this affects you as well. We have been partners long before we became…more.”

He didn’t know how to define what they are. Boyfriend and girlfriend? That sounds rather like high school. Lovers? That they were. But it did not encompass everything. Companions, partners? That still did not cover what their relationship was. He was at a loss to explain what their relationship should be called. What would explain it enough without demeaning its significance? Did it really matter how they referred to each other? She is the love of his life. And that’s what mattered. 

“Ye need to be part of the discussion and the solution.” He looked at her encouraging her to stay. 

“You’re right, Jamie. We need to face things together.”

“Aye, there’s the two of us now,” he smiled with the thought. Whatever they faced they would present a united front. 

Taking a deep breath, Jamie placed the call. 

“Good day to ye Ainsley. Dr. Fraser here, would the Chief be available?” Jamie inquired almost hoping that he was not. Get it over with Fraser. If not now then it will be later. Jamie heaved a large sigh.

“Aye, Dr. Fraser. Let me connect you.”

Soft nondescript music played as he waited for his boss to pick up the line. He puffed out his cheeks and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling with impatience, anxious to get the call over with.

“Jaamie,” the honeyed voice drawled. “How is my favorite surgeon? Hum? Ready to come back with all these new techniques that will improve our department?” The avarice was apparent in his voice. His greed extended not only to money, but to position, fame, but most of all power.

“Weel, sir that’s the reason for my call. I had a wee accident while in Boston injuring my right hand and I’ll no’ be able to operate for a few weeks.”

Claire placed her hand on Jamie’s thigh giving it a gentle squeeze in support.

“You what!?” The Chief sputtered. “Where was Beauchamp while all of this was going on??” He muttered under his breath, but obviously not low enough not to be heard, “Damn the woman! You think she could control one man.”

Claire’s hand went to cover her mouth to smother her laughter. She expected nothing better from him. “Utter arse!”

Jamie scowled at her, for laughing. Claire shrugged her shoulders, leaned over and kissed his cheek.

“She was no’ there when the accident happened. I should be fine in a few weeks. In the meantime, Dr. Beauchamp and I have assessed the situation and devised a plan that will allow for our caseload tae go on unimpeded. I believe that Dr. Elias Pound is available to assist Dr. Beauchamp with the surgeries while I assume the teaching, rounding, and clinic duties. We believe this is a satisfactory solution.”

“It seems you two have everything sorted. I can always count on the two of you to rise to the occasion.” There was a brief pause in the conversation accompanied by some soft muttering from Sandringham’s end. “Jamie, I want you to see our hand surgeon, Dr. Hildegarde de Gascogne to manage your care. As you are aware, she is world-renowned and I want only the best for you, my lad.  You are a very valuable asset to our department, ” he wheezed. ”Ainsley will call you with an appointment.”  Sandringham’s feigned attempt at concern was easily heard in his voice as it was hollow lacking sincerity for Jamie’s well being.

His tone became unctuous and slick, “Are you in much pain, dear boy? Is there anything I can do for you?” 

“Ah, no. Thank ye, Dr. Sandringham. Dr. Beauchamp and I have this well under control. I’ll be expecting Ainsley’s call.” 

“Very well then. Oh, and Dr. Fraser do be more careful, hmm?”

“Aye, sir. Good day tae ye.” He exhaled heavily now feeling able to draw a deep breath.

“That wasn’t so bad was it?” Claire said with a smirk.

“Easy for you tae say. Ye dinna have tae speak tae the man.”

“No, I didn’t. But, he thinks I should have prevented you from injuring yourself.” Little did Jamie know that Claire did blame herself for his broken fingers and that he re-injured his hand a second time.

“Dinna fash, Sassenach. I promised ye I would beat Frank into a pudding if I ever saw him. ‘Tis an honor tae care for ye, protect ye.”

She looked up at him as if he were her knight in shining armor, “I don't know if I ever thanked you for coming to my rescue that night, but thank you.”

Claire sat on his lap snuggling up against him resting her head in the crook of his neck. Jamie wrapped his arms around her waist bringing her closer to him. She relaxed into him feeling safe and loved in his strong arms. Her fingers wound their way through his ginger curls. His hair had grown and was longer than he usually wore it.  “I like your hair a little longer, especially when it curls. I don’t want you to cut it.” 

“As ye wish mo leannan.”

They sat enjoying the peace between them listening to each other's breath.

Jamie leaned down placing a soft kiss to her forehead. “Do ye ken how much I like to hold ye?”

“No, I don’t. Why don’t you tell me?” sighed Claire.

“I do it because I like the nearness of ye.”  He smiled at her shyly as if he were going to impart some great secret. ”There is a hole here in my chest,” he said letting one hand go from around her waist and pointing to his heart. “’Tis been there my whole life. I dinna ken what it was or what caused it, this hollowness there. Now that I found ye I kent what ‘tis. ’Tis a chasm that only ye can fill, Claire. Ye are the missing piece of my heart. And when I hold ye close tae me, ‘tis no’ empty. It doesna hurt anymore when yer near me.”

She kissed his eyelids, the tip of his nose, cheekbones, finally finding his mouth. She kissed him lightly. Growing bolder, she allowed her tongue to trace his lush sensual lips savoring the taste of him. 

Jamie groaned deeply. “Claire,” he whispered her name reverently as if saying a prayer. He looked at her as if she was the embodiment of all that is holy. As if she was sent to him by the gods for him to cherish and love.

Leaning forward her mouth pressed near the tender lobe of his ear as she breathed, “Do you want me, Jamie?”

“Ye dinna ken what ye do tae me mo chridhe. How am I tae resist ye? My body is here tae serve ye as ye wish.

Jamie lowered his face, bringing his lips to hers. His tongue caressed the seam of her lips, seeking entry. Her lips were soft, warm, and yielded to his desire. She opened to him like a flower in full bloom. Their tongues twinned together engaging in a ritual courtship dance.

His cell phone rang and vibrated on the table. He saw it was Sandringham’s office and pushed the phone away with annoyance expecting the message to go to voicemail.

“So, where were we?” He queried as his tongue licked the sensitive skin at the juncture of Claire’s neck and throat. Using his teeth he bit her causing Claire to erupt in chill bumps as she moaned in pleasure.

His hand slid between the folds of the gossamer fabric that covered her. Her skin was warm, silky. And her breasts ah...they were full and heavy. He ran a finger over a nipple making it harden and round just like a perfect pearl. How he longed to take it in his mouth and suckle like a babe at her breast. 

His mobile began to chime and vibrate. It skittered on the slick granite top, pulling their attention to the offending little device. Sighing Claire picked it up showing Jamie the home screen alert. Clarence Sandringham. 

“I think you should take the call. He’ll keep calling. We can always pick up where we left off later.”

Jamie grudgingly answered the call. It was Ainsley with the information about his appointment.

“Thank ye kindly, Ainsley. I will be there,” as he placed the information on his calendar. 

“I’m seeing  Dr. de Gascogne Monday at 1 pm. Do ye think ye will be free tae come with me?”

“You want me to come with you? Why ever for?” She wanted to tease him asking if he was afraid of going to the doctor, but held her tongue.

He looked at Claire with soft sweet imploring eyes, “I would feel better with ye by my side ‘tis all.” The tips of his ears pinked as he thought of his need for her by his side supporting him.

“Well if you wish that I come with you, of course, I will.”

Jamie let out a breath he didn’t know that he was holding, “Thank ye Sassenach.” He didn’t want to admit he was nervous and afraid. Afraid his hand would not heal well and he would never be able to operate again. Worse yet, he feared he would not be able to care for Claire, love her, or serve her as she deserves. And she deserved a whole man, not a broken one.

Claire sensing a change in Jamie’s mood cleared her throat feeling that the moment between them had broken. The fire in their bellies had been smoored but not extinguished. She gave Jamie a light kiss on his lips, “Shall I make us breakfast?”

“Nay, lass. ‘Tis my turn to make breakfast. How about I make ye some of my famous parritch with berries? I can do that one-handed.”

“ Alright. Then I guess it’s my turn to make a phone call.”

“Tae who, Sassenach?”

“My dog sitter, Mrs. Bug. I think I should let her know when I’ll be home and pick up Ginger.”

“Aye, that would be a good idea. Ye go on and make yer call. I’ll let ye know when breakfast is ready.”

Claire dialed the number and the phone was picked up quickly. In the background she could hear the cacophony of a television playing, children laughing, and a dog barking. Her sweet girl.

“Ethan, ye wee gomeral, put that down afore ye break it. Hello,” shouted what sounded like an exasperated Mrs. Bug.

“Hallo, Mrs. Bug. It’s Claire. It seems I have caught you at a bad time. I just called to let you know I would be by to pick up Ginger on Sunday evening if that’s alright with you?”

“Claire, ma dearie, och ‘tis not a bad time.”

“Caleb, dinna make me come over there. Be a good lad and eat yer parritach. Dinna put it in yer brother’s hair.” 

“Sunday would be fine. Shall I make ye some soup? I’ll wager ye dinna eat properly while ye were away.”

“No, no, that’s not necessary, Mrs. Bug,” Claire sighed with exasperation. Mrs. Bug was always trying to feed her up.  

“Yer too thin, lass. Ye need to put some meat on yer bones. Gives a man something tae hang on tae. Ye ken what I mean?” Claire swore she heard Mr. Bug snicker in the background.

Before she could respond to Mrs. Bugs’ latest attempt to meddle in her life, there was the sound of pottery crashing accompanied by loud wailing in the background.

She seized the opportunity to end the call. “I think you are needed at the moment. I’ll see you on Sunday, Mrs. Bug. Give my regards to your husband. Take care.” Claire clicked off the call and exhaled a deep breath. She did not know how the elderly couple managed to babysit children, pets, and find the time to pry into other people's lives. She was exhausted just listening to the carrying on.

“Is everything alright, Sassenach?”

“Yes, fine. The Bugs are a sweet elderly couple. They are really grandparents to the entire neighborhood. But they take on so much that I just don’t know how they manage.”

“It seems they enjoy it. Everyone needs to feel useful,” Jamie pointed out. “Now, come and eat. Breakfast is ready milady. ‘Tis no’ as fancy as you make it, but it will fill ye up.”

He pulled out her chair waiting for her to take her seat. 

Claire lowered her eyes and a small smile flitted across her face. No man had ever done that for her before.

Jamie served her the parritch topped with strawberries, sliced almonds, and drizzled with honey.

“‘Tis no’ gourmet, but ‘tis no’ lumpy. I dinna like lumpy parritch,” he grimaced with the thought. He stood next to Claire anxiously waiting for her to taste it. Anxious being the operative word. 

Claire dove in tasting his offering. It was delicious. Creamy with a bit of cinnamon in it as well.

Jamie watched intently as she ate it. He didn't know why he was so worried if she liked the parritch, but he was. Well if he was honest with himself he knew she was a better cook than he and he wanted to please her.  He felt foolish worrying so, after all, it was only parritch. But he couldn’t help himself.  “Do ye like it Sassenach? Is it too hot? Maybe ye would like a bit of cream. I dinna want ye tae burn yer tongue. Would ye like more honey? I could make ye something else if ye dinna like it,” he worried chewing his lower lip.

Claire smiled, the tip of her tongue slipped out and caught a golden drop of honey on her lip, “Jamie, it’s delicious, really. Please sit down and eat before it gets cold.”

Pleasure lit up his face at seeing her enjoyment. Hurriedly he sat down and began to eat with great enthusiasm.

They chatted amicably enjoying their meal and each other’s company.

“Why don’t ye take our coffee into tae sitting room, Claire, while I clear the table?” Jamie stood at the sink rinsing the dishes then stacking them in the dishwasher.

“Alright.”  Carrying their mugs of coffee into the sitting room, Claire placed them on the wooden trunk he used as a coffee table. She wandered around the room looking at the objects that occupied the space as if they would reveal the secrets of the man she loved. She came upon a striking antique mahogany table that stood near the fireplace that was inlaid with white and black marble squares. Two elegantly carved chairs were situated so they sat opposite each other at the table. She ran a hand lovingly across the tabletop admiring its fine craftsmanship.

“‘Tis magnificent, is it no’?” he inquired, wrapping his arms around Claire’s waist nuzzling at her neck.  “‘Tis a family heirloom. It belonged to a great, great, great uncle who lived in Paris in tae 18th century. He was a wine merchant and a Jacobite as weel.” 

“It’s  truly beautiful. Do you have the original chessmen that go with it?” asked Claire.

“Aye, I do,” he replied, opening a side draw revealing the chess pieces. He pulled out the black Queen handing it to Claire. 

She stroked it lovingly appreciating the fine detail of the carving. “It is an exquisite piece, a work of art.”

Jamie looked at her hopefully, “Ye wouldna happen tae play would ye? ‘Tis hard for me tae find an opponent. No’ many people want tae play against me.”

Claire brightened, “I do play. Lamb taught me when I was a child.” Her face misted over with the memories of nightly chess games with either Lamb or Firouz by the campfire. Each man taught her what moves to make, strategies to employ, and tried to instill in her the value of competition, of being a good winner. But more importantly, the virtue of losing gracefully.  “Lamb believed that it would make me a logical thinker and develop strong problem-solving skills.  And he was quite right. It’s been invaluable to me as a surgeon.”  But Claire knew that playing chess had increased her already present competitive spirit. She liked to win.

His heart gladdened with the news. “Might I entice ye tae play a game with me?”

“I would love to. It’s been so long though, I might be a bit rusty.” Claire stopped remembering what he said. ‘Tis hard for me tae find an opponent. No’ many people want tae play against me. Curiosity got the better of her. “Um, Jamie? Why can’t you find anyone to play a game with?”

“Sit Sassenach, make yerself comfortable,” he offered. A sly grin spread across his face. “Ladies choice, which do ye prefer, the black or the white?”

“White. No, I’d prefer black. I don’t like making the opening move.”

“Having the opening move can give ye an advantage and ye will need it. I was Captain of my chess club in high school and in Uni. I’m no’ being bold when I tell ye I have won many competitions. I am offering ye a chance tae win.”  A cocky look spread across his face as he went about setting up the chessboard.

So that’s why no one will play with him. He was a chess prodigy. “No, I didn’t know that.” Tapping a finger against the table, Claire carefully weighed this new piece of information deciding how to use it. She played well but simply was not in Jamie’s league.  Her competitive nature rose to the surface with his challenge. If she wanted to win, and she did, she knew she would need an edge. Just, not the one he was offering.

 ”No, I stand by my choice. I’ll take black,” she smiled coyly. There’s more than one way to win this game, my lad, she thought.

The first mistake, he mused. By allowing him to open it would allow him to play aggressively. He wanted the game over in twenty moves or less. And to do that he would make use of the King’s Gambit. Bobby Fischer defeated an opponent in eight maneuvers. Jamie knew he was good but not that good. 

He opened by moving his pawn to e-4. 

Claire countered by placing a pawn to e-5.

A white pawn moved to f-4.

Smiling smugly, Claire accepted the challenge by taking this pawn. 

Just what I want, he thought as his lip turned slightly upward. Not wanting to appear aggressive and moving too quickly, Jamie sat rubbing his chin in concentration.

Looking up he watched as Claire’s fingers lightly stroked her arm up then down. Her fingers eventually traveled up, over her shoulder then down to graze over the edge of her breast. Slowly. Touching herself just with the tips of her fingernails the outline of her breast became visible beneath her silk robe. She followed the same pattern over and over. His mouth hung open hypnotized by her. He shook his head like a wet dog to dispel his thoughts. And oh what thoughts he was having.

“Knight to f-3,” he announced.

Claire smiled taking in his chosen placement.

She licked her lips jutting out her plump bottom lip as she considered her next position.

Surreptitiously, Jamie looked at that sweet voluptuous lip peeping out at him. What he wouldn't give to suck it into his mouth and tease it with his teeth and tongue. Christ, the woman was driving him mad.  Get yer mind back on the game, he told himself.

“Pawn to g-5.”

Jamie looked pleased with her play. He bit the inside of his cheek while considering his next strategic move.

Claire studied the board intently waiting for Jamie to place his piece. Her index finger gravitated to her lips gently gliding over it. Lips parting, her fingertip entered her mouth and she began to lightly suck it. Her finger floated across her lips making them glisten with the dew from her mouth. She smiled coquettishly as she dropped her hand to caress the black Bishop. Her movements were sensuous, sliding over the chess piece from top to bottom, bottom to top. She made a slight twisting motion as she stroked the piece. 

Jamie’s eyes never left her hand. His mouth went dry.

“It’s still your turn” she whispered demurely. 

“Pawn to h-4,” he choked out his words. Small beads of sweat appeared on his lip.

“Pawn to g-5” she stated sweetly. 

Jamie refused to look up at her, “Knight to g-5.”

“Hum, interesting, Pawn to h-6.” Jamie’s hand rested next to the board. She placed her hand over his and began to trace patterns over the back of his hand.

He burned from the contact of her skin on his. Gently he removed his hand, immediately regretting the loss of her caress. Rubbing the side of his nose he tried to clear his head from the sight and feel of her. He meant to win this game and she was doing her best to distract him. Weel, he wouldna let her.

“Knight to f-7,” Jamie countered hoping Claire would expose her King.

Claire brought her King forward taking Jamie’s Knight.

“Queen to g-4,” Jamie grinned, setting up his advanced attack.

“Knight to f-6,” Claire defends her King. 

Jamie smirked, after this move, he was three moves away from winning. “Queen to f-4.”

He looked at Claire, finding her absorbed pondering her next move. Her hand followed the V of the neckline of her robe. Leaning forward, her hand gracefully began to trace her décolletage exposing more and more skin with each pass of her hand. Soon the curve of her breast was exposed. 

His eyes darkened with just a sliver of blue iris exposed. A deep rumbling noise rose from the back of his throat, dangerous, predatory. 

Stretching, Claire reached for her King placing it on f-8 enabling Jamie to see her hardened nipples straining against the filmy fabric. 

He rose walking to the side of the table bending over as if to examine the position of the pieces in play. Straightening up he turned and snatched Claire’s arm pulling her impossibly close to his heated body. 

“Let’s play something else,” he growled, capturing her mouth as he had planned on seizing her King. His mouth was hungry for hers. He licked, nipped, and tasted her mouth with kisses slow and erotic. One hand reached up and cupped her head while the other drew her closer against him, jealous of the space the air between them occupied. His kisses deepened, searing her lips. His hand buried deeper into her curls, as his kisses became more demanding.

 Claire melted against him, her mouth open to him as her robe gave way leaving her exposed. He palmed her breast roughly feeling the puckered nipple under his hand. He rolled it between his fingers causing her to whimper. 

“Yer a right dodgy player Claire. Ye dinna play fair teasing me, distracting me throughout the game,” he snarled. “And for that, yer coming with me. We’re gonna play a new game.”

He lifted her, threw her over his shoulder, and strode with single-mindedness toward the bedroom.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Fraser? Put me down this instant!” Claire bellowed kicking her legs, hitting him in the back in between fits of laughter. 

“Haud yer wheesht, woman!” 

Jamie unceremoniously dropped Claire onto the bed. Standing at the side of the bed he loomed over her. His breath harsh and his chest heaving. His eyes were glazed over with lust. She lit a fire in his belly that needed to be put out. He licked his lips anticipating what was to come next. 

Claire scrambled to her knees backing away from him just a little.

Raising her chin in defiance, “What do you plan on doing to me?”

His lips curled into a smirk, “I’m going to kiss ye.”

She blinked. “We’re going to play a kissing game? Isn’t that childish?” she asked in confusion.

“Oh no, lassie, ‘tis a verra good game. ‘Tis one where I get tae devour ye and leave ye with naught but yer cries for mercy.”

Claire studied him, trying to puzzle him out. She eventually gave it up as a lost cause.

“Um, well I do like kissing you.”

“I ken that.” His eyes gleamed.

Jamie crawled up onto the bed. His body radiated so much heat it could be felt from several inches away. He was a blazing inferno.

He sat back on his haunches fixing her with a piercing look. 

Claire’s spine tingled under his scrutiny. It was unnerving her.

“Give me yer mouth, Sassenach,” he requested sweetly.

Claire leaned forward and placed a quick peck on his lips.

“Ok, so we’re done, right?” she asked nervously not quite knowing what to expect. 

“And ye call that a kiss? Tsk! Nay, we haven’t even started yet,” he grinned wickedly.

Jamie removed his shirt then sat back to remove his sweatpants. 

He shifted himself to sit so his back rested against the headboard. “Come here, sit beside me,” he requested, patting the space next to him.

Claire hesitated for a moment then moved to sit beside him.

His arm came up wrapping around her shoulders, pulling her closer to him.

“See, that’s so much nicer, is it no’?”

“What are you up to Jamie?” she asked one eyebrow quirked in question.

“I told ye, a nighean I just want to kiss ye.” 

He cupped her face, turning it toward him. His tongue slipped out to wet his lips. Slowly he lowered his face until their lips were a breath away. He placed a kiss so light it felt like the wings of a dove floating across her lips

“‘Tis pleasant?” he whispered into her mouth.

“Yes,” Claire replied breathily.

“Good. May I kiss ye again?”

“Mmhm.”

Brushing an errant curl away from her face, he tilted her head back seeking out her mouth like he did that morning. Still sweet from the honey and berries he ate for breakfast, he fitted his lips to her’s. Slowly he increased the pressure on Claire’s mouth molding them together creating delicious friction. 

