#but five year olds can know A LOT of stiff

[court-jobi]

Hi, lately I came across your blog and I really adore your writting style :3

I was very excited when I saw you have open requests (if I am not wrong, otherwise ignore me hah), so I have request for Bakugou × reader, when they are in established relationship, but lately it got rocky, because he was barely home, trying to climb ranks and just neglecting their relationship, so they barely even talk. Then reader gets kidnapped, due to being Bakugou's SO, but she feels so irrelevant at this point that she starts saying to the kidnapper that they are wasting their time, because Bakugou is not coming for her, whick Katsuki overhears, you know just good old angst with fluff at the end maybe

If this request is too complicated or specific please don't feel pressured to do this, anyway have a lovely day/night

I am very much receptive to asks, and thank you so much for providing one!! super flattered actually and spent my entire afternoon crafting up this bad boy bc I had an instant idea for it

Hopefully I touched all the right notes on this one, enjoy anon! Don't be a stranger~

Do It Scared

Words: 4.9K

Warnings: Pro Hero!Bakugou x reader TW: kidnapping, intimidation, light descriptions of violence, protective Bakugou is protective, language, angst with a happy ending (promise!!) and potential spoiler: Pro Hero!Deku

for my My Hero Academia Masterlist, check it out here!

Read on Ao3

Dynamight is on top of the world– or at least working his ass off to get there.

With Deku back on the leaderboard, he’s got twice the motivation and has never been in love with being a hero more.

“That’s what -heh- nine for you this week, Dynamight?” the newly suited Pro beams at Bakugou- not unlike the five year old version of him did back a lifetime ago.

Only instead of bashing the twerp upside the head with a gloating tease, Bakugou simple smirks and gives Midoriya a stiff push on the shoulder, 

“Ten, but who’s counting, nerd?”

The winded, black-and-blue villain currently under custody finds the heroes’ track records funny. Midoriya doesn’t necessarily take these villain types’ remarks to heart, but hates the attitude of this one today.

“Yer sidekick keepin’ count?! You wanna badge or a chest to pin it on, smartie pants? –AAGH!”

“HEY- THE ONLY GUY CALLIN’ THIS DEKU A NERD IS ME, DUMBASS!! YOU’RE THE SHITHEAD GOING TO JAIL FOR THAT STUNT– AND HE’S HEADING INTO THE TOP TEN!!”

“HO-OKAY, DYNAMIGHT, I think he’s had enough!!” 

Deku corrals the punk’s restraints a bit, but leaves the remaining process of reading rights and detainment for the police who just rolled up. Deku will proudly share that much prefers this ‘thick as thieves’ treatment to the ‘fight me or die’ dynamic they shared in school, and couldn’t be happier to be Pro Heroes once again.

And if Bakugou were completely honest, so was he. He’s in his element and closer to reaching his goal by the day.

Walking out of earshot from the police unit, the two are heading over to Ingenium and Creati who are deeply engrossed with the intelligence officers who just arrived on the scene. 

“Ten it is, then– you really need to start leaving some to me though; I can handle it, you know,” Midoriya slips his facemask down, exposing a pleading grin Bakugou still kinda wants to punch some days. “Might give you a little time to actually take a rest day now and then!”

“Tch, if you were fast enough, you’d do it, ‘Zuku.” Bakugou straightens out his gauntlet, but misses his best friend’s tilt of a frown. “N’ who said I need a rest day, anyway? I’ve never been better!”

“I can think of one person..” Midoriya hinted strongly at something that truly escaped Bakugou’s focus. Every now and then, he couldn’t quite mindread the nerd like normal, if he was deep in work mode.

“Heh?”

Midoriya raised a friendly, tired brow, “How’s your girl been lately, hm?”

Bakugou tenses a touch, but quips back, “Whaddya mean. She’s fine, been working a lot too.”

“Not as much as you. What’s she up to? You haven’t said much about her.”

Which was an oddity, indeed. Your successes, your insights, and even your random memes were common topics of conversation from Bakugou’s lips. But Midoriya did raise a finer point between the lines– you’d been put on something of a backburner, and he knew better that something must be off for the blond porcupine to rarely speak of you. Bakugou sensed it himself, but the more repeated check-in texts he received, the cycle of his non-answers worsened. This must be what the nerd is getting at.

“She’s fine-” Bakugou pressed, assuring himself and no one else, “Look, we’ve got our flow, and it works. I keep her in the loop when I’m busy and she gets it.”

Midoriya heaves a disbelieving breath, and just fixes Bakugou a look.

“What’s that shitty look for, huh? Whaddyou know?!”

“I know when she texted me yesterday that she doesn’t sound thrilled about your overtime…” the freckled sweetheart touched a personal chord within Bakugou. “Or that she hasn’t even heard from you to talk about it? I mean, I-I know it’s not my business, but Ka-”

“Deku, Dynamight!” Iida waved the two over from their aside, and back into work mode- to Bakugou’s drop in spirit, “We have a bit of a time-sensitive mission to take care of~”

Deku turned to the officer, raring to go and and straightening up his shoulders to address their more formal counterparts, “Of course, officer- how can we help?”

“Well sirs, we’ve got an ongoing heist over on the other side of the riverbank, and need a bit of coordination to respond.”

Yauyorozu had just finished off a protein pack of some sort and had demurely crumpled its trash in her hand while navigating an ipad passed to her. She’d welcomed Midoriya over when he took interest in whatever footage she’d been presented.

“Well shit, we supposed to be standin’ around like this when time’s wasting, or what?” Bakugou asked brusquely.

Ingenium -in his formal, helmeted fashion couldn’t hide his practiced patience well with the hothead in his response;

“The need for firepower is necessary, Dynamight– but caution is as well,” Iida reminded dryly. “We are in a heavily populated area, and must exercise control.”

Bakugou merely purred a low growl and turned diplomatic.

“Fine. We got live wires? Hostages?”

“To our knowledge, only a select few- a dozen at most,” the officer answered, “We can see most of the victims through the bank’s glass lobby. It’s a small, petty theft group- or so we thought, but there are some decent quirk users among them. Seems they are after more than funds, but records as well.”

Bakugou refrained from rolling his eyes, but only barely. Surely there were bigger and better missions to be pursuing than this– something a bit flashier, more suited for his skills with higher civilian rescue numbers to add to his count.

“One guest was able to contact via the emergency text line, and reported that someone did pull an emergency trigger and was taken further back into the vaults as a prisoner.”

Iida empathized, “Hardly fair- I’m sure none of these customers were armed, and they were simply acting as any hero would trying to notify the authorities.”

The officer firmed up a smile in agreement and proceeded to share some more info about how far back into the bank the team would need to infiltrate based on proximity to servers. 

“Sure you don’t just wanna call ‘Tape’, bust in there, strap ‘em up, and call it a day? Y’don’t really need a whole evac team, do you.”

A simple rescue in-and-out should be easy enough, or so he assumed- until Yaoyorozu took a bit of a sharp intake of breath in her nose, alerting Deku to fixate on the screen again,

“Bak- erm. Dynamight,” Yaoyorozu interjected gently, “-you need to see this-”

Bored and still half paying attention to the officer, Bakugou only barely looked Momo’s way, and didn’t really feel like a crowd around a tiny screen -in full sun- was warranted.

“What? It’s frickin’ bright out-”

“Kacchan,” Midoriya shot back icily, “get over here.”

Something alarming had struck him in the face, and he was purposefully putting on a front to those not personally connected to the heroes. Sidestepping ‘Legs’, Bakugou was passed the ipad and played back the security footage of the interior of the bank.

Time stamped at just fifteen minutes ago, a civilian in question had tried dipping around the counter to where some clerks had been bullied up to the opposite wall- but one of the employees jerked her head towards one of the registers- a lightning quick gesture. This cued the civvie -a woman, if the hiked up skirt was a correct indication- in the foreground to feel around the bottom lip of the keyboard for something- likely an alarm switch. Once done so, she’d merely knelt back down, hoping to stay low and sneak back to avoid the thug to lash out at the person who’d tipped her off.

But then -comically enough- the thug sneezed and unfortunately whipped to the side to let it fly. Looking up, there she was in his sightline. With something akin to a spider’s web knocking her flat onto her back, she’d been dragged up and back with the others- trying to ground herself with a squatted stance first, tried to force her elbows back, then bashing her head back in an attempt to hit her captor– until she was ultimately slapped and taken back to the far hallway, hunched over.

Bakugou saw red. His heart stopped then set itself on fire, hotter than Hades. He’d known that self defense response from having taught it, himself.

You pulled the alarm. 

For the first time in his career- he knows the target he’s saving. He’s in love with her, after all.

Damn your neck hurts. If your elbows hadn't been glued up to your sides, you woulda used those instead; but now having jerked your head back, you’d given yourself a healthy dose of whiplash.

And got a punch to the gut. And a slap to the face. Joy.

There’s fight, flight, freeze, and fawn. You’d seemingly gone for the fight route, with your body moving before your self-preservation could catch up, but it seems your fawning tactic of remaining calm and quiet wasn’t working out for you now. At least you took the attention off those poor girls in the lobby who were in near hysterics. 

Only now it seemed you’d taken on the role yourself, back here. You try to breathe deep, drop your shoulders, drop your jaw. You’d think this would double to avoid showing any fear that your captors can use against you, but it’s honestly just to help keep you grounded and not panic and curb the intense need to vomit or cry.

Please. As if you’d even call yourself heroic for pulling the theft alarm– but you suppose it’s instincts. Carry-over bravery: osmosis you assume, from hanging around these heroes. Your hero. Katsuki.

You’re stunned– you’re shocked– and you’re scared. 

Katsuki. You want Katsuki. More than the police, more than your mom. 

You want your hero to come for you, over any other in this entire country. The name pounds behind your eyes when you shut them against a wave of pain, the person you want more than anything else in the world.

–And at the same time, that man’s name hurts at the cry for it: given he hasn’t spared you more than a one or two word response in days. Because he’s overworked by his own volition. By his own drive. And you should be angry. You have been, for this is the longest you haven’t seen each other outside of a trip; considering you’ve all but committed your lives together and he’s typically at your place every other night, the drop in communication is a cold bath.

And you’re scared now- it’s a blurry feeling. Time is wonky when you’re stuck in a room with no windows, no visible clock and just waiting. All those tips they tell you about how to react in an emergency to keep calm? The ones you’ve heard over and over again in security briefings and teacher preparedness days before the school year starts? Man, is it easy for those to go out the window when you’re in actual trouble.

You just want Katsuki. And that’s a silly thought, considering how wide the city is. He could be clear across the district right now.

But just saying the name -thinking of any other pleasant time when he had his arms around you play-fighting that could make these bindings feel more bearable- that’s what you want to cling to.

The villains here are pretty pathetic as interrogators go, but that spares you no calm as they taunt you as if you were a captured magistrate or politician. They’re split into two parties; their head honcho trying to tap into the databanks of the servers two doors down while your immediate captors with the creepy quirks are choosing to go through your recovered phone seeking out blackmail like the assholes they are. Your primary apps for insurance and paying your bills are thumbprint protected, so really what could they get to that's confidential? Nothing, to your knowledge. But it seems your camera roll strikes their interest. 

Oh yeah, they hit low. They see your lock screen first- a sweet photo of your harmless, dopey dog who they snark that you won’t be home to feed on time. Then even more, as your home screen displays a picture-perfect selfie of you and your darling man. You picked it because it’s rare proof of him smiling at some wisecrack you made before snapping the shutter.

Your handsome and infuriatingly busy man. 

“Aww, well just look at little miss hero’s cute lil boyfriend! Bet he’ll be awful proud of you playing the savior~”

“Tehehe, too little too late though, yeah? Gotta be quicker than that for us.”

“Geez, how sappy can you get. This guy’s all over her…and can’t blame him, honestly. Makes me feel a little bad for roughing such a pretty thing up.~”

Gross. Just gross. You act like you don’t listen, your simpering pain turns to nausea the more they talk. Until a renewed sense of fear hits:

“Wait- go back. Oh. Ohhh shit, no.”

“Whuh.”

“Fuck, man, that’s DYNAMIGHT!!” the jerk with the copious amounts of tattoos and chains draping off his arms like whips gets nervous real fast, “We have Dynamight’s girlfriend!!”

Your other guard seems to swallow for a split second, but immediately tips to a feigned dominance,

“Well, ain’t that just icing on the cake~”

“THE HELL DO YOU MEAN? He’s gonna come after her!! You know how scary that guy is?! I’m telling the boss-”

“Don’t wimp out already,” he fires back. “Why do that and waste time- when knowing this, we could get paid double? Heroes ransoms can cost him a pretty penny, and you know he’ll do it for her. Those heroes make bank.”

You flatten your brows angrily. 

“Whaddya think, princess? Big man gonna come and save you, huh?  

You really want Katsuki. But you truly have no idea if he’d know or care to come at this point. The spiral downwards in the mind is dizzying along with your headache, and just makes your heart sick for him. 

When you see him next, you’re not sure if you’d hug him or throttle him. Though now, you just wanna see him. 

“Unless.. He doesn’t!” his mood shifts- patronizing, “Too busy makin’ a paycheck and name for himself and all his hero buddies than to settle down and think about the pretty thing at home? Well, I would fix that real quick–”

A muffled boom sounds on your right. Rooms away.

Another, louder. Two beats after, the guards look at each other.

You hear a yell, a harsh one, then another blast that sounds cracklier than the rest. Someone’s close. But you’re honestly not sure if it’s friend or foe.

You’re excited, but get nervous again when the lackeys move into action. Chains loops a rough swing of his appendages around you and starts dragging you back into the adjoining office, while the muscle goes back to type at one of their private laptops that’s downloading something.

You give off a flare of panic in your voice- a sound you hate but can’t control. 

“It’s-s not him–” you force your pitch lower, but it shakes despite your best effort. “Cmon, there’s too many heroes, s’not gonna be him–  n’there gonna come an’- bust yall anyway!! Whaddya want me for?!”

As you’re dragged, you catch a glimpse of shine from above you. In the vent, you see mustard yellow and teal saturated with shadow- all metal. Then, his voice, through a comm on his wrist that flashes in the reflected light:

“Got her. Light it up, on your left.” 

Both lackeys drop what they’re doing and look up to see the vent kicked into the floor– and the wall totally blown in from your right. 

Dynamight -the Symbol of Victory- and Deku -the Symbol of Peace- are dropping in at breakneck speed, though the former is out for blood.

“ALRIGHT, WHICH ONE OF YOU FUCKERS AM I KILLING FIRST??”

Deku’s landing creates a decent wind with his jump, revealing Bakugou behind where the door usually is, and clocking your position almost immediately. 

It’s a powerful thing, to see him in action- you’ve certainly never seen it in person, and you’ve never heard him this mad. To his credit, he never raises his voice enough for you to fear it.

He spots you and the guy who rushes him, but just snarls, evades his whip of weighted chains entirely, grabs him by the calf, and chucks him into the opposing wall with a spinning throw. Then, he sets straight to you.

“DEKU!!” he shouts to Midoriya, “Trash, at your ten!!”

“On it!” Your angel from the ceiling ducts is currently laying into the other guy, but keeps the reeling villain in his sights before he can get up and strike again. You imagine the sucker has more than a few broken bones (or truly is dead, as promised)… he doesn’t move from his figure on the floor.

While you’re still coughing up a storm from the drywall throwing dust everywhere, Bakugou comes to your side and immediately picks your bound body up in a rush from the chair you were perched on.

“C’mere you-” 

He sounds rushed and spent, huffs it out of the room and into a separate office down the hall. 

