#SAINT PETER LOOKS AWESOME!

[kelppsstuff]

So like what if Adam didn't die and lute managed to come out of the battle WITH an arm?

I want both of them to suffer a little so hear me out

What if our dear reader is an exorcist? So of course she's an angel!

What'll their reaction be if the two witnessed their dear close friend, the sweetest angel and friend they had the fortune to meet in their long lives, sacrifice herself so that the two of them would go back safely? (Forcing herself to go beyond her limits, healing all of their wounds and even opening a portal back to heaven just for the two of them.)

+ the fact that they're both horrible people and the only person who cared for both of them, tended their wounds, always there to back them both up, is now gone?

Angst is calling for me to make the two of them suffer a lil

Omg yes! This is such a good idea! I love making characters suffer! ALSO I do every request so don’t be afraid to send them! And it may take me some time to get to them, but I shall get to them. Sorry it took so long hope you enjoy! By far the favorite thing I’ve ever wrote. Like legit made me cry.

“I’m so fucking sorry!”

Part One| Part Two

Masterlist

Warning: death, angst, cursing

Summery: Adam and Lute watch you die, the only person they loved

—

“Are you guys sure about this? I mean what if her father shows up?” You spoke to the two exterminator angels.

They both looked to you simultaneously and there eyes softened on your worried form. Lute was the first to speak up to ease your worries. “It’s gonna be okay. Lucifer was the one who let us do this yearly anyways.” You nodded your head. She was right but you still worried.

“Don’t worry about it, hot stuff. If he shows up I can handle him.” Adam spoke ever so confidently. “Promise?” You were so afraid for them. Adam walked over and gave you a hug, kissing the top of your head. “Promise.” You reached out for Lute, wanting her to join the hug as well.

As she joined the hug you spoke from between their chest. “After the battle let’s all go and have a beach day.” The two angels laughed and agreed.

—

You hurried to Lute as you so saw her rip her arm off. You never flew so fast in your life. When you got to her you stopped her from flying after Vaggie. “We have to help Adam!” She spoke frantically.

“And I will. You need to sit down and let me help you first.” You sat her on the ground and placed your hands over where her arm should be.

A white glowing light came from your hands as you focused on rebuilding her arm. You started to feel dizzy as blood pooled in your moth. You could see black spots but when you were down Lutes arm had been good as new. You would t even know it’s been severed if not for her uniform sleeve. You two went to stand but the ground rumbled. You looked up and saw a golden light. Adams golden light came down in the middle of the hotel.

You quickly threw Lute away from the beam and got hit instead. A cut was in your shoulder. In went clean through. Your arm was fucking toasted from the severed nerves. You finally blacked out.

—

“Welcome to heaven.” Saint Peter spoke as you arrived at the golden gates. Though you weren’t interested in him, more so the man beside him talking to another female. “Then when the concert was over a BUNCH of girl came to the back to meet me. It was awesome.” The man spoke. You quickly intruded the conversation. “You play in a band?”

The man is what seemed like a mask turned to look at you, while sipping his drink loudly. “Sure am babe! Your looking at the first man!” Your eyes widened, but not because he was first man. “What part in the band do you play.”

You showed no interest in him being the first man. Normally that would piss him off but this time he didn’t care. “Guitarist.” Your smile widened.

You looked to the girl, clearly wanting her to joking the conversation as well. “Are you apart of the band?!” You were so excited and nice. It felt refreshing for Lute. “No.” Her voice sounded cold, though talking to you sparked a warmth inside her. “I’m Y/N.”

Lute smiled and extended her hand. “Lute.” You started to excitedly shake her hand. Happy to make a new friend.

Adam wrapped his arm around you both. “I’m Adam.” Well two new friends.

—

“You guys what?!” You asked, eyes wide at what just came out of Adams mouth. It was a slip up on Adams part. They had just gotten done with the extermination and Adam was use to telling you everything. So he may have slipped up and started talking about the extermination.

“Listen babe. It has to be done.” Adam was worried. Worried that you would get kicked out of heaven if Sera found out you knew.

Lute was the one who explained the whole situation. How the sinners were up-rising. How it needed to be done to protect heaven.

To both Adam and Lutes surprise you understood. It made them happy that you were accepting of it. For the first time they truly felt like someone wouldn’t leave. Sure they had each other before this but there friendly relationship really started from you being there glue.

“Okay babe but now that you know you have to become an exterminator like us.”

That made you nervous but Adam and Lute always stayed with you during it. They also didn’t expect you to kill anyone. All you needed to do was wear the uniform one day a year.

—

You stared at the papers that needed to be done. Since you didn’t kill the demons you demanded to do Adams paperwork.

You slowly blinked. You were tired but you had an hour to finish this and give it to Sera.

A coffee was placed right in front of you. You looked up and saw Lute. You smiled at her and grabbed the coffee. You also grabbed her hand and gave her a friendly kiss on the lips.

It was something you two had started doing recently. A way to give each-other the attention you craved.

Just as that had happened Adam walked through the door. His eyes widened. You were quick to explain it was platonic before he could assume anything. One he understood what happened he demanded you start doing that with him. He demanded the same thing from Lute as well.

As time went on many people believed you were in a poly relationship. But y’all were platonic friends who did romantic things sometimes.

Sure y’all all had sex together quite a bit, but no one ever felt any romantic feelings. It was all friendly and it felt natural.

—

You groaned awake at the sound of Adam shouting. “All of man-kind came from these nuts!” You opened your eyes to see Lute staring down at you, panic in her eyes. You smiled at her. Though your moment was cut short at the sound of Adam gasping. You looked over to him and saw a little maid stabbing him. You and Lute shouted Adams name as your hurried to fly to him. Fuck.

“Adam look at me your going to be fine.” You spoke your tone in confidence despite the tears running down your face. He smiled at his two girls looking over him.

He may have lost two wives, but he gained two best friends he would never replace for a damn thing.

You started to heal his wound with your hand like you did Lutes arm. You could feel pain all throughout your body as you pushed your limits. Your eyes started bleeding as did your nose.

Lute was conflicted as she watched you. She knew you needed rest but she didn’t want Adam to die. All you had to do was save Adam she would get you to a hospital.

But you weren’t making it back.

As Adam eyes opened he felt better than the first day he was made. He looked to Y/N and she smiled at him. Happy he was okay. He went to talk but she fell to his side. Her breath shallow. He hurriedly got up and looked her up and down. At that moment the portal closed and all the angels were gone beside him, you and Lute.

“Fuck babe look at me.” Your eyes were distant but you focused back in on him. Your Adam. Your apple.

“I love you, Apple. I love you too, wild girl.” You said to them both. Making them cry harder. “I love you too. More than anything.” They both said to her simultaneously. You closed your eyes and a portal opened.

“Fuck!” Lute shouted. She knew you weren’t going to make it.

“I’m so fucking sorry!” He spoke loudly as your eyes started to flutter closed. “It’s okay. Be happy. And go have that beach day.” Lute sobbed in her hand as she fell to the ground.

Adam gripped to you harder his tears falling to your chest as he cried silently. He couldn’t shout anymore. “Come back to us.” He whispered. You didn’t complete his wish. The one time you didn’t give him what he wished for.

Your breathing stopped and your halo fell. “I’m sorry baby.” Adam cooed in your ear, as he started to rock the two of you. Begging for god to give him back the one of the two woman he ever loved. You and Lute.

He looked to the sky. “You cruel manipulative bastard! Was a good person. I thought god was supposed to be merciful.” Lucifer watched as the first man shared the same rage he once had with god. “I have never asked for anything! I didn’t ask for Lilith. I didn’t ask for Eve! All I ask is to bring Y/N back to us.” But god did not respond. Leaving Adam to turn his rage to the group watch.

“I will kill you all!” He shouted, the tears coming from his eyes seeming endless. “I will have my vengeance.”

He picked you up as Lute grabbed your halo. The two walked through the portal.

They did have that beach day, but it was your funeral. Where your body was buried where no one could find. Only him and Lute. The two hugged each other as they both lost the person they loved most.

—

OMG I HAVE NEVER CRIED WHILE WRITING SOMETHING UNTIL THIS DAY! But I hoped you enjoyed! And I do take requests so please send away!

- kelp 💛 (someone help I’m dying from heartache)

Taglist

[themothpimp]

omg.. i have been YEARNING for some cute, drunk shit between Adam and Lute. i beg of you to make some.. (pre ep 8, ofc)

STOP THIS IS ADORABLE TO THINK ABOUT !!

Adam and Lute being drunk goobers >_<

The first idea I had when I saw this was Adam asking Lute literally anything, and she's just like "...Wha?"

He will go on an entire rant about how awesome and amazing and wonderful he is, just for Lute to be like "Yeah."

They definitely kissed at some point.

Imagine Adam drunkenly singing Hell Is Forever.

Lute just scowls or looks confused.

"Lute, I dare you t-to climb that pole.."

I'll let you fill the blanks in.

"And so I was like-"

"Sir, look at that..fuckin tree over there."

"Oh fuck, don't fuckin' interrupt me, bitch!"

They go piss Saint Peter off by doing something stupid like tying his shoe laces together.

Sorry this is quite short, I'm definitely gonna do a shitton more stuff like this because it's amazing. Tysm for all the love I've been getting on this account <33

[cadmusfly]

Non Comprehensive List of the Nice Spanish Paintings That Mysteriously Ended Up in Marshal Soult's Collection

Sourced from the essay Seville's Artistic Heritage during the French Occupation in the book Manet/Velázquez: The French Taste for Spanish Painting, which can be downloaded for free on the Met's website which is frankly awesome but i wish someone OCRed their book

In 1852 at the sale of his collection, there were 109 paintings up for sale - 78 from the Seville School, including 15 Murillos and 15 Zurbaráns.

It's interesting that Soult wanted to legitimize his ownership of these paintings via receipts and official documentation - the biography of him I was machine translating talks about the king questioning his collection and him pulling out receipts for each painting. But, well, the essay puts it like this: "The existence of an official letter can be explained by Soult's desire to dress up in legal or formal terms what was in reality theft or extortion."

I might put excerpts from the essay in a different post, but for now, let's look at the list! Modern locations of the paintings are in parentheses, and I must say, for an essay critical of historical reappropriation of artwork, a lot of these artworks are still extant. Not a dig or anything, just an observation.

I do not condone extorting or stealing priceless Spanish artworks anyway

On with the show!

Murillo The Immaculate Conception (Museo Nacional del Prado, Madrid) Virgin and Child (Walker Art Gallery, Liverpool) Saint Elizabeth of Hungary Nursing the Sick (Church of the Hospital de la Caridad, Seville) Christ Healing the Paralytic at the Pool of Bethesda (National Gallery, London) The Return of the Prodigal Son (National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C.) Abraham and the Three Angels (National Gallery Of Canada, Ottawa) The Liberation of Saint Peter (State Hermitage Museum, St. Petersburg) Saint Junipero and the Pauper (Musée du Louvre, Paris) Saint Salvador de Horta and the Inquisitor Of Aragon (Musée Bonnat, Bayonne) Brother Julián de Alcalá and the Soul of Philip II (Sterling and Francine Clark Art Institute, Williamstown, Mass.) The Angels' Kitchen (Musée du Louvre, Paris) The Dream Of the Patrician (Museo Nacional del Prado, Madrid) The Patrician John and His Wife (Museo Nacional del Prado, Madrid) The Triumph of the Eucharist (Lord Farringdon Collection, Buscot Park, Farringdon, England) Saint Augustine in Ecstasy [Not sourced from the above book, from a Christies auction actually]

Herrera the Elder The Israelites Receiving Manna (unknown/destroyed?) Moses Striking the Rock (unknown/destroyed?) The Marriage at Cana (unknown/destroyed?) The Multiplication of the Loaves and Fishes (Musée d'Amiens, destroyed in 1918) Last Communion of Saint Bonaventure (Musée du Louvre, Paris) Saint Basil Dictating His Doctrine (Musée du Louvre, Paris)

Zurbarán Saint Apollonia (Musée du Louvre, Paris) Saint Lucy Musée des Beaux-Arts, Chartres Saint Anthony Abbot (private collection, Madrid) Saint Lawrence (State Hermitage, St. Petersburg) Saint Bonaventure at the Council of Lyon (Musée du Louvre, Paris) Saint Bonaventure on His Bier (Musée du Louvre, Paris) The Apotheosis of Saint Thomas Aquinas (Museo de Bellas Artes, Seville) Saints Romanus and Barulas (Art Institute of Chicago) paintings of the archangel Gabriel and Saint Agatha (both Musée de Montpellier)

Cano Saint John with the Poisoned Chalice and Saint James the Apostle (both Musée du Louvre, Paris) Saint John Giving Communion to the Virgin (Palazzo Bianco, Genoa) Saint John's Vision Of God (John and Mable Ringling Museum Of Art, Sarasota) Charity and Faith (present location unknown; 1852 Soult sale) Saint Agnes (destroyed in fire in the Staatliche Museen, Berlin)

Uncertain source, thought to be Murillo at the time A Resting Virgin (usually identified as The Holy Family with the Infant Saint John the Baptist, Wallace Collection London) The Death Of Abel Saint Peter Saint Paul

Other artists in his collection whose specific works weren't named Sebastiån de Llanos Valdés Pedro de Camprobin José Antolinez Sebastiån Gomez

[ao3feed-irondadspiderson]

Written in the scars

https://archiveofourown.org/works/50168434 by Dorthea “Peter, could you tell me about what’s going on in that head of yours?” Sam tries to distract from the stitches, from the necessary work, that would allow the wound to heal. But he also needed to know what had happened, why it had happened, how he could help, how he could prevent it from happening again. “I can see the gears ticking in there. What has you so wound up?” “I-“ Peter stops himself. Sam watches carefully as Peter takes a deep breath, giving the kid space to center himself, to calm himself. “I… I didn’t mean to,” Peter stammers out, eyes still glued to the floor, “I just, but then… I-“Then the first sob echoes from him, and tears stream down his cheeks, leaving wet trails behind. “Please, I… don’t tell dad… don’t tell Tony I-“ “Hey, hey” Sam snaps his fingers in front of Peter’s face, attempting to get him to look up at him. Meeting him at Peter’s level. “You did nothing wrong, okay? You’re okay. No one blames you for this, it’s okay. You are safe here. Alright?” Words: 2481, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Series: Part 5 of Bad Things Happen Bingo 2023 Fandoms: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Characters: Peter Parker, Sam Wilson (Marvel), Tony Stark Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Sam Wilson Additional Tags: Peter Parker Calls Tony Stark "Dad", Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Gets a Hug, Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Peter Parker Lacks Self-Preservation Instincts, Medical Procedures, Protective Sam Wilson, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Mental Health Issues, Sam Wilson is a Gift, Therapist Sam Wilson, Awesome Sam Wilson, Sam Wilson is a Saint, POV Sam Wilson (Marvel), Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Peter Parker, Peter Parker Whump, Bad Things Happen Bingo read it on AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/50168434

[bzedan]

[ID: An digital illustration evocative of the singing flowers in Disney's Alice In Wonderland, with airbrush shaded backgrounds but coloured line cell-shading for the main figure. The flower is a California Poppy with the face of Garfield. In pink tilted letters in the upper left corner is "March" over a turquoise hand-drawn looking font with "2024." End ID.]