Jamie pulled away momentarily giving her a sinful grin. His eyes engulfed her, finally settling on her mouth. He felt like a man drowning and only her kiss and her breath could save him.  Her mouth was his lifeline. Jamie lowered his head and began to rain kisses across her mouth lightly at first then deeply, possessively.

Jamie broke away, resting his forehead against hers. Tenderly he brushed his lips across her cheek, then to her ear to nibble at the shell. Finding her succulent earlobe, he drew it into his mouth caressing it suggesting things yet to come.

Claire dropped her head back whimpering, making an offering of her alabaster neck to him. She pulled at his hair, dragging him closer.

Jamie plied his attentions to the long column of her neck, nibbling, sucking her sensitive skin. Using his mouth he gently nudged her robe off her shoulders letting it drop off her shoulders, and slide down her arms pooling around her hands and bum. 

Claire sucked in her lower lip gently biting it.

He grinned. Softly, he placed tiny kisses along her shoulder working his way down her arms until he reached her hand. He kissed her wrist, her palm. Raising her hand so she could see, he took each finger into his mouth and sucked each digit in its turn.

Claire began to shudder and breathe heavily by the time he finished with her thumb.

Jamie repeated his ministrations to the opposite hand, arm and shoulder. Dropping his head, he lowered his lips brushing them across her chest down to her breast. Finding her nipple he began to suckle one then the other making each one harden and pebble. He scraped his teeth gently against the tender nipple as it slipped from his mouth. 

She became restless, shifting her body arching her back needing to come closer to him.  Claire gasped at the sensations running through her.

“Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth; for your love is more delightful than wine,” Claire whispered. 

“Quoting Scripture are ye?” Jamie smiled broadly knowing what he was doing to her.

His mouth and tongue trailed kisses down over her belly, slowly, languorously. “Beautiful, yer so beautiful mo nighean donn.”

“Jamie, I... I... ah...Oh, god.”

He chuckled, as he felt her melt with each kiss he pressed on her. She deserved every slow torturous one he would give her. After all, fair’s fair.

Jamie continued his downward trek, kissing the soft skin of her inner thigh, behind her knee, down to her toes. Using the opposite leg he began his ascent toward his ultimate goal.

“Jamie, please, I need...I want...more. Please, Jamie.”

“Do ye no’ like my kisses? Do ye want me tae stop?” he asked, giving her a soulful look. His voice was full of hurt and disappointment.

 Leaning up on her elbows to look him in the face, “No, no. I mean I want more. Christ, I don’t know what I mean.” And she flopped back onto the pillows, biting her lip and began uttering odd throaty sounds.

He smiled smugly, “Then ye shall have it.”

Reaching her core, he blew softly over it causing Claire to buck. 

“Hush now, Sassenach let me kiss ye.”

His mouth settled into its work, beginning to kiss her most intimately. Lightly at first then pressing deeper lavishing all his attention on her sensitive flesh. 

Claire moaned and whined. Her hands tangled in his hair sliding down to cup his face. Close, she was so close. “Jesus H. Roooosevelt Chrissst,” she hissed.

And then he stopped and rose up to sit next to her. He was hard as stone but was determined to see this through. She needed to learn it wasn’t nice to manipulate someone especially someone who loves them. “What would ye like to do now, Sassenach? Watch a movie? We could read a book, perhaps? Maybe a nice brisk walk instead.”

“Whaaat? What do you mean what do I want to do? I want you to finish what you started,” she snarled with frustration.

“Oh, but I did, my own,” he said as he leaned over to kiss the crown of her head. I said I wanted tae kiss ye and I did. I also said I would leave ye with naught but yer cries for mercy. And I did that too.” A satisfied grin plastered over his face.

“Mac na galla,” she shouted at him as she picked up a pillow and swung it at him beating him ferociously wherever she could reach him.  

He laughed at her use of Gàidhlig to swear at him while trying to deflect the blows of the murderous pillow.

“I surrender madam, I surrender, ” he laughed. She looked so fierce his wee Sassenach lassie. Eyes flashing, skin flushed with anger, all pink and rosy. She was glorious.

“That isn’t very nice of you, Jamie Fraser. To leave me all worked up wanting, needing…” He raised an eyebrow questioningly. “Now ye ken how I felt during the chess match.”

She looked abashed as she clutched the pillow to her chest. “Well, I wanted to win,” she muttered petulantly as she gave him a sidelong look.  “I mean you were bragging about what a great chess champion you are, so I resorted to using my womanly wiles. I had to do something to even the playing field,” she retorted. Claire turned her head away as she picked at an imaginary loose thread on the pillow slip, “I shouldn’t have done that. It was very poor sportsmanlike behavior on my part,” she blushed. “But you set me up, Jamie Fraser. You didn’t tell me you were some great chess champion until after I agreed to the match. That wasn't fair either,” she glared at him.

“Aye, yer right, and I’m sorry for it. Forgive me, Claire?”

Her facial expression softened from annoyance to tenderness, “Yes, forgiven. Forgive me too?”

Jamie tipped her head up and looked into her eyes that reminded him of liquid honey fresh from the hive. “Forgiven, mo ghràdh.”

“We could have a re-match if you like.” 

“I dinna think so, ye’ll cheat. Ye canna help it,” he glowered at her. “Let’s just leave it as a draw, hm?”

“You’re right about that,” Claire laughed. “I don’t like losing. A draw it is.”

“Come here mo chridhe, ” he beamed holding open his arms to her.

Claire eyed him suspiciously, “What are you planning to do?”

“I want tae kiss ye, ” he chuckled.

“Oh no, you don't. You're not going to get me all riled up again and not finish the job. I'm no fool you know.”

“Never thought ye were. I just thought we could start at the beginning and see where it takes us,” he proposed as he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Sound like a plan?”

Claire launched herself into his arms, ”Aye, that sounds wonderful.”

***************************************************************************************

CABG - Coronary Artery Bypass Grafting - Treatment used for blocked coronary arteries. Open heart surgery.

Mitral Valve Repair/Replacement is a treatment used to repair if possible the mitral valve. If it is not repairable, it is replaced either with a tissue valve made from the lining of a pig or cow’s heart or a metallic mechanical valve. It is possible for any heart valve to be repaired or replaced, not only the mitral.

Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth; for your love is more delightful than wine - Song of Songs 1:2 New International Version of the Holy Bible

[indiacater]

UNFINISHED CHAPTER

I have made the decision to completely redo this story. I just wasn't feeling connected to how the story was currently going. The way I was writing it no longer felt authentic to my style. And I will admit that I'm a perfectionist with my stories (who on this platform isn't?) So the remake will be posted after the new year. Outlaw will still continue and I do have another story in the works. In the meantime here is the unfinished chapter of addicted.

Tagging: @ao719 @desireepow-1986 @emceesynonymroll @dcbbw @bebepac @cordonianroyalty @texaskitten30 @glaimtruelovealways @kingliam2019 @bobasheebaby

Addicted ch.2

A week after meeting with the King and Lord Darren, Dr. Sugar was preparing to meet with the selected people for his insight intake. He looked at his pad and saw that he'll be first talking to Liam’s personal guard, Andrew. Then it was Duchess Olivia, who grew up with both Liam and Naima. Then lastly meeting with young Mr. Drake Walker, who also grew up with both Liam and Naima, and is Liam’s closest friend. As James continued to prepare he thought more of his opinion of the situation he was brought into. With what Constantine and Darren had told them Liam and Naima were expressing a healthy, yet reckless sexual relationship. However when both men mentioned the intimacy between the two didn’t start until after the deaths of their mothers. “Replacing emotional anguish with physical distractions is common, and a healthy coping mechanism.” He thought to himself. Yet he couldn’t shake the curious intrigue of this case. James thought back as he left the palace after meeting with Constantine and Darren, and seeing Liam and Naima their behavior would seem addictive in perspective but really looking at their actions they were more of overzealous newlyweds on their wedding night. Dr. Sugar chuckled at the thought and decided to speak with Liam and Naima before his sessions. 

THE NEXT DAY

Dr. Sugar arrived a short time before his meeting with Andrew, as he set up his notes for the day he asked the palace staff of Liam and Naima’s whereabouts. Most advised him to steer clear of them, unless you walked in on them. Eventually he learned that they were in the adjacent library on the bottom floor as he approached he overheard an already strained conversation going on. 

“Why do you need to head back today?” Said a man’s voice between breathlessly. “Come on just stay one more day. Let me convince you again.”

“I don’t need to be convinced anymore. I really do need to head back to the Valtoria estate.” A female voice responded. “Besides there some guy hovering outside the door.” 

Upon hearing that James kept his head low as he walked in. Trying to keep his composure he addressed them. 

“Good afternoon your highness, your grace. I’m Dr-"

“Who are you speaking too? Us or that floor?” Naima interrupted. “We’re fully dressed now.

Feeling slightly more embarrassed James lifted his head and continued. “Apologies. I'm Dr.  James Sugar. Your fathers had hired my services to help you both. I’m meeting with some friends of yours to get a better idea of what I’m being brought in for.” James began to feel that meeting them at this point was a regrettable choice as he assess the looks of both Liam and Naima. With Liam he looked irritated by him being there, where Naima was more of a curious indifference. Feeling he already done this much he might as well finish. “I was hoping to meet the both of you beforehand and just introduce myself and plan ahead on when we can meet. Preferably I would to meet with you individually--" noticing Liam hard stare, immediately corrected himself. “Or if you’re more comfortable meeting together, I’m okay with that as well.” James finished. 

A brief intense silence followed. Eventually Naima got up and pulled out a card from her bag and handed it to James as she got up and walked halfway out the door. “My personal estate number is on the bottom. Try to schedule something with me before the end of the week.” Naima spoke in a serious yet nonchalant tone. “A pleasure Dr. Sugar.” And with that she walked out. 

Liam rushed to follow her but got halfway out the door before James called out to him. “Your Highness?!” Liam stopped abruptly and turned to James with subtle annoyance. “I still have time before my sessions begin. Why don’t we chat for a bit and schedule our session in the meantime?” James continued as he sat down. Liam hesitated at the door, then throws up his arm and grabs a chair.

“Seeing that you’re on our father’s  payroll and determined to be in our business.” Liam scolds as he sits down. “Sure let’s chat.”

James straighten up and started with a softball. “Okay I won’t beat around the bush then. Are you or her grace aware of why I was brought in to talk to the two of you?” 

“Who cares.” Liam answered as he leaned back in his chair. “Our father’s really need to mind their business of what goes on with me and Naima.”

“Well according to your father specifically, the two of you have a habit of making your business public for all to see.” James retorted, not intending to making it sound as rude as it did. He expected the young prince to be more agitated but instead Liam stood up and smiled. 

“That’s why you’re here?” Liam asked, sarcastically. “Because Naima and I have sex? That’s a pretty low excuse to force Naima and I to meet with a therapist. I’m sure you can understand.”

James shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t disagree with that. However from what I have been told so far and from what I have briefly witnessed during my last visit, one can’t help but to be curious.” James noticed Liam’s demeanor soften slightly as he continued. “Normally any other psychiatrist would just roll over and beg at the hand that’s feeding them just to use the opportunity to bolster their reputation.”

“We should be so lucky.” Liam said with a hint of sarcasm. “Well doctor Sugar I shouldn’t keep you from you appointments. Feel free to get in touch with my father’s assistant to plan our appointment after confirming a date with Naima.” With that Liam got up, curtly bowed his head and left the room. 

With a deep breath James got up and left to start his profile interview.

ANDREW

Liam’s personal guard was first. James figured that he more than anyone had seen the progression of this relationship and would be the perfect person to begin this fun journey. He arrived shortly after 11am and kept a stoic façade. 

“Good morning, Andrew." Dr. Sugar began. “I appreciate you having the time to meet with me. Albeit it was at his majesty’s request but know it is appreciated.”

Andrew answered in a slight nod.

“Good.” Dr. Sugar said as he cleared his throat. “As you know Prince Liam and Lady Naima are the reason we're speaking today. I want to get your insight of their “relationship”. As you know them from a young age is there anything you would want me to know?” 

Andrew sat up in his seat and sighed. “Contrary to what you've been informed of. I’ve only been his highness’s personal guard for the past three years. Before that I was a mere palace guard. I only became Prince Liam’s personal guard due to having the most run in with him and lady Naima.”

Doctor Sugar looked through his notes to search a particular topic. Looking back at Andrew. “Can you give me an idea how their relationship came to be?”

Andrew shrugged. “They’ve known each other since they were kids and younger than that. Their mothers were very close and  would often have play dates. Just around a year before I became Liam’s guard is when I walked in on the making out. Just innocent stuff. About six months after I took the position I walked in on them in more progressive activities”

James looked down at his notes again. “What can you tell me about the headmistress incident(1)?”

Andrew’s eyes widen slightly. “I’m afraid that is classified. You could speak to his majesty or his highness, but I’m afraid I can’t help you there.”

The rest of the session went on smoothly. Dr. Sugar was able to learn that Liam and Naima graduated at the same time and would go off for days at a time together, but he wasn’t privy to give out that information. He did mention that there was an incident with Liam’s closest friend, Drake Walker (2).

Olivia

To say that Olivia frightened James was an understatement, it also unnerved him watching her toy with a stiletto blade.

“Thank you for sitting down with me Duchess.” He said, trying to mask any timidity in his voice.

“I really didn’t have much of a choice.” Olivia responded. “So what does my being here have to do with Liam?”

“I’m aware that you’re close with both Liam and Naima. What can you tell me about that?”

Olivia sits up straighter and places her blade down on the table. “I practically grew up with Liam. After my parents died I went to live at the palace until I came of age to rule Lythikos on my own. As for Naima she was around, we were sparring partners for a time, we attended the same schools. I wasn't that close to her."

"Hmmmm." James hummed. "Your Grace. If I may be so bold to ask have you had and romantic feelings towards Prince Liam?"

"Yes. It is bold of you to ask." Olivia replied, coldly. She remained quiet for a solid minute before breathing out a huge sigh. "If you're curious if I ever acted on those feelings then yes."

James eyes widen slightly as he leaned forward. "How did you act on them and how receptive was the Prince?"

"Last summer." Olivia began. "Naima was visiting her grandparents in America. They both were sick and didn't have long. So Naima was there for most of the summer. He and Naima would still chat in the morning and in the evening, but I noticed Liam becoming antsy. I seemed them together during Liam's girlfriend's incident (2). So one day I found him in the middle of self gratification and took advantage of the situation. Then we hooked up a few more times. I thought he finally noticed me, but sadly I was being naive."

"What makes you see that you were naive?" James asked curiously. Olivia shuddered a sigh and then responded.

"During the last time were together intimately."

[spookyceph]

I posted all my ShigaDabi Week entries on Ao3, so now it's time to catch up here.

Day 4 | Trust

Summary: Tomura and the League arrive at Deika City to face Re-Destro. But first, Dabi has some explaining to do.

Rating: Teen and up

Warnings: Swearing, mild blood

Burn a Bridge, Build a Raft

“This is the place, huh? Not too big, not too small.”

Tomura knew he should look down the hill and see whether Spinner’s assessment of Deika City measured up. After all, it had been his decision to come here, both to rescue Giran and end the stalemate with Gigantomachia. If the others wound up dead, crushed by Sensei’s still-loyal servant or picked off by these Meta Liberation Losers, it would be because they’d followed him.

Well. Except for one.

“Man…why did I get dragged into this?” Wincing, Dabi clasped a hand to the back of his neck.

Though Tomura hadn’t seen him since he’d fucked off to test high-end nomus almost two months—two shittygruelingmiserablegoddamnedlonely months—ago he noticed something was amiss immediately. Details no one else would pick up on because, frankly, no one else had been waiting six weeks to receive word—just one little I’m alive, or sorry, or didn’t mean to abandon you lol—from the stapled sack of shit. Details like how flushed his unscarred skin looked. The amount of dust clinging to his coat. How his balance wavered, one boot almost tangling with the other, as he barely sidestepped Twice’s measuring tape while being hollered at for his callous attitude toward Giran’s plight. The fact he’d upset Jin to begin with proved the whole situation had gone sideways.

No one else noticed. But no one else knew Dabi like he did.

“Stop.” Tomura’s voice cracked through the air like a rifle shot. Everybody froze, gazes leaping to him. Everybody but one.

“Compress,” he continued, losing some of his volume but none of his command.

The magician snapped to attention, hastily securing his mask back over his face. “Er, yes?”

Not taking his eyes from Dabi, Tomura held out one hand. “Water.”

“Ah! Oh. Of course.” Compress didn’t even attempt to hide the relief in his voice at being off the hook. Taking a marble from one of his coat’s many pockets, he converted it back into their canteen and passed it over.

With his empty hand, he pointed to Dabi, then over at the line of trees marking the forest border. “You. Go sit.”

“Oooo,” crowed Toga. “Someone’s in trouble…”

Dabi blinked, switching a bewildered stare between her and Tomura’s finger. Some sense of meaning must’ve sunk in because, eventually, a dent appeared in the middle of his eyebrows and he plodded his way toward the spot indicated.

No one dared utter a word when Tomura stalked after him.

Dabi halted at the first tree he came to, gawking up at it like he’d never seen such a thing before. He didn’t even register Tomura holding a hand up near his cheek. Scalding heat rolled off scarred and unmarked skin alike, as suspected.

“Goddamn it, you’re burning up. Take your coat off.”

Again, like a deer in headlights. The already brilliant blue of Dabi’s eyes shone brighter still—practically incandescent. Feverish. Unfocused. Resisting the urge to just Decay the damn thing right off him, Tomura pushed the heavy garment from his wayward partner’s shoulders and helped him shrug free of it. His fingers showed blister-red after handling the leather; no doubt touching any of the metal reinforcing the sleeves would’ve earned a first- or even second-degree burn. He dropped the coat to the leaf-littered ground.

“Sit.”

This command proved easier to grasp. With no hint of his usual poise, Dabi plopped down, crumpling against the tree’s trunk. Tomura knelt beside him and held out the canteen.

“Drink.”

Slowly, as if afraid the container might bite, Dabi lifted it to his lips and sipped. Instinct took over at that point. Eyes going wide, then squeezing shut, he tilted his head back and guzzled the rest. Panting, he took a moment to catch his breath. When he reopened his eyes, clarity and personality had returned, if with weariness tagging along behind.

“Hey, mophead.”

Two words, spoken in that familiar, quiet, and currently cracked voice, nearly accomplished what a month and a half of constant fighting and sleep deprivation hadn’t. Tomura didn’t break, though. He didn’t move a muscle, didn’t make a sound. He didn’t reduce the tree to splinters by smashing Dabi’s skull through it. He didn’t Decay the sheepish smile off his (stupid handsome fuckinghatehimsomuch) face. Neither did he give in to the impulse to collapse into the scarred arms that would’ve caught him and never let go. He couldn’t afford to. Every iota of rage and pain and razor-edged glee needed to be reserved for whatever Re-Destro had waiting for them at the bottom of the hill. To expend any of it now could cost him or the rest of the League their lives. So, Tomura corralled his stampeding emotions with a temporary fence of practicality.

“Can you fight?” His tone came out blander than stale bread.

Dabi’s smile dwindled. He scanned Tomura’s face for any sign that his presence meant more than an extra pair of boots on the ground. Catching none, he took a long inhale and settled into tight-lipped resignation.

“Yeah. Got a little piss and vinegar left in me. What’re we up against?”

“An army of deluded morons. The usual. We’ll need to keep them distracted for about an hour and a half.”

“What happens after the clock runs down?”

“Gigantomachia shows up and proves their philosophy is a pile of shit like everyone else’s.”

That dropped Dabi’s jaw. “You’re still fighting that thing?”

“What’d you think we were doing out in the middle of nowhere? Meditating and earning merit?” Tomura snapped before cursing himself. The sneaky bastard had always had a knack for poking his emotional pressure points—for getting him to do exactly what he swore he wouldn’t. Collecting himself, he wiped his expression clean again.

“Are you going to be any use here or do you need to sit this out?”

Blue eyes searched for cracks in Tomura’s resolve. As perverse luck would have it, he noticed the tracks of rusty red smeared down Dabi’s cheeks at that moment. They’d seeped like tears from the drooping scars that made up his lower lids. More crusted the staples in his chin and near the hinges of his jaw. Tomura’s stomach writhed like a dying animal. What the fuck had Ujiko been making him do? Had he been testing the nomu by fighting the damn things?

As if reading his thoughts, Dabi touched the bloody streaks. “Whatever you need me to do, consider it done.” A pause. No—a hesitation. “I just have a couple of things to say first. If you, uh, want to hear them.”

This asshole…Tomura had to curl his hands into fists to keep from clawing at his neck. Telling him to shove it sideways with no lube would be satisfying in the present, but Tomura knew, just like Dabi did—just like he’d counted on—the mystery would turn into a distraction he couldn’t allow. Worse, if one of them survived this battle and the other didn’t…He yanked his focus back before his imagination could drag it down into that abyss. The exasperation in his sigh didn’t need to be exaggerated.

“Fine. Out with it.” He wouldn’t go away with any regrets—let Dabi carry them all if he wanted.

“Okay. First item is my family name. It’s Todoroki.”

Every calculated reaction he had lined up imploded, leaving Tomura’s mind a void.

