#i also may owe staff a bit of an apology for all the mean things i said/thought about them

[samepictureofclintbarton]

i'm so happy i'm back to my regular clint posting

[i-literally-cant-with-this]

A/N ::: All of you just shut the hell up. Just kidding. But seriously, I read something earlier and it shattered my heart. So I had to give this man a baby. I kinda sorta pulled the names of his offspring on purpose. Tilly means "mighty in battle." And Jules means "youthful." I know not every one of you will love the names. But that's the thing about baby names, in'it? Not everyone will love what you choose. Anyway, this legit almost made my chest swell with hot breath and come out as tears. I don't know why. But there's something so sexy about a man who actually sticks around for his girl and his demon spawn (AKA Babies). And there's NOTHING about Reiner that's not sexy.

C/W ::: Talk of hospitals/delivering a baby (so sexy, right??), Reiner x y/n flirt a bit and have sex, nothing special. But I'm putting a little warning up anyway.

Tilly, Tilly, Braun

If you know what I'm referencing, you're so fucking cool!

"Another one? Holy shit, sweetheart." Reiner asked as he held your hand while you try to get comfortable in the hospital bed.

"Yes. ANOTHER ONE." You hiss at him. "Fffooo, fuck fuck fuck. Why did I ever let you talk me into THIS? You're such a bastard. You know that? A real first class bastard."

"Babe, please." He lowers his voice and leans in to talk into your ear.

"Stay. Away. From. Me. I may bite you." He was looking for any trace of humor on your face or in your eyes, but there was none to be found.

"S'just ... well, heh, honey, the nurses are looking at me like I really am a bastard. I don't, I don't like it." Reiner genuinely looked saddened by this.

"YOU THINK I GIVE A RATS ASS RIGHT NOW what THE STAFF THINK OF YOU? HMM! Read the room, Rei."

He pulled his hand from yours and started to stand.

"W-where are you going? Are you leaving?" You started to cry. "I'm so sorry baby, I'm so fucking sorry. BUT THIS HURTSSS. Sooo fuckin' bad. I have never loved you more and never hated you more. I want to kiss you and beat the shit out of you. Y'know? Y'KNOW???"

Reiner stood there, wide-eyed. In shock, really. He was getting turned on by how you were talking to him but he was also terrified that he'd blink incorrectly or take too long of a breath and you would beat the shit out of him.

The nurse came over to you and said it was time to check your cervix again. You groaned. "Can't you do an ultrasound or something? You're literally going against nature here, trying to put your fingers inside of me to check that, while a baby is trying to come out? Fucking take an x-ray like a normal person."

Reiner apologized to them on your behalf. "She's a little um, tir-, stress-," he sighed. "She's going to divorce me when this is over. I just know it."

The nurse laughed. "I've seen it all and I've heard it all. Chances are, Mr. Braun, if she let you put a baby inside of her, she'll stick it out."

He looked hopeful for a moment. "Really? You think so?"

"I'm RIGHT here, people. I'm right ... here."

"Ok," the nurse said, sounding hopeful. "You're almost 10cm. How do you feel?"

You pursed your lips together and lowered your chin to your chest. "Angry. I feel anger."

"Do you feel like you could start pushing? You opted to follow your birthing plan and that was to have a natural delivery. It's too late to go back now, Mrs. Braun. So, can you? Push?"

"H-can I push. I don't know. Let me check with my magic 8 ball. Hold plea-oww!! SHIT, REINER! Ow, ow, ow ow ow. Fffffuck, baby, it hurts so bad. Oh my fucking god."

"I think that's your cue to start pushin', mama." Reiner said as he patted your forehead with a wet and cold washcloth. "Tell me what to do." He left a long kiss on your left hand. "Where do you want me?" His gaze dropped to the floor as he mumbled more to himself than anyone else, "Besides hell."

"Rei, Rei, please get behind me and hold me. I want to lean up against you when I'm pushing."

He looked at the nurse and had the biggest, dumbest smile on his face. So happy that you're actually admitting that you need him. Dare he think, you want him there.

He and the nurse rearranged the pillows behind you and lowered the head of the bed so he could sit comfortably and you could lean back against his stable chest.

You had to laugh, remembering the night you got pregnant.

His chest was what got you into this whole mess in the first place.

*****

"What'cha feel like doing tonight, babe?" Reiner asked.

You walked over to him wearing one of his t-shirts and a cute pair of panties. Nothing special. But that was his favorite thing to see you running around in. So simple and so sexy. Tracing your fingertips over his muscles that stuck out from behind the shirt he was wearing, you dug your fingers into the waistband on his jeans and dragged him to the kitchen counter. He helped you hop up there and he pushed his way between your thighs. Burying his face in your neck and taking a deep breath he asked, "So, you wanna watch TV, then?"

You slapped him on his huge bicep. Which led to you wrapping your fingers around what you could before you ran out of length. "Jesus, Rei. You're so ... mmhm." He bent down to kiss you as he wrapped your legs around his waist and carried you down the hallway to your bedroom. Bumping into the walls the whole way because he could only tell where he was by the end of the runner laid out on the floor indicating your room was immediately to the left.

He laid you down on the bed.

You scooted back to give him some space at the foot of it.

"What'cha in the mood to watch tonight, hm? You wanna watchhh ... this?" He grabbed your ankles and pulled you down so you were flat on your back and he started kissing your knees. Never mind that you were more ticklish there than anywhere else on your body. Never mind the last time that he did this you kneed him in the face because it was, literally, a knee-jerk reaction to his touch.

Throwing your arms to rest above your head, you smiled. "Nah, I wanna watch something a little more exciting." You pulled his shirt off and tossed it to the floor.

Reiner raised his brow. "Ohh," he rubbed his hands together quickly. "I fuckin' love this show. Yes ... I ... Do."

"It's my favorite thing to watch right now." You laughed as he crawled his way up the bed and rested his hips between your thighs. You reached down and unbuttoned his jeans. He leaned down to kiss you, slowly and deeply, and you moved your head to the side so he could kiss your neck. "It's one of those shows that just ... keeps getting better and better and better. I can't wait to see where it goes."

He pushed his jeans off and kicked them to the floor. "I agree, babe. I fuckin' love it too. It's got me hooked." He was looking at your lips. Your smile. Your eyes. "You know what show I'm talking about, right?"

"I think we're both watching the same thing. It's so addictive." You said as you pulled him closer. "It's like the next big thing that everyone's gonna be talking about for months and years."

He was hovering over you now. His cock pressing into you. So close to being inside.

"I wanna see it all. The whole thing. Every episode. Every season. It's so good." He moaned as he entered you, slowly and gently.

You gripped his shoulders and nodded. "I do too, baby. I want to know everything." You arched your back as he started to thrust into you. "Oh god, Reiner, it's so good."

"So fuckin' good, honey. This is my favorite part of the show. When we fuck. God, you're so hot." He kissed you and ran his tongue over your bottom lip. "Can I tell you a secret?"

You nodded your head and looked into his eyes. "What's that, baby?"

He groaned and pushed himself deeper into you. "This is the show I've been looking forward to most. The one I've wanted to start for a while now."

You laughed and held his face in your hands, pulling him in to kiss him again. "Me too, baby. Me too."

"I can't wait to see what happens next."

*****

"Ok, push, 2,3,4,5,6,7,8. And breathe. One more, Mrs. Braun, just one more and you'll have your baby." The nurses cheered you on.

You looked back and up at your husband. He's never looked so sure of anything else in his life. He knew he wanted to marry you. And you can see in his eyes now that he's sure he is ready for this baby. Which is more than you could say for yourself. But it was a little too late to go back now.

"Hnnnghhhh-ahhhhhh!!! FUCK!!!" That was it. That was the last one. Your baby was born. Your husband got up and ran around to kiss you on the lips before he even saw your newborn child.

"I ..." he had tears streaming down his cheeks. "Oh, honey, I -" You kissed him back and waved at him to go see what the baby was.

You'd both agreed on names; Tilly Braun for a girl and Jules Braun for a boy. You were so damned tired you didn't know what you wanted at this point.

"Oh! Hoh my god, babe! Baby! It's a girl! Say hello to Tilly. Tils, this is your mama. She's the most beautiful girl in the world. Next to you, of course."

[plumrabbit]

DA Fandom and moving forward - Calling In vs. Calling Out

Hi everyone,

As a PoC member of the DA fandom, I felt I have been quiet for long enough on the issues that have been presented recently. I am not here to argue against or on behalf of any individual or group, I am only here to present some information that I hope will be helpful moving forward. This is a long post, but it’s my hope that if you read it and want to help contribute to making this place better for everyone, then you will be willing to try to put what is said here into practice.

Since I am a relatively small blog, I wanted to start with a little personal introduction that will segue into the topic at hand. My name is Liz (you can call me Jade too, that’s part of my middle name), and I am a mixed race, “ambiguously brown”, aspec person from Canada. I grew up around mostly other immigrant families, attended predominantly non-white schools that were run by mostly white admins, and completed my degrees at a very white university in a field that does not have much racial diversity. I have experienced racism first-hand many times including, but not limited to, name-calling/slurs, fetishization/exotification, being followed by staff, people second-guessing my name, jokes about hurting/killing people of my race, etc. as well as witnessing racism directed at my friends and peers. I know exactly what it’s like to be exhausted and feel unsafe or othered.  There is, however, one thing I need to point out about the multitude of instances of racism I’ve experienced - most of them were caused by ignorance, and not malice. Yes there are absolute assholes out there, but personally I can count those people I’ve encountered on one hand (I am not speaking for everyone, though). The vast majority of racism, bigotry and general harmful acts come from a place of ignorance, particularly on left-leaning tumblr (to clarify, this discussion is centered around well-meaning people and not the actual lost causes). When I say ignorance, I don’t mean a lack of education or intelligence, I mean not being able to see or understand an issue from another person’s perspective. It’s not quite the same as empathy either (where empathy means you are able to feel another person’s emotions), but fighting ignorance does require empathy. It also requires knowledge on the context of the specific situation, and that I believe is the crux of the problem.  I think the main reason why this is issue is particularly prevalent in the DA fandom is a result of the too-close-to-reality-to-ignore inspirations that have been confirmed by the devs. Yes, it’s fiction, but there are also a lot of people that see themselves (mis)represented in the themes and characters. And what one person sees as disrespectful, another person may not see at all. This can come full circle, too, for example: one person sees themselves and their trauma represented in a character, another person sees their race misrepresented in the same character. Person 1 uses the character as a comfort character or coping strategy. Person 2 thinks using that character in certain situations is disrespectful. Neither one sees the other’s perspective.  This is where intersectionality starts to come into play, and requires empathy and effort to address the intentions and emotions of the other person. Perhaps person 1 is LGBTQ+ and has been traumatized by being as such, and uses Dorian as a character to explore their trauma. Perhaps person 2 is Brown, and racism towards their people is their trigger, and thinks person 1 did not do Brown representation justice in their creative works.  Looking at this more specifically, person 1 may have put Dorian in sexual situations. Person 2 feels that the way it was conveyed was fetishist or exotified. Person 2 doesn’t know person 1′s intentions. Person 1 is not aware of certain descriptions that are racist (e.g. using food to describe a PoC’s skin tone). Perhaps person 1 was self-inserting and wanted to feel desirable on their own terms, but this gave person 2 that squick factor.  Now person 2 wants to address this issue, and I think this is where a call-in (not a call-out) would be appropriate. Here is a good infographic that compares the two: 

(Original source)

Note that there is quite a large difference in the language used. Going back to the above example, person 2 could privately message person 1 asking them why they chose to represent Dorian the way they did, with specific examples, and using call-in language (and I’m going to get back to this in a minute). 

The point of this post and infographic isn’t meant to tell marginalized groups how they should be bringing up issues (though it is a good guide if you are concerned about being polite, particularly to a first time offender), it’s intended to demonstrate to people unintentionally participating in harmful behaviour what a call-out vs. call-in looks like. For PoC and other marginalized groups, yes it does take emotional labour to use call-in language and to try to understand someone that wounded you (here is a good read that incorporates the concept of emotional labour for call-ins, and discusses asking yourself if you are ready to do so). For the people who have unintentionally hurt a marginalized individual or group, please understand that someone calling you in is not an attack, it’s a chance to explain why you expressed something the way you did. 