Finally got an over-three-hour playlist, bits of spring means ups and downs and sad wet cat feelings along with the manic joy of the days getting longer. I've mentioned this before but every time I hear All Saints' "Love Lasts Forever" part of me thinks it is the theme song to *Highlander*. Bless my brain where there's some pop girl version of *Highlander*. Can you imagine?!

Related media to some of the songs:

The very awesome Cola Boyy died this month at 34, which is not enough years but I'm glad we were given what we did. His disco pop is a joy and his cover of 'To Be Rich Should Be a Crime' is the version that lives in my head. Here's a mini-doc over on Vimeo that came out with that single.

I stumbled across Tele Novella this month and they hit a lot of sound boxes for me. "Eggs in one Basket" has an appropriately weird video. (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dTB-uwAd0v8)

I'd heard "Pump Up the Volume," of which Colorbox was part (primary part, for this song) before because I'm a person living in the world the years I have, but somehow hadn't encountered "The Moon Is Blue"?! One of those bands for whom things went right then fell apart. Wolfgang Tillmans did an exhibition collecting their work in a "playback room" exhibition.

I remain fond of younger folks reinterpreting the imagery and sound from my high school years and Lauran Hibberd hits that. See 2nd prettiest girl as an example.

Anyway here's a link to March's playlist on Spotify, with the track list below the cut. 

And embedded if you dig that:

'Don't Let the Green Grass Fool You' - Wilson Pickett

'King's Crossing' - Elliott Smith

'Hearts and Flowers' - Jennifer Lopez

'Cloudy Day' - Tones And I

'99 Luftballons' - Stereoact

'Waters of March' - Art Garfunkel

'Pop Goes The World' - Men Without Hats

'Mother Nature' - MGMT

'The Moon Is Blue' - Colourbox

'Ask The Community' - Timber Timbre

'Good Times' - Eric Burdon & the Animals

'So Much (For) Stardust' - Fall Out Boy

'Masquerade - Re-Recorded' - Berlin

'Era Primavera' - Chicano Batman

'wavering grass' - demon gummies

'All Night Long (All Night)' - Lionel Richie

'Love Lasts Forever' - All Saints

'Rhythm Of The Night' - DeBarge

'Only You Can' - Fox

'Can't Get Enough' - Jennifer Lopez

'That Time' - Regina Spektor

'Daniel' - Bat For Lashes

'Calling All Kids' - Arthur Russell

'Talkin' Like You (Two Tall Mountains)' - Connie Converse

'Psychic Vampire' - Tristen

'And When I Die' - Peter, Paul and Mary

'Dancing with Tears in My Eyes' - Ultravox

'Alien Boy' - Oliver Tree

'Baby Blue Sedan' - Modest Mouse

'Bulletproof' - La Roux

'Help I'm Alive' - Metric

'Eggs in one Basket' - Tele Novella

'Perfect (Exceeder)' - David Guetta

'Bullet With Butterfly Wings - Remastered 2012' - The Smashing Pumpkins

'Right Time of Night' - Urban Heat

'Paper Crown' - Tele Novella

'Balloon Man' - Robyn Hitchcock & The Egyptians

'The Rubberband Man' - The Spinners

'It Won't Be Long' - Tele Novella

'Hurdy Gurdy Man' - Donovan

'Aladdin' - Future Islands

'Beautiful People' - The Books

'Don't Touch My Bikini' - The Halo Benders

'Toy Boy' - MIKA

'Keep It Rolling' - Bloc Party

'Don't You Evah' - Spoon

'Paper Thin Walls' - Modest Mouse

'Peach Sky' - Bat For Lashes

'Heathens' - AURORA

'Dancing Barefoot' - Patti Smith

'To Be Rich Should Be a Crime' - Cola Boyy

'Bugs' - O'Death

'pretty good for a bad day' - Lauran Hibberd

'Synthetica' - Metric

'Hermit the Frog' - MARINA

[vampirepunks]

Oh I'd really recommend the studio ghibi film adaptation! I can't really speak to accuracy to the source material, but its an amzingly gorgeous and heartbreaking movie. Be prepared for it to put you through the wringer too, its not an easy watch like most of the studios other films

Also, if you're looking for japanese media with a queering of the Jesus narative/parallels, might I suggest the Trigun manga?

(Personally not as fond of either of the anime adaptations, and the movie doesn't really get into that aspect of the story disappointingly tbh, its a one off)

I could also mention the christian themes in mgs, but if you're into death stranding you probably already know about them

Awesome! I love Studio Ghibli and need to watch more from them. My friend GameLargo made a whole video theorizing that DS2 Higgs is gonna be a direct parallel to Howl from Howl's Moving Castle, and I'm absolutely heartbroken about it getting taken off YT by a copyright claim for the film visuals he used, because it was amazing. Thanks for the warning, I appreciate some heads-up about when a film is gonna rip my heart out haha. I love a tear-jerker.

Also, thanks for the other rec! I'll be sure to check it out. Religious trauma go brrrrrrr, I adore religious themes in fiction, especially subversive ones. I was a hardcore Jesus girlie when I was JW, so I still appreciate that narrative in fiction when it's done well and enjoy treating the bible as just another story.

I've heard a bit about those themes in MGS, but haven't played it yet. Although, I may or may not be a regular cast member of a new Kojima-centric fan podcast with another creator soon-ish (I shan't spoil it, shhh) that's gonna require me to play it to discuss along with the group in the book club-esque tone we're planning for, but we're still working on the details and it's all in the "hey wouldn't it be cool if we..." phase that still has a lot of production decisions and coordination ahead, all very preliminary. So that's an exciting possibility on the horizon and means I'll be playing through the series soon.

But yeah, I pretty much believed in Jesus so hard I believed my way right out of my religion and later, Christianity itself. Got some lingering attachment that's been redirected into Sam Bridges as of late, considering the many, many, many parallels (e.g. Jesus getting baptized at 30 and remembering his origins -> Sam being about 31 and getting his BB memories back, Higgs as his Saint Peter/John the Baptist, the association of Christ and physical labor as a carpenter vs. Sam's hard labor as a porter, etc.) Also love comparing him to Heracles, such as the Twelve Labors versus Sam connecting twelve knot cities, slaying of lions, journeys through the world of the dead, so on and so forth.

Very interesting stuff, thanks for bringing it up! 💛

[themovieblogonline]

Boondock Brothers Return for a Universe Expansion

Remember those legendary Irish vigilantes, the MacManus brothers, wreaking havoc on Boston's bad guys? Get ready, because Deadline just dropped the bomb: The Boondock Saints are coming back! That's right, the cult classic film is getting a major reboot, courtesy of Thunder Road, the powerhouse production company behind the John Wick movies, no less! They're joining forces with Dragonfly Films, who own the rights to the franchise, to create a whole new "Boondock Saints universe." Here's the thing: This ain't just a straight-up sequel. Original creator Troy Duffy, who directed both the 1999 film and the 2009 follow-up "All Saints Day," is stepping aside from the director's chair. But fear not, fans of the original cast! Norman Reedus (aka Daryl Dixon from "The Walking Dead") and Sean Patrick Flanery are suiting back up as the iconic MacManus brothers. The hunt's on for a new director to take the helm, but hey, with Reedus and Flanery back in action, you know it's gonna be epic. While a new director takes the reins for the film, Duffy isn't out of the picture entirely. He's planning to write a series of Boondock Saints books, keeping the story going strong in a different format. This Boondock Saints revival is part of a bigger trend. Remember "Road House"? Yeah, that classic action flick is getting a reboot too, with Jake Gyllenhaal starring. Looks like there's a fresh wave of love for these old-school action heroes! The new Boondock Saints project is being produced by a dream team, including Basil Iwanyk and Erica Lee from Thunder Road, and Todd Myers and Peter D. Graves from Dragonfly Films. Plus, Shaun Redick and Yvette Yates Redick from Impossible Dream Entertainment are joining the party. And it wouldn't be complete without the original creators, so Troy Duffy and Don Carmody are also on board as producers. Executive producers include Reedus, Flanery, Charlie Morrison, and JoAnne Colonna. Rounding out the team is Nat McCormick of The Exchange. Thunder Road has a proven track record with the John Wick franchise and its spin-off series "The Continental." They just premiered Dev Patel's action flick "Monkey Man" to rave reviews, and next up is "The Ballerina," a John Wick spin-off starring Ana de Armas and Keanu Reeves. Talk about an action-packed crew! There was a previous attempt to make a Boondock Saints sequel a few years back, but this time around, they're going all in with a universe expansion. The original film had a rich backstory, and this new project promises to delve even deeper into that world. Here's the best part: the people behind this reboot are super passionate about it. Basil Iwanyk, from Thunder Road, says they're excited to build on the existing mythology and introduce the awesomeness of the Saints to a whole new generation. Todd Myers, from Dragonfly Films, has been dreaming of adding to the Boondock Saints story for over a decade, and now it's finally happening! Both Reedus and Flanery are pumped to reprise their roles. Reedus is looking forward to sharing this new chapter with the fans, and Flanery says with this dream team at the helm, it's gonna be the best Saints movie yet. So, dust off your peacoats, Saints fans, because the MacManus brothers are about to reload and get back to cleaning up the streets, their own special way. Source: Deadline Read the full article

[seekfirst-community]

WHAT ARE THE GENUINE RICHES? THEY ARE THE AWESOME HOLY SPIRIT, HIS GIFTS AND FRUITS AND THE PRECIOUS PROMISES OF GOD. GOD NEVER FAILS!

"Jesus said to his disciples: “Amen, I say to you, it will be hard for one who is rich to enter the Kingdom of heaven. Again I say to you, it is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for one who is rich to enter the Kingdom of God.” When the disciples heard this, they were greatly astonished and said, “Who then can be saved?”

"Jesus looked at them and said, “For men this is impossible, but for God all things are possible.”

"Then Peter said to him in reply, “We have given up everything and followed you. What will there be for us?” Jesus said to them, “Amen, I say to you that you who have followed me, in the new age, when the Son of Man is seated on his throne of glory, will yourselves sit on twelve thrones, judging the twelve tribes of Israel.

"And everyone who has given up houses or brothers or sisters or father or mother or children or lands for the sake of my name will receive a hundred times more, and will inherit eternal life. But many who are first will be last, and the last will be first.” (Matthew 19: 23 - 30).

Tuesday 16th August 2022 of the 20th Week of Ordinary Time is the feast of St Stephen of Hungary. Born in 969 and died on August 15th 1038). Monarch.

St Stephen was crowned king of Hungary on Christmas day 1001 by Emperor Otto III by the permission of Pope Sylvester II. Stephen earned his greatness in Christian history by founding monasteries and organizing dioceses thereby transforming Hungary into a Christian nation. St Stephen and his wife Blessed Gisela were the parents of St. Emeric.

St Stephen is the patron saint of: Hungary, kings, bricklayers and masons..

The rich young man who wanted eternal life and at the same time clung to all his material possessions was told to get rid of them and come and follow Jesus. That was too much for him. He walked away from the Pearl of great Price very sad.

In our Scripture for today, Jesus warns about the dangers of unbridled desire to be riches. To put it starkly, just as power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely, so does wealth corrupts and extreme riches corrupt extremely. For proof of this, let us head to the first Reading today from Ezekiel 28: 1 - 10. The prince of Tyre became haughty of heart because of the vast wealth he amassed by trading. He came to see himself as: “A god am I! I occupy a godly throne in the heart of the sea!” And his attitude about his wealth and kingdom is:

“Our own hand won the victory;

the Lord had nothing to do with it."

St Paul warns: "Those who want to get rich fall into temptation and a trap and into many foolish and harmful desires that plunge people into ruin and destruction." (1 Timothy 6: 9).

Do not despise the wisdom of the Scriptures on the lure of money. Some play lottery to get rich quick. "Why do you play the lottery, my friend?" You may be surprised to receive an answer like this: "When I win millions of dollars, I will distribute half to the poor and use the balance to build homeless shelters." An ex taxi driver told me about some of his cabby friends who actually won millions from lottery. They all became homeless in a few years.

God knows what we need and when we need it. This is why Jesus gave us the shortcut to the good life in this great promise: "Seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness and the rest will be given to you."

God who is so faithful and true has never failed in his promises.