A grim little smile spread across Dabi’s face. “You didn’t know. I’m surprised.”

Tomura shook his head to get the gears turning again. “I…suspected. After you told me your given name. Especially watching how you acted after All Might retired.” Endeavor’s rise to the number one spot on the hero rankings and Dabi’s new habit of leaving the charred corpses of low-level villains littered around the city had started too close to each other to be coincidence. A powerful fire quirk…blue eyes in the family…an older son who vanished from the news feeds abruptly…no, it hadn’t been difficult to fit the pieces together at all once he’d realized they were there in the first place.

“Why tell me this?” Tomura asked, tone teetering between genuinely curious and accusatory. “Why now?”

That smile still pulling on the seams in his skin, Dabi stared down at his hands resting in his lap. “Just wanted you to know why I really stayed behind with Ujiko, I guess. When I saw I’d be useless against that giant, I figured it’d be an opportunity to handle my personal shit. I could look for a way to take out Endeavor without being a burden on you and the others. Go figure, I failed big time.

“Oh, sure, me and dear old Dad went toe to toe when I took the first high-end nomu out for a test run, like I said I would. But then that wannabe recruit I was looking into kind of fucked me over. And then Miruko showed up. And I was out there all alone, with no one to back me up, just how I’d wanted it.” A strangled laugh hiccoughed out of him. “So, Ujiko had to bail me out in the end. I completely overheated during the fight. My brain was so fried I even forgot the damn high-end on the field. If you hadn’t had the doc send me out here, he probably would’ve chopped me up and fed me to the rest of his pet projects. Anyway…I told you all that to tell you this.”

Dabi drew a long, shuddering breath and looked up square at Tomura. “I was wrong. I should’ve trusted you. The others too. I should’ve trusted that you would’ve helped me if I’d asked. That you’d want to. I’m sorry. I’m a reckless dick. And I didn’t leave because of you.” Closing his eyes, he let his head thump back against the tree and swallowed hard. “Just didn’t want to cash in my chips with you maybe thinking that was the case.”

Verbally eviscerating him for the sheer volume of his idiocy—take down Endeavor alone, didn’t want to be a burden, overheated to the point of collapse—should have been Tomura’s first instinct. However, it found itself blocked off before it even arose by one confession that kept echoing in his head.

I didn’t leave because of you.

The volatile energy buzzing in Tomura’s bones settled and faded out. Rather than leaving him depleted, it gave way for a new source of strength to rush in and replace it. One that set something in him right, like a dislocated joint popped back into place. The spot was still sore, still tender, but once aligned it made him whole and clear and sure the fight waiting for him was already his.

Reaching out with ring and pinky safely tucked against his palm, Tomura gripped Dabi by the chin. Those remarkable eyes fluttered open, startled but fixed solidly on him.

“It’d be easy for you then, wouldn’t it?” Tomura’s voice came out low and vicious, his dirty, broken nails digging into leathery scar tissue. “To just die here and not have to back up any of the shit you said? But you’re not going to get that luxury. I won’t allow it. You’re going to live just so I can have the pleasure of watching you beg and plead and grovel to earn my trust again. Understand?”

The tiny shiver that ran through Dabi, and the flicker of tongue over his bottom lip spawned a new reason to live that tied with Grind Re-Destro into the dirt for first. Patchwork hands landed on his forearm, petting and tickling. The smug bastard even dared to smile. “Perfectly, boss.”

“Good.” And then, because he was dangerously close to kissing him, or stripping him naked with his teeth, or something else otherwise unbecoming of the next King of Villainy, Tomura stood and added, “You look like hammered crap, by the way.” The hand that had clutched Dabi’s chin switched to offering him help up.

The smile sprawled into a crooked grin as the gesture was accepted. Dabi picked a bit of dead leaf from the hopeless mess of Tomura’s hair before tucking the locks behind his ear. “And you’re beautiful, as always.”

He snorted and tried to sneer. Really, he did. “Lying sack of shit.”

Any further attempts at flirting were cut short by an exclamation from Toga.

“Someone’s coming!”

After a final squeeze, Tomura let go of Dabi’s hand. For the first time in too long, they went to meet whatever came their way gladly, head-on, and, more important, together.

[aalissy]

Nerve Wracking Confessions

Yay! Chapter 15 of Dreaming in Black and White is finally done!! Sorry it took me foreverrrrrr. I hope you can forgive me <3. Updates should be less of a wait now, hopefully. It’s a more angstyyyy chapter today, so be prepared for that hehe.

AO3

Marinette paced atop her balcony, tugging her pigtails madly as she muttered to herself. Tikki floated hesitantly nearby, a sympathetic look entering her eyes as she watched her owner angrily rant to herself.

“Marinette?” her kwami called out hesitantly, stopping the girl in her tracks as she slowly turned to face her. 

“What am I supposed to do?” tears gathered in the corners of her eyes as she whispered desperately.

Tikki rushed over to the girl, hugging her cheek tenderly as she sighed, “Oh, Marinette.”

“A-and I can’t talk to Alya about this without her asking a million questions like, ‘When did you start liking Chat Noir?’ ‘How did you even meet him?’ ‘What about Luka?’” Marinette’s features paled considerably as she gazed off into the distance horror-struck, “Oh god... What about Luka?! I can’t hurt him, Tikki! I just can’t! Even if he isn’t my true soulmate, I just w-”

A curious voice cut her off from behind, “Who isn’t your true soulmate?”

Marinette yelped, jumping about five feet into the air as she spun around to face the last person she had expected, or even wanted to see. Quickly, she whipped her head back around to make certain Tikki wasn’t visible as she watched the tiny kwami phase through her trapdoor. The designer tensed before calling out a, “See you in class tomorrow!” and pretended to stuff her phone back in her purse. She turned back to Chat Noir with an oversized, awkward smile as she scanned his features for any sign of suspicion. Finding none, Marinette blew out a quiet sigh of relief before chirping over-exaggeratedly at him, “Chat! What are you doing here?”

“Just coming to check up on my purrincess. I missed you, Marinette,” he shot her a soft grin, and despite her best efforts, her heart melted. 

Soon enough her awkward smile slipped away to a real one as Marinette came closer to rest on the railing beside him. She hummed happily as she looked up at him, “I missed you too, Chaton. Even if you did just visit me yesterday,” she teased, bumping her shoulder against his body lightly. And if we don’t count that you just saw me in patrol a few hours ago, she giggled silently to herself.

“Were you talking to Alya just then?” he nodded down at her purse.

Marinette frowned curiously, wondering where he had gotten that impression, opening her mouth before slamming it shut. She quickly nodded her head overenthusiastically, another wide, awkward smile spreading across her face, “Yep! Mhm! We had just finished talking when you had arrived.” 

Shoot, I can’t believe I completely forgot that I was pretending to talk to Alya in order to cover for Tikki! How am I this stupid? Marinette winced to herself mentally, turning away from him to stare out at Paris as a deep, red blush bloomed across her cheeks. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye as she tried to assess whether or not he had caught her in yet another lie.

Chat merely nodded, his own gaze remaining fixed on the buildings in front of them before clearing his throat as he began to speak almost nervously, “And you were... talking about soulmates...” he trailed off, finally turning away from the city below them to lean closer to her, searching her eyes with his own.

Was that an almost hopeful look that flickered within his gaze or was she just seeing things? “Chat... I... do you like me?” the words that fell from her lips surprised her partner as well as herself as both of their mouths fell open. In the next second, Marinette’s hands flew up defensively as she backed away from the railing, “I-uh, never mind! I know you’re in love with Ladybug!” nervous, high-pitched laughs escaped her as she continued to back away from him, “I have no idea why I just asked that! Ignore me!”

As she continued to retreat away from him, she noticed Chat slide away from her balcony railing, watching her bump against the wall, “Marinette?” he called her name cautiously.

Marinette’s eyes quickly darted away from his own, moving around quickly until they landed on the trapdoor below her feet, “Brr! I’m cold! Are you cold? Great! Let’s go inside then!” 

Throwing the hatch open, Marinette landed ungracefully on her bed, wobbling slightly as she began scolding herself mentally, What are you doing?! Can you be any more awkward?! Why did you even ask Chat if he likes you? Good luck getting out of this one, Marinette. Quickly, she turned to her ladder and began scrambling down it, noticing as she did so that Chat had neatly landed on her bed.

“Marinette?” he called after her, causing her to pause halfway on her bedroom floor, “Where are you going?”

“To get us some croissants,” she squeaked out nervously. Clearing her throat to lower it back down to a reasonable tone, she beamed brightly, “You’re hungry, right? Who am I kidding you’re always hungry, so I’ll just go do that then,” she explained in a rush, still not turning around to face him. 

Seriously what am I doing?! I sound like a hyperactive chipmunk, she screeched at herself in her thoughts, I’ve only ever been this flustered around Adrien! This has never happened with Chat before! What am I going to do?

A warm, gloved hand wrapped around her wrist and she screeched, jumping about five feet into the air once again. Turning around she was met with a sheepish looking Chat Noir.

“Sorry,” he murmured, scratching the back of his neck anxiously, “I just, I mean that, well... I was wondering what you and Alya were talking about on the phone?” 

Again, her partner seemed to have an almost hopeful look in his eyes and Marinette had to shove the corresponding glee away as a small pile of butterflies fluttered delicately within her stomach. Clearing her throat nervously, Marinette managed to stutter out, “W-what do you mean?”

“Well it sounded like you said you and Luka weren’t actually soulmates, and then I think you asked me a question that I might have misheard,” his voice dropped to a quiet whisper as he searched her eyes desperately, “Did I mishear, Marinette? What was it that you asked me on your balcony?”

The designer’s body deflated as her gaze lowered to the floor. How could she lie to him when he looked and sounded like that? Like his entire life rested upon what she said in response to his own question.

“Chat, I...” she started and then stopped, her gaze still focused entirely on the floor. 

The hand wrapped gently around her wrist moved to lift her chin up slowly, causing her to look into the sparkling eyes of her partner, “Marinette, please don’t lie to me.”

“I-I asked if you liked me?” she asked hesitantly, chewing her bottom lip nervously as she gazed up at him from beneath her lashes.

“Would it change anything if I said yes?” Chat’s eyes flickered between her own, searching for something she wasn’t certain she could give.

Clenching her eyes shut, Marinette opened her mouth to respond, “I-,” shaking her head, she managed to tear herself from his grasp, feeling her own heart wrench painfully as she backed away from him, “Chat, I-we can’t! I’m dating Luka!”

Her eyes opened slowly and she watched as his expression transformed from shock to determination, “So you didn’t tell Alya on the phone just now that Luka wasn’t your soulmate!”

“No!” she blurted out before shaking her head, “I mean yes! I mean... it’s complicated,” she let out a frustrated groan before tugging on her pigtails.

“Then help me to understand. What did you mean Marinette?” 

Blowing out a long exhale, she released her pigtails, feeling them spring back into place as she gathered her thoughts. After taking another deep breath in, she began to speak, “Luka and I aren’t soulmates in the literal sense of the term. We’re able to see color together, yes, but it’s only the one color. Blue,” almost against her will, Marinette took a few steps closer to Chat Noir, “I still don’t know what color your eyes are. O-or what any of the colors in this room are,” she gestured around them before falling backwards onto her chaise with a low groan. 

“What does that mean?” Chat’s voice called from above her, causing her to blink up into the eyes of her partner who was staring down at her curiously.

“I don’t exactly know,” Marinette shrugged, letting out a bitter laugh, “I’ve been told that though some parts of our soul are able to connect the other half just isn’t as compatible.”

A thump sounded next to her, and she turned her head to see her partner had landed next to her with an indiscernible look on his face, “C-could it be because your true soulmate is still out there?”

Marinette sucked in a stuttered breath as she felt Chat’s hand come to rest atop her own. Letting herself relax in his warm embrace for a few, tender moments, she let her eyes flutter closed. Not for the first time she wished that she had accepted Chat’s feelings as Ladybug when he confessed about a week ago. Maybe things wouldn’t be as complicated... 

When he squeezed her hand gently, her eyes slowly opened to face him once again, intent on telling him the truth. That he could never be her soulmate, and, even if he was, would only ever be able to see blue. When she stared into the adoring, lovestruck eyes of her partner, however, her heart gave a sharp tug and her lips parted as she froze. Tension filled the room as they continued to stare at each other. Finally, Chat managed to cut through the awkwardness with a wide, teasing smile, “Marinette, do you purrhaps like me?”

With a sputtered laugh, she grabbed the pillow atop her chaise and threw it at his face, “Seriously?! You’re going to ask me a question like that with a pun!? What is wrong with you?”

“It got you to laugh, didn’t it?” he batted the pillow aside easily, “So I thought it was pawsitively clawsome!”

With another sputtered laugh, she flipped over and buried her burning, flushed face into the chaise, “I hate you,” she muttered, her voice muffled slightly from being buried in the mattress.

“What was that, Marinette?” Chat poked her shoulder, “It sounded like you said you like me,” he sang cheerfully.

Her head popped up as she glared over at him, “I did not!”

“Well I like you,” he said, poking her shoulder once again. His smile was still wide but his eyes told another story. They were wide and uncertain like he was waiting for a response from her. A response she still couldn’t give.

“Chat,” Marinette started warningly, pushing herself off the chaise to clear her head and give her some space away from the infuriating cat.

He watched her retreat warily, standing up himself as she stopped in the middle of her room, “I was merely answering your question, Marinette.” 

Letting out a frustrated growl, she ran a hand through her hair, “Chat! We can’t!”

Her partner walked a few paces towards her, causing her to squirm uncomfortably before he stopped, “Fine, I’ll leave you alone,” and with that, she blew out a quiet breath of relief before he spoke again, “If you can tell me right now that you have no feelings for me.”

“W-what?” Marinette exhaled, her face turning an ashen color.

Chat came ever closer, cupping her two hands between his own, squeezing them gently as he searched her eyes with hope and love brimming just below the surface, “Can you tell me that, Marinette?”

“I-I...,” she stuttered, her own eyes darting around her room to avoid his gaze.

“Just tell me the truth, Mari. I’ll leave you alone if you say so. Cat’s honor,” the superhero winked at her.

 Marinette sucked in a harsh breath of air, “I-I can’t... I-I don’t...”

“Please look at me, Marinette,” he said gently.

With those words, her eyes were dragged back to his own and the love and admiration shimmering in his light grey eyes caused the butterflies she had been stamping down to release in a flurry. Hanging her head sheepishly, she answered his question, “I can’t tell you that Chat.”

“Yes!” a shout caused her to look up in alarm, “She likes me!”

Quickly slapping a palm over his lips she shushed him, “Are you trying to wake up my parents?! Be quiet you mangy Tomcat!”

“Sorry,” he grinned at her sappily after she removed her hand, “But you like me.”

Slapping her forehead, Marinette groaned quietly. What in the world am I going to do about him? With a sad sigh, she looked up at him and took a few steps back, once again putting distance between them, “Even if I do like you, Chat... don’t you see that this will never work. I’m dating Luka and I’m not even your soulmate. What happens if I do break up with my half soulmate and you end up finding the one person who can give you more colors than I can.”

His ears flattened above his head before a fierce determination flashed across his face, “I don’t care about seeing colors, Marinette. All I need is you.”

A choked gasp escaped her before she could stop it. Sucking in a harsh breath through gritted teeth, she shook her head against the massive wave of butterflies that fluttered in her stomach upon hearing his words, “You know that’s not true, Chat. Seeing the color blue was one of the most amazing experiences of my life and I’m not going to hold you back from that. I’m sorry Chaton. I’m sorry that I can’t give you any colors. I wish I could... I really, really do. But I just can’t,” she shrugged faintly.

Suddenly, he rushed forward, taking her hands between both of his as he leaned down to look at her, “I don’t care about any of that, Marinette. B-but why don’t we try something?”

“Try what?” the designer asked skeptically, raising an eyebrow in confusion.

“W-well, i-if you say that you’ll go out with me, we can see if your hypothesis about colors is really correct,” he squeezed her hands comfortingly, gazing down at her with so much awe and love that she couldn’t stop the small smile from creeping across her lips.

Scrunching her eyes closed, Marinette shook her head fiercely, “I can’t Chat! We’re not soulmates! It just won’t work!”

“Even if we aren’t, I still won’t care! I’m in love with you Marinette!”

The words startled her enough to fling her eyes open. She jumped back and away from him, her mouth falling open in surprise, “I- you... what?”

“I love you, Marinette,” Chat repeated himself more fiercely.

“Y-you do?” she whispered quietly, before firmly shaking her head, ignoring the pounding in her chest that implored her to reciprocate his words, “But, Chat, don’t you see... I can’t love you back.”

Marinette watched as the last embers of hope in her partner’s eyes fizzled out. Her heart gave a sharp tug and she was suddenly flooded with longing. A strong urge to wrap the boy up within her arms and never let him go filled her. But she couldn’t do that, she had to reject him, for both their sakes, even if it felt like her own heart was breaking along with his. Wrapping her arms around her sides as a form of comfort, she watched Chat open his mouth before closing it once again.

“I-I’m so sorry, Chaton. If I had figured my feelings out sooner this wouldn’t have happened,” she swallowed against the lump in her throat.

“No, I’m the one who’s sorry,” he shook his head, staring at her with a look that she couldn’t quite decipher, “I should have realized sooner.”

A light frown creased her brow as Marinette tried to understand the emphasis he placed on his words. Realization hit her quickly though, causing her to wince sharply, I can’t believe I forgot that he doesn’t know I’m Ladybug. He has no idea that I was the one who rejected him first. If only I hadn’t gotten rejected by Adrien... I would have easily accepted Chat’s offer to see if we were soulmates and saved us both this heartache. 

Her arms tightened around her sides as she blinked against the buildup of tears that gathered within the corner of her eyes, “I guess we’re both idiots then,” she smiled weakly.

“Yeah, I guess we are,” he sighed, climbing up the ladder to head to the trapdoor above her bed. Chat seemed to hesitate slightly under it but she just kept her mouth shut, watching as he disappeared into the night.

 When he vanished from her sight, Marinette buried her face in her hands letting the tears finally fall. It wasn’t too long before her kwami came over towards her, wrapping one of her cheeks up within her tiny palms, “Oh, Marinette. I’m so sorry.”

The designer sniffled, lifting her head up to give a wobbly smile to Tikki, “It’s alright, Tikki. It’s over and this was something I needed to do. I just... I never wanted to hurt him, but I did! Twice!”

Her kwami didn’t say a word. She merely nuzzled deeper into the girl’s cheek, trying to offer even a minuscule amount of comfort. Marinette smiled down happily at the kwami, cupping her gently after she wiped the tear tracks from her eyes, “What would I do without you, Tikki? You’re the greatest friend a girl could ever have!”

“Aw, thank you, Marinette. I love you too,” the small, bug-like creature beamed down at her.

Attempting to shake off any last remnants of her sadness, she grinned softly at her kwami, moving over to her wardrobe to change into her pajamas. Once changed, she snuggled into bed, whispering a goodnight to her kwami who had curled beside her pillow.

“Goodnight, Marinette, I hope you feel better in the morning.”

“I hope so too, Tikki. I hope so too,” she murmured, turning over and falling into a restless sleep.

[soft---darkness]

Train Me (Part Four)

Damn...missed Thursday my twenty minutes......

Hey guys!!!! It's finally here! Thank you for being so patient with me :) I hope you guys enjoy this part because I'm very proud of it! Things are getting heated in paradise ;)

As always- enjoy

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

Eric took deep and even breaths as he circled his opponent, scanning the others form for unguarded weaknesses. His eyes darted across Dark’s squared body, eyeing at his left side. It was more exposed than the right, betraying that the demon’s center of balance was off. Eric didn't change his rhythm upon the sight, instead waiting for Dark to make the first move. It only took a few more moments for the entity to grow impatient and step forward with his right, extending his arm to strike Eric. Eric ducked and twisted his body, grabbing Dark’s moving arm while shoving against his left side. He stepped back quickly as the demon tumbled over, his balance thrown and his feet scrambling.

Dark hit the mats roughly, a soft groan falling from his mouth as he landed. He blinked at the ceiling with wide eyes, taking a moment to figure out what had just happened. He chuckled slightly when Eric came rushing close to his prone form and kneeled down, frantically muttering apologies.

“I'msososorry! Are you okay?! Did I hurt you? I shouldn't have been so rough...I'm really sorry….” Eric spoke nervously, eyes wide as he assessed his fallen partner. He didn't have his handkerchief to help his sudden spike of anxiety, so he took his nerves out on his hands. He twisted then together anxiously as he looked over Dark for any damage. His intent had been to knock the demon over, but he hadn't thought it would work…

Dark just rolled his eyes, smoothly picking himself back up and extending a hand to Eric’s kneeling form. He was smiling sighly and gave an exasperated and fond sigh as he helped the other up. “Eric, I'm perfectly fine. The point of sparing is to knock each other over, yes? And besides, I've knocked you down hundreds of times since we've started. You should feel proud actually, that was quite impressive.” Dark grinned brightly at the anxious ego, patting his tense shoulder gently.

Eric glanced up at the demon, still slightly nervous . “R-really?” His voice held uncertainty but a smile was beginning up pull at his mouth. Dark was right. Eric had never actually managed to knock the entity down in the months since they had started sparing. A warm pit of pride started to form in Eric's core as he gently separated his anxious hands.