That being said, we may have reached another hurdle. What if you call someone in, and the person called in does not want to discuss the fact that they were inserting their personal trauma? I think this is where things start to get a bit messy, but I am of the opinion that if you’ve unintentionally triggered someone else’s trauma through ignorance present in your work, you owe it to them to at the very least mention that you were inserting your trauma, without having to bring up specifics (anyone is allowed to set boundaries). From there, the discussion can be hopefully be opened up to learning from each other, and reaching a consensus. Sometimes that consensus requires the creator to edit or remove their work. As an addendum, if you are a creator that unintentionally hurt someone with your work that didn’t have an ulterior personal motivation, it’s your responsibility to understand why what you did was wrong, apologize, remove the work and do better next time. I know some people cherish their OCs, but you are allowed to change your perspective and make adjustments to your character without erasing them entirely. Now we’ve reached another potential obstacle - what if an offender doesn’t respond to your call-in? First of all, ask yourself, did you actually call them in, or did you attack them? Here is a good opinion piece from a Black professor on this matter. I’d like to clarify that I am not trying to tone police, I am speaking as someone that used to go ham on ignorant people on Facebook and Reddit, and has since changed their tactics and has even gotten through to Trump supporters (some of this stems from my spiritual growth as well, but that is not the point here).  There is another issue to address here now as well - what if you have tried, repeatedly, to call someone in and they just don’t change their behaviour? Alright, then it’s probably time to call them out. But again, ask yourself, did you truly try to get through to them? If so, well, at the end of the day, some people are, unfortunately, lost causes. In summary, a call-in is meant to come from a place of wanting to help someone who has seemingly gone astray, because you are worried about their thoughts, feelings, and behaviours towards a marginalized group. You know that if they made a mistake it isn’t them, isn’t their heart, and you want them to be able to understand why what they did hurt others, and give them the chance to correct themselves. It comes from a place of love and acceptance, because you don’t want your friends to harbour negative beliefs.  Finally, I want to give a real example of this in action. My cousin is a photographic artist, and was recently called in to discuss the nature of one of her pieces. Her subjects are usually people, and they come from a wide variety of backgrounds. To help support BLM (she does a lot of work to help fight racism in general), she auctioned off one of her pieces. The subject of the piece happened to be a Black woman. She was called in by Black members of her art community to discuss how people bidding on an art piece that featured a person from a marginalized group perpetuated the ogling and monetization of Black people. She gave a response that acknowledged that her piece did perpetuate this issue, because she wanted to raise awareness of this historical harm, and recognized that her intention was ignorant of this perspective. The Black community also acknowledged that the piece itself was not harmful in any way, only that the surrounding issue that they were painfully aware of needed to be brought to light. The auction went ahead, and the piece sold for ~$1000, all of which was donated to BLM.  I think as a fandom we should be cognizant of when a work itself is harmful, or when the intention is harmful. Sometimes they overlap, sometimes they don’t. Both are talking points, and we should not be afraid to discuss them, but this requires respect from all parties. We also do need to be able to recognize what is strictly fiction, versus what has real-world impacts. My askbox is always open and my DMs are open to mutuals if you would like anything clarified or expanded upon. Or, if you’d just like to discuss a topic, vent, or have any questions about my own beliefs, you are welcome to reach out. I am happy to discuss anything, as long as there is mutual respect. 

[krowfics]

Logan’s Problem

Fandom: Sander Sides

Ship: romantic logince, platonic analogical

Plot: Logan was in love, this is a problem. He’s not going to tell Roman, of course.

Words: 2,586

Notes: Highschool AU, Virgil is into minorly illegal things (graffiti), there's a slightly nsfw joke(?), discussions of diet and food, misunderstandings (it’s pretty brief), kissing

~~~

Logan had a problem.

Frankly, he had lots of problems everyday but none were actually ‘real’ problems per say. He had plenty of math problems that equations and formulas could fix. He had problems with the classmates he tutored as their problems became his own. He had a problem when one of said classmates needed to cheat due to being unable to pass otherwise, not for lack of effort on Logan's behalf or their own of course, and Logan had almost gotten caught sneaking a picture of the answer key from the teacher's paperwork.

He had problems, he'd had some bigger problems in the past, but none can compare to this.

Logan was in love.

He didn't come upon this purely on his own, he did need to credit his local emo for planting the idea in his head.

It was a brisk night, but nothing too chilly, still that hadn't stopped Virgil from wearing his regular hoodie, it only encouraged him considering the fact that he usually wore it even on the hottest of days. Logan watched him as the delinquent sprayed the school's brick wall with fresh paint.

"He's infuriating." Logan said.

"Tell me about it." Virgil was clearly preoccupied with his piece.

Logan hastily ran his fingers through his hair, almost knocking off his glasses but not caring. "He just-" He sighed, "He's smart, and yet he's an idiot. He's an oxymoron! Schrodinger's cat but if the cat was some majestic beast who was both simultaneously perfect and flawed in the worst ways."

"Mm." Virgil hummed.

"I mean, for example," He began, "He works out everyday, he has a strict schedule of alternating which parts of the body to focus on which days to allow proper muscle growth and avoid unnecessary pains, something I do as well, but! He also spontaneously gets ice cream when out with the theater club! I've no problem with eating ice cream, obviously, but I'm not trying to be that toned."

"You got a thing for muscles, huh?" The emo cocked his head.

Logan felt his face flush with pure heat, "Ah- er- no. No." He stuttered out in response, "I mean, yes. But no. That has nothing to do with my point. My point! Is that he's somehow figured out how exactly to do spontaneous things like that without ruining the ability of others being able to see his abs by the next day- Abs are hard to retain is what I’m saying."

Virgil laughed, spinning on his heel to look at his friend, "Ignoring everything you just said about abs." He tried and failed to stifle another laugh, "We're talking about a boy who confused a frog for a turtle."

"I know!" Logan said far too dramatically but he didn't pay any mind, "And yet he aced the last biology quiz!"

Virgil blinked, "Did he cheat?"

"No." Logan waved his hand with a sigh, "I checked, besides, he cares too much about ‘honor’ to do that."

Virgil twisted his face at that, a clear grimace of disgust, "He's a goody two shoes. You have a crush on a goody two shoes. Gross."

"It's not-" Logan stopped himself, it only took one strong stare from Virgil for the truth to spill, "Holy shit, it is a crush."

Virgil stepped over to pat his back halfheartedly, "There, there."

"Okay but! Everyone in the school has a crush on him."

"I don't!" He defended.

"You did."

"I did." He conceded.

"Exactly." Logan said, "I'm not special, I'm just one of the many onlookers. Besides, it's to be expected that I am... attracted to him. He's physically fit and otherwise conventionally attractive, and very good at make up when he wears it for productions and he's kind to strangers and holds open the door when a teacher asks me to carry an absurd amount of paperwork and he usually offers help with that smile. You know that smile, right? That he gives and it's like it triggers a panic attack but good?"

"I think you're in love."

"I'm not!" He gasped.

"You are."

"I'm not."

Virgil stared at him with a deadpan look for a long moment before shoving his spray paint cans into his backpack, Logan glanced up and vaguely acknowledged that it was done and was an impressive work of art as usual. "Uh-huh." Virgil said, occupied with taking a picture of the graffiti with his phone.

"I'm not."

He was.

He was in love with Roman Prince.

This was a problem.

This problem became significantly more apparent when he ran into the boy in question at school, or rather, Roman ran into him. Literally.

He’d turned a corner, perhaps a bit too quickly and definitely too distracted by the sheer amount of papers he had in his hold. It was at moments like these that he almost regretted being such a teacher's pet, almost but not quite. it did have its perks along with its downsides, he wasn't exactly sure which one crashing into the other student was. 

He had yelped and dropped nearly everything, losing his own balance along with the papers. Luckily he was caught and held up by a strong arm, unluckily, being caught made him drop the final pages he’d managed to hold on to. He and Roman stared at each other for a long moment, Logan was almost certain he hadn’t breathed and his face flushed an embarrassing color. Roman had righted him but hadn’t let go of his arm yet, “Are you alright, Specs?”

“Uh- erm, yes.” He readjusted his glasses, both as a way to try and distract himself from his blush and to actually fix his glasses as they were skewed from the collision, “My apologies, I wasn't looking at where I was going.”

“Oh no, that’s on me.” Roman said, only then letting go of the other’s arm and Logan tried to not be disappointed at the loss of contact with the other student, “Don’t tell anyone but I may or may not have been running in the halls.”

Logan looked around, “Well, there’s no hall monitors or teachers in view so I could hardly blame you for trying to travel quicker.”

“What’s this?” Roman laughed, “Is the teacher’s pet encouraging rule breaking? How scandalous.”

Logan rolled his eyes with a smirk, “I can assure you, my loyalty to the staff is a purely fabricated illusion.” And that probably something he shouldn't say. It definitely wasn’t something he’d say to just anyone, really only Virgil and a good few of the more trusted classmates he tutors knew that he wasn’t actually fond of the teachers, it’s easier to break rules when teachers think you couldn’t lie to save your life, but Roman wasn’t just anybody, was he? Logan turned, hoping what he’d just said hadn’t been a blunder, and stared at the floor with a sigh. 

He crouched down to start restacking the pile, thank fuck they were all copies of the same page and thus didn’t need to be in order. Roman joined him on the floor, “So, to which teacher do we owe the pleasure?”

“Mrs. Libelle.” 

“That fiend.”

Logan snorted at that, “If you’re in a hurry, I can handle this.” he offered.

“Are you kidding?” Roman gawked, “First of all, what kind of gentleman would I be if I did not help a nerd in need?”

Logan refused to acknowledge his returning blush, he instead squinted at Roman and opened his mouth to respond but was quickly cut off.

“Second of all,” He continued, “This is like a thousand pages to many for one person. And third of all, I have nowhere that I need to be in a rush, I’m just impatient.”

“I see,” Logan said, gathering a few more stray pages, “In that case, thank you.”

“No problem, Nerdy Wolverine, it was mostly my fault anyway.”

“Agree to disagree,” Logan replied instead of addressing that nickname.

Once all the papers were picked up and Logan had to watch Roman stretch up to release tension in his back, and no, don’t stare at his stomach Logan. An inch or so was revealed when his shirt was lifted with the stretch, it’s just a stomach, stop staring.

Logan cleared his throat and reached for Roman’s stack, “Thank you for the help, now I’ll be on my wa-”

“Ah ah ah!” Roman leaned away, taking the stack of papers with him, “Lead the way, Pocket Protector.”

Logan stared for a moment, but didn’t argue. He started walking and the other followed, “I’m not even wearing a shirt with a pocket to be protected let alone a pocket protector itself.”

Roman snorted, “Whatever, Nerd.”

Logan failed to suppress a smile, “You have used that one already in this conversation.” He pointed out, “I thought you were more creative than that.”

Roman gasped, “Oh, how you wound me!” he said overzealously.

The nerd in question just rolled his eyes.

“I was going to call you dork, but Remus told me what that word came from the other day and I can't stop thinking about it.” Roman faked a gag.

“Ah yes, plenty of curses have odd origins that have little to no resemblance to its in current use,” Logan said, turning a corner and glancing over to see Roman still following, “But I do understand being disturbed by whale penis.”

Roman gawked, “By the stars! Not you too- How do you know that?”

Logan stopped as he reached his designation and spun on his heel to look at the other boy, “I’m a nerd.”

“Yeah yeah,” Roman shifted his grip and stepped past Logan to open the door that was already slightly ajar.

“Oh you don’t…” Logan started but trailed off at Roman’s raised eyebrow, “Thanks.” He said instead of finishing, ducking his head as he walked into the room.

Logan spotted a clear enough spot at a desk and set his pile there. This was just the first stop however, Mrs. Libelle had instructed him to bring half the copies to Ms. Leading’s office and the others to Mr. Sanders, because Logan was just her loyal dog, apparently. He sighed and walked up to Roman, who was standing there, looking like he was waiting for instructions. Which was kind of cute.

“Thank you for helping me,” He found himself struggling with eye contact, “I can carry the rest on my own, so you can head out now.” He reached for the stack and Roman pulled it away from him for the second time today.

Logan looked up to see Roman staring at him quizzically, “Do you want me to leave?”

“What? No,” Logan blinked, “I don’t want you to- No, you can do whatever you’d like.”

“Woah, hey, it’s okay Nerd.” Roman said, causing Logan to notice the tension in his shoulders, “I did something wrong, right? I’m a dumbass, I say the wrong things all the time. I’d like to know what I did but you don’t have to tell me, it’s okay-”

“Oh my god, you’re an idiot.” Logan breathed.

Roman tilted his head, which was absolutely adorable, “Thank you?”

Logan pinched the bridge of his nose, “You haven’t done anything wrong. I don’t- I don’t want you to leave.” Logan sighed, mostly at himself, and looked at the other man. He tried desperately not to let his face flush but it didn't really matter right now. He’d make Roman think he’d done something wrong, and that chivalrous bastard wasn’t even pushing for an explanation. Honestly, he was too nice, too perfect for his own good. “My apologies,” Logan started, “It had been brought to my attention that I... retain romantic feelings for you, and it has made me anxious, I suppose. So I attempted to have you leave quickly. I’d understand if you'd like to leave now if knowing this makes you at all uncomfortable.”

The other boy blinked at him, “Simplify, please, Nerd.” He said very quietly, as if he was already aware of what Logan said but wanted to make sure.

Logan cleared his throat and readjusted his glasses, which probably didn’t need the readjusting at all this time, “I have a crush on you.” he clarified quietly, “And I’m not confessing, really, just giving an explanation for my behavior. Thank you for the help. You may leave.”

“You like me?”

Logan nodded, “This can’t be much of a surprise.”

Roman shook his head, “Did you not just call me an idiot?”

Logan’s eyes widened, “I assure you, I meant no negative connotations-”

“Chillax, Nerd.” Roman waved a hand, unknowingly giving Logan a moment to decipher whatever ‘chillax’ means before, “I like you too.”

And that left Logan reeling. Because no. No? How? Roman was the high school’s pretty boy, their prince, their designated hot guy with abs. How does the hot guy with abs like him back? There must’ve been a miscommunication. Somehow.

“Come again?” Was all he managed.

But Roman smiled and Logan’s heart went from beating out of his chest to figuratively soaring, “I like you too. Or uh, I retain romantic feelings for you too.” He chuckled.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Well, this was unexpected, “What do we do now?” Logan said, more to himself than the other.

Roman shrugged, “What do you want to do?”

“I honestly never planned to get this far.”

Roman huffed out a laugh, stepping around to the desk so that he could set his pile down next to Logan’s, “Well,” He said, making his way back to the student, “I could kiss you.”

“I-” Logan felt like a metaphorical deer in the headlights, but in a good way? If that was even remotely logical, which it wasn’t, “I wouldn’t be opposed.” His voice came out a whisper.

To that, Roman reached up and gently cupped his cheeks. Roman’s eyes flicked down to Logan’s lips and Logan found his eyes doing much of the same.

The kiss was soft, absolutely nothing like he’d expected from the student before him, but not bad in the slightest. It was short, too short, Logan found, so he took to pulling Roman back in only a moment after the first ended.

Roman pulled back again, rubbing Logan’s cheek gently with his thumb as he did so. He smiled so warmly, Logan thought he’d melt. 

“And…” Logan vaguely noted that he probably sounded a bit out of it, “What do we do now?” he smiled at the other.

“Hm.” Roman hummed, “Ice cream?”

“Ice cream sounds good.” Logan agreed. He had a date. A date with Roman Prince. “But, papers.”

“Papers?”

“Papers.” He pulled away begrudgingly. He grabbed half the papers and went for the door, stopping only for a moment, “I'll be right back.” He then slipped out the door and speed walked to the other teacher’s classroom. Mr. Sanders was there and had made small talk that Logan managed to survive. He was gone as quickly as he arrived, rushing back to Roman and finding him just stepping out of the door of the room he was left in.

Roman grinned when he saw Logan approach, he reached for Logan’s face again once he was in range. He pulled him in for another kiss, something Logan could hardly argue against, “Ice cream now?” Roman asked, face still impossibly close to the other’s.

Logan nodded slightly, “Yes.” finding his hand in Roman’s a moment later, being pulled down the hallway. Roman’s unabashedly happy smile was sure to match his own.

So, maybe this wasn’t a problem after all.