Daily Bible Verse @ SeekFirstcommunity.com

[buckyownsmylife]

fic recs #1

I’ve decided to start creating some fic recs list, mostly because I am too always in search of good fics to read in my constant thirst for whatever it is I’m in need at the moment. I hope this will come in handy to at least one of y’all. Do not get it confused with my fic compilations, those will also be made, but it’ll just be reference lists to specific characters and/or kinks and aus.

as you wish, ma’am, by @aescapisms - for when you want something quick and easy to read, since it’s a social media au. My favorite part about it is that in this one, Bucky is the hopelessly in love character while the reader is the distant and rational one. (Bucky Barnes x reader fluff)

sweetheart you’re mine, by @anaelsbrunette - for when you want to fall in love with Ransom Drysdale all over again. My favorite part was getting to see him being the vulnerable one, while reader consoled him. (Ransom Drysdale x Reader smut).

partition, by @angrythingstarlight - for when you need to have mob!bucky protecting your back after a lousy day. My favorite part is just how damn sexy Bucky is in here, I swear I got desperate. (Bucky x Reader smut)

the set up, by @awhitewolfandhisvibraniumshield - for when you want to pretend that you’re actually on a first date with Chris Evans, with all the awkwardness and steamy-ness that it entails. My favorite part was definitely just how fun the reader is, I wish I was that cool. (Chris Evans x Reader smut)

the fortunes of bygones, by @curvybihufflepuff - for when you want to meet an awesome and perfectly constructed OFC. My favorite part was seeing her relationship with Peter, since it set the tone for the chapters to come! (Bucky Barnes x OFC x Steve Rogers)

about a boy, by @heli0s-writes - for those days where you need a smut that’s so passionate and well-written that it reads like poetry. My favorite part is the corruption kink that it elicited in me when it comes to Steve Rogers and Steve Rogers only. (Steve Rogers x reader smut)

the boston cream pie fics, by @holylulusworld - for when you need a nasty, filthy, smutty fic. My favorite part is that each part (there are three) gets increasingly filthier. (Chris Evans x reader smut)

anniversary, by @just-the-hiddles - for when you want to console a chubby!Loki and make sure he knows you love him no matter what he looks like. My favorite part is the very idea of a chubby!Loki (it’s no secret that I love chubby!Bucky and I feel like this AU has to expand to more characters, even outside of the MCU). (Loky x Reader smut)

method of control, by @navybrat817 - for when you want to see captain hydra torturing the winter soldier by forcing him to watch you being ravished, without being able to join in on the fun. My favorite part was just how desperate the winter soldier is for the reader, you relly get to see some sweetness in his so-called darkness. (Captain Hydra x Reader x Winter Soldier smut)

my sweet love, by @sinner-as-saint - for when you want to feel desired and admired by a former college!Bucky, who was never able to forget you. My favorite part is how he’s insistant but not invasive. (Bucky x Reader smut)

running, by @slothspaghettiwrites - for when you need Alpha!Lee claiming you and taking you in your life (which for me, it’s always). My favorite part was the idea of Alpha!Lee, since I love A/B/O dynamics and Lee Bodecker. (Lee Bodecker x Reader smut)

Loki imagine, by @sserpente - for when you feel like seducing someone looking just like Loki without realizing it’s really him. My favorite part is definitely the smut, and I highly recomend you read the first part to this one, even though it isn’t necessary to understand it. (Loki x reader smut)

friend date, by @whisperlullaby - for when you need a protective!Bucky in you life, finally admitting his feelings because you went on a date with someone else. My favorite part is just how unaware the reader is, I related to that on a deeper level. (Bucky x reader fluff)

Brooklyn, by @wkemeup - for when you feel like you need to relinquish your control to someone you trust. My favorite part is how Bucky teaches the reader that BDSM isn’t really about punishment, but trust. (Bucky x Reader smut)

[amarriageoftrueminds]

Fave stucky fics?

Easy Work for Easy Pay 

(to me this is the perfect fic, my most re-read, really satisfying -- office chemistry! killer plot twists! spot-on characterisation! apart from like 1 line and some truly awful music choices I wouldn’t change a word.)

Infinite Coffee and Protection Detail series 

(my most-reread series; post-WS AU fluffy screamingly hilariously funny and moving comedy in which Bucky is following Steve around DC while Steve is, he hopes, following him around).

The Sweetest Spark 

(kind of a sugar-daddy!Steve/student!Bucky AU except not because it's just that people think Bucky's a gold-digger when he ain't... one of those fics that makes me stare into space mentally writing fanfic of the fanfic, if that makes sense.)

Lemon Meringue Lies 

(obviously I’m a sucker for cook!Bucky, and slowburn with a side of mutual pining and friends-to-lovers, who isn’t? Steve being made to realise how much he takes Bucky for granted is also, in this case, literally chef’s kiss.)

These Streets series

scalding hot, NYPD BeatCop!Steve / reforming!hood Bucky (Bottom!Steve !! But they also switch???) Not to be read in public.

Misdemeanor 

(shrunkyclunks comedy; cop Bucky accidentally pulls over Cap Steve and has to ask for his license... which Steve never bothered to get) 

In the Deed the Glory series 

(former high school sweethearts become rival football players in college’ AU) is bizarrely compelling, really really gripping; part has an appearance from a fanon Isaiah Bradley, obviously pre-FATWS which makes Pt 4 in particular, er, awkward. 

Carbs and Conversations 

(modern Hockey au! Bucky is still an assassin but in the sport-sense.) 

War, Children 

(shrinkyclinks, it's that rarest of things a skinny!Steve modern AU I can actually stand -- and god the modern Vet!Bucky/homeless!Steve hurt/comfort… One for a rainy, melancholy day… it'll stay with you.)

Love Stories for Tedious People 

(is an interesting Doctor!Steve/PTSD!Soldier Bucky AU with a realistic feel and a rare plausible not-annoying past Sam/Steve; has lines of dialogue that haunt.) 

Life of the Party 

(BAMF childrens’-entertainer!Bucky mistakes Steve for a fellow superhero impersonator; LOL funny.)

All The Angels and The Saints 

(examines the effect on stucky of Steve’s politics/religion; has lines of dialogue from Bucky that just really stuck with me.)

20th Century Limited 

(I think of this as the ‘Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind’ AU. Steve and Bucky can hear/communicate with each other when they’re ‘on ice’. Extra points for Bucky and Hulk being immediate Bros.)

Dishonor series 

(comedy in which they meet during the Battle of Manhattan, and Steve has the most Awesome case of foot-in-mouth syndrome imaginable, I mean, talk about meetuglies, truly it’s a miracle he and BAMF Sergeant Bucky ever get past the enemies stage.)

My Working Week and My Sunday Rest 

(holy shit this fic, dat slowburn! talk about shivers down the spine! exactly articulated bottom!Steve in a way I’d never really been able to put into words.)

Golden Age of Illustration 

(An AU based on the real life of J. C. Leyendecker, where Bucky is sent home before the train mission, gets back into art, becomes an add illustrator and Steve is his model/muse. Illustrations included!)

The Fool In the Mirror 

(Bucky is support omega to alpha Steve; hits every note I want in a fic).

The World's at Stake 

(soulmate mark au shrunkyclunks, angst with a happy ending because they both think their marks mean they’ll never meet)

Pull Apart the Dark 

(Steve is transformed into a toddler who will only let Bucky look after him; trouble is, Bucky is still recovering from being TWS and everyone else is freaked out.) 

bucky barnes: tsa employee extraordinaire 

(shrunkyclunks semi-comedy; mad costumed comic-book villains keep coming through Bucky’s airport on the way to attack Captain America.) 

Here's a Conspiracy 

(pre-war and post-war shrinkyclinks au. This fic. This fic Destroyed me.) 

And It Won't Be Too Much 

(swoony romantic modern au with iirc marine Cap Steve and event-planner Bucky who’s cheeky to Col. Philips; this fic is the reason a certain Haley Reinhardt version of a song is in my stucky playlists.)

 The Match Game 

(modern au Steve’s a hit-it-and-quit-it type who decides he wants more with new-to-his-building Bucky ... who only wants a friend-with-benefits situation.)

The Boy With The Thorn In His Side 

(“Holy shit,” says Steve. “I’ve been knocked out twice by the same guy.” BAMF!Bucky shrunkyclunks Bucky is a lamb in this one.)

Lucky Seven 

(shrunkyclunks more BAMF!Bucky !!! as the hot Russian mechanic who works on Steve’s bike but has a Dark Past, he is again a lamb.)

Put You on Something New 

(modern au frat bro Steve and football star Bucky hnnng the straight boy ending up sucking dick kink I didn’t know I had, oof!) 

Through The Looking Glass 

(Bucky is transported to a mirror universe where there’s a Steve who carries a sword and is... not quite right. This epic fic ripped my guts out and stomped on them; I mean, literal tears, streaming down my face. Thank god the ending has a goosebumps-style pick-your-own version or I might’ve Actually died.)

Drive It Like You Stole It: A Bodyswap

(Steve and Bucky are accidentally body swapped and get stuck babysitting the infuriating Peter Parker on a roadtrip to go sort it out. Had me weak with laughter and I have never identified more with Bucky’s Extreme Rage.) 

[earlgreytea68]

This post got me thinking about Pete and religion.

Fall Out Boy lyrics are full of Christian religious imagery. You kind of get the impression that Pete was raised in a household where he was just casually surrounded by all of this STUFF, that he absorbed and turned over in his lyrics. I mean, “Knock once for the Father, twice for the Son, three times for the Holy Ghost”... (West Coast Smoker).

He’s preoccupied by Heaven as an exclusive party. The idea shows up again and again. The Black Cards (I *love* the Black Cards stuff, I need to devote a whole thing to Black Cards at some point) have an entire song called “A Club Called Heaven.” On “Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Fame,” “Heaven’s got a gate full of metal detectors.” On “Thriller,” he shows up with his plus one to the afterlife.

But Pete’s not entirely sure he’s getting into that party. In fact, usually Pete puts himself in Hell: He might be dancing in a club called Heaven, but he knows the doorman in Hell personally. The road to his house is paved with good intentions in Hum Hallelujah (which is, of course, traditionally what the road to Hell is paved with); “we’re just Hell’s neighbors” in America’s Suitehearts (if we’re not in Hell, we’re right next door, and that could be Heaven but I don’t think so). To get on St. Peter’s list, you need to lower your standards, says Rat-a-Tat. This is what Pete Wentz lyrics do, a simple sentence like that is LOADED with meaning. Because after all, his name is Peter, and it could be Peter Wentz’s list he’s referring to there, and it could also be the list to get into Heaven, and it could be that getting on Peter Wentz’s list doesn’t actually take that much (lower your standards, I’m never getting any better than this) and it could be that it’s St. Peter at the gates of Heaven who needs to lower *his* standards (again: I’m never getting any better than this).

(My absolute favorite Heaven/Hell lyric, though, is when Pete throws in Purgatory, that place in Catholicism where you go to do penance for your sins before you’re let into Heaven: On w.a.m.s. Pete writes, “My head’s in Heaven, my soles are in Hell, let’s meet in the Purgatory of my hips.” The glorious beauty of the sex innuendo being the *purgatory*: what you have to get yourself through to get to actual Heaven. ugh, Pete Wentz kills me sometimes with the way he uses words.)

He left his conscience pressed between the pages of the Bible in the drawer, but what did it ever do for him? So asks XO, and the gorgeously ambiguous phrasing of those lines KILLS ME. What’s the antecedent to the “it”? His conscience, sure, that’s what he’s thrown carelessly in the drawer. WITH THE BIBLE. Which could also be the “it”: What did that whole faith thing ever get me anyway?

But he wants it *so badly.* My second favorite lyric from Hum Hallelujah (a song that is nothing but excellent lyrics is “I love you in the same way there’s a chapel in a hospital.” There is SO MUCH packed into that line. SO, SO MUCH. And one of the things in there is the ambiguous irresistibility of faith: Sure, maybe the chapel is a last-ditch effort when nothing else works, or maybe that chapel is the ONLY thing that works and the only thing that matters in the whole place. I love you like that, like I don’t know if you’re all I’ve got left or you’re the only thing that matters, and I don’t know which it is but wow, either way, it would be great if you gave me a sign. Ugh that liiiiiine. “Have you ever wanted to disappear and join a monastery?” asks 20 Dollar Nose Bleed.

“I will never believe in anything again,” says (Coffee’s for Closers), but who really believes that? The temptation of belief creeps up in between the proclamation (”kick drum beating in my chest again,” “preach electric to a microphone stand”), undercutting it in the same way that its over-repetition in the song starts to ring hollow (Pete doth protest too much). The comfort that religious people get from their faith in God, Pete wants that. But he can’t get there. He’s always hedging his bets (“in case God doesn’t show” --Thnks fr th Mmrs). He’s always doubtful of God’s good intentions if He is there (”when the world ends, will God go down with it?” --What a Catch, Donnie).

So he tries to find substitutes for this faith he doesn’t have. “My words are my faith,” says Hum Hallelujah, but then, immediately afterward, “To hell with our good name,” so that’s how much actual trust he thinks you should place in that. “We’re a bull and your ears are a china shop.” Look at what a mess my words can make in there if you let them in; that’s what faith does to you, buddy. His gospel is the gospel of giving up (Arms Race). “Follow the disorganized religion of my head,” says West Coast Smoker. “I can work a miracle,” boasts Uma Thurman. “I’m the holy water you have been without,” says Fourth of July.

But he’s not really what he wants to believe in. “We’re saints just swimming in our sins,” Twin Skeleton’s reminds everyone. “If we pray to the Lord,” goes the outro on w.a.m.s., “does he sing on a stage?” Maybe rock and roll is what he should be believing in? “I’m the last damn kid still kicking who still believes,” claims Save Rock and Roll. “I will defend the faith, going down swinging.”

All of which brings us to MANIA. Religion, faith, belief is ALL OVER MANIA. In fact, the entire album is constructed as a journey toward finding the thing you believe in, the thing you have faith in, and finally settling in to cling tight to it. The first song on the album, Stay Frosty, Royal Milk Tea, is struggling with loss of things to believe in: “All my childhood heroes have fallen off or died.” (Champion later has the same theme: “I’m young enough to still believe, but young enough not to know what to believe in.” The most explicit Pete has ever been about his journey toward faith.) But then, in the second song, Last of the Real Ones, the lyrics have found someone to revolve around, someone to be with forever: “the ultra-kind of love,” that ultimate faith. But it’s not quite there yet. There’s doubt in there. “Tell me I’m the only one even if it’s not true.” “There’s been a million before me.” The bridge is expert Fall-Out-Boy song ambiguity. “I’m done with having dreams, the thing that I believe / you drain the fear from me.” Is that “I believe that you drain the fear from me”? Or is that “I’m done with the thing that I believe”? The song’s phrasing lets it be both at once, both a proclamation of faith and a proclamation of doubt, all at the same time.

But things get better. We eventually get to “Church.” An entire song where the religious imagery is pitched toward love (or blowjobs, like, same thing, maybe, for Pete Wentz). “If YOU were church, I’d get on my knees, confess my love, I’d know where to be, my sanctuary, you’re holy to me,” is the refrain of the whole song. It can’t get any clearer than that. Pete Wentz has found what he wants to believe in, and it’s the YOU (whoever that might be ahem just saying that in “Sunshine Riptide,” the she says “I love you ‘til I don’t,” while the You is the “truest feeling yet”). The other enduring theme in MANIA is fakeness and pretend: fake tears, fake friends, people you’re pretending with and around. That theme shows up in Church, too: “I’ve got a few more fake friends and it’s getting hard to know what’s real.” But in Church the proclamation of faith is in the chorus, which means that no matter how anxious Pete gets himself in the lyrics, he resolves back to the central belief: I’ve got you, I know where I should be. YOU’RE what’s real, right here, forget everyone else. 

