#and citations i may do tomorrow morning

[moonlightpirate]

Anyone have spare motivation to give me so I can finish this essay?

[smartkookiee]

Wounds We Never Show // Prologue: Before It All —jjk.

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❥pairing: Jungkook x reader

❥genre/rating: 18 + explicit content, enemies to lovers, enemies to friends to lovers, these two really do hate each other

❥chapter warnings: Fighting (verbal), swearing, mutual hate

❥word-count: 2.4k

❥Series Masterlist ❥ || Next Chapter

fic is cross posted to ao3 - send an ask or comment on post to be added to the tag list 🖤

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Your final together was tomorrow, after a month of painfully hard work it would finally be over. Except you hadn’t heard from Jungkook  this week at all. From what you can tell he seemed to finish all of his portion of the work. You on the other hand, due to some finals, were a little behind but you had no doubts that you would be able to catch up. 

Not hearing from Jungkook did have you somewhat concerned. 

You both were normal last week but this week radio silence. You had texted him just keeping him updated on the progress of your work. You choked it up to him probably being swamped with his own work, and his own projects for other classes. So you tried not too worry. 

You sent one more text, anxiety rising with each passing minute.

:hey sorry to text you again. I’m just checking in! I should be able to finish in the next hour or two, so don’t worry.

:we are going to kill this presentation in the morning.

May have been a touch late to texting someone, it was 1:30 in the morning. You didn’t care though, he had texted you at like two in the morning before. So, you figured he’d forgive you.

But the second you sent the text.

The lights and your laptop had switched off. You sat in completely darkness. Suddenly the emergency lights shown by your door. You turned on your flashlight. Your laptop was old so your power being out means that you don’t have a laptop to work on. You made your way to the hall where some others had gathered. Asking what had happened.

Your RA eventually came up to your floor and told everyone not to worry, they were going to have the power on soon and to stay in our rooms for now. That we would get some text updates. You decided to not panic yet, soon after you did get a text saying that their was a an on campus outage and the problem would be resolved soon.

“Seriously?” you muttered, going back into your room. You texted Jungkook again.

:hey sorry I swear this is the last one, power in my dorm is out.

:and you know how my laptop is, so I have to wait until the power comes back.

:still going to kill it tomorrow!

Forty-five agonizing minutes later, the power finally returned. You rushed back to your laptop, praying everything was still there. But when you opened your document, it was blank. Completely empty.

“No,” you whispered, frantically searching for any backup.

Your entire month of work was gone. You tried finding a previous version, but there was nothing. Not on your hard drive, not in your email, not even a single backup copy. Every word, every citation, every carefully crafted paragraph—vanished. Except... Jungkook might have a copy.

You grabbed your phone and called him, your fingers trembling. Voicemail. You called again, and it rang once before going straight to voicemail again.

“Jungkook, pick up. Something happened. I need you to call me back.”

Panic set in as you scoured every corner of your computer. Desperate, you even checked old drafts and random notes on your phone, but there was nothing. Your heart sank. You called Jungkook two more times, but there was still no answer.

You were going to have to start over.

You knew the material—you’d been working on it every day for a month—but rewriting it from memory was going to be a nightmare. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself, and started typing. Every minute felt like an hour, but you pushed through. Tiredness clawed at you, and your eyes stung from the screen’s glare, but there was no other option.

Five hours later, you finally finished. The paper was nowhere near perfect, but it was something. A B, maybe a C at best, but it was better than nothing. Exhaustion overtook you the second you hit save, and you collapsed into bed.

It felt like only a second had passed when your eyes snapped open. You scrambled for your phone, the panic setting in again.

10:05 AM.

Ten missed texts and three missed calls from Jungkook.

“No!” You leapt out of bed, pulling on the first clothes you found, emailing the paper to yourself while sprinting out the door. You raced across campus, nearly tripping as you weaved through students, your breath burning in your lungs. By the time you reached the classroom, the hallway was filled with students leaving.

You pushed through the door, your hair a mess, sweat dripping down your forehead.

“Shit, no, no, please.” You spotted your professor leaving and tried to push your way forward, only to be blocked by Jungkook.

“Look who finally decided to show up,” he sneered as you stumbled in, breathless and disheveled.

“Jungkook--” you began, but he cut you off.

“Where the hell have you been? Why weren’t you here?” His voice was icy, and he took a menacing step toward you, making you step back.

“I—I fell asleep!” You stammered, tears welling up. Your exhaustion was really hitting you, and you couldn’t hold them in, “Did you see my texts? My calls? My voicemails?”

“Texts and calls don’t mean shit if you’re not here!” he snapped. “You’re acting like you care, but you clearly don’t. You’ve been flaky this entire time.”

“Jungkook, that’s not fair—”

“Not fair?” he cut in, voice rising. “Maybe you did this on purpose! Maybe you’ve been plotting to screw me over!”

The accusation hit hard. “Are you seriously accusing me of sabotaging you? I’ve worked my ass off for this project!”

Jungkook’s eyes were cold. “And where were you when it mattered? You think your excuses are enough? Friends don’t disappear.”

The recent reconciliation between the both of you now dissolving on the ground between the both of you. You both had taken huge strides to become friends despite your resistance.

“Friends don’t accuse each other of being petty schemers!” you shot back, the anger surging. “I’ve been working all night to fix this, and you’re just throwing all my effort back in my face!”

“Maybe I’m tired of your games,” Jungkook retorted, his voice dripping with contempt. “Maybe David was right about you. Maybe he was right that this is something you do.”

David, your ex-boyfriend. Who had manipulated so many people into believing that you were crazy, when he had cheated on you multiple times. What hurt worse? Jungkook knew all of this, knew that David was an asshole. Knew that David was an awful person who lied every time he spoke.

Now he was throwing it in your face, what the hell was wrong with him?

The sting of his words was unbearable. “How dare you! I trusted you to be reasonable. You said you believed me when it came to what David said about me. How dare you throw that in my face! I came here ready to explain, ready to make things right. But you’re too busy being a jackass to listen.”

“I may be a jackass but at least I can be relied upon.” he said quietly, almost dismissively.

The words cut deeper than any knife. “You know what? I don’t need to defend myself to someone who’s already made up their mind. You’re not worth the effort, since you are so quick to blame others. You’re just like David after all.”

You turned away, feeling tears spill down your face. You walked away, not looking back. You had to save your grades, even if it meant cutting ties with Jungkook for good. Didn’t really matter, you two didn’t know each other that well anyways.

You found your professor, explained everything through your tears, and showed him the evidence. He listened, though his sympathy couldn’t override the rules. He allowed you to submit your rewritten paper but couldn’t let you do the presentation. He promised to grade fairly but couldn’t guarantee a good mark.

You received a D. It was lower than you hoped but enough to pass. Jungkook, however, failed, delaying his graduation.

You felt a grim satisfaction, but the bitterness lingered. The loss of the friendship gnawed at you, even if you hated him. You’d never see him again, and you were more than okay with that.

That was five years ago now.

The memory lingered as fresh and raw as ever. You had moved on, grown, and carved out a space where Jungkook’s existence didn’t matter. That was until you became friends with Melanie, who in every sense of the word was your best friend. Though, because fate is a funny thing, she fell in love with Namjoon. Namjoon’s closest friend was none other than Jungkook.

That relationship kept you and Jungkook in each other's lives for longer than either of you had cared for.

Forcing the two of you back into each other’s orbit. That also meant facing Jungkook repeatedly, each time resulting in fights so venomous you wondered how Melanie and Namjoon put up with it. So many clashes over so many years, so many attempts by mutual friends proved futile in bringing the both of you together. Eventually, everyone gave up and just made sure to never have the two of you in a room together.

Now with Namjoon and Melanie’s engagement, a wedding loomed around the corner.

You leaned against the kitchen counter, mind still reeling from the past. The fallout from that final class had changed everything. Every time you saw Jungkook since then, it was an instant—words turned to daggers, and every conversation became a battlefield. Neither of you ever backed down; pride kept you both locked in a bitter stalemate.

“Just a heads-up,” Melanie said, breaking you out of your thoughts. She hesitated, eyes flicking away as if bracing for impact. “I know how you two feel about each other, but he’s Namjoon’s best friend.”

You knew what was coming, but you still grimaced. “Don’t tell me.”

Melanie sighed. “Jungkook is his best man.”

You clenched your jaw, the anger bubbling up instantly. You had known this was inevitable, but it didn’t make it any easier to hear. “Of course, he is.”

Melanie’s living room felt unusually tense, the soft glow of the evening sun doing little to warm the atmosphere. Melanie had always been the bridge between you and Jungkook—constantly trying to keep the peace, but it was becoming increasingly clear that this time was different. You couldn’t just show up, exchange a few biting remarks with Jungkook, and call it a day. This was her wedding. This was the culmination of everything she’d dreamed of, and she deserved your best effort.

Melanie took a deep breath, her stern expression softening just slightly. “I know it’s a big ask, and I wouldn’t push it if I didn’t have to. But Namjoon and Jungkook—they’ve been through so much together. He’s not just a friend to Namjoon; he’s like a brother. And I need you both to make this work.”

You nodded, feeling the weight of her words. Melanie was trying to keep the peace, but the sadness in her eyes was unmistakable. She had seen you and Jungkook tear each other down time and again. Seeing the tears you shed over the times he would hit the nail on the head, and say something that went too far. Held you back from starting a physical altercation with him.

Each encounter was more bitter than the last, and every argument chipped away at the thin veneer of civility you both clung to.

“I promise,” you said, your voice steady despite the resentment simmering underneath. “I’ll be on my best behavior.”

Melanie’s lips twitched into a small smile, but her eyes remained cautious. “Thank you. And I mean it, no half-hearted attempts. I need rainbows and kindness coming out of both of your asses.”

You laughed despite yourself, appreciating the way Melanie could still inject humor into even the most awkward of situations. “Got it. Rainbows and kindness. I’ll bring a whole damn unicorn if that’s what it takes.”

“Good, I don’t know what I would do if we had another new years situation.” Although it was years ago, that was probably the worst fight you and Jungkook had. The things that were said and the drink you dumped on him are very present in your mind. Made you laugh to yourself even but it definitely caused a bot of an issues in your group.

You shook your head, feeling a familiar pang of bitterness. “Yeah that was a really low moment for me. I think because of that things between us will never change. He’s still that same arrogant jerk who can’t own up to his mistakes. And I’m done pretending I care enough to fix anything.”

“People change,” she said softly, it was something she tried to convince you of many times. “But I get it. You don’t have to be friends—you just have to coexist.”

“That, I can do,” you said firmly. “I’m not going to let him ruin this for you.”

“Thank you,” Melanie said, squeezing your hand. “I’m so happy you accepted the role. I couldn’t imagine my wedding without you there.”

“For you? Anything,” you replied, your resolve hardening. You would hold onto your promise to Melanie, no matter how much Jungkook got under your skin. This wedding was about Namjoon and Melanie, not you and whatever animosity you harbored toward Jungkook.

The room lapsed into a comfortable silence, but your mind was racing, already plotting ways to avoid Jungkook’s inevitable provocations. You pictured the rehearsal dinner, the ceremony, the reception—any scenario where the two of you would be forced to interact. You would keep your distance, smile politely, and not engage. If Jungkook’s presence was like a storm cloud threatening to ruin the day, you would be calm. You owed Melanie that much.

“When the wedding rolls around, I’ll keep up appearances and be civil and kind,” you said, trying to reassure not just Melanie, but yourself. “Jungkook might be the spawn of Satan, but as long as I don’t speak to him directly, everything will go perfectly.”

No amount of promises could erase the deep-seated anger you felt every time you saw his face. This time, though, you would have to bury it, if only for a weekend. You would smile through gritted teeth, hold your tongue when he inevitably said something infuriating, and pretend you were above it all.

You had months to prep yourself though. Plenty of time to make sure that nothing Jungkook could do could piss you off.

Nothing that weekend will surprise you.

[nowoyas]

AO3 WHAT DO YOU MEAN I'M CAUGHT UP ON KOI NO YOKAN?!? Whelp I guess I binged all that in a single day...oops 😬

Also you may have several long winded comments waiting for you 😬😬😬

FUZZ I WAS READING YM EMAILS IN DOWNTIME AT WORK WITH THE STUPIDEST SMILE HOLY SHIT THANK YOU!! I will respond to the comments individually skjdfhsdjkh but DW MORE TOMORROW MORNING (and it's the chapter with like four academic citations lmao oops) AND THANK YOU FOR POINTING OUT THE BROKEN FOOTNOTE IT IS FIXED AND THE PARAGRAPH IT WAS ATTACHED TO HAS BEEN RESTORED

[bitchineering]

Lets go! Day 1: Let’s learn HOW the frick to study

So this I think is the most important thing to do and really it is insane that in the United States (which is where I am from by the way) students have no idea on how to freaking study. Honestly all of this gets me incredibly frustrated because with the internet we have the ability to share information and I’ll tell you that I am one of those people who have scavenged the internet and picked apart what I could find. Here’s another big problem: not everything someone does will work for you. 

Also just the spread of dumb study information is pretty terrible. If I do counter anything I will leave a paper or my citation just because I believe in putting down sources and showing others how to research and why citing is freakin important. 

Let’s get started: I’m going to summarize everything that will be in here for a second

1. Find your method of studying, find out everything. AND I MEAN EVERYTHING. You need to write down how you study (the different types of study people) but also the classes because people study sciences different than humanities. 

2. Find out your most productive state. If this means it is you at 2 am in a suit and jacket than that means you need to leave procrastination station and be studying during that time. Now I am not totally okay with people studying in a suit for one it is uncomfortable, I think a jeans and a clean tshirt is just as good. If you can be productive in sweatpants or pjs then go for it. I know I am not and it doesn’t work when I dress for relaxation.

Okay, I’ll be going into more in depth of mainly the first one but a bit of the second.

To start off the bat, if you have time watch this lecture https://youtu.be/IlU-zDU6aQ0 by Marty Lobdell. You have probably heard the saying before and one thing that makes me so frustrated within the study community is that others use this statment without giving any real examples. I feel like Lobdell does this as well as he doesn’t describe note taking and I do believe before putting down a material, you have to take notes. (All he mentions is handwriting notes and I do believe in that. You cannot really type notes and expect to learn the material). 

Another source I would suggest is the Vark Quiz (https://vark-learn.com/the-vark-questionnaire/) Learn what type you are (I’m a Kinesthetic!) and read what they give you. I’m not going to say you will perfectly match with your description but if you are starting from ground zero, this is an amazing place to see what might work for you instead of you having to come up with different technques on your own. 

I get so annoyed when people use the pomodoro method as a way to study. It is not a way to study. It is a way to schedule your study time. Also, I don’t think you can do much in 25 minutes or maybe it is just me. Usually I work for an hour or 50 minutes and then take a ten minute break. All you need to do is find out what works for you. 

Okay let’s get into classes, first there is an amazing youtuber named Nathan Wu who made this video (https://youtu.be/pdAt8JhBnMU and there is a part 2 but I’ll let you guys find it). He is a very good study youtuber that I do like to watch sometimes and I do appriciate that he is spreading correct information. I can give you guys an example of what worked for me in some of my classes (I also just wanna say I won’t be putting my grades on here nor anything really. I don’t feel comfortable being compared to others because I already have to deal with it at my own institution and peers. Please don’t compare yourself to others).

Chemistry (Wu also does include this subject in his video):

- Write notes and explanations for the love of god. Like please just write notes. 