~~~

This is actually a fully fleshed out au that i will probably write more of, idk- no promises

my,, hyperfixation on health and exercise kinda slipped into this one? im sorry, i don’t know what happened, but Logan likes muscles i guess asjkdkls

also i do not know how american high schools work at all, i was homeschooled so im going off fanfics and anime (which doesnt help with the american thing-)

[ethereousdelirious]

This was supposed to be for the “one drabble from the caretaker’s perspective, one drabble from the sickie’s perspective” challenge and it is...... not that. Every possible thing that COULD get away from me DID get away from me so this is just... 1,000 words of normal sickfic haha oops. Also a bit of a character study?? I dunno

Fandom: The G.reat G.atsby

Characters: N.ick, J.ay

Prompts: nausea, curling up, cool cloth, “sorry I’m so sick,” “you’ll be okay”

Warnings: N/A (no emeto this time)

Jay Gatsby was not a man with tendencies toward self-reflection or self-congratulation, though he did occasionally find himself indulging in moments of pride. His plan was progressing as smoothly as a sailboat through still water and he foresaw no storms on the horizon.

This was due in no small part to the interference of one Nick Carraway, a man who, try as he might, Jay simply couldn't fathom.

Nick made weak protests against adultery while arranging meetings for Jay and Daisy. He rejected the excess of the era yet overindulged constantly.. He seemed to have no goals for himself nor any regard for his own happiness and quite frequently let himself get talked into things he didn't want to do. He was the most honest dishonest man Jay had ever met, and Jay simply didn't know what to make of him.

He was also the linchpin by which the cogs of Jay's plan turned, and Jay felt he was owed some compensation in that regard. So, Jay tried his best to make Nick happy whenever he could. This mostly involved diverting him with activities and day-trips, as Nick was loathe to accept any gift except for the occasional purchase of a liquid lunch downtown.

Today, they were supposed to go sailing. Just the two of them: a proper gentleman's voyage.

Jay waited in the vast foyer of his home, sedate, with drink in hand. It was for Nick, not for him, and condensation was already starting to gather in the handkerchief in which the glass was swaddled.

There was a timid knock at the door and Jay sprang up to answer it, having dismissed his butler for the afternoon.

Nick blinked in surprise at seeing Jay, but then he smiled and Jay's chest went warm. "Good afternoon."

"Afternoon, old sport." Jay winked and stepped aside so Nick could come in. He walked slowly, like a wounded soldier, and the satisfaction still blooming in Jay's chest dissipated like sea spray. "Are you quite alright?"

"Oh." Nick's shoulders tensed. It wasn't a 'yes' and Jay's mind was already shifting to possible ailments and possible cures.

"Sit down," Jay said, guiding Nick over to a chair. He watched as Nick sat down, again with gentle movements. Whether subconsciously or deliberately, he seemed to be shielding his belly, with one hand tucked away inside his blazer.

"I'm really alright," Nick protested even as he sat. His face was wan, his brows knitted slightly.

"You're ill," Jay guessed.

"I'm sure it's nothing. I'll be alright."

"You certainly don't look alright." Jay leaned in. "May I?"

Nick looked at him in pensive silence before giving a curt nod and averting his eyes. Without fanfare, Jay cupped his hand at the side of Nick's neck, pressed his knuckles to Nick's cheek, laid his hand flat against Nick's forehead. He didn't miss the shivers that ran through Nick every time Jay's hand touched his skin.

Jay shook his head. "You're warm."

"I'll go home," Nick said, with eyes still averted like a guilty child.

"I won't allow it."

"Jay--"

"I'd go mad with worry. Please stay. For my sake."

Nick folded like Jay knew he would. "Okay."

"Good." Jay smiled to help Nick feel more at ease. "Now, please, take off your shoes and get comfortable. I'll have you right as rain in no time. You'll be okay."

Nick swallowed and untied his laces. Shaky, unsure, he pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. "I'm sorry for the trouble."

"No trouble, old sport." Jay waved a hand. "Now." He sat down beside Nick. "Other than that fever, what's troubling you?"

Again, Nick swallowed hard, and shifted uncomfortably like he couldn't get comfortable. "I feel a little," he made an esoteric hand gesture, "sick."

"Good thing I didn't drag you out on a sailboat," Jay said. "Do you feel like you need a bin?"

Nick shook his head and curled in tighter on himself. "No," he said, sounding so perfectly miserable that Jay's heartstrings threatened to tie themselves up in a bowline knot. Nick let his head rest on his knees.

He must have been feeling really awful, and Jay was just sitting there staring at him like a simpleton. "Wait here a moment, old sport." He got up and, bypassing his staff, wet a cloth at the kitchen sink.

Nick was in the same position that Jay had left him in, and didn't so much as stir when Jay sat down beside him.

"Here," said Jay. He draped the cloth over the back of Nick's neck. "For the fever."

"Thank you, Jay," Nick mumbled into his knees.

Then silence. Jay fought not to bite his lip as the discomfort of helplessness descended on him like an osprey on the hunt. Rarely did he encounter a problem that couldn't be solved through hard work or with money, and he wasn't sure what Nick needed in order to feel better.

"Are you alright, old sport?" he asked, determined to get to the bottom of things. "You seem upset." He almost added an extra 'I hope I haven't offended you' but caught himself. This was Nick, after all. They were friends.

Nick raised his head so he could look at Jay. "I…" He hesitated. "I'm sorry I'm so sick. I didn't mean to be such a bother."

"Nick," Jay said, forgetting himself for a moment. "You could never be a bother to me. Never. Now." He clapped once. "Can you handle the stairs? I'm sure you'd be much more comfortable in bed."

Nick's face colored and Jay's heart froze for a moment before he realized that Nick was blushing. "Really, I should go," he said. He stood up, removing the cloth from the back of his neck with one fluid motion.

"I'd much prefer it if you stayed," Jay said, suddenly acutely aware that he really meant it. The idea of sending Nick home in this state, even accompanied-- It seemed cruel. He stepped in front of Nick's and put a hand on his friend's shoulder. Even through Nick's jacket, the heat of his fever warmed Jay's palm. "How can I make you stay, old sport? Do you want me to beg?"

The blush faded, by degrees, from Nick's face. He looked helplessly at Jay. "I just don't want to be an inconvenience to you, is all."

"Then do exactly as I say." Jay turned on his heel and indicated that Nick should follow him upstairs. Nick did, still in that wary, shuffling gait, like he was afraid someone might attack him. Jay took the stairs at a deliberate pace so Nick could keep up without exerting himself. The stiffness in his shoulders and gentle curve of his back spoke of a stomach ache that he was understating. "All right?"

"Fine," Nick said. He didn't look worse, so Jay left it at that.

He led Nick to the guest room that was in closest proximity to Jay's own suite.

"There," Jay said happily, once he had installed Nick in the massive four-post canopy bed that dominated the near wall. "I'll have someone bring your shoes up."

Nick nodded. "Thanks," he said, and then swallowed hard.

Jay had been seasick enough times as a youth to recognize the warning signs of intense nausea. "I'll get a bin," he said, dashing for the bathroom with as much tact as he could muster.

When he returned to the bedside, Nick had curled up on his side and squeezed his eyes shut. His breathing had gone shallow and his face was as pale as the sheets he lay on. Jay froze. It wasn't often that he found himself in a place where he had no idea what to do.

Nick was clearly suffering, but it wasn't likely that he would admit it, and the last thing Jay wanted was to upset him by overreacting.

"Do you-- Should I--" he stammered, reaching for a plan of action that just wasn't there.

"I'm sorry," Nick said. 

"For what, old sport"? Jay asked, feeling more helpless than he ever had. He should be the one apologizing.

Nick shrugged with one shoulder. "Sorry I'm so sick. I know you're a busy man and I-- I really didn't mean to put you out like this."

"That is true," Jay admitted. "I am a busy man. But I can promise you this, old sport: I'll never be too busy for you."

[parismemes]

SENTENCE STARTERS FROM PORTAL 2.

“oh... it’s you.” “it’s been a long time. how have you been?” “i’ve been really busy being dead. you know, after you murdered me.” “this will be our only chance to talk.” “if you’d done that to somebody else, they might devote their existence to exacting revenge.” “i’ve really let the place go since you killed me. by the way, thanks for that.” “here come the test results: you are a horrible person. i’m serious, that’s what it says: a horrible person. we weren’t even testing for that.” “science has now validated your birth mother's decision to abandon you on a doorstep.” “i'll give you credit: i guess you ARE listening to me.” “remember before when i was talking about smelly garbage standing around being useless? that was a metaphor. i was actually talking about you. and I'm sorry. you didn't react at the time, so i was worried it sailed right over your head. which would have made this apology seem insane. that's why I had to call you garbage a second time just now.” “if you have any questions, just remember what i said in slow motion.” “when you die, i’m going to laminate your skeleton and pose you in the lobby. that way future generations can learn from you how not to have your unfortunate bone structure.” “you may as well lie down and get acclimated to the being dead position.” “i honestly, TRULY didn't think you'd fall for that.” “well. i suppose we could just sit in this room and glare at each other until somebody drops dead, but i have a better idea.” “say, you're good at murder. could you - ow - murder this bird for me?” “BURN HIS HOUSE DOWN!“ “i'm not going to lie to you, the odds are a million to one. and that's with some generous rounding.” “you think i'll betray you. and on any other day, you'd be right.” “you like revenge, right? everybody likes revenge. well, let's go get some.” “it's been fun. don't come back.” “if anyone asks -- and no one's gonna ask, don't worry -- but if anyone asks, tell them as far as you know, the last time you checked, everyone looked pretty much alive. alright? not dead.” “it just goes to show: people with brain damage are the real heroes in the end aren't they? at the end of the day. brave.” “BAM! secret panel! that I opened. while your back was turned.” “AH! i- sorry, i just looked down. i do not recommend it.” “oh, what? how stupid does she think we are?” “i heard gunfire! a bit late for this, but look out for gunfire! probably doesn't help at this point, but i have at least tried.” “oh for god's... they told me if i ever turned this flashlight on, i would DIE. they told me that about EVERYTHING. i don't know why they even bothered to give me this stuff if they didn't want me to use it. it's pointless. mad.” “they say the old caretaker of this place went absolutely crazy. chopped up his entire staff. of robots. all of them robots. they say at night you can still hear the screams. of their replicas. all of them functionally indistinguishable from the originals. no memory of the incident. nobody knows what they’re screaming about. absolutely terrifying. though obviously not paranormal in any meaningful way.” “WHAT ARE YOU DOING WE DON'T KNOW WHAT THAT BUTTON - oh, the door's open! well done. let's see what's inside.” “if we start making a list of things that aren't here, we could be here all night. you know, pens for instance. let's stick with things we can see. not stuff that isn't here.” “‘caw! caw!' oh, look! there's a bird out here! a lovely bird. gorgeous plumage. majestic. won't be here long. a lovely bird like that. once in a lifetime opportunity to see a lovely bird like that. lovely plumage.” “i knew it was gonna be cool being in charge of everything, but... wow, this is cool!” “well, how about now? NOW WHO'S A MORON?” “what -what's wrong with being adopted? um. well... lack of parents, for one, and... also... furthermore... nothing. some of my best... friends are... orphans... but...” “hello! this is the part where i kill you.” “could you just jump into that pit? there. that deadly pit.” “okay, that's long enough. are you dead yet? how about now?” “well, no matter. because I'm STILL holding all the cards, and guess what: they're allll full houses! i've never played cards. meaning to learn.” “puppet master! you're a puppet in a play, and i hold all the strings! and cards, still. cards in one hand, strings in the other. and I'm making you dance like a puppet. playing cards.” “congratulations! the simple fact that you're standing here listening to me means you've made a glorious contribution to science.” “let me answer those questions with a question: who wants to make sixty dollars? cash.” “ground up moon rocks are pure poison. i am deathly ill.” “all right, i’ve been thinking. when life gives you lemons? don't make lemonade. make life take the lemons back! get mad! 'i don't want your damn lemons! what am i supposed to do with these?’”