AND THEN we get Heaven’s Gate. Which revisits Pete’s favorite idea that Heaven is a party he’s going to have to try to crash. But here the song is all about how he’s no longer aimlessly looking for something to believe in; he’s found it: “I’m a missile that’s guided to you.” Maybe he’s gotten it wrong, that he’s chosen the You as his thing to believe in, that the only thing he wants is Your love, but if he’s gotten it wrong, he’s got faith the You is going to get it right and give him the boost he needs into Heaven. “Honey, please come through” and take me along with Your awesomeness, because I’ve decided it’s You I’m going to follow, Your dreams I’m going to make come true, and I’m not going to try to detox from You anymore, I’m just going to go all-in on this whole thing, and in the end, if I don’t make it on the list, will You slip me a wristband?

The album closes out with Young and Menace, with “I’ve lived so much life I think that God is gonna have to kill me twice,” which is such a beautiful bookend to “I read about the afterlife but I never really lived” in Saturday, like, ugh, that always kills me, look how far Pete Wentz has come, and then finally into Bishop’s Knife Trick: “I’m yours, ‘til the earth starts to crumble and the heavens roll away.”

Let’s go back to the places that we never should have left.

Idk, maybe you could read this as: Pete Wentz finally found something to believe in, and it ended up being the person who hasn’t left his side in 20 years, the person he’s never had to pretend with, the person who’s been there through all the fake friends, the person who’s golden and amazing and DEFINITELY going to get it right when Pete doesn’t. I mean, maybe you could read it this way.

[everlarkficexchange]

Clubbing 101

Written by @alliswell21

Prompt 144: She has a night of fun before the start of the semester. She meets this guy, they hit it off that they sleep together. But when she shows up to her class the next day, she sees the guy again. But he’s her professor and he’s way older than she originally thought. #olderPeeta [submitted by @animekpopxx]

Rating: Explicit. NSFW. 

Tags and Warnings: Canon Divergence; College!AU; Age gap, older man/younger woman; The opposite to slow burn? Smut; Unprotected sex; technically impaired consent since alcohol, but their both into each other while sober too 🤷🏻‍♀️; Ethical dilemmas; Teacher/Student relationship (sort of); One Shot, with an ambiguous open ending? Almost 10K words. Unbetaed. 

Notes: Thank you to the moderators once more for putting up with us, procrastinating writers. You gals are saints! Thank you to @animekpopxx for her amazing prompts that never fail to snag my attention and give me the best ideas ever! You rock! I projected this story to be a smutty short thing, but it sprouted words and a background out of nowhere and I had to forced myself to stop adding to it, to get back to my other submissions waiting in my docs. Hopefully, it’s a good read for the ones who take the chance with it. 

Thank you all! 

KPKPKPKPKP

It starts with a harmless ranting. 

“I’m not outgoing, or fun. I’m not even ‘cool’… hell, I don’t care what my sister says, I’m too old for this place!” I tell the handsome, bearded, guy sitting in the barstool next to me, “She’s a med student, you know, but she insists that partying is part of the college experience, especially when one’s career is so demanding… plus, is the last weekend of summer break, which apparently means you’re contractually obligated to party extra hard,” I roll my eyes, “I never saw the appeal personally, but I let her drag me out here so I can keep an eye on her. Is not like I’m gonna let her piss away her future for a night of clubbing,” I scoff, taking a long pull of my beer.

The guy chuckles, but I’m not done just yet. 

I slam down my bottle and continue listing my grievances, “The thing that grinds my gears, is that she begged for a ‘girls’ night out’, and instead of drinking with me and people watch, she goes off with the first fucker that asks her to dance! I mean… did it ever occur to her, I may want to dance with her on OUR girls’ night out?!” I scowl and gulp another mouthful of beer, “then, to add insult to injury, thirty minutes later I get a text from her, saying to go on home without her ‘cause she found a ride, followed by that cursed eggplant emoji, like I needed an illustration of what kind of ride she’s getting,” I mock gag, rearranging the strap of my tiny purse across my chest. 

 “I guess she’s young, and beautiful, and does work very hard, but if you invite me to go clubbing with you, don’t abandon me within the first 15 minutes of arriving!”

My companion winces before sipping his drink, and smiling ruefully, “That’s harsh… sorry you’re having a shitty night,”

“Meh… little sisters, right?!” I shrug. 

The guy smiles crookedly at me, and I find myself enjoying his smile, “I wouldn’t know about that. I’m the baby of three brothers, and the only thing I got away with was learning how to wrestle and spring awesome comebacks on the fly… the brutes kept me on my toes,” he chuckles. 

“Three boys? Sounds chaotic. Your poor mother!” 

“Yeah… life’s chaotic.” He averts his eyes for a second, his smile goes away. I’m afraid I’ve said something wrong, but he suddenly looks back at me, and confesses, “I’m not into clubbing either.” His eyes sparkle, despite the awful, dim, blue lights bathing the place. 

I smile, “Look at us wallflowers, bonding over drinks and sibling shenanigans,” we clink our drinks together and sip. I’m chatty and relaxed, so unlike myself; I guess the two beers I’ve had are starting to get to me. “I’m Katniss, by the way.”

“That’s pretty,” he says, shyly; makes my chest warm up. “Nice to meet you, Katniss. I’m Peeta.”

I arch my eyebrows, “Peter?” I repeat, because I’m pretty sure I miss-heard him over the obnoxiously loud music. 

The guy shakes his head, “Pee-ta… like the bread?” He chuckles. Then adds, “Family name. Everyone on my dad’s side are bakers.” 

I snort-laugh, “Punny!” I say, taking another sip. Yup, beer’s getting to me, I’m not this cleverly funny. “My dad was into survivalism and botany… I’m named after a plant also known as Duck Potato, so I win the weird name competition!” 

“Hey, it’s something else to bond over,”

“Cheers to that!” We clink our drinks again, and partake in our booze. 

He orders another whiskey neat when he’s out… sounds both snooty and distinguished at the same time. Goes well with his put together image, though: nicely trimmed beard, nicely combed hair, nice polo shirt with what I believe is a tiny loaf of bread embroidered on the chest, and dark-wash jeans… I think. It’s hard to tell under the black lights of the club. 

He offers to get me another drink, and I order an appletini.

“J.D. from Scrubs always drank one,” I explain, swirling the coctel in my hand, “I’ve always been curious to try, but didn’t wanna spend my own money experimenting on a drink I could potentially hate.” 

“Makes sense,” Peeta says, “So… what’s the verdict?” 

“Is pretty good, actually. But I think I’ll stick with my Miller Light,” 

Peeta nods, “I honestly don’t enjoy alcohol that much.”

I giggle. “Then, what brings you to this fine establishment tonight, sir, if you’re not much for clubbing, or drinking?” I watch him out of the corner of my eye. 

I like that when he smiles, his eyes crinkle in the corners.

“I lost a bet against a colleague.”

“Oh,” I’m suddenly self conscious and a little uncomfortable. I give the guy a scrutinizing look, and ask suspiciously, “what was the punishment exactly?” 

The man rolls his eyes. “I have to spend one whole hour in the club, without criticizing anything, like the bitter old man I am,” he grins, “My friend’s words. Not mine!” He raises both hands, claiming innocence. 

I laugh at the face he pulls, “Well, you’ve just defaulted on that punishment,”

“How so?” He beams. 

“With the look in your face! It spoke volumes!” 

“Am I that transparent?” 

“You read like a preschooler’s board book, pal!” 

We both laugh, I drink my beer, and he throws back his whiskey neat. 

“So…” he makes a show of looking at his watch, “I still have 33 minutes to kill before I’m allowed to run out of this place… I know I’m not a Med student, co-Ed, sister of yours, but… would you, um, like to dance with me?” He sounds adorably hopeful. 

I glance at the man sideways, toying with my bottle. 

He smirks, mischievously, “I promise, spirits make me more coordinated on the dance floor. I become this amazing dancer when I have a couple of drinks on… or so my brain believes. I probably look like an idiot, but I’m too goofy to know the difference. You’re welcome to be the judge it for yourself,”

I take my sweet time finishing the last dregs of my beer, and wrinkle my nose, “You sure you wanna dance to this shit, kids call music nowadays?” I smirk, pointing a finger up, motioning wide circles into the ether. 

Peeta gives a full belly laugh.

I really do like his laugh! 

“Isn’t it our only choice?” He ventures. 

Not if you follow me home, my thirsty brain supplies; my lips on the other hand, just let through a hint of a smile, because I’m buzzed, but not drunk enough to proposition a total stranger. I’ve never been one to sleep around anyway.

“Okay,” I say, too enthused. “As long as we both agree that this isn’t music,”

“Oh no, this just barely passes as noise!” Peeta agrees readily. 

He guides me to the packed dance floor, and we start moving to the booming, deafening tunes playing overhead. 

I’m not sure if one could call this dancing. Everywhere I look people are writhing against each other, like a pack of zombies without grace or rhyme. 

I’m not sure Peeta will get an accurate assessment of his dancing skills, compared to what I’m seeing, he’ll probably look like a professional; plus, it’s too dark and busy in here to really appreciate anything, really, but after a few minutes of just shifting in place, robotically, I snatch two bottle beers from a waitress walking by, offering one to my partner, hoping that’s enough to get us loosen up. The waitress stares at me until I rummage on my crossbody mini purse and toss a crumple ten on her tray. 

The liquid boost works. Before I know it, I’m grinding my hips against his. Peeta’s just the right height for his thigh to fit between my legs and brush against my front. I get tired of undulating my arms in the air, so I drop them around his shoulders, and feel just how firm and broad he is under my touch. 

Our chests are tightly pressed together, and I’m at the right angle to just stare at his plush-looking lips. I turn around before I do something brash, like kiss him in the mouth. Peeta doesn’t question it, he just places his hands on my hips, and starts moving to the music’s beat. 

I bring the beer to my lips, but the bottle’s empty… oops! It doesn’t matter, I’m having the time of my life! 

Peeta’s swaying guides me. I basically drape my back over his front, and bump my ass into his groin. I feel the hint of a bulge there, and press my rear into it  again, just to confirm if I felt what I hope I felt. 

Peeta’s fingers tighten on my hip, emboldening me to keep going until I’m practically twerking into him, and his slight bulge morphs into a full blown hard-on. 

I twist in his arms to face him, my lust idled brain barely thinking rationally, “Are your 33 minutes done yet?” I yell into his ear, so he can hear me over the noise. 

He doesn’t even look at his watch, “To hell with time! I‘ll stay here all night, if you want me to,” He answers loudly. 

“Come on, then!” I push off his chest, and snatch up his hand before he can reply. 

Leaving the dance floor is surprisingly easily, considering the crowd bouncing in place together. 

I make no conscious plan on where we’re going; I’m arguably familiar with the layout of this place from my many visits since Prim turned 21; I’m only mildly surprised when we navigate across the club, all the way to the restrooms. It’s like my clit is making all the decisions tonight… good for it! 

There’s a line of disgruntled women waiting to get inside the Ladies Room, but the Men’s Room is available, and Peeta lets me guide him into it, like one of those pull toys children have. 

“It stinks in here,” I comment blandly, but make a beeline for the last stall with a door. 

There’s one guy at the urinal, but he doesn’t even look up from his pants, so I just shrug it off and yank Peeta into the stall with me. 

The space is tight, but once inside the stall, I push Peeta into the door, and attack his mouth. 

He makes a startled noise at the back of his throat, but his hands and arms immediately press me into his body more fully. My own hands trek down to his belt, where I fiddle with the buckle until it’s undone, and I can access his pants’ button and fly. 

He hisses when my fingers graze his warm erection, and bucks into my knuckles. I’m in the process of sticking my hand inside his boxers, when Peeta growls, sucking my lower lip into his mouth, and letting it go with a wet pop.

“Switch places,” he pants against my mouth, and hoists me up, until my back hits the door and his hands grab my hips possessively, jutting my pelvis forward, “I’m hungry, would you mind if I eat you out?” 

“Okay,” I gasp.

Thank you for forcing me to wear your tiny, clubbing dress, Prim! 

“You’ll allow it?” He asks, incredulous, rubbing circles on my hips with his thumbs. 

“Yes… I’ll allow it!”

His smile is sexy, his stare is hypnotic. Damned my drunken ass! I can’t believe I’m willing to do this in a smelly bathroom stall!

Peeta sits on the toilet and licks his lips while staring up at me. His hands disappear under the stretchy material of my skirt, bumping my purse out of his way. He skims his fingers under the elastic of my panties, and I bite my lip, nodding eagerly.

Slowly, Peeta slides my underwear down my legs, the tips of his fingers follow, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. It’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever experienced!

Once he brings my panties to my knees, his hands rush back up my thighs, pushing the flimsy skirt around my waist. My underwear drops to my ankles on their own. 

Peeta’s level eye with my crotch, and I squirm restlessly. “Beautiful… absolutely soaked,” he whispers in a daze, he inhales pulling me closer, “You smell divine!” He descends, nose first, into the thatch of dark curls between my thighs, making me moan. He ruts his face against me, and suddenly drops to his knees, grabbing my calf to pull my leg up. 

But the movement gets prevented by my stupid underwear, tangled in my ankles. Without missing a beat, I toe my panties off, so Peeta can maneuver my body however he wants. 

He drapes my leg over his shoulder, opening me up to his ravenous mouth. He grunts, burying his face into my core, and finally, FINALLY, his tongue swipes between my folds.

“Fuck!” I squeak. 

My hands fly to tangle into his soft, perfectly coiffed hair. I nearly smother him, holding his face to my pussy, but he’s doing wicked things to me with his tongue: lapping, sucking, and nipping at my labia; drawing number eight figures around my clit with the tip of his tongue, to then sinking it deep inside my core. I can’t stop bucking into his mouth over and over.

When was the last time I was given head? Fuck if I know! Darius probably, he was decent, but didn’t do it often. And Thom was so boring at it, I actually preferred he didn’t do it. But this guy is amazing! A real expert in the matter! 

“I’m so close! Please… I’m so close,” I wail like a cat in heat, writhing against the door. 

Peeta looks up, and despite the horrendous lighting in the room, I realize he’s got the deepest blue eyes I’ve ever seen… too bad I can’t hold his gaze too long, because he starts rubbing my clit with his thumb, while fucking my hole with his tongue, and is all I can do not shout and scalp him in my delirium.

He doesn’t stop drinking my juices while I convulse above him. On the contrary, he retrieves his thumb, but keeps his mouth busy, lapping away all the slick I give him.