- Also apply those notes. If you are confused in one area ask someone for help whether that be your teacher or someone else. 

-I would say to use flashcards, but I’m honestly a big quizlet user (I haven’t used Anki I’m a little weird and I get so annoyed when I use something that is popular. I sadly give off the “i’m not like other girls vibe”). When I use quizlet every time I get an answer wrong I write down the definition. I can explain this more because you can do this with notecards as well and probably Anki but I like the mobility of quizlet. 

-Labs... I do like doing some labs. I miss my older ones from Honors Chemistry, I barely do good labs in AP Chemistry, but at the same time you have to do them. This could be for any science class because knowing how to apply your information is the best way to test your knowledge that isn’t practice questions (If you need labs look up a virtual simulation. While it isn’t the same thing they are usually free and if not you can find some on youtube).

- Practice problems (this more or less goes with your grading point instead of studying. While I do believe the overall goal in studying is that you understand and can apply the topic tests are so different in many things). As stated before I have taken Honors Chemistry, so I used test prep from my teacher and was able to form questions similar to how she asked them on the quiz. In AP Chemistry I’ve been able to use the online resources from other teachers and AP Classroom. I will say AP Chemistry it is much harder to write my own questions because AP Chemistry is just really hard in general, but finding FRQ practices I believe is one of the best ways you can work on it (Honestly it may be just me but doing FRQs or written essays for answers is so much better than multiple choice because this allows you to practice giving explanations and learning where your gap of knowledge is).

Another study technique I like to do is called the Feynmann technique. This is such a great way to apply knowledge without doing test prep because you need to essentially master your subject before test prep. This method includes creating a study plan for someone else, you need to teach someone else (or something else) what you’re learning and have them ask questions. Know I know this doesn’t really work well for some people including myself because I don’t really have others to talk to when I study but talk to yourself. (sometimes I talk to a ghost or a plushie in my room. I have little trinkets on my desk of which a tiger egg and a Chick Fil A cow plushie wearing a sunflower dress. Just try it, it might seem weird but you got to). If you can’t have others ask you questions say everything you can remember (and maybe do this on a google doc with the voice chat box open, I would say record yourself but I hate hearing my own recordings). Then, once you have finished look through your notes and see what you got correct and what you got wrong. If you did use a google docs then write what you meant to say like: “I said this... but this was incorrect because of this...”

For study schedule or something related to studying I would say watch these videos: https://youtu.be/-m2Ua5Y0mzc and https://youtu.be/OYuhkaOPKcM. Both are by youtubers who I do like to watch and follow what they do. I would say to look through Alicia’s youtube a bit more if you like electronic organization AND the true studyblr (girl can do beautiful calligraphy). I believe I align more with Keo Tsang, who studies later at night rather than earlier than the morning. Tsang does get more hours of sleep than me (haha). If you are in high school please don’t do what he does though. I try to go to bed by midnight because then I’ll get six hours of sleep, and I can sleep on the bus (it takes me an hour to get to school). I also have a free first period where I can sleep if I need to or catch up on work from last night if I didn’t do it. I do like to work when there is sunlight but also coming home from school and taking a detox or a break is so much better for my mental health. I know it will be different when in university but I’d just say this to any high school student, please do a mental detox. Don’t go on social media and scroll endlessly maybe listen to some music, read a book, take a walk/run, my sister would bake after a long stressful day and her food- while not the best- got her in a good mood. 

I think this is all I’ll write today. I still need to do so much work myself haha but I am a big procrastinator and also I did have a break down a little while ago. Just know you are worth everything and in the end, every problem is going to have some type of solution even if there is no solution. Your life doesn’t need to be answered today or tomorrow so let’s work on becoming better students one step at a time :)

[187days]

Day Seventeen

One of my seniors came in this morning with lipstick kiss marks all over his face. Why? How? No idea. I don’t ask these things. 

I just got on with the teaching, which went very well! I had students in groups again- slightly bigger ones today (4-6 students as opposed to 3-4)- in order to read and discuss Brutus 1. After they’d talked about the text in small groups, we talked as a whole class, and were able to go point by point through the Anti-Federalist argument against the ratification of the Constitution. A few students observed that, even though the Anti-Federalists lose the ratification debate, a lot of the points in Brutus 1 are valid and still relevant. 

Spoilers for future classes, kids.

Their homework is to tackle Federalist 10 (and tomorrow’s classwork will be Federalist 51). I told them it’s the most reading I’ll ever assign in one week, and that Fed. 10 is probably the toughest single piece, so if they can handle this, they can handle pretty much anything else I throw at them.  

And, speaking of throwing things at students, I threw a content quiz at my ninth graders. I mean that metaphorically, but one of them folded his into a paper airplane and literally threw it back at me with the joking request that I give him credit “for the invention” instead of actually making him, y’know, answer the quiz questions. That was amusing. 

Content quizzes are something I used to do and decided to start doing again. At the start of the unit, I give out a guide with the big questions on it (ie- what are examples of aspects of culture, how are cultures influenced by their geography/environment); the quiz is those same questions. Students can refer back to any of their notes, handouts, assignments- but not to their electronic devices- for their answers. That’s it. So today a few valuable lessons were learned about studying and organization, and I think a few students may ask to do retakes, but no one did abysmally bad or anything. 

After the quiz, I introduced the first major project: to research any culture in the word, and create a multimedia presentation describing 3-5 (depending on level) of its characteristics, and cite all sources in MLA format. Culture Projects are a chance for students to study a high-interest topic and demonstrate the research, writing, and citation skills they’ve been practicing. And, ultimately, what I’m going to do after they’ve finished their projects is prove a claim I made today: all cultures can be impacted by current issues, and/or respond to current issues and make changes. This is the big, final point for the unit.

Did students in my Block 3 class pause their project work to ask a handful of random questions (”Miss M, is it against the law to name your kid certain things?”) Yes, yes, they did. It’s all good, though.

Ms. A came by during lunch to vent a bit because a student had blown up at her- like, 0 to 100, had to be escorted out by another teacher- so I listened and tried to give some advice. But, as we were talking, Dean 1 came in because he was looking for her; he wanted to assure her that the student was being dealt with quickly, and that the process isn’t just going to be a suspension with no follow up. The student has to write an apology, there’s going to be a meeting (or multiple meetings, if need be) about how to re-enter Ms. A’s class and avoid repeating this behavior. Ms. A and I both said we really liked that process, and the speed with which it’s happening (being understaffed last year dragged discipline down), and I liked that Dean 1 also told her that he knows she’s doing her best, and what happened isn’t on her; she didn’t “drag those words out of the student’s mouth,” as he said. She’s only a second-year, so it’s important that she hears that. 

If this is how he’s going to be, then I like Dean 1′s style.

[olivemac]

heartbeat | chapter seven | b.b.

Summary | When Steve Rogers asks Kate Stark to find the Winter Soldier, she gets too involved.

Notes | Captain America: Civil War re-write, essentially. Starts just after the events of CA: Winter Soldier.

Pairing | Bucky Barnes x fem!oc, Bucky Barnes x Stark!oc

Genre | romance

Rating | explicit

Story Warnings | mild angst, fluff, romance tropes, so many romance tropes, coarse language, alcohol use, canon-typical violence, smut (m/f), oral sex (f&m receiving), 18+ ONLY

Chapter Warnings | mild angst, coarse language, oral sex (m receiving), smut (m/f), 18+ ONLY

Citation | Russo, J., & Russo, A. (2016). Captain America: Civil War. Walt Disney Studios Motion Pictures.

A/N #1: The end is here. Let me know what you think. I'm considering continuing this through TFATWS, but we'll see what time allows.

A/N #2: Very, very minor spoiler (reference) for TFATWS episode 4.

master list | AO3 link

_____

prev chapter

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T'Challa contacts Steve to tell him of Zemo's arrest and to offer refuge in Wakanda for a while.

"He also says they may be able to remove the Winter Soldier programming from your head, Buck," Steve tells Bucky and Kate.

Bucky looks almost hopeful, if not a little uncertain. Kate reaches over and takes his hand in her own, squeezing it lightly. It's the first real interaction they've had since she cleaned his wounds when they boarded the Quinjet, and, as much as he hates to admit it, her touch makes his heart flutter. He just wishes she'd talk to him, tell him what she's thinking. Instead, she drops his hand and makes herself busy cleaning up medical supplies.

Steve sets the coordinates for Wakanda, and Kate keeps her distance from Bucky for the rest of the flight.

_____

Wakanda is more beautiful than Kate, Bucky, or Steve ever could have imagined. T'Challa greets them as they descend the Quinjet ramp and leads them into the palace.

"Tonight, you will eat and rest, and tomorrow we will see what we can do for your friend," T'Challa says, clapping Steve on the shoulder.

_____

When Kate emerges from the shower, there are clean clothes and a plate of food in the room she's been given. She changes and eats, and then lays on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, trying not to think about Tony hitting her with that stunning blast. She struggles to block out the ache in her chest that forms when she remembers the mixture of rage and grief on his face, but soon hot tears are rolling down her cheeks. She lays there for a while, crying until she’s sure she doesn’t have any tears left.

She can't remember the last time she felt so unmoored. For the last two years, her almost sole focus has been Bucky. First, finding him. Then...she shakes her head, loving him.What a fucking cliche, she thinks, falling in love with the ex-assassin who killed her parents. But she can't help that being away from him hurts more than the knowledge that he was there that night in December because she knows it wasn't him, it wasn't Bucky. HYDRA took everything from her. He was just the weapon they used.

Kate wipes her face and gets to her feet. Without another thought, she's in the hallway and knocking on Bucky's door. The urge to see him is overwhelming.

When Bucky opens the door, Kate's on him before he can fully process that she’s there, her arms around his neck and her lips on his. It takes a moment for the shock to wear off, but then he’s kissing her back, pulling her into him with his one good arm and letting the door close behind them.

Kate’s hands are hot on his chest, pushing his borrowed undershirt up until he pulls it over his head and tosses it aside. She does the same with her own tank. When her shirt is off, she moves to kiss him again, but Bucky takes her chin in his hand and looks into her eyes. Her pupils are blown wide, and her heartbeat is frantic. Kate's ferocious in her need for him, and it makes his heart swell with pride.

He drops his hand from her face and hooks his arm around her waist, pulling her flush against him again and kissing her soundly. Kate's fingers tug at the waistband of his sweatpants, and Bucky pushes them down his legs, along with his boxers, before helping her out of her own pants and underwear. She sinks to her knees in front of him and places a trail of kisses across his right hipbone, then the left. She moves her lips hotly across the thick shaft of his cock and runs her tongue over the vein that stretches from base to tip.

When Kate takes him fully into her mouth, Bucky lets out a groan so deep he thinks he can feel it reverberating in his toes. She works her mouth over him a few times before Bucky's hand caresses her cheek and guides her off his cock with a slick pop. He pulls Kate to her feet and kisses her, his tongue sweeping into her mouth. They stumble to the bed, and Bucky lets himself fall backward, bringing Kate with him. She slides down the length of his cock so slowly he thinks he might combust, and when she sets a brutal pace, her thighs squeezing against his hips, Bucky's toes curl, and he has to take deep breaths to stop himself from coming too soon.

Watching Kate over him like this, watching her breasts bounce with each of his upward thrusts and her fingers dance over the place where they're joined, Bucky thinks this is the closest thing to salvation he might ever have. She comes quickly, clenching around him and falling forward onto his chest. Kate places a series of kisses across his scarred left shoulder. The Wakandan medical team removed what was left of the damaged arm and sealed his shoulder with a cap. But Bucky isn't thinking of his lost arm right now; he's only thinking of the fire in his belly that is catching, spreading down his legs and up his chest as he keeps rutting up into Kate's body. She pushes herself up again, leaning her hands on his chest and works him through his own pleasure.

Bucky comes with a roar and clasps Kate's body against his own. She presses wet kisses against his neck as they both catch their breaths, and when she lifts her head to look him in the eye, she's smiling brightly.

"Hi," she whispers.

"Hi," he returns.

She kisses him again, slowly this time.

"I love you," she says, her fingers grazing his stubbled cheek.

"I love you, too," he replies, "and God, Kate, I'm so sorry."

She watches him for a moment, her eyes moving over his face, before she says, "I know," and kisses him once more.

They settle across the pillows in the bed, Bucky on his back and Kate resting her head on his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath her palm.

"I spoke to Shuri earlier," she tells him. "She seems optimistic that she can remove the Winter Soldier programming. But it might take some time. She suggested you go back into cryo while she studies your brain scans."

Bucky is quiet for a moment, then says, "I spent seventy years in and out of cryo, what's a few more?"

"I'll be here when you wake up," Kate tells him. "Whenever you're ready to see me."

"You sure, doll?" Bucky asks, looking at her, trying to find any apprehension in her eyes. He's giving her an out, a chance to walk away, but she won't take it.

"Always," Kate says, smiling. "I told you I love you, Bucky, just you. And whatever happened while you were the Winter Soldier, that's in the past. Zemo wanted to tear the Avengers apart with that tape, and he might have succeeded. Steve lost half the team, I've lost Tony, but...” she pauses, “I don't want to lose you."

“You won’t,” he promises, and he kisses the top of her head before they both fall asleep.

He wakes her up in the middle of the night to make love to her twice more because he can't believe she's here, in his arms, after everything, and he isn't sure what tomorrow will bring.

_____

The next morning Steve greets him in the hallway outside their rooms, and Bucky nearly chokes when Steve claps him on the shoulder and whispers conspiratorially, “Sounded like Kate forgave you last night.”

“Watch it, punk,” Bucky says, elbowing him in the ribs.

“Just like old times. James Bucky Barnes gets the girl,” Steve laughs.

Bucky rolls his eyes, but secretly he likes that Steve still sees some of the pre-HYDRA Bucky in him.

Kate is already in the lab when they arrive, laughing with Shuri about something. She smiles at them both and takes Bucky’s hand in her own while Shuri goes over her plan for deprogramming.

When everything is prepped, Steve asks Bucky, "You sure about this?"

Bucky smiles softly. "I can't trust my own mind," he says. "So, until they figure out how to get this stuff out of my head, I think going back under is the best thing...for everybody."

As the cryo chamber fills, Bucky focuses on the sound of Kate’s heartbeat just a few feet away. He wants that to be the last thing he hears before he goes to sleep and the first thing he remembers when he wakes up.

_____

Once Bucky is in cryo and they've thanked T'Challa and Shuri, Kate follows Steve to the Quinjet.

"You're going to get the rest of the team out, aren't you?" Kate asks, looking at Steve.

"I am," he says.

"You'll probably need someone who can hack into the prison security system," Kate tells him.

"I probably will," Steve says, smiling.

_____

Ten months pass quickly when you spend most of that time frozen. For Bucky, the haze of cryo is punctuated by brief stints of lucidness, followed by Shuri plucking the remnants of HYDRA from his brain. Wake up, remove some programming, back in cryo.

“It’s a gradual process,” Shuri explains.

When Ayo takes him to the woods and repeats the words to him – the words that controlled so much of his life – Bucky tries to remember the sound of Kate's heartbeat and the feel of her hand in his.

One morning, after he's completely freed from HYDRA, Shuri greets him as she always does, "Good morning, Sergeant Barnes."

"Bucky," he tells her again.

Shuri smiles. This routine has been going on for two weeks now, but Bucky likes it, likes the familiarity of it all, the sense of calm it gives him.

"There's someone here to see you," Shuri says, nodding over her shoulder.