[itsmassivecollectionpatrolus]

Explosive new recordings from inside fake news CNN being released by Project Veritas,

JAMES O'KEEFE, FOUNDER AND CEO, PROJECT VERITAS:  Hey, Jeff Zucker, are you there?

JEFF ZUCKER, CNN PRESIDENT:  Yes?

O'KEEFE:  Hey, this is James O'Keefe. We've been listening to your CNN calls for basically two months, recording everything. Just wanted to ask you some questions if you got a minute.

Do you still feel you're the most trusted name in news? Because I have to say from what have been hearing on these phone calls, I don't know about that. We've got a lot of recordings that indicate you're not really that independent of a journalist.

ZUCKER:  OK. Thank you for — thank you for your comments.  So (ph) in light of that, I think what we'll do is we'll set up a new system.

(END VIDEO CLIP)

HANNITY:  Project Veritas tonight released the first installment of these recordings. And first up, we have a CNN field producer and Zucker talking about covering the president's decision to not yet concede the race, suggesting CNN should frame the story by invoking the 9/11 terror attacks.

We always let you decide. Here's the video.

(BEGIN AUDIO CLIP)

STEPHANIE BECKER, FIELD PRODUCER, CNN:  The 9/11 report talks about one of the problems was that the trouble that was brewing got lost during the transition. So if you want a concrete example of what happens when you don't have a good transition, but look at the Twin Towers.

ZUCKER:  Yeah. So, I think that's an important point. I think it was just a little bit yesterday in terms of national security. I think it's really important to raise again.

(END AUDIO CLIP)

HANNITY:  Now, do you ever remember fake news CNN talking about the national security implications of the Obama administration? You know, the deep state using Hillary's dirty Russian misinformation dossier to spy on candidate Trump, President Trump, his administration, the biggest abuse of power corruption scandal in history?

No. They're the ones that peddled the conspiracy theories, the Russian disinformation dossier, perpetuating years and years of a Russia hoax. What about those national security concerns?

They are glaring in their bias, and their utter, disgusting hypocrisy, couldn't be more obvious, and it gets worse, because next up, October, President Trump recovering from the coronavirus, Zucker is now telling his staff they need to resist normalizing the president and to not normalize what Zucker calls desperate behavior.

Does this sound like objective news to you?

(BEGIN AUDIO CLIP)

ZUCKER:  I think we cannot normalize what has happened here in the last week with Trump and his behavior, that this is a president who knows he's losing, who knows he's in trouble, is sick, maybe is on the after-effects of steroids or not, I don't know, but he is acting erratically and desperately and we need to — we need to — we need to not normalize that.

(END AUDIO CLIP)

HANNITY:  And Joe hiding, that was normal?

Lastly, weeks ago, Zucker instructing his staff to target Senator Lindsey Graham, saying the network needed to, quote, go well after Lindsey Graham. Target the guys we don't like.

Take a look.

(BEGIN AUDIO CLIP)

ZUCKER:  Frankly, if we've made any mistake, it's been that our banners have been too polite, and we need to go well after Lindsey Graham. There is a lot of news out there, and Lindsey Graham really deserves it.

(END AUDIO CLIP)

HANNITY:  CNN responded claiming that O'Keefe may have committed a felony, but didn't offer any specifics or cite any laws allegedly violated.

Here now is the CEO. He is the founder of Project Veritas, James O'Keefe is with us.

All right, every time you've been sued, has anyone done so successfully?

O'KEEFE:  No, Sean, we've won every single lawsuit at Project Veritas. And I know they said, quote, this is CNN communications, legal experts say this may be a felony. We have legal experts at Project Veritas. And we think Jeff Zucker is just very mad and embarrassed here for what we have exposed.

HANNITY:  Now, you're going to be on this program all week. And we're going to release more tapes very week so we can focus in on what you're going to release every day.

Now, they peddled this Russia lie for three years over there. They never apologized. They never corrected their record and they reported fake phony news and advanced conspiracy theories. They have stalkers of the FOX News Channel. And we're getting lectured by them?

Is this a news organization to you?

O'KEEFE:  No, Sean. This is — this is something that doesn't shock people but confirms a lot of suspicions. To see the president of a media conglomerate barking orders at his reporters and journalists, telling them what to cover, what not to cover, that's not anything resembling journalism I know.

I run an organization with a few dozen reporters. They come to me with facts. They're not — I'm not — they are not yessing me, in fact, they are challenging me.

And what Jeff Zucker is doing on these phone calls is telling people what the story is, telling them what not to cover. This is — this is propaganda. And I think in a country where citizens have to exercise their rights and duties, the consent needs to be informed.

This is manufacturing consent. And we've never actually seen it, fly on the wall. You can actually hear the president of the company instruct his vice president — instruct his reporters what the narrative ought to be.

This is the farthest thing from journalism that I know. And I think that CNN owes an apology to the people. I mean, this is — this is disgraceful.  

And this is the first time we've actually seen it, we can actually hear it.

(CROSSTALK)

HANNITY:  Also, looks like an in-kind donation to everything Biden. It looks like they have picked a side. They picked Joe Biden's side.

All right. You — the way you do things, you have a lot more coming.

How long did you record these morning calls?

O'KEEFE:  Well, I told Zucker this morning when I live-streamed the call, I said, I've doing this for two months. And he was kind of shell-shocked by that. We've been recording for weeks and weeks, Sean.

It's Christmas, December 1st. It's going to be like I guess an advent calendar. We're going to be releasing tapes every day, and we have more tapes tonight, tomorrow. And it's going to be, you know — this is a brave whistle-blower insider who came to us with this information, Sean. And we encourage more people inside media enterprises to blow the whistle on the corruption inside big media.

HANNITY:  All right, we look forward to installment two tomorrow. Thank you, James O'Keefe.

[mage-cat]

First Steps Home - Landing

The Rebellion set out of rescue Glimmer. Now, they’ve returned with much more than they expected. What sort of welcome will Catra receive at bright Moon?

Chapter 3 of part 2 of the Mending Bridges series. First chapter of this fic here. Start from the beginning of the series here.

Story under the cut. ~1200 words. Link to AO3 through here.

The tension on the ship stayed thick and silent until the spires of Bright Moon began to distinguish themselves from the rest of the upcoming landscape.

Glimmer touched Bow’s shoulder. “He’s really down there?”

He reached up to hold her hand. “Yeah, he is.”

“Tell me about him?”

“He didn’t realize how much time was passing on the island. When we said we knew you, he thought you were still a little kid. I don’t think he really believed how many years it had been until he saw Mermista and Perfuma. We’ve been filling him in as best we can. Your Aunt Casta’s visited. She’s filled him in more and insisted he actually get one full night’s sleep. Pretty sure magic was involved in that.” Bow smiled. “He’s exactly what I would expect from someone who was your dad: strong, stubborn, and kind of goofy. I like him.”

When the ship landed, there were two people waiting. To make a point, Glimmer and Catra disembarked hand in hand. That grip was quickly dropped when Glimmer and King Micah locked eyes. Catra didn’t hear what they said to each other as Scorpia rushed up to her.

“Catra! You’re here! And you’re not tied up or anything!”

“Glimmer and I worked some things out, and Horde Prime’s job offer was terrible.”

“I’m sorry I--”

Catra placed a hand on Scorpia’s arm and said firmly, “No. I promised myself that I was going to apologize to you the first chance I got. You have nothing to be sorry for.” Her voice softened. “I was losing it, and you were not going to be able to pull me back from that edge by yourself. I needed a wake-up call, and--well--that note you left was an important first step.” A weak smile crossed her face. “You wanna hear something dumb? It took me way too long to realize that you weren’t faking being nice or caring about me.”

Scorpia smiled back. “Hey. I grew up in the Horde too. I get why you thought that. It’s sad, but it’s not dumb.” She swept her up into a hug, and possibly for the first time, Catra did nothing to fight it.

Glimmer placed her hand where Scorpia’s arm met Catra’s back, calling both our their attentions to her and prompting Scorpia to put Catra down.

“I’m bringing Entrapta and Hordak to Dryl before him being here causes a riot.”

“I’ll try not to cause one while you’re gone,” said Catra.

“I’ll help,” added Scorpia.

As Glimmer walked back to where her soon-to-be passengers had stayed hovering near the door of the ship, Micah approached them.

“So you’re Catra. Glimmer says you saved her life, which in my mind outweighs anything else you may have done, and Shadow Weaver doesn’t have a single good thing to say about you, which means we’ll probably get along great.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“I also hear that you have the makings of a pretty good sorceress. After you’ve gotten some rest, I’d love to see what you can do. Then, maybe I could show you what else you can do.” He looked over at his daughter as she teleported away. “I dreamed about teaching Glimmer sorcery for a long time, but I was expecting to teach a little girl, not a grown queen. Now, I think I would like having a second student around in case things get awkward between us.”

Catra smiled, feeling a tiny flicker of the hope she didn’t really trust yet. A movement of green at the edge of her vision caught her attention.

“There’s one spell Glimmer taught me that I can show you right now.” She gave him a moment to recognize the rune and nod his consent before calling out. “Double Trouble!”

In rapid succession the rune hit their chest, and they went sprawling on their back with Catra seated firmly on the center of mass that they shifted their shape around.

“I hardly think I deserve--” They choked on their words. “Actually I fully deserve this.” They sighed. “Of course as soon as you start slinging runes around, you learn a truth spell.” They both flicked their eyes to the side as Adora strode over. “Stand down, lovely. Catra won’t hurt me unless I give her a reason, and you would probably agree with her reasons once you’ve calmed down.” Adora was pulled away by Bow as Double Trouble’s attention refocused on Catra. “To what interrogation do I owe the pleasure of you straddling me?”

“You have proven that your loyalty belongs to the highest bidder. Horde Prime can bid very high. Would you sell us out to him, or do even you have your limits?”

“I have my limits.”

“And just what are those limits?”

They grimaced. The spell would ensure that anything they said would be the truth. It didn’t actually force them to talk. That’s what Catra’s claws pricking into their shoulders were for in this equation. Their mouth worked, searching for a phrasing they could live with. “I would never do anything to jeopardize the safety of Green Glen.”

“And just what makes Green Glen so special?”

“It’s home. The fortunes of Green Glen rise and fall on the skills of its spies. My mercenary work is intended to be a... journeyman’s phase of my career before I return to do my duty for the realm. Aiding someone who would destroy it would be a failure. A Horde led by you might have worked out an amicable agreement with the royal family if it came down to it. Horde Prime shows no signs of similar inclinations.”

“Is that why you sought me out? Ensuring the safety of Green Glen?”

“Part of it.”

“Tell me another part of it.”

“The stories around you intrigued me. Your masterful performance at the All Princess Ball. Your swift takeover of the Crimson Waste. The size of the rumored bounty that had been on you for years.”

Catra sat back and crossed her arms. “Okay, that last one is news. Tell me more about that.”

“Bounties on missing children aren’t unusual. Word spreads faster when there’s an incentive. It is unusual for people to remember an unclaimed bounty well over a decade later, but understandable when the reward is that high. It seems that to someone out there you--or at least someone with your very distinctive eyes--are worth a princess’s ransom. I wish I could tell you more, but I never got a hold of the exact details.” Double Trouble smirked. “Anything else you need to know the truth about? I could dish all kinds of juicy details about the romantic lives of the Bright Moon kitchen staff.”

Catra gestured to dismiss the spell and stood up. “Go.”

“One more truth,” Double Trouble said as they rose. “You don’t have to magic it out of me. It’s good to see you again, kitten. The world without your smile in it is a little bit duller. Such a natural agent of chaos as yourself shouldn’t be so grim. I hope your new path makes it come out a bit more often, and I look forward to watching you wreak righteous havoc if you’ll allow me to assist.”

Catra smirked, “No rest for the wicked. We need all the help we can get.”

Next story: Once a Force Captain >

[atwaba]

The Legacy You Leave [Ch 14]

They couldn’t, as it turned out, all take America’s car.

As China was quick to point out, they still had a violent intruder locked up in a broom closet to deal with, and they couldn’t simply leave him behind to be found by the human staff that cleaned the building every night. As England was quick to point out, however, they couldn’t bring Marius to the airport, either.

He’d already tried to kill Nathan once. Putting him back within arms’ reach of the lad was off the table, and taking more than one car would have made their small convoy too obvious.

In the end, China, England, and Canada volunteered to stay behind and deal with Marius (whether that be by simply ensuring he didn’t escape or something more, Germany chose not to ask at the time), leaving America and Germany to escort their guests to the airport in a smaller (and hopefully less noticeable) group. America, of course, drove, as the car was his rental, and Germany sat in the passenger seat, with Kurt and Nathan in the middle row.

Before they could get much further than the parking lot (and begin to experience America’s...unique driving skills), Germany quickly typed out a message on his phone.

[Feli, Kiku, this is Ludwig. I am sorry, but something has come up, and I’m not likely to be able to make our dinner plans tonight. Please eat without me, and we can catch up some time tomorrow.]