Dark nodded, smiling gently at the other. “Absolutely. I didn't expect you to be able to win a match against me until much later. You've definitely exceeded my expectations today.” He released the other egos shoulder slowly, giving it one last good natured pat before backing up a bit. “Do you want to continue? We can stop for today if you'd rather.” He extended the offer neutrally, not sure how Eric was feeling after his rush of anxiety.

But Eric shook his head, smiling as he squared his body into a mastered stance once again. “No, I can keep going.” He seemed more confident in his stance, and his voice stayed steady this time as he spoke. There was a light dusting of a blush on his face, but Dark didn't comment on it as he dropped into his own form. The pair circled again, quickly settling back into a relaxed rhythm of their own.

The spared on, ignorant to the two concerned eyes that appeared at the gym entrance and started to watch fifteen minutes later.

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

Dark glanced at his watch as he stood by the stove and waited for the tea kettle to boil. It was a quarter past two (2:30), and Dark huffed slightly. He was eagerly waiting for the hour to turn so that he could head to the gym and start his session with Eric. Time always seemed to move slower on their training days and it was getting on the demons nerves.

He sighed to himself as he tended to the whistling kettle, pouring a cup of tea. He wasn't sure how Eric had managed to worm himself into his heart, but Dark found himself struggling to stop thinking about the anxious ego. He was charming in his own ways. Fiercely capable but still gentle and innocent. He was also very determined to succeed and it was very pleasing to see how he was getting progressively better as time went on.

But while their sessions were definitely the highlight of Dark’s life at the moment, the entity couldn't afford to get too distracted. He still had work to do after all, and the paperwork on his desk was starting to pile up due to his negligence. The demon hummed to himself gently as he turned to go to his office, his cup of tea in hand as he started to leave the kitchen. He was stopped however by a voice calling his name.

“Dark! There you are. I need to talk to you for a moment.” Dr.Iplier walked quickly, moving to face Dark and block him from leave for the time being. The doctors tone held an element of ice that made Dark’s eyebrows quirk upwards. This was odd. The entity was annoyed at being bothered, but he was also curious, and decided to let Dr. Iplier speak.

“Of course Doctor. How may I help you?” Dark’s voice was sickly sweet and clearly fake, but the other ego ignored it. He had an angry and determined air about him and seemed upset about something. The doctor pursed his lips for a moment as he thought about how to phrase what he said next. Unlike most of the others, Dr.Iplier wasn't scared of Dark. He was considered bold in the eyes of the others and would often challenge the demon on certain topics. However, he didn't have to fear the entity to understand that he was dangerous. It was always smart to tread carefully when talking to him.

Deciding to be blunt, the doctor took a breath and spoke sharply. “I know what your doing with Eric.” His voice held anger and contempt as he spoke, eyeing the demon carefully.

Dark simply raised a confused eyebrow, not sure how to respond to such a comment. “Pardon? I'm not sure I understand what you are so riled up about my dear doctor.” Dark briefly searched his mind for anything he could have done to Eric that would have pissed the doctor off, but he came up short.

Dr. Iplier huffed angrily, hands landing on his hips. “Don't play dumb. I watched you two fight a few days ago. Do you know how delicate he is? And what are you doing this for? We both know full well you don't have good intentions.” The doctor’s voice slowly rose in volume as he spoke, gesturing with his arms in wide sweeping motions.

Dark just watched, facial expressions shifting from confused, annoyed, to insulted. “Pardon me if I'm wrong, but I don't remember when I started having to check with you about what I do on my free time.” The demons voice was low and icy, holding a much quieter anger than the doctor's. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the others accusations, knowing them to be untrue. “And for your information, Eric came to me to learn how to fight, not the other way around. He's enjoying himself and frankly so am I.” The entity attempted to side step the other and walk past, but was blocked once again.

“It doesn't matter! He’s too new to understand how dangerous and manipulative you are. He probably regrets ever asking you to teach him anything. I don't want you to be around him!” Dr. Iplier yelled aggressively, stepping slightly closer into the others space. I'm the back of his mind, he recognized that this was probably a terrible mistake. One didn't simply yell at the Darkiplier and get away with it, but at the moment he was too angry to think correctly.

But instead of crushing the doctor for his insolence, Dark laughed roughly. He shook his head with a sharp smirk, looking at Dr. Iplier with amusement. “Very well doctor. You go tell Eric that we are done training together and watch as he hugs you and celebrates being free from my evil reign.” His voice held dangerous sarcasm as he walked off, head high with a knowing that he was victorious.

Dr. Iplier just grumbled under his breath, heading the opposite direction to go speak to a certain anxious ego.

[peacenik0]

In A Dark Place

by @peacenik0 and @observeroftheuniverse

This part is pretty PG-13, some graphic imagery and disturbing stuff though. But what can I say, the title fits.

Summary: Scully works to regain her power, and define her relationship with Mulder in the wake of their ordeal with Skrinavich.

Read Chapters 1-3 on ao3 I promise you won’t regret it.

Tagging @today-in-fic, @improlificinsarcasm

Last time on “In a Dark Place”...

“Anything…” SMASH!  “You say...” CRACK!  “Can and and will... “ BAM! Mulder pummels Skrinavich’s face in time with his words. “Be used against you in the court of law…” The other man doubled over, crumpling as Mulder strikes him again and again.

“Agent Mulder!” He hears Skinner’s voice, feels distant hands on his shoulders trying to pull him back, but he shrugs them away, laser focused on beating the shit out of their former captor. Mulder is insane with passion and fury as he slowly brings his fist back one last time. Skrinavich cowers underneath him, whimpering and bloody.

“This is for Scully, YOU SON OF A BITCH!” With all his might, Mulder smashes Skrinavich’s temple with brute force, knocking the other man out cold. Again there are hands on his shoulders, desperately trying to restrain him. This time they finally succeed in pulling Mulder off Skrinavich. Skinner steps in front of him and forces Mulder’s arms down to his sides. Behind him another agent assists. Mulder struggles for a moment, panting hard, before his rage leaves him in a rush.

“Mulder, what the hell were you thinking?!” Skinner shouts. He clenches his jaw and rubs the bridge of his nose. “Are you okay?”

Mulder doesn’t answer. The room is suddenly swimming. The back of his throat tastes like fear and bile. His eyes dart around, searching for Scully in the swarm of agents.

“Scully?” he calls, feeling desperate and empty. But Scully is gone. Gone.

---

Part 4

Scully watches as Mulder attacks Skrinavich with an unusual sense of pride at his display of physical revenge. She almost wishes she could join in on the pummeling. Honestly she has never wanted to shove a gun up someone’s anus and pull the trigger so badly before. The other agents seem to share a similar sentiment; a couple of them help Skinner grab at Mulder’s shoulders, but it’s their first few attempts are half-hearted. If there is a lawsuit to be had here, they have clearly decided to cross that bridge if and when they come to it.

She is so engrossed in the display that she does not notice the EMT come up next to her. She startles as she feels a blanket being wrapped around her shoulders. A pair of EMTs lift her up on a stretcher. The EMTs examine the splint on her ankle, shine lights into her eyes, and ask her questions, but she struggles to focus on what they are saying. They quickly wheel her outside of the shack like structure, and load her into the ambulance.

“Wait! What about Mulder?” Scully asks a stocky female EMT with short curly hair. Her voice is on the edge of commanding and desperate. “My partner, Agent Mulder; I need to make sure he’s okay!”

“I’m not sure ma’am,” the EMT begins in low voice as she carefully unwinds Mulder’s crude splint from Scully’s ankle. Scully briefly glimpses the insignia on the EMT’s uniform - Barb -  but Scully doesn’t care what her name is, she just wants to see Mulder. “I believe he’s being taken to the hospital in another EMS vehicle.”

“Which hospital are you taking me to?” Scully winces as Barb places a saline IV in Scully’s arm. Scully has barely had any water for many hours, and she knows she must be dehydrated at this point.

“Frederick Memorial.”

“I want like him to ride with me.” Scully demands. Barb applies a cold pack to her ankle. Scully had almost forgotten until that moment. Relief soon floods her body as the swelling starts to go down.

“Look ma’am, I don’t make these decisions, I’m just here to treat your injuries and get you to the hospital as soon as possible.” Barb continues to work quickly and efficiently to take off the splint Mulder made for her. “This splint isn’t half bad, especially considering what I gather about the circumstances when you made it.”

“My partner helped me.” Scully watches as Barb goes to put Mulder’s belt in a resealable plastic bag. “Wait, I want to keep that. I want to make sure he gets it back.”

“Okay, fine.” Barb hands Scully the item, and she clutches it tightly to her chest. A wave of affection wells up inside her as she remembers the way her tenderly cared for her injury. “Your ankle looks broken. That splint helped reduce the strain and swelling. Smart thinking.”  Scully reluctantly holds still while the EMT begins fitting her for a medical grade brace.

“Yes well, I am a medical doctor…” Scully says with an air of superiority.

“Ah, well now that makes sense… doctor’s are always the worst patients.” The sound of sirens fills her ears as the ambulance rushes away from the scene.

---

Just over an hour later, Scully sits alone with her thoughts in a hospital bed. As soon as she reached the hospital, she was asked if she wanted a rape kit, which she vehemently refused. Dried on sweat, dirt and seamen cling to her skin, leaving a grimy film all over her. God, what she wouldn’t give for a hot shower, a cup of coffee, and a large pizza with everything on it.

Now, she looks down at the white plaster cast on her leg, grateful that she only suffered a hairline fracture to her Fibula. The doctors estimate about six weeks in the cast, and a few more weeks in a walking boot. This means that she will be unable to return to the field for a while, a fact that frustrates her to no end. If she can focus on work, then she won’t have to think about what just happened to her. Scully looks up as she hears a knock on the door. A female agent with mousy brown hair and a clipboard enters the room.

“Agent Scully,” the young agent begins in a soft voice. “My name is Lizzie Kray, I’m from the Baltimore field office, how are you feeling?” The other woman pulls up a chair next to Scully’s bed.

“Fine, despite the circumstances.” Scully says, attempting to stuff down her feelings. Agent or not, she does not need to rehash everything with this stranger.

“Yes, well, you’ve been through quite an ordeal.” Lizzie says pulling out a pen from her suit jacket. “I have a few questions about what happened to you and Agent Mulder.” Scully immediately perks up at the mention of Mulder’s name.

“How is he? When can I see him?”

“The last I heard, Agent Mulder was being checked out by hospital staff...” Lizzie clears her throat, and looks like she is trying to summon up some courage that she does not yet possess. “Uh, Agent Scully, I’ve been told that you are to refrain from seeing Agent Mulder until you’ve both been fully debriefed, and our people are able to fully assess the situation.”

“What?” Scully grits, her anger rising in her throat. “No…I want to see him right now!” Agent Lizzie’s eyes bug out of her head.

“I’m sorry Agent Scully,” Lizzie swallows hard. “But I’ve been told we need to follow the FBI protocol on this case.”  Scully’s shoulders tighten in frustration at the red tape and bureaucracy of working for a Federal agency. “Witnesses say that Agent Mulder was on top of you in an... aggressive position when federal agents entered the room. He also physically attacked the alleged perpetrator... ” Lizzie pauses to look down at her clipboard. “Damien Skrinavich.” Scully scoffs, and rolls her eyes.

“I’m sorry, have you even read the casefile on Skrinavich?” Scully asks the younger woman, unable to believe they would send someone so unprepared to take her statement.

“No, not yet. I am only in here to get your version of the events. From what I gather, Mr. Skrinavich took you and your partner hostage, and at some point during this ordeal Agent Mulder sexually assaulted you.”

Scully’s stomach turns over at that word. Is that what they think?

“No, you have it all wrong. Agent Mulder did NOT sexually assault  me.” Scully grits out darkly. “And I don’t want to hear you or anyone else use that word to refer to what happened, am I understood?”

Her voice is too loud, too forceful for this poor woman who surely means no harm, but Scully doesn’t care. She will not allow what happened to be twisted into making Mulder out to be a villain.

“If you had bothered to read the file,” Scully grits through clenched teeth. Lizzie cowers in her chair. “Then you would understand. It’s all part of Skrinavich’s M.O. He chained us up and threatened us at gunpoint to perform sexual acts for his own sick amusement. Agent Mulder didn’t want to go through with it. I was the one who insisted on…” Scully trails off, realizing she does not have a word that really describes what happened between her and Mulder. “...to save both of our lives. I am telling you with utmost certainty that Agent Mulder didn’t assault me.”

“I believe you Agent Scully,” Agent Lizzie says timidly, she is shaking like a leaf. “I’m just trying to do my job.”

“Well, you’re not doing it well enough! I can’t believe the Baltimore field office sent in some junior agent, unprepared, to a handle a high profile case like this! They should be ashamed of themselves!” Her nostrils flare in disgust. “I want to speak to your SAC. No, better yet, I want to speak to A.D. Skinner!”

“Uh… yes ma’am.”

“And here’s a lesson from a more senior Agent, Liz-zie” Scully begins with venom in her voice “Next time, before you question a victim, try reading the goddamn casefile!”

---

A half hour later, Scully still hasn’t been fitted for her crutches, or been able to see Mulder.  Growing restless, her mind immediately goes to all the worst possible scenarios: Mulder handcuffed to a hospital bed, arrested after beating up the Skrinavich; Mulder alone and racked with unnecessary guilt; Mulder being interrogated like a perp, accused of raping her... Scully shudders at the image of some other uninformed, incompetent agent shouting at Mulder in a vain attempt to make him confess to something he didn’t do. She quickly makes up her mind that she is going to see him, one way or another. She presses the call button on the side of her bed. After several minutes of arguing - culminating in a threat to walk on her broken ankle if she has to - she is finally able to convince the nurse to take her down to the ER.

They get to the triage desk, and Scully clears her throat loudly to get the attention of the nurse on duty.

“Excuse me, you have a patient, Fox Mulder. I’d like to know what room he’s in.”

“I’m sorry ma’am, I am not supposed to give out that kind of information to anyone other than family due to HIPPA guidelines.”

“I should be listed as the emergency contact on his forms. My name is Dana Scully.” The duty nurse looks at her blankly, making no move to check the computer in front of her. “His date of is birth ten thirteen nineteen sixty one.” Still the nurse does nothing.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, I need to get your request signed off on by a doctor or the hospital admin.”

“Then do it!” Scully says, the anger rising in her voice. The duty nurse falters, and Scully almost feels guilty for yelling. Almost.  “Listen, it’s been a long day, and you have no idea the hell I’ve just been through. I am tired, hungry and covered in a whole slew of substances. All I want is to see my partner. And one way or another I am going to see him, even if I have to walk down there myself.” Scully points to the cast on her leg.

“I’ll, uh, see what I can do, ma’am.” Finally the nurse picks up the phone, then types a few commands into her computer. After a few moments, her efforts are successful. “He’s in room, two-o-three.”

“Thank you.”

When Scully first sees him, his back is turned to her. Her breath catches in her chest for a moment. She is reminded of the first time she saw him when he got back from Tunguska, the unmatched feeling of joy she felt when he walked into that senate hearing. She clears her throat, and he turns to face her.

“Hey…” Scully can’t help the smile when she sees him in front of her, safe and sound.

“Oh, hey!” Mulder’s eyes light up, and his expression goes soft. He looks like he might want to run up and embrace her, but he holds himself back. “Look we’re wearing matching outfits,” he cracks. A smile tugs at the corner of Scully’s mouth.

“Yes…” Scully looks down at her blue hospital gown, then back up at him. She’s never been so glad to hear one of his lame jokes. “It’s good to see you.”

“Likewise,” he says softly. “I was just about to come looking for you. How did you get down here?”

“Oh, I had to bully a junior agent and a few nurses… but all in a day’s work, you know.” She says dryly, Mulder chuckles lightly, and she’s glad to see his smile after all that they’ve been through.

“Uh,” he scratches the back of his head. “How are you feeling? I see they got you all fixed up.” He gestures to the cast on her leg.

“I’m fine, despite the circumstances.” Scully clears her throat, and picks at her fingernail. “ I wouldn’t mind a long hot shower and a decent meal though…”

“Me either, it’s been… quite…” Mulder drifts off, pulling at the loose collar of his hospital gown.

“You don’t have to say it… “ Her voice is soft, but firm.  She doesn’t want to talk about all of that right now. “Skinner is putting me on two weeks of medical leave, at least four visits to an FBI psychologist, and then another four weeks of desk duty until I’m able to return to the field.”

“Ooooh, ouch,” he smirks.

“What about you?”

“The doctor says I’m mildly concussed. Other than that and a chafed wrist, I’m fine. Skinner’s put me on mandatory two weeks of paid leave, then a psych eval.” He scratches the back of his head. “What’s a workaholic to do with all this time off from work?”

“Well you could start by cleaning your apartment,” Scully raises an eyebrow, and Mulder smirks. The air between them changes, and Scully finds herself unable to look away from his lips. Flashing back to the moment that she kissed him, she gulps as she remembers that their first kiss was in front of Skrinavich. She blushes deeply, eyes shifting away from his face as she thinks of how she let her feelings get the best of her. Clearing her throat, she says, “Actually, I think the mandatory leave might be a good thing. I could use some time to… sort things out, perhaps get a new perspective on what happened to us…”

“Oh…” Mulder mumbles, looking down at his shuffling feet. “Yeah...you are always telling me to take some time off.”

“Yes…” From behind her, she hears a nurse clear her throat nervously.

“Uh, Miss Scully, I’m sorry to interrupt but your doctor has a few more questions for you, and   they are ready to fit you for your crutches.”

“Uh, well I better go…” She gestures towards the door.

“Yeah, you better…” The nurse begins to wheel Scully out of the room. Before she gets very far, she feels Mulder’s hand on her should. “Hey, Scully. Over the break is it okay if - can I call you?” Scully reaches back and places her hand on top of his, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Give me some time.” Her throat tightens, imagining the rejected look she is sure Mulder has on his face. “I’ll call you when I’m ready… I promise.” And with that, the nurse wheels Scully out of Mulder’s room.

---

Her apartment is a much different place when she is forced to be there. The haven becomes a prison. In the space of two afternoons, Scully runs out of things to do. Her laundry is caught up, her dishes are washed, her CD's and books are re-alphabetized. She is listless, bored. Reclining on her couch, bad ankle elevated, she tries four separate times to get absorbed in one of the many books on her backlogged reading list. Even the most recent medical journals fail to hold her attention.

The silence of her apartment - normally a source of calm - is suddenly deafening. Her mind wanders, flitting from subject to subject until it invariably lands on the events in Maryland.

A few days into her mandatory medical leave, her boredom gets the best of her. She decides to throw herself into the one case file she had on hand: Skrinavich’s. She already knows most of the stomach-churning details of his crimes, but there were a few things she picks up on that she had somehow missed. A plan of sorts had started to form. The thought of visiting Skrinavich and confronting him begins to ruminate and in this moment she knows what she has to do.

After she puts down the file, she is left again with the loneliness and silence. She wonders if this is why Mulder likes to keep his television on when he is home alone: to drown out the thoughts and memories. Except her memories are tactile. No matter how high she turns up a bad laugh track, she cannot drown out the memory of Mulder’s hand on her face, his lips surprisingly soft against hers. There was something in the way he touched her that night, something in the way he looked at her that she hesitates to name. Intuition tells her its love, but what kind she cannot be sure. There were moments where she was convinced she saw romantic love in his gaze, felt it in his body. Now she wonders if those feelings were merely what she wanted to see.

These thoughts come to her unbidden at all hours of the day and night. When she closes her eyes, she sees Mulder looking down at her, gaze penetrating straight into her soul as he enters her body.

She wishes she could return to work, to normalcy. This has always been her method of dealing with trauma: move on, don’t think about it. If she is able to function and move forward with her life, that is good enough for her.  She knows that is not how it’s supposed to work, but it has served her well enough. Why deal with hard and painful truths lying deep within her psyche if she doesn’t have to? Besides, remembering and dwelling on a trauma cannot fix anything. Talking to someone and replaying the event cannot undo what happened. So why bother?

Even as she longs for her usual coping mechanisms, she cannot deny the truth of her situation. This trauma is different from the others, because it didn’t happen only to her. Mulder was there too. They were both robbed of something that night. While she would be perfectly comfortable dismissing the implications of the attack for her own sake, she cannot. It wouldn’t be fair to Mulder. She cannot make that choice for him.

So, as much as she yearns to return to work, she also dreads it. Returning to work means seeing Mulder, and they are going to have to talk. There is so much to unpack from that night, including their emotions: the love she thinks she saw in Mulder’s eyes, and her own feelings she struggles to come to terms with. Expressing her emotions has never been her strong suit; just the thought of having that conversation with Mulder makes her mouth run dry.

She sits on her couch trying to run through possible conversations in her head.

“Mulder, we need to talk.”

No, that sounds too much like she is about to break up with him.

“Mulder, about the other night… I need you to know that I don’t blame you. The other night when I kissed you, I did it because I wanted to. You didn’t do anything that I haven’t already dreamed about.”

Not a terrible start, but it reveals too much too quickly.

“Mulder, the other night brought up some questions...Do you have feelings for me?”

Definitely not.