Bucky turns to see Kate standing in the light of the early morning sun, looking as beautiful as he remembers.

"Hey, soldier," she says, smiling at him.

"Kate," he breathes. He takes three long strides to her and wraps his right arm around her tightly, lifting her off the ground. She gasps and laughs, and when he puts her down again, she kisses him deeply, letting him sweep his tongue into her mouth, her hands cupping his face gently.

When he pulls away from her, he keeps his arm wrapped around her and her body pressed against his so he can feel her heartbeat next to his own, where it belongs.

_____

Fin.

_____

Lost Scene: The Club

[percywinchester27]

A lot like ‘Us’ (Part-10)

Word count: 5.2K

Pairing: Sam X Reader AU

Warnings: Implied smut, fluff :)

Series Summary: Y/N Y/L/N is eager and honestly, still in awe that she managed to get herself an acceptance from Stanford Law School. On the face of it, her life seems as put together, mysterious and independent as one might hope for. On the insides, she carries the burden of past that haunts her till date. Seemingly, she’d left it all behind; that is until she sets foot in the class of the Law School’s youngest, most promising professor.

A/N: No angst again! And good stuff. I am being very nice these days ;)

The story employs two different timelines. The present timeline for the story takes place in 2014. Please let me know what you guys think :)

Beta: @deanssweetheart23​. Athina, you’re a goddess <3

A lot like ‘Us’ masterlist

10th September 2008

You woke up to something soft tickling your face, almost feather light and pleasant. Opening your eyes, you found Sam’s arms wrapped around you, nestling you in them. A glowing warmth spread through your body as you remembered last night, his lips on your skin, and the feel of his hot breath on your face. The way he had called out for you was enough to raise goosebumps on your skin now. And he’d said he loved you. Your heart thrummed in your chest at the memory.

Slowly, you removed his arm from over your body and slipped out of bed. You wanted to kiss him on his forehead or the point of his nose but Sam looked so peaceful you didn’t have the heart to wake him up. 

You pulled over the T-shirt and the boxers Sam had lent you last night and headed down to the kitchen. Maybe it hadn’t been the best idea to skip dinner after a morning of hangover because your stomach was churning weirdly. 

Would everything be different now? After last night. You felt like your heart would burst from all the love you were feeling. Without giving the task at hand much thought, you fried some eggs, toasted the bread and put the coffee pot on a boil, wondering what Sam had for breakfast. 

With an excitement that you had never felt before, you carried the tray laden with food upstairs, wondering how to wake Sam up. As it turned out, Sam was already sitting up, a confused expression on his face. The sheets were bunched around his waist and the sight of his naked torso made your face feel hot. When he saw you, his eyes lit up, a smile replacing the frown.

“Here you go,” you said, placing the tray before him and then joining him on the bed.

His eyes softened. “You didn’t need to,” he said, gesturing towards the food. “Not seeing you here, I was starting to worry that last night had been a dream.”

“Only the best dream of my life,” you muttered, pouring his coffee. “Black with half spoon sugar. Just like you have it.”

Sam was still stuck on your words. He took the cup from your hands and placed it back on the tray, then pulled you to him. “That’s just it. I didn’t want it to be a dream. Even if it was the best dream ever. All dreams, even the best ones end when you wake up. But with you… I don’t ever want this to end.”

You reached out and kissed him. At first he was surprised, then he leaned into it. Kissing Sam was like a breath of fresh air for your soul. If it was left to you, you would spend an obscene amount of time kissing him.

“This is one way to start the day,” he chuckled.

“Mhmmm…” you sighed, handing him the coffee and starting on the eggs. 

“Funny that Jo didn’t turn the place upside down looking for me,” you wondered idly. You should have told her where you were last night.

“I called her when you got here,” Sam said. “When er… when you were having a bath.”

Sam was always so thoughtful. Last night it hadn’t even occurred to you to let Jo know, about the acceptance or the fact that you were here, and you weren’t particularly proud of it. Absentmindedly, you scooted closer to Sam and like it was the most natural thing to do, he put his arm around you. The heat coming of his skin and his scent was so comforting, you all but melted against his side. A girl could get used to this.

“Hey,” Sam nudged you with his lips pressed in your hair. “You know that NC Central is only a seven hour drive from New York, right?”

Of course you knew that. It was a great school, but it was also on the East coast, where Sam would be. You nodded against his neck, lightly tracing the hard lines of his stomach. 

“I could drive over the weekends to see you.” There was hope in his voice.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” you smiled at the thought of it all. A new school, a new life with Sam in it. You thought of happy weekends and flinging yourself into his arms whenever you saw him. You pictured his wide smiles, and the joy in his eyes when he saw you. “I could hop on a bus on Friday night and be there in New York in the morning. You’d show me around, wouldn’t you? I’ve never been to such a big city.”

“You have no idea,” he said. “I’ve never wanted that job more than now. Hell, I’d throw myself into preparing for the bar, if it keeps us that close now.”

“Mhmm.” You huddled closer to him.

“What’re you thinking?”

“About how I’m going to afford this,” you said. “NC central isn’t that expensive, but it’s still a lot considering I have almost nothing to my name. I don’t want to sell off Gran’s house.”

“You want to make it into a bakery, I remember,” he said, gently, then added hesitantly. “Maybe I could-”

“No!” You sat up straight. “Absolutely not. I can’t ask this from you.” You hurried to explain, seeing the slightly hurt expression on his face. “This isn’t about you in any way. It’s very kind of you to offer, it really is. But I want to do this by myself. I’ll apply for a student’s loan. Like I said, the money isn’t an impossible sum. I just need a guarantor to vouch for me at the bank. I don’t want to ask aunt El cause I know she had some bank problems with the diner. She doesn’t trust them very much.”

Sam looked thoughtful.

“What’re you thinking?” You asked suspiciously. “Don’t think about volunteering.” 

His finger was drawing a pattern on your shoulder as he licked his lips. “You know I can’t. I don’t own any property myself. You should ask Dean, though.”

“Dean?” You looked up at him surprised. “Why would he?”

“Why wouldn’t he?” Sam countered. “He might not show it, but he does like you. You’re not asking him to pay for your college, you’re just asking him to be a guarantor. He has great credit, the bank won’t refuse that. It’s not like you’re going to dupe him. I know my brother. Trust me, he’ll be happy to help you.”

When you still looked surprised, Sam took hold of your hand and pressed it to his lips. “Don’t overthink this. You said you wanted to do this by yourself, so you bring it up with him. I promise I won’t say a word.”

“You’re awesome. You know that, right?”

He winked. “I don’t know about that. But I’m sure happy you think that!”

You removed the tray from the bed and placed it on the side table, then moved over to straddle Sam, hands placed on either side of his face. “Thank you for being so understanding.”

In a quick moment, Sam flipped you, so that you were lying on the bed with him hovering over you. He dipped down to kiss the hollow of your neck, then whisper against your skin. “The pleasure is all mine.”

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

“You know, if you keep bouncing on the balls of your feet like that,” Meg said drowsily from the table, where she sat flipping through a magazine, “I’m going to side with Kevin on this. You’re hiding something.”

You put your lunch in the bag, wondering just how to tell her. It wasn’t that you wanted to hide your history from your roommate. There was just so much of it, you had no idea where to start. For now, you just settled for, “There’s this professor. I thought he was mad at me. Turns out he isn’t.”

“Wow. It doesn’t take much to get you all chirpy.”

Just the feeling of six years worth of hell coming to an end.

“Ready to go?” You asked and Meg jumped down from the high stool.

“Yep.”

“Is this the same good looking professor?” She asked out the blue as you reached the campus gates.

“How do you know about the good looking professor?” You narrowed your eyes. You had mentioned Sam only to one person in the apartment.

Meg looked taken aback for a second, then said nonchalantly. “Cas told me.”

“You two are really close, aren’t you?” Try as you may, you couldn’t keep the sly tone out of your voice completely. 

Meg changed the topic smoothly, but not before you saw the faint blush on her cheeks.

Meg blushing? Speak of novelty.

She waved you a goodbye at the entrance of the law building, heading north to the Physics department. Wondering if anyone else in the apartment had noticed, you entered the class for your first lecture. 

Professor Mills was in a great mood today, and she encouraged a debate on whether Legal writing and its syntax should affect how seriously the core content of any litigation is treated. You firmly believed that poor syntax should in no way undermine the severity of any litigation, and made your points with citation. The opposite team consisting of Brad and everyone in Madison’s group tried to put up a strong fight, but you knew you had the moral high ground on that one. Maddy was smiling by the end of it, but the expression on the other’s faces ranged from disappointment to disgust.

Professor Mills mentioned you by your name at the end of the class, lauding you for your points. It was enough to give you the high of the day. You simply loved her.

As the college day neared its end, you were excited for Civil Procedures, excited to see Sam again. Maybe he wouldn’t ignore you now. Maybe he’d actually look at you and smile. Your eyes were eagerly glued to the door, waiting for him while everyone chattered in the background.  

It wasn’t Sam who came in. Instead, the TA Paul announced that the lecture has been cancelled for today and tomorrow. Professor Winchester would take double lectures in the following week to cover it up. 

“Well, dang it!” Meredith cursed. “After that horrible debate, I was looking forward to seeing that chiseled face.”

“You aren’t the only one who’s disappointed,” Lacey said slyly. “Y/N looks like someone kicked her puppy.”

You schooled your expressions immediately. 

Madison rolled her eyes. “Everyone was looking forward to it. Maybe he has something important. Remember he ditched Thursday, Friday on our first week, too.”

“Maybe he’s just playing hooky with his girlfriend,” Rebecca shrugged. You had a maddening urge to slap her. It wasn’t fair to direct all your anger at her; you knew that. However, listening to her words, evaporated the high you had been feeling completely.

How naive of you to think that one small conversation could make everything okay. Maybe he went back home and changed his mind, had seen that the exchange was a lapse in his judgement. Your stomach dropped at that thought. Why did he have to show you a moment of softness, if he was just going to take it all away? It would have been better then, had he continued to ignore your existence. You had been making your peace with it. You didn’t think you had it in you to take one more hit after feeling hope, at last.

Morosely, you started picking up your things.

“Y/N. Don’t forget about the party, tomorrow.”

Madison was looking at you with wide eyes.

You opened your mouth to make up a reason. She cut you off-

“Look, I checked your schedule. You’re not working this weekend. This is your last working day for the week. I’ve made all the reservations and counted you in.”

“Maddie-”

Her brow furrowed. “You’re not going to stand me up, are you? The drinks are on me.”

Looking at her, you just couldn't say no. 

“I was gonna say that I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

“Yay!” She shot out of her chair and flung her arms around you. Surprised, you put your hand against her back. 

“Told you she’d come,” Madison told her friends. Lacey gave you a smile, Meredith looked disinterested and Rebecca had her back turned to you completely. That summed it up accurately. For the umpteeth time you wondered how their group functioned at all.

Brad, who had been lingering at the table with his guy friends, gave you a smirk.

“Miss Y/L/N finally gracing us with her presence?”

“Oh, butt out, Brad,” Madison shoved him. “If you keep acting like a dick, she might change her mind.”

“Now we wouldn’t want that, would we,” he said under his breath.

You didn’t want any more of their company than what was absolutely required, so you said your goodbye to Madison and left the lecture hall for the day. With your sulky attitude, returning to the apartment wasn’t an option in case you ran into someone. Those guys were very perceptive and you didn’t want to lie to them anymore.

After wandering aimlessly underneath the pergolas of the Quadrangle, you headed to the library. It was about two in the afternoon; four more hours and it would be your shift anyway.

You decided to have your lunch in the closed quarters of the librarian’s room. There wasn’t much to the room except a makeshift bed, a table, chair and a coffee machine. You could sit there and catch up with the essays after lunch.

The on shift librarian wasn’t Molly today, but this other odd hours guy. She was hovering over him, giving instructions. When she saw you, she ushered you to the side. “It’s his first time. I’m training him for the weekend.”

“Oh.” You looked over at the guy. He was clearly an anxious wreck. You felt bad for him.

“Hey listen,” you said, “Is it okay if I use the librarian’s room? I haven’t had lunch and I don’t want to go to the eateries or the mess.”

She gave you a guilty look. “The room is kinda sorta… ocupado.”

“What?”

“See for yourself.” She took hold of your hand and pulled you towards the room in question.

The door was almost closed, save for a small slit. Through it, you could see Sam sitting on the table, multiple books and files scattered around him. He was absolutely absorbed in whatever he was doing, forehead lined in concentration.

“What the-”

Molly shushed you. “Look, I know this looks weird, but he’s in the middle of something. They convicted one of his key clients, and he said he needed some place quiet to figure this out.”

“What about his firm?” You asked the obvious question.

“Client’s not from SF. He’s from LA. Heading to Acton Gris would be going in the opposite direction.”

“Then what about his office here?” You were so surprised that the questions just flowed out of your mouth.

Molly gave an exasperated sigh. “Students. They keep knocking on the door.” She gave you a desperate look. “Please Y/N, let him be. He’s really worked up about it.”

“Yeah, of course,” you assured her. 

She looked grateful. “This isn’t conventional, but he’s one of the good folks around here. I knew him from the alumni fraternity before he started teaching here. In fact, he recommended me for my internship at the LA firm he was working in then.”

That explained why she called him by his first name. She was preaching to the choir about how good Sam was though.

“That’s all fine,” you said. “Just let me know if there’s any way I can help.”

“Molly?”

Both of you jumped at the sound of his voice.

“Molly?” He asked again. “Is that you?”

She pushed the door open.

“Yeah it’s me.” She looked at you. “And this is Y/N. You remember her from the other day, don’t you?”

He smiled at you. It was a tired smile, but it held the mischief of a secret only the two of you knew.

“I remember her,” he said dryly.

All the distress and world ending angst you had been feeling since the class vanished into thin air.

“I-I didn’t mean to disturb you,” you said quickly. “I just came in to check if I could have lunch here. Clearly you are busy working, so I’m just going to go now.”

“You’re not disturbing,” he said firmly. “I’ll clear the table. You can have lunch here.”

“No- no,” you backed off. “Seriously. I can go to the mess.”

“Y/N.” He looked beyond exhausted, as if he hadn’t slept in a while. Even his words were heavy. “C’mon, in. At least sit on the bed.”

Molly poked you in the back from behind and you stumbled inside. 

The room was a mess. There were papers everywhere. Sam was one of the most organised people you knew. If there was that much mess around him, either he had changed drastically in the years or this was really a disaster situation. 

“Tell me if I can help you with anything.” The words were out before you could even think them through. 

He rubbed his hand across his face. “I can’t possibly ask you to do that.”

“You’re not asking me. I’m offering.”

You didn’t know if this fell in line with proper etiquette of how one should converse with a professor, but this was Sam, and he looked ready to drop. To hell with etiquette. You were going to do whatever you could to help.

Behind you, Molly had disappeared back into the library.

He paused, considering your words, then sighed. “Even if you wanted to, this is too much to explain.”

You flung your bag on the bed and rolled up the sleeves of your sweater. “I’ve worked as a paralegal for an asshole boss. I think I can keep up.”

Sam gave you a look that was halfway between impressed and surprised. 

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered under his breath, so softly that you almost missed it. “Alright, here’s the details of the case-”

You listened attentively as he quickly briefed you about this teenage boy, James Feller, who had been arrested for grand auto theft about four years back. The boy testified against the gang, cut a deal with the DA and walked. Now he had been arrested again, and after being let out, jumped the bail. Sam had until tomorrow to fix it or this kid was spending a long, long time in jail. Sam was sure that James hadn’t done it. He had some grabs from CCTV footage to prove his alibi. It only needed to be put together. He might be completely innocent when it came to the theft, but there was still the bail issue to take care of.