The wording was simple and vague, and a bit too blunt (even for his tastes), but he sent the message through to the group chat anyway. The situation was too complicated to explain through a simple text, and until he knew more about what was really going on, Germany didn’t want to risk his friends getting dragged into something that may be dangerous, when they had no reason to get involved at all.

It was also best, he thought, to put out as little information as possible across an unsecured channel…

Just to be safe.

The traffic wasn’t all that bad, given the time of day, but America only made it about five minutes (give or take) before he could no longer stand the awkward silence in the vehicle, and started drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. At a red light, he glanced into the backseat through the rearview mirror, where he could see Nathan nervously watching the cars in the next lane. The massive bruise that had once covered half the boy’s face was completely gone, now…

If not for the cracks in his glasses and a few splatters of blood still clinging to his neck, one would think he’d never have been hurt at all.

“So...this guy on the phone…” America finally broke the silence as the light turned green, and the traffic moved on.  “He sounds like a regular Bryan Mills...you, uh, know him well?”

“Well enough to trust.” Kurt responded stiffly, fixing the nation with a steely stare through the rearview mirror. America didn’t take it personally - this wasn’t exactly the kind of situation that made one relax. 

“He’s nicer than he sounds.” Nathan added on. “I mean, I’ve only met him in person once or twice, but he was pretty nice then. And he did have this whole schedule thing all planned out, and I messed it up by being late, and holding everyone else up-” Kurt quietly reached across the seats to touch his grandson’s arm, and Nathan ceased his nervous rambling with an embarrassed cough.

“Hey,” America frowned, taking his eyes away from the mirror long enough to slow down for a turn, and ignoring the way Germany tightened his grip on the passenger roof handle. “You can’t exactly predict getting jumped in an alley!” He argued. “You didn’t do anything wrong, kid.” Nathan offered up a weak smile through the mirror, and the car fell into silence once more.

Several red lights and a few more turns later, they finally arrived at the airport. Following the signs hung above the streets, America turned off of the busier road into Terminal 3, and followed a much emptier ramp down towards Terminal 1. Germany watched with quiet apprehension as they left the flow of traffic behind, and frowned.

“Are we sure this is the right place?” The nation asked out loud. “This section does not appear to be open to the public.”

“The guy on the phone said ‘Terminal 1’, didn’t he? That’s right here.” America pointed out, though his usual confident smile was absent. “We have to be in the right place.” As they entered the cover of the empty terminal and started to drive through it, a man in a security uniform stepped out of a building further down the sidewalk, and started to wave them over. Trading a wary glance with Germany, America pulled the car over to the side of the curb, and partially rolled down the passenger window.

“I’m sorry, folks, but I’m going to have to ask you to turn around.” The guard started before he even reached the car. “This terminal is currently closed for-. Oh!” He stopped in mid-sentence, and did a double take through the window. “Oh, you must be the Cameron party.” He realized. Nathan gave his grandfather a confused look, but Kurt’s expression remained neutral. “I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t realize.” He apologized, and took a step back from the car.

“The rest of your party is waiting for you at Gate A-19. Due to time constraints, I’ll radio ahead to have your party escorted directly to the runway.” It was America’s turn to shoot Germany a confused glance, but much like Nathan before him, he was ignored. “Please, take the next turn-off on your right, just past the parking sign, and my colleague will direct you from there.” 

“Um...sure! Thank you.” America pulled away from the curb, still hella confused, as the guard headed back into the building, talking quietly into the radio clipped to his shoulder. “That’s...weird. That’s weird, right?”

“Certainly out of the ordinary.” Germany agreed. Quietly, he glanced into the rearview mirror at their passengers, hoping to glean a little understanding from their reactions, but all he saw was Nathan fidgeting nervously, as he had been since they’d left the meeting hall. America took the next right turn, and followed the road for a short while before slowing to a stop before a tall, chain-link gate. Another security guard waited on the other side, and - after a quick check with his radio - unlocked the gate, rolled it open, and waved them inside.

A few dozen yards beyond the gate, the buildings opened up onto the tarmac of the terminal. It was eerily devoid of planes or other maintenance vehicles, with the notable exception of a massive C-130 Hercules sitting alone just before the empty runway. America’s eyes widened, and he whistled lowly.

“Wow…!” He gasped. “I haven’t seen one of those puppies in-ow!” Germany withdrew his elbow, and gave the younger nation a stern look. “...a long time!” America grinned sheepishly. Right, right...probably shouldn’t tell the probably-not-actually-humans that he was over two hundred years old.

They had to take this one strange mystery at a time.

From the back of the plane, a figure appeared from around the lowered rear ramp, and raised one arm in a wave. America slowed the car to a stop a safe distance from the plane, and put it in park before turning off the engine. The figure remained by the ramp, patiently waiting as the four passengers climbed out of the car, and began walking towards him.

“You’re just in time!” The man called out cheerfully as the small party approached. “We’re just about ready for take-off.” He looked to Kurt and Nathan, and waved his hand up the ramp. “You two, go get settled. Take any open seats, and put your seatbelts on. Once we start to taxi, we’re not stopping for anything.” America very nearly reached out to stop Nathan when the young man obediently hurried up the ramp with his grandfather, and settled for clenching his hand into a fist.

There was that strange feeling again...the feeling of something that was his moving out of reach-

“A deal is a deal, then.” The man spoke up, interrupting the young nation’s thoughts. “You brought my friends back - and in a timely manner, to boot - so it’s time for me to hold up my end.” He held his arms out akimbo, and gave the nations a disarming smile. “I promised to explain, and so I shall. Have either of you heard of an organization called ‘Vindicta’?”

[chances-r-high]

[ @leera-ozynite ]

Chance shifted in his seat as he stared at the currently blank screen. Was he really going to do this? Was this even safe? Well, he supposed they already knew where they were. It was common knowledge that he lived on the Metallah.

Would she even answer?

Would she want to talk to him?

The last time they spoke he’d been fairly snide to her. It wasn’t until he had been around Addie and the Denivars that he realized how good Leera had been to him. It wasn’t much, but he knew it was good as she could have been. And that he had sorely taken it for granted.

He took a deep breath. He had to talk to her. He needed it.

He typed in the frequency he was given, hands shaking as the monitor beeped and the screen connected. His stomach felt like there was an expanding balloon in it. He swallowed and waited.

Leera was finishing up sending out some emails to other members of the staff. Apparently there had been some new policy changes that Mr. Dwicky wanted to implement. Leera has already glanced at a few of them. When was the last time he changed policies for the benefit of his employees? Had he ever?

Her computer beeped with a message. At this point she would simply answer any calls without checking where it was coming from. Telemarketers were immediately hung up on. Anyone she knew Mr. Dwicky would not want to talk to was asked to leave a message, which she typically burned in the fireplace. She had careful practice with this sort of thing, and didn’t want to miss anything important. “You’ve reached the personal secretary of Dwight Dwicky, how may I help you today?”

There was a long pause, causing Leera to furrow her brow before finally looking at the screen. “Hello? Is there something I can-,” She immediately froze, looking into eyes that were familiar yet different. Brighter, younger. His hair was dark green. Mr. V had said he liked dying his hair. She couldn’t bring herself to speak.

Chance’s mouth went dry, nerves buzzing along his entire body. She looked exactly the same. He never knew how Mefni aged, or if they did at all. Her eye was widened, still startling green as ever. He took a breath, forcing himself to speak. “Hey, Leera.”

Leera took a little longer to compose herself. Why...why… “I...I would say that this isn’t a wise decision, but I think that would go over about the same as it has with everyone else.”

Chance managed a smile. As polite as ever, her voice soft and sweet. Perhaps it was starting to make sense why he clung to Dibkins like he did. “What can I say? They’re all bad influences.”

Leera couldn’t help it, her emotions surging forth as she smiled. Her eye felt watery. “It is...very good to see you again.”

“It’s...actually good to see you again, too,” he told her sincerely. “I...would have tried to contact you earlier but…” He trails off. There’s a million reasons and excuses he could say.

Leera shook her head. “It’s alright. I...I understand.” She really did. Being on opposite sides wasn’t exactly an ideal situation to call and catch up with each other. 

Her chest tightened, remembering the last time she’d heard his voice. Remembering how she’d expressed her displeasure for the first time after Dwight had hung up that call. How it had perhaps been the only time she had she’d been tempted to go against him. But of course she didn’t, always the coward. “Chance I...I know apologies do no good here but I...I just…”

Chance expression soften, his throat tightening with his own emotions. “...I know, Leera. I know if you could…” He didn’t see it then, but looking back he saw it now. She did everything she could. “I’m not angry at you. I’ve never been angry at you.”

Leera gave a sniffle and squeak, quickly recovering. “S-so! How are you? Mr. V filled me in on some things, but I would love to hear them from you. Your hair looks very nice, by the way.”

“Thanks,” Chance replied. “I think I might change it again soon. My roots are starting to show.” He ruffled his hair for emphasis. “Might do some red again.” Though he knew he didn’t necessarily have to, he did think about discussing that with Dibkins first.

Leera’s smile became a little nostalgic. She remembered how when Chance was little he had such a fascination with her dark red hair, constantly wanting to touch it and pet. When he was an infant he’d pull on it sometimes. Oh. Well just be careful with that sort of thing. Wouldn’t want it to fall out.”

Chance chuckled. “It hasn’t yet. My hair’s pretty resilient. Don’t worry.”

Much like the rest of you. She refrained from saying that out loud. She wasn’t proud of the pain Chance had gone through, even if it brought him somewhere better. A place she never could have given him with the circumstances they had. “I will take your word for it. I hear you have a dog now?”

“Yeah!” Chance replied lighting up. “Persephone. I’m starting to think she’s not a normal pit bull, though. She’s huge. I also have a cougar.” He was careful not to mention the dragons. Not that he didn’t trust Leera. He just didn’t trust the device she was using. He knew Dwight perhaps better than anyone, and he would never put it past the old man to have surveillance of everything.

“A cougar?” Leera said in surprise. “How wonderful. Do they get along well?”

“They do, actually,” replied Chance. “The cougar’s name is Diana. She sort of treats Persephone like a wild cub that needs to be calmed down every now and then. It’s kind of funny to watch.” Something on her desk caught his eye. “Oh my Togal is that goddamn Carnarian?”

Leera looked down at the sprout, which seemed to already be getting too big for their pot. She smiled. “Their name is Neville. Or at least they seem to like that name. Agent Dib gave them to me. Not sure why.”

Chance couldn’t help but snort, thinking of several reasons why Agent would do that. Most of them aren’t that good. “He does things like that. I’d be surprised if anyone understands.”

“He does come off as quite the puzzle,” Leera agreed.

They sat in silence for a moment. Chance wasn’t sure why Leera had gone quiet, but he knew what he had. He needed a questioned answered. He needed to know what the hell was going on.

“Leera...what’s going on with Dwight.”

Leera meet Chance’s gaze again, her stomach flipping at the question. It was strange to hear Chance call him Dwight, as the last time they spoke the boy was following the older man around, proudly calling him Father. However, she couldn’t blame him. Not one bit. “What do you mean?”

Chance sighed. “I think you know what I mean. He had a Dib in his grasp recently, probably the easiest Dib for him to kidnap and assimilate, and he let him go without so much as a scratch.” His brow furrowed. “Apparently he’s also been talking to Honey as well? I think Go Fish was involved?”

“...I suppose you haven’t heard about him letting Agent Dib and Captain Dek go recently?” Leera asked.

Chance balked. “...What?”

“Mhm. He even returned Agent Dib’s binder to him fully repaired and everything.” By the look on Chance’s face, she decided to leave out the part about Dwight also upgrading it. She was certain Chance’s brain would implode.

Chance’s brain was already frozen, several wrenches stuck in the cogs. None of this made sense. Not a single bit of it. “Leera, listen to me. I know you’re loyal to him - Togal even knows why. But...I have to know. Why is he doing all this? What’s he planning?”

Leera gave him a sad look before looking down at her lap, twiddling her fingers. “...You know that even if there was something to all of this, I wouldn’t be at liberty to tell you.” She nibbled her lip. “But Chance, I know this is going to be hard to believe but...something has shifted. I’m not sure how, but I...I just feel the day Prince Honey was here...something changed.”

Chance stared, his expression growing hard. “You expect me to believe that?”

“I don’t,” she told him sincerely. “And even if you did, I’m am neither blind nor naive. And I also would like you to know that regardless of whatever happens, you owe him nothing.”

Chance blinked. If anyone knew Dwight on the same level he did, it would definitely be Leera. And for her to say such a thing knowing that Dwight might be listening, that spoke volumes in itself. About millions of things. He ruffled his hair again, thoughts racing around like frantic sugar ants. What was he supposed to do about this?

No. He didn’t have to do anything about this…

He looked back up at Leera, smiling sincerely. He definitely did not want this to be their last conversation. “I have a meeting in a few minutes I have to get to. But I would love to get together sometime for coffee maybe?” He hums. “We’d have to find somewhere outside Alliance space. Or wear disguises. Togal knows what the press will say if they see you with this time.” Not that many people would recognize Leera, but still.

“Oh? Are you not the charming playboy they all say you are?” Leera asked teasingly. She was certain it wasn’t true. The press loved dramatics and perhaps without Dwight in power they had to make their own

Chance laughed. “I suppose we’ll have to meet up so you can find out.” His expression was soft, a familiar feeling of fondness in his chest. “It was good talking to you Leera. Take care.”

Leera smiled back. “You too, High Chancellor.” She had the biggest, proudest smile on her face.