It’s too much.

I tug on his hair to pull him off of my sensitive privates. 

Peeta takes one last lick with the flat of his tongue and looks up at me, smiling wolfishly, “Was that good?” His beard’s dripping with me, he wipes some of it off on his sleeve. 

I snort, unsexy and definitely rude. “You made me cum so hard I saw stars… yeah, it was good. Better than good, really!” I smile down at him, and try to pull him off from the floor. 

All the gel holding his curls in place is gone now, rubbed off on my palms. His hair is sticking up on the top and towards the back of his head. I reach up to try and smooth it back, “I’m sorry, I seem to have made a mess of your hair,” I giggle. It’s adorable, but I feel bad that I ruined it. 

“You can mess my hair any time you want, Katniss.” He says, almost shyly, he places his hands on my waist, over the bunched up dress. 

It’s a big turn on to me, how his words are so flirty, but he delivers them so sweetly and awed. Is unexpected and endearing… which is odd, because I don’t usually find people endearing at all!

We both chuckle. 

He licks his lips, and I feel heat pool in my lower belly again. 

“Come’ere!” I wrap my hand around his nape, and pull his lips to mine. 

He responds immediately, licking the seam of my mouth. I suck on his tongue when he slides it against mine. 

He moans. 

“Fuck me, Peeta,” I rasp into the kiss, palming his dick through his jeans. 

He groans, “Are you sure?” He barely holds back another groan when I squeeze his clothed erection.

“Cock. In me. Now!” I command through gritted teeth, trying to pull his cock out of his pants with one hand, while taking his hand, and splaying it on my boob. 

“Okay… shit… this is… surreal! This has never happened to me before!” He kneads my tit, gently.

I’m not sure I was supposed to hear that, so I pretend I didn’t and turn, facing the door to wiggle my ass, in an attempt to convince him. 

Peeta makes a noise in his throat, quickly followed by the sound of shifting clothes, and a metallic thump from his belt buckle hitting the toilet. 

I whine when Peeta’s warm, heavy cock caressed my bare ass cheek. “Please don’t tease me,” I beg.

“Fuck, Katniss… do you really want this?”

“Yes, Peeta… put your cock inside my cunt, and fuck me all the way to next week! Now!” 

His warm body cocoons mine, “Anything you want, sweetheart,” he whispers into my ear, and I feel the blunt head of his cock parting my folds, coating himself with my natural lubricants.

He finds my entrance, pushing inside just the tip. He gasps, “Fuck!” One big hand wraps around my hip to keep me steady, bracing his other arm on the door, above my head. 

“Peeta… Please!” I wiggle my ass, making him sink another inch deep. 

“Hold still,” He hisses, “I’m trying to hold back… not ramming in too roughly… embarrassing myself, cumming too fast,” His hot breath warms my nape. “You feel like heaven!” He growls, tightening his hold on me. 

I’m torn, wishing he’d drill into me without mercy already, while another part of me is grateful he’s trying to stay under control… I don’t know which I want more… 

When was the last time I had sex? 

As if reading my thoughts, Peeta shares haltingly, “It’s been such a long time for me. I want it to last, but I’m

Not sure if I can,” 

I don’t have time to second guess myself, because Peeta’s moving, and he’s massive! 

“Don’t hold back!” I bleat, “I want it rough… I want it fast!” I gasp, clenching down on him. I paw at the door for purchase, trying not to face-plant on the cold, hard surface, while Peeta’s fat prick stretches me to the brink of pain! I can’t stay put for him any longer; I buck into him.

“I said to hold still!” He slaps my ass, hard. It stings, but it’s a welcomed feeling. 

I moan and melt, finally relaxing enough for him to penetrate me all the way to the hilt. He stays there a moment, breathing harshly into my neck, squeezing my hip on and off. 

“You’re so tight. So warm. So wet, Katniss.” He nuzzles my ear, “I’m gonna move now, I apologize beforehand in case this ends too soon for you…” He drags himself slowly out of me, just to plunge right back in with a swift, hard thrust. 

I squeak; he grunts.. 

Peeta holds me by the waist,  “You’re so pretty and sexy, Katniss. I can’t decide if you’re real, or the most vivid wet dream I’ve ever had…” he’s fucking me like a jackrabbit in rut.

I’m speechless, vaguely wondering if I didn’t dream him instead?

His cock head hits a spot deep inside me I’ve never reached before. I start babbling nonsense— mostly praising his cock and his strength— I don’t really know what I’m saying, but he seems to be enjoying it thoroughly by the increase in his speed and the volume of his grunts. 

I’m joisted up and down his shaft like a rag doll; I wish I’d thought of hanging my stupid little purse somewhere before we started, because now it’s bumping on my thighs, distracting me from the great ducking I’m getting; it’s no matter… I can feel my orgasm building in my belly.

“I’m gonna cum, sweetheart… I want you to cum too,” He nibbles on my earlobe. 

“Yes, Peeta! Please make me cum, I’m so close!”

One of his hands slides around my waist to play with my clit, while his other tweaks my nipples over my dress and bra. That, added to the sensation of my g-spot being prodded repeatedly, sends me spinning over the edge.

I must’ve screamed or something, because he clamps his hand over my mouth, and then he’s grunting, digging his forehead between my shoulder blades, and pulling me back against his unyielding body. 

“Fuck…” he gasps and shivers behind me. I feel his dick pulsing, his rhythm faltering, and then he goes still. 

Peeta sags a little, wedging his shoulder into the door to keep from falling. I’m surprised he still has the strength to hold me up too; I have to be dead weight at this point, since my legs feel like overcooked noodles and my arms gave out a minute ago.

We both try to catch our breaths, too spent and weak for much more, at least for a few minutes.

Peeta stirs. “Are you okay?” He breathes out, ruffling the loose wisps of my hair with his breath. 

I chuckle, leaning my sweaty temple on the cool door. “I can’t feel my toes… which is excellent!”

“Good,” he sighs. 

Three heart beats later, he straightens up and pulls out of me. An indecent amount of spend flows down my legs as soon as his cock dislodges from my pussy, but Peeta shoves something soft between my thighs quickly, before I have time to freak out about the mess.

I look down mildly curious, staring at an embroidery of a tiny loaf of bread. Vaguely, I wonder if that’s his uniform? He said he was a baker, right? At least he’s named after bread or something. I giggle. “Is this your shirt?” I ask, widening my stance to gracelessly wipe myself clean. 

“Yeah,” 

“Thank you,” I say, dazedly, turning sideways to smile at him gratefully. 

He’s wearing a simple, white, cotton t-shirt when I return the polo to him, now spoiled with cum and slick. I’m caught off guard by how broad shoulder he is, and by how nice he smells… cinnamon and sweat. Weird combination, but pleasant. I wonder if he baked any bread today? 

“Um… would you… would you like to put these back on?” He asks awkwardly, leaning down to pick up my discarded panties from besides the foot of the toilet bowl.

I wrinkle my nose, “Not really,” I mumble. “Who knows when was the last time that floor got cleaned. Gross.” 

Peeta smiles and shakes his head, “Here,” he grabs his polo, covered in our juices, and wraps my underwear in it. “Now it’s hidden.”

My body is finally catching up with the advanced hour, the beers and the two amazing orgasms. I’m starting to feel sore everywhere, and my eyelids are getting heavy. “Wow… think I’m officially all partied out,” I chuckle weakly.

“Ditto,” Peeta agrees, his smile is shy. “So… there’s this little dinner about two blocks from here,” he starts, eyes downcast; the space seems to shrink around us, now that the frenzy of our physical activities is done with. “Would you like to grab a pancake or som—“

My phone rings, startling us both into silence. I frown, but scramble to find it in my purse, to check who could be calling me… apparently at 2 a.m.!

My frown deepens. Prim’s smiling face flashes on the screen. She was supposed to be getting some herself! “It’s my sister,” I whisper, tamping down my rising panic. I don’t ask if it’s okay to answer, I just do it. “Prim?” 

“Where the hell are you?!” I have to pull the phone off, or risk eardrum rupture by my sister’s screeching. “I’ve been texting and calling you! I’ve been worried sick!”

I scowl at the wall, confused and little annoyed, “Prim… Prim, are you okay? Are you hurt? Do you need me to come get you somewhere?” I try to ask.

“What?! No. I’m home! But you aren’t, and I’ve been scared shitless trying to find you!”

I give Peeta an apologetic grimace, and blindly feel around for the lock to get out of the stall. “Um… why are you home so early? Last time I heard from you, you were getting a ride,” I’m trying to sound unaffected; It’s all I can think to say in my mortification.

“Never mind that! Why aren’t you home already? I thought you had to work in the morning and then go to sch—” 

While Prim rages at me, I place a hand on the phone and turn to Peeta, still in the stall, awkwardly facing the wall, I assume to grant me some privacy. I’m sure he can hear my sister’s frantic chastisement from where he’s standing. “I’m sorry… you’d think I was a teenager instead of a grown ass adult,” I roll my eyes.

Peeta waves me off good naturedly. “It’s okay. I’m sorry for keeping you so late,”

I’m about to say something else, but Prim yells loudly, something about calling the police and checking the hospitals for me, which truly prompts a reaction from me, “Calm down! I’m still at the club, exactly where you left me!” I cover the phone with my palm again, and turn to him. “I’m… I’m gonna go? Before she threatens to send the marines in,” I try to joke, but our situation takes all the levity out of it, and my attempt dies off, lamely. 

Peeta nods, smiling softly; somehow I can tell it’s not genuine. 

“Little sisters, right?” I offer halfheartedly, twisting my lips. 

“Can I… walk you out at least?” He asks quietly; Prim hasn’t stopped nagging this whole time. 

“I… it’s not necessary, but thank you…” 

Peeta nods again, looking disappointed. 

I don’t get to tell him a proper goodbye, because two dude-bros come in the bathroom, letting the noise from the club filter in; one of the idiots elbows the other, and both start making some lewd comments about me, but Peeta steps in, eyes wild with anger, and tells the guys to knock it off. Prim hears the whole thing of course, and goes nuts herself asking what’s going on?

Peeta looks at me, and motions his head towards the door. 

Message received, I step outside the bathroom and book it out of the club, “I’ll be home in a bit. I’m gonna call and Uber,”

“Call me as soon as you’re in it!” Prim demands.

“Fine! Now stop nagging me, will you?!”

I don’t realize I never looked back at Peeta to wave my goodbyes until I’m in the car, heading home. Regret truly is a bitch. I can’t help feeling like I just lost something important, but I have no idea what it is. 

>>—————> * <————<<

It’s been a very long Monday. I’m mainly running on caffeine at the moment, and can’t wait to get home and pass out in my fluffy bed, to see if I can catch up on last nights lost hours of sleep. 

I enter my last class of the day and find a seat in the middle of the third row. I pull my laptop, a writing pad and my mechanical pencil out of my bag, and watch as my classmates start filtering in one by one, greeting each other and finding their places, lazily. 

I’m the oldest student in this class, which is not surprising. I’ve only just come back from my extended— 5 year— sabbatical; and did it only after I was completely sure I could handle my workload and the financial strain of both me and Prim going to college at the same time, without giving myself an early grave. 

It’s been hard, but I’m glad I came back to finish my schooling, I only need a handful of credits to graduate, which is great!

I check my watch. We still have a few minutes to kill before class starts. The professor— Dr. Mellark, according to the copy of my schedule— is not here yet, so I pull up the banking app on my phone to give it another glance. The balance is still the same as the last two times I’ve seen it, but it doesn’t hurt to be extra careful when one is on a tight budget. I scheduled payments for the power, gas and rent to go out in the next few days, and I want to make sure there’s enough money in the bank to cover them. We’re looking fine for the month, financially speaking. 

The door to the classroom swishes open, and I start signing off my app.

“Good afternoon ladies and germs; I’m doctor Mellark, and provided you’re in this room for an English class, I’ll like to welcome you to the amazing world of Classic Literature!” Says a deep, male voice I find oddly familiar. “By the way, don’t any of you dare to disagree with me on the awesomeness of classic lit… I’m a doctor, I know what I’m talking about… unless you ask me about medicine, then please be free to disregard everything I say, because I’m not ‘that’ kind of doctor!” 

A murmure of little chuckles fills the room; even I smile, silencing my phone and putting it away, before looking up at the professor.

I choke on a strangled gasp when I finally set eyes on the man I assume is the teacher, dumping a worn, leather, messenger bag on the desk near the podium. He’s the last person I would’ve expected to have as a professor.  

Oblivious to my predicament, Doctor Mellark— or as I know him: Peeta!— keeps introducing himself. 

“I’ve been teaching this course for 14th years, but I’m always pleasantly surprised to hear the different points of views my students bring to our discussions on the classics we study, which in a nutshell, is the beauty of this class.” He pulls a ream of paper out of his bag, and gives it to a student in the front, “Please take a syllabus, and pass the rest to the next person, and so on… thank you!” 

My face is burning. I think I’m gonna faint. 

“But enough about me,” his voice booms, making my whole body shiver. “I don’t normally do roll calls or care about attendance, as long as you’re not missing assignments, and are here during discussions, so this is the first and last time I’ll be reading this list,” he rises a piece of paper above his head, I surmise has the students names on it, and he instructs, before reading, “I’ll call your names, and you’ll introduce yourself, briefly, that way we can all get acquainted with each other, yes?” 

Ugh! 

He can scratch my name off that list right now! We’re more than acquainted with each other.

Bile rises to my throat. An intrusive, bitter thought pesters me: how many of his students has he gotten ‘that’ familiar with? 

But the thought dies off quickly. An even worse, more worrisome thought springs front and center in my mind: Did we use protection?!

Panic rises in my chest, a nervous queasiness settles in my belly; a distant memory of warm goo sliding down my legs comes to mind… Oh shit! 

Oh shit, oh shit! We didn’t use a freaking condom? Who does that?! 

Oh shit! 

Would a Plan B still be effective right now? It’s been less than 24 hours… 

Peeta’s reading names. People stand from their seats and talk about themselves. I haven’t heard one word they’ve said, but I’ve been watching how some of the female students bat their eyelashes and speak all breathily, smiling coyly at him… Peeta seems oblivious to the flirting, but I still feel a cocktail of unpleasant feelings in the pit of my stomach. 

I realize, I’m jealous!