“Right, I’ll go through the log to see if there’s anything similar where an underage defendant jumped bail and got out of prison under the jurisdiction of LA,” you said.

“That’s exactly what I was going to suggest,” he said, astonished again.

You shrugged and pulled out your laptop, signing into the library’s archival server with your password. There were a couple of cases that could be cited in context to Sam’s case. You pulled out the soft copies of the litigations and highlighted the relevant extracts. 

“You guys need anything?” Molly was standing at the door. She had her bag on her shoulder. You looked at the clock. It was already six, time for your shift to begin. Where had the time gone?

“We’re good,” Sam said.

“Seriously? You guys don’t need anything? Not even coffee?” She came to stand by the coffee machine. “I’m making a cup for myself anyway.”

You gave in. “I’d like a cup. Thanks, Molly.”

“One for me, too,” Sam caved, too.

“You guys look intense working like that,” she said, filling the pot with water. “Are you making any headway?”

“Y/N found some useful citations.” Sam closed the heavy book before him and leaned back in his chair, rolling the sleeves of his white shirt. The coat had been hung over the back of his chair since long before. You tried not to look at him too much.

“Good on you, Y/N!” Molly said, pulling on three mugs. “How do you have your coffee?”

“Little milk and one spoon sugar,” you said politely.

“Sam?”

There was no response. You looked to see that he was busy with his phone, having not heard a single word of it.

“Let it be,” you suggested, seeing as Molly was shuffling the strap of her bag. “You go on. I’ll manage the coffee.”

“You’re a lovely person!” She noted with just a hint of surprise, then blew you a kiss. “See you later, Chica bonita.”

You poured coffee for him, black with half spoon of sugar, stirred it and carefully handed it to him. He took it gratefully, holding out two fingers as he talked over the phone. 

You grabbed your mug and went back to your laptop. It appeared that Sam was talking to a colleague explaining the things he needed to get ready. He took a sip of the coffee and stopped mid sentence, looking at you over his screen in wonderment.

“Chase, I’ll call you back in a minute.”

You had gathered your stuff in one hand.

“Y/N?” Sam interrupted you, voice oddly tender. “You remembered.”

He was holding his mug out. The warm vapours were slightly fogging his glasses.

“Of course I remember.”

There was no way you would forget.

He saw your things wrapped in your hand and the bag slung over your shoulder.

“You’re leaving?” Disappointment clear in his tone.

You shook your head. “I’m just going outside at the desk. It’s my shift now. I’ll continue tagging relevant extracts and have three sets of printouts ready for you. You’ll let me know if you need more time? I can keep the library running all night.”

“You’re the power wielding person here, aren’t you?”

“Sure am,” you grinned. “I’ll leave you it.”

Once outside, you took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Being around Sam made you conscious of every little thing… enough to drive you crazy. Maybe it was a good thing that you were going to the party tomorrow. You needed a drink. That thought inadvertently reminded you of Jo- the only sister you’d ever had. If she were here, she would have told you to go for it despite knowing how insane drunk Y/N was and wreck you would be the next day. The memory of her also made you sad, the missing was gut wrenching sometimes. You almost turned on your heel and headed by inside to ask Sam about Jo and about Dean. Were they still together? Did the diner ever get out of the bumpy patch? How was aunt El doing? 

Did they hate you for leaving like that?

That thought brought you up short. You didn’t want to know the answer to that question. There was a small hope within you. If Sam of all people could find it in himself to be civil with you, maybe they would, too. Broaching the topic now would be disastrous. It wouldn’t help Sam right now to lose concentration. Hell, he might do a 180 and suddenly remember that he didn’t like you.

You got back to your desk, filing the cards out for the day before getting to Sam’s paperwork. Though it was a manual job, you did it with utmost concentration, knowing how chaotic courtrooms got and how crucial it was to find the right evidence at the right time. Alongside, you carefully read the suit and arranged the stacks according to the order in which they were needed.

“You know, if you kept going at it like that, you’ll have to represent the boy tomorrow.”

You looked up and your breath hitched. Sam stood before you, his shirt partially untucked and sleeves rolled all the way up till his elbows. The tie was gone and the top button of his shirt was undone. There was a glint of silver against his neck, a thin chain. You wondered where it had come from absently. Without the glasses, and his hair slightly dishevelled, you could see some of the guy you had first fallen in love with.

You looked away quickly, blinking several times, then pushed the stack of printouts towards him. All three copies, arranged as per the appearances of the evidence in the suit papers. The affidavits are all the bottom, along with the supplementary copies.

“You should come down to the office and train my assistant,” he said, leaning over the table so that his elbow rested on top. “He can’t find one paper on time.”

You bit your lip, trying not to laugh.

“Aren’t you having dinner?” He asked, tucking his hair behind his ear. He was nervous. 

“I’m not hungry.” Your stomach was already so full of butterflies, you didn’t think any food could go in.

“I’m already feeling terrible that you’re helping me with this… please don’t skip dinner for it.” There was something about his voice that affected your soul. The sound of his words were different from everyone elses. All words felt kinder, lovelier when he said them.

“Why are you fighting for this kid?” The words slipped past you before you could stop them. You had been wondering this all evening. “I saw the papers. You’re doing this pro bono and not for Acton Gris. This is your own case.”

He didn’t reply immediately and his face had a far away look. When he finally spoke, it was in a reminiscing tone. “I met James when he was a foster kid a few years ago. He got pushed into the racket because of bad influence. When I saw him at the retention centre, he broke down completely. They were blackmailing him by threatening to hurt his little sister. When he first got off, he looked at me like I was some kind of miracle.”  Sam’s face had an awed look, as if he couldn’t comprehend how anyone could think that of him.

“I knew he wouldn’t get into this again. He’s in college now and has basically turned his life around. We have enough evidence to pin a gang member down for framing him. I don’t want anyone at Acton Gris to help me on this because this is my own case. Putting some poor junior on it is just abusing my power.”

He was a good man. That in itself didn’t surprise you because you had always known it. What surprised you was that he had remained one. Sam used to be starry eyed with ambitions and full of a thirst to do the right thing. He had been so idealistic. It worried you that one day he would wake up and see that the world was an even worse place than what he thought it to be. You worried that the ruthless profession might kill some of the inherent goodness in him. After having lost just as much as you, he hadn’t lost faith in the world. He had remained good.

“What?” He questioned and you realised you were staring.

“There you are!”

Jody Mills stood behind Sam, a harried expression on her face. He straightened up immediately and it occurred to you how close your faces had been.

“I went to your house, called up your PA, and here you are.”

“Jody?” He clearly hadn’t expected her.

She handed him the bag she was carrying. “I have dinner for you. I knew you would bury yourself in the case and wouldn’t cook since you’re by yourself now.”

Now. What did that mean? Lacey’s remark about Sam living in family quarters and having a girlfriend came to your mind. You dismissed it quickly.

“Didn’t see you there, Y/N,” Professor Mills came around. “I didn’t know you worked here.”

“Actually I just started a week ago.”

Her eyes flitted to the stack in front of you. “And what’s this?”

“Y/N’s been helping me with some printing,” Sam said.

Professor Mills gave him a once over. “Sam Winchester making students work?”

“It’s not like that,” you defended quickly. “I offered to help S- Mr. Winchester. I have some experience as a paralegal and this was only a matter of making copies.”

“You did a lot more than that,” Sam corrected smoothly.

“I was only joking.” she placed a hand on Sam’s arm and you noted that they were probably closer than just colleagues. Friends even. “You, on the other hand, keep surprising me, Y/N. This looks like solid work.”

You blushed at the compliment, mumbling a small ‘thank you.’ Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Sam gazed down at you oddly. If you didn’t know any better, you might have misinterpreted it as a hint of pride. 

“You have your food!” Jody ordered him and waved at you. “See you in class tomorrow, Y/N.”

“Good night,” you wished her.

Before leaving, she glanced from you to Sam and back again, a peculiar look in her eyes, shook her head and left.

She had packed a burger and pack of oily fries for Sam. You saw his brow furrow at the sight of it and smiled to yourself. Some things never changed.

Sam insisted that you have your dinner, too. However, you made sure that while he sat inside, you had your dinner at your desk. There was only so much of his nearness you could take without having your feelings run wild. Sam needed to go through the case files in peace for the court tomorrow. You let him be, only visiting the librarian’s room once to let him know that you wouldn’t shut the library at all. He was grateful for it. After everyone else had left, you wrapped the shawl around your shoulders and put your head down against the wooden desk. Closing your tired eyes just for a second, you let yourself reflect on everything that had happened today and how one day could be more impactful than a month of one's life sometimes.  

You woke up several hours later. Grey light was starting to filter from the high windows. It was early dawn.

Hurriedly you got up to check on Sam, but the librarian’s room was closed from the outside, you checked in the seating area, too. There was no one there; you were by yourself in the room. 

Back to your desk, you noticed a folded piece of paper placed under your paperweight.

It said-

Y/N,

I have to start from here now to make it to LA in time for the hearing. Didn’t have the heart to wake you up. I can’t thank you enough for your invaluable help.

Regards,

Sam.

You clutched the paper tightly in your fingers, crumpling it in the process. Sometimes a few words were louder than a speech. Sometimes the gesture was even louder.

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

A/N 2: You guys! THEY TALKED! I know a lot of you have been like ‘They just need to talk’ and well, it happened. So what do you think? Uphill?

ALL MY LOVE to everyone who commented and reblogged. You guys keep me posting! <3

PLEASE let me know what you think of this story?

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[eerythingisshaka]

PTA II

[Trevante Rhodes x Reader]

Word Count: 2.4k

Angsty Fluff

Part 1

Looking at your desk, you wonder how it’s gotten even more junky since working from home.  A rainbow of notebooks and sticky pads scatter its surface with reminders and past lesson plans that beg for organization.  You pick them up in clusters, doing a vague clean up as you check the clock on your computer to see you have ten minutes until showtime.  Your kids will be logging in for their Zoom classroom to begin.  

You’re starting a new chapter on the Civil War today and although you knew it like the back of your hand, you freaked out at the moment, not able to find your presentation in any of the appropriate desktop folders.  Unfortunately your virtual desktop was every bit as messy as your physical one.  Clicking through the dated lesson plans, you finally find what you are looking for, opening it to prepare for sharing as your breakfast sandwich dings in the microwave.  You meander through the obstacle course of your living room to grab your meal to go, almost burning your hand from its fresh heat as you sit back down, just in time to start off the lesson.

“Good Morning class!  Happy Monday!”

“Good Morning!”  They all say in scattered succession, your greeting back.  

You dig right into the lesson at hand with dates, names, places, and all that is in between. The kids were assigned a chapter before the weekend to prepare for discussion and luckily most of them seemed to have at least skimmed the topic beforehand.

“Ok guys, now we have a few more minutes before I have to assign this week’s project, so does anyone have any questions?”

One young man, Nemour raised his hand.  “Yes, do you think, um, like could this happen again, do you think?”

You couldn’t hold back the gag on your face from the insightful question.  “That’s a good question.  And I know it really fits with some things that are talked about in politics today.  I won’t say that it never is going to happen, but I also will not scare you into thinking that it will.  Civil Wars are happening today in countries all over so it is not a subject that is new or forgotten.  But use the events that lead up to it and think about what we do that could avoid the conflict or what are tells that signify that war is imminent.  Thank you for that question Nemour because it segues us into this week’s project…”

Displeasure washed across several of your students’ faces but you have been blind to that behavior for years now so you began the rundown:  three page essay on any aspect of the Civil War they may choose.  

“You may email me and we can discuss your idea and if it is a topic that can fill three pages.  I want a citation page, credible sources.  See me if you need a review on what a credible source is.  I will see you again tomorrow guys.  Be safe!” 

The blips of each person signing off is your background noise as you put aside your notes once more, dropping your pen in the process.  

You pick it up and hear something in the background of Nemour’s video.  

“Nemour?”  You call out the student’s name but they must’ve forgotten to sign off.  You begin to hang up yourself, when someone comes into frame.

“Nemour, I told you to clean up your room before school started so I could get this laundry done, damn!”  

You recognize the shirtless man strutting with a laundry basket under his arm as Trevante Rhodes, Nemour’s dad.  You had a run in with him before that left you more than flustered but you stuck to your morals to ensure nothing came of it.  Luckily, Nemour’s been doing well and no one has messed with his things, so any teacher-parent meetings are only the ones required by the school.  

“Ahh ah ahh ah ah AHHHHH!  Caught up in the rapture of love…”  He sang out loud, setting the basket on a table to free his shoulders up for some bopping.  

You can’t look away and didn’t dare end the session as the show was just getting started.  Trevante rolls his shoulders, pumping his fists victoriously in rhythm with the song.  You take a bite of your breakfast sandwich covertly appreciating the show.

“I love you here by me/ You let me love fly free…”

He spins around quickly on his toes ending on a pose before the next verse.  His body is an artist’s dream with each flex he made.  You could tell before that he is a fit man but nothing beats seeing the evidence unadulterated.  His thick torso kept steady by his deep abs, kiny hair peppered across his chest for flavor.  And those arms, what can be said about these family style, thick cuts-

“Ms (Y/N)?”  You snap out of your inner study and forget you are in full view of him seeing you.  Hanging up abruptly flashed through as an option but it made no sense now you were caught.

You shuffle some papers as he takes out his AirPods and comes closer to the camera.   “That is you!”

You look up in feigned surprise, coughing up your previous bite of sandwich.  “Oh, Mr. Rhodes!  Did Nemour forget to sign off.  Oh well, I was just going to-”

“Nemour!”  Trevante yells out.  The soft patter of feet become louder. 

“Yeah?” he asks.

“Your teacher is waiting on you, whatchu doin?”

“No no!  I wasn’t waiting!”  You say fervently.

Nemour peeks over his dad’s arm.  “Hi Ms (Y/N).  Did you need me?”

You smile disingenuously.  “No, I was just about to sign off.  Just don’t forget that project, ok?”

“Yes ma’am.”  He runs out the room as his dad calls out.

“Talk to me about this project when I’m done talking to your teacher!”  Trevante takes a seat, looking pleased with the predicament.  You are mortified, sitting your your head in your hands.

“So...how you been?  You look well.”  Trevante says with an enthused smile.

You look to him and return a tight one.  “Thanks.  I can’t say I’ve done much of anything but good to know I don’t look worse since our last talk.”

Trevante leans forward with his chin in his hand and you try not to imagine sinking your teeth into it.  “Please, you’re blessed to not need much.  Natural beauty.”

You take in the compliment with an inhale.  “Sure, thanks,”  you say, noticing a spot of jelly landed on your chest, probably after that last bite.  You rub you chest to get the tiny stain out.

“Wow, that looks damn good,”  Trevante says when you’re done.

You hold a hand to your chest, gasping in outrage.  “Mr. Rhodes!  I really don’t take kindly to forward comments referring to my body!”

Trevante purses his lips together, resting his chin on his fist.  “I...meant that sandwich.  I can see it below there.”

Your mouth hangs open staring from the sandwich to the meal in front of you.  “I am...so sorry...”

“Don’t worry about it.  Hey, how was your date?”  he asks quickly with a forgiving look. 

You think of his question with confusion before you realize that you had brought up meeting someone on Valentines Day after the meeting with him last time.  