Well, that speaks volumes, too, doesn’t it. Chance shook that thought away as he hung up.the call, leaning back to stare that the ceiling. He grumbled and pushed himself up, forcing the brewing conflict into silence.

Nothing had changed.

Nothing was going to change.

A few strange occurrences would never be enough to change Fate.

[hungline]

skool luv affair

pairing: jihope  genre: fluff, teacher au, rated g  warnings: none  a/n: written for manta_ray on ao3 as part of the 2018 @jihope-love fic exchange  words: 1577

summary: When his student, Kim Taehyung, lets loose that the calculus teacher may have a crush on him, Hoseok doesn't really know what he should think...or maybe he does.

“Hey, Mr. Jung! Did you know that Mr. Park has a crush on you?”

Hoseok startles from where he was sat behind his desk, focused intently on grading the essays lying in front of him. "Mr. Park?"

There are two Mr. Parks in the high school that Hoseok has been teaching at for the past three years. One is an old man who is the unofficial head of their small history department. The other is a new teacher, a year younger than Hoseok, who teaches an advanced form of math and has all the kids in Hoseok's language arts classes buzzing about with his name in their mouths.

Hoseok really hopes that Taehyung doesn't mean the old man.

Taehyung rises on his tiptoes and beams at him, his rectangular grin spread wide across his face. "The calculus teacher! You know which Mr. Park I'm talking about, Mr. Jung. You have a crush on him too!"

"What?" Hoseok sputters, his face feeling much too warm as he ducks his gaze back to the essays in front of him. "No, I don't."

Taehyung deflates a little and frowns, his brow furrowed. "But I already told him that you did! Now I'll have to tell him that I was wrong."

"You did WHAT?" Hoseok screeches, standing so suddenly that he bangs his knee on his desk. "OW!"

Taehyung watches him hop around and rub his knee, face blank now with his mouth hanging open. His bangs flop into his face when he shakes his head and then he comes around the desk with his hands open as if Hoseok is a scared cat that has been cornered. Hoseok is too busy making sure that his leg is not about to give out to notice that fact until Taehyung is grabbing his arms and guiding him back into his seat.

"Sorry, Mr. Jung," Taehyung apologizes as he steps back, his hands still held up in a placating manner. "Should I go and tell Mr. Park that you don't have a crush on him then?"

Hoseok takes a deep breath and wills himself to not jump up so suddenly again. "I— No, Taehyung. That's okay, please do not say anything anymore. Please."

Taehyung exaggerates the action of zipping his mouth closed and throwing away the key, his signature grin taking up his face as soon as he has finished. Hoseok shakes his head at him and sighs, shooing him away when Taehyung takes a step closer.

"Go on and have your lunch, Taehyung. I still have papers to grade," Hoseok murmurs from behind the hand that covers his face, only looking up when Taehyung has turned around and began walking away to his relief.

But just as Taehyung has made it to the door, he looks over his shoulder and winks at Hoseok. "Glad I didn't lie to Mr. Park. Bye, Mr. Jung! See you tomorrow for class!"

Hoseok almost stands up again but Taehyung has already pranced out the door and now he is left alone with his ungraded essays again, wondering why exactly his heart is beating a mile a minute. He sighs and rubs his knee as he settles back behind his desk and picks up his grading where he left off.

He very carefully tucks away all thoughts about Taehyung and what he said today into the back of his mind and decides that is a problem for future Hoseok instead.

    And a problem for Hoseok it does become because the next day Mr. Park knocks on his door with a timid look on his face.

(Hoseok knows that his name is Jimin, that he is young and that this is only his first year teaching here, but for the sake of his sanity, he will refer to his coworker as Mr. Park for the time being.)

"Um, yes? Did you need something?" Hoseok asks sheepishly, not sure whether he should invite Mr. Park to come in or to merely stay standing in the doorway.

Mr. Park decides for him though and strides confidently into Hoseok's classroom, a shaky smile on his lips that does not match the way he moves. Hoseok watches him from behind his desk, only his lunch and a few lesson plan ideas laid out in front of him today. Mr. Park stops a few feet away from his desk and flushes a pretty pink that makes Hoseok want to reach out and pinch his cheeks for being so cute, but they are at work and Hoseok is not going to be weird about this.

He vaguely remembers what Taehyung told him the day before, but right now, Hoseok is focusing on the way Jimin's smile makes his eyes crinkle until they too are smiling with him.

Cute really does not begin to cover it.

"So, a student told me something really interesting yesterday..." Mr. Park trails off there, his brows raised as he stares at Hoseok, willing him to say something.

Hoseok freezes and barely remembers to blink before his conversation with Taehyung from the day before breezes into his mind with perfect clarity. "Oh. Kim Taehyung?"

Mr. Park nods and his face flushes a darker pink as he ducks his head before he looks back up again to stare at Hoseok once more. "The very same."

"I'm sorry if what he said made you uncomfortable," Hoseok starts to say, his own face feeling much too warm as he blunders forward. "I've known him since he was a freshman and he has always had a way of being a bit too blunt for many to be okay with. You can just pretend that he never told you anything if you like. It's fine."

"Oh," Mr. Park murmurs, his face even pinker than before. "Um, well this is awkward now."

Hoseok blinks at him, not sure what to say so he merely tilts his head up even further and lifts a brow up in a silent question.

Mr. Park toes at the ground and twists his fingers together in front of him. "I, um, was kind of hoping that he was, uh..."

Inside his head, Hoseok is screaming, but what actually comes out of his mouth instead is, "You were hoping that he was telling the truth?"

Mr. Park nods, his face flaming, and Hoseok decides then and there that he should probably start calling him by his first name now.

Jimin ducks his head again and does not say anything, leaving the rest of this for Hoseok to take on. As much as Hoseok doesn't actually want to start dating someone from work, he also cannot deny that when Jimin first started working here, he immediately caught his eye. That was a mere two months ago and Hoseok has of course spoken with him before and discussed a few of their favorite students with one another at staff functions and the like, but when it came to personal things — when it came to the way Jimin always managed to make Hoseok's heart race after each conversation — Hoseok avoided it like the plague.

"It's okay if it wasn't though," Jimin says, his voice so soft that Hoseok could pretend that he didn't even hear him.

Of course, he won't do that so he lets out a heavy breath and smiles up at Jimin, hoping that it is comforting enough to make the younger teacher relax even the tiniest bit. "Well, I don't think he was wrong."

"Really?" Jimin asks with the tone of his voice so incredibly hopeful that Hoseok feels like someone has gripped his heart in their icy cold fist and started squeezing it.

Hoseok should probably take this chance now to back out and pretend that Taehyung was all wrong, that Jimin got his own hopes up for nothing, but that would be cruel wouldn't it be? Cruelty is not in Hoseok's vocabulary after all and it is not like Hoseok is being forced into this anyway.

Sometimes, he and Jimin will have lunch together because they are the youngest of the teachers here so they get along a lot better than they do with others, but Jimin is a pretty nice guy too. From what Hoseok has seen, he is kind and intelligent and incredibly patient as well. The students like him as well and Hoseok knows how hard it is to gain the approval of so many young adults that are not all alike.

Other times, Hoseok will purposefully retreat and back away from Jimin because he is afraid of what their blossoming friendship could turn into, but those instances are slight and Hoseok never turns down anyone without a good reason.

And right now, the only reason Hoseok can conjure up is that they are co-workers and if they do happen to not work out, that might make work incredibly awkward and difficult for them both.

Jimin is sweet though and Hoseok has known Taehyung for three years and he knows that the young boy does not interfere with personal matters unless he is certain that things will turn out okay in the end. As a teacher, shouldn't Hoseok put some faith into what his students do?

So he leans his head on his head and grins up at Jimin, his heart racing in his chest as he says, "Really."

Jimin beams like he just won the lottery and Hoseok thinks he might be able to understand those romance novels Taehyung likes so much a little better now.

[crushedbyhyperbole]

Cleared for Duty - Chapter 3

Have you read chapter two?

Chap Summary:  After a chat with Steve, Bucky tortures himself over Edwards’ assessment.  A chance encounter and some eavesdropping gives Bucky some answers but there’s yet more misunderstanding. Will Bucky ever overcome his over self-loathing, and get a grip on himself?

Warnings:  There’s a lot of angst, self-loathing and emotional beratement on Bucky’s part.  Bucky is getting over his past traumas.

Shoe’s on the Other Foot

“You really hurt her, Buck.” Steve rested his elbows on his knees, leaning forward with a disappointed expression.

He’d come to my room for a beer and a chat about the possibility of me becoming a more active member of the team, but he’d quickly diverged from that topic onto a one I really didn’t want to entertain.

I sighed and shook my head. If I didn’t respond then it wasn’t a conversation.

Dr Edwards had walked out of the sparring suite on her own two feet, without assistance.  I know she had.  I checked the footage.

A large ball of guilt hung in my gut so I’d watched the recording just to torture myself some more. Yeah, I’d fucked up.  I knew it, Steve knew it, the whole compound knew it. Stark was furious, calling for me to be sent back to Wakanda.  Jokes of Manchurian Candidate aside, he probably wanted to put me back on ice. It wasn’t a bad idea, in fact it was a pretty good one.  Smart. The problem was, there was no helping me while I was under.  Steve wouldn’t allow it.

“Bucky?”

I looked up, glaring at my friend.  I hated that I put him in this position but also hated that he was laying a guilt trip like this on me.  Like I didn’t feel bad enough.

“Whatever it is between you two, you at least owe her an apology.”

He was right, I did. But that didn’t change the fact that seeing her was the last thing I wanted in the whole world right now.

“Have you seen the medical report?”

There was a medical report? Did I beat her that badly?

“Broken ribs, Bucky.” Steve sighed heavily before continuing. “Bruises all over her body.  She’s lucky you didn’t-.”

“Kill her?”  I snapped.  “She gave as good as she got, Steve.  I don’t have bruises to show for it but she was more than capable of defending herself.”

His frown was deep.

“I’ve seen the suit data, yeah, I know she put the hurt on you man, but she’s just a normal person, no serum, no powers, no nothing.”  He seemed to sympathise but it was short-lived.  “Her suit data on the other hand…”

“Just stop, okay.”  I leaned back against the chair and rubbed my hands down my face.  This was painful enough.  My own anguish plus the extra guilt Steve was laying on me.  “I know I fucked up.  I’m not saying it wasn’t my fault, but I can’t take it back, there’s no rewind on this shit.  It’s done.”

“You could say sorry.”

“What’s sorry gonna do, Steve?  She won’t accept it anyway, she hates me, more now than ever.”

“Just talk to her.” Steve stood, putting his unfinished beer on the occasional table.  This was him saying ‘apologise or else’, whatever the ‘or else’ would be.

After Steve left, I paced in my room.  I’d been hiding out in here for a couple of days after the assessments, not wanting to see anyone.  Steve had been my only visitor and I didn’t know whether that was because he’d told everyone to give me space or if they were too pissed off with me to bother checking in.  Either way, I’d worked myself up to a guilty crescendo only made worse by Steve dropping the broken ribs bombshell on me.

“FRIDAY?”

“How may I help you, Sergeant Barnes?”

“Are Monday’s combat assessment files sealed, or can I view them?”

“Yes to both.”

He could almost sense the amusement in her disembodied voice.  Curse Tony for making these A.I. things too human.

“Explain.”

“The files are sealed but as an active member of the assessment team, Sergeant Barnes, you have full access to all data, footage and results from the non-enhanced team assessments.”

“What about medical?”

“That is included in the data, sir.”

Had Steve known I’d look into it after he’d told me what I’d done to her?  Or had he forgot that I had been given access?

“FRIDAY, show me the files from my session with Dr Edwards.”

“Preparing…”  She said before light from above beamed a virtual display right in front of me.

It was all there; video, audio, suit data, energy outputs, efficiency readings, contact stats, medical, assessment result, recommendations for any further action.  I swiped at the medical file, though maybe I should have worked my way up to it.

The report was easy enough to read, two broken ribs on her left side.  I’d done that with my own flesh and bone, not the prosthetic.  Extensive bruising over 70% of her body, no concussion, no contusion.  There were pictures.  Stills taken from the examination immediately after and also from the days after.

My chest ached, seeing what I’d done.  No amount of dislike for a person should have made me lash out like that.  Yeah, sure there were bound to be some bruises.  These people were fighting enhanced avengers, we packed a punch.  But this…

The bruises on her forearms were from blocking my attacks, some of the ones on her legs also, shins in particular.  But her thighs, hips, stomach, ribs, and back were a contiguous blanket of mottled deep purple and bright blue bruises.  One bruise even had enough detail to see the ridges where the articulation of my metal hand had bit into her skin.  I hadn’t struck her face, however.

Feeling sick, I stumbled back, waving away the display.  My room fell into gloominess without the bright images.  Was I good for nothing but destruction, bringing hurt?

I had all but forgotten how she had pushed my buttons, making me angry as we fought.  Now it surfaced again, prickling my scalp with annoyance.  Why would she do this?  Push me into hurting her?  Why didn’t I stop?  Why didn’t I just let Steve switch her with Maria, then this would never have happened. All very good questions that didn’t mean a damn thing because I couldn’t take it back.

Goddamn you!  You broken, fucked up piece of shit.  You can’t escape what you were made for, never could, never will.

It was another couple of days before I ventured out of my room.  The necessity of food drawing me to the communal kitchen.  I had missed the weekly grocery order and the supplies in the fridge in my room had dwindled to nothing but condiments.