My ass is frozen in my sit, I’m not even breathing. I don’t think Peeta’s seen me yet, but… what will he do or say once my name comes up? I send a quick prayer to heaven, he won’t recognize me since I look nothing like I did last night at the club, with my hair down and my face all made-up. Right now and plain ol’ me… the rub is gonna be my name. Darn my dad and his awful naming whims! 

Soon enough, he reads a name that makes him stutter, “Kat…Katniss? Everdeen?” He does a double take, “Katniss Everdeen…” his eyes are the size of saucers when he scans the lecture hall, swiftly. When he finds me, he looks back down at his paper, and says the name out loud again, unsure, “Katniss Everdeen?” Like he doesn’t believe what he’s reading. 

I stand up woodenly, my voice cracks a little, “I’m—I’m Katniss Everdeen… hi!” 

I’m about to drop back into my chair, but Peeta kinda mumbles, “You know, Arrowhead, or Katniss is a water plant? The root is edible… like a swamp potato?”

There are quiet little giggles all over the place. 

Peeta clears his throat, his eyes flit away; his face’s blank of emotion, but his cheeks seem pinker than a second earlier, “I just read that online, believe it or not. Interesting facts about local flora, people. Reading is knowledge, but so is learning from one another… what can you tell us about yourself, Miss Everdeen, besides that you have a very unique first name?”

“I…” I harrumph, avoiding eye contact with Peeta at all costs, “I’m a part time student. Majoring in Botany. I took this class to fulfill my last English credits requirement for graduation. I do love books and classic literature, in particular.” 

“Thank you… Miss Everdeen,” he rasps. 

I sit down, clumsily, hoping this horrible, horrible moment is just a nightmare and that I’ll wake up any second now, drooling on my desk, with indentations of my notepad on my cheek, because anything would be less embarrassing than what I’m going through at this point.

Mercifully, Peeta calls a different name, and then another, and then another. I don’t look up from my notepad once.

Peeta for his part, sounds stiff and monotonous— or so I’d like to think— no more jokes or clever sayings. Maybe he’s not as affected as I am about this ordeal, and I’m just making it a bigger deal than it really is? Maybe he does have experience sleeping with students— I mean, it’s not unheard off, right?— Not that either of us had any idea we were engaging in a teacher-student affair last night… 

Although, calling it an affair is generous; it was a measly one night stand. A chance encounter. Two people letting off steam before a busy week ahead. 

I’m getting increasingly angry with all this thinking… and the class seems to drag on. It feels like an eternity, and my mind keeps churning up all kinds of questions: Why would he not say he was a teacher at this particular college? Did he lie about being a baker? Is his name even Peeta? 

I scoffed at the thought.

To my horror, I hear him ask, “Anything to say, Miss Everdeen?” 

Looking up at him requires a great deal of bravery and self admonishment, but I do my best and face him— he’s wearing glasses now, which makes my belly tightened for inexplicable reasons— “No, Doctor Mellark, nothing of consequence anyway,” I retort as venemosly as possible, without alerting anyone else there’s something weird going on between me and the professor. 

Peeta grimaces slightly. Then looks away, “Very well, as I was saying, we will start with the basics: The Iliad and Moby Dick, since those are High school level works, I expect your reports to be sufficiently well researched, and your personal ideas on the text somewhat fleshed out. It doesn’t have to be in-depth. I’m just looking to determine everyone’s style and needs for the semester ahead…” he continues his spiel, and I feel free to go back to my stewing and my musings. 

Before I know it, Peeta’s dismissing the class, wishing everyone a good rest of their evening. 

I jump into action, packing my stuff with my head bowed, but then I hear him again.

“Miss Everdeen, a private word, please?” It’s much too quiet to have been said from his podium. I still startled when I look up and find him standing right against the first row of desks, directly in front of me. 

His face is not quite stern, but he’s definitely less smiley than when we met. 

I force down a gasp, because under the better lighting of the lecture hall, and close up, I can see a plethora of details I missed at the club; like the arresting blue of his eyes, the slight reddish of his neatly trimmed beard, peppered with silver whiskers all over, while his perfectly combed hair is almost all silver on the temples, and ashy blonde on the top. His shoulders are even broader than I remember. 

He’s overall stockier than I originally thought, and just a smidge shorter, which is fine, he’s still the most handsome man I’ve ever met, and I wouldn’t mind climbing him like a tree—

I shake my head off the intrusive, lecheros thoughts. I’m literally lusting after my teacher, for goodness sakes! This is beyond a silly schoolgirl crush!

Peeta arches one dark blonde eyebrow at me, expectantly. 

I nod curtly, because my tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth, and gesture for him to lead the way.

I shove my laptop into my bag, and hastily shoulder the straps, hugging my writing pad to my chest, following my professor like a chastened little girl. 

My stupid eyes find his ass, and I blink twice, at the exquisite sight in front of me. I groan internally. 

He grabs his own bag, takes off his spectacles and slides them into his shirt pocket. 

How old is this man?! He said he’s been teaching this class for 14 years, when do professors start their teaching careers? How did I never see him before now roaming campus? Is his age the reason he ate pussy like a master? 

I shake my head, cursing my horny brain. 

Peeta opens a door I have no idea how we came across, and then stands aside, gesturing for me to go in first. 

I duck my head and step into a warmly decorated office, with a small desk and two chairs in the middle of the room. Bookshelves full of tomes line the office. A handful of pictures and framed diplomas hang from the only available wall space in the room, but I don’t get to study them before he catches my undivided attention. 

“Let me start by apologizing,” Peeta stars, closing the door behind himself, “I assure you, it wasn’t my intention to cause you any stress, or embarrassment out there.” He pauses, “Would you like to sit?” He offers, wincing. He doesn’t wait and steps around me, to pace on the other side of his desk, “I… um, never been in this position before,” he scowls, “I’m not sure what assurances I can offer at the moment, except, that I will start the process to recuse myself from this class immediately, to not interfere with your academic—“

“Recuse yourself?” I cut him off, “what do you mean?” 

Peeta squirms a little, and sits down heavily on his chair. My bag slides off my shoulder, and I just dump it in the empty chair I was offered a moment ago. 

“Well, Miss Everdeen, it’s the right thing to do, given our circumstances. We’ve breached the appropriate boundaries of our pupil and teacher positions, and staying in the same class together will put you at a disadvantage… is a power imbalance situation, that calls for action.”

“Can you stop calling me ‘Miss Everdeen’? It’s weird…”

“I’m just trying to maintain an acceptable level of decorum between us,” he says sheepishly. 

“That ship has already sailed,” I say tiredly.

“Perhaps, but it’s my responsibility to still try,” he rubs his forehead. “Anyway, I’ll call my department and see what is next. Stepping down myself is the only fair solution I see so far… it would be terribly unfair to ask you to switch classes. Simply disrespectful, but we both can agree this uncomfortable situation needs to be nipped in the bud, for both our sakes, Miss Everdeen.”

“This is bullshit!” I snap, “What happened in that club, isn’t that terrible of a problem! What we really need to do is stop acting so stiffly and guilty. By the way, you sound like a walking thesaurus!” I accuse, looking him in the eyes for the first time since he called my name at the lecture hall. “Stop it!” 

Peeta inhales deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Miss Everdeen, our actions last night may have been honest, and even innocent in nature, but they still carry consequences… unexpected ones, especially in light of the facts. And the facts are, that it would be unethical for me to remain in a position of authority over you. In any case… if you feel the need to report me to the school administration, for… harassment or inappropriate behavior or anything else, I won’t dispute any claims. I promise to distance myself from you and give you space so you can continue with your education without interference, in a safe environment.”

I grunt, “I’m not going to report you, because you didn’t do anything wrong. Sure, I thought you were a baker… I mean your story about your name, and that little loaf of bread embroidered into your shirt, I thought it was your uniform,” I shrug one shoulder. 

“Sorry about that… I never meant to mislead you,” he says bashful. 

I ignore him, “Either way, I was the one pulling you into that bathroom. I threw myself at you. I begged you to do things to me, and you just granted me my wishes…” like a sexy gentleman, “The sex is on me. I’m 26 years old, I’m not some bumbling teenager who hasn’t learned to take responsibility for her actions, so, please… stop trying to shield me, or protect me, or whatever it is you’re doing,” my arms flap around in frustration. I finally push my bag off the chair, and sink into it. “Look, Peeta—“

“Professor…” he corrects, frowning a little.

I roll my eyes, if he knew he’s just making it sound kinkier than it already is, he wouldn’t be so adamant about the freaking titles. 

“Fine… Doctor Mellark,” I enunciate, pettily. “I specifically chose your class as my last English elective for two reasons. One: it’s exactly the amount of credits I need to graduate at the end of the semester. And two: it fits my schedule to a T, which is important, since I do have a full time job when I’m not a college student. So, I’m sure we can both be adults about this unfortunate situation, and simply forge on. There’s no need for you to recuse from teaching this class, and I have absolutely no intention of switching. We both can wear our big people britches, and pretend last night was a… what did you call it?” I wave my hands, as if the answer will materialize from thin air, “A vivid wet dream? And leave it at that!”

Peeta glares at me, looking aggravated for the first time since I met him. “It’ll be unethical to continue like everything is normal, Miss Everdeen.” Peeta argues, stubbornly. 

“Nobody has to know about last night,” I say, exasperated, then a horrifying thought flashes in my mind, “Unless you bragged about it already!”

“No!” He straightens in his chair, looking offended, “I would never do something so vile,” He looks indignant, “plus, the fact still remains that something did happen last night, and I know about it! I can’t, in good faith, be your teacher.”

“Are you planning on showing me favoritism because you know what my pussy tastes like, Peeta?” I deadpan, “Or are you gonna blackmail me into doing it again?” 

“Stop calling me Peeta!” He growls through his teeth, his very thick fingers clenching into fists on his armrests. 

I blink at his reaction owlishly, realizing I’m truly pushing it this time. 

“I’ve always prided myself on keeping my nose clean. Being a decent man and tutor. Never in 17 years of teaching have I slept with a co-ed, let alone a student in my own class.” He breathes deeply, then pins me to my chair, with those arresting blue eyes of his, burning with controlled anger, “I would never extort you or anyone for sexual favors, Katniss. While I don’t really want to lose my tenure or face other disciplinary actions from the school authorities, the one thing I truly don’t want to damage are my personal standards, and my self image.

“Katniss, I’m already biased when it comes to you. Being your professor won’t be exactly fair to anyone. I’m not saying I would give you A’s willy-nilly, nor that I would grade your papers any differently than I’d do your peers or that I’d be less critical of your work,” 

“That’s reassuring,” I roll my eyes. “You’re telling me that if I bring you a shit essay, you might not be persuaded to let me redo it?” 

He sighs, “I don’t know…” he scratches the back of his neck, “I’ll most likely hover over your desk a disproportionate amount of time compared to your classmates. There’s also a chance I’ll call on your name more often than the rest of them?”

“I still don’t hear one unscrupulous, wrong reason, why you can’t do your job, and teach this class.”

We sit there, staring at each other, at an impasse. 

“Why are you so set on keeping me in that room, Miss Everdeen?” He asks, softly. 

Finally, I relent, relaxing my tense shoulders, and exhaling tiredly. I raise my hands in defeat. “I don’t know, Peeta. Because I want to protect you, the same way you’re trying to protect me. But… recuse yourself if you have to. I still believe you’re a better man than your urges.” 

Peeta relaxes in his chair too, “Thank you, Katniss.You didn’t have to say that, specially because you don’t know me. It still means a lot.”

I chew the inside of my lip, calculating stuff in my head. “You’re right, I don’t know you, but I consider myself an okay judge of character.” He opened this door, it’s time for me to walk through it, “Can I ask you some stuff?” I ask innocently.

Peeta arches his eyebrows. “Shoot,” he says. 

“How old are you?” 

“45. I’m sorry. I knew you were young last night… I just didn’t quite grasp just how young,” his eyes shift downwards, sheepish and uncomfortable. 

“I’m an adult. I’ve been the head of my family for years. At this point, age is irrelevant for me.” I state, dismissively.

“What about your family?” He asks, tilting his head sideways.

It takes me a minute to answer. I cross my arms over my stomach, and exhale, “It’s been only Primrose and I for five years now. My mother had cancer. My father passed when I was eleven.” I rock in my chair, slightly, “That’s why my sister was being such a clingy bitch last night. She can’t bear to lose anyone else. Neither can I for that matter.”

Peeta leans forward on his desk. “I’m so sorry to hear that, Katniss.”

I sit back, feeling like a huge weight just got lifted off my shoulders. “It’s okay, really. I’m back in school, about to finish my last semester, Prim is doing great in university, the only debt we have right now is Prim’s car and my Target card… we are actually okay,” I smile, meekly at him. 

“That’s… that’s good, Katniss. Admirable, really.”

“Peeta?” I start cautiously, “Would you really remove yourself from the class because of me?” 

He looks me right in the eye, sincerity emanating fro his eyes. “Absolutely. Without hesitation. As soon as you leave, I’ll email my Head of Department, explaining my situation. Don’t worry, I won’t mention any names or details—“

I shake my head, vehemently. 

Peeta squints, studying me cautiously, measuring me. 

“Please… stay with me…” 

Something in my tone catches his attention, and he eyes me curiously. “I’ve already told you why I can’t,” he says, almost soothingly. 

I stand up. Go around my chair, and drop back down into it. I start shaking my leg nervously. “I had this feeling in my gut since last night. Like I lost something precious, I just couldn’t put a finger on it… I still can’t, to be honest. All I know, in my loins, is that I can’t let you step down from your position, and I sure as hell won’t walk away on you without figuring out what this…” I wiggle my fingers, pointing to the mouth of my stomach, “feeling is about.”

He stares at me. 

I stand up again, and this time I just pace, to the wall with the pictures, and stare at a bunch of faces, too similar to Peeta’s not to be related to him somehow. 

“I know I’m not making sense, but I just needed to say that.”

He watches me for a long beat, weighing his options no doubt, before answering, “I can’t be your teacher, Katniss…” he sighs, and rubs his forehead, “because I’m afraid seeing you every week, without being able to touch you will be absolute torture.”

“Really?” I bite my lip, giving him an open once over, not feeling one iota self conscious about. “How come?” 

Peeta huffs, avoiding my eyes. “I’d be wondering what your breasts look like the whole time.” He confesses, flatly. “I didn’t get a chance to see them last night, and it kept me awake an indecent amount of time.” He twists his lips, “I’m gonna be pinning the whole semester, whether you’re in the classroom or not, craving the taste of your juices in my tongue, and worse of all, I’ll probably embarrass myself, giving me involuntary hard on’s just fantasizing about you.”