“You remember that?”  You ask, slightly impressed.

He nods.  “Of course.  I’m that kind of person, receptive to information and it sticks.  That’s why Nemour so good at school, gets it from Daddy.”

“Good to know.  But the date didn’t go as well as I hoped it would…”

Trevante cocks his head to the side inquisitive.  “Huh.  Where’d y’all go?”

You roll your eyes automatically.  “He told me to meet him up at this mom and pop diner, which I’m not stuck up!  If the food is good, I’m practically down for anything!”

“Ok, ok, so what was the problem?”

“He knew the family that owned the place, so his meal was free.  We ordered like a late night breakfast thing and it wasn’t good.  My food was both bland and overseasoned and the eggs I asked for were runny when I wanted a hard scramble.”

“Oh no,”  he shakes his head.

“And in the end, even though his meal was paid, I had to pay for mine because he’s ‘in between things right now’.  Then I had to give him a ride home and he offered his bed to me since his mama was asleep on some Xanax.”

Trevante rears his head back covering his mouth with his fist during his hoot-and-holler.  “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to laugh, but that was pretty damn bad.”

You laugh graciously.  “I know, but he was cute and I swear he seemed to have more potential than most other guys on the apps so maybe it was just a bad day?”

“You are giving these playas too much credit!  And apps?  Shoot, you could pull any ole dude off the street on a Tuesday just taking out the trash.”

“Mr. Rhodes-”

“Trevante works.  Sometime Tre, sometimes Te but hold the Mr. Rhodes for me, please.”

“Fine, but only on here, I can’t call parents by their first names in public, it’s just too formal for me.”  

Trevante gets a sneaky grin on his face, scratching his beard stealthily.  “So, you want to talk to me on here more often?”

Your jaw drops, aghast.  “Mr… Trevante, I never said that.  You’re always putting words in my mouth.”

He shrugs.  “I’m sorry.  It’s just so pretty, I can’t help but wanna hear it say things I wanna hear.”

You twist in your chair, barely composing yourself with his sly talk.  “Wow!  You never quit!”

“I will when you do!”  

You face each other in a standoff over each other’s screen.  He was slowly tearing down your walls as much as you tried to reinforce them with professionalism.

“Ok,” you say.

“What’s ok?”  

You sit forward, building up the nerve.  “IF we were to discuss things outside of schoolwork and your son, how would that go?”

Trevante rubs his hands together.  “Well, first-”

You put a finger up.  “Remember that I have a busy schedule with assignments and we are in quarantine so no way we could be in the same room or eat out.”

Trevante looks off into space, thinking.  “Ok, so when do you usually turn down for the night?”

“For bed?  Probably ten if I am lucky.”

He nods, rubbing his chin philosophically.  “What are you having for dinner?”

“...probably this pasta thing I picked up at the store…” you say reluctantly.

Trevante claps his hands together.  “That’s it!  Ok, I gotta go but let’s talk later, aight?”

Before you could question him further, he hangs up the video call.  You sat there pondering what just happened.  Trevante is pretty straightforward with you but that ended on an unusual note.  And then you began to think back to his smile and body and laugh and compliments, making your head curl toward your lap with giddiness.  

“God he is so fine.”

Later that evening you are laid across your couch in full snuggy mode: bonnet on, pimple cream where needed, tshirt and titties freeballing.  You set your reheated pasta meal down to cool and look through your emails one more time before calling it a night.  You have more than one concerned parent who will message you at ungodly hours about why Timmy and Jane aren’t getting an A+ average and their stress allows you to sleep peacefully as you’re reminded how unbothered you are since students make the grades, not you.

As usual, there is one new unread message to check out and of all people it is Nemour’s dad.  No subject line, but the body of the email asking you to log on to video call him.

This was sent almost an hour ago, so you feel pretty secure that he is not on and let your curiosity lead you to the app.

Not long after, you get an invitation from Trevante.

“Hey!”  he says, smiling wide (this time with a shirt on)  after you accept.  You begin to smile back but catch a glimpse of you in video and feel instant regret.

“What’s wrong?”  he asks, slurping some spaghetti up.

“I forgot what I looked like, I should’ve waited to talk in the morning,” you say apologetically.

Trevante waves a hand at you.  “Don’t worry about all that.  You getting ready to wind down, right?”

You pick up your dinner and show him on camera.  “Pasta and all.”

“Great, so the date is on!  How was your day since we last spoke?”  he asks, slurping more spaghetti and taking a bite out of some garlic bread.

You scoff, poking at your penne.  “So this is why you didn’t answer me?  This is your plan for a date?”

He holds his hands out humbly.  “A brotha gotta try.  You so busy and remember we are in a quarantine so I can’t have you coming here with those beautiful germs of yours.”

“Wow, sure ok.  Throw it back at me.  Got it.”

You take a bite of your pasta as ladylike as possible, giving a rundown of your day which wasn’t much to take note of as Trevante noisily slurps his spaghetti making you laugh.

“What’s up?”  he asks, wiping his mouth.

“I...well your meal looks better than mine.  At least you make it look better.”

He licks his lips before smiling, lighting your spirit as you smirk into your food.

“What can I say, I get down in the kitchen when I can.  I wasn’t bout to heat up some frozen mess and call that a meal, you know?  I gotta eat real food!”

You drop your fork.  “Ok, Mr. Anita Baker!  I know when I’ve been disrespected!”

Trevante gets nervous having offended you.  “Wait wait!  My bad, ok?”

You point at him with all authority.  “My food is my business.”

“No problem, I’ll hold back, but not too much on Anita.  And maybe I’ll order you some DoorDash or something next time.”

“If,” you warn.

Trevante gives you a playful face.  “If not, I’ll just tell Nemour to quit doing his homework and we can conference about it.”

“Oh bye, he’s too smart for that!”

Trevante laughs.  “You probably right.  Look, I don’t mean to push, but I’m glad you made time to see me here tonight.”

His eyes look at you genuinely pleased and you feel that familiar giddiness creeping up.  

“I’m glad you invited me.  Just this little bit is better than my last date, so points to you.”

Trevante stares at you contently.  “You know if we were outside, this is when we’d kiss.”

You look up to the ceiling.  “Here you go!”

“I felt the moment!  Don’t lie!”

You look at him defiantly.  “Too bad we won’t know until that time comes.”

He wags a finger at you.  “See?  You keep thinking these are conversation ending phrases, but you baiting me.  So there’s a next time ahead of us!  Hit me up for a Netflix Party and Chill.”

“Good night, Te,”  you say exasperatedly.

“Have a good day at school tomorrow.”

You hang up first and sail backward, laying across your couch feeling like you ran a marathon.  This could all still be forgotten.  You aren’t too deep to deny him.  He called this a date but come on, did it count?  You sit up to poke at the remnants of your meal and think about his lips slurping up the spaghetti hungrily.  And the kiss that would have sent you to bed happily.   

Part 3

Masterlist

Tag

@chaneajoyyy​

[flamingo-strikes]

Happy Prezzie Day!