She cannot seem to come up with an opening she likes. Even in her mind, she cannot get very far in the conversation before she gets overwhelmed. After what Skrinavich did, she already feels too cracked open, vulnerable. She just isn’t ready to face Mulder yet.

---

Every night she goes to sleep waiting for the nightmares. It takes four nights before she sees Skrinavich in her dreams. She is back on that filthy mattress, handcuffed to the headboard. Skrinavich's dark, sallow eyes move slowly over her naked body, prickling her skin and making her gorge rise. He moves to loom above her. Cold metal brushes against her thigh. Skrinavich drags the gun barrel up toward the juncture of her thighs and Scully bristles. For a moment thinks he is going to-- but then he jerks away.

In a transition that makes sense only in dreams, Scully finds herself chained up to a wall, watching Skrinavich glare down at Mulder on the floor in front of her. Bruises have appeared on Skrinavich’s face. His eyes are ringed with black, the bridge of his nose is bent, and his lower lip split.

“Your partner here did quite a number on me, Red.” Skrinavich slurs. He grins, showing off teeth tinged with bright red blood. “He’s got a nice face. Shame what I’m going to do to it.”

With no further preamble, Skrinavich pulls back and slams his fist into Mulder’s face. Mulder cries out, blood dripping from his nose. Skrinavich punches twice more, his fists coming away red as more blood bursts from Mulder’s nose and mouth.  He kicks Mulder hard in the ribs.

“Stop it!” Scully yells.

Skrinavich ignores her and kicks Mulder in the ribs. Scully watches in horror as Mulder starts coughing, spitting blood. Skrinavich kicks again, and this time she can hear the sickening crack of bone.

“You’ll kill him!” Scully struggles against her restraints, heart pounding, until her wrists are raw. Pinpricks of blood bloom on her skin. “Mulder!”

Skrinavich keeps kicking. Mulder’s head drops to the ground, lolling.

“You son of a bitch!” She screams, voice cracking. Pulling and twisting her wrists, she continues to work at the restraints, but her efforts are fruitless. She is utterly powerless to do anything but watch as the iron scent of Mulder’s blood fills the air and the light in his eyes grows dim.

“Mulder!”

---

Scully jolts awake with Mulder’s name on her lips, the bitter flavor of adrenaline in her mouth. Her limbs are still heavy and her thoughts foggy as rolls over and grabs the phone from her bedside table. Without thinking, she dials Mulder’s number.

By the time she catches her breath and realizes what she’s doing, the line is already ringing. She blushes, feeling foolish. It’s the middle of the night, she didn’t even look at the clock before calling him.

Scully pulls the phone away from her ear, preparing to hang up, when he answers.

“Mulder.” His voice is thick, groggy. She must have woken him. And, God, she really has missed him. Just hearing his voice again is putting her at ease..

“Mulder, it’s, uh, it’s me.”

“Scully? What’s wrong? It’s -” she can all but hear him squinting at his alarm. “It’s almost three in the morning.”

“Oh, r-right.” She closes her eyes and mentally kicks herself. That’s what she gets for calling without looking at the clock. “ I’m sorry. I thought you might be awake anyway, I didn’t mean to disturb you. I’ll let you get back to sleep.”

“No, don’t -- I mean, don’t worry about it. What were you calling about? Can’t sleep?”

“I just had a… dream, that’s all.” It sounds even sillier when she says it aloud.

“About Skrinavich?”

“Yeah.”

“What -” he breaks off, silent for a moment. She can hear the gears turning in his head, trying to decide what to ask, whether he should ask at all. Finally he settles on: “I’ve been having dreams too. I guess they’re really more like nightmares.”

“Oh. Do you want to talk about them?” She will gladly talk about his dream if it means taking the focus off of hers. Unless they are having the same dream. She wonders what the chances of that are.

“I’m not sure there’s much to talk about. They’re - I keep seeing parts of what happened. And some things that didn’t.”

“Like what?”

“Well, in a few of them I can tell that I’m… you know, hurting you. I want to stop but Skrinavich won’t let me. Then, afterwards, you won’t look at me.”

“Mulder…” Her heart clenches at how pained his voice sounds. She can only imagine what those nightmares must be like for him. He already blames himself, he doesn't need to be haunted by what could have happened on top of it all. It seems clear to her that he is afraid she blames him. “You didn’t hurt me. And I don’t blame you for what happened. It’s not your fault. You know that, don’t you?”

“I know you’ve told me you don’t blame me,” Mulder says carefully. “But…I guess I’m worried that even if you aren’t upset… that you’ll still be uncomfortable working with me, and that’s the last thing I want.”

“Oh.” She breathes. In truth, she is worried about the same thing, but not for the reason he probably thinks. Her fear is that she will not be able to look at him without seeing that tender look on his face as he pushed into her, or hear his voice without remembering the way he groaned her name in ecstasy. It had felt exquisite to come around the solid, hot length of him; she can’t forget that. Her face grows warm at the memory. She shifts and ignores the warmth starting to grow between her legs. She pauses to collect her thoughts. “Mulder,  I don’t want what that bastard did to come between us. I know we can get through this. I think there is more to say here, but I’m not ready yet.”

“I get it. It was a lot. Take as long as you need, Scully. I’ll be here whenever you’re ready to talk.” He says gently.

“Thank you.” She murmurs.

“I’m going to see him tomorrow.” She admits quietly.  They both know who she’s talking about.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” If she cannot exercise control over Skrinavich in her dream - a dream she suspects will become recurring - then her best option is to take control in real life.

“Yes. I- I have something I want to tell him. I feel like it’s important for me to confront him for myself, to show him that he hasn’t won.”

“Well, I’m sure you will use your best judgement around him. After all, I’ve seen you make bigger men shake in their boots.” Scully can hear his smirk over the line, it makes her smile.

Silence falls between them. Fabric whispers across the line, the sound of Mulder repositioning himself. Scully imagines him making himself comfortable, cuddling up with the phone pressed to his ear just as she is. She shifts and settles herself back against her pillow, drawing the blankets up around her in a protective cocoon. If she closes her eyes and listens carefully she can hear Mulder’s quiet breathing, almost like he is there with her. It is the ideal circumstance for her right now; a way to be with him without actually being with him. She wants his presence, but the reality of actually physically facing him - and all that encounter will entail - is too much.

“Mulder? Can you do me a favor?” She rolls onto her side. This shared space between them makes her feel safe. It emboldens her to ask: “Can you talk to me until we fall asleep?”

“Of course. I’d love to.”

And he does.

------

The next morning Scully wakes with the cordless phone still in her hand. The lack of dial tone tells her that she must have hung up at some point during the night, but she does not remember. She hopes she at least said goodbye to Mulder, unless he was asleep.

Scully makes a few calls to make sure everything is in order for her visit to Skrinavich at the federal prison. Showering and dressing take her longer than usual with the cast but by ten thirty she is ready. She calls a taxi, and directs him to take her to the locker where the evidence she located resides. On the way to the prison, she goes over the file inch by inch. Scully feels a sense of pride in her impeccable investigative skills. Her desire for justice is unmatched.

Once she reaches the prison, she confidently flashes her FBI badge at the front desk. The correctional officers immediately get her a wheelchair, but Scully declines; she is too proud for that. She holds her head high as she escorted through the many prison hallways. She stops for a moment, reaching in to touch the evidence hidden away in her trench coat pocket. Getting there on her crutches is a journey, but she knows she will command more power when she is standing tall. The sound of the clanging metal doors goes right through her. With each step she feels the angry fire within her being stoked.

When they finally reach his cell, Skrinavich is wearing an orange jumpsuit, and facing towards the cinder block wall. Scully clears her throat, and Skrinavich turns around. Just like in her dream, his face is a mess. One of his eyes is the greenish-yellow of a fading bruise, and there is a crease in his bottom lip where a split is starting to heal.

“Oh, well lookee here.” Skrinavich leers at her. Scully swallows a wave of bile in her throat; the injuries to his face certainly have not helped his looks.  “Red decided to pay me a visit. Couldn’t wait to come back for more, could ya?” Scully’s mouth form a hard line.

“Agent Mulder and I have petitioned the judge. Do you want to know what we asked her for?”

“Life in prison. I already know that, Red. ” Skrinavich sneers, rolling his eyes. He doesn’t seem to be taking Scully very seriously, and this only serves to make her angrier.

“Exactly. So take a good look around you,” Scully tells him firmly. She gestures to the cinder block walls around them. “Because this is the only view you’re going to get for the rest of your life.”

“Maybe so, but I still got what I wanted: to see two pretty people fucking like jackrabbits.” Skrinavich smirks. Scully feels the disdain and hatred coursing through her veins, her nostrils flare. “Whether you admit it or not… I know you liked it. I heard how you begged him to fuck you. I think you’re a little more bent than you give yourself credit for, Red.” Skrinavich taunts her. Scully drops her crutches, and lunges on one foot towards their former captor.

“Shut the hell up!“ Skrinavich laughs at her. Rage consumes her body, every nerve ending crackles with it.  “Right now, these metal bars are the only thing keeping me from coming in there and picking up where my partner left off, you sick BASTARD! ” She screams at him.

“Ooo-eee Red, I almost forgot how feisty you were. I think that partner of yours is too much of a pussy to handle you, ain’t he.” Skrinavich lets out an insane cackle.

“But none of that matters, because I told you that we were going to make you pay, and I fully intend to keep my word on that.” Scully smiles to herself. She is about to utterly destroy Skrinavich.

“Lisa Bailey and Zachary O’Donnell,” she enunciates the names very carefully, looking for a glint of recognition in Skrinavich’s eyes. “Do those names ring a bell to you?”

“Not that I recall…” Skrinavich itches his nose. A classic sign of lying, Scully is well aware of this.

“Well, they should. It seems to me that you got a little cocky, didn’t you?” Scully pulls a VHS tape out of the oversize pocket of her trench coat. “I was able to procure this video, in which you can clearly be seen coercing Miss Bailey and Mr. O’Donnell  to engage in numerous sex acts.”

“Do you think you’re giving me any new information here, Red?”

“Don’t get smug, Skrinavich.” Scully glares at their former captor. “All this would be bad enough, except for one pretty incriminating detail… Lisa and Zachary were both underage at the time of the incident.” She watches his face fall.

“They… they were?”

“Yes, and I talked to the judge this morning. It looks like we could also get you on two counts each of sexual assault of a minor, child pornography, and child prostitution.” Scully looks down feeling a sense of justice that is finally being served for those victims.“So that makes you a pedophile…do you know what they do to pedophiles in prison?”

“Red…” he gulps audibly.

“So it seems to me that you’ve messed with the wrong redhead, haven’t you, you sonovabitch!” Scully says in a clear authoritative voice.

“You see;  I’ve looked into the eyes of killers and monsters like you, I’ve seen more evils than even you can fathom… and you know what?” Skrinavich shakes his head.

“What?”

“I’ve won... EVERY. SINGLE . TIME!”  

---

When it really comes down to it, she misses Mulder. When you spend nearly every day with someone, you get used to them. They become part of you, in a way. Scully thinks back to all of the things that they have been through together: monsters, deaths of family members, abductions, cancer. All of these things would break many people, but they have become stronger through them.

Scully thinks of the way his body felt against hers. She couldn’t ignore it; the way he made her tingle inside and out. She remembers gasping in earnest as he pushed into her for the first time. Even now she feels her inner muscles clench at the thought, trying to grasp at something that isn’t there. Then she had felt it. Her first orgasm seemed to come out of nowhere, but at the same time, it had been building for years. Scully tried to fight it, but it overtook her body like a tidal wave.  She tried to hide it from Mulder, unsure if she was ready to show that part of herself to him. Certainly she had not wanted him to find out about her feelings that way. That was what made her the most angry - the fact that Skrinavich had taken something special away from them. Like their first time was forever tarnished, robbed from them by the sadistic ways of a madman.

Truthfully, during the act itself, there were times that she really had forgotten that Skrinavich was in the room watching them. Times when she looked into Mulder’s eyes, and was surprised to only see herself looking back. She hates that every time she thinks of her first time with Mulder, Skrinavich will always be there. If only she could go back, erase the bad parts, and start over.

It seems like an insane idea, but perhaps they could. Maybe they could take something that had been broken, and make it new again.

She needs to see him.

But no.

What if she gets to his apartment and Mulder tells her it was all an act? That their experience with Skrinavich was simply a way to make sure they stayed alive. In the moment, and even looking back, it felt so real, so genuine. But what if she was wrong? What would he say? Sorry, Scully, you know I care for you, but not in that way.

She hobbles around her apartment, thinking of all the reasons why she shouldn’t see him. What is she going to say anyway? Hey, Mulder, when we were forced to have coitus with each other, it kinda forced me to acknowledge that I have feelings for you… It sounds so stupid. She can think of a thousand reasons not to go… one thousand one, one thousand two.

Then she sees it. His black belt, coiled neatly on top of her dresser. Under her fingertips, she feels the creases in the well-worn leather. In her mind’s eye, she sees Mulder kneeling down, fashioning her splint with so much tenderness and care. Her heart wells up to the brim.

She touches her lips, and feels his kiss; passionate and sweet and loving all at once. You can’t fake that, can you?

So she hobbles down to the corner and hails a taxi. The cabbie looks her up and down before he throws her crutches in the trunk.

“Hegel place…” she begins. “Um… wait.” Her mind breaks apart.  She remembers his eyes, dark and deep, the way she saw herself in them. “Yes, Hegel Place, Alexandria. Thank you.” The cab jolts forward into traffic. Scully clutches Mulder's belt tightly in between her fingers. 

A life-line in the darkness.

TO BE CONCLUDED IN PART 5/ EPILOGUE

---

Tagging friends: @defnotmeyo, @contrivedcoincidences6, @bevh78, @illnevermeettheground, @scully-eats-sushi, @storybycorey, @tngbabe, @iloveurscratchybeard, @monikafilefan, @monaiargancoconutsoy, @shyromanticfreak, @piper-scully, @frangipanidownunder, @babygirlmulder1018, @vespagirl04, @country3living, @baronessblixen, @danaedaniels, @damn-mulder, @spiritedballroomdancer, @skullsmuldon, @pickingoutchinapatterns, @greekowl87, @lappina, @pearsalot, @lifeisshortdrinkthewine, @txf-fic-chicks, @msraddicted, @xfimnotdone

[monotonemanday]

More Than Backup

A commission for @aoi-hina A pairing with Bucky Barnes and her OC Jenna. As always it was fun to write and I am so grateful for the commission! Thank you, thank you! Enjoy!

"Jenna, do you have someone watching your six?"

"Isn't that your job?" Jenna replied to Bucky, a smirk playing on her lips. Jenna was watching from above on a flat rooftop of a single story building a couple of meters back.

"I'm not joking Jenna, make sure your back is covered." Bucky's tone was serious. He was walking into the center of the small town they were sent to. Supposedly abandoned.

Jenna and Bucky had been a team for several months now. They were and A-Class reconnaissance team for The Avengers. The two went to remote areas searching for enemies, villains, malicious groups, and people of interest. Leading teams made up of Special Ops agents, low ranking Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. and local law enforcement.

Bucky usually took to the ground, walking through the areas and checking for any sign of occupancy. Jenna took up top, surveying the areas from a bird's eye view. Being a skilled archer, it was much easier for her to cover a lot of "ground" from up high. Her arrows never seemed to miss, but close combat was not for her. As much as Bucky tried to train her, close combat for her never ended well. In the time they worked together, they had grown close. Or as close as one could get to Bucky. Even though he was his own person there was still a lot of caution due to what went on in his past. So she did things like, learn those old trigger words, and even learned a bit of Russian, just in case they needed to discuss something covertly. He was insanely honest and very blunt. Jenna was kindhearted and had a lot of patience. Certain aspects of Bucky's personality that rubbed people the wrong way, Jenna found endearing. A lot of people might think he was called The Winter Soldier because he could be pretty frigid at times.

"Everything looks good up here, Bucky. I'm not seeing any movement."

"Things are pretty quiet down here as well. Jenna, really is someone able to get to you if something happens?"

"I'm fine, Buck. Why are you so worried about it? I can take care of myself."

"I just have a bad feeling about this place. And I wasn't saying you couldn't take care of yourself. It's just that-"

"Wait." Jenna cut Bucky off and quietly drew an arrow to press against her bow.

"Jenna what-" His sentence was cut short as Jenna's arrow tore through the air, zipping directly past his head and sticking into something he couldn't see. Falling from behind tattered curtains that hung in the broken window of one of the abandon bodies, was the now lifeless corpse of an enemy assailant. Quickly realizing what was happening Bucky alerted the rest of the team.

"AMBUSH!"

The team came pouring out of where they had stashed themselves and the fighting quickly ensued.

Jenna had set herself up nicely. Extra arrows laying beside her and no one seeming to be alerted of her presence. She took a moment to put her wavy brown hair up into a tight ponytail. Taking her usual stance, she began firing off arrows with great precision. Nailing each enemy she set her sights on. Everyone was centered and focused on their own tasks at hand, they didn't realize they were slowing being overpowered. Her sights were automatically turned to Bucky. Fighting about 4 opponent on his own. They were close enough that it was easiest for him to start laying on the punches with his fighting arm. It seemed like he was fighting them off with ease but Jenna could see he was struggling a bit. Maybe he was tired? She knew how hard he worked himself and even though he constantly denied it, exhaustion was inevitable.

"Bucky, what's going on down there?"

"Everything's fine Jenna. Just stay where you are!"

His voice over the line was sharp. He meant business but Jenna couldn't just wipe away her concern. Multiple voices were shouting over the channel.

"There's too many of them!"

"It's like they're multiplying!"

"Reinforcements are on their way! Hold on troop!"

"I don't know if we'll make it."

Bucky landed a punch squarely on the right side of his last surrounding enemies jaw. A small window for him to catch his breath, he turned to see someone running inside the building Jenna was stationed on the roof of.

"Jenna!" He exclaimed over the line as he began to fast pace his way to the building, but suddenly he took a shot to the shoulder. The force and initial shock pushed him back a step but it didn't deter him enough to change his objective. After hearing her name being called with such urgency, Jenna stopped and took a calculated second to assess the situation. She could hear steps and commotion coming from below her. Knowing that someone was coming up the stairs soon. She looked out onto the streets and realized Bucky was making his way to the building, firing shots at those who came in front of them, but paying no attention to what was happening behind him. He was hyper-focused on something.

Without hesitation, Jenna left her extra arrows and her set up behind. She jumped from the roof, tucking and rolling to brace her landing. She stood up quickly at Bucky's back and shot two arrows through the two men quickly approaching his six.

"Bucky! Snap out of it!"

"Jenna! What are you doing?! I told you to stay where you were!"

"Well someone had to watch your back!" Jenna let out a chuckle and continued to fire arrows. They were no longer surrounded. The enemy was falling back after reinforcements had shown up but that didn't stop Bucky from being irate. He turned himself around then grabbed Jenna by the shoulders, turning her around as well to face him

"I'm not kidding Jenna! You should have followed orders! You can't fight in such close quarters. Or do hand to hand combat. What if you were surrounded?!"

"Why are you so angry at me? I came down here because I couldn't just watch my partner-"

"It doesn't matter! You put yourself at greater risk, Jenna."

"Bucky, I can take ca-" Her words were stopped by a sharp gasp. "You were shot!"

"It's nothing. I'll get it taken care of. I'll apply pressure on the way back after the mission." Bucky took his hands off of Jenna's shoulders and pressed his hand to his bullet wound.

It seemed like every enemy had been apprehended and the team was starting to pack up. Jenna and Bucky stood together in silence. They stared at each other. Their expressions were hard to read. They showed flashes of anger, pain, compassion, irritation.

Finally, Jenna broke the silence.

"Stubborn. Let's go." She turned to walk away.

A sharp ring cut through the air. On the roof of the building Jenna was stationed at, the man that made his way up the stairs had fired off a shot with expert aim. It pierced Jenna's upper thigh.

"AAAH!" Jenna screamed out and collapsed on to one knee.

"Jenna! UUGH!" Bucky tried to catch her, but let out a hiss due to his own pain. A team quickly apprehended the shooter on the roof and a separate team quickly came to Jenna and Bucky's aid.

The ride back to headquarters was silent between the two. They could hear the hustling and chatter of the EMT's and the other team members. Patching them up and applying first response medical attention. But Jenna and Bucky didn't speak any words to each other.

Once at headquarters, the two were escorted to a private holding room. This always happened after missions. They were isolated until they could be debriefed. Just protocol.

"Now Jenna, you are very lucky. There is no damage to any muscles or tendons. You will have full function of your leg, and little recovery time is needed. You will be able to walk on your own just fine. We just want you to stay off of it right now."

 A doctor in a long lab coat was pushing Jenna in a wheelchair down a bright corridor. "And you young man, I don't have to tell you much about your wound. You know the drill."

"Right" Bucky responded curtly, following alongside them.

They arrived at the holding room and the doors pushed opened with a gust of pressure. Jenna thanked the doctor and he made his leave. Bucky sat on the bench on the far side of the room. The two let the atmosphere fill with an uncomfortable silence. They were still sorting out their feelings. Whether or not they were still annoyed by each other.

The bandage on Bucky's shoulder had come loose, unraveling fast and falling off. He clumsily tried to use his metal arm to re-bandage his wound. Struggling for a hot minute, getting visibly frustrated.