You spot Ingenium and Creati moving on to the other end of the hall where you know the final villain remains, but you can already hear the squeals of said wimp once Iida bursts in. This will be quick work for the rest of them, so you weren’t worried Dynamight would be needed anymore.

Inside an executive’s office, Bakugou kicks the door behind him shut with his heel and sets you on the dearest flat surface- a decently sized desk.

“Hey you- you still with me?”

You don’t realize you’re breathing so fast until he’s looking you square in the face with split concern. It’s night and day from when he burst in after one of his more gusty explosions, his voice all cracked and high in pitch.

“Cmon, baby look at me- here, let’s get this crap off of you..”

Your gasps for air turn wet and you can’t keep yourself from crying anymore. It would be notably sweet that he still tries his hardest not to curse wildly around you, but right now you don’t care what font his expletives are in. Every bit of stress leaving your body all at once is a rush for your senses and your emotions.

“Kats~”

After his pocketed knife’s quick, careful work separating your arms from your waistline covered in a still-sticky webbing, he sheaths the blade again and collects you up when you launch yourself at him. 

Bakugou holds you hard and fast and you can’t even be bothered to worry about how his shoulder pauldrons are nearly choking you. He’s got you back in his arms, and he’s just saved your life.

“I’m here,” he grunts to you, relieved beyond measure, “I’m here, sweet’eart. You’re safe.”

You’re so thankful. You’re so happy-

“N’d I am so sorry.

-You’re so confused.

In a flippy tone that betrays what heightened nerves you’d just gone through, you ask, 

“Huh?”

Bakugou’s fingers thread into your hair when you try and pull back-

“Don’t. S’the first.” His iron-sure voice wavers, “I- I haven't hugged you all week.”

Then, you’re both crying into each other, and it’s a healing thing. 

Dragging careful nails across the back of his hero suit, you try to offer a tiny bit of comfort to this mass of man cradling you on this desk. You know you’re still in dire need to talk about his recent absence, but what a reunion this was. Feeling him after a seven or eight day stretch of near radio silence changes the degree of flame you hold against him. Honestly now, you’re in the mind to think he deserves a pass entirely. 

Bakugou finally lifts enough to press a kiss to your head, but makes no move to let go of you. “I’ve missed you, baby.”

Has he? He’s barely texted you past the ‘I’m heading out’ and ‘I’ve gotta sleep’ with no room to offer or reciprocate any form of love between you; so much so, it threatened to make you doubt. 

“Have you? I haven’t heard.”

“No, you haven’t. And that’s all on me.”

You turn your head very slowly- your entire neck is still tender, but you'd rather listen to him with an ear to his chest, where you belong. 

“I’ve missed you too,” you settle on the truth. You might have more to say when you’re not so exhausted, but the truth is you’ll still love him no matter what, and you do always miss him.

You miss every moment, big and small. His wins and losses. Nights where he’s high off a victory or the ones where he’s bone-tired and in his head about how weak he must seem. Nights where he takes out his hearing aids and just wants to fall into your silence to sleep safely, and the mornings where he’s up and ready to go take on the day after he has your kiss and hug to charge him up. Whether he has your chapstick smeared up on his cheek, or the promise of your arms to hold him in whatever state he greets you when he comes home, you just miss him. You notice when he’s not there. The house seeks him out, with lights on for him to find his way inside, and low music to soothe what anger might have followed him home.

You take a few moments to just soak each other in. You hope and pray he’ll come home with you after this.

And thank the Maker, your prayers might just be answered.

“This was a wake-up call, sweetheart.” Bakugou sounds a bit bolder, but still talks softly to you and the dust mites around you, “I’m takin’ a leave. A long one.”

The way he promises time off is something he’s toyed with before, but never followed through on.

“You can’t do that, Kats,” there’s no coldness to the words, but you mean it.

“Yes I can. It’s my race; I can step away.”

You sigh against his pec, “I’m.. I’m not asking you to. I can’t, that wouldn’t be fair.”

To you, sure. But not for his dream. Not the dream he’s worked and fought and lived for since before you met, and long before he fell in love with you. You’d supported him in this chase to save everyone and be the best at what he does from day 1, and you’ve never wavered on that– you still wouldn’t, even if someone asked you now feeling as dejected as you do by his absences–

“Tch. Y’know what's not fair?”

Bakugou finally loosens his grip on you to lift your chin up to him with thick, strong fingers, 

“Leavin’ you for days on end; waiting up, worried sick. Leaving, and just assuming you’ll still be there when I get back. And now you’re getting fuckin’ snatched the minute I turn my back on what we have. That isn’t right.”

The correlation is irrational- this incident today was a freak accident. You couldn’t have planned it- or certainly hope that your identity as his significant other is not going to be weaponized. Shuffle in the hallway beyond tells you that the possibility of that information leaking is sufficiently locked up along with them. 

Surely Izuku would have grabbed your phone– and maybe set you up a new lock screen with a mean mug to poke some fun at ‘Kacchan’.

You slump against him, at the sound that he’s being too hard on himself, and that’s not what you want for him either.

“I just miss you, Katsuki. And I want to see you succeed.” you study the bold ‘X’ across his chest with fondness and heartache mixed, “I want both those things. I just can’t help but wonder if you have to go at it so fast? And so hard, where I never see you? Like you’re racing against the clock to be #1? I just want you there in one piece; I don’t care how long it takes.”

You have no doubt he’s going to land the spot before he’s thirty. You just hope for a balanced ascension to the height of his power and ability. And selfishly… you hope you’re in the picture of his life when he does.

Bakugou hears and you do believe he listens, as he smooths a calming hand up and down your arm all the while.

“And today..” you clam up a bit with an uncontrollable shake, “Today was- scary. But you couldn’t help that. Any more that you can help it from happening t’ anyone. I know that,”

And you look up at him despite the burn it causes you. And -a funny contrast to your still teary eyes- you smile.

“-but you did save me. And that was- honestly one of the coolest things I’ve ever seen in my life.”

The comment strikes him as funny, too, since he gives a little chuckle.

“Me blastin’ in and causing you to choke on my smoke?”

You nodded briefly.

“Kinda hot, all things considered.”

Unbelievable, his headshake and eyeroll at how easily you can -and will- make jokes. Perhaps it is the shock still, deflecting with humor. 

You do realize how fragile it is because when you laugh at the absurdity, you catch his eye again and you look just a little too long before you’re sniffling. 

The reality is that you could lose him at any time: whether by his end or yours. He’s got the more dangerous job by far, but if today was any indication on your part, you shouldn’t just think yourself as a shoe-in for safety.

Bakugou cups your face in his hands to make himself perfectly clear.

“You’re the hero today, angel. Watched you in 16-bit as you snuck back there, taking that bastard into next week. You saved every- single- one of them.” he placed a kiss on each word as he praised you. “I am so damn proud of you.”

Your hands still skipped, limbs jumpy. 

“I don’t feel like a hero.”

His lashes lured you in as he gazed at you through them, “Doesn’t mean you aren’t one. You did it scared. That’s pretty hot, too.”

You huffed your amusement as he thanked you in his own way. Best to let him carry on before he’s whisked away again. 

Just as you thought he might release you in ushering you out of the office, Bakugou takes you by the hands so that you can stand, then keeps you in place by his immovable stance.

“Things are gonna change,” he vows, “because none of this shit matters if I don’t have you. Yeah I want you now, but I’m gonna want you after my fire’s burnt out. Which means, I gotta pay attention. I have to set ‘who matters’ just as high as ‘what matters’ and remember why.”

Touched by every word, your trembling lessens. You take in his warmth and his care and his explosive loyalty with confidence and nod in agreement.

Taking one last selfish hug, you sink into your hero again, standing more as equals than you usually feel being held by him. He’s lifted you up in more ways than one. Enough to let safety back into your heart, enough to tease,

“That can’t be your line. When did ‘Zuzu’ give you that one?”

“Hey,” Bakugou flicked you in the temple lightly, “I can be nice too, dammit.”

“Sure you can,” you kiss the dip of his neck in apology.

“You’re just always nice, you can’t appreciate the difference.” he pouts, taking your hand and leading you out of the office.

“...Sure I can.”

You have to give him a solid shot– he’s nothing if not insistent with what he wants.

Outside the room, there are a host of officers, photographers, medics and heroes aiding in the recovery efforts, so you relax your hand in his to let go,

–only he doesn’t let you.

Bakugou glances to you, “You’re in shock, extra. You need to get checked out.”

“I’m fine, Mr. Dynamight,” you chortle with a little head bobble like you would have normally done, only now the movement makes you wince.

“That’s what I thought. OI, Deku- where’s her sh-phone?”

The iron hero stands with the receptionists, looks to you both and smiles gratefully, before nodding off to his company and joins you-

“This, I believe, belongs to you, maam~” he perks up as he comes around to your other side. It’s not so much that you have to pretend to be strangers, but in this high-traffic place, it seems easier to fall into roles of ‘heroes’ and ‘thankful public’.

“How kind, Mr. Symbol of Peace~ I’d be missing this!”

Double checking your lock screen, he did -in fact- change your cover screen to a playful selfie: pointing at the crumbled remains of the wall they’d broken into, with the caption:

>>Whatever Kacchan wants, Kacchan gets <3<<

Muting your laugh, you simply tilt your phone Bakugou’s way and catch Midoriya’s quick wink back to you, before he sets off running with a screaming boyfriend sprinting after him.

At least Katsuki showed up back at your place at 6:30PM on the dot, fixed you both a salmon dinner, and started getting your baseline of support back on track. With his next two weeks off and barely keeping his hands off of you so far, you believed he was making good on remembering his why.

[phthalomushroom]

The Family (6)

pairings: modern!mafia!aemondxreader

summary: You had left Kings Landing and the Targaryen family four years ago. Now back and living with your old roommate you realize that the life you had thought you escaped had seemingly been waiting for you. But will the family really let you go? Will the people you left behind forgive you? Can you forget the past and look to the future?

warnings: language, mentions of trauma, shooting, gunfight, injury, angst

word count: 2.09k

note: I did not proofread this so if there is any errors, apologies in advance. Hope this chapter answers some questions, enjoy!

Five years ago…

You didn’t like how much changed in the short time of your senior year. You had moved out of your father’s house, moved to an apartment with Baela - for surprisingly cheap- and had gotten into your dream school.

Yet with all the change you still had yet to confide in the one person who meant the world to you. Months of agonizing over whether to stay or go, months of worrying how he’d react, months of chickening out finally lead you to your decision.

You had to tell Aemond you were going to North College.

It was a decision you had arrived at with a heavy heart but this was your dream school and one that had offered you a scholarship that you would never have dreamed of. Baela had said you would have been a fool to pass it up and you couldn’t agree more with her. She was the only one who knew about this- considering she heard some of your late night breakdowns over the decision.

You knew that you needed to tell Aemond as soon as possible, especially with graduation happening in less than a month. You didn’t know why you held back from telling him, maybe scared that telling him would make it all the more real. Maybe telling him meant that your relationship would be in limbo. You didn’t want to end things, but there were expectations for him, you knew that, and with those expectations meant that he needed to be relied on. He needed to be here, always.

Which meant that you would be on the backburner.

You knew he’d be proud- happy even, at least at first. But once he’d think about what that meant for the two of you, for your relationship, you didn’t think he would be so agreeable anymore. He loved you, he loved being around you, so to tell him you were going to be six hours away meant he would have to love you from afar.

And Aemond would never agree to that. 

Things were brewing with his family business. The Lannister family was getting bolder, interrupting business dealings, interfering in public elections, and putting the Targaryen power into question. It didn’t help that Aemond’s older sister was beginning to be put on the ousts of the family as Aemond’s father fell into a coma. 

A coma that Aemond had told you he had suspicions about.

Aemond was on edge most days now, even now as you watched him from across the dancefloor. You had snuck off from your friends, from him, to get some fresh air from the sweaty ballroom. He was stiff, his shoulders taut, even as Jace seemed to have told a joke to the group, his smile didn’t meet his eyes. 

You desperately wished that he would open up to you about anything. At first you were fine with the secrest, knowing Aemond would tell you eventually but now… he never talked about it. It was starting to feel like there was a space forming between you two that was filled with all the secrets he kept.  Maybe that’s why you kept your leaving a secret, you wanted to know what it was like to hold something back from the person you love.

And it didn’t feel good.

“You don’t look like you're having fun.” Baela stopped beside you, handing you some punch. 

“Just… a lot on my mind.”

“Then you haven’t told him yet.”

You let out a breath, looking at the punch in the glass before taking a sip. “I’ll tell him tomorrow, let him enjoy tonight without having to worry.”

“He seems worried already.”

“So you’ve noticed it too.”’

“He’s more assholey than usual. I had thought it was because you had told him but guess not.”

You shook your head. “Somethings wrong. I don’t want to pry but he's not talking to me anymore.”

“It might be his dad, Jace was telling me they’re in talks of taking his dad off life support.”

You looked towards Aemond, frowning. “He didn’t mention anything about that to me.”

Baela frowned. “Sorry for breaking the news.”

As if he could feel you watching him, he looked towards you, your eyes meeting. He smiled slightly, a light coming back to his eyes that he had been missing before. He nods his head towards the exit, a silent question being asked.

“I’m going to head out, tell everyone I said bye.”

“Of course.”

You made your way through the crowd of people, meeting Aemond by the door. He took your hand giving you a quick peck on the lips before leading you out to the awaiting car.

“A little early to be leaving,” you said as you slid onto the leather seats.

“As much as I love organized events, our night is fully booked.”

Aemond’s driver wordlessly started the car and began driving towards downtown. Aemond put his hand on your thigh, his thumb lightly drawing circles on your skin. You wrapped your hand around his arm, pulling him closer, looking up at him. He was staring straight ahead, sweat gathering at his brow, he looked… nervous.

You put your chin on his shoulder. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Everythings great.” He turned to face you, kissing your forehead before looking straight ahead again.

“Aemond… talk to me.”

“We’re here.”

The car had stopped in front of Federicos, the restaurant unusually closed for a prime time for elegant dining. Aemond opened the door, offering his hand to help you out before leading you inside. 

The restaurant was filled with candles, a rose petal pathway led down to a flower arch and a bottle of wine. Aemond walked down the path, his hand in his pockets pulling out a velvet box.

Your heart beat rapidly, palms sweating. “Aemond… what is this?”

“I haven’t had the best role models for relationships.” He turned back to you with a shy smile on his face, tears in his eyes. “But you taught me what it’s like to love safely. You are probably the only good thing in my life and I know I’m not deserving of you but… you have been someone who has always made me feel lighter.”

Your feet moved without thought down the path of rose petals.

“I hope that everyday, for the rest of our lives together I can prove that I am deserving of you, that you and I are meant to be in every way. I don’t want to say that you make me a better man because that’s not your job, but you do. You make me likable, tolerable.”

You laughed at that as he took your hand in his.

“I am so in love with you that I know not even death could tear us apart. Your kind, determined, tough, and a fucking smart-ass, but I love you and… I want to marry you.”

He opened the velvet box to expose a beautiful diamond ring, sinking to one knee. “So, will you marry me?”

You stared not at the ring, but at him, at the love in his eyes. The word yes on the tip of your tongue but all you could think about was that gaping hole that had formed in your relationship and the future you had been dreaming of.

Your mouth became dry and your ears began to ring.

You loved him, god did you love him, and yes you wanted to marry him eventually. But now? You had plans and dreams, you had wanted to see the world outside of King’s Landing and he… he needed to stay. He had to stay and you had to leave. 

The Aemond you fell in love with, the Aemond from a year ago would have known that this was not what you wanted- marriage at eighteen was not something you wanted. 