I waited until it was late in the evening, when I thought all the staff would have left and everyone else would have retired to their rooms.

I had just pushed the door to the communal area open when I heard voices.  It was Wanda and Dr Edwards.

My heart plummeted into my gut, stopping me in my tracks with the door cracked open no more than a couple of inches.  I was about to leave when I heard my name mentioned.

Out of their direct line of sight but able to see them reflected in the glossy black backsplash of the sink panel, I eavesdropped like a teenager.

“Why are you even asking about him, Vee?  After what he did?”  Wanda took a sip from a large white mug.  She liked tea.

“It wasn’t his fault.”

Edwards was leaning against the counter, uncharacteristically wearing trousers and a sweater in place of her usual skirt and blouse.  Maybe she was here socially.

“Hmph.”  Wanda frowned.  “Don’t make excuses for him, he’s a big boy and can deal with his own consequences.”

“I only asked if you’d seen him.  That’s all. Professional curiosity.”

“The fact that he stormed out of the assessment in the ‘murder strut’ has got nothing to do with it?”

I could hear the teasing in Wanda’s voice.  Wait! Murder strut?  What the hell?

Dr Edwards was silent but she looked down as if hiding her expression.

“Wow, really?”

“Can we talk about something else now?  You’re clearly not going to tell me what I want to know so let’s move on.”

“What did you want to know?” Wanda put her cup down on the counter and crossed her arms, suddenly invested.

“Just that he’s doing ok.” Dr Edwards huffed a breath through her nose.  “I really pushed him and I shouldn’t have.”

“Why did you, then. You know he’s volatile.”

“I don’t know.  I guess I just wanted to show him that not everyone is afraid of him, that I’m here and I’m indomitable.”  Veronica sighed then, defeated.  “Ever since I was put on his detail, back when he first arrived, I’ve been trying to help him through, well everything.  Yeah part of it is orders but there’s a part that’s not. I thought we had a connection but he really hates me for some reason, I have no clue why.”

Funny way of helping. I thought bitterly as I continued to listen in.

“He told Steve that you’re the only person who won’t ever call him Bucky.”  Wanda laughed softly as if it was some cute story.

“Really?”  That was genuine surprise.  “It’s funny you say that actually.  When we first met, he used to call me ‘Ronny’.  It was a name my parents called me when I was a kid, and I kind of liked hearing it again.  Then he started calling me Dr Edwards, in that stiff tone he always does, and I thought he was flirting.”

They both laughed.

“Bucky doesn’t flirt.”

“He does.”

“No he doesn’t.  He’s the type to bash his woman on the head with a club and drag her off to his cave.”  Wanda chortled.  “Anyway, you were saying?”

Dr Edwards, paused a moment to take a big drink from her glass.

“Okay, yeah.  I thought he was flirting.  I won’t lie, I did it back.  I figured it was a prompt, that he liked being called by his title, maybe it was a bit of tension charged camaraderie.  But it wasn’t.”  She shifted. “I didn’t realise how badly he was still damaged, you know, inside.  What I’d thought was a connection was a complete misread.  He closed himself off and made it perfectly clear that he didn’t appreciate my company, and now here we are.”

I felt like I’d been socked in the chest again.  There it was, confirmation that I was the cause of this whole situation.  Me, a broken thing, breaking other things around it.

“You know that’s all bravado though, right?”

“Is it?”

“Of course.”  Wanda laid her hand gently on Edwards’ shoulder. “He’s working through some, uh, things.  Maybe you should try to talk to him.”

“I can’t.  I tried after the arm protocol debacle but as soon as I walk into a room he ghosts.  Gone before I can draw a breath.”

She seemed sad, full of regret maybe.  I knew what that felt like but to me she always looked full of resolve.  When she would stare me down, hold my gaze until I became uncomfortable, there was nothing there but cold regard.  Could she be lying to Wanda right now?  Surely playing the victim would suit her cause better than admitting any fault.

“Can we talk about something else?  This is fucking depressing.”

“Sure, sure.”  Wanda said absently.  “So how did you learn to fight like that?”

Edwards laughed.  It was unexpected and a little bitter.  If I could have seen her face, I knew her smile wouldn’t have reached her eyes.

“You don’t quit do you?”

“Have you only just learned that about me?”  Wanda chuckled.

“I suppose not.” Edwards said wistfully.  “It’s not really a long story so much as it is a strange one.  I’ve done martial arts since I was a kid actually, it’s an unusual style adapted from kung-fu and jeet kune do.  When I was recruited by the CIA as a tech officer, they put me through special ops training.  Undercover work, infiltrating labs is harder than infiltrating governments apparently. Something to do with knowledge and expertise.”

“So you were a nerd version of Romanoff?”  Wanda interrupted.

“Oh, god no!  I was nowhere near her calibre.  She’s a legend.”  Edwards drank.  “Anyway, I was headhunted by SHIELD so I took the job.  Obviously SHIELD wasn’t what we all thought it was so that got me transferred to STARK Industries.”

This was all very interesting but I was getting impatient, wanting to hear how she’d managed to kick my ass.  She said that she was nothing in comparison to Natasha, yet Nat had never bested me the way Edwards had, even when she was fighting for her life back in Washington DC a few years back, when I was him.

Wanda seemed to share my sentiment.

“But that doesn’t explain how you took him down.  Not even Romanoff can do that.”

“It’s really quite simple.” She sighed, saddened further by the memory of their fight.  “I learned him.”

Say what?

“I mean, really learned him.”  Edwards took Wanda’s confusion as a queue.  “When I was put on his recovery detail, I learned everything there was to know about that man.  Who he was before, back in the forties.  The war. His Hydra history.  The arm.  Every mission.  Every kill. His abilities, strength, speed. His style and all of his weaknesses. Even his psychological reports. It’s always best practice to know the terrain, right?  How effective would I be if I didn’t understand him?”

So you were just another experiment to her?

“The only thing I don’t know about him is how he feels.”

The restless simmering of anger burning in my chest increased until I was practically twitching. This made things so much worse. The cold way in which she’d picked out all my flaws in order to exploit them?  Jesus what a piece of work.

“I fought like I did because I know him, down to every scar on his body.  Every, single, one, Wanda.  That’s how much I wanted to put into his recovery.”  She swiped at her face and coughed nervously.

I was already letting the door swing closed, striding down the hall in what Wanda had aptly called my ‘murder strut’.  I didn’t care that the door clunked against the frame after I let it swing shut unhindered. I didn’t care if either of them knew I had heard.  I was done with this shit now.  Steve needed to either send me on mission so I could go hurt some assholes or let me go so I could get away from this place and her.

I supposed this was how she had felt, hearing me and Steve talking about her a few weeks ago.  I couldn’t care enough to feel guilty about it then, and now it felt justified.  Hearing her say she studied me, learned my weaknesses, learned the terrain.  For what?  Manipulation?  Had she resorted to this emotional conflict to try to control me, in place of her failed attempt at friendship early on?  Perhaps it had been pity that had made her try the connection route first. And what for?  To keep me under control?  Hell, I’d rather be put on ice again.

Fuck it!  It’s not worth the stress.

Then why does it hurt?

The slight cracking of her voice as she told Wanda the final piece of her story.  The hasty swipe of fingers against her cheek.  Was she regretting starting this war with me? Had I hurt her more than she was letting on?  Something other than the physical.

Undoubtedly the latter played a part.  She took a beating from me with barely a perceived reaction.  I knew at what point I’d broken her ribs, however, it was the first body blow I got in on her.  And she’d continued to fight afterwards.  That took some control.  Could I hate her and admire her at the same time?

The images of her bruised skin flitted through my mind as I strode up to Steve’s door.  I knocked twice and FRIDAY let me in.  Steve was sat at his desk signing reports.

“I want out.”  I said, not bothering to greet him.

He turned to me and considered me for a moment before signing one final page and closing up the manila folder.

“Care to tell me why?”

“Edwards.”  I said.  “I’m done.”

“You spoke?”

I shook my head, clenching my jaw.

“Then what?”

He laid a hand on my shoulder; a friendly gesture despite my formal stance.  I hadn’t realised I’d stood to attention, army training never too far under the surface.

“I can’t help you if you don’t talk.  Was it what I said earlier?”

“I saw the files.  I can’t be trusted.”

Keeping my answers short was the best way to keep the emotion out of my voice.  I didn’t want to admit it to myself but I was floundering in the shallows of my own mental anguish with the deep water not too far away. Her bruises bringing back memories from a cold place in my mind.  The ice cold feeling was firmly rooted in my soul despite the therapy.  The words were ineffective now but that didn’t matter because The Winter Soldier was always in there, he was me and I was him.  We could only destroy.  If I stayed here the split that had formed in The Avengers over the Sokovia Accords would only grow wider.  I had to go.

“Buck,” he began but I scrunched my face up, not wanting to hear him beg me to stay.  “I don’t want to force the issue but the only reason you’re not in a cell on The Raft right now is because Tony and I took responsibility for you.  You can’t just leave the compound and go live on your own until the government signs off on your rehabilitation.”

“And they wont.”  I murmured, half to myself.  I knew that’s what he’d say.  I could tell him I’d just escape and disappear.  I’d done it before, spent months and months in hiding until Zola framed me for the U.N. bombing.

“No, they wont.”  He sighed.  “Look, you’re not a prisoner here but there are protocols to follow, hence why you’ve always got a buddy or a shadow when you go out.”

I knew that and I accepted it.  I’d never tried to shake them before but if I wanted to vanish there’d be nothing they could do to stop me.

“I’m just hurting right now Steve, I can’t be here.”  I said, hoping he’d understand because I sure as hell didn’t.  “I saw her in the kitchen with Wanda.  They were talking about me.”

Steve raised a sarcastic eyebrow.  Yeah, I knew he was thinking I deserved that for doing exactly the same thing to her. I nudged him with my elbow, my way of saying ‘jerk’.

“I learned a few things, like how she studied me to get the better of me.  She must really hate me, Steve.  Did I kill someone she loved, maybe one of the ones I don’t remember?”

This rollercoaster of feelings was draining my energy faster than a pack of tranq darts.

“She doesn’t hate you Bucky.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Trust me, will you?” Steve said, almost rolling his eyes. “Just talk to her, okay?”

I nodded.  Accepting the fact that he was right.  I did need to have this out with Dr Edwards but I couldn’t bring myself to approach her.  That underlying feeling of unease I got when I was around her was enough to make me stay away, let alone the guilt from my most recent fuck up.

Over the years I’d killed a lot of people.  You’d think that the weight of all of that would completely outweigh this new feeling of helplessness that was threatening to smother me.  No such luck.  At least the PTSD was a known quantity.

“At least book in to see Rodriguez tomorrow, get a few things off your chest.”  Steve had this concerned look on his face that told me I’d zoned out for longer than I thought.  “It might help you get your feelings straight.”

“I don’t want to see the shrink.”  I needed less emotion, not to find more.  I had so much of it right now I was slipping under the surface, close to drowning.

“That wasn’t a request, soldier.”

Figures.

FIN

Like Marvel fics?  Love Bucky Barnes?  Why not check out some of the other marvel works on my Bucky Barnes Masterlist.

[make-it-mavis]

The Right Thing (pt 1 of 3)

Wreck-it Ralph AU 1842 words Content warnings: themes of violence, drugs, conversation of police brutality Characters: Surge Protector, Dr. Mario, Turbo, Fix-it Felix, Make-it Mavis, Maribo ( @nijimarii‘s OC )

Premise: Being in charge of safety for all games plugged into Game Central Station, the Surge Protector has the ability to instantly incapacitate a violent character. This is used only in the most dire circumstances, and only when he can be certain the move will be non-lethal. But what happens when his certainty is near disastrously wrong?

>Part 2<

Surge did the right thing.

He made a tough call. He made a snap decision that saved a life. He was only doing his job. He only ever did his job.

It was just an ugly truth of said job that sometimes, doing the right thing would feel so wrong.

He tried to hold onto these facts as he walked down the hospital halls. The game was actually fairly quiet that evening, the only sounds being soft beeping, muffled conversation between volunteer staff, and the echo of his own shoes clopping against the floor. Part of him wished for more hustle and bustle, if only to impede the numbness creeping into him. It had been hard enough fighting it as he spoke to the victim only minutes prior.

Surprisingly, she was not calling for any punishment of her attacker. It seemed possible that she may have been too shaken and confused to make a clear decision -- after all, her own account of the events seemed very vague, even when he asked her to repeat herself. He hated making her say it again, but her words just kept pushing him far away, back into the moment it happened. He could see it so vividly.

One moment, she was saying hello. The next, hands were around her neck, and the attacker’s furious screams echoed through GCS.

Then he saved her. That was what mattered.

Slightly raised voices perked him to attention as he found himself approaching the waiting room. He could see the back of Dr. Mario’s coat, but as he began to round the corner, something in his stomach dropped.

It was the attacker’s friends and family.

Well… friend and family member.

He had not been looking forward to facing Turbo and Fix-it Felix after what he had done. But, holding onto his resolve, he reminded himself that part of the job was also dealing with the aftermath of tough decisions. Civilians did not always understand why he did the things he had to do, but keeping them safe was always so much more important than being liked.

To his slight relief, the two did not actually seem to notice him at first. He passed them by carefully, finding a place to stand in the deserted waiting room while Turbo and Felix spoke to Dr. Mario. The doctor seemed to be calmly talking them both down, but for different reasons.