"Damn it..." He huffed under his breath and Jenna couldn't stand watching him be an oaf for any longer. She put the breaks on her wheelchair and braced herself on the arms of the chair, lifting herself up, she stood and slowly and began to make her way towards Bucky.

"Jenna! What-"

"Oh stop it. I'm fine. You heard the doctor."

"Yeah, he said to stay off of your leg."

"Just let me help." Jenna straddled the bench so that she could face Bucky properly. She gently dressed his wound again and tied it tight. She stared at him. Her hazel eyes were gentle as they looked him over. She brushed back his hair out of his face and tucked it behind his ear. "Looks like you have a couple of cuts too."

"...idiot," Bucky mumbled under his breath.

"What was that?"

"I said, Thank you."  

"Really? Because it sounded like you called me an idiot." Jenna raised her eyebrows but didn't change her gentle expression, she simply continued to run her thumb over his cuts. Bucky stood up abruptly and began to pace.

"Yeah! I did! Why would you come down to help me and put yourself at risk like that? And why are you trying to take care of my wound when you are in worse condition. That is what an idiot would do."

Jenna looked at him in shock. She didn't know what was causing this kind of reaction from him. He was angry but in a way that held a lot of passion. She took her hair down and shook it out. It fell in gentle waves, framing her face. She pulled her glasses off, wiping them off a bit while she tried to figure out how to deal with him. She would simply treat him like she always would. With kindness, gentleness, patience, and a bit of teasing.

"You know, Steve always says that in the 1940's you were quite the charmer. Handsome, gentleman-like. A ladies man even. Where's that guy?" The corners of her lips upturned.

"Yeah well, 80 plus years can really change a man." Bucky stood still, a sour look painting his face.

"You've aged well." Jenna stood up and walked over to Bucky, placing a gentle hand on his bandaged wound. "I like the changes."

Bucky reached his left arm out to her. His metal thumb brushing her cheek. It was cold to the touch but the gesture held more warmth than anything Jenna had ever felt. He stared into her eyes before again he abruptly tore himself away.

Jenna's frustration had built up. She was trying her hardest to get through to him but his attitude was unwavering.

"What is wrong with you, James!" He froze at the sound of his first name. 

"James Buchanan Barnes, look at me!"

He turned around, ready to unleash a million words a minute, but looking at Jenna's face caused him to take a deep breath.

"Stop that, Jenna. You need to take care of yourself for a change. Stop worrying about everyone else. Maybe we need to stop being partners for a while. I can't have you pulling my focus."

The words pierced Jenna's core. She sat down, heavy, crossing her arms. "Fine! I don't see what's so wrong with loving someone! Jerk." Jenna turned her head to the side, steam brewing to come out of her ears when suddenly she realized...

"What did you just say?" Bucky's expression softened and he bent down in front of Jenna, taking in her slender figure, pale skin, and sweet face. All tensed up and distressed.

"I... I said." Jenna was turning crimson red. She was embarrassed and felt it resonating with every part of her but she also felt tired. Tired of running away from what she had been feeling and tired of being so patient. "I said in a round-a-bout way that, well, I love you." Jenna stood up, trying to push her nerves down. "I care about you and worry about you because I love you. As more than just a partner. I am in love with you. And I don't think it's right that-"

Prepared to give out a lecture on the negatives of rejecting others feelings, Jenna was instead met with a heartfelt attempt to silence her. Bucky put his arm around the small of her back and pulled her close. His other hand resting on the back of her neck, his lips fell onto hers. The kiss warm and sweet. It deepened as time moved on and Jenna could only see flames when she closed her eyes. A flame so bright that it burned blue instead of red. When their lips parted Jenna couldn't find her voice but it didn't matter at that moment because Bucky had a lot to say.

"Listen, Jenna. I was angry today because I care about you. Because I can't stand the thought of losing you. Not as my partner. If something happened to you that took you away from me, I don't know if I could move on. And if something happened to you because of me...because I lost focus or because you tried to protect me, I would never forgive myself. I love you."

Jenna reached up and put her palm to Bucky's cheek.

"I understand. But I can't just stand by and do nothing if you're in trouble. Think about your feelings for me and know that I feel those same things for you. We can protect each other. We're a team, in more ways than one."

The two shared a kiss once more, Bucky running his hand through Jenna's hair. Jenna's hands ran up his chest and she clutched onto the fabric of his shirt. His lips parted and when Jenna slipped her tongue past his a buzzer rang out.

"Uhm Agent Barnes...It's uh, time for your debriefing so if you could uh...separate from your partner and come to the conference room... ... ...Thank you."

Bucky rested his forehead against Jenna's.

"We completely ignored the fact that we are being monitored didn't we?"

Jenna chuckled and gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek and then smiled at his back as he left the holding room.

"Those poor interns."

[bubble-tea-bunny]

heart for hire 

[han solo x reader]

author’s note: i’ve been trying to write little bits of things this past month of absence (which honestly didn’t even feel like a month... real life just got in the way) but never really finished anything. until now! yay. i had fun writing this and i hope you have fun reading it(: 

word count: 4,558

You’re not sure what this drink is called, but damn if it doesn’t give you the killer buzz you’d been looking for.

You’d asked the bartender for suggestions. Normally you have the drinks you like, and a way you like to have them, but spend enough time in the plethora of pubs scattered across the galaxies, and it gets old fast. You’ve started opening up to new things. That’s a good thing, or so you’ve heard. Trying new things. Admittedly it’s not something you do often. You’re a creature of habit, but routines equate to safety, and safety makes life easier.

The burn is so intense that you have to squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, waiting for the searing in your throat to pass. When it dissipates, your stomach feels warm, and sure, your head’s swimming a little too, but you can hold your own even with the harder drinks your non-human companions think might be too much for your kind. You wonder if the novelty will be lost on you one day, if nothing out there will ever be “too much.” But you figure if that time ever comes that you’ll be dead from alcohol poisoning or some such equivalent.

“Been a while since I last saw you.” Jet inserts himself into the empty spot to your left and leans forward, arms resting on the bar top. He’s smiling and it’s a little hard to tell because of his mandibles, but you’ve been friends long enough that you can pick up on it easily.

“Just hadn’t ever come across a pilot on their way to Tatooine.” You shrug and grin, then momentarily avert your gaze when the bartender comes back this way. You hold up your cup and request another, voice raised to be heard over the bustle of the cantina, and the bartender nods. Then you turn your attention back to your friend. “How have you been?”

Jet is one of your closest friends. His actual name is something complicated in his native language, which you can’t pronounce at all (don’t have the right tongue or vocal chords for it), so he goes by Jet, to make it easy. As a pilot, he’d been the first to ever accept you as a “for hire” crew member. That was your gig. If a ship found itself short on hands, particularly when it came to manning the guns, you were there to help. For the right price anyway—you do have to eat, and that’s what you tell them all, before they agree to your fee with a grumble and wave of the hand (or tentacle, or claw, or whatever).

Normally for the sums you’re asking as a mere hired hand, it’d be easy to turn you away, but you’ve made a name for yourself. No matter the type of starship, you could work the weapons. Learning on the fly was simple enough, and you never missed. This is how you’ve traversed through space and explored numerous planets. When the ship has reached its destination, you remain there until another pilot has need for the likes of you, and you go with them, and the cycle continues.

“Well, this is the fifth time the band is playing that song, at the behest of a gentleman over there”—Jet leans his head to the left and you can’t see who he’s referring to due to the crowd, but it doesn’t matter—“so… I could be better.”

You laugh and go to pat him on the shoulder, but that buzz of yours causes you to miss the mark a little and you instead pat his carapace, which, while not only solid, is also made of metal, so it stings your palms slightly when you pat him with a bit more force than intended (but Jet doesn’t mind; he hardly feels it). “But your day is brighter now that I’m here, right?” you tease.

Jet glances down at you and he can’t quite figure out if the glint in your eyes is mischief, the lights reflecting off of them, or the number of drinks you’ve had up until this point catching up to you. He smiles amicably. “Considerably.” The bartender comes back with your drink, and Jet waits momentarily as you tell him thanks, then continues. “You searching around here for a new job?”

You glance down into the cup to evaluate the liquid, since you hadn’t actually given it a good look before. It’s dark and you swear there are little shadowy tendrils floating from it like steam. But it might just be a hallucination. “Seeing if one might fall into my lap. Why? Do you have something for me?”

“Not at the moment, no.” Jet shakes his head regretfully. “My ship is grounded for maintenance, and I’m sure you’ll be hired long before it’s cleared for flight.”

Clutching the cup tightly, you bring it up to your mouth and throw your head back as you down the drink in one go, and then you slam it back down on the bar top. Fuck. This shit burns. And things are starting to look a little hazy. Maybe you should cut it off here. It seems Jet’s thinking the same thing.

“I think you’ve had enough,” he remarks gently, prying the cup from your fingers to hand it back to the bartender as he passes by. He sets a hand on your back and assesses the expression on your face to make sure you’re okay (and that you’re not about to vomit), but then his eyes slide up to the entrance when someone saunters in. “Well I’ll be damned…”

Your brows furrow when you hear Jet say this, and you follow his line of sight. Han Solo stands in the doorframe, and it looks as though he will remain there, surveying the crowd, but then his companion, a Wookiee (Chewbacca, you think his name is), comes in behind him, and they both proceed to an empty table in the corner. You’ve heard of them before, like many others. They popped up on the radar not long ago. A ship called the Millennium Falcon. It was fast, from what you hear. And given it’s done the Kessel run in twelve parsecs, you don’t doubt it one bit. There had been familiarity in Jet’s tone, and you turn back to inquire about it.

“Do you know him?”

“We’re acquaintances.” Jet nods. “We got to talking while you were away. And I wasn’t so sure they’d come back from their last job unscathed. It was high risk. Something I passed on to him, in fact. Was preoccupied with another assignment at the time. But it seems they’re perfectly fine.”

You chuckle as you find Han and Chewbacca again, at their table. They’re talking to each other in hushed voices. “Why doubt the one with the best Kessel run this side of the universe?”

Jet sighs. “You’re right. I really should have trusted Solo, given how much he reminds me of that.”

Your chuckle turns into a laugh, and then when you settle down, a small smile remains on your lips. ”What about them? Think they might have a new job I could tag along on?”

“Actually, I did get offered another job, and my ship is grounded…” There’s a knowing look in your friend’s eyes, and he nudges his head away from the bar. “Come on, let’s go speak with them.”

You trail close behind Jet, which isn’t a problem since the crowds part to allow him through as he walks. He’s tall, and his shoulders are broad, and his imposing figure demands space lest he actually knock down anyone else here. It wouldn’t be difficult to do even accidentally.

“Back in one piece, I see,” he begins, and though you can’t see his face, you know he’s smiling.

You can, however, see Han’s own grin, which finds its way onto his face when he turns to both of you. He sits back in his chair with arms outstretched. “And never feeling better.” Chewbacca speaks up too and it sounds much like an agreement.

“I’m glad to hear it went well.” Jet takes a seat across from them, and you follow suit, settling down on the chair next to him. “This is a friend of mine: [Name].”

You smile when Han and Chewbacca turn to you. “Nice to meet you.”

Han’s still wearing that same easy smile of his as he nods. “You too, [Name]. I’m Han Solo. This”—he motions to his companion—”is Chewbacca.” You’re tempted to say I know, because honestly, who doesn’t, but you hold your tongue. It’d probably be a little awkward.

“I have something you might be interested in.” Jet gets straight to business, crossing his arms. That’s what he always does when things are about to be serious. You wonder if he notices.

“Another job? Jet, you spoil us,” Han teases.

Jet chuckles. “I have a client who needs cargo transported back here.”

“Sounds easy enough.”

“Well, it would be, if it weren’t stolen from right under the Empire’s nose. They’re on high alert.”

You raise a brow. Stealing from the Empire is no joke. You’re curious what the cargo should be, for the Empire to care so much. So you ask. Quantum crystal, Jet responds. A lot of it.

Han lets out a low whistle. “Yeah, I can see the Imperials being a little annoyed about that.” Quantum crystal is strong, versatile, and valuable. The Empire heavily regulates the mining and refinement of the stuff. They have their claws dug deeply into the system.

“You interested?”

Han and Chewbacca glance at each other, and they don’t say anything, but you can tell they’re deliberating. You suppose they wouldn’t be such good partners if they didn’t understand each other so well. Chewbacca makes a comment, and Han turns back to Jet to translate. “How much is this client paying?”

“30,000.”

“Holy shit,” you mutter. The job is high risk, sure, but you didn’t think it would be worth that much.

“We’ll take it,” Han resolves. “When can we start?”

“I just need to let the client know so he can secure payment for when you return. You can be off at first light tomorrow if that’s okay with you.”

“That’s perfect.”

“And as I understand it, there’s only the two of you on this mission, but it would be better to have an extra pair of hands on board for this one. To man the turrets, perhaps.”Jet glances at you, then back at Han.

It’s silent for a moment as Han considers this. Most times he and Chewy are enough. Often there’s no need for the turrets. But the payout wouldn’t be as high as it is if it didn’t have a similarly high risk. This client is expecting trouble to come with transporting the cargo, and Chewy is plenty capable of working the guns. The one thing stopping him from turning down the suggestion is that Jet wouldn’t have mentioned it if he didn’t think you were perfectly suited. He pretends to though, just to see what you’ll say. Jet can’t speak for you entirely.

“I don’t know…” he trails off. “I think it’d be fine with just the two of us.”

“Well, from where I’m sitting, I can see a pilot and a co-pilot.” You look at each of them as you mention their respective titles. “And unless you have an invisible friend hanging around somewhere, I don’t see a gunner.”

“Maybe we don’t need one. Chewy can handle it well enough.”

“‘Well enough’ doesn’t always equal good. No offense.” Chewbacca makes a little noise as if to say none taken. “Besides, he’s not me.”

Han raises a brow. It’s big talk, certainly. But you wouldn’t be saying it if you didn’t have the skills to back it up. “And what do you mean by that, sweetheart?” He can’t help grinning and it’s not to tease you. He sees the determination in your eyes, and it’s admirable, and he wants to hear what you have to say.

“I don’t miss.” There’s no need to continue past this, for the confidence in your voice is all it takes to convince them, but you continue anyway. "And we both know that we’ll be in for a hell of a time with the Empire on our tails. The faster we get rid of whatever they send after us, the faster we can jump to light speed and get back to Tatooine.” Because you’d consider it to be a better idea not to waste time with a bunch of quantum crystal on board. If the Empire isn’t a threat, it’s marauders who might hear of the cargo you hold.

It’s all well spoken. And true (well, the second part anyway; Han has yet to see you in action). His grin widens and he nods. “All right then, [Name]. Welcome to the team.”

You smile as Jet speaks up again. “Pleasure doing business with you. I’ll send you the details.” The four of you all stand, but you do so a little too quickly, which is bad considering you’d already been feeling a little woozy before. You stumble, bracing your hands on the table to steady yourself. Jet and Han both start move to support you, but Jet reaches you first since he’s next to you. “You okay?”

“Yeah… I think all those drinks are starting to catch up to me.”

“Well it’s a good thing you don’t leave until tomorrow then.” Jet chuckles.

———

The mission brings you to Batuu. It’s an old trading port, out in basically the middle of nowhere.   What’s important is that it’s under the radar. The perfect place to hide quantum crystal. A connection of the client is holding on to the cargo until the three of you arrive to pick it up.

Han finds you playing dejarik with yourself, eyes downcast on the holographic creatures which wait patiently for your next move. “It won’t be long till we get there,” he tells you quietly, not wanting to startle you.

You glance up and smile. “Okay.”

He takes the seat across from you, briefly studying the board, and then his eyes slide up to you. You feel him looking, and meet his gaze. Suddenly dejarik doesn’t seem all that interesting.

“So you’ve worked for a lot of pilots, huh?” Han begins.

You nod. “A fair few.”

“Ever have any really close calls?”

“Once.” You sigh as you think back to the event. “A pilot had some stuff stolen from him by marauders, so he stole it back. But the marauders had friends, and we got chased through an asteroid field. Dogfights in tight spaces like that usually make me wary, but the pilot was confident he could maneuver through it. He did. Barely. Other than that, everyone else I’ve worked for has played it safe.”

Han grins. “I hope you know you’ve landed a gig with a pilot much like the one you just mentioned. I’m a risk taker.”

“Yes, but the difference is I know you have the skill. You did do the Kessel run in twelve parsecs, after all.”

Han’s eyes light up when you mention this. He brings it up to people so often, but now it’s being told back to him. Word is spreading, and he feels his chest swell with pride. He’s trying to squash down a toothy smile but he’s not entirely successful, and it makes you chuckle. It’s pride well-deserved, certainly.

He tries to think of another question, and finally settles upon one: “Ever had a pilot as handsome as me?” His eyes sparkle with impishness.

You roll your eyes but the smile lets him know you’re not annoyed. “I’m scared your head might explode if I say no.”

“So you haven’t?”

You sit there staring at each other for a few silent moments, seeing who might crack first, until Chewbacca calls from where he is in the cockpit, and Han proceeds to stand. “We’re here.” The two of you join Chewbacca, Han taking the seat next to him, and you taking the seat behind him. You strap yourself in as they set a trajectory for the outpost. Your (or technically the client’s) connection is already waiting for you, standing next to a stack of crates which you know contains the quantum crystal. It wouldn’t take long to get them all on the ship, and then you’d be turning around. But you know it won’t be that easy.

There are many towers here, and they look old. The concrete is worn, and plants have started to wrap around some of them. It’s not a port that rests in a portion of cleared jungle. Rather, it coexists with it, trees emerging from various points of the town, vines looping around manmade structures. The docking area is quiet, though there are a few starships parked as well. The atmosphere is vastly different from that of Mos Eisley, and you think that some other time, you would like to stay here a while. Some peace and quiet sounds nice.

One crate is left on the landing dock when Han starts loading them into the hidden cargo holds, and you go out to grab it.

“Be careful,” the connection tells you.

You smile reassuringly. “Don’t worry. It’s all stored securely. It’ll arrive in tact.”

“Not quite what I was referring to…”

Your eyes narrow in confusion, but then there’s a deep rumble, and you quickly look up at the sky for the source of the noise. They’re only specks of light at this distance, but you know what they are. “Shit.” You don’t spare a glance at the man as you take the last crate and run back on board.

“Han!” you yell. Your boots echo along the floors as you rush to him and Chewbacca. “They’re already here! That guy must’ve told them we were coming to get the quantum crystal and they waited for us. We need to leave now.”

Han’s head peeks out from the cargo hold as you approach. “You and Chewy get to the cockpit and get us out of here. I’ll store the last few crates then get to the turret.”

When the Millennium Falcon lifts off from the ground and begins its launch toward space, the crates not yet stored start to slide, and you quickly reach out to grab them before they get too far and hit something. You hear Han yelling that he needs you on the guns soon, because some of the TIE fighters have decided not to wait until you exit Batuu’s atmosphere. As soon as you slide the cover back over the hold, you stand back up and sprint to the gun bay. It’s time to see just how good you claim to be! Han shouts. He sounds excited, and you wonder if it’s from adrenaline or from the fact he’s about to see what you’re made of. Maybe it’s both. It manages to pull a small smile from you, despite the danger of what you’re going up against right now.

Han’s doing evasive maneuvers until you bring firepower into the fight, and the ship rocks you back and forth as you settle into the chair and put the headset on. You brace your hands on the yoke and your boots on each pedal, and you start to press one foot down, then switch and press down the other, changing the direction of the turret as you scope out your targets. There’s one TIE fighter directly behind you, and you take it out easily. The rest are out of the motion range of the turret, but Han angles the Falcon appropriately until they’re in it.

The bright explosions of destroyed TIE fighters are like little suns, and you see some stars in the edge of your vision. Since you’d dispatched them while still in Batuu’s atmosphere, you can hear the roar as the machines break and the debris tumbles to the ground. Everything goes silent when the Falcon reaches space, and more TIE fighters are there to meet you. There are no obstacles here to try to wind through to throw them off; at best, all that can be done is flying in a path that’s not straight.

A few blaster shots from the fighters collide with the hull and shake the ship, but as soon as it’s steady again, you’re taking aim. You can’t jump to light speed until you get rid of them all because they can follow you. They’re almost gone now, but the last one is being particularly tricky, not staying still enough for you to hit it. You can’t even lead the shot because it never moves in one direction long before switching. There’s no pattern.

You tell Han via your headset that you don’t have a clear shot, as you follow the TIE fighter’s movement with just your eyes, trying to find a pattern that’s not there. It’s quiet for a moment, and then he tells you hold on, he’ll get you that shot. Rotate back to the front, he instructs, and you do. You don’t have long to wonder what he has planned.

The Falcon’s brakes kick in almost immediately after, and it’s only the harness around your chest that keeps you from falling forward and slamming into the yoke from all the force. It caught you off guard, and apparently, it catches the TIE fighter off guard as well. It still has all its momentum from following so closely, and so it zooms past you. This time it’s not weaving around, flying straight as the pilot tries to correct it and loop back around. It’s less than a few seconds, but that’s more than enough for you. Several well placed shots straight ahead destroys it, and you watch it explode in silence. It’s almost beautiful.

Your fingers feel a little sore as you curl and uncurl them when you’re back on the deck. You had them tensed that whole time as they gripped the yoke. It happens rarely, but you do suppose gunning down Imperial starships is a rarity for you too.