Aemond’s smile dropped slightly, his eyes flickering across your face, reading you. He was so good at reading you.

He slowly stood, closing the velvet box.

The snap echoing through the quiet room.

He grabbed the wine from the small table, pulling out a chair and uncorking it. He took a gulp- once, twice. He wiped a bead of red that escaped from the corner of his mouth.

“Why not?”

He sounded so dejected, so… hurt.

“It’s not what I want.”

He snorted, setting the bottle on the table. “Not what you wanted…” he shook his head putting a hand through his hair. 

“I’m sorry.”

“You know, I asked my mother for her ring- a family tradition you know- she wouldn’t give it to me. She said, ‘she’s not ready.’” He looked up, meeting your eyes. “I… I guess she knew you better than me.”

You walked over to him, kneeling to look him in the eyes as you put your arms around his neck. “Just not right now, we… we have so much time but-”

“How do you know that?”

“What?”

He pulled away from you, to stand and begin pacing. “How do you know how much time we have? I could have a month, tops, I could have a fucking hour and-”

You stood, grabbing his arm and pulling home to face you. “What are you talking about?”

He shook his head, tears in his eyes. “I… I can’t.”

You leaned up, putting your forehead against his. “I can’t help unless you talk to me.”

He sniffled, wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you closer. “I can’t let you get hurt.”

“I’m tough, remember? I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.”

He let out a long breath. “I’m handling it, (Y/N/N), but-”

A popping sound sounded from outside followed by glass shattering. Aemond moved before your brain could even process what was happening, pulling you behind the bar as he shielded your body with his own. 

He drew one of the guns that was stashed behind the bar, pulling out his phone and dialing as he popped up from the bar and firing back. 

“Shots fired! (Y/N) is here and I need an extraction and coverage.”

More shots fired from outside, as more glass broke. Aemond took cover, putting his body over yours again as the bullets ricocheted throughout the restaurant. You did your best to become as small as possible, curling your body into a ball as you put your arms over your head.

“Just breathe, (Y/N), okay? Help is on the way, they’ll be here soon.”

There was a loud bang as if someone had broken down a door and then more gun fire, this time from the back of the restaurant.

“Fuck! They’re inside.”

Aemond stood once again, firing off some more shots, the sound of a few heavy things hitting the ground. The sound of another gun went off, this time closer causing Aemond to duck down as bullets hit the bottles of alcohol on the shelves behind him.

“One more,” he whispered to himself.

When the shots ceased. Aemond stood up again only to get thrown back as a burly looking man tackled him to the ground.You screamed, scooting back as the man began hitting Aemond over and over. 

Aemond’s face became bloody and swollen, he tried to turn his head to look at you but with each hit the blows got worse.

Your body was on autopilot as you picked up Aemond’s gun that had fallen from his grasp and pointed it at the man about to kill the love of your life. Tears streamed down your face as you turned your head looking away as you squeezed the trigger. 

The gun reverberated through your arms, causing you to drop it. The sound of the hitting stopped but you still couldn’t look. Familiar arms wrapped around you, pulling you away.

“You’re okay,” Aemond said. “You’re okay.”

“Aemond,” you sobbed, clutching him.

“I’m so sorry, (Y/N). I’m so fucking sorry.”

It was then that the adrenaline began to wear off, your body shaking with what just happened. A burning sensation erupted from your hip. You looked down to see a lot of blood staining your pretty dress.

You clutched Aemond’s arm tighter. “Aemond.”

He looked down to see the wound, swearing profusely as he put his hand over it, pushing down.

“I don’t want to die.”

Tears streamed down Aemond’s face now. “You won’t- you won’t, I promise, you won’t.”

Your vision spotted, your ears ringing as you saw Aemond look up and calling out to someone. It took everything in you to hold on long enough to see the man with the medical case kneel above you.

Tag List: @dixie-elocin @liannafae @toodlesxcuddles @watercolorskyy @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @namelesslosers @tssf-imagines @xcharlottemikaelsonx @yourbane @beary-rambles @a-beaverhausen @lightblindingme

[ladykailitha]

How I would do a sugar daddy/sugar baby AU. (I hope this doesn't awaken anything in me *side eyes the omegaverse*)

I've seen this well done in this fandom, I'm not saying I haven't, but of the ones I've seen they tend to be omegaverse or mafia/shady sugar daddy.

And I want thirty year old rockstar!Eddie with twink Steve. I said what I said. I think we forget that for the most part Steve isn't beefy. When he's "bulked" up, it's his clothing (Eddie's vest) or its his thighs that are "thicc". But Steve (Joe Kerry in particular out of the role) is thin.

So we have rockstar!Eddie with Corroded Coffin touring the country and doing a couple of dive bars because that's where they got their start and hitting up The Hideout, because again that's where they got their start.

Steve, who recently got kicked out of his parents house because he came out with liking men (gay, pan, bi don't care) and lost his job because again with the liking men thing (small town homophobia for the loss!)

So with his last twenty dollars, he decides to hit up on the local bar and drink away his troubles and maybe even get laid for a warm place to sleep tonight.

He gets dressed in his sluttiest clothes. Crop top, cut off booty shorts, sparkly blue sneaks.

Only he shows up on the night that Corroded Coffin is playing. After paying what he thought was a stiff cover charge (was actually a ticket to see the show) he gets in. He has less money than he hoped but he can only hope that someone is willing to buy him drinks.

He settles in next to the bar and realizes his mistake. The rest of the patrons are dressed in metal gear. Leather, black denim, and lots of chains. Steve doesn't just stick out, he sticks out like a prep in a metal concert.

But he can't afford to go anywhere else, and hopes he doesn't get too harassed tonight. So he keeps he head down and hopes of the best.

Only what he doesn't know is that he has caught the eye of the frontman and lead singer of Corroded Coffin, Eddie Munson. The fact that Steve stands out isn't a detriment, it's a perk.

He wants to find out everything about this boy who stumbled into his enclosure.

The rest of the band is rolling their eyes.

Eddie sends out one of the PAs to make sure that all of Steve's drinks go on Eddie's tab and spends the whole concert watching this guy.

After the concert Eddie sidles up to him and they get to talking. Immediately he picks up that Steve is not old enough to be there. So now he's worried he's under age.

They head out for a smoke and Steve admits that he's not twenty-five like the fake ID says, but nineteen. He shows Eddie his real ID as proof and Eddie is relieved.

They start making out and Eddie takes him to his hotel room to have sex.

In the morning, Eddie asks if he can take him home and Steve starts sobbing. He tells him about his shitty day with shitty parents and shitty boss.

And Eddie's bleeding heart immediately goes out to him and tells him to stay at the hotel for as long as he needs, order room service. Just no booze.

Steve pouts at that but agrees. That as long he stays at the hotel he won't buy booze on Eddie's dime.

Eddie gives Steve his phone number if he needs anything. He transfers the hotel room over to Steve's name, gives him a sultry kiss goodbye and leaves to finish his tour.

Steve doesn't have anywhere else to go and is not willing to look a gift horse in the mouth, so he stays at the hotel. He gets to spend time in the luxurious bathroom with it's fancy shampoos and conditioners and hot tub like bath.

He finds that Eddie keeps sending him clothes and jewelry and suddenly the rich life style that he had with his parents pales in comparison to the extravagant lifestyle Eddie is providing for him.

Through all this Steve is still looking for a job as he doesn't want to overstay his welcome. But news hadn't gotten around town that he was gay and even people he thought he could trust are telling him that they can't hire him.

Eventually he gives up. He talks to Eddie all the time and whenever he feels discouraged Eddie will send him something pretty to cheer him up.

Finally Steve catches the fairy that had been leaving things in his hotel room when he's in the shower or out on the town.

Her name is Robin Buckley and she's a summer intern. Her uncle knew a guy who knew a guy that got her the job. She actually loves it, but she has one more year of high school and her parents won't let her drop out to be a PA for a rockstar.

They're concerned that he'll take advantage of her. Robin thinks it's funny because she's gay. Steve thinks it's funny because Eddie's gay and not into under eighteen year olds.

He tells her his story and over the summer they become best friends. Robin had heard that the Harrington boy had run off so imagine her surprise when Eddie's management had her deliver things to his hotel room. Staying in a hotel room in Hawkins is hardly running away.

Eddie comes back and just continues to throw money and gifts at Steve but doesn't ask for sex again. It's not until Steve tells him that he didn't fuck Eddie for his money or even for a warm bed at that point when he went back to the hotel with him, it was because Eddie cared. And god was that sexy as hell.

When Robin graduates Eddie hires her to be Steve's PA and the pair of them get to travel the world with the band as besties.

ETA: Story here.

[laurie-stark]

Only A Moment

(not my gif)

Summary: Another hunt goes wrong, but this time it leads to some...unconventional release of anger.

Warnings: SMUT 18+ MINORS DNI

Pairings: Sam Winchester x OC

A/N: you guys on tumblr deserved this too

Once again, the drive back to the motel was silent. A knife could slice right through the tension in the air, and Kath was tempted to try. Bobby had sent them on another demon goose chase, this time in Minnesota. They made it out without a scratch, but only barely. The demon was stronger than average and possessed the body of a little girl. And demon or not, no one wants to hurt a little girl. To Sam and Kath, the answer was obvious. Sam could trick shot the demon back to hell in less than five minutes and they would all be on their merry way. Dean said no. After an hour of back and forth between the boys, Sam decided he was old enough to stop listening to his big brother. The little girl was returned home to her parents before the night was over. And the night was far from over. 

Kath bit her lip in the backseat of Baby the car. She glanced nervously between the two brothers. Dean was stiff as he drove, going well above the speed limit. Sam had his head leaning against the window. It was not often that Kath disagreed with Dean. For most of their lives together she’d follow him blindly. It was second nature. But Sam’s addiction was something they could not find a middle ground on. Dean didn't understand. He was human after all. He didn’t have a disease coursing through his veins. He wasn’t created as the product of all things good and evil. He did not understand. 

The moment Dean pulled into the parking lot, he unleashed weather greater than God on his baby brother. Kath sighed and ran a hand over her face. This was not helping. At this point in their journey, Sam was not in the mood to be chastised. He had saved them, saved everyone. Dean should be grateful. Sam got out of the car while Dean was mid-sentence, slamming the door on his way into the motel room. 

Dean had about a million rules when it came to Baby, and slamming her car doors was a felony. Kath inhaled sharply, not because the sound of the door scared her, but because she could literally see Dean’s face turning a bright shade of red. If she squinted she could see steam coming out of his ears. 

“That little shit!” Dean said, gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles. He moved to get out of the car but Kath stopped him.

“Dean stop,” she said, putting a hand on his arm. “You know as well as I do that we were trapped. If Sam hadn’t done what he did then we’d all be as good as dead.” 

Dean was not listening. “That’s not saying much since Sammy’s already halfway gone to hell.” The sentence stung Kath and it wasn’t even aimed at her. To anyone else, the idea of going to hell was a passing thought. Coming from Dean though, Kath couldn’t believe he’d say something like that. Not after the thirty years Dean endured. For Sam, she might add. Kath opened her mouth to respond but nothing came out. And Dean was already halfway into the motel room. 

Kath entered the musty motel room to the brothers having a catfight. They were shouting so loudly that Kath couldn’t make out what was being said. She almost got trampled by Dean as she walked through the doorway. He pushed past her, got into his car, and drove off into the night. It all happened so fast that Kath got dizzy. She got a grip on her footing and gently closed the motel door, locking it with a click. Sam was pacing across the floor with his hands in his hair. 

“Don’t let him get to you Sammy, he doesn’t get it,” Kath said. She took a few steps towards him so he would stop pacing. It always made her nervous. Sam stopped in his tracks. His hands dropped to his side and he stared at her blankly. 

“Can you shut up?”

Kath’s jaw dropped. In all their years of bickering and pissing one another off, he had never once told her to shut up. In fact, Sam told her on numerous occasions how much he valued her opinions. She was shocked. 

“Well fuck me for trying to be helpful!” Kath threw her hands up in defeat. “You are such an asshole, you know that?” 

“You’d like that wouldn’t you,” Sam muttered under his breath, ignoring Kath’s asshole comment. 

“What?” Kath asked, not hearing what Sam said.

“I said you’re full of shit,” Sam responded. “You think you know me? You think you understand what I am? You have no idea what it’s like to be…to be this.” Sam gestured to himself. “I’m poisonous Kath.” 

“Do I need to remind you that you’re not the only one who learned life-changing information? There is no part of me that’s human! I have been a walking vessel from the moment I was born Sam. So fuck you for saying I don’t understand.” 

The vein in Sam’s forehead was beginning to grow, which meant Kath was really getting under his skin. Normally she wouldn’t dig herself any deeper, but he was rude to her when she just wanted him to know she cared. He had it coming. 

“At least I can say I’ve got some good in me. You’re closer to evil than I’ll ever be.” 

Sam closed his hands into fists. He brought one up to his mouth to bite his tongue. Although his stature would never show it, Kath’s statement hurt Sam down to his core. It was in his nature to be evil and he fought against it in his every waking moment. 

Kath stared at Sam through furrowed brows. She waited for him to respond, to retort with a snarky comment about how she was acting like a brat or a princess or one of the other thousand remarks he’d made before. His silence scared her. His posture was furious, but his eyes were hurt. She knew she had taken it too far. 

“Look,” Kath started. “I’m sorry. We’re both exhausted. Let’s just forget about it.” She didn’t wait for a response. Kath stepped past him to go take a much-needed shower. With one wrong footstep, she accidentally pushed her shoulder against his. The impact made Sam stumble sideways. She hadn’t meant to push him, but he didn’t know that. He was fed up with her and the way she made him feel. Like he was worth something and worthless all at once. 

Without thinking Sam grabbed hold of Kath’s right arm tightly. He pulled her towards him, her back flush against his chest. He felt her inhale sharply. He leaned his head down to the space between her chin and her shoulder. Kath could feel his warm breath tickling her neck. 

“What are you doing?” Kath asked, trying to wriggle out of his grip. Truthfully, Sam didn’t know what he was doing. All he knew was that he was angry and she was there. And from the way her hips pressed back against him, he could tell she wanted something as much as he did. Sam loosened his grip as Kath twisted her neck to look up at him. Kath’s eyes were wide with confusion, Sam’s looked at her with desire. Their lips were dangerously close to one another. Something in the air snapped and it was unclear who made the first move. But the next thing Kath knew, she was kissing Sam with force she didn’t know she was capable of. 

Sam’s hands were all over Kath’s body, turning her so that she was facing him completely. He brought a hand up to cup her chin, tilting it upward so he could get more access to her mouth. All of Kath’s better judgment had flown out the window. She let Sam devour her, tongues clashing and hands flying. The kiss took all the air out of her lungs. Sam leaned back to let them both take a breath before leaning down to kiss her once again. Clarity washed over Kath as she inhaled and suddenly she was very aware of what was going on. She pushed both hands against his chest, putting some much-needed space between their bodies. 

Sam and Kath stood on opposite ends of the motel room. The light above them flickered in time with their laboured breaths. What the hell was that? Kath was unsure, but deep down she liked it. Something inside her burned and ached for more. She stood a little taller, shoulders back a little straighter. Her mind was clear this time and she took one long stride towards Sam. In one fluid moment, she pulled his head down to hers and their lips met again. This time, it was Kath who enveloped Sam in an embrace. The sudden movements made Sam stumble backward until his back hit the wall behind him. He braced his weight against it, letting it hold him up so he could focus his strength on kissing Kath. Neither one of them knew where all this passion was coming from, but they weren’t exactly eager to stop it. Sam groaned into Kath’s mouth as her fingers tangled in his soft hair, tugging ever so slightly. Kath smirked inwardly at that, making a mental note to do that again later. 