I got the lovely @totaldramamarching in the discord server swap! Here’s a pic of Zoey and a piece of writing! I hope you like it 💜💜💜

~~~

Ouch! Cameron’s eyes flew open as he sharply sat up to the feeling of something hitting his face. “Wakey-wakey, kid,” a nonchalant accented voice spoke and he looked up to see Vito standing right above him. 

Cameron resisted the urge to roll his eyes and instead grabbed his glasses, sliding them on. “Morning to you too.” The Italian bruiser gave him an unimpressed look, and Cameron frowned at the breakfast bar in his hand. “You know, you could just wake me up normally by yelling or something.”

Vito paused for a moment then shrugged. “Nah. Why would I freaking do that? That sounds boring as hell.”

Cameron sighed and just unwrapped his breakfast bar, adjusting his position on the couch. At least Vito was considerate enough to grab it for him? He bit down, the taste of strawberry and granola bursting on his tongue. Cameron eyed Vito, who was leaning casually on the wall across from him. He had a water bottle in his hand, but he stared at the window, deep in thought.

Cameron cleared his throat, instantly gaining Vito’s attention on him. “Uh, thanks for letting me crash here last night.”

Vito waved him off. “Don’t mention it, man.” He pointed a finger at him, a teasing grin on his lips. “And now you owe me something, huh? I still want that motorcycle we was looking at yesterday.”

Cameron laughed. “Yeah, alright sure. I’ll get it for you with the million dollars I own,” he replied dryly. 

Vito grinned, tossing his now empty water bottle at him. “Asshole.”

Cameron fumbled to catch it. “So, what’s the plan today?” He asked once his laughter died down.

Vito’s grin faltered for a moment, before settling into a content expression. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, I know Mike has some school stuff to do...and he’s gotta help Mom run errands later.”

Vito shrugged, shoving his hands in his pocket. “Eh, it’s just gonna be a chill day for me, I guess. Probably won’t do much.”

Cameron nodded. “We can have another video game night with Zoey, maybe tomorrow if that’s cool with you?”

A brief splash of excitement flashed in Vito’s eyes, and his head tilted slightly. “Yeah...I’d like that. Sounds good.”

Cameron smiled, relieved. His stomach lurched at Vito’s next words. “What about you? What are you doin’ today?”

“Oh...” Cameron looked down, the reminder of today’s tasks making him feel almost ill. It was a nauseating feeling, akin to the one that you get on a super high rollercoaster. “I have a lot of homework to do today - wait, what time is it?!” He asked suddenly, his voice frantic.

Vito frowned and glanced at his phone. “It’s 9:46, man. Just chill, okay? Breath, Cam.” His normally rough tone was laced with something else. It sounded like concern to Cameron.

Cameron hadn’t even realized how heavy he’d been breathing. “I-I’m fine. I’m okay.”

“You sure?” Vito was now standing closer, a look of confusion on his face.

Cameron swallowed. “Y-yeah.”

“You wanna talk about it?” Vito asked a bit softer. “I may be a muscle head, but I can listen too!”

His lips curving up into a small smile, Cameron nodded. “So, I’m in a group project at school...and, uh...my group-mates aren’t really doing anything. It’s due in a couple days and I have to make it, write the document piece, get citations...”

Vito had been watching him intently, frowning. “All by yourself?” He asked gruffly.

“Yeah...”

Vito was quiet for a moment, before standing up sharply. He threw his hands up in the air. “Those freaking assholes!”

“Uh, Vito-”

“It’s a group project! Why the hell aren’t they doing anything?! They think they can just pin stuff on you, and get the good grade without doing shit?!”

Cameron sighed. “It’s fine. I’m used to it honestly.” Vito opened his mouth but Cameron continued. “I’m not strong at all, you know. I get knocked out in two seconds in PE class. All I have to offer is my brain... so I should just do that.”

“No.”

He blinked. “No...?” 

Vito shook his head. “You’re damn wrong, you know. I’ve fought against guys bigger than me, but you’re still one of the toughest guys I ever met.” 

Cameron’s eyes widened. “What do you mean...?”

Vito’s brows furrowed. “I think being smart is another kind of strong, Cam. You can take people down with your brain! No fighting, no blood, no nothing. Besides, you get really freaking amazing grades, which is always a good thing, y’know?”

He looked at the window again, somewhat in thought. “And...you’re a good kid, Cam. Trustworthy and reliable. You’ve really made things better for Mike...and me..all of us. You’re loyal and know how to come through, but no one should take advantage of that.”

Cameron looked down, considering his words. Warmth burst into his chest and he smiled, the burden on his shoulders lightening. “Thanks, Vito...you really mean that?”

Vito gave a lopsided smile. “Yeah, man. I do.” He rubbed his knuckles onto Cameron’s head, earning a “Hey!”

Cameron was trying to swat his hand off while Vito laughed victoriously, when suddenly the doorbell rang. They glanced at each other before moving to answer it. Vito swung the door open to see Zoey, trying to balance a few bags of takeout in her hands. “Hey, guys!”

“Hey, Zoey,” they chorused. Vito immediately took some of the bags from her and carried them to the kitchen, while Cameron closed the door after her.

“Aw, you didn’t have to bring breakfast,” He said, waiting for her to slip off her shoes and join them.

“Course I did, Cam. If I didn’t, you’d probably be eating some ungodly protein shake made of fruits and Oreos.”

Cameron blushed. “That was one time! And it was Mike’s idea!”

She gave him a pointed look. “Sureee.”

“Hey, come on, whaddya have against protein shakes?” Vito questioned jokingly. “Cam here needs as much of them as he can get.”

Cam rolled his eyes. “Besides, take-out can’t be any better,” he pointed out.

Zoey groaned. “Okay, fine, I was just craving Lo Mein and I figured you wouldn’t have any complaints eating it at 10am,” she admitted begrudgingly.

Cameron pointed a finger. “HA! So you admit!”

“Freaking finally!” Vito chimed in, handing her the little container of noodles and a pair of chopsticks.

“Yeah, okay, fine,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. But her lips were curved up in a fond, exasperated grin.

They simply dug into their food for a few minutes, savoring everything on empty stomachs that hadn’t eaten anything since the night before. Finally, Vito spoke. “So, Zoey, you busy today?”

Zoey hummed, finishing chewing before she replied. “Not really. I have a babysitting job tonight, but nothing during the day besides a couple errands.”

“Well, how about today, we help Cam with this big project he’s got going on?”

Cameron almost choked on a mouthful of fried rice. “N-no, it’s fine. I’ve got in handled-”

“Sure! What kind of project is it?” Zoey asked. Her eyes narrowed after a beat. “I’m guessing your partners aren’t doing anything again?”

“Nope,” Vito answered for him, popping the ‘p.’

Cameron played with his chopsticks. “It’s for History...and no, it’s just me.”

Zoey frowned for a second before returning to her soft smile. “Well, don’t worry, Cam. We’re totally here to help. Right after eating, we can drop by your house to get supplies.”

Vito nodded. “Yeah, and I can bash in those slackers’ heads, if you want.” He made a threatening motion with his fists.

Cameron laughed. “Well, maybe leave out that second thing, but thanks, guys. I really appreciate it.”

“Of course, Cam. We’re here for you, and each other,” Zoey promised.

“Anytime.” Vito flashed him a big, honest grin.

[missmouse94]

🌷IT'S REFORMATION MONTH 🌷

Most Christians have heard the names of John Calvin, Martin Luther, John Knox, and other giants of the Protestant Reformation in Europe. But there are many other lesser known men and women who worked to advance the cause of the Reformation!

Women also played an important role, either in disseminating the ideas of the Reformation, or using their political power to protect the preachers and teachers of these ideas, and, yes, some were burned at the stake.

Here is one of these women:

Joyce Lewis (Jocasta Lewis) died in 1557 as an English Protestant martyr, burned alive at the stake for refusing to take part in the Catholic Mass and calling it unbiblical.

She first married Sir George Appleby of Appleby in Leicestershire and they had two sons. Her husband died in 1547 at the Battle of Pinkie. She then married Thomas Lewis of Mancetteron 10 September 1547.

In the beginning of Queen Mary's time Joyce was a Catholic and went to the church and heard mass as others did, but when she heard of the burning of that most godly and learned martyr, Laurence Saunders, who suffered in Coventry, she began to question her faith and take more heed to the matter, and inquired earnestly, of such as she knew feared God, the cause of his death. And when she perceived it was because he refused to receive the mass, she began to be troubled in conscience, and waxed very unquiet.

Her move to being a Protestant was led by the brother of another martyr, Robert Glover, who died the same year. Now John Glover, perceiving both her unquiet mind and also the desire she had to know the truth, did most diligently instruct her in the ways of the Lord, approving unto her, out of God's holy word, that the mass, with all other papistical inventions, was odious in God's sight; and besides this, reproved her, for that she delighted in the vanities of this world so much. By the which godly counsel given by him, it happened that she began to wax weary of the world, thoroughly sorrowful for her sins, being inflamed with the love of God, desirous to serve him according to his word, purposing also to flee from those things the which did displease the Lord her God. And because she had learned the mass to be evil and abominable, she began to hate it. And when at a time she was compelled by the furiousness of her husband to come to the church, at the same time when the holy water was cast, she turned her back towards it, and showed herself to be displeased with their blasphemous holy water, injurious to the blood of Christ. Whereupon she was accused before the bishop for the despising of their sacramentals. Her previous devotion to Catholicism was replaced by "irreverent behaviour in church" which came to the notice of Ralph Baines, the Bishop of Lichfield.

Immediately a citation was sent for her to appear before the bishop. But she stoutly told the bishop, that by refusing of the holy water, she had neither offended God, nor any part of his laws. At the which words the bishop being grievously offended, yet because she was a gentlewoman, he gave her one month's respite, binding her husband in a hundred pounds, to bring her again unto him at the month's end: and so they were both let go. When they came to their own house, the said Mistress Joyce Lewes gave herself to most diligent prayer, and invocating of the name of God.

When the month was now almost expired, and the time at hand that she should be brought before the said bishop, her husband being advised by the said Master John Glover and others not to carry her to the bishop, but to seek some ways to save her, or, if the worst should come, to be content to forfeit so much money, rather than to cast his own wife into the fire; he answered, he would not lose or forfeit any thing for her sake. And so, like a murderer of his own wife, he carried her to the bloody bishop, where she was examined, and when she was found even more stout than she was before, death was threatened and she was sent to prison. Being thus kept in prison, and oftentimes examined, and ever found stout, at the length she was brought in judgment, and pronounced a heretic worthy to be burned.

When the bishop reasoned with her, why she could not come to the mass, and receive the sacraments and sacramentals of the holy church: she answered, "Because I find not these things in God's word, which you so urge and magnify as things most needful for men's salvation. If these things were in the same word of God commanded, I would with all my heart receive, esteem, and believe them."

The bishop answered, "If thou wilt believe no more than is in the Scripture, concerning matters of religion, thou art in a damnable case." At which words she was wonderfully amazed, and being moved by the Spirit of God, told the bishop that his words were ungodly and wicked.

After her condemnation, she continued in prison for a year. All that time she was in prison, her behaviour was such both in words and deeds, that all they that had any spark of godliness or civil honesty, were greatly saddened that she should be put to death.

Now when the time did draw near which God had appointed for her deliverance, she said, "As for death, I do not greatly fear. When I behold the amiable countenance of Christ, my dear Saviour, the uglisome face of death doth not greatly trouble me."

In the evening, before the day of her suffering, two of the priests of the close of Lichfield came to the under-sheriff's house where she lay, and sent word to her by the sheriff, that they were there to hear her confession: for they would be sorry if she should die without. She sent them word again, she had made her confession to Christ her Saviour, at whose hands she was sure to have forgiveness of her sins. As concerning the cause for the which she should die, she had no cause to confess that, but rather to give unto God most humble praise, that he did make her worthy to suffer death for his word: and as concerning that absolution that they were able to give unto her, being authorized by the pope, she did defy the same, even from the bottom of her heart. When the priests heard this they said to the sheriff, "Well, tomorrow her stoutness will be proved and tried: for although perhaps she hath now some friends that whisper encouragement in her ears, tomorrow we will see who dare be so hardy as to come near her." And so they went their ways with anger, that their confession and absolution were refused.

All that night she was wonderfully cheerful and merry, with a certain gravity, insomuch that the majesty of the Spirit of God did manifestly appear in her, who did expel the fear of death out of her heart; spending the time in prayer, reading, and talking with those that came to her, to comfort her with the word of God.

About eight o'clock in the morning, Master Sheriff came to her into her chamber, saying these words, "Mistress Lewes, I come to bring you tidings of the queen's pleasure, that you shall live no longer than one hour in this world: therefore prepare yourself."

After which she said, "Master Sheriff, your message is welcome to me, and I thank my God, that he has made me worthy." And thus Master Sheriff departed. And within the space of one hour he came again.

Now when she was brought through the town, a great multitude of people being present, she, being led by two of her friends, (which were Master Michael Reniger, and Master Augustine Bernher), she was brought to the place of execution. And after she had prayed several times, in the which prayer she desired God would most instantly abolish the idolatrous mass, and to deliver this realm from papistry. At the end of her prayers, most of the people cried, 'Amen.' Even the sheriff that stood by her, ready to cast her in the fire for refusing the mass, at this, with the rest of the people, said, 'Amen' when she had thus prayed.

Then she took a cup of water into her hands, saying, "I drink to all them that unfeignedly love the gospel of Jesus Christ, and wish for the abolishment of papistry." When she had drunk, they that were her friends drank also. After that a great number, especially the women of that town, did drink with her; which afterward were put to open penance in the church by the cruel papists, for drinking with her.

When she was tied to the stake with a chain, she showed such a cheerfulness that it passed man's reason, being so well coloured in her face, and being so patient, that the most part of them that had honest hearts did lament, and even with tears bewail the tyranny of the papists. When the fire was set upon her, she neither struggled nor stirred, but only lifted up her hands towards heaven, being dead very speedily: for the under-sheriff at the request of her friends had provided such stuff, by the which she was suddenly despatched out of this miserable world.

Joyce Lewis was burned at the stake at Lichfield on December 18, 1557. Her "crime" that was worthy of death? For refusing to take part in the Catholic Mass and calling it unbiblical.

This among other things may not be forgotten, that the papists had appointed some to rail upon her openly, and to revile her, both as she went to the place of execution, and also when she was at the stake. Among others there was an old priest, which had a pair of writing-tables, to note both the names of the women that drank of her cup, (as before you heard,) and also described her friends by their apparel, for presently he could not learn their names, and afterwards inquired for their names. And so, immediately after, process was sent out for them, both to Coventry and other places. But God, whose providence sleeps not, did defend them from the hands of these cruel tyrants. Unto which God, with the Son and the Holy Ghost, be honour and glory forever.

A memorial to Joyce Lewis and Robert Glover was placed in Mancetter Church in 1833.

It is a broad fact that during the four last years of Queen Mary’s reign, no less than 288 people were burned at the stake for their adhesion to the Protestant faith.

In 1555, 71 were burned

In 1556, 89 were burned

In 1557, 88 were burned

In 1558, 40 were burned

Five martyrs were burnt in Canterbury only a week before her death.

Of all the stupid and suicidal mistakes that the Romish Church ever made, none was greater than the mistake of burning the Reformers. It cemented the work of the reformation and made Englishman Protestants by the thousands. When plain Englishman saw the church of Rome so cruelly wicked and Protestants so brave, they ceased to doubt on which side was the truth. Joyce Lewis is a good example of this. She began questioning Catholicism when the martyr Laurence Saunders was burned at the stake.

May the memory of our martyred Reformers never be forgotten until the Lord comes!

[Source: https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Joyce_Lewis

http://www.exclassics.com/foxe/foxe368.htm]

[lalunaunita]

The Purrfect Crime: Chapter 1

I’m very pleased to share that this old WIP is finally done!! I started writing it back in 2018 (I think) and when the WIP Big Bang @wipbigbang revved up for 2019, I knew it was a perfect piece for me to finish. Per the Bang rules, I’ll publish the last chapter on my posting date of August 17th. I’ll be updating every week until then.

This story is based on a 1991 children’s book of the same name by Andrew Helfer. When I heard about it, I thought it was such a great (and cute) plot that I wanted to try writing my own version! Major plot points and storyline are all credited to Andrew Helfer. New story text and new subplots are by me. Copies of the original book are available and the ISBN to find the book is 0307126218. Many thanks to @haveievermentioned for remembering this book and bringing it to my attention.

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7    Music Fanmix by @pennywaltzy

Rating: Teen

Summary: All kinds of cats in Gotham are disappearing! When several expensive animals are stolen, Batman's top suspect is Catwoman. But is there more to these thefts than meets the eye?

The Purrfect Crime: Chapter 1

Forty squirming, squealing kids threw popcorn and chattered at each other in the rows below Bruce Wayne at Gotham City’s Circus Charity Night. Charity Night at the Circus had become a tradition in the Wayne household over the last few years. Shortly after adopting Dick Grayson, the young man had requested these circus outings for the children at his old orphanage. Bruce had readily agreed.

He always turned it into an event—playing at an exclusive park, followed by dinner, then the show under the Big Top. Curiously, Dick never attended. Bruce didn’t press him. He knew all too well the pain childhood memories could bring.

Bruce and his date sat wisely out of range of the concessions-turned-missiles. She turned to him, the elegance of her black velvet dress belying her giddy excitement.

“What’s your favorite part of the circus?” Tatiana asked him, tossing her lustrous dark hair over one shoulder.

“The big cats,” Bruce replied. “They’re so gorgeous and powerful.”

“Oooh, must be something of a kinship, I suppose,” she teased, batting her eyes flirtatiously.

Bruce tried not to roll his as he focused his attention back on the three rings below. Tatiana was an extraordinary beauty, just the kind of woman Bruce Wayne should be seen with around Gotham. Unfortunately, she was also an utter bore.

Music swelled and the children quieted as a spotlight focused on the Ringmaster in the center of the tent.

“Ladies and gentlemen, it is our privilege to bring some of the finest creatures in nature to you. Watch carefully, and don’t be fooled! Our trainer would have you believe these lions and tigers are tame as house cats, but they are not to be trusted! Remark the ferocious gleam of their fangs and the sharpness of their claws. Please do not tempt their murderous appetites with a stray finger or hand! And now… on with the show!”

The crowd jumped to their feet to get a closer look at the cats, applauding the Ringmaster’s speech. All eyes were on the thick red curtains that led backstage, but minutes went by and no cats of any kind paraded forth. The pregnant silence was interrupted by shouts behind the curtains.