“Not one misplaced shot,” Han announces as you walk into the cockpit. You’re in light speed now, well on your way back to Tatooine. He turns around in his seat to smile at you. “Wonderful job.”

Chewbacca nods in agreement and the sound that leaves him doesn’t need to be translated. You can tell he’s saying much the same thing. You grin. “Thanks.”

As you take the seat behind Chewbacca, said Wookiee speaks again, and Han laughs as he glances at you. “He says you’re right,” he explains. “He’s definitely not you. Not when you have accuracy like that.”

You laugh too and reach forward to pat Chewbacca’s shoulder. “Well you’re a better co-pilot than I could ever be. We all have our specialty, don’t we?”

———

After the three of you unload the quantum crystal from the ship, you split up. Chewbacca goes into the cantina, Han speaks with the client about what happened during the job and the connection that had outed you, and you sit on some crates nearby to watch the sunsets. You know as soon as they disappear behind the horizon, it will get very cold very quickly, and you’ll have to head inside. You wonder if Jet’s in the cantina, maybe already talking with Chewbacca about how everything went.

Han walks over, footsteps quieted due to the sand. He hands you a card and you take it gently between index and thumb. “There’s your share. 10,000 credits.”

You look at the card as you process that number. 10,000. Equal share. You glance up at him. “Not that I’m asking for it, but I was expecting you to negotiate a lower share for me, since I’m a hired hand and all…”

Han chuckles. “You know, I did think about it for a bit, but I decided to keep it equal because…” He goes quiet a moment, and you’re pretty certain you know what’s coming. You’re proven to be right when he continues. “Because I think you’d be an exceptional addition to the Millennium Falcon’s crew, if you wanted to be. We can always use someone with your skills.”

You don’t say anything right away, pondering over the offer. It’s not your style to be tied down to one crew or one ship. You’ve never known a life like that. The continual change kept the novelty fresh. Even if the jobs were boring, it was the fact it was something new that made it exciting. And more eagerness bubbled in you still, to know that you’d soon be on another planet, exploring and being with its locals until another pilot popped up looking for a gunner for hire.

“But it’s also because we consider you a friend, [Name],” Han states further. “I consider you a friend. And I’d like you to stay with us just a little longer.”

You smile fondly as you hear him say these things. Friends. You could traverse this universe with friends. And you know when it comes to those two, they will find themselves on adventures you’ll want to be a part of. You can see it in Han’s eyes, and you saw it in Chewy’s. A thirst for excitement. You don’t know the future but you’re sure the Millennium Falcon will go on missions of a higher caliber for that reason alone, will go to incredible places. And that’s a sort of change you think you’d like to experience.

“Okay.” You nod. “I’ll stay.”

Han smiles widely. “Great.” You’re left staring at each other in silence again, as you had on the ship while en route to Batuu. This time it’s a gust of wind that breaks it as he suggests that you both head inside now that it’s getting cold.

The two of you walk towards the cantina, the lights inside like a beacon. The sound of the band playing music is muffled, and a small smile sits on your lips as you take it all in. The vast amount of credits you’ve just been paid, the homey feel of coming back to the cantina, the fact you’re part of a permanent crew now…

“The answer was no, by the way.” At your seemingly random comment, Han glances down at you in confusion. You look up at him, and you’re not far from the cantina now, so the lights delicately illuminate your face. Enough to see the playfulness in your eyes. “I haven’t ever had a pilot as handsome as you.”

Han looks quite proud of himself when you state that, and you chuckle quietly. “I haven’t ever had one as sweet either.” You smile softly before resuming your walk to the cantina. Han doesn’t follow right away, staying in his spot as he watches you. You pull open the doors, and for a few seconds, the music from the band is clear as day. And when they close again, it becomes muffled.

All he’s thinking is that if you thought he was sweet, you should’ve been on the receiving end of the smile you just gave him. Despite the chill, he feels warm as he walks those last several feet to the cantina entrance. Yes, he’s very glad you decided to stay.

[leon-goretzka-blog1]

Catch 22 — Denied Pain Relief And No Way Out

Note: For all of the places listed, at least some of the locations are open 24 hours a day, seven days a week. 4. Your purchase is fully protected for 60 days by both Clickbank and Dr. Gary M Levin M.D. You may need to purchase a money order to send a secure form of payment. Trinidad and Tobago is a democratic country with a parliamentary form of government. These titles are provided as a general indication of the material published on this country. The country no longer has a railway system. If, for many reason, you feel no longer entitled to the Tramadol therapy that you will be looking for, any kind of guidance you obtain will be free of cost from several online pharmacies. Its them or us and it will definitely be them ! For example, I will explore modernized ways for people to contribute to maintaining our parks. But there are some people who make fun of him. I get mail from Type 1s who have to choose between insulin or being homeless. Finally, canadian pharcharmy online short-term contracts usually have the same definition of disability for all classes of employees. Thought they were geckos/lizards and have been trying it with eucalyptus oil in soda bicarbonate in a jar. I have mint planted and also two (old) cats and one dog but this doesn’t seem to bother these rodents…I don’t want to use toxic stuff, any ideas? A final advantage is that it may be more economical for an employer to use insurance rather than other alternatives. Invest in deployment of mobile health care clinics in rural and distressed urban areas by partnering with towns, counties, providers, and insurance companies. In addition to the site visit, the plan sponsor may wish to consider contacting current customers of the bidding companies to assess references. ] Pharmacies offering medication without requiring a prescription and doctor review or supervision are sometimes fraudulent and may supply counterfeit—and ineffective and possibly dangerous—medicines. A larger or more severe second degree burn that is treated with prescription creams or antibiotics, or results in restricted work, job transfer, or days away from work is recordable. The relatively low degree of dissatisfaction, however, is higher for plans with the greatest degree of managed care. The Republicans will tell you they are going to do something about health care. If we do this, we can meet our capital construction needs and broaden BEST’s mission to include coordinating with local school districts to build affordable housing that will be available to educators in high-need areas. At the moment, Google has not provided any information about when this update will move beyond its initial testing to be available for everyone, or when it will be mandatory that ads adopt this new format. US waterways are now containing drugs that include diabetic drugs. It might hurt them, regardless of whether their side effects are equivalent to yours. “What it does is it reverses those effects of the opioid. Oh James I’m so sad you are living in these conditions. I bought peppermint teabags to drop additional peppermint oil on to repel them out of there, but they are still present. It's still sitting in its original envelope in the drawer of my desk. Fake prize or contest winnings are often communicated via a phone call or automated voice message. My insulin dose kept rising all these past months which suggests antibodies are a factor. Click here to see a sample list from one of our many suppliers. In fact, eleven states and the District of Columbia already offer full-day kindergarten to their children, and it’s time for our state to be added to this list. I like to keep our spending in check anyway, and it’s not hard to scan and email bills. The employer's main administrative function is to process the payroll deductions associated with a plan. The holy grail for the process of home-based telepsychiatry would be the wide-based acceptance of the prescribing of medicines without an in-person evaluation. What is CBD Oil? Stage 2 expands this to "view and download" within 24 hours. The law is on your side and your landlord is about to get a severe lesson in Property Management. So, without further ado, let’s get started! In the UK online pharmacies often link up with online clinic doctors. Williams, Eric. History of the People of Trinidad and Tobago. It is a phony war directed to the wrong causes and punishing the wrong people. Planned activities for over 30 minutes for up to 5 days a week can be swimming, walking briskly, jogging, bicycling or using machines for aerobic conditioning. A EMP-proof bugout vehicle with a diesel engine can run on a myriad of alternative fuels. Searches can be done only one state at a time. Telegram operators of the time reported the papers on their office desks suddenly burst into flames when shocking bolts of electricity flowed through the communications lines. Tramadol was previously authorized for promoting as a noncontrolled analgetic in the trade name of Ultram. The idea of parents saying goodbye to their kids in the morning only to never see them again is too horrific to put into words.

[stone-man-warrior]

April 15, 2021: 12:33 pm:

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

Pfizer CEO is Trending on Twitter.

That can‘t be good, today is “Death & Taxes Day”, an annual event in USA.

https://twitter.com/search?q=%22Pfizer%20CEO%22&src=trend_click&vertical=trends

I have been trying to find some kind of connecting dots to the existence of vaccines for which there is no ailment necessary to cure, such as is the case of the so called COVID Vaccines, a strangely promoted competition of commercial brands for inoculation purposes, the likes of which have been necessary in the past, but never with so much emphasis on brand preference or product loyalty for the choice of which manufacturer of a drug an individual person may prefer,

So far:

Astra Xenica = Heroin

Johnson & Johnson = Cocaine

Remdesvir = A whore, brothel, call to kidnap women for use as sex slaves,

Sputnik = A trap, strong poison, a lie, lure, bait designed to lead investigative persons into dangerous conditions, bottlenecks, “Klein Bottle”. Sputnik is :”The Russian Whore”, is “the woman who lured Jesus to the crucifix and worked for Markus, is ‘Jesus Ol’ Lady’, only because she fooled him in league with Markus”

Moderna = A French Gibson Flying V Guitar, is not the real thing. is a French Ax ... a Guillotine.

So. now Pfizer is Trending.

I have inside information that may prove to apply to the Pfizer Vaccine set of terror commands, as follows:

There is a woman by the name of Paula Pfiefer. I  believe she resides in Medford Oregon. I know that Paula Pfieifer is a SAGClubMed High Command General of the SDA terror army, Ms. Pfieifer has two important job descriptions.

She is a Lead Management Person at Medford Medical Clinic (as of 2014 last known date of association there).

Ms. Pfeifer is also a Lead Management Person of the Kaspersky Internet Security Software Products. The Kaspersky was part of the bundled software included with Sony Vaio Computers and other Sony products, and also was included standard on other computers of different manufacturers. The significance of the Sony Vaio is important, as the Vaio is one of only a few computers a person can buy that comes with a factory installed STEREO sound card. Macintosh and Sony Vaio are the only two computer manufacturers that I am aware of that offer a factory installed stereo sound card. You can buy and install aftermarket stereo sound cards, but to purchase a new computer that comes from the factory with stereo recording capabilities is very limited for choice, you can buy a Sony, or a Mac, those are the choices, and the Kaspersky comes with the Sony, and Paula Pfiefer comes with the Kaspersky, and Medford Medical Clinic (is now an Asante Health facility) also comes with the Kaspersky and Paula Pfeifer.

If you want to speak with Ms. Pfiefer, you need to pronounce her name in a coded way that only the insiders know of, you need to say: Pffffffiefer, and lay into the “Pfff” sound as you speak her name, otherwise, she will just fool you. Insiders say: “Ms. Pffffffffiefer” when they need to speak with the General.

I suspect the Pfizer Vaccine is going to be associated with SAGClubMed, the MedDems terror cells, Asante Health, and by extension to the “Pleasure Dome” in Medford (a secret, hidden underground experimental surgery center where kidnapped victims are made subject to horribly cruel surgical changes that render them unrecognizable as Human Beings after the procedures are complete, typical procedure time takes five years to complete, with multiple plastic surgery, amputations, and reattachment of limbs in places where they don’t belong. The “Partner Productions” are done at the “Pleasure Dome” by custom order of SAG members who want to order a custom built per pet person, made to their specifications.

That is what I think the Pfizer Vaccine is going to be connected to in some way, and to Paula Pfeifer, Sony Computer, and Kaspersky Internet Security Products.

Pfizer = a victim who has been selected, marked, as “Specimen”, to be captured, and taken to “The Pleasure Dome”.

The “Partner Specimens” need to be some of the strongest, healthiest people there are. The procedures they are subject to are absolutely brutal, and for that reason, only the very strongest of people survive the procedures. US Military personnel are said to be some of the most desirable “specimens” after they attend the boot camp, and some military training because of their ability to withstand the brutality of the procedures done at “The Pleasure Dome”.

The experimental procedures are such that arm length, leg length, and placement are changed on the victims. Other special considerations are custom ordered by the SAG members who want one, such as number of breasts, and where on the victims the breasts are attached surgically.

These sickening procedures are done as experiments to see what will work, and what will not work when the terror army is successful at achieving the goal of Global Domination. When they are successful, there will be “The Master Race” of SAG members and British House of Lords members. Those people are limited to about 500,000 world wide. Everyone else will attend “British Still” education and be subject to the horrible surgical procedures that render the victim to appear as they are not Human Beings, so, the victims will begin to undergo the surgeries from birth, and be changed, into a base of slave population to serve “The Master Race”. The procedures are designed to make ergonomically crafted humans, while the “British Still” education will teach them from birth that they are not Humans, but are a sub species put on earth to serve the “Master Race”

I have seen many “Partners” in my lifetime. The first one was in around 1984 in Thousand Oaks California, a young woman who said she had been kidnapped from a music concert, and was surgically changed, she looked more like an Afghan Hound than a Human being, and was kept in an attic of a residential house.

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

2:48 pm:

Trending on Twitter terror high command:

https://twitter.com/i/events/1382675724260102144

The way I see it, everything you need to know about “Russia” can be described as a “Master set of lies, stacked, layered, established as truth, accepted as fact, indeed are lies”

There is no Russia.

The place we are told is Russia, is an imaginary place. If you wanted to go there, to Russia, you could conceivably get  a commercial flight to “Russia”, however, when your plane lands, and then leaves, there you will be, in Mongolia. You may ask the locals “Which way to get to the Kremlin?” and they will laugh, and tell you “India” is where the Kremlin is at, this is Mongolia.”

It’s a one-way trip.

There are no Russians in Mongolia.

This is some practical information about “Russia” that can be used to solve problems if there are people who are in the business of protecting USA from terror takeover, and by extension, protect all of the world from slavery, and preserve freedom. I don‘t think such persons exist anymore.

Here is a link to a simple Bing Search that can help to get interested persons a starting point to learn more.

The character “ Volodymyr Oleksandrovych Zelensky, or Vladimir Aleksandrovich Zelenskiy,   officially Zelenskyy” is a movie actor/producer.

That is really all you need to get started, he came to power recently, in 2019 just ahead of the Corona Virus Global Attack Roll Out.

Take that easy to find information and combine it with information that is more difficult to obtain, specially that Pharmaceuticals are among the top exports of Ukraine. Ukraine is a global leader of Pharmaceutical manufacture.

Zelensky is a movie actor/producer, and SAG members are movie actor/producers. Do math, and you can see the potential for a relationship between Hollywood DC, and Ukraine.

The relationship is a drug based one. While US DEA are busy looking at Columbia and Peru as drug sources, the real global suppliers are on the other side of the world, in Ukraine Hollywood.

Russia is a layered, stacked, established set of lies, one lie requires ten more lies to cover up the first one, and each of those require ten more lies for them to make sense, so, the Russian Mother of All Hoaxes is born of a series of lies, beginning with the day that Jesus was nailed to the cross, set up by his Ol’ Lady, and Markus. 2000 years of lies, all piled one over the other, an orgy of lies, is what Russia is.

The Russian Mother of all Hoaxes is laid out and controlled as a set of terms, phrases, points in history, locations and events by the British House of Lords leadership, and most likely is categorized by GCHQ of SIS, which is also Reuters news, and Google is a component of that MI6 SIS GCHQ, but with a Vatican centered stance. Amazon and Tesla also sit in the same position as does Google. The Russian Mother Hoax serves the British Global Domination advance as a set of command shell language that can be spoken in mainstream news, be accepted as truth, and advance an army at the same time, while maintaining credibility by fact checkers. 2000 years of lies, all kept track of, organized and searchable on the internet.

There is truth, however, in Mongolia, and Ukraine.

https://www.bing.com/search?form=MOZTSB&pc=MOZI&q=Ukraine+Zelinsky

I don‘t know where to begin to decode what the “SolarWinds” story may be truly about, so, let’s explore, starting with very simple details:

There was a computer hack: = Digital; Binary; On/Off; One/Two (in the terror comm, where there are “two”. lies an invisible “third”, so, “two = three” by default because of “Father, Son; Holy Spirit” rules to the terrorism. the “Holy Spirit” stays out of view but is ever present)

Solar = Sun; Ray; Heat; Life; Light...

Wind = The activity of movement when air moves from high pressure conditions due to expansion of the air from exposure to heat, to low pressure conditions.

Assessment:

There is some kind of on-line pressure driving Mr. Biden to make a move from a high pressure condition, to a more comfortable low pressure condition.

That is basically what is happening in the Biden camp.

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

3:41 pm:

This outfit here, Constant Contact. is somehow associated to recent terror events. I see a connection to the Biden White House and Constant Contact advertising agency. The Constant Contact presence was first shown to me to be a major part in the terror with my last visit to Walmart, the connection extends to Walmart. I don’t want to say more at this time, as innocent people may be in danger if I elaborate about how I made the connection to Biden. Walmart, and advertising agency Constant Contact, so, you can do research on your own, or not, that is up to you. I will continue to look for specifics as to why, or how Constant Contact serves Walmart and the Biden White House, for now, specifics are a mystery but the connection is not a mystery.

The Walmart/White House/Constant Contact association I made was presented to me in email from music industry promotions, so, the music advertisers are also in the loop, that is very important for learning why the relationship exists between the groups mentioned.

https://www.constantcontact.com/?cc=MSN-115517&gclid=18af3de7bbfc1b2f96d05d9f7b54dbd6&gclsrc=3p.ds&msclkid=18af3de7bbfc1b2f96d05d9f7b54dbd6&pn=search&utm_campaign=PPC_BRAND_EMM_PERF_PROSP_PROSPECT_BRAND&utm_content=Brand&utm_medium=cpc&utm_source=bing&utm_term=constant%20contact

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

4:21 pm:

More about the attempts to check my mail yesterday:

As I reported, I mentioned possibility that the woman who was at the Monroe Offensive Surveillance Travel Trailer with two young men may have been Kate Brown.

now, I am more prepared to further say with increased confidence that indeed that was Kate Brown. The woman I saw, burst of nitrous oxide ignition when her internally holstered nitrous tank ruptured due to ignition of the gas. One of the two young men threw-up after he saw the woman’s guts come out of her belly. The woman sat in wicker chair that is near the trailer, after launching a short distance from the porch of the trailer. That all happened as the Nissan Quest van stopped momentarily in front of the Monroe residence. I was going to get my mail if my foot was feeling good enough to make the walk, and was on a trail in my woods in front of my house at the time. I saw the van stop at the mailboxes, then heard some people yelling from the Monroe trailer, saw the woman fly about fifty feet and land where the wicker chair is, she stood up. her guts were on the ground, so she picked them up and sat in that chair, that is when one of the young men ran to where there is a picnic table, and he threw-up there having been sickened by what he saw. “He must  be new” I said out-loud as I saw the young man throw-up. At the time, I did not realize what was happening, as there was quite a lot going on around me, all of it was part of a plot to kill me, and there was a lot of poison gas in the air. I remember now seeing that woman pick her intestines up off of the ground, then sit down, then her intestines came out more. I have some low power binoculars, and used those to see that the woman looked like Kate Brown, and I heard Kate Brown‘s name mentioned at that time.

There was an attack inside my home that I did not report about two nights ago, as I was unable to see the person, who was wearing a “Pixel Suit” and struck my injured leg as I was having dinner, the intruder came in while I was cooking some food. That person was suspected of being Dan Brown, Kate’s husband. I don‘t recall fighting him. I do recall that my leg hurt, and I used some neo-sporin against my better judgment. The pain I was feeling may have been result of being hit in the wound area by Dan Brown that night.

There is so much nitrous oxide mixed with medazolam gas released around here, that I am amazed I can remember my own name. Fortunately, the memory of events does return later on after exposure a little bit if I try real hard to remember what happened.

Kate & Dan Brown came to kill me, that is what happened.

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

5:07 pm:

https://twitter.com/search?q=%22Pat%20Robertson%22&src=trend_click&vertical=trends

With an abundance of caution, a strong will to survive, and a lot of experience, I am going to say that the above Tweeted Trend is a command order from “On-High” to have Dereck Chauvan sent to Josephine County, to check in with local terror actors from Hollywood who run the Josephine County Jail and sheriff’s office, where he and some accomplices will be given keys to my house to come to kill me and take this Tumblr account down.

There are tunnels beneath the sheriff office and jail.

It’s happened many times before. Remember Eddie Galagher? He and his wife, and others came to kill me, they attacked me at the Walgreen‘s, it’s all documented here on this account. Eddie was killed in defense, I think his wife was the only one of the group who was not killed or injured badly. That was the same day when Megan Markle was also there as an observer, was inside of a big cardboard box on wheels, and put in a place where she could see what was going to happen there at the Walgreen‘s. It was the day after Harry Windsor attacked me at the Walmart with a sword, and I took the sword from him, and turned it around, Harry stumbled into the place where the video games are at in the front of the Walmart, and was treated with first aid right there while I walked passed and out of the store with my groceries paid for and bagged.

So, based on that, and other similar times when Twitter was used as a command post for sending assassins to my house, I am going to say that Dereck Chauvin is likely to come to Grants Pass by the end of April, for a hit ordered by US Government, and commanded on Twitter, with a news story from Pat Robertson.