Sam’s hands were erratic, travelling from the nape of Kath’s neck down to her waist. He wanted to explore every inch of her. The tips of his fingers made their way underneath her tank top. She gasped at the contact and pressed her body closer to his. She could feel his heart racing underneath his shirt. She wanted, no she needed to feel him. She had never done anything like this before. Sure there was the odd townsboy she’d meet on a hunt, but she had never done anything more than kiss them. She had no idea what she was doing, but at the same time, it felt natural. Kath broke the kiss hastily and started to tug on the hem of Sam’s shirt, signalling that she wanted it gone. Sam slowly placed his hands on top of hers, stopping her. She looked at him confused. Wasn’t this the natural next step? 

“Do you want this?” Sam’s voice was low against her neck. Kath nodded. “I need to hear you say it, Kath.” In all that she knew about sex, she wasn’t aware there was supposed to be talking. Could Sam not feel how badly she wanted this? 

“Please,” Kath said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Sam pulled back in surprise. “Please?” He echoed, almost mocking her. A dark smirk fell across his face and he tilted his head sideways. “I can work with that.” 

Sam’s hands grip Kath’s hips tightly and he walks her backwards towards the motel bed. She almost trips over it, landing flat on her ass with Sam towering over her. She is reminded of the last time they were alone in a motel room together like this. She’d wanted him then too. Now she could have him. 

Sam gestured for Kath to move up the bed and she complied. He was impressively large above her. He began to crawl towards her, leaving a trail of kisses up her body as he went. When he reached her mouth he paused and took her in. Kath looked different below him. Fragile, but not breakable. He took her mouth once again, this time bringing his knee between her legs as he did. Kath moaned into the kiss as Sam’s body contacted the place where she was most sensitive. Her body had a mind of its own. She ground her hips against Sam’s thigh. Sam felt his chest seize as she did. He kissed her deeply, then began making his way back down her neck, sucking on the sensitive points. He knew he would leave marks in the morning but right now he did not care. 

Kath was making the most beautiful breathy noises Sam had ever heard. He’d give anything to get her to continue making them. Shirts went flying and Sam’s mouth travelled back down the way he came and eventually, he slid off the bed onto his knees. Kath propped herself onto her elbows to get a better angle of him. Her breath caught in her throat when Sam took hold of her hips and dragged her toward the end of the bed. She let out a small yelp. Sam chuckled. 

“What are you doing?” Kath asked for the second time that night. It occurred to her then that they had no idea when Dean might come back. Sam’s hands ran the length of her legs and the thought left her mind. All of her thoughts, actually. Sam slowly began to unbutton Kath’s jeans. Her heartbeat doubled. As if he could sense it, and maybe he could, Sam stopped. 

“Is this okay?” He looked up at her with his puppy dog eyes. She smiled down at him. 

“Yeah,” she breathed. Sam continued to unbutton her pants, taking an excruciatingly long time. Kath fought the urge to whine at him to hurry up. Once Sam had undone the final button, he tugged at the hem of her jeans. 

“Lift.” It wasn’t a question. Kath lifted her hips and to her surprise Sam pulled her pants and underwear off all at once, leaving her completely exposed to him. The sight of Kath’s naked body made Sam’s mouth water. He stayed motionless by the edge of the bed for some time, just taking her in. She was beautiful. Kath felt herself grow a little embarrassed just laying like a pig on a platter. She sat up and scooted towards Sam, pulling him closer to her. He nestled between her legs while her arms linked around his neck. She took the opportunity to study his face. Loose brown curls fell around his face, and she was playing with the ones at the nape of his neck. Kath took to examining his face with her hands, tracing his eyebrows down to his nose and over the one freckle on Sam’s cheek. 

“What are you doing,” Sam asked in a mocking tone. He gave her a smile that let her know he was kidding around. 

“Just looking,” Kath shrugged. 

Sam ran his hands up Kath’s sides and over her shoulders. “You nervous?” 

“A little,” Kath said, breaking eye contact. “It’s just been a while.”

“Have you never…?” 

“Not never, just not…everything.” 

Sam’s demeanor changed completely. His hands dropped from Kath’s shoulders and he pulled away from her. 

“Oh my God, we can’t, I can’t be your first time.” Sam stuttered over his words. 

“Sam, I don’t care about that,” Kath said. 

Sam started pacing again. “I mean, how have you never? Not once?” 

“When would I have had the time to check this off my bucket list?” Kath asked. “I’ve been hunting  for half of my life, sex isn’t really on the table.” 

Sam stopped in his tracks and turned to look at Kath, who was still naked on the bed. 

“Then how the hell did you learn to kiss like that?” He asked with both hands on his hips. The question caught Kath completely off guard. She started to giggle, which then turned into full belly laughs. Sam let his guard down and laughed with her. When they had both settled down, Kath rose to her feet.

“We don’t have time to care about romances Sammy. The most I’ve ever hoped about my first time is that it’s with someone I trust.” 

“You mean that?” Sam asked after heaving a sigh. 

“Do you think I’d be standing buck-ass naked in front of you if I didn’t?” 

That was an answer enough for Sam. Without another word, he bent down to pick Kath up by her thighs. She yelped as her feet left the ground and she was tossed haphazardly back onto the bed. Another laugh escaped her when she bounced. 

Sam was quick to bring the moment back. He kissed her fiercely, framing her head with one hand and running the other along her bare thigh. With each stroke, he made sure to inch closer and closer to where he wanted to touch Kath the most. He could feel her growing impatient below him and relished in the power. Kath stopped kissing him and finally let out the whine she had been holding in.

“What’s wrong?” Sam asked innocently. Kath only frowned in response. Sam gave her thigh a tight squeeze which caused Kath’s breath to hitch. “Tell me what you want from me.”

“Touch me, Sam.” 

Sam needed no further instructions. He gingerly moved the hand on Kath’s thigh to the depths between her legs. He didn’t have to look to know how wet she’d become for him, but God did he want to. Sam quickly positioned the two of them so he was sitting against the headboard and Kath’s back was against his chest. She was almost sweating from the anticipation. She let out the sweetest sounds when Sam’s fingers finally found her. He started off with a gentle circular motion over Kath’s clit. The sensation was sending waves of pleasure throughout her entire body. Kath sighed and let her head fall back against Sam’s shoulder. Sam brushed the hair out of her face with his free hand. He continued to work Kath into a tizzy and eventually slipped a finger inside. Kath had experienced this before with other men, but those moments did not come close to this. She felt like she was a fire and Sam was the fan that kept her burning. 

Sam coaxed another finger into Kath’s entrance. She moaned excessively as he curled his fingers inside her, brushing them against that sweet spot. 

“You feel that angel?” Sam said into Kath’s ear. 

“Mhm!” That was all Kath could get out. 

“No one’s ever made you feel this good have they?” Sam grinned as Kath shook her head furiously. “And to think that I’m the one who gets to take you, you must be really desperate.” 

Kath’s moans were getting higher and more frequent. Sam felt her core pulsing against his fingers. The tightness in his pants grew. Even in her state of bliss, Kath still had the ability to push her body against Sam’s for the sole purpose of getting him harder. The groan Sam let out was reward enough. In retaliation, Sam continued pumping his fingers in and out and watched Kath get closer to her edge. Just as she was about to fall over it, Sam removed his fingers from her. The loss of sensation left her feeling empty - and entirely unsatisfied. 

“What the hell?” Kath whipped her head back to look at Sam.

“You really thought I wasn’t going to take my time with you?” Sam gloated. He brought the fingers that were just inside Kath up to her mouth, tapping on her lips gently. 

“Open,” Sam commanded. Kath did as she was told and Sam filled her mouth. She took his fingers perfectly. “Atta girl, you see how good you taste? I want a piece of that.” 

Kath’s eyes widened at the thought of Sam being…down there. That was further than she’d ever gone before. 

Sam manhandled Kath into his lap and she straddled him easily. She bent down to kiss him and Sam could taste her on his lips. The desire to have her almost made him dizzy. He pulled away and cupped her face with both hands, looking at her with pleading eyes. 

“Kath please,” he begged. “Please let me taste you.” 

Kath blushed. “Well if you want to that badly,” she said. 

“You have no idea.”

Before she knew it, they were right back where they had started, with Kath lying on the edge of the bed and Sam kneeling before her. The temptation to eat her out for hours was strong, but the urge to make Kath squirm was stronger. Sam began to place small kisses along Kath’s inner thighs while his fingers lazily danced through her folds. She was a whimpering mess. Kath’s hand found Sam’s hair and she started pulling desperately on it so that he would do something. 

“You have no patience, you know that?” 

“Sam, please!” 

“Please what?”

“Touch me!”

“I thought I already am,” Sam smirked. 

“I could touch you here.” He pressed the pad of his thumb against her clit. 

“Or maybe I could touch you here.” His finger traced the outline of her entrance. Kath was moaning loud enough to wake the entire motel. 

“Or maybe…I could do this.” 

Kath’s vision went white. Sam pushed two fingers back into her while pressing his mouth to her clit simultaneously. She cried out and her hands flew down to his hair. She was tugging on it as though she needed to for dear life. Sam groaned against her and the vibrations sent a shiver up her spine. Sam matched the pace of his fingers to that of his tongue and brought Kath closer and closer to her edge in waves. 

“Oh my God!” Kath exclaimed. “I think-” 

Her words were cut off by her moans. The final wave finally crashed over Kath and coursed throughout her entire body. Pleasure from her core extended all the way to her fingertips. She was writhing like crazy and Sam had to use his free arm to pin her down. Only once Kath started to come down did Sam take his mouth away from her. 

Kath was panting heavily. Sam used his discarded shirt to wipe Kath off his mouth, although he knew he’d be savouring the taste forever. He gave her a moment to come back to reality and discarded his pants onto the floor. He joined her back on the bed in just his boxers. Sam lay propped on his elbow beside Kath, absently drawing circles across her arm. Kath eventually came to and noticed the state Sam was in. 

“Where did your pants go?” She asked in a very serious tone. 

Sam laughed at her confusion. “We don’t have to keep going,” he said genuinely. 

“Please don’t stop.” 

Sam’s eyes darkened and he leaned down to capture Kath in a kiss. They became a tangle of limbs and tongues and teeth. Sam pressed his hips against Kath’s and she could feel his hardness against her core. The desire that filled Kath’s head was almost unbearable. She began to push her hips upwards against Sam’s. He shuddered above her and buried his head into the crook of her neck. He trailed kisses down it and then he sank his teeth into her shoulder. Not enough to hurt, but enough to make Kath’s head swim. 

“I need you,” Sam breathed into her neck. 

“Then take me, idiot,” Kath said back. 

Sam pushed off of her to remove his boxers, his cock springing upwards as he did. Sam got off the bed quietly to dig through his duffle bag. He pulled out a condom and slipped it on effortlessly. Kath shamelessly checked his ass out while he had his back to her. 

He was above average for sure. Kath couldn’t help it when her jaw dropped and she stared at him. Sam chuckled at her and gripped her chin. He moved her head from side to side as if he was deciding on something. 

“Hmmm, no,” he murmured. “We’ll put that pretty mouth of yours to use another time. Tonight I’m going to take you until you’re screaming.”

Kath had no idea how to respond to that so she didn’t. She simply laid back down on the mattress and watched Sam tower over her once more. He kissed her once, then tapped her thigh. 

“Open.” 

Kath gulped, then slowly began to spread her legs apart. Sam sunk in between them. The tip of him was pressed against her entrance and Kath’s heart began to race again. Sam held himself up with one hand and used the other to line himself up with Kath. He kissed her again, this time tenderly. 

“Are you ready?” Kath nodded. “You tell me to stop and I will.” 

Kath nodded again and closed her eyes. She opened them again to the feeling of Sam’s thumb tilting her head up. 

“Nuh-uh,” he said. “I want you to watch.” And with that, he pushed himself into Kath. Her jaw went slack and a gasp slipped past her lips. Sam let out the most beautiful moan Kath had ever heard. The feeling of Sam stretching her out took some getting used to, but Sam gave Kath ample time to adjust. He waited for her signal to start moving. Kath took a few deep breaths and then nodded. 

Sam started off with slow, gentle thrusts. This was Kath’s first time, of course, he wanted her to remember it. But with each movement, Sam’s ability to control himself slipped away. He kissed her feverishly and trailed his free hand down her arm to grip her wrist. He pulled her hand above her head, pinning it there with his own. The gesture made Kath euphoric. She could tell he was beginning to lose his grip. Now it was he who was holding onto her for dear life. 

Kath was nothing if not a nuisance. She knew that if she reached her free hand up into Sam’s hair he’d snap. She knew that if she tugged on the loose curls that hung by the nape of his neck she might need help walking tomorrow. So naturally, she did it anyway. Sam groaned desperately into her shoulder and the grip on her hand tightened. 

“Kath,” Sam warned.  

“Just let go,” Kath assured him. 

“I can’t.,” he said through gritted teeth.

“It’s okay,” she promised. “I won’t break.” 

Sam tried to hold on for her sake, but eventually his mind cleared. His thrusts became harder and faster as he took her with a force she didn’t know he was capable of. Still, she trusted that he couldn’t hurt her. They moved in sync together, like a choreographed dance. Kath felt the fire begin to grow inside of her. Sam was hitting the right spot over and over and over. When she couldn’t hold on any longer Sam leaned down and placed a kiss below her ear. 

“Come for me, angel.” 

Kath’s body shook underneath Sam as she fell over the edge once more. Pleasure crashed through her and she was close to tears. Sam’s pace didn’t slow, but the strength of his thrusts did. The hand that was once holding her own gently cupped Kath’s cheek. She opened her eyes and found Sam looking into them. His hair fell around his face, framing it perfectly. His skin was flush and he held an expression that Kath couldn’t place. Time around them slowed with what Sam said next. 

“You are so beautiful.” Sam came inside her soon after.

Kath’s heart seized. The euphoric feeling that flooded her brain moments ago was gone. She was not expecting that from Sam. She was used to his snarky remarks, even the names he called her were usually laced with sarcasm. What he said was genuine. It was vulnerable. It was not what she had signed up for. 

Sam pulled out and flopped onto his back next to her. They were both panting, sweaty messes. 

Sam let out a breathy chuckle. “That was something.” 

Kath stayed silent. Sam took it as post-sex brain fog. He got up and headed to the bathroom to clean up, leaving Kath alone with her thoughts. When Sam returned, she quickly stumbled into the bathroom without so much as a look in his direction. 

Kath looked at herself in the mirror. Her bare chest was decorated with purple marks. Her skin was flustered and beats of sweat trickled down her neck. 

What the hell did they just do? 

Kath splashed water from the sink on her face and finished cleaning up. When she left the bathroom the first thing she did was find her discarded clothes. She folded them carefully and put them on one of the motel chairs. Kath pulled her pajamas from her own duffel and pulled them on. Despite the pit in her stomach, she still made a show of bending over to pull the flannel pajama pants on. She could feel Sam’s smirk burning into her back. 

Sam was sitting against the headboard of the bed he and Kath had just christened. That was some of the best sex he’d had in, well in a very long time. He studied Kath carefully as she pulled her pajama bottoms on, making sure to check out the ass she put on display. He flipped the blanket over so she could get into bed next to him. To Sam’s surprise though, Kath made a bee-line for the other bed. 

“What are you doing?” Sam asked. It seemed to be the question of the night. 

“Going to bed,” Kath responded curtly. 

“Come here then.” Sam patted the spot next to him. 

Kath looked at Sam’s hand, then at him, then at his hand again. She shook her head. 

“No, I’m not sleeping with you,” she said. 