Bruce casually pressed a button on the side of his cell phone and it rapped forth an irritating, high-powered ringtone. He gave an exaggerated sigh for Tatiana’s benefit.

“Hang on, it’s the Board. I’ll be back in a minute. Hello…?” he said, affecting frustration as he pressed the phone to his ear.

Bruce stepped into the aisle, pretending to converse as he quickly made his way out of the stands. He stuck to the shadows, slipping around to the back of the big top. Outside the main tent, dancers, acrobats, and clowns walked to and fro, prepping for their acts or chatting with each other.

The argument had crescendoed; Bruce could hear the Ringmaster desperately shushing whomever was shouting. Bruce hid himself in the darkness between two tall wooden crates. He discovered he was fortuitously close to a seam in the main tent’s canvas. He put his eye to the opening and caught a glimpse of Commissioner Gordon’s familiar face. Commissioner Gordon stood straight as an arrow and looked down his nose at a rather unkempt man in suspenders and a stained undershirt.

“We’ll find your cats,” the Commissioner assured him. “There aren’t that many places in Gotham to hide lions and tigers. Or that many places to sell them. My men are on it already.”

“They better be! Those animals are expensive. If my cats aren’t back by tomorrow, I could lose my job!” the unpleasant man screeched.

The Ringmaster put a placating hand on the man’s arm, but he shrugged it off. Bruce watched as the Commissioner cast an observant eye over his surroundings.

“Now, just to be sure I have everything down correctly, these are the cages for the big cats?”

He indicated four or five surprisingly small wheeled trailers arranged in a semicircle. They looked like old fashioned animal cracker boxes, although they did have the addition of thick rolled draperies that could be let down over the iron bars to fully enclose their tiny spaces. Bruce could see, and even smell, that they hadn’t been cleaned in a while.

“Yes, yes,” the trainer replied impatiently.

“And you did not take them out prior to their performance?” The Commissioner frowned under his moustache as he looked at his notepad.

“No! I already told you that!”

“And you do not have any kind of yard or pen for them to stay in—other than the cages?”

The man didn’t notice the steely glint in Commissioner Gordon’s eye as he shook his head. “They stay in the cages if we aren’t training or performing. Seriously, are you even taking notes?”

“I have to ask to be sure, Sir. Police procedure.”

Bruce grinned as the Commissioner turned away from the man and focused on the Ringmaster, completely dismissing the trainer from the rest of the conversation. The man’s mouth opened and closed a few times and his eyes bulged. But the Commissioner resolutely refused to meet his eye. With an exasperated sigh and a few muttered curses, the trainer walked away to go scold his assistants at the cages.

“As I said,” Commissioner Gordon continued, still standing tall in his most imposing posture, “I already have people looking into all possible locations that can hold big cats. We’re checking all cargo transports out of the city and taking every precaution to find your animals. In the meantime, detectives will be interviewing your employees—to see if anyone saw anything.”

Bruce heard the unspoken notion that the detectives would also be interviewing the employees as potential suspects. The Ringmaster picked up on it too, but nodded frantically.

“Whatever it takes to get George his cats back. He’s difficult at the best of times, but he knows how to train the big cats. We simply don’t have a show without them!”

As the Commissioner made his exit, Bruce leaned back from the circus tent canvas. George might be good at training, but it seemed that he and his staff were terrible at caring for their precious animals. Dirty cages and no room to run or play? He’d had no idea the Gotham City Circus kept their animals in such squalid conditions. Maybe there was a way to put in an anonymous tip… but there was no guarantee an honest city worker would look into the case. Issuing citations wasn’t likely to fix the problem. There had to be a solution, though. He’d think on it.

Later that evening, Bruce cruised the streets of Gotham after dropping off Tatiana at her penthouse. The woman is part octopus, he thought sourly as he recalled his struggle to extricate himself from her amorous embrace at her door. He’d pleaded an emergency board meeting and made tracks, leaving her beautiful pouting lips and sultry eyes behind.

Bruce stopped at a familiar intersection to wait out the red light. He looked up at the building on his left and noticed Commissioner Gordon’s light still on in his office.

Five minutes later, the Batman tapped softly at the Commissioner’s window. The silver-haired man looked up, startled, then smiled. He slid open the window and moved aside to allow Batman to descend on silent feet. The line of his grappling hook whizzed quietly as it retracted into his utility belt.

“You’re up late, Commissioner. Everything okay?” Batman asked as the two shook hands.

Gordon ran a hand through his wavy hair, sighing. “Just working on a weird one, Batman. Cats. Missing cats. With all the missing people in this town, you’d think that would take priority, but here I am, trying to track down animals like a dog catcher. Or a cat catcher, as the case may be.”

“I heard about the no-shows at the Circus. Are you saying there are more missing?”

Commissioner Gordon laughed without humor. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. A lot more, in fact. We’ve gone past ‘hundreds’ and are closing in on a thousand or more. I don’t know if we’re looking at some kind of predator or—”

“Are there signs of predation? Claw marks or other clues of struggle? Any blood, bones?”

The Commissioner shook his head. “No, thank heavens. God knows I’ve got my cat Ruffy secured at home, though. I was letting him out to roam every once in a while, but now I keep him indoors. I’m a little spooked about him getting grabbed.”

Batman nodded, thinking. “That’s a good idea, Jim. If you aren’t seeing any signs of violence, it seems more likely this is theft.”

“That’s where I was leaning too, Batman. I just got a call from the Southminster Cat show; one of the show cats has been taken. The night watchman didn’t see a thing. I’m going to follow up in the morning and talk to the owner. You want to join me?”

“I’ll bring the coffee, Jim. See you there.” With that, Batman stepped onto the ledge of the open window and disappeared into the night.

Commissioner Gordon couldn’t help it; he leaned out to see which way Batman had gone. But just like every other time, he never caught a glimpse of the Batman after his dramatic exit. He sighed. There was nothing more he could do for the case tonight. He closed the window, packed up his briefcase, and headed home, where he hoped Ruffy would still be waiting.

Dick was laid out on a comfortable Italian leather couch, flipping idly through a magazine when Bruce came through the den.

“And how was the lovely Ms. Aurbach?” he asked, lifting his eyes only marginally from the page.

“Grabby,” Bruce replied.

He loosened his tie and removed his cufflinks, dropping them into the pocket of his slacks. Alfred never failed to check his pockets before washing.

Dick closed the magazine and leapt to vertical, an effortless motion his acrobatic background afforded him. “Oh, really? That doesn’t usually vex you.”

“Who says I’m vexed?” Bruce retorted, just as Alfred entered with a tray.

The nascent argument was forestalled by a late night snack the butler had prepared. The trio settled in around a deeply stained and well-polished coffee table. Alfred poured tea from a silver service and passed the cups around.

“I trust Ms. Tatiana is well,” the butler began, “and that the Circus was a delight.”

“Actually, Alfred, someone stole the lions and tigers. But yes, the rest of the night was fine.”

Dick nearly spat out his tea and eyed Bruce incredulously. “The lions and tigers? Seriously? That’s kind of... specific. And heavy. It would be heavy.”

Bruce sipped his tea with perfect form, ignoring Alfred’s approving glance at his lack of slurp. “That’s not all. Tomorrow I’m meeting Jim Gordon to interview the owner of a missing show cat at the Southminster Cat Show.”

“Stolen as well?” Dick raised an eyebrow.

“I hate to make assumptions…”

“I know you do. I’ll wait for your conclusions upon examination of the evidence,” Dick replied, rolling his eyes. “Anything I can do to help?”

“Just be on call. You have anything else going on this week?”

Dick shrugged. “It’s summer break, Bruce. Other than a couple hot dates, I’m free.”

“Not too hot, I hope.”

“Alfred’s run background checks on them already. Well-bred young ladies from Gotham Academy, not a rebel among them. I’m just trying to be a normal teenager, Bruce. Promise.”

Bruce popped a water cracker topped with gruyere cheese into his mouth and leaned back, chewing. He swallowed. “I know, Dick. I’m glad. It’s not always easy with me, I’m aware.”

Dick grinned. “Easy is boring, anyway. I’m here if you need me.”

“Thanks,” Bruce replied.

He stifled the urge to ruffle his ward’s hair. Dick wasn’t a child anymore; he was a young man of sixteen. He was often impulsive, but he had matured greatly over the six years he’d been Bruce’s ward, both as Dick Grayson and as Robin. Bruce was grateful for their friendship and partnership, though he couldn’t deny Dick kept him on his toes. Thank goodness for Alfred’s impeccable timing and mitigating influence.

“Well,” said the butler, breaking the silence as he gathered the tea service and stood, “I’m off to bed. And you should consider the same, Master Bruce. You have an early morning in the office—”

“And an even earlier meeting with Jim Gordon,” Bruce finished, standing and dusting off his knees. “Thanks, Alfred. Good night.”

“Good night, you two.” Dick settled back onto the couch with his magazine as the older men left the room.

[barnesbabes]

workaholic

gif creds to: @meddows-taylor

pairing: College!Brian May x Reader

word count: 891 words

summary: Brian has been working nonstop and it has started to worry you a bit (you just miss your boyfriend)

You admired Brian’s work ethic, you really did. But as of late you had begun to get worried about him. He was staying up till crazy hours, you allowed him to sleep all day because of it. But this caused you to barely see him due to your schedule. The cycle would repeat. He would work from the time he woke up till he basically fell asleep in his textbook. It was the beginning of the month and your boss decided to give you a week off. 

You unlocked the front door to your shared flat and heard the soft Jimi Hendrix LP playing. You were hoping to see Brian cuddled up on the couch asleep but alas he was working away. He didn’t bother tearing his eyes away from his textbook.

“Hello darling, how was work?”

You dropped your bag by the front door and kicked off your shoes. You walked to the table across from him. You reached across the table and grabbed his hand, kissing his knuckles.

“Darling, how long have you been at this table?”

“Since I got home from practice, like 5?”

You had just closed the shop 30 minutes ago and it was 10. Damn it, Brian.

“Darling, you need a break. You were just assigned this paper- what? The first of this month? It’s only the 5th.”

He continued writing his notes and squeezed your hand. You placed a hand under his chin to look him in the eyes. He smiled tiredly and clearly had sunken eyes from his lack of sleep.

“Bri, you have all month to write this paper, what’s the rush?”

He kissed your hand and smiled at you.

“Think about it. If I finish this paper now, I have the rest of the month to spend time with you and maybe perform at some pubs with the guys.”

You had to admit that you understood where he was coming from. But he had picked his topic on the 1st and continuously working since the 2nd. You moved around the table and looked over his shoulder. You flipped through the pages of research upon research. 

“Didn’t you have a word limit? What was it 600 words? What are you even at now?”

“900 something the last time I counted.”

You groaned and hugged him from behind the chair. He kissed your wrist and reached for his pencil again. His work station was much more disorganized then his work ethic. There were two mugs, one empty another one with what you thought to be cold tea. His textbooks littered across the table, pages of highlighted citations and quotes.

“Can I do anything for you? Make you a cup of tea? Some food?”

“Stay here and keep me company.”

He was clearly sending you puppy dog eyes under a big tuft of hair. You sighed and held his shoulder, shaking him lightly.

“Let me make a cup, then I’ll sit with you.”

You grabbed the dirty cup off the table and walked into the kitchen, filling it with water. Once your tea was done brewing, you sat beside him with your own book. One hand holding the book open while the other caressed Brian’s arm. 

You felt your eyes starting to get heavy as you flipped through more pages. You yawned and stretched your arms over your head. Brian glanced over, his hand rested on your thigh and rubbed it.

“Go to bed darling. You’re tired.”

“No, wanna stay up with you.”

He finally turned away from his work and faced you. He pulled you to your feet and wrapped his arms around your waist. His head rested on your stomach.

“Goodnight love. Go to sleep. I’ll join you soon.”

He patted your back and turned back to his work. You stayed in your position before slowly moving behind his chair. Your hands moved down to his shoulders, causing him to sigh under your touch.

“Love, you’re distracting me.”

But you didn’t bother to stop. You caressed his muscles under his tight fighting t-shirt. You saw his writing getting slower, clearly distracted. You pressed a small kiss to his head, massaging his arms and shoulders. 

“Love..”

He had almost stopped writing altogether. You kissed his cheek, slowly peppering kisses down his jaw as you moved down. He bit his lip and leaned back in his chair. You bit softly and earned a groan from him.

“Okay, we’re both tired, let us not get too worked up now.”

You giggled and pulled away, reaching for his hand. He slowly stood and yawned. It seemed that was him admitting his own defeat. 

“Love, I’m nearly finished with it. Tomorrow we’ll go out to your favorite cafe okay? You’ll have me all to yourself.”

He intertwined his fingers with yours as you both made your way to the bedroom. Brian pulled his shirt off and slipped on a larger t-shirt. You were quick to grab one of his jumpers. You slipped into bed, snaking your arms around his waist and hugging him tightly. He pressed a soft kiss to your hair and held you close to his torso. 

The following morning you had expected Brian to be awake and working on his paper but instead, you found him cuddled up next to you. Someone had slept through his alarm but you weren’t complaining one little bit.

-

[187days]

Day One Hundred Twenty-Seven

It was absurdly windy this morning, and my Block 1 students had Big Opinions about how much they didn’t like that. So they took some time to share those, and then we took some time to discuss Friday’s karate presentation, and then I made announcements about upcoming events this week: SAT testing and a funky bell schedule on Wednesday, a half day for them and then parent-teacher conferences for me on Thursday, a teacher workshop day Friday. I told them I’d say nice things to their parents, and a few joked that they were still scared, and I said I was more scared because I’m actually quite shy when I’m not teaching. That surprised them because, in their words, I seem so outgoing when I’m teaching. I said I didn’t get it either, heh. 

Anyways. 

After that, we did my actual lesson: reading, and then starting a research and citation assignment that they’ll have time to finish in class tomorrow. They have to find info about one of the religions/philosophies we’ve studied (or- advanced version- research one we’ve studied and one we haven’t), and then choose a topic like holidays, marriage traditions, behavioral rules, dietary customs, etc... to find out more about. They’ll eventually be writing an essay using this information, but I’ve noticed that many of them tend to shut down at the word “essay” because it’s overwhelming to them. On the other hand, this assignment seems easy, but it will become their outline and it’ll have all their citations. So the goal is that they’ll realize they’ve already done the bulk of the work by the time I actually say “essay.”

We’ll see how that goes.

Today went well in all three sections, so that’s a win!

And GOV went well, too, because one of my former student joined us via videoconference as our guest speaker, and nothing is better than that for me as a teacher. She’s worked congressional, presidential, and city council campaigns and now has a job at a digital consulting company. And she’s only just turned twenty. So it’s an impressive resume, and one may of my students want to emulate. She fielded questions about her experience, and gave some life advice to these soon-to-graduate seniors. It was really cool.

And this afternoon was the start of track season!

The team is small this year- 45 athletes on a team that once had over 100- but school sports teams all over NH have been declining for a few years now, and the pandemic sure didn’t help any. And the other coaches and I are happy to have whoever wants to be there. We had a brief informational meeting at the start of practice, then I took the sprinters to warm-up, do some plyo drills, and then do some 40m sprints. The windy I mentioned earlier made it a chilly practice, but the ground is clear, we were actually out on the track (as opposed to having to run in the halls/parking lots because there’s still snow). So it’s all good!

[redrobin-detective]

For the writing prompt: it's Izuku's 16th birthday and he receives a gift from his dad through the mail. Preferably in a dad for one situation, with Izuku none the wiser. Good luck. :)

I got another one out! Wasn’t planning on it but it sort of happened, I kind of like it. FYI, no prompts tomorrow as I’ll be working.

“Izuku, you’ve got one last present to open,” Mom says with a wide smile she’s doing her best to hide as she holds something behind her back. Izuku sets down his game controller and gives her his full attention. “I know you got all of your gifts earlier but this one is kind of special so I wanted to save it.” She beams, pulling the present from behind her back and depositing it in his hands.

It’s very plainly wrapped, simple brown paper with no ribbons or frills, the edges crisply held together with tape. Izuku opens the small white card taped to the front. His eyebrows disappear into his hairline when he sees who it’s from.

“Is this real?” He asks. Mom isn’t one to lie, especially about things like this but it’s almost too incredible to believe though, to be fair, this time last year it was unimaginable to think All Might would be giving him a PS Vista. Her head bobs eagerly. 

“It just came in this morning and it’s your father’s handwriting alright,” the smile fades into something a little softer. “I know things with him are kind of strange and Hisashi hasn’t been around much but he loves you very much Izuku. You two would get along so well, you’re so alike.” She reaches over to ruffle his hair, “you definitely didn’t get these curls from me. I’ll let you open your present in peace but come out soon, there’s plenty of cake left.”

Izuku hums as his mother leaves, quietly shutting the door behind her. He eyes the package critically to try and glean any information about the mysterious father he doesn’t remember. The wrap job is exacting and perfect, did Dad do it? Or did he get it professionally wrapped at a store? He weighs the present in his hand, it’s actually quite heavy. It feels like a book of some sort, not quite but close to that of a dictionary. While Izuku loves to read, he hasn’t had much time lately with school and training. Satisfied with his initial analysis, he opens the card again written in crisp, loopy script.

Izuku, 

Congratulations on 16 years. It is my greatest regret that I have missed so much of your life but know that your mother keeps me updated and I am very proud of what you have accomplished. It’s no easy feat getting into Yuuei’s Heroics Department though the strategy and skill you demonstrated clearly makes you worthy. I do wonder if Yuuei, if the heroes, deserve someone as brilliant and motivated as you are. A young man like you has the world at your finger tips and you choose to put your talent into perpetuating the same system of discrimination that hurt you most of your life. It is, of course, your decision but I encourage you to think critically about the choices you make. You never know when they will come back to haunt you.

Take care, Your Father

Izuku blinks and brings the letter closer to read again. His first contact with his father in years and it’s an underhanded jab at heroes? He’d been worried for a second his dad’s package was an attempt to make amends now that Izuku had a quirk and was semi-famous but it seems Midoriya Hisashi had no love lost for the heroes. Mom said he’d worked in the media, maybe that had something to do with his grim letter. Shrugging, Izuku gently unwrapped his gift, which was indeed a book, and hums thoughtfully. 

Injustice and Oppression in the Rising Hero System: A Complete History