Most of the Donald Trump Former Cabinet also came to kill me with the same kind of commands posted on Twitter. That is why so many of the Donald Trump cabinet became the “Former Cabinet”. They all failed. Kirstjen neilsen, Director of Department of Homeland Security was one of them, she followed me to the Walmart, then to the Burger King, where she drove up in an old black Ford truck, came into the restaurant, and stabbed me in the mouth with some kind of sharp needle, and my face was infected for a month after that, I defended though, and her wounds were lethal.

Real terrorism is not the kind that you can learn about from news media. Real terror comes from the US shill government, and the shill government officials are commanded by the news media as assassins. That is part of why the terror is so successful, they have it arranged where the celebrities are the murderers, and that is why no one believes what they can see for themselves, terror commanded from the six o’clock news.

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

5:43 pm:

Reminder:

I asked Joe Biden for help to stop the terrorism in Oregon, and throughout USA.

He sent this response from the White House, the request for help was received. acknowledged, and replied to.

You can see the request for help on my February 13 entry.

There is nothing fake about any of it.

no help has come. There are no signs of helpful people anywhere.

I sent to request for help when I overheard plans by the local terror cells that they were going to use horses to “Draw & Quarter” me. Maybe, had I not already seen people being drawn & quartered with horses, I would not have been so alarmed as to contact the president of USA to ask for help; but I have seen people drawn & quartered with horses, in fact, it happened in my front yard, on my property.

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

6:20 pm:

Yesterday and the day before I was doing some decoding of the “Cup of Joe” as I wound up referring to it, where the “Pause” of the Johnson & Johnson so called “COVID Vaccine” seemed to somehow Co-inside with the news of the delayed withdrawal of US Troops from Afghanistan, the delay being from May 1, to September 11, in memory celebration, from the terror perspective, of the WTC attack.

I mentioned that presidential terror comm has three messages built into one set of comm language, and that I could see there were two messages, the third being illusive.

The two messages are too complicated to repeat here, you can read the lengthy information on yesterday’s entry and the previous day’s entry.

One of the terror coded messages simply was “Johnson & Johnson Vaccine = Cocaine” however, there is a lot more to it than a simple identifying announcement. I am optimistic that others who are better equipped will continue with exploring what I started with for those decodes.

I have the third, illusive part to the presidential terror comm about the J & J and the Afghanistan news story, as follows:

There was a “pause”.

There was a “Paw’s”.

There were “Father’s”, they are “The Paw’s”.

With that, add the cocaine, and you have “Sugar Daddy’s”.

We could take that into the realm of sex and a place where a “comfort person” could find a place to stay, and money to survive, the regular street definition of Sugar Daddy is someone who will pay the living costs for a personal friend in exchange for sexual favors.

I see that there could be more to it than that.

Third Amendment.

Perhaps, the “Sugar Daddy Cocaine Johnson & Johnson presidential Afghan Pause” is about finding places for terror soldiers to stay, and, finding new ways to fund those terror soldiers in a world were the usual ways to fund them have been exposed.

That is what I see as the third illusive part to the “Cup of Joe” that I started with a couple of days ago. Quarters and funding needed for Joe’s terror soldiers in a particular geographic region, or, in a more emergent generalized way, where the current system for housing and funding the vast Canadian terror army may have been exposed at the JP Morgan Chase Bank level. and the Too Big To Fail funding method done with digital money moving magic and falsified store inventories, could have been exposed to people who won‘t tolerate that, and perhaps, have power and authority to shut down the funding of the terror army that has been done that way since 2008, when George W. Bush stole the contents of the US Treasury and the Federal Reserve, AKA: “The Alpha Breasts”.

That would be good.

It could be start to restoring Freedom and preserving the existence of USA.

To those people who may have authority and power, and won‘t tolerate terror funding by the US President or Congress, I warn you again, Twitter must be taken offline, or your efforts are likely to fail.

That would be bad.

Please consider caution, and take the command vehicle offline, Twitter is that vehicle.

===========

7:01 pm:

https://twitter.com/DailyMailUK/status/1382830864329936897

https://twitter.com/DailyMailUK/status/1382828602593529857

https://twitter.com/DailyMailUK/status/1382826104092815362

https://twitter.com/DailyMailUK/status/1382826103677550595

https://twitter.com/DailyMailUK/status/1382824825660530693

https://twitter.com/DailyMailUK/status/1382823577880305667

The linked Tweets above can be associated to John Wayne International Airport.

That is all I have on that.

I chose not to include any more screen shots than is necessary to say why the airport could be important.

FYI: The Range Rover Defender 90 (not shown) came new from the factory with three different tops. One is a hard top, one is a soft-top full enclosure, and the third is a Bikini-Top.

Alpha Breasts are in the Tweeted coded news today, so is the Range Rover Defender 130, modified to a Hearst. (130 is bad luck in terror comm)

John Wayne = “Diminished Patronage”, something to consider.

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

7:16 pm:

This thing is trending on Twitter terror command HQ:

https://twitter.com/surface/status/1382695206542270465

Please understand that there is a “Covfefe” happening here.

The “Covfefe” includes that there will be two opposing ideas where pressure towards the center in between them is applied, as a terror attack strategy. The people who are lured into the place between are marked, and become targets, downrange from two perspectives.

That “surface” thing is super whimpy, while that Range Rover Hearst is super stout. Those are only two of the opposing situations I am seeing today, they are easy to identify and explain, there are other, more complex “Covfefe” today that is too difficult to show, so, see the contrast being demonstrated in various places today in order to see the existence of the “Covfefe” attack conditions that are forming in the tweeted terror comm today.

Please search this account for “Covfefe” if you are not familiar with the way “Irony” is done as an attack plan, where the Screen Actor Guild is the command entity, and the “Irony” is what happens when victims are placed between the two masks of SAG, “Comedy & Tragedy”. Basically, that is what the “Covfefe” attack scenarios are made of.

Something to consider:

People who have lived in modern times have grown up and lived their lives in the shadow of televised programing, where before there was television, the reality was simple, reality consisted of what was actually happening around where people were at.

So, in the past, before TV, when a war broke out, the reality was known by the existence of an invading enemy within view in the neighborhood.

now, we have per-concieved ideas about what constitutes war. Most everyone I ever knew, including myself, always thought that war included men in uniform, with attack that includes bombs and machine guns, and everything is blown up real fast ... and that is war the way modern people have been programmed to see it, on a TV.

Reality these days, is that the Screen Actor Guild is the offensive party, and, they are also the people who made sure that the people they are going to attack don‘t know what modern war is made of, they programed us to see only that war happens when the men are in uniform, and the shit is exploding everywhere.

Modern war, has a Covfefe built into it, it has a story, a plot, it has an introduction, character development happens ahead of the attack, so we get to know the people who are killing us. We end up worshiping the attacking army. Modern war has no uniform, it has a costume, it has props, is choreographed, and includes an intermission so that victims can be taken at the concessions stands.

Modern war is slow, it’s scripted, written out to great detail such that the attacking army has very little chance of being hurt, because there were numerous dress rehearsals, where every conceivable situation could be anticipated, and a counter measure applied, roled out from a parallel screen play, on the fly, in such a way as to only increase the dramatic quality of the attack, and keep the victims entertained ahead of the slaughter.

The “Covfefe” includes that an attack will entertain as the killing progresses, and while the objective is reached, while no one is aware that there is a war. The victims are replaced with impostors before the body cools off, and no one knows that any victims ever needed any help.

Comedy on one side of the victim, tragedy on the other. The victim runs towards the comedy in order to escape the tragedy, then, the plot thickens, and the comedy turns to tragedy, as the victims is seeking some help.

That is Covfefe. We were programmed for it with sitcoms, drama’s and horror films.

=====

10:07 pm:

This Kroger news has been trending on Twitter terror high command all day.

I’ll go ahead and do a quick “what can be said about this” approach to it, but I am hurting so bad at this time that I am not thinking clearly and the poisons I was injected with is coming out of my eyes, it drains out like tears, is ice cold, makes blurry vision and is otherwise painful along with my leg, which is also hurting bad after a short walk outside that produced nothing to speak of.

https://twitter.com/i/events/1382462465330528256

First thing to say is that today’s Kroger Foods is the legacy of the very first terror retail takeover that I am aware of, when the Ralph’s Markets on Topanga Canyon Blvd and the one across from Taft high school in the San Fernando Valley California were hijacked in around 1972. Ralph’s became a Kroger Brand since then, now, all of the Kroger Family of Brands are terror controlled and have been that way in Oregon for as long as I have lived in Oregon, more than 24 years.

The next thing to say, is that at minimum, the Grants Pass Fred Meyer store was hijacked again, taken from the first terror controlling entity by an opposing terror controlling entity in around 2002 or so. One terror army was overpowered by a different terror army at the Grants Pass Fred Meyer store, and I suspect that others including the Brookings Oregon Fred Meyer were also taken over by that same opposing terror army, The original controlling terror army before 2002 was a mostly quiet sort of group of Seventh Day Adventist Cannibals who did not draw much attention to themselves as the store provided a continuous supply of victims for their Cannibal culture. The new controlling terror army is also SDA Cannibal, however they are far more aggressive than the other group. The new SDA at the Grants Pass Fred Meyer store include a lot of people of German heritage, are more aggressive than the others were.

Then, it says “Robots” are going to possibly be deployed. Let’s explore “Robots”:

Things to consider: Robe’s are worn by Judges and people associated with Social Fraternal Orders.

Robe + Ot’s = Robots

Ot’s = Odd’s = asymmetrical = people who are “inclined” one way or another way. Joe Biden shows us an example of “Odd’s” when he speaks, and leans to one side momentarily, in that way, he is “Asymmetrical” and has a “List”, is “Inclined”, is “Lopsided” for a moment during his speeches.

===

(additional thoughts: 4-16-2021: 12:30 pm: The “Ot’s” may better be viewed as “ought’s” witch are “zero’s”. Abrasives are measured with use of “ought” rather than “zero’s”, is a strange concept, where “100″ grit sandpaper means there are 100 grains of sand-like grit per square inch of sandpaper, while on the other side of “zero” where the sandpaper is increasingly fine, it is measured with use of “ought” where “Three ought” or “triple ought” is less abrasive than is “Two ought” or “Double ought”. With “double ought”, there are too many grain particles to count, and with “Triple Ought” there are yet more abrasive particles per square inch of sand paper material. Where does the “other side of zero” begin? I have seen 600 grit, and even 800 grit, but beyond that somewhere as the abrasive is increasingly finer, the measure changes to “ought”, “double ought” and “triple ought” as the sand paper gets finer, less gritty, is useful to buff and polish rather than remove material in effort to smooth or remove unsightly scratches.

Also, I mentioned somewhere something about Joe Biden‘s edited video clip about US troop withdrawal from Afghanistan, where Joe leaned to the right of the screen, it was edited to occur at the 0:06 mark of a 1:10 minute video. So, I did a Bing search for the word “trillion“ just now, and was reminded that a “trillion“ is a real number that is equal to a one followed by twelve zero’s to express the value numerically in long hand. I did that because the amount of money we are seeing reported as being spent by the White House, for special circumstances that are beyond the usual US Budget amounts, is astronomical. and it’s become commonplace for such amounts of money spending to be measured in the trillions of dollars. Most people are oblivious to what is happening with those numbers, that amount of money, why it’s said to be necessary, but I know that the Canadian terror army is funded by the US government, with money stashed away from the Too Big To Fail of 2008. In event that investigative persons who have power and authority were to identify and seize that Too Big To Fail cash of terror funding, then, the government treasonous shills would need to find alternative ways to fund that terror army, about 20 million men & women is my conservative estimate, all of them need food, housing, and transportation paid for by the SAG leadership, AKA: the US Shill Government. So, that 0:06 mark where Joe leans to the right of the screen starts to look a lot like an “OK” statement, where he says: “I can do half a trillion” and is stated with body language. Vague, not a lot of substance to my read on that with what I have to support saying it, but there is so much more information that I don’t include, all of it is also driving my desire to decode what I see, in effort to get some help to come to Oregon where that terror army lives for free, all expenses are paid for, and they already have killed and replaced the entire Oregon population, I am the last remaining US citizen in Oregon.)

(Creativity to produce a stream of cash flow that will reach the terror army at their roots, in the actual “terror family cell” where the money trail needs to show as sustenance of a family in a way that is no different than any family uses income to support their needs. The house payment, car payment, insurance, food, all of the normal expenses that “terror family citizens” must pay to survive all need to have a paper trail, (True Grit) the same a the US citizens that the terror army is systematically killing in order to keep from being caught, or identified as a enormous terror army.

Yesterday I saw a very offensive Tweet. The information presented in the Tweet (from a major news network) was about “victims of Corona Virus who died”. The information says that the surviving family members are eligible to apply for a special “COVID Funeral Expense”, where those who apply are granted $9,000 per deceased family member who died due to COVID.

The amount of $9,000 for a funeral expense paid out by the federal government is ludicrous. The cost of a standard cremation is about $300 anywhere in USA. I don‘t know what a fair amount would be, however, to date, not one single victim world wide had died of anything that can be deemed as “Corona Virus” or “COVID”. The truth about how that $9,000 is handed out, is that is money that will be paid to a terror army soldier who murdered a US Citizen, and then claimed that the citizen was a family member. Think about people who are confined to Extended Care Facilities here, the old people, the terror bastards kill them off, and then apply for $9,000. I can see something like that is very possible. I saw the information in a Tweet, and I can see that the Biden WH is being some what crafty for excuses to hand out large amounts of money,

Something to think about: “where does the terror army get it’s sustenance from?

The idea of a $9,000 funeral expense payout from federal government to cover costs of COVID death has a problem that is not consistent with the usual terror murder scenarios. So far, for fifty years, the Canadian terror army has been murdering one single US Citizen, in effort to gain one Vote for a SAG government shill. They kill the citizen, there is no death report, and no one is aware that a citizen died. The terror army grows in size with each murder, as SAG “casts” a “look-a-like” terror soldier from Canada to replace and carry on while portraying that dead citizens life. The live in the victims home, drive the victims car, use the victims name, and hunt the victims extended family, and, the terror army replacement votes for the candidates on the ballots as SAG Leaders [Nancy Sinatra] instruct them to vote. The vote is all pre-arranged that way, SAG knows which candidates will prevail because they instruct the voter base about what particular candidate they are to vote for, for all of the contested positions on the ballots.

So, one murder, no death certificate, no body, no crime ... is the basis of the terror take over of USA.

That $9,000 dollar pay out changes that. With that plan implimented, the terror army MUST produce a body, a name, and then be paid for the death of the victim, so, the way it looks to me, is that the priority changed, from “we need Votes”, to “We need more money”. It goes from “Murder to elect” to “Murder for Pay”. Therein lies the problem associated to the $9,000 death payout.

They cannot have both the vote they do the murders for, and, the money they need to sustain the army. They can have either the Vote, or the money, not both,

Maybe that is what the Honduran Caravans are for, a constant supply of $9,000 bodies waiting to happen at the refugee camps.

With the Honduran Plan, the Canadian SAG army would need approximately one dead Honduran in order to sustain a terror family cell for two months, or, six murdered Honduran Caravan Refugee’s annually to survive at a rate of $9,000 per each “family member who died of COVID or Corona Virus”, So the question is, “what propaganda is being fed to the Hondurans to get them to keep coming to USA?)

(Other “Ought” oriented info, not necessarily associated to any other thing I wrote about above: “Ought” is one of those words that is wielded as a tool used more for secret communication than face value speech by persons associated with Social Fraternal Orders. The word literally is a “zero”, it also has a “nothing” sort of use, but it has mystery associated with it’s use. For instance, if I say; “My car is dirty, I ought to wash the car”. Many people use the word “Ought” like that, as a sort of “Maybe” statement, “maybe I should wash the car”. The historical use of “Ought” is far different. It was really used for saying “Don‘t do that” and in that way, is a “zero”. “When in doubt, leave it out” is “Ought” at it’s real value. Think: There is a mean dog on the front porch at the neighbors house, and two young people are walking by, one says to the other: “I think you ought to go over there and pull that dog’s tail”, inevitably, the one that the statement was directed at, will go over there and pull the dog’s tail, and get bit in the process. That same young person, with his father who see’s the mean dog on the porch, is told: “I think you ought to pull the dogs tail” and a hundred years ago, that meant: “don‘t fuck with that dog Son”. “Ought”, is complicated that way.

Another Social Fraternal Order thing that I learned from a Grand Master, has to do with buying some time to think. Sometimes, people are asked some tough questions that require a good response immediately. and, sometimes the correct response could be an embarrassing one, so, at times like that, the Fraternal Orders practice with use of the word: “why” for starting a sentence in answer to a potentially embarrassing question when under pressure. For instance: Someone asks: “Were you at the park last night?” ... the answer seems simple, yes or no, but, there could be some reason not to answer, while a response is really made to be important by the person asking the tough questions. So, in response, to buy a half second of extra time to think while under pressure, the response is something like: “whyyyyyy...... no, I didn‘t go to a park last night” That stretched out “whyyyyyyyy....” is an easily overlooked tool used by people who are feeling pressure around the waistband of their fraternal robe. You have heard that “whyyyy... a thousand times, and probably never thought twice about why, people say “why” when they begin to speak. It’s used to make a purchase of a tiny bit of time, and, it also identifies the speaker of “whyyyyy....” as a Fraternal Club Member, just in case there are other secret society members around, who can help. If so, they may say something about “The widows, and the orphans at the park” in order to identify themselves secretly back to the one who said “Whyyyy....”.)

===

The tweeted information says: “Dishwasher Size Robots”. Ok. The thing that comes to mind is that the SDA are a group of people who really have harnessed all that can be done in a Petri Dish. They love to invent poisons that can be reproduced with nasty, creepy, fungus, mold, mildew, spores, anything that is “mold”, and they are famous locally for all having a dishwasher in the kitchen that is only used for keeping enough water inside of it that it will grow the mold they use for making such poisons with. There is a poison they call “Sewer Gas”, it makes a person feel the same symptoms as sea sickness, with addition of vertigo symptoms. That stuff is made with the kind of mold & mildew that can be grown in a kitchen dish washer is the way I understand it.

It says “Automated Warehouse”. That can‘t be good. Sounds like Kroger Foods has a list of addresses to automatically go to for Corona Attack.

There is mention of a desire to “Catch Up”. That can‘t be good, and the statement comes on the heels of other news about a national shortage of Ketchup Packets at fast food restaurants. I see a Cannabal theme happening with the Catch Up statement, and, there was also recent mention from Jen Psaki (hard core SDA General) about “Deadliest Catch” the other day. The news about the “Catch Up” is the worst part of the Kroger story. It also would include the “V-8“ and “Red Hydroseed” that I don‘t want to explain right now.

I cannot see. I have to stop for now. Maybe I can continue when my eyes are done leaking out this poison.

===

11:47 pm:

The only thing left that I can see for now in the Tweeted Trend description is there is a vague reference to a sort competition the seems to exist at Kroger, avd what I am reading in the statements makes sense to me, but probably won‘t make sense to many others. The part where it says: “ ... a gigantic mistake or solidifying ...” is nod to Ann Wilson vs a nod to Donald Trump. Wilson being lead Amp Guru at Vatican Choir high command, and, also is General of SDA Cannibals world wide, gigantic that way, where the “solidifying” part is where things get more “tangible” in the Twitter terror comm, they turn “tangerine” right there, and even Donald Trump would say he is an Orange, and definitely not an Apple.

That’s all I have on that.

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

11:38 pm:

This just in:

https://twitter.com/i/events/1382906192217792515

I was saying the John Wayne international airport was of interest today according to Daily Mail UK, however, I did not take into consideration that you have to turn everything around backwards when the news crosses the Atlantic.

My bad.

John Wayne turned the other way, is “Indians”. John is the “Cowboy”.

Even so, that should demonstrate the urgency needed to take Twitter offline as soon as possible, as Twitter is the terror high command HQ vehicle for delivering marching orders to Canadian terror soldiers in the field.

=====

11:55 pm:

I’ll wager dollars to doughnuts that the recent news on Twitter presented by a number of “trusted” news networks about something that was happening in South Dakota is also associate to the planning and the carry out of whatever occurred at the Indianapolis international airport, and I’ll suggest the they all are in league with the Daily Mail UK.

I also saw at least one Tweet somewhere at a news network Twitter feed that mention a American Indian tribe. If I were to go scour Twitter for native American references right now, i don’t think I would come away empty handed.

(4-17-2021: 3:11 pm: An example of a prize that I might obtain by hunting around in the Twitter major news media stories for “Indian”, or, “native American” references, is a scalp. So, my question right now is: “If Boris Johnson goes to a barber to get a haircut as the very first thing he does as Corona Lockdown is lifted, does that constitute a scalp?”)

Twitter is THE terror command vehicle, is a Google product, and Google is the same as Vatican. Those who are in the business of protecting USA from terror attack should have learned that years ago, and shut down Twitter, and taken custody of all of the Google holdings, and arrested any and all of it’s employees and corporate officers.

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

4-16-2021: 4:47 pm: miscellaneous unnecessary surplus terror comm presentation on Twitter terror high command HQ:

https://twitter.com/CBSEveningNews/status/1383193057819041793

This above is a juvenile, armature attempt by CBS news Twitter account, to say simply: “There is someone on the internet talking about details of the hijack of USA”,

They tried to bury the hi-jack in a word craft.

Everyone already knows that orbisculate is a revolution in distress.

Did anyone notice that Castro did not last a month in absence of Philip Mountbatten?