“You just did,” Sam responded with a smile. 

Kath’s expression did not change. “No. We’re not, I’m not…This isn’t going to be a thing. It was just a moment.” 

Sam’s demeanor stiffened. “Oh. Okay.” 

Kath got into her bed and turned away from Sam. At some point during this night Kath had stopped being Kath and started being Sam’s. She hated the feeling that was growing inside her chest. It was just a moment. It had to be just a moment. 

[marzipanandminutiae]

Do you have any ideas/evidence as to how skirt length varied for women with limps/disabilities? I'm planning and making a historybounding wardrobe for around 1900-1908, and I am feeling the need to make my skirts, instead of instep length, around ankle-bone length or slightly shorter even than that, just so I don't trip and rip my hems out - at my height it's between 32 and 34 inches. I'm using a lot of plates for "Toilettes de jeune femme ou de jeune fille" for inspo because as a petite 24 year old who looks 16, I can still do that. Looking at various photos of actual normal women it wasn't horribly uncommon to make your skirts four or five or even six inches above the ground, but in high fashion I am drawn to the more sporty skirt styles and evening skirts for dancing for this reason. All of the recorded catalogue skirts are made quite long for quite tall people - to be hemmed as desired.

The thermoregulation is so good with historical dress that if I wear certain underwear and layer properly, I don't get full body spasms and pain at the slightest breeze. It's lovely, but I also need to get around effectively.

I'm so glad it works well for you re: thermoregulation! And of course, being in fact a modern lady, you're not bound to strict historical accuracy if you need to modify things to allow for easier movement.

(Even most normal- non-rich, I imagine you mean? -women often wore instep-length skirts, though, with modifications as needed for work and/or sporting activities. That's probably where you're seeing the shorter hems)

Women with mobility issues did exist back then, of course, but I'm afraid I don't know much about how they may have modified their skirts. Princess Alexandra had a limp after a bout of post-partum rheumatic fever left her with a stiff leg in 1867, but her skirts generally seem to be of normal length in photos. Of course, those are official portraits, and her nature as a public figure means that any image of her would be tightly controlled. she couldn't avoid limping in IRL public appearances, though, which I assume is how it was known generally. there's a rumor that ladies began limping on purpose to copy her, for Fashion Reasons, but that sounds a bit far-fetched to me.

I'd imagine that, much like in working situations, the rule was "practicality first?" Sorry I couldn't be more helpful on the history here!

[mousydentist]

February 9th T-5 Days

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t realize anyone else came here.” Chay looks up from his phone to the door of the music room where a boy is peeking his head in. Kim, Chay thinks his name is. They sat together on the first day of classes, and Kim asked to borrow a pen. 

“No worries, you can come in, if you want. It’s just me.”

Kim hesitates for a second before grinning. “Thanks. You’re Chay, right? We have calculus together.”

Chay groans. “Please don’t remind me of that torture disguised as education.”

Kim laughs, sitting next to him and pulling a lunch box out of his bag. “So I’m not the only one who thinks that?”

“Nope,” Chay confirms. “And I bet you’re also thinking about how it’s taught by an old geezer with a stick up his ass, which I have to agree with.”

Kim almost chokes on his food, looking at Chay with a mixture of confusion and amusement. “I’m not sure I would’ve put it that way, but you’re not wrong.”

Chay laughs. “Do you come here a lot, by the way? I come here almost every day, but we’ve never crossed paths.”

Kim nods, swallowing a bite of food before speaking. “I do too, but I usually have student council meetings during this block.”

"Student council?"

"I'm the president."

Chay whistles, impressed. He probably should've known that, but he doesn't care much about class events.

"Cool," he says, then tilts his head. “Do you play?” he asks, gesturing at the decorative little guitar pick dangling from Kim’s necklace.

“Yeah, I do, actually. You too?” Chay nods. 

“Do you have one of your own?” Chay asks, and he sees Kim’s eyes light up.

“I do. I don’t mean to brag, but,” he says, leaning in as he pulls out his phone to show Chay a picture.

After that, the flood gates open. They talk for hours. Not hours. They talk for the whole lunch break, but it feels like hours. Chay’s never had a better first impression of someone. Whenever he meets new people, even when he first met Ohm, he tends to be very polite, smiling kindly and being slightly reserved. But today? He feels like he can’t stop talking, and Kim returns his enthusiasm in kind. It’s like they’ve been good friends for years, rather than strangers until thirty minutes ago. He's surprised how nice it is to hang out with Kim, but maybe that's his own biases about The Popular Kids creeping in.

Their interests seem perfectly aligned, and they don’t run out of things to talk about the whole time. Chay wants to invite Kim over so he can show him the guitar Porsche got him for Christmas, and they can play together. It’s very weird, since Chay’s never wanted to bring anyone over, let alone someone he just met. It’s not even that he thinks Kim would decline, Kim seems just as thrilled as he is to be sharing these kinds of conversations.

To be honest, he feels a little special to see a side of the boy he doesn’t show to just anyone. Well, at least, he’s never shown it to Chay before... He feels a little less special after that thought. This is probably how Kim is with all his friends, and since Chay’s never had a proper conversation with him before, it would make sense that he’s never seen it.

They talk all the way up until the bell rings, letting them know they have five minutes to get to their next class, which, conveniently, is one they share. Chay stands and cracks his back, stiff from how he was leaning back on his arms. Kim waits for him to grab his bag before they start walking together.

“Valentine’s Day is coming up,” Kim says, holding the door open for Chay. “Have anyone special you’re gonna buy chocolates for?”

Chay chuckles a little. “Not me. I’m too busy trying to graduate.”

Kim nods his head, looking forward as they walk through the halls.

Chay bites his cheek. It’s the first awkward silence since they started talking, and he doesn’t like it at all.

“What about you?” Chay asks to get the conversation flowing again.

Kim just shrugs.

Having no idea what to do with that, Chay keeps his mouth shut. 

When they enter the classroom, Chay walks slowly, not sure if he’s supposed to sit in his usual seat or follow Kim. When Kim sits down and doesn’t acknowledge Chay, he takes it as a sign and almost starts to walk past Kim to his seat down the aisle, but he pauses, bites his lip, working up the nerve. 

Finally, he turns back to Kim and holds out his phone.

“Can I get your number?” Chay says, which immediately sounds more forward than he was hoping for. But Kim just blinks at him, then chuckles and hands over his own phone. Chay quickly types his number in, and when he gets his phone back there’s a new contact: kim :)

[earthstellar]

because it's cold and my circulation is shitty because I am old and disabled lmao, I've been thinking...

Concept: Old Bots in Cold Earth Weather

there are different kinds and degrees of cold, of course

but surely, snow/ice/damp winter weather would be not great for mechanical lifeforms

sure, we know rust is a perpetual concern to begin with

and in TFP, we know there is a hard limit to maximum safe cold exposure for bots in general

but what about old bots with more sensitive joints and cabling?

maybe their minor fuel lines suffer stiffness during cold weather similar to how vascular construction from cold can cause circulation problems in human beings (Reynauds Syndrome, anyone?)

it would also be comparable to winter damage to rubber lines and materials in cars, where the cold causes the rubber components to become more brittle and less flexible over time -- might also affect tires

in TFA, they're all by Lake Erie/Detroit. cold as hell in winter. there's no way Ratchet is having a good time. his ass is out there unable to feel his servos for a good five months out of the year.

I know this, because I used to live just outside of Erie, in Allegheny. And holy fuck, my joints hurt just thinking about it. Now I live in England, where it's a different type of cold, but it fucks up my circulation and my lungs. lol

maybe it's not just damp cold weather that can impact older bots more severely, but dry cold weather.

perhaps "breathing in" cold air through their cooling systems and fans might cause difficulty with internal temperature regulation, possibly even causing spark dysregulation in the way humans can suffer tachycardia/arrhythmia from extreme cold exposure.

TFA Ratchet is having a rough time, I'm telling you. He's a medic, he's watching his own systems carefully, but he's not having a good time. lmao

But even TFP Ratchet, who has been acclimated mostly to the desert climate of Nevada, surely would not have an easy time trying to bridge himself over to a colder climate in order to pull an injured bot out of the field or try to carry out field repairs in a blizzard etc.

Or G1 Kup, who would absolutely be feeling the cold in miserable ways what with being in charge of field drills for the younger recruits (and therefore having to be outside all day), but he would absolutely strategically call Hot Rod over so that he could warm himself up with the excess heat rolling off of the exceptionally hot-running speedster.

The longer his stories are, the longer Hot Rod has to stand there next to him. LOL

all of the old bots would refuse to acknowledge their own difficulty in cold weather, lmao -- If Ratchet drops a tool because he can't feel his digits at all, you did not see it, it is fine, yes Bumblebee does pick it up and it's totally not embarrassing to be taken out by EARTH WEATHER of all things

if he trips because his pedes have started to ice over and his fuel circulation is going to hell, you did not see it. (Everyone sees it. Bumblebee and Optimus are first to offer help, and if the snow piles up too high, Bulkhead might even jokingly offer to carry Ratchet back... Ratchet starts yelling back, which gives Optimus the opportunity to sweep in and pick him up instead. "It's not a problem, old friend. We all stumble at times.")

lots of grumbling about how the vacuum of space is far colder and they've handled that before etc. (until someone points out that space doesn't have snowfall etc.)

anyway my break's over so I gotta get back to work, apologies for any typos, I'm writing this on my phone lol :')

[wormstacheangel]

Day five: Portrait

“Thank you for visiting!” Dean waved from the front door of the Novak Manor where he worked as a museum guide and historian. “Come again!”

“Our haunting hour tours start this weekend for Halloween!” He heard his coworker, Charlie, cheerfully remind them as she stepped outside. 

The group all excitedly mumbled to each other about the invite and it made Dean roll his eyes. He went back inside, leaving Charlie to lock up the door. 

“I don’t know why we are advertising that crap.” Dean undid his tie and walked behind the desk to check the emails. “This place isn’t even haunted. It’s just old.”

“Yeah. Yeah. We get it you don’t believe in the spooky supernatural.” Charlie waved her fingers toward Dean before she leaned across the front desk to look at Dean. “But we both know it’s these extra ghost hunters that are keeping this place going. We need cash and they need evidence.” 

“Whatever.” Dean mumbled, before watching the last slot of the night tour fill up. “We’re fully booked.”

“Really?!” Dean turns the screen toward her and she cheers, patting herself in the back. “Good job, Charlie.” She mimics Dean’s voice. “Thanks, boss.”

Dean rolls his eyes with a smile, “Fine. Maybe it was a great idea. Good job, Charles. I’ll get you a treat tomorrow.” 

“Iced and lots of caramel please.”

“Got it.” 

Charlie went home after that, Dean could do the locking up himself. It was second nature to him after all these years. 

He started on the third floor; locking windows, emptying trash cans, and making sure everything was in its place. He was about to go downstairs, turning off the last light in the hallway, when he heard something rumbling in the attic above. 

He turned on the light quickly and cursed. He didn’t want to deal with a damn raccoon right now. Dean wanted to go home and finally eat some dinner while he rewatched Friends for the hundredth time. 

He patted his pocket for his mini flashlight and debated on calling Charlie now or animal control. He decided on neither. He should first make sure it is a raccoon and not something just falling. 

The attic is not for the public, it was used for storage by the family and it’s used for storage by the museum. Nothing special. 

Dean kept cursing as he unlocked the door that hid the narrow stairway. One he would usually send Charlie or even Garth because he was too damn tall for it to be comfortable. But he went, turning on the one light bulb that made the stairway an ugly orange color, and unlocked the door at the top. 

He patted his pockets for his phone, ready to call 911 if the damn raccoon decides to jump him, and slowly opened the door. 

It was dark but the moonlight spilled through the one stained glass window. Making the floor look almost like water. It was beautiful.

He was so dazed that he didn't notice the figure by the window. A figure that made no shadow. 

“Oh!” The voice startled Dean. He looked up to see a familiar man smile towards him. “Hello, Dean. It’s always nice to see you.” The man sighed sadly. “Or anyone.”

Dean said nothing. Just stared in shock while trying to figure out if he could run fast enough downstairs and grab his car keys.

The man looked concerned taking a small step towards Dean before his eyes widened. “Can you…Dean, are you looking at me?”

Dean responds with a stiff nod. Watching as the man smiles, giggling just a little bit, before he takes a longer stride towards Dean. 

“I can’t believe it!” The man yells in excitement and Dean has had enough. 

He turns on his heels and quickly runs down the narrow stairway. Not slowing down when he runs down to the front desk to get his care keys. On his way out the back door, he froze. 

Walking back into the main living room, he came face to face with a portrait of a familiar man. A man that was just talking to him up in the attic. 

Dean didn’t believe in ghosts. He believed that death was just eternal sleep and that’s it. No spirits or any other mambo jumbo. Just forever worm food. 

But he also believed in what he saw with his own eyes. 

He took a deep breath. “This is so fucking stupid.” And forced himself back upstairs. Back up the narrow hallway and into the attic, where the man stood by the window again. Looking out of it like a sad Victorian woman.

Lonely.

It took all the courage Dean could muster to call out, “Castiel?” 

The man turned, smiling but looking apologetic. “I haven't had someone say my name to me in years.” Castiel made a move to walk towards Dean but then stopped. “I, um, I apologize for startling you earlier. I was just so very excited.”

Dean didn’t really hear the apology he was still so shocked. The man was a spitting image of Castiel. How can that be possible? “Are you really him?”

“I am.” Castiel took a careful step towards Dean and held out his hand. “Hello, Dean.”

Dean took the hand, solid in his grip but then felt nothing but cold air a second later. As if he just went right through him. “Hiya, Cas.”

[ichorai]

stitched ; sam wilson.

pairing ; sam wilson x super soldier!reader (gender neutral pronouns)

synopsis ; “I just worry about you—I know you can handle yourself, seeing as you’re all enhanced and whatnot, but… well, super soldiers can still bleed out, too.”

words ; 1.1k

themes ; fluff, very mild angst

warnings / includes ; a bit suggestive by the end, mild cursing, blood/injury/stitches, reader is nearly as old as bucky lol, bucky makes an appearance, sam is just a big old worrywart :(

main masterlist.

“Ow—Sam, that fuckin’ hurts—ow!”

Your boyfriend tore his eyes away from the deep gash in your forearm arm that he was stitching up to give you a mildly stern look. “It won’t hurt if you stop squirming around. In fact, this never would’ve happened if you hadn’t gone on that mission, like Steve warned you not to. You’ve got too much history with these folks—it’s dangerous for both you and everyone else on the team. Sit still for a sec and let me do my job, okay?”

Huffing, you slumped back into the sofa, using your free hand to frustratedly pull at your face, still bloody and caked with grime from the mission. You grimaced. A steaming hot shower sounded more than appealing right about now—along with a nice, long nap right after. Sam went back to sewing you up, grip a little tighter than necessary on your wrist.

“Why are you being so dramatic?” you asked him, shifting so that your free hand would rest against his bicep, patting him gently. “It was just a shard of glass—”

He didn’t spare you a glance, snorting as he shook his head. “A shard of glass from when a super soldier threw you through a skyscraper’s window, sure. You could’ve died.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t—I’m a super soldier too, Sam. And Bucky caught me, remember?” you gently replied. Carefully, you moved your hand upwards to cradle his face, thumb smoothing over his stubbled jaw. Sam paused in his suturing to look at you, his dark eyes wavering for a moment upon seeing your soft smile. “I’m fine, see? This’ll be completely healed over in two days’ time, just watch.”

The man in front of you squared his jaw and went on to finish the last of the stitches, neatly tying it off and placing the needle and thread away to the side. 