I practically prowl towards him. “You poor thing,” I coo, pouting. “Would you go home to masturbate on the soiled pair of panties I left behind on that dirty, bathroom floor?” I ask… more like, purr, really. 

Peeta chuffs out an incredulous laugh, covering his face with both hands. He grunts, “Aw, fuck! That sounds so… it’s probably exactly what could happen. I’d try to stay professional in the classroom, but in the privacy of my home…” he chuckles weakly, shaking his head.

“What kind of fantasies are we entertaining here?” I ask, invested, and sit on the corner of his desk. 

Peeta thins out his mouth, “Katniss… that’s a slippery slope you’re trying to climb,” he warns.

“Humor me?” I cajole. 

He takes a stuttering breath. “I’ll bring you into this office, same way I did today, except I’ll rip your clothes off, throw you on the desk and take you hard and fast. From behind.” 

I can’t stop a small sound at the back of my throat, nor the need to rub my thighs together. 

I clear my throat, “I expect you’d want to fuck me on every surface in this office?”

Peeta pulls on the collar of his shirt, his face turning crimson, “And probably the lecture hall as well,” he adds conversationally. 

I nod, scooting closer to where he sits. “I’m curious too you know. I didn’t get to see ‘any’ part of you naked. But my muscles still are deliciously sore from last night. A girl has to wonder… just how big a dick has to be to cause so much wreckage?” 

It doesn’t take much effort at all to work him up. Peeta’s pants are tented in what looks like the most uncomfortable erection ever; he shifts in his chair to try and hide the effect my words have on him, yet, his hands remain folded on his lap, white knuckled with the effort of keeping himself in check. He’s really committed not to touch me while I’m still his student, but he rasps a question, full of concern. 

“Did I hurt you?” His eyes search me, earnestly. “I’m sorry I was too rough, really,”

My heart gives a little somersault. “No, Peeta. You were pure perfection. I loved how you handled me.”

His lips twitch, and I’m amazed at how expressive his face is, even partially hidden under his near facial hair. “You said you were hungry last night before you got on your knees…” I murmur, “I think, next time I’ll return the favor,”

“Next time?”

I slide closer to him, but we both keep our hands to ourselves.

I lick my lips, resisting the urge to drop on my knees between his legs and gobble up his cock. I didn’t lie about wanting to see him in all his naked glory, but I can show the same level of restraint he does; I respect him for trying to keep a moral and ethical compass.

I smirk at him, slyly. “Are you sure you wanna abandon your post as my professor, now that my education is on the balance? We can wait a handful of months, Doctor Mellark… I promise not to tease you,” With that, I mean, I promise not to aggravate what could potentially be the worst case of blue balls in the history of slow burns.

Peeta hisses a mirthless chuckle, “You’re too much of a temptation, even if you don’t actively try teasing me, Katniss,”

I start playing with the end of my braided, dark hair. “You know what I’m most really looking forward to, from when I’m no longer your student?” I pose, shyly, “Going to that dinner you mentioned last night.” I shrug one shoulder. “I’ll let you buy me a stack of pancakes to celebrate my graduation. I’ll probably introduce you to my sister, Primrose… and we’d go from there… if you wanted to…”

Peeta smiles, disarmingly. “I’d love that too, Miss Everdeen.” He says quietly.

I let go of my braid, and hug myself, “Stay in the class?” I practically beg one last time. “We can do it, I know we can. We can have a platonic, completely innocent teacher-student relationship until I’m done with college,”

Peeta shakes his head. “We’ll see after I talk to my head of department. Who knows, maybe all the schedules are already locked in place, and I have no other choice but to stay put. There’s no guarantee a replacement is available for me.”

“We’ll make it work!” I say enthusiastically. 

“Maybe…” he sighs, not entirely convinced. 

I pull my phone out of my pocket to check the time. Time is running out, I gotta get to the pharmacy before my window of opportunity closes. 

“Hey, Peeta… um, invasive, weird question?” 

I wait for him to nod.

“Have you by any chance, have gotten a vasectomy at any point?” 

“Mmm no, never had. Why?”

Aw shit! 

I bite the inside of my cheek. “Hopefully no reason.” I say quickly, too nonchalant for my own good, and he catches on it, I can see the gears turning in his brain, “Okay,” I make a big show of yawning and stretching my arms, “I have to run some errands before going home and crashing for the night.”

Peeta cringes, “Are you… okay? Really, okay? You said you were sore?” His eyes rove over my face full of concern. 

“I’m fine,” I smile, “nothing a long soaking in Epsom salts can’t cure.”

“Okay,” he says, unsure. “I don’t want to overstep any worse than I already have, but… I’ve been anxious, wondering if you were alright, if you got home fine to your sister since you left the club. Which, obviously you did… but, I wanted to kick myself for not asking your number, just to be able to check on you… and this is frown upon, a d completely unethical, but—“

“I’ll email you,” I say quickly. “Nothing explicit. But I’ll let you know I’m home and okay.” I’ve spoken to people in code before, this shouldn’t be a problem, and really, sending my professor an email with a time stamp and some innocuous question about the syllabus doesn’t have to be nefarious at all. 

“Alright… Just let me know if there’s anything wrong, okay? I swear this won’t become a routine thing or anything, just this time, to give me peace of mind, and because it is late… and well, yesterday…”

“It’s fine, professor. I don’t mind. And… everything will work out,” I say shouldering my bag and pocketing my phone, “everything will work out, even if my Plan B doesn’t,” I smile and scurry out the door, before the puzzlement in his face has time to settle. 

After all, a semester is only 15 weeks long, give or take… that’s plenty of time to figure things out. 

[iremelwrites]

sal fisher and jeff woods friendship headcanons

(these take place before they became killers. inspired by my most recent post)

- they met in the beginning of middle school

- after diane’s death, henry and sal moved around the country for a while before they settled in nockfell. one of the places where they lived was new orleans (yeah this doesn’t really fit into canon (or even my own fanon, for that matter) but bear with me for the sake of the au)

- they were starting sixth grade and entering middle school, which meant that it was a new environment for them both

- that was the summer when jeff discovered the emo subculture and decided to become an honorary member

- margaret was on his ass about it and constantly nagged him that he’d never find friends looking like that

- so jeff entered the middle school premises with the goal of befriending someone cool literally just to spite his mother

- people in his morning classes were okay, but still not what he was looking for

- when the time for lunch came, jeff looked for a place to sit in the crowded cafeteria and when his eyes landed on a blue haired kid in a mask and a metallica hoodie who was sitting alone, he was like

- bingo.

- he immediately sat down across from him, saying something along the lines of “awesome hoodie. i love metallica”

- sal looked at him with wide eyes for a second because he didn’t expect to be talked to during lunch, especially in a positive context. jeff was probably the first person sal had met who didn’t start their first conversation with a remark or question about the prosthetic

- they introduced themselves and talked about classic rock for a while. over the summer, jeff took the time to learn practically everything about the bands he listened to, so when sal could actually hold his ground on that topic jeff was ecstatic

- once they discovered that they both loved playing the guitar, they were like,, yeah dude we’re best friends now

- jeff didn’t ask anything about sal’s prosthetic until sal actually told him. having his own share of insecurities, jeff didn’t pry on whether it was a fashion statement or a necessary measure. besides, he didn’t care that much, since it looked cool anyway

- the two of them shared two afternoon classes and passed each other notes during them constantly bc middle school is boring you know

- they’d start hanging outside of school pretty quickly. most of the time they’d be at sal’s since margaret was always at home and insensitive as fuck, and jeff didn’t want sal to go through that

- henry is really happy that sal made a close friend. doesn’t even mind the loud ass music constantly blaring from sal’s room whenever he and jeff hang out

- they soon learn that they reeeeeally needed a friendship like one they formed. they balance each other out perfectly. sal guides jeff through his bitterness and angst with empathetic rationality. jeff encourages sal to stand up for himself and be more confident

- speaking of which, few people bothered sal in the new orleans school because jeff was always ready to throw hands. he has a lot of unprocessed anger from margaret’s narcissistic abuse and being bullied himself. he doesn’t always respond when the violence is directed at him, but when someone fucks with his best friend?? they better count their days

- one time some asshole tried removing sal’s prosthetic in the middle of a crowded hallway and jeff went literally batshit. he won, too, and even gloated about the detention he got afterwards

- sal doesn’t exactly enjoy the fact that jeff gets in fights because of him. he prefers to solve his people problems verbally, and if they get physical, oh well, he’s used to it. sal told this to jeff on multiple occasions. jeff doesn’t care.

- not only is fighting a way to let out his suppressed anger, but jeff also has a very strong moral compass, and, in his eyes, anyone who hurts someone as nice as sal definitely deserves to get their shit rocked. the fact that sal is used to being a target kind of makes jeff sick, he tries to not think about that

- jeff believes that deserves to be hated by the people around him (that’s an idea margaret put in his head isn’t it). he hates everyone anyway, and doesn’t try to hide his misanthropy. it’s not a big deal if people hate him back. sal though???? jeff thinks that sal is everything he himself isn’t. smart, empathetic, and incredibly strong. the fact that after everything he went through, sal still sees the best in everyone, even the people who bully him, is something jeff admires him for almost to a saint-like degree

- sal and liu get along really well too! liu also admires him for his strength and kindness. kind of adopts him as his second little brother

- since sal is from rural new jersey, moving to a city as big as new orleans was exciting. he wanted to explore the city, especially the historical center. this worked well because jeff takes pride in being a native to new orleans and knows his way around the city. the two of them would often just take walks around town and check out interesting places

- they share a love for the supernatural, and since it’s new orleans, they explore abandoned houses and visit voodoo sites. one time, when margaret and peter were out of town, jeff, sal, liu and some of liu’s friends got together at the woods residence and used a ouija board to try and summon an ancient deity. it didn’t go well, things got creepy pretty fast

- they’d have sleepovers often, and the topic of their conversations would turn existential and philosophical at night. they’d talk about their past, their dysfunctional families, about their nightmares of things beyond their understanding and their uncertainty of the future. this is when they really connected. their troubles were practically identical and the conversations they had about them were the most fulfilling discussions they’d ever had. they knew they could trust each other with the deepest parts of their introverted minds and not be judged or misunderstood. both of them would talk for hours until passing out with a thought like “i’m so glad you and i met”

- platonic soulmates

[couldntbedamned]

Baby, You Don’t Gotta Fight - 4

Summary:  Dr. Christine Palmer is just living her life, content in her job as a trauma surgeon and happily moonlighting as Peter Parker’s general physician at her old friend Stephen’s request.

One evening as she finishes up examining Peter, she encounters the force of nature that’s Sharon Carter, who seems to have a reckless streak a mile wide.

She’s not sure what to make of the spy-turned-Avenger, but she can tell Sharon’s hurting, and Christine’s healing nature won’t be ignored.

AO3 Tags/Warnings:  Background Relationships, Awesome Christine Palmer, Snarky Sharon Carter, Peter Parker is a Good Bro, Stephen Strange is a Good Bro, Blood and Injury, Medical Procedures, Field Medicine, Sharon Carter Needs a Hug, SHIELD-critical, mild (non-explicit) sexual content

<<<>>>

Chapter 4

<<<>>>

Paperwork was the bane of her existence, Christine thought as she finished up hers for the day. The woefully outdated computer paired with a bargain basement EMR meant she’d been at it for nearly an hour after Sharon Carter (or, as noted in said EMR, Eve McNab) had left with her prescription and orders to continue RICE-ing her knee. She was convinced that one day technology would rise up and overthrow them all.

(Yes, she remembered the spectacle around Sokovia several years back. It only proved her point.)

She sighed as she saved the patient record for “Eve McNab.” Christine didn’t usually go for blondes - her type leaned towards dark hair and piercing eyes. (Unhelpfully pointed out by Stephen, two weeks into their ill-fated but intense relationship.) She didn’t typically go for women, either, though a night of fun here or there with a pretty lady wasn’t unheard of. (Details of said nights had been requested by a smirking Stephen and promptly denied.) But Sharon was…

Sharon was beautiful. It wasn’t something she’d paid attention to the night they met, as Sharon had been bleeding and in pain and Christine as her doctor had no business letting her thoughts drift in that direction. However, seeing her today, cleaned up and styled was like a jolt to her system. Sharon even smelled nice… soft, and lightly floral, somehow reminding Christine of the ocean.

Part of the charm might have been that Sharon had been in an agreeable mood. (And part of that might have been the compulsion spelled bracelet Stephen had used. She had the feeling that Stephen would be facing down the agent’s wrath for such a tactic. Served him right.)

The sutured sites were healing well and the sutures themselves would start to dissolve in another week or so. Her ribs were healing as well as could be expected. Sharon’s knee, however, needed more care. What had Sharon been thinking, continuing to exercise while injured? It was a miracle she’d talked her into taking three days off. In that time, with a proper brace and rest, the area would heal, and Sharon would be able to do away with the hated pain medication.

When Stephen had shared that little quirk of Sharon’s when discussing her care after he’d portaled her home, Christine had been appalled. What kind of monster taught a child that helping numb pain was a weakness? Just what kind of operation had that sainted great-aunt of hers been running? And just how had Sharon managed dealing with whatever it was that resulted in that vicious looking scar? There was no way it hadn’t been the kind of pain that would fall a grown man.

An error message sounded, and Christine saw that the past two sections she’d entered didn’t save. Hissing out a curse she painstakingly filled them in again, saving one section and then the other. Damned computers.

That night she came to the memory of Sharon wearing those delightfully skimpy lace cheekies. The ice blue of them against her smooth not-quite-tanned skin was beautiful. The demi bra matched, too. Her breasts were practically offered up for her adoration in the unlined lace half-cups, dusky nipples just barely visible.

And her shears had cut up and up until just under it, giving her a perfect view. In any other setting she could have leaned forward, sucked a lace-covered nipple into her mouth, dipped a hand under the matching lace below to tease what she imagined would be slick, hot folds.

Body shaking in the aftermath of her climax, Christine was slow to turn her vibrator’s settings down before turning it off.

“Oh, hell,” she panted to herself weakly. “Oh, this isn’t good.”

She had no business fantasizing about a patient, even if that patient was an Avenger with an extremely deadly skill set, perfectly formed breasts, and dark brown eyes she wanted to drown in. She was the doctor, Sharon was the patient, and there were lines that weren’t to be crossed. She would just have to keep any fantasies to a minimum and strictly fantasies.