The author’s name is something in English but the text is written in Japanese, he flips through the book. It’s dense, while there are some pictures sprinkled throughout, it looks more like a textbook and it appears a good quarter of the text is citations. He reads the back cover, furrowing his eyebrows, trying to make sense of the present and the man behind it. 

Dad has to know he loves heroes so why is he sending a book like this now, when Izuku’s enrolled in a hero high school? Is he expecting him to drop out or something? The forest training camp is in a few days, it’s not like he’s going to stay home or anything. Still, his father is reaching out to him (even if it is kind of weird all around) and Izuku is always willing to respond. Besides, as much as he looks up to All Might and the other pros, the more time he spends in their world the more he sees wrong with the system. Stain may have been a murderer and a hypocrite but he wasn’t wrong when he said society was rotten. Maybe reading this will help Izuku get a better idea of how it came to be like that.

He sets aside his new game console from All Might and settles in to read. 

[the-resurrection-3d]

Somehow wrote 1.1k of a scene for the deer fic? Alright. Brief Paultryck, brief minor character death. Will probably have a version with citations up on dreamwidth soon because it’s almost 5 am and this is what happens when I’m left to my own devices. 

Shakespeare was wrong; most of us are not players. To say that the average man is a player in the course of his own life is at best misleading and at worse tragically comedic. Orwell summarized it best; the truest impulse for the average man is that towards being consumed. Stepping onto the whale's tongue and lying down in its stomach, the final irresponsibility short of death.

Yet I am here. 

Don't mistake me, I have no pretenses that this new 'Red Army' is going to accomplish much of anything, much less anything important, but you also must understand a whale has poor TV reception and few bookstores, even fewer sharp edges with which to drive into one's eye, solid walls against which to smash one's occiput. What else am I supposed to do for fun?

A large man with thick caterpillar brows asks for my name.

Yves, I say. Our name-tags are fill in, and all I have put is my old cat's name in my inherited doctor's script, which thus far not one person has managed to read. His says "Paul," upside down.

We are pretending to mop up a hallway while we smoke, he lolled against the door frame going out into the camp's shipping bay, door propped open against his broad shoulder. Cigarettes are rare and subject to raids during piss-breaks, so we have decided to share one, one toke at a time. That was another thing Orwell prepared me for, excited me with - the breakdown of normal codes of conduct.

I am still a bit caught, though; every emotion is still a little bit disgusting. Such as the way the setting sun paints itself across his arm, up his neck and unshaven jaw.

Paul who is my superior. Paul who is so my type it's pathetic.

He passes me the cigarette, his glove without fingers, leather black and well-worn. He doesn't look he's shaved anywhere but his face since his voice first cracked.

Funny name, he says. I swear I've heard that name before. He snaps his fingers. Isn't that a --

A french designer, Yves Saint-Laurent, I say. And the name of the Pardoner in Patience Agbabi's rendition, from a crooked churchman to a self-help profiteer, You want to know the consequences of sinning? Don't ask a saint, O ladies, ask a sinner.

Getting stabbed and left comatose for ten years, watched over by the corpses of the men I'd meant to poison. Shakespeare would approve.

Paul smiles, but then seems to catch himself, and looks down, taking a long drag. A cool wind is blowing in; I can smell the snow in the air. There's still blood on the floor from a fight Yanov had picked earlier: nosebleeds, a few lost teeth. I'd had to press the cloth to the new recruit's face and listen to him blubber about his innocence, his poverty, his sick mother. A caretaker's white noise machine.

Paul is wearing a fur-lined bomber jacket over his red sweater, one hand in his pocket, the other idly twirling the cigarette. I re-envision the way he'd gotten dressed this morning, out of the very corner of my eye: sitting on his stiff pallet against the wall in only his boxers, back turned so we could all see the way his muscles tense as he put on his black muscle shirt. Exercise first thing after breakfast.

He catches my eyes and I step out, sitting down on the first stone step. A lovely horizon of barbed wire fences and shipping crates. Beyond the first fence, where the other men usually play cards under the mid-day sun, Red Leader has had a dissenter hung. I can't see from here, but I wonder if his blood has already settled, lips blue while his feet are swollen purple. Overnight he may freeze so thoroughly you could cut off a limb without losing a single drop.

A doe has found the corpse, lying in a patch of dead grass amongst the concrete as her infant licks at his pale fingertips.

Hey! Paul calls in Dutch. Get away from there! He bangs his fist on the door so loudly they scatter. Go on, get!  

Better in them than strung up there, I say. Besides, they'll simply come back when Red throws him into the ravine tomorrow.

A noise of discomfort. Maybe so, Paul says, slipping back into English. But that doesn't mean it's gotta be in front of me. Are you sure you're not cold?

I am only wearing the sweater and my fingers are soon to be throbbing with pain. I say, No.

Something hits my back, making my heart leap into my throat with an embarrassing noise. Paul laughs heartily. I twist to grab his jacket, turning my eyes back up to him - the cigarette dangles off the corner of his smile. He's rolling up his sleeves, gesturing for me to put it on. I drape it over my shoulders, allowing it to hang loose and open on me like a blanket instead.

Thank you, I say, voice quiet of its own accord. Turn my gaze back to the hanged man, who is still in the wind, a shock of white with his shaved head and prisoner's clothes against the crimson sunset.

No problem, he says, just throw it on my bed when you come back inside. I'm gonna go see if there are any leftovers; do you want anything?

If I take my gaze away from the sun I'll go with him. Turning into a pillar of salt would be better than sharing another dinner with him, returning his jacket in person, our fingers brushing for a fraction of a second too long to be accidental, having to sleep in too-small on almost opposite sides of the room. Too many entries in-between Auslander and Desmet.

Turning into a pillar of salt would certainly be better than standing up and having him spot my erection. I ask without turning away, You think Red would appreciate the bold aesthetic choice we've left in the hall?

He'll be fine.

I shrug. You know him better than I.

A small laugh. Unfortunately. Last chance for leftovers.

I'm fine. Thank you.

Your loss. The door falls shut. I pull the edges of his jacket closer in, imagining myself a child again, blanket tight around me as my brother and I watched TV with the volume off, because it was close to 11 pm on a Saturday, and we weren't supposed to even be using any electricity. Every creak a sign of the house's incoming treachery, every motion in the peripheral of my vision a tiny little monster, taking notes.

Come to think of it, I called him a dissenter earlier, but I have not actually confirmed that's the case. Does it matter? What's done is done. Either way, the deer come back for us.

For some reason, looking at him hanging there makes me almost want to cry.

The other Yves's home is now a museum. In mine, the statue of Hermione collects scarves and keeps her mouth shut.

[capaldisrighteyebrow]

Unorthodox Auto Repair - A Reylo Fic

That time this video came up in chat and @mnemehoshiko made me have cracky Reylo thoughts about fixing car dents with dildos.Thanks to @spacedarcy for reading this over and helping me fix that pesky problem!

Links: FF | AO3 (ETA: Link added!)

Rey has a split second to make her choice: take the fall or chance an impact. If she swerves now, she'll have to lay down the 200 kilogram bike—not the best option under any circumstance, but a full-blown Bad Idea when sporting a mini dress and heels instead of proper leathers and boots. Damn Rose and her insistence that her bachelorette party should feel like Vegas despite taking place at the Tico family farm.

Option two doesn't give her much better odds: if she brakes now, she may not have the distance to spare before hitting the jackass sitting at the crossroads without so much as parking lights. Her only saving grace is that her heels paired with the unfamiliar country roads have tempered her lead foot. She's kept the engine between her thighs at an even purr instead of coaxing it to the delicious growl she loves to hear, because she does want to show up to Finn's wedding alive come morning.

Gritting her teeth, Rey makes her choice.

In the Porsche's insulated cabin, he almost doesn't hear the screeching tires. By the time he does, it's too late. The car lurches forward from the hit, though it only moves a few inches while parked. Ben scrambles up from his reclined seat, the stars he was observing through the windshield utterly forgotten, and throws open the door.

This night just keeps getting better and better, he thinks sourly. First, the disastrous corporate banquet; now, this.

The air smells like burnt rubber as he circles round to the back of the car. An accented voice scares away the songs of nearby nocturnal creatures concealed in the cornfields surrounding the intersection.

"Shit," the voice exclaims as the girl flips up her visor and starts to remove her helmet with shaky hands. "Fuck."

He casts a cursory glance over the two vehicles. The headlight of the motorcycle shines on his back end, the only light for miles and miles just inches from his bumper. There's a dent, but nothing looks cracked or scratched on his end; her bike's front wheel didn't fare as well. The popped tire sags, making it look like the aging Triumph is bowing to his car.

Insurance details can be hashed out after manners have been met. "Are you okay?"

She swings her right leg backward, dismounting the bike. The black fabric bunched at her hips falls down to her upper thighs, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't take in how much skin stretches between the hem and her black pumps. Legs. Legs for days. Toned and smooth and. . .the absolute last thing he should be focusing on right now.

"I didn't ask to see my life flash before my eyes," the girl answers after running her hands over the front of her leather jacket and up again to grip the back of her neck, "but yeah, I'm fine."

Now that manners are dispensed with, his voice takes on a harder edge, "Are you drunk?"

"I've had drinks," she throws back, "but that's not the problem."

He holds the shock of anger in his fists, squeezing it up his arms and through his neck, before finally gritting it out around his teeth. "You rear-ended my car."

She tosses her hair over her shoulder, kicking up dust from the road as she steps toward him, an accusatory finger pointed at the loosened knot of his tie. "I bumped into your black car that didn't have any fucking lights on in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere at night," she counters. "If anyone was a hazard on the road, it was you."

He's both impressed and horrified by her words. The sharks he swims with usually conceal their teeth around him; seeing them bared and ready to bite is oddly refreshing. "Are you always this eloquent at three in the morning?"

"Only when my best friend is getting married tomorrow, and his fiance will kill me if I end up in jail," the girl goes on.

"I didn't say I was going to call the cops," Ben remarks. He has every right to. Taking his car in to be looked at by the dealer for underlying damage will cost him more than what her bike is worth. Still. . .the truth she hit upon nags at him: he is at least partially responsible for the accident. Parking at an intersection without hazards—even on a back road no one should be cruising through on a still-dark Saturday morning—wasn't the best choice on his end.

Her eyes snap up to his, hopeful. "You mean that?"

Ben groans inwardly. Considering the age of her bike and the sudden calmness in her tone, he assumes it means she has no insurance. He doesn't care much; money has never been a concern on his radar. But her bike is inoperable, if not totaled. How is she going to get it fixed without coverage? What would have happened had she been thrown from the bike and injured?

He puts aside the what-ifs to focus on the present. His jaw eats around the lie as his hand waves off the entire accident, willing to sweep it under the proverbial rug seeing as neither of them are hurt. "There's no damage."

Her eyes narrow. "Are you blind? Or do you really not see that dent?"

"It's nothing major," he corrects.

She's already shaking her head at him, not accepting his words even though she's the one that benefits from him not making a fuss. This girl seems determined to hold on to something he's ready to move past, to forget.

She crouches next to his bumper, hands smoothing over the impact site, whispering her apologies. "I'm so sorry, gorgeous. I'm gonna fix you up in no time."

"Are you talking to my—?"

"Shh," she hisses. "Let me think. I can get this dent out. I know I can."

She'd give anything to have her tools. Normally, she keeps the essentials in her saddlebag at all times, but she'd needed the space to transport party supplies tonight. For a moment she considers offering to fix the dent at her shop on Monday—even goes so far as to visualize the sleek, black 911 model nestled into the single station she calls a garage—but brushes off the thought.

The G-Man, whom she's upgraded from jackass due to his offer to forego a paper trail, would probably laugh at such an offer. He's dressed in navy Tom Ford pants and a tailored white shirt that knows every curve of muscle in his upper arms and chest intimately. This is the kind of man who doesn't work for the government so much as is the government. He doesn't come to businesses that break half a dozen OSHA laws unless he's there to give a citation.

Better not to invite trouble, Rey agrees with herself. Even so, she can't leave his beautiful Porsche looking like this. If only I had something with suction. . .

"Ah!" she cries, startling his spine straight in her eureka moment. Spinning dangerously on her heels, she bends over to dig through her saddlebag. It's a crazy idea, but the physics of it should be the same no matter if the pull is coming from a traditional suction cup or from the more unorthodox tool she has on hand thanks to Rose and her ridiculous party favors.

Her hand finally closes around the soft shaft of silicone and she whips it out into the country air.

At first, Ben isn't sure he's seeing what he's seeing. It can't possibly be that.

She straightens and holds the electric blue dildo aloft like it's some award. A delighted laugh at her ingenuity turns into a fit of giggles as she considers the obscenely large phallus, pressing the base to her hand several times as if testing it out. Whatever simulation she's running, it passes. "This should do the trick."

He intercedes before she can reach his vehicle. "Wait," he tells her, "You're going to fix my car with a. . .with that?"

Her smile falters slightly as she looks from him to the intimate toy—how anything so imposing can be called a toy, he can't begin to fathom. Flipping the dildo so she's holding the tip, she shows him the end with the concave cup. "It's just like a plunger," she explains. "It'll work just fine. These things have some incredible suction."

He's at a loss for words, but his eyebrows must speak for him because her eyes cringe shut and she runs her tongue along her bottom lip. "Not that I would know," she mutters, clearing her throat.

"This really isn't necessary," he protests. "I can have a mechanic work it out tomorrow."

"I am a mechanic," she returns with a proud smile. "And one that won't charge you a fucking pound of flesh for an easy fix."

Without another word, she brushes past him and kneels down on the road, clenching her jaw against the bite of the asphalt on her bare knees.

"It's just. . ." he begins again, gesturing at the thing he can't seem to name without his cheeks threatening to catch fire. "Why do you even have it?"

She shrugs as she lines up the base of the dildo with the center of the dent. The thing is so large that even her two hands don't cover all of it. "It's from the party. No need to worry," she adds, "I haven't used it yet."

Rey remembers learning about spontaneous human combustion in school and thinks it might be happening to her right now, starting at her ears. Haven't used it yet? she repeats to herself with an internal groan she wonders if he can hear. You don't plan on using it at all, Rey. It was a gag gift.

She goes silent with embarrassment and hopes he thinks she's concentrating on her task. There's not a chance in hell that she can meet his eyes right now to check. Instead, she secures her hold around the dildo and presses it firmly against the dent. She feels the air compress beneath it, gives the dildo a slight twist to lock it in place, and then yanks back with a determined pull.

The dent pops out with a hollow thunk, and it's over. Easy, peasy. She's probably just saved him a grand with a five second job.

His remark is a dumbfounded whisper: "I can't believe that worked."

She's still flushed from her previous comment, but she can't help grinning at the skeptic. "I said I could fix it. I'm good at fixing things. Always have been."

"Even with your skills," he starts, "I don't think there's a way you can fix that tonight."

She follows his gaze to her busted front tire, and Rey scrunches her nose at the sight. It really is a miracle that she wasn't bucked from her seat when the rear of the bike popped up. Having opted for two wheels all her life, Rey's had her fair share of scary situations and taken one or two trips to the ER; tonight marks the first time she's ever been truly afraid of not walking away.

"I'll have to call for an Uber," she remarks, tucking the dildo under her arm to retrieve her phone. "Finn will give me a tow to my shop in the morning."

As she unzips a pocket on her leather jacket and removes her phone, Ben scuffs the asphalt with his cap-toe Oxfords. Getting an Uber to come all the way out here at this hour is going to take forever and cost her an arm and leg. He would extend an offer to drive her home, but he can't think of a way to express it without coming off sounding like a creep. They are relative strangers, after all. He doesn't even know her name.

"I'll wait with you," he says instead, leaning against the side of his car and tucking his hands into the pockets of his pants. "It's the least I can do."

"You might be out here until dawn," she comments as she scrolls through the app to contact a driver.

"I insist."

Her thumbs stop moving across the screen. The girl peers up at him, cocking her head to the side. "If you're willing to wait that long, why not just give me a lift?"

Ben thanks the stars that she is the one who asks, and he pushes away from the vehicle. "I'd be happy to, if you're comfortable with that."

She looks from him to the car, an odd sense of longing in her glance. In the eyes of a mechanic, the sleek Porsche must be an awfully big temptation. The hunger in her gaze isn't focused on him, that's for sure. He fleetingly wonders if it's possible to be jealous of his own car.

"On one condition," she states, then changes her mind, "No, two."

Tentatively, he nods in agreement. He did say he wants her to be comfortable with him driving her home. "Make your demands."

"Show me your ID."

Of all the things she could have said, that isn't what he anticipated. "My what?"

"Your license," she repeats. "I don't make a habit of getting into cars with men at three AM. You could be a serial killer."

His eyes go wide and his jaw slack in mild horror—these are the conclusions women leap to?—but he's already digging into his back pocket for his wallet. In a moment, he produces it and slips his driver's license out of the clear window, holding it out to her between two fingers while questioning her logic, "Even if I was out to kidnap beautiful women, how would having my license keep you safe?"

She shrugs, snapping a picture of it and tapping out a message he presumes she's sending to a friend. "It wouldn't," she answers, "but at least if I go missing, the police will know where to look first."

"A bit morbid, don't you think?"

"I like to think of it as pragmatic," she responds, finally reading his name from the card, "Ben Solo."

He watches the way her mouth forms his name, how her pink lips kiss together before curving around the vowels. "What's your other condition?" he inquires as he plucks his ID from her hand.

She moves past him and ghosts her free hand an inch over the car's shell, headed for the passenger side door, as she makes her second request: "I want to hear her roar. I may never get the chance to ride in one of these again, and. . .it'll kill me if I don't find out what she can do."

He mirrors her movements as she speaks, meeting her on the opposite side of the car. He was right about the hungry look in her eyes as they feasted upon his car. "I think I can make that happen," he agrees with a wide grin, adding, "But he prefers to be called 'Kylo.'"

"Ben and Kylo," she repeats with a smile. "We had a rough start, but I'm glad to have met you both. I'm Rey."