“It could’ve been a lot worse,” Sam said, slightly less stiff. His hand came up to lay over yours on his face, pulling your fingers forward to plant a soft kiss against your knuckles, before holding them close to his chest. “I just worry about you—I know you can handle yourself, seeing as you’re all enhanced and whatnot, but… well, super soldiers can still bleed out, too.” 

Chest tightening, you leaned closer to him, pressing a chaste kiss right beside his nose, and rested your forehead over his, noses bumping against one another. He smelled of earthy smoke and that citrus bodywash of yours he always stole, and something else just entirely him. You inhaled deeply, ignoring the burning pain within the side of your ribcage as you did so. “I know,” you whispered. After a brief moment of silence, you told him, “Thank you—for the stitches and the mother henning. Though, I could do with a little bit less of the latter.”

Wary of your freshly-sown injury, he tugged you closer, winding his arms around you in a sweet embrace. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he mumbled into your hair, littering feathery kisses along your temple. Even quieter, he tacked on, “I love you. Even though you’re, like, a million years old.”

“I’m only a hundred and five,” you gasped, abruptly pulling away to smack at his chest. “That’s younger than Bucky!” 

“Oh, yeah, because Bucky is so young and spritely,” your boyfriend scoffed in response. 

“Right, and we’re the one who chose to be cryogenically put to sleep and trained to be a killing machine throughout the decades,” you sarcastically bit out, though your tone lacked any real bite to it. 

Suddenly, said super soldier strode through the open doorway, crossing his arms as a playful, light smile curled at the corner of his lips. “My ears are burning,” he said, sending you a knowing look as you sheepishly pulled away from Sam. “You guys talkin’ about me?”

“Just about which nursing home we should throw you into,” you snarked, which earned you a guffaw of laughter and a proud high-five from Sam. 

Rolling his eyes, Bucky made his way over, throwing himself onto the couch beside you. “Tell me, what ever happened to respect your elders?” He turned his attention to your wound, features visibly softening. “You okay? Took quite a hit out there.”

“Just fine, Buck,” you reassured him, nudging him with a grateful grin. “I would be a gross sludge of mushy roadkill if it wasn’t for you.”

Sam made a disgruntled noise at your choice of words, but the two of you ignored him.

Your old friend smiled at you, then grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. “You guys down to watch a movie or somethin’? Steve told me that Star Wars was pretty good. Ever watched that, Y/N?”

“Nope,” you quipped, blanching at the memory of your growing list of movies to catch up on. “Sorry, Bucky, I’m completely joed. I gotta hit the showers—get all this crusty blood off of me. I’m down to watch it with you tomorrow, though.” 

Nodding in understanding, Bucky shooed you away when you planted a sloppy kiss to his cheek and cuffed him in the shoulder, sauntering away with a laugh. He wiped your kiss away with the back of his hand, before settling further into the couch and flicking through the channels.

“Alright, man,” said Sam after a moment, dusting his pants off and patting Bucky’s knee. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a rendezvous with a certain super soldier in the shower.”

Absent-mindedly, Bucky waved him away as well, mumbling a goodbye under his breath.

It was only as Sam was heading over to the bathroom, his shirt already in the process of being tugged off, did Bucky register what he was saying.

“Ew! Did you really have to tell me that? You guys are gross!” groaned Bucky, pulling a face at the thought. The rest of his complaints fell beneath his breathy grumbles, too quiet for Sam to pick up on. 

Sam could only snort in amusement at that, before swinging the bathroom door open to see you brushing your teeth by the sink, bits of minty foam gathered by the corners of your lips. He enthusiastically greeted you with an affectionate kiss to your cheek, accompanied by a pair of hands suggestively wandering down to your hips. 

[afwfan]

Lucy and Lien Hua are near polar ends of a spectrum style wise. Lucy with her catch wrestling, granite chin, and heavy hands, versus Lien Hua with the elegance of her flowing technique and the precision of her strikes.

Training together, both going at about 80%? This is a workout session. Neither woman is trying to injure the other, and when the submission is locked in the tap out is immediate. No ego today either.

It's been almost an hour, and both women are at three falls apiece. Lien Hua asks, "One more? Want to make it interesting?"

What does she have in mind?

"Drinks later? Loser pays?"

This last fall is obviously going to be a lot more competitive. Still, when the hand is extended, the hand shake is taken with a grin and a nod.

"Oh wait. Not only does the loser pay, but the winner gets to pick the good stuff? I'm thinking Cristal?"

Lucy thinks about it for a second. What would she order? The grin comes back when she remembers there are more than a few rare 18 year old single malts she's been curious about. Looking at the extended hand, she reaches forward.

Lien Hua's hands are not nearly so heavy as Lucy's, but they are blindingly fast. As the Crusher leans in to accept the handshake it becomes a stiff finger thrust, right into the Crusher's windpipe. Gagging and coughing the Crusher drops to the mats. Lien Hua isn't waiting, so she's reaching down to help Lucy back up.

And now she's trying to put her back down again.

Lucy can barely breathe. Tomorrow when she talks she's going to sound like a five pack a day smoker who sidelines singing for a death metal band. The pressure of one forearm digging into her neck and throat in parallel with her own?

"We didn't shake on the second thing, but I'm holding you to the first. I'm going to order the Verve instead. I'll even keep it non-vintage for you."

Lucy is conflicted. Which is her higher priority at this moment? Escaping this situation, sorting revenge, or budgeting for an expensive night out?

Tapping out while she has some chance of a future soprano singing career, budgeting tonight is the first priority, but payback will be bruising when it comes…

Lien Hua already knows this will have consequences. Never one to lack confidence, she's counting on that…

[blazehedgehog]

Recently I’ve been playing, and loving, Penny’s Big Breakaway and it’s made me realize how stiff official Sonic games have felt since Sonic Heroes. It feels fantastic to chain moves together as Penny. While I don’t want a Sonic game to play exactly like Penny’s Big Breakaway I do want to enter a similar flow state while playing. Sonic Team seems allergic to making any gameplay/movement options that allows for flow… do you have any idea why?

That's the 65-million-dollar question, isn't it.

Several times over the years I've pushed back on the idea when people say Sonic "can't work in 3D." Of course Sonic could work in 3D, it just takes the right team to build it. The concepts and principals of a Sonic game are not exclusive to 2D. You can build a game on those ideals in 3D and it will work just fine.

If you go back and watch my "How Do We Fix Sonic?" video, I also put forth the idea that a lot of 3D Sonic games are the way they are because Sonic Team does not trust the player. To some degree, rightfully so: there's a growing pile of one-level fangame demos where some college kid tries to do 3D Sonic "right" and while a lot of them are okay, I think it makes for an easy case to see why official Sonic games have so much scripting in them.

When you're going that fast, and you're that acrobatic, it becomes very easy to make some incredibly dumb mistakes. It's not that nobody can play that game, it's that a game like that might struggle to achieve mass market appeal. Sonic is, first and foremost, a pick-up-and-play game. I've been thinking of that term a lot lately since the release of Ring Racers, and it basically means a game you don't have to learn. A game where you turn it on and know everything about it instinctively.

The entire pitch for Sonic was a game you could play with just one button. Easy to start playing, difficult to master over the long term. It's a tough balancing act. Especially when you're aiming for a game that a 10 year old can play.

When I was 10 years old, I couldn't even stay on the road in Super Mario Kart. That's what we're working with here.

So they make Sonic into this guided experience with heavy scripting where they can insulate the player from making dangerous mistakes. Lots of spectacle and minimal friction.

Now you add in the pressure of deadlines and budgets. A fangame like Sonic GT can spend five years as an alpha still figuring out its level design, tweaking its mechanics, before finally releasing a four or five level "game." Whereas an official Sonic game probably has to make a pitch, get to alpha, nail all of its controls and mechanics down relatively early. Probably within the first year of development at least, if not within a period of months.

Then they have to build a game for those mechanics. And, with being so scripted and directed, they can't deviate much. Once they're locked in, they don't have a lot of wiggle room to redefine what the game plays like.

That even goes for researching better ways to do things. I don't think these guys were given much of a chance to stop and think. Sonic Adventure 1 came out in October 1998 in Japan, that team moved to America to work on the September 1999 United States release, Sonic Adventure 2 was announced probably not even six months later, it came out within 18 months of its announcement just in time for that team to crank on the super rushed Gamecube port, which segued into an equally rushed port of the original Sonic Adventure, then their first multiplatform release on a third-party engine just a year or two later, followed by a sequel less than two years later, and another sequel less than two years after that...

Running and running and running and never stopping... and, well, I guess this is just what Sonic in 3D plays like now, right? That's the precedent. Sales are relying on not alienating people who are used to the way these games play.

Plus, it also depends on who within Sega is involved. I tend to agree that we shouldn't pin decisions all on one guy anymore for how many developers are actually involved in a game (200+ for Sonic Frontiers), but it's hard to deny that in the Morio Kishimoto era of 3D Sonic games, they've made a dedicated to effort to lock Sonic down and script his movements more than ever. Starting in Sonic Colors all the way up to the most recent Sega of Japan games, player movement is more restricted and automatically controlled than any other Sonic games to come before it.

Even Sonic Frontiers, for all of its open zone gameplay, once you touch a rail or one of those floating platforms, it tries to restrict and control you as much as humanly possible. Helicopter parent game design. "Do it my way exactly, or stop playing the game."

And I think all of this just collides with itself and makes a big ugly mess. I think it's telling Sonic Unleashed is such a cult favorite given its the closest thing we've had to a decent reboot of mechanics, even though it's still trapped in a lot of that scripted spectacle design.

[novankenn]

2am (Chp 11)

--== Table of Contents ==--

"Jaune." greeted an older woman with grey streaked teal hair. "How are doing? It's been sometime since our last visit."

"Dr Primrose. I'm sorry about that... been busy with Az and training."

"You don't have to apologize, Jaune. It's a credit to you and the effort you have put into your treatment that allowed you to do what you did. I am just a 'safety net' to keep things from getting too bad." Dr Primrose rose from behind her neatly organized desk, and took a seat in one of the over studded armchairs, "Have a seat, Jaune."

Jaune just nodded, and took a seat on the reddish leather couch that matched the two overstuff chairs in the decently large office. Once he was, seated, he leaned forward, elbows on his thighs, hands clasped before him. The pair sat in silence for a few minutes. Dr Primrose, giving Jaune time to collect his thought, before getting to the actual session. When she felt enough time had passed and noticed Jaune’s body language showing that he was relaxing, she started.

“Like I mention, it’s been a little while, almost a year, hasn’t it? So would you like to tell me what trigger this need to visit me?”

“I saw her again… and it brought back some memories… some feelings I thought I had under control.”

“By her, do you mean the Azalea’s birth mother?” Jaune just nodded. “What type of feelings, Jaune?”

“The dark ones… the ones that make just living painful…”

“Have you started cutting yourself again?” Jaune shook his head, in reply. “Jaune, have you?”

“No… no…”

“Show me your arms, Jaune.” Jaune hesitated, sitting up and going stiff. “Jaune, there is no judgement here, and nothing leaves this room. But you need to be completely honest with me. You know this.”

Jaune bit his bottom lip, and then slowly pulled back the right sleeve of his black hoodie. The cross crossing pattern of old self-inflicted wounds marred his flesh and were in stark contrast to the three fresh marks. Dr Primrose knew the marks were fairly recent, and the fact that Jaune was suppressing his aura so they didn’t heal… was a warning sign.

“Jaune, you know this is not healthy, and you also know you can always call me… at any time. So, can you tell me why, you felt the need to do that to yourself?”

“The pain helps me focus… it… it drives things… away.”

“Jaune, are you in the black hole? Can you see any light?”

“A little…”

“I want you to focus on that light. Ignore the darkness, because you know what that light represents, right?”

“Az…” Jaune replied, his voice barely above a whisper, “It’s Az…”

/=/

“This REALLY is not a good place for you to be.” came a voice from behind Pyrrha, a familiar voice, a supportive voice. 

Pyrrha swirled the tumbler of whiskey before her, causing the ice cubes to clink against the glass. 

“I just… wanted to hold one again.”

“It’s midday…” the voice commented as the owner took a seat at the bar beside her. “You’ve worked really hard to get sober, and I know you don't want to do this… you called me… so talk to me.”

“It’s Jaune.” Pyrrha replied as she turned to face the friendly form of David Scarlet, her sponsor from the program, another victim of addiction, but now sober for five years.

“What about Jaune? Did he do something?” David asked as he waved off the bartender.

“It’s what he didn’t do.”

“And what was that?”

“He… he looked so full of…”

“Anger?”

“Yes, and other things.”

“You do understand why, right?” David asked as he placed a gentle hand on Pyrrha’s shoulder. “I don't have to remind, but I’m going to say it, because I understand his side, and yours. You hurt a lot of people with your actions… granted it was your addiction that had control… but some people can’t… or won’t see it in that way.”

“It still hurts.” Pyrrha commented, sadness filling her voice, as she once again swirled her untouched drink.

[hargrove-mayfields]

It’s Harringrove Week! Billy’s Birthday Bonanza edition! @harringroveweek

prompt: 5 years old

warnings: there are a few brief discussions of a past miscarriage

—

Billy and Steve’s youngest child is turning five years old. They’ve done this seven other times now, the only one of their babies for which they didn’t get to celebrate this particular milestone being Summer, because she was adopted out of foster care at six.

Their wavy haired little girl is wearing a pink poofy dress, a gift to match the overload of pink decorations everywhere. Sadie is obsessed with Piglet from Winnie the Pooh, so of course everyone is required to wear little pink headbands with ears attached, and wear matching outfits. Dorothy is the only one who doesn’t have to adhere to this matching rule, since her feeding tube restricts the outfits she can wear.

To document the day, Steve has a camera, a gift from one of their friends as part of the group moving out of Hawkins clean up, set up on a tripod to the side. He doesn’t want it in the kids' faces making them uncomfortable, but he knows the hurt Billy feels being in his thirties now and having not a shred of evidence to prove his childhood existed. At least, not beyond the stiff, unhappy school photos his father had kept framed as part of the happy family routine he’d insisted on keeping up.

Their family isn’t like that. Both of them have done their damndest to make sure their babies got a better hand in life than they were given back at the start.

Sadies fifth birthday is going to be the best one yet for their littlest girl.

“Blow the candles out sissy!” Steve encourages her, after they did the Happy Birthday song in sign language, because all that singing would be sure to overstimulate her.

After a moment of placing her little hands on the table and hoisting herself up over the buttercream flower-adorned sheet cake, Sadie puffs her little cheeks and blows out all five candles, sitting back down to clap her hands together for herself, a proud smile plastered on her round face.

It inspires her siblings and her dads to cheer for her as well, giving quiet little exclamations and shaking their hands in a chorus of, “Yay Sadie!!”

Coming over to her, Billy asks her a question in sign, “How old are you now, Sadie little lady?”

Her developmental delay had made it hard for Sadie to understand these kinds of things at first. Steve has been spending a lot of extra time with her recently, teaching her numbers and letters and all of her siblings names. She even recently learned how to smile.

So it’s amazing when Sadie holds up her hand, all five fingers up, and announces her age with pure confidence. “Five!!”

Billy even catches a little glint of tears in Steve’s eyes. He doesn’t say anything though, and neither do any of the kids, though he also notices little Tommy, their always curious second youngest, checking on his daddy every now and again.

This party is probably the greatest damn thing in Sadie’s life since the first time she responded to her name when she was three. Standing there, hand in hand, watching their littlest girl rocking in her seat and giggling with her loving siblings, Billy and Steve could both about burst into tears, but, like Billy observed, they’re trying to make sure this stays happy.