Or, a voice in her head said slyly, Or find her another doctor.

Christine didn’t need the complication in her life. She was up for consideration as the Chief of ER at MetroGen. Any kind of romantic - or sexual - entanglement wasn’t something she could afford to entertain.

It’s not like you’ll have the time if you do get promoted.

That was a depressing thought.

Her last serious relationship had been just after the Snap. Elson Spencer had been a nice man and they’d found comfort in each other during the chaos that came with having half of earth’s population disappear swiftly followed by the likes of cars suddenly missing drivers and crashing into each other with little care for who else may be in the cars, planes crashing, mass transit failures and crashes. Then, there had been the aftershocks of suicide and health care system failures.

Elson, a freelance architect, was no stranger to long hours and didn’t hold the overtime she worked against her as many a partner might. He’d take it upon himself to cook dinner since he could work from anywhere and simply used her office while she was at the hospital or clinic. She’d support him by packing him a lunch before going in for her shifts. It was a mutual give and take that suited them well.

The sex wasn’t anything to write home about (not that she’d ever consider writing home about anything), but it was familiar and routine. Familiarity and routine were a comfort in a troubled world.

Comfort, yes, but not enough to sustain them in the long run.

Two years in and Elson had gently informed her that he’d been offered a job with an architectural firm in Seattle - an offer he wanted to accept. He cared for her, he’d said, but he didn’t think it was love. “You deserve love, Christine.”

She hadn’t been heartbroken, or overly surprised. In fact, she’d been… relieved, to an extent. They’d both known it wasn’t the sort of relationship that stood the test of time.

They parted not-quite friends, but with fond memories.

Any connections since then hadn’t been serious or involved more than a week or two of bedroom fun. She told herself she preferred it that way. Sometimes she even believed it.

Christine was dedicated to her job, stressful and chaotic as it often was. She loved being a doctor, loved the ER and the adrenaline that coursed through her whenever the ER charge nurse announced “Incoming!” She could walk out of MetroGen after pulling a double shift with multiple back-to-back surgeries and still feel as though she could run a marathon. (She didn’t test that feeling, however. Christine didn’t run. Or get sweaty in any way that didn’t involve the OR, the damned yoga classes she attended, or sex.)

When she wasn’t scheduled at the hospital, she volunteered at the clinic where she’d seen to Sharon’s follow-up. It was a little run-down, but managed well, and the director of the clinic was an old friend from med school. She liked seeing patients there, enjoyed knowing she could offer reliable care for those who didn’t have many resources to speak of. Not everyone had been as financially blessed as Christine “Miss Grandma’s Trust Fund” Palmer, and she tried to use her privilege to help them when she could.

She set the vibrator on her nightstand to clean later and relaxed back into her pillows, pulling up the sheets. She had the next three days off and no concrete plans. She supposed she could attend one of the hot yoga classes hosted down the road from her apartment or spend a day at one of the dollar theaters. She could see if one of MetroGen’s affiliate hospitals needed an extra set of hands in the ER.

She could call Sharon.

No. No, she could not call Sharon. Patient. Doctor. Ethics. Dubious. Do not pass go, do not imagine discovering if her pussy was the same dusky rose as her nipples under that lace.

With a groan, she reached for her phone. It wasn’t even 10 pm. Stephen would be awake. She could ask him to ask Peter to call and check on Sharon.

Lines were meant to be tap-danced on.

“Ah- Dr. Palmer,” he answered very steadily when she called before she could talk herself out of it.

“Dr. Strange.”

“How can I be of service?” There was the intake of breath, the softest exhale.

Christine rolled her eyes, knowing why he sounded the way he did. “You’re getting a blow job.” She knew that tone of voice very well.

“Yes,” Stephen confirmed with a sigh. Then his voice deepened into one of satisfaction. “Yes, and he is doing a marvelous job.”

“I don’t doubt it. Tomorrow, could you have Peter call and check up on Sharon?”

He didn’t answer for a moment, but she heard him murmuring soft, filthy, and surprisingly sweet words to Peter.

“I can do that, yes.”

“Thank you.”

"And we’ll even be nice enough to fill you in after the fact,” he added.

“How generous,” she said dryly.

He chuckled, a low sound that gave way to a moan. “Indeed.”

“Listen, thanks,” she said, eyeing her vibrator on the nightstand. “Have a good night, you two.”

“Oh, we’re planning on it.”

Strange ended the call.

Biting back a groan of frustration, she grabbed the vibrator and one of the cleaning wipes out of the drawer. Should she be so worked up from that conversation? Probably not. But she was, and damn if she was going to waste the opportunity to indulge in a harmless, dirty little fantasy that included her ex-lover/best friend and his lover.

She finally fell asleep two orgasms later.

Stephen texted her the following morning.

Sharon is doing fine, according to Peter. BTW, how many times after we hung up?

Christine knew Stephen very well - knew his tells, his interests, and… certain proclivities he had. The downside to that was that in return, Stephen knew Christine very well.

Twice.

Disappointing.

Not for me, I felt great!

You’re welcome, then.

She snorted. He had such an ego. It was well-earned, not that she’d ever make the habit of telling him.

How many between the two of you?

Five.

She didn’t miss being in a relationship with Stephen - it had been two wildfires trying to out-burn the other when all was said and done. They were too similar, each too egotistical and controlling to ever get to a middle ground even though they’d tried and tried hard. So no, she didn’t miss it. But fuck, she missed the sex.

Peter was a lucky, lucky man.

And in an odd way, she was sort of proud of Stephen for finding and keeping a healthy relationship. Well, healthy for two superheroes, she supposed. In any other circumstance, she would have given him a significant initial side-eye for dating someone still in college. As it was, the two of them were ridiculously smitten with each other.

Good for Peter.

I’ll be visiting Kamar-Taj until Saturday morning. Have a good week.

Enjoy your cult meetings.

For all that she claimed to hate yoga, Christine attended hot yoga classes often. So long as she could focus on her breathing and stretching and ignore literally everyone else around her, she was fine. Thankfully, the instructor at the studio she used seemed to understand and kept a friendly distance as she guided the class through the chosen asanas. There was something freeing about losing herself in the heat and humidity, connecting with her body in a way as equally deep and meaningful as when she performed surgery. She could reluctantly admit that the practice made her a better surgeon.

Ninety minutes of stretching and sweating served her well. All her stress and worry, while not completely gone, was muted and her head felt somewhat straight. She rolled up her mat and pulled on a dry long-sleeve shirt so she wouldn’t freeze in shock stepping out of the studio into cooler air.

“Do you like yoga yet?” the instructor, Abhati, asked with a knowing smile.

“Nope,” Christine said, popping the ‘p’. “But damn if it doesn’t work.”

“You will come around eventually,” Abhati said. “It is only a matter of time.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” she teased. “Thank you for the class.”

“Of course. I wish you only good days until we meet again.”

Smiling, Christine shouldered her bag, tucked her mat under her arm, and left. It wasn’t quite noon; she had the rest of the day to look forward to. She could shower, hit up the local grocery store, maybe do some actual cooking. She didn’t exactly feel like taking the time to order another two weeks’ worth of delivered meals.

When she’d arrived back at her apartment building after the leisurely stroll from the studio, she greeted the doorman (“Hi, Walter!”) and went up to her floor. She hummed softly with the elevator music - unchanged in the seven years she’d lived there. When she stepped out of the elevator to go to her unit, she was met with a sight she definitely didn’t expect. She blinked, shook her head, blinked again, and then blurted out,

“Sharon! What are you doing here?”

_____

This chapter all but wrote itself so dang fast, I was amazed! Christine just seemed to have so many feelings that needed to come out.

[luulapants]

Steter prompt: "Did you honestly think that would work on me?" I'm imagining cheesy pick-up lines or failed seduction attempts, something along those lines, maybe? Dunno lol, it's just the first thing that came into my head 😂

I love this. My brain went a slightly different direction, but I think I still caught the spirit of it!

---

“Deputy,” the bartender greeted, tone stiff.

Stiles glanced down at himself and saw that his badge was still clipped to the front of his uniform shirt. He sighed, plucked it off, and tucked it into the front pocket. “I’m off-duty, Mike,” he assured the man, leaning his elbows on the bar.

Mike settled and stepped up to the opposite side. “Should I be worried that you’re coming here before you even go home from a shift?” he asked.

“Nah, worry not. I’ve got people coming over for the game tonight. Figured I’d pick up a few six packs on my way. You have that new lager canned yet?”

“As of yesterday.”

“Awesome. One of those, one of the IPA, one of the coffee stout.” Stiles shot him a grin. “We probably won’t need that much, but we’re up against the Saints tonight, so who knows.”

Mike disappeared into the back to get the cans, and Stiles let his tired eyes scan over the bar. It was a narrow place, hardly more than a covered-over alleyway with brick walls behind the aging wooden booths. This early in the evening, there weren’t too many patrons. A man and a woman in a booth that looked like they were on a first date. A couple of old-timer regulars sitting at the bar. In the far back corner, mostly hidden in shadow, a solitary man sat in a booth, his face turned away. The cut of his jaw and neck looked familiar, though. Stiles squinted at him. Then the man turned his head to the side, and rage immediately settled into his chest.

Stiles stormed over to the side of Peter’s booth. “No,” he said.

“Deputy Stilinski, what a pleasant surprise,” Peter replied coolly.

“No!” Stiles repeated. “Whatever you’re here for, I’m not having it. I have plans. Plans that do not involve –” He began counting items off on his fingers. “– finding dead bodies, fighting supernatural threats, foiling evil plans, or otherwise endangering myself and the citizens of this county.” He put his fists on his hips. “No. You get the hell out of my town.”

Peter rolled his eyes and took a long sip of what looked like whiskey. “I’m not up to anything, Stiles, and I don’t know why you would think I am.”

“Oh, so you haven’t been leaving a wake of destruction in your path as you road trip across America?” Stiles slid into the booth across from him. He saw Mike at the bar out of the corner of his eye. He signaled that he needed a moment, then turned back to Peter. “I’ve been keeping tabs on you, Peter. I may not know exactly what brand of fucked-up shit you’re into these days, but I know that Beacon Hills wants no part of it.”

A long beat of silence followed. Peter took another drink, then set the glass down. His voice was soft and somber when it came. “Believe it or not, I’m trying to put all of that behind me.” He lifted his eyes to meet Stiles’s. “I’m coming home,” he said, and there was a haunted quality to his expression.

Stiles frowned. “Put all of what behind you?” he asked, because he really didn’t have an accurate picture of how Peter had been involved in the incidents in Tucson and Kansas City, the ones that had left bodies behind.

“Everything, I guess,” Peter said with a shrug. “I don’t know. How does a man decide in what order to abandon his life?”

The weight of those words caught Stiles by surprise, and for a moment he didn’t know how to respond. “Why?” is what he settled on, finally. “Did something happen?”

Peter shook his head. “Not… not anything in particular, no. But I’m tired, Stiles. I’m tired of fighting, tired of that car, being cold and eating the same goddamn road food every day.”

Something about the way he said it set off an uncertainty in Stiles’s mind, like the faintest tickle of a memory that he couldn’t quite place. “I didn’t figure you would give up so easily,” Stiles commented.

“I’m old, Stiles,” Peter told him. “I know I don’t look it, but I'm beginning to feel it in my heart. I feel...” He paused, sighed, stared off in the distance. “...thin. Sort of stretched. Like butter scraped over too much bread.”

Stiles gaped at him.

“What?” Peter asked, frowning at his expression.

“Did you honestly think that would work on me?” Stiles demanded. “Dude, you just quoted Lord of the Rings. And I’m pretty sure the thing before was from The Matrix.”

Peter shifted uncomfortably, lifting his chin in a haughty expression. “So, I may have borrowed some sentiments – just some wording, really – from other sources. I’ve been living out of hotels, Stiles. I’ve been watching a lot of movies.”

“Un-fucking-believable,” Stiles muttered. He got up from the table. Jabbing a finger at Peter’s face, he warned, “If I get even a whiff of trouble from your direction, I will shoot your ass so full of wolfsbane, it’ll be smoking all the way to the state line, you got that?”

“That hurts my feelings,” Peter told him with a pout. “I thought we were closer than that.”

Stiles laughed and shook his head. “Oh, no. No. You and me?” He gestured between them rapidly. “That is so not happening again. Ever.”

Peter took a sip of his drink, murmuring, “We’ll see,” into the glass.

Scowling, Stiles headed back to the bar for his beer.

“Never nice running into an ex,” Mike commented as Stiles handed over his credit card.

“Shut up, Mike.”

[attolianarchives]

I know this is an attolian blog, but as someone who has difficulty reading these days save for binge rereading the queen's thief, do you folks have any other favorite books you could recommend me?

HELL YEAH 

The Goblin Emperor by Katherine Addison 

A Noelle and Caitlin combo rec. Absolute banger of a book. Politics, goblins, elves, more politics, worldbuilding, very fancy outfits, airships, and even more politics, plus a protagonist you just want to hug. 

For real-life palace scheming that’s also fun to read, Caitlin recommends the memoirs of the Duc de Saint Simon, which are available free on Project Gutenberg in both French and English. 

The man is honest to god hilarious, 400 years later. It literally feels like reading a gossip magazine but in fancy language about nobles and it was REAL. Incredible. - Caitlin

The Killing Moon and The Shadowed Sun by NK Jemisin, which have been published as one volume under the title The Dreamblood Duology

In a sort of ancient Egypt-y world, magical parkour assassin priests experience a feeling best described as “gay anguish” while unraveling a terrible conspiracy. Intellectually and emotionally high-octane in classic Jemisin fashion. - Noelle

Crown Duel by Sherwood Smith

A dumbass pure of heart naive countess tries to get into politics. - Caitlin

The Raven Tower by Anne Leckie 

A fantasy novel from the author of the top notch Imperial Radch space operas. Gods, murder, politics, second-person narration that actually works, and a trans protagonist who doesn’t make you think, “ugh, a cis person definitely wrote this.” - Noelle

Also:

Noelle says if you haven’t read the Earthsea books by Ursula K Le Guin, it is never a bad time to read Earthsea. Caitlin says Tamora Pierce’s The Will of the Empress is worth a look. 

If you’re interested in Byzantines and Ottomans etc and want some nonfiction, The Silk Roads by Peter Frankopan is awesome. 

There are also Megan Whalen Turner’s influences to check out, most notably  The Eagle of the Ninth by Rosemary Sutcliff.