Sadie doesn’t know the difference between happy tears and sad tears, and when anybody cries it breaks her little heart.

Steve distracts from the potential moment-ruining tear ducts, calling just loud enough to be heard over the kids chattering, “Cake time!”

***

Billy takes the job of wrangling all the kiddos into bed while Steve takes a bit of a rest after the party. He’s overwhelmed after today, all the sounds and sights, he’d actually tapped out of the celebration with Sadie on his hip before it was even over.

The bigger kids wanted to stay up a little later to burn off the sugar in their bodies, but Sadie was exhausted. He’d changed her into her favorite Piglet pjs, brushed her chin-length hair, and she’d fallen right asleep in his lap before he even got her to her bed.

He decided, after laying her on her pillows and pulling the handmade quilt up to her shoulders, just to sit in the little reading chair by her bed and watch over her. Not that there’s anybody around to notice, but he’s also maybe dozing off a bit every now and again.

The last kids to go down are little Tommy and Bobbi-Jo, since they share a room with Sadie and knew she would be trying to sleep by now. Billy brought them in, holding each of their hands now that they’re too heavy for his chronically out of place joints to carry, and they both climbed right into their beds without making a single peep.

Of course, two sets of stunning blue eyes peered across the room at Steve though, begging for nighttime kisses and hugs. And who was he to say no to his little ones, only 6 and 7 respectively?

After rosy cheeks were sufficiently smooched, and the princess night light turned on, Billy and Steve exchanged a look. Downstairs was still an absolute disaster thanks to the dropped pieces of cake, scraps of torn open wrapping paper, and stray streamers scattered about.

Without a word or a sign between them, the looks in their faces alone are enough to discuss whether or not they’re feeling up to it. They both think it’s best to just tackle it now before the kids can wake up and need something they can’t get to because it looks like a twister ransacked their living room.

They’re both surprised to see their oldest, named after their dear friend, Chrissy, up and out of bed and shoving deflated balloons into a small diaper recycling bag.

After a tiny bit of gentle, but concerned questioning, they discover their eleven year old just ate too much candy and gluten free cake. She couldn’t sleep thanks to the rush and wanted to be helpful.

Instead of forcing her to lay back down in her shared room with her snore-heavy siblings, Billy and Steve agree to let her stay up for another hour to help, but instead of asking her to do chores, she’s assigned to watch the baby monitors set up in the three rooms her siblings share. Especially keeping an eye on Summer and Joyce, since their older girl is prone to nightmares, and the latter has seizures in her sleep.

While her fathers take over the slow clean up of the birthday wreckage, Chrissy gets bored of watching the monitors in silence, and though she doesn’t take her eyes off the screens to keep doing her duty, she turns the volume up a little higher, and starts asking questions to keep herself busy.

“Since baby Sadie is five now, that means she has to start school, right?”

That makes them pause their cleaning. It’s a bit of a touchy subject. Steve has spent many a night crying because his youngest isn’t a baby anymore, and he’s terrified of handing over her care in the day to the school system that treated him so poorly when he struggled with the same things his autistic daughter is surely going to.

His comfort is knowing Billy, Chrissy, and Heather all work at the school in various positions, and can keep watch on the little sweetheart if she needs help. They’d done it for the other eight, and Sadie, although she’s struggled a lot, is no different.

Chrissy even personally offered to enroll Sadie in a new music therapy program, using her experience as the music teacher and the wife of a now successful musician to provide a new outlet. The school almost barred it from happening, figuring there wasn’t much their blind, wheelchair user teacher could do for the newest special needs case, but they changed their minds when Sadie toured the place to make sure it would be a right fit, and ran straight to her second favorite auntie Chrissy for a cuddle and a song. That whole situation was almost enough to make Steve decide on homeschooling his girl, but he isn’t exactly equipped to teach with his dyslexia and all.

But all of that is too much for their little Chrissy to worry or know about, so Steve simply answers, “Yep! In a few months, she’ll be in kindergarten.”

The limitations of their answers doesn’t even inhibit the number of questions she has for a second. She’s as sharp as a tack, and they’ve always encouraged her to ask questions and understand things in her own way, so she asks next, “So what will you do with none of us at home?”

“Well-“ Billy looks at Steve, and sees he’s already given up his task of folding up the plastic tablecloth to return the gaze. The only time they tried to talk about it, Steve had broken down into tears thinking about how much he’ll miss having his babies around, and spiraled into thinking about college and the future and grandkids. Billy takes over this conversation though and signs to her, expression casual so little Chrissy won’t worry, “We haven’t really thought about it too much yet.”

But their stubborn little girl already had an answer in mind, something she must have picked up from a tv show or other kids, “That’s silly. I’m a big girl now, so I know you’ll be glad to have the house all by yourself.”

“Bubba, trust me. Daddy is gonna be a wreck having an empty nest.” Billy answers with finality, about to change the subject for his husband's sake before Steve interrupts-

“I mean, the nest doesn’t have to stay empty though.”

It’s a good thing Chrissy was distracted by the baby monitor, probably watching her sister Carol roll around in her sleep, judging from the way she laughs every few seconds, or else she would have noticed the look Billy exchanged with Steve, equal parts shocked, worried, and intrigued.

They haven’t talked about having more kids since their last pregnancy ended early in tragedy. Some things, the kids just don’t know or need to know.

But they need to talk about what Steve just suggested.

Billy goes over to Chrissy and leans down to her level, both arms on the table to support himself, “Hey sissy?”

“Yeah, papa?” She looks to him and smiles, the little sweetheart always so happy to see her dads and have a connection with another person, the opposite of how Steve was when he was her age and afraid of eye contact. Sometimes Chrissy doesn’t like to speak at all, and will just make intense eye contact in its stead.

That warm swell of pride in his chest only makes him want to feel the joy of welcoming another baby even more.

Billy kisses little Chrissy's forehead and tells her it’s time for her to get back to bed, “You’ve helped enough, sweetheart. I bet you’re getting tired by now. I think it’s time for you to get some sleep yourself.”

“Are you sure? I like helping!” Their girl asks them sweetly, but she yawns right after she does so, proving she needs to get back in her bed.

It’s Steve’s turn to walk over and kiss her cheek, accenting his point with the goodnight kisses the other kids had begged him for, and telling her, “We’re super sure. Sweet dreams, little sheep.”

Hopping down from her chair with far too much energy for a little one who just looked so sleepy, she tells them quickly, in a combination of sign and speech, before she runs off to jump in her bed, “Night’ daddy, goodnight papa!”

Together, Billy and Steve watch on the baby monitors to make sure Chrissy got to her room and into bed, then resume their very important conversation.

“Do you really want more kids?”

Steve feels anxious now, coming up with some random excuse in sign to cover up what he truly wants, in case it’s too much for Billy, “Sadie needs me.”

“But it’s not like you won’t be here. You’ll just be here with a new baby in your arms.” Billy grounds him again. He’s always been so good at that, at being able to calm him and introduce rational concerns to Steve’s rsd brain. And he adds a sprinkle of playful flattery, just to make his husband smile, “New daddy Steve is the handsomest Steve.”

Even after a decade of marriage, it makes Steve blush. Flustered, he signs, a little bit wobbly in his execution because he’s so flattered, “Sweet talker.”

“You married me for my charm.” Well, that certainly helped, but it wasn’t the only reason. Steve still rewards the observation with a kiss instead of more clumsy words.

Billy’s arms wrap around him and, cliché as it sounds, the mess around them all disappears. All the stress, the worries about being the best possible, the fear of messing up; all gone in an instant. They kiss, and it feels like the first all over again.

Steve gets the courage to verbalize what he’s truly been thinking about, “I’d like to have more babies.”

His husband's face is priceless, filtering through adoration and shock before landing on a hint of concern, “Even after..”

The miscarriage, Steve fills in for him in his head. One of the absolute hardest moments of his life, tied only with the times Billy was in the hospital after his accident.

But he’s already decided he doesn’t want to carry children anymore, and offers the solution he’s dreamed about for three years now after losing their last pregnancy, “We can adopt. I always wanted to.”

He doesn’t miss the vibrant, shining look in Billy’s eyes now as his worry is cast away. Steve probably looks just as joyful and excited, though Billy’s focus was on his lips to make sure he could tell what was being said.

Then Billy asks, sounding almost breathless and whimsical, awestruck by Steve’s suggestion to expand their family again, “When?”

Those contagious emotions make it clear that this is what Billy wants too, and Steve swears his heart could just burst from happiness. He can’t wait until his longtime dream becomes reality again, to have a little baby in his arms again. To soften the intensity though, he gives Billy a more flexible answer, that lets him know he’s a part of this dream as well, “Whenever you're ready.”

****

It takes ten more months to find the right fit, the child who they can provide to the fullest for, who will not be afraid of two dads, and who will be okay with joining a family of eleven.

Only make it thirteen now, because in their arms are two brand new baby girls. Aurora, the bigger twin, is a little girl of jet black hair with a striking patch of white hair just in the center of her forehead. Waardenburg's it’s called, and it might cause her to grow up deaf just like her daddy. Her sister Briar Rose was born with a related condition that makes her skin and hair all as white as snow, and causes weakness with her heart and lungs. Also like her sister, she’s already presenting deafness.

The agency told them they were getting in over their heads by taking these girls home, but Billy and Steve knew the second they saw those fragile babies curled up in one shared crib, they would be their babies. Nine other kids all with varying states of health had prepared them for this challenge, and like little Chrissy said way back when, with the rest of the kids in school, they’ll have plenty of time with their newest additions, Steve especially while he stays home with them in the day.

It’s not even Billy’s birthday for another few days, but seeing all eleven of his babies gathered here around the living room in an assortment chairs and couches, cradles and a futon, and his gorgeous husband right by his side with a sleeping Aurora and Briar Rose cuddled up to his chest, that’s the best gift anyone could possibly ask for.

[startrekfangirl2233-writes]

He Didn't Have to Be

A Ron 'Slider' Kerner Imagine (Companion Piece to I Wanted to Be)

Description: Jake Seresin's always know two things: 1. How much his mama loves him and 2. How much he loves her. So it's no wonder that any man he meets that his mama is dating doesn't pass the bar. Except one. His Uncle Danny's wingman, a man he knows as Uncle Ron or Uncle Sly.

Warnings: Dead-beat dad, Mentioned Pregnancy, Mentioned Childbirth, Tooth Rotting Fluff

Word Count: 3021

A/N: This is the companion piece to my Ron 'Slider' Kerner piece I Wanted to Be, written by popular demand. In this one we see Jake's perspective on the events of his childhood.

AO3: Cross-posted Here!

My Masterlist

Jake's always known that things could have been very different. A lot of it has to do with how he's been raised. Rebecca Seresin née Petersen is the best mama a boy could ever ask for. For as long as he can remember it's been him and his mom against the world. His mom doesn't have any other family, not really, anyways. Jake knows his mom loves him, knows that she would do anything for him. But he’s never quite known if she’s actually happy. The only time he sees her smile is in the old scrapbooks filled with pictures of his mom as a kid. It’s something he wonders every time his mom leaves him in the care of old Mrs. Thompson at the ranch next door and drives away in her best dress. Will Mama finally be happy again if this date goes well? His wishes and hopes don't work though. Mama always looks sadder when she comes to pick him up than when she left.

My momma used to wonder if she'd ever meet someone

Who wouldn't find out about me and then turn around and run

The only time Mama doesn't look sad is when she's baking. She makes packages once a month that she fills with cookies and cakes and pictures. The weekends when Mama bakes all of the goodies is always Jake's favorite. The kitchen's always bright and clean and it smells so good. Mama always has the record player on and on those early mornings are some of his favorites. If only because Jake gets to help stir and lick the spoon. Once everything has been cooled and packed up, they get into Mama's truck and make the drive into Austin to drop the package in the mailbox. It’s Jake’s favorite part of the week because everything seems so filled with possibilities when there’s something sweet in his tummy.

Jake’s two months shy of his fifth birthday when an old friend of his Uncle Daniel's drops by. He’s about a million miles tall and intercepts Jake just as he’s running out to play with the new goat kids in the barn. Mama had tried to wrestle him into a new shirt for the visit, but like all precocious little boys, he'd wriggled right out of the constricting stiff garment and run right out the front door. Of course before he could get very far, he’s being hefted up into the sky and looking into a face he half remembers his mama showing him the pictures of. She had told him in her pretty soft voice, “This, baby, is your Uncle Daniel and this was his best friend, your Uncle Ron. Uncle Ron’s nickname is Slider. Can you say that for me, baby?”

Jake’s soon being turned upside down and it’s the most fun he’s ever had. He barely notices how the older man introduces himself, at least until he’s being set on his feet in the kitchen to see his mama smiling at this man. He can’t resist hugging his mama’s legs, piping out in a break in the conversation, “Mama, Uncle Sly's here!” Jake still remembers how he spent the rest of the weekend trailing Uncle Sly around on the ranch, following the older man as he completed repairs and helped around. He’d been given his first cowboy hat that weekend, from Uncle Sly. It has to be one of the best weekends of his entire life. 

I met the man I call my dad when I was five years old

He took my mom out to a movie and for once I got to go

The smile on his mama’s face? Jake doesn’t see it again for a long, long time.

He’s fifteen years old when he realizes that Mama doesn’t go out on dates anymore. Jake’s used to being mostly alone in the house, making peanut butter sandwiches for snack and doing his homework by himself. Mama’s usually out in the fields, working the cattle. She still smiles big and hugs Jake when she gets home though, wrapping him in her gardenia scented embrace and praising him for finishing his work. He feels bad for playing football most days, feels bad for Mama when she pulls overtime out on the ranch, feels worse when she stays up late over the dining room table looking over the bills. That terrible feeling sticks around when they start getting letters at the house. Letters from somebody claiming to be his dad. Jake staggers up the driveway one afternoon to a strange car in the drive and yelling coming from the house.

“Damnit, Brian!” Mama’s roaring at him. “You can’t come back here after all of these years and beg me to give you money. I divorced you. You owe me money. Our son is fifteen and the best thing in my life. Every penny I make is for him and only him.”

“Yeah…” The voice that slurs and sneers out the words makes Jake feel sick. “Our son, right? Where is the little brat? Would love ‘ta meet him one of these days. See if he’s actually like his ole man. Or if he’s like his slut of a ma.”

That’s when Jake’s legs give out. He’s still sitting on the porch in his dirt and sweat encrusted football gear when a truck pulls into the driveway. Heart in his throat, Jake stands up, running when he sees Uncle Slider stepping out of the cab.

"Uncle Sly." Jake sounds young, young and scared today, not anything like his affected gruff tone to impress girls at school.

"What is it, kid?" Jake knows that everything will be alright so long as Uncle Slider is here. "Where's your mom, kid?'

"She's in there, Uncle Sly, in the kitchen. With a man who's claiming to be my dad." His voice is quiet, unsure. All Jake wants is his mama. Uncle Sly’s jaw clenches and anger burns bright in his eyes as he whirls around and marches right into the kitchen. Jake follows behind him, a part of him aching to grab onto the tails of the flannel shirt Uncle Sly is wearing like he used to when he was a kid. 

"Brian." Mama sags like a marionette with its strings cut at Uncle Sly’s voice. So this is his dad. Brian Seresin. The boogey-man come to life. The monster. It’s obvious Jake is his son. The same nose sits on his face and the same blonde hair sits on his head. But while Jake is young, lithe and muscular from hours of football and tanned from the sun, Brian Seresin is greasy and stinking of liquor. 

"What are you doing back in Cistern?" Uncle Sly’s voice is a barely held back roar as he looms protectively in front of Jake. Uncle Sly pulls Mama behind his back and Jake is quick to wrap his arms around her. Was Mama always so thin? So frail? When did Jake become as tall as she is?

"Wanted my woman back, Kerner. And my kid." Jake can’t hide his disgust as Brian sniffs, wiping away snot on his mud streaked pants. "S'not fair, y'know? That you got to keep her and the brat while I was off. D'she treat y'well? She's great in bed, ain't she?"

His dad’s words fill Jake with an impotent rage. But he can’t do anything. Not with Mama clutching at him like she’ll lose him if she lets go. Jake’s not sure what Uncle Sly says to his dad, because all of a sudden he begins to spit out why he wants the money he’d been asking Mama for. Uncle Sly lets the disgusting man spit poison words into the kitchen and then finally speaks.

"Call Sheriff Weatherby, Becks." Jake’s never heard his Uncle Sly so cold, so angry as he continues. "We've got an intruder on Seresin Ranch." 

No matter what he does, Mama doesn’t move. It's Jake who picks up the landline and dials up Sheriff Weatherby. Jake and Uncle Sly stick by Mama the whole time the police are asking questions, propping her up. But after all the drama died down, when Mama is fitfully asleep in her bed, Jake’s thoughts still reel. He can’t believe that a part of him came from that! When the thoughts and questions get too loud, Jake retreats outside, to the swing Uncle Sly had set up a couple of years ago. It’s an old tire swing and Jake slumps into it staring up at the endless expanse of the stars.

He’s been feeling weird for a while. He knows it’s not just puberty. Something is eating at him, and he’s not sure why. All of the teachers at school have been pestering on and on about whether he’s decided what he wants to do with his life when he grows up. Honestly, since he was little, Jake’s only ever wanted to do one thing. He’s grown up listening to tales of the sky. But will Mama ever let him fly? Can Mama take the risk of losing him like she lost Uncle Daniel? The soft rustling sound of footsteps in the tall grass is what has his head lifting up. It’s Uncle Slider, of course it is. The minute he’s in earshot, the words are spilling out, whether Jake wants them to or not.

"So, that's him, huh? My pops, the man who walked out before I was even born?" He can’t help how his voice cracks as the unfiltered rage pours out of him with each word.

"Yeah, kid." Uncle Sly is angry too. His jaw is still clenched, jaw harsh in the moonlight.

"Why did he come back? Why didn't he just stay away?" The first touch of his hand against his shoulder has Jake sagging against him.

"I dunno, kid. I wish he had never come back. Your Mama isn't the type to cry. But every time I've heard her cry it has been because of that man." Uncle Sly’s hands are shaking as the fingers on his other hand flex with the pent up aggression still in his system. Jake doesn’t know how to respond, content to sit there for several long moments. They’re safe. He’s safe. Jake’s not sure what he would’ve done if Uncle Sly hadn’t driven up that afternoon.

"Why didn't you ever marry Mama, Uncle Sly? You love her, I know you do. Then you can come home to us more often, can't you?" He’s scared to ask that question. But the little kid in him, the young boy who’d wished for a dad every Christmas for years before giving up? That kid needs to know.

"I dunno kid. But enough about me.” Uncle Sly sounds scared or worried. “What's eating at you?"

Jake breathes in deep, trying to find the words. "I want to fly, Uncle Sly. Like you do, like Uncle Daniel did." He stares imploringly up into his uncle’s eyes. Jake doesn’t know what he’s searching for, not really. An ally? A sympathetic ear? Support? He doesn’t know. "D-d'you think I can do it?"

"It's dangerous, kid. But yeah. If there was anyone who could do it, it'd be you. You’ve got your mom’s determination and all of her support, too. Just don’t forget that you’ve got people who love you waiting for you, and you’ll be all set." Uncle Slider’s words fill him with purpose. If there is anything, anyone Jake resolves to be like, it’s his Uncle Sly. And if after he graduates and joins the Naval Academy he uses the distance to push his mom and uncle together, well that’s a secret he’ll take to his grave.

A few months later, I remember lying there in bed

I overheard him pop the question and I prayed that she'd say yes

It’s his first Christmas home when things change. Jake had staggered downstairs in the middle of the night for a glass of water and that’s when he saw Uncle Slider drop to one knee and ask his Mama to marry him.

And then, all of a sudden, oh it seemed so strange to me

How we went from something's missing to a family

Looking back, all I can say about all the things he did for me

Is, I hope I'm at least half the dad that he didn't have to be

Mama and Pops are standing proudly in the stands, Pops dressed to the nines in his own Vice-Admiral dress whites the day Jake gets his wings a few years later. Mama’s crying, curled up under Pop’s arm and Jake literally shines with pride when he wraps her in his arms when he runs to meet his family after the ceremony. Jake is soon absorbed in all it means to be an active duty Naval Aviator. Deployment after deployment at first, then Top Gun. He gets first, of course, pumping the plaque in the air in his pop’s direction. It feels good, seeing his name under his dad’s twenty years later. Some time between Top Gun the first and second times, Jake lives up to his callsign and rakes in his first air to air kill.

That’s when things start to feel truly surreal. The medals are all fine and good, almost familiar in a sense. It’s the blood on his hands that Jake can’t shake. His reputation precedes him nowadays. Everybody gathers around to cheer on the only active duty Naval Aviator to get an air-to-air. But it tortures him. When he can’t sleep at night, he calls his dad. Sitting on the floor in his pajamas Jake pours his heart out to the only person he trusts to steer him on his way. It’s not the first heart to heart he’s had with his dad in the middle of the night. Nor is it the last. 

During the special detachment he wishes he could have his parents near. Even though the three weeks are rife with tension and pain, both. Attending Iceman, the legendary Iceman’s funeral, hurts. Jake hates it. He hates it even more when he sees his dad standing there in dress whites next to Mav and the others in the class of ‘86. The most recent heart to heart happens sitting in the kitchen of the house Ron and Rebecca Kerner had rented before their only child jetted off on the most perilous mission of his career. 

“You can do it, kid.” Pop’s voice sounds tired, old and very scared. “You’re a Seresin, kid. But more importantly, you’re a Kerner. You are coming home. Whether you get selected or not, doesn’t matter. There are always things you can do to improve. But the important thing is that you’re coming home.”

“We love you, kid. Remember that. Remember that your Uncle Daniel is watching over you and you’ll fly like you were born to.”

Those are the words Jake carries with him the entire long slog away from home. He isn’t chosen, and he thinks he knows why. But when he’s sitting in his jet, Dagger Spare, standing by, his heart is in his throat. He’s seen the pictures. He knows Mav was in his dad’s Top Gun class. Mav’s a living legend. There is no way he goes down like this. He gets on comms over and over again. Begging and pleading to be allowed to help, to provide cover. Each rejection feels like a stab in the back. Jake may not like Rooster much, if at all, but that’s his wingman. He has to at least try. It’s what his dad would do. What his Uncle Daniel did.

So when Rooster’s ESAT goes off again, and moving at supersonic speeds, Jake is launching - against orders, and without help. He’s off the carrier deck before Admiral Simpson can even finish barking his orders for Jake to stay put, a desperate plea to save Rooster and Mav pouring off his tongue before he can even think. It’s days later, when the carrier pulls into the docks that Jake finally breathes. He’s home. He can see Pops looming over the crowd and is running for them before he can even think, before he can even catalog the surprised exclamations of his squadron as he books it. Jake feels like a kid again, swept up in his mom’s arms, feeling like an amalgam of four and twelve and eighteen all over again, too old and at the same time too young to ever be away from his Mama’s arms. 

She’s shaking, crying tears against the shoulder of his crisp khakis, tears of joy, of relief, tears thanking every power that be, that her baby came home. When Jake pulls away, keeping his Mom close, the other aviators are looking at him in shock. He introduces his mom, first, kissing the crown of her head as she smiles blearily at the assembled crew.

“And this is my pop, Admiral Kerner.” Jake’s grinning, open and wide, a little shit-eating but more joyful as he takes in the others’ faces.

“Hey, kid.” Jake grins fondly at his old man, hugging the older man tight. 

“Baby Goose. Mav.” Pop’s looking right at Mav and Rooster. Mav’s grinning openly at Pops, but Rooster is dumbfounded.

“Close your mouth, Roo.” Jake can’t help his shit-eating grin. “You’re not the only legacy in these parts.”

Before Jake can take it any further Mama’s on him, checking on his hands, and fawning over him. Jake can’t even pretend to be embarrassed. He’s missed this. Partway through the thorough examination his mom is putting him through, Jake turns to look at his dad and Mav. He can’t help but feel thankful. Of all the men he could have ended up emulating in his life, he’s glad it was Ron Kerner.

And looking back, all I can say about all the things he did for me

Is, I hope I'm at least half the dad that he didn't have to be

Yeah, I hope I'm at least half the dad that he didn't have to be

Because he didn't have to be

You know he didn't have to be

Taglist:

@mayhemmanaged, @desert-fernfern, @cassiemitchell, 

@dakotakazansky, @sarahsmi13s, @roosters-girl, @chaoticassidy, @genius2050

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN HERE OR ON AO3 BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN HERE OR AO3, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

[storiesfromvenus]

Eve - day 13: Guardian Robots

a prompt for scifi september by @thepromptfoundry :], I liked this one a lot

“I’m sorry, you made a what?” 

 “I made a robot. For my daughter.”

 Dr. Valdez stared at the engineer in disbelief. Blinking, wide-eyed and wildly at the man who just looked at him blank faced, his expression frustratingly unreadable with his hands behind his back and standing stiff, as if he were a statue.

 “For… for what purpose, Mr. Montes?” spat Dr. Valdez, he clenched his fists, “she has you, isn’t that good enough?”

 “I work hard as an engineer, I am rarely ever home.” Mr. Montes explained, “she needs someone to watch over her while I am gone.”

 “So you built a machine?”

 “Well… I essentially made a nanny bot.”

 Dr. Valdez still was not having it, “so you want a piece of metal taking care of your daughter? Your flesh and blood?”

 Mr. Montes spoke, almost pleadingly, “she needed a mother, so I made one for her from scratch.”

 “What does a bot know about love?” Dr. Valdez spat with venom in his tone, jabbing a finger at him. “What does an android know about the bond between mother and daughter?” 

 Mr. Montes went silent, his eyes furrowing into a glare, “rest assured, I’ve been engineering and building machines for almost thirty-five years. I know the basic ethics, I know what happens when you let a robot run your home. I am a lot smarter than you think, professor. A robot can love. Only if you program it to love.”

***

Annette Montes stood at the train station waiting for her father that afternoon.

 Her father’s work hours had been hectic lately, babysitters had gotten expensive lately and Mr. Montes constantly fretted over the thought of her being home alone.

 Annette is only eleven years old, she can handle herself no?

 The train finally arrives, and Annette is snapped out of her thoughts. Her father arrives, still in his uniform and jacket carrying a large suitcase. 

 And with him, is a surprise to Annette, a rather tall woman with flowing, black hair, the woman followed her father rather closely as he came over to greet her.

 “Annie, my dear!” Mr. Montes chirped, scooping her up from the bench Annette waited at and held her close to his chest tightly. She doesn’t tell her father this, but sometimes the nickname Annie felt nothing but childish to her now.

 She was eleven, of course. Her grandmother said she was becoming an independent young lady.

 Her eyes darted towards the tall woman, now that she had a better look once Annette was set down.

 The woman was over six foot, long curly hair down to her elbows. She wore a lavender-colored shirt dress and a pair of black mary janes.

 She looked oddly elegant for an android. Almost like a doll. 

 “Oh, I’m sorry Annie, I’m afraid I haven’t introduced our new friend yet,” Mr. Montes gestured towards the android-doll. “This will be your friend to look after you while I’m at work.”

 The android-doll walked forward, her hands clasped together. She had a sweet smile, but it almost looked uncanny to Annette. 

 Though she was not frightened, of course.

 She leaned forward and said in a voice of mechanical silk, “it’s very nice to meet you, Annette.” the android-doll placed her hand on her chest, “my name is Evelyn. But, you may call me Eve.”

 Annette stayed quiet, but carefully shook Eve’s hand.

 “Hi…” Anette’s voice trailed off. “It’s nice to see you too, Eve.”

[areyougonnabe]

Tell us your favourite fact or piece of information about a polar expedition

this is the one that comes up in conversation the most that the people i'm talking to (fellow polar nerds) don't know - but basically, one of my areas of interest is THIS mfer, Sir Clements Markham. now let it be known i don't like him or "stan" him by any means i think he's for the most part a terrible person lolol but i am fascinated by him and have done a lot of research into his life and work:

most people know him as the guy above, the *ahem* controversial old fogey who was more or less the driving force behind the british end of the heroic age of polar exploration. but when he was a teenager, and looked like THIS:

he was on one of the early Franklin search expeditions in 1850-51, on board the Assistance under Captain Ommanney, sister of the Resolute under Captain Austin. this was his last journey with the Royal Navy - he only lasted about five years, he wasn't really cut out for the lifestyle (except for the parts where he got have intense life-destroying crushes on his superior officers) - but it was definitely the most impactful. it left markham with a singular, youthful and optimistic impression as to what polar exploration was all about. homosocial camaraderie, midwinter entertainment, effortful manhauling, geographical discovery, honor and bravery in service to the Empire. et cetera. (can you see where this eventually is going?)

this myth-through-experience grew and grew over his adult life as he worked his way up through the imperial bureaucracy, first at the India Office and later at the Royal Geographical Society, which was to be his most long-lasting professional association.

he participated in the organization of the Nares expedition in 1875, but when that was a resolute failure he bided his time until the 1890s, when support for antarctic discovery began to grow amongst the scientific establishment.

during the time that he was working on drumming up support for what would eventually become Scott's first expedition on the Discovery, in the mid-to-late 1890s, he was working on a, let's say, "private manual of devotion." this was a lengthy manuscript with an equally lengthy title:

James Fitzjames: the story of the friendship, devoted zeal for the service, high souled courage, self denial, and heroic deaths of 129 British Naval Officers and Seamen - A Romance based on information and on facts so authentic and so numerous that it must be very near to the truth.

as you can probably tell already. this was a piece of work. its first few chapters are indeed "based on information" - biographies of Franklin and his officers, often using details Markham received secondhand from men he'd met who actually knew them. (apparently he went around asking everyone he ever met if they'd known anyone on the FE and could they tell him about them which, relatable)

but then after the ships leave Disko and the historical record, the story turns to pure fancy. markham is, as you may have noticed from the title, absolutely obsessed with James Fitzjames to a psychosexual level. he was the "beau ideal" of an officer to Markham. (they never met!!! i might emphasize!!!!!) according to good old clem, if Fitzjames had been in charge of the expedition entire, it would never have perished - the fate that befell them was due to Franklin and Crozier's aged stiffness and inability to adapt.

going into detail about the rest of this frankly bonkers fanfiction would take ALL DAY i swear to god BUT highlights include: a self-insert character named "Baby" who swears fealty to Fitzjames, at least three midwinter theatricals described in detail incl. crossdressing, egregious and disgusting racism against the inuit, pop culture references, a complete and hilarious mix-up of the expedition ranks due to clem not having access to the full roster (jopson as caulker's mate!!!!), and of course lots and LOTS of men dying piously and nigh-erotically in each others' arms. of course there is no cannibalism whatsoever and the men are devoted to the naval hierarchy until the very end.

anyway, the fetishization of youth and inexperience which is visible in the story is quite glaringly tied to markham's selection of scott for the 1901 expedition. at the very least subconsciously, he wanted to recreate the FE with a "Fitzjames" in charge, thinking that would be the key to success.

and to that we can only say: LO fucking L.