“Oh, Doc, are you sure there’s nothin’ I can do? I’ve healed Mavy outta some real nasty pain,” Felix was insisting.

“I’m afraid a’not,” Dr. Mario shook his head gently but firmly. “This is a problem with’a code, not’a hit points. The a’very best a’we can do is keep’a her brain active with’a electrolytes and’a music, and’a wait for her to’a stabilize.”

Felix seemed no less anxious, but he resigned. “Alright. You’re the doctor…”

Turbo was, unsurprisingly, less understanding. He tried to push past Dr. Mario, but he was blocked with a strong hand across his collar.

“What?” he protested. “You said all you’re doin’ is waitin’. How could I possibly get in your way?”

“I told’a you -- it’s not’a safe. For’a now, she’a needs to be isolated. Anyone being in’a proximity to’a her code poses a risk to’a both’a parties.”

“You’re puttin’ your own party at risk here, Doc,” Turbo threatened half-heartedly.

“I’ll’a take my’a chances,” Dr. Mario said flatly. “I’a promise, I will let’a you in the moment it is a’safe to’a do so. Both of’a you.”

“No,” Turbo said sharply. “Just me.”

Felix just sighed, giving the impression they had been over it a few times.

Over the intercom, a volunteer called Dr. Mario away, and he bid the boys goodbye for the time being. Left to their own devices, they immediately settled back into anxious, but tired bickering. Surge swallowed dryly, knowing it was time to own up and explain his actions to at least one sprite who would not want to hear it. Back straight, he approached slowly, until he caught Turbo’s eye.

As the Surge Protector, he had to deal with a whole lot of dirty looks in his life. For the most part, he was used to it. But the look in Turbo’s eyes was unlike any he had been served before. It was not dirty -- it was filthy.

Surge opened his mouth to speak, but Turbo cut him off immediately.

“Aw, look, Fix-it,” he growled. “He’s come to finish the job.”

Felix turned, and to Surge’s relief, his eyes were more concerned than anything else. “Mr. Surge Protector,” Felix greeted him shakily, cautiously, as if he believed Surge should not have been there.

“Gentlemen,” Surge finally managed to say gently but clearly, “I feel I owe you an explanation for my decision tonight--”

“Oh,” Turbo laughed in his throat, turning to face Surge fully. “Yeah. Yeah, y’do. ‘Cause, y’know, I find it real interestin’ that y’saw a girl who weighs like ten pounds n’ decided, ‘Hmm, I’m too chickenbits to fight her. Better freakin’ kill her.’”

Surge felt a punch inside his chest.

“Turbo,” Felix scolded quietly. “Sir, Mavy’s not-- she’s not-- I mean, she’s alive.”

“Oh, don’t, you’ll break his heart,” Turbo spat.

“I know she is,” Surge nodded. “Thank the Devs. I… understand that you must be angry with me. But please, believe me when I say it truly was the only way to save the little one’s life. Another second longer, and Mavis could have snapped her tiny neck in two. Trying to physically pull her off would’ve just been too risky for Maribo.”

“Ah! Okay!” Turbo grinned, spreading his arms a bit. “Now I get it. Ya had to decide whose life was more important, and obviously some innocent lil’ potato’s more valuable than a buff-poppin’ Easter Egg, right?”

He did not kill her, he assured himself. He did not know. He had no idea. He did the right thing.

When he heard the screaming, and he saw little Maribo dangling from Mavis’ hands, he came at the situation with what he knew. Mavis was high, which was risky in and of itself. But even with her violent outburst and her eyes shining a bright binary blue, she should have been safe. Her sprite’s colors were correct, she was perfectly opaque, she was upright and mobile, she was even forming full (angry) sentences.

All signs that it would have been safe to shock her.

“No,” Surge replied as calmly as he could. “I assure you, I had no idea how lethal a shock would have been for her in that moment. She was still exhibiting all signs of a sprite within safe shocking range. Had I known that her code was so fragile, I’d have never--”

“Oh, cut the bullcrit already!” Turbo advanced into his space, and Surge held his ground. “Y’just couldn’t wait for an excuse to off her, could ya? You’ve hated her since the day ya met her!”

“That’s not true,” Surge furrowed his brow. His eyes darted to Felix for a moment, who had clearly given up already, electing to sit hunched in one of the chairs, rubbing his face.

“Yeah,” Turbo nodded, smiling without a trace of happiness. “Yeah, y’have. Y’didn’t shock her to save anybody -- y’just wanted to get off to the sight of her hittin’ the ground.”

Ice water seeped from Surge’s heart at the memory.

It was not really the sight that stuck so viciously in his mind. It was the sound. Her body burst immediately into grating, distorted hissing and popping before she could even hit the floor. He remembered the dull thud of her head striking the ground, Maribo’s urgent coughing, and the alarmed gasps and shrieks of passersby.

The way her body lay motionless, her sprite glitching, flashing, shuddering, her binary darting in and out in warped clusters, making him think that he had just pushed her over the brink of corruption… That would not soon leave his mind.

“I took absolutely no joy in what I did,” Surge said slowly. “I’ve never wanted to hurt Mavis, not once.”

Turbo shook his head, his eyes venomous, stepping in even closer. “I know what this is, a’ight? Even if y’did kill her, it wouldn’t matter, because she’s a ‘junkie’. She’s a ‘problem.’ Her life’s not important to you, n’ there’s proof a’ that lyin’ in a hospital bed in here, barely alive, because y’didn’t care enough to try not to kill her. Ya freakin’ coward.”

Felix moaned in protest.

Surge met Turbo’s molten gaze, looking down with as much composure as he could find. Authoritatively, he instructed, “Step away from me, sir.”

“No,” Turbo hissed, barely above a whisper. “Shock me.”

Surge stared.

“Go on. Do it. Or am I somehow less threatenin’ than an Easter Egg with a tiny code?”

In his heart, he could feel the desire to push back, even a little bit. There was the fleeting thought that he was letting the little racing champion drive all over him, but his mind knew better. Turbo was in distress, and he was lashing out by trying to bully him. He dealt with his fair share of bullies in his line of work, and he knew that the very last thing one should do with a bully is give them what they want.

So he gave Turbo no reaction.

The smaller man’s face fell into a disgusted sneer, but still, there was some self-satisfied air to it that made Surge wonder if he had still gotten what he wanted after all. “That’s what I thought,” Turbo muttered, turning a cold shoulder and prowling out of Surge’s bubble. “Freakin’ coward.”

Surge took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. It seemed to him that he had long overstayed his welcome -- probably since the second he walked in, if he were honest with himself. But he did all he could.

“Well,” he sighed plainly, “I tried. If you wanna be mad, that’s fine. I get it. Just know that you both have my apology for worryin’ you.”

Felix looked up from his hand and returned the sigh. “I’m not mad,” he said gently.

Hands curled into obvious fists in his pockets, Turbo growled something behind his teeth that almost sounded like “I ain’t worried.”

“And…” he continued a bit more cautiously, “hopefully at least one of you understands why I did what I did.”

Both boys answered immediately, “I do.”

Surge swallowed. “Then… I’ll be on my way.”

As he turned to leave, part of him wanted to offer well wishes for Mavis, but it almost seemed like a bad idea. After all, it was his fault she was in there. Even if he only did what he had to.

It was his fault.

But he had to.

He had to.

Over the sound of his shoes on the hospital floor as he made his way out, as he fought the numbness creeping back in, he could have sworn he heard Felix’s voice say, “Turbo, for land’s sake. He was just doin’ his job.”

[shireness-says]

Christmas Meddling

Summary: It was a terrible idea right from the start - asking Emma Swan, possible love of his life, to pretend to be his girlfriend at a family reunion. Having a meddling brother doesn't help matters either. ~4.2K. Rated T. Also on AO3. 

A/N: Hi there, @resident-of-storybrooke! I was your @cssecretsanta2k18. You told me you like mutual pining and bed sharing-type tropes, which gave me the perfect excuse to try and write those! I loved getting to chat with you and know you better - thanks for being patient with me waiting for this. ;) Merry Christmas, and I hope your Christmas breakfast was the best ever!

In retrospect, it was probably a stupid idea right from the start.

The thing is, Killian may not have any immediate family left besides his brother, but when Liam had married Elsa, he’d gained a whole slew of loud and affectionate aunts and uncles who’d taken it upon themselves to take both Jones boys under their wings. Which was all well and good, something that Killian usually appreciates, but lately, there’s been more and more questions about his love life - and lack thereof. They mean well, but they’ve all grown increasingly concerned about him nearly reaching the age of thirty without finding a nice young lady to settle down with, and it’s become a bit cloying, to say the least. It doesn’t help that Liam has already met the woman of his dreams, marrying her two years prior; it helps even less that they’ve had a baby around the Easter holiday. Killian loves his nephew - it’d be hard not to, Nils is just about the cutest, blondest baby in the world - but he knows that the little lad’s existence will add a whole new level of pressure from his family.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time; Emma would be spending Christmas with them anyways. So if she just stayed a few days later, and agreed to come with him to this ridiculous family Christmas…

“We wouldn’t even have to say you were my girlfriend,” he argues. “We’d just have to… not say you’re not.”

“Isn’t that still, like, a lie by omission or whatever?” Emma asked, a skeptical expression twisting her features.

“Yes, but it’s for the greater good,” he replies, very seriously. Emma flat-out snorts at that.

“Oh, I’m sure,” she replies with mock-seriousness. “Look, I’m just saying, I think they’re going to see right through it.”

“Please, Emma,” he begs. “I’d owe you forever.”

And oh, he definitely will.

You see, as good of an idea as it seemed at the time, it was also a terrible idea right from the start, because Killian has been in love with Emma from the moment she let him cheat off her astronomy attendance quiz back in their sophomore year of college. She’d smirked in a way that had said she knew exactly what he was doing, and Killian had been gone before she even finished tilting the page in his direction. Emma agreeing to attend Christmas dinner with him might solve one problem, but it would create a whole new one as he’ll be thrust into a game of make-believe that echoes the stuff of his dearest dreams.

“Fine,” she finally agrees, much to Killian’s simultaneous relief and dread. “But I’m not driving.”

———

At the time, everyone carpooling in Elsa’s little SUV had seemed like a good idea. Of course, that had been before four and a half hours in the car with a fussy baby and the end far too distant from sight. When they finally pull into the hotel’s parking lot, Killian waves his brother and sister-in-law on ahead to settle things with reception. Both rooms are in Liam’s name anyways, since they’re using his hotel points to pay for part of them.

“You alright?” Emma asks, peering inside the vehicle’s open door to where he’s still sitting in the backseat.

“Aye, just… give me a moment.” Even he can hear the tension in his own voice. With a final deep breath, he swings himself out of the car. “Alright, let’s get this over with.” Emma’s good enough not to pry; maybe she understands that this is all going to be a trial for him, based on what she’s heard, or maybe she just knows him. Either way, Killian is grateful to not be asked to dissect it.

Of course, once they do make it past the sliding doors to where Liam waits with the room keys, something about the other man’s expression looks far too suspicious for Killian’s taste.

“What are you up to, Brother?” Killian asks warily, holding out his hand for the key cards.

“Just reveling in the knowledge that I’ve still got more energy, even if I am older,” he replies, passing the thin plastic over. Killian doesn’t have to hear Emma’s scoff to know that Liam isn’t telling the whole truth. But honestly, with the prospect of facing down so much family time tomorrow, he doesn’t have the energy to push it further. He’s just ready to go up and collapse into bed, maybe watch a little shitty television before falling asleep.

Of course, that’s complicated by the fact that when Killian walks into the rented room, fully ready to realize those plans, there’s only one bed.

He stops so suddenly that Emma runs into him, not able to correct her course in time. “Jeez, would you move, Jones?” she mumbles.

“Liam gave us the wrong room,” Killian explains, attempting to maneuver back around Emma in the tight hallway of the hotel room. The close contact makes his heart lurch just as always, especially since they’re pressed so closely together.

Faintly, Killian hears Emma’s oh of realization as she spots the lone queen bed herself, but he’s too busy trying to find Liam to fix this so he can get some damn sleep to really pay too much attention. Thankfully, his brother is still out in the hall, wrestling with bags and the travel crib. It seems a little odd that Elsa just sauntered into the room with the baby and didn’t come back out immediately again when she saw two beds instead of one, but again - too tired to think about it too hard.

“You gave me the wrong key, Liam,” he says without preface. “Here, trade with me real quick, I want to go to bed.”

That devious look is back on Liam’s face again, though, and he just chuckles dryly. “No I didn’t, brother.”

“You gave us the room with only one bed,” Killian replies insistently. “C’mon, just grab your stuff, we’ll switch. Don’t make this some big deal.”

“Oh, there’s no mistake, Killian,” Liam laughs, “both rooms only have the one bed.”

“This isn’t funny, Liam,” he warns.

“Check if you want,” his brother offers, “but it’s not a joke.”

Sure enough, when Killian pushes past the assorted baby baggage and into the room, there’s only one bed. Well, and Elsa with Nils in her arms, who is giving him an irritated look that must be born from exhaustion and mild teething-induced deafness.

Killian stomps back out to the hallway after mumbling an apology in his sister-in-law’s direction. “What the hell kind of game are you playing, Brother?”

Liam smiles smugly. Killian hates every bit of the expression. “Well, you left the reservations to me, and I just thought this would really sell your harebrained plan.”

“Devious bastard.”

“You’re welcome!” Liam sing-songs, finally getting a good enough grip on everything to disappear into his own hotel room. With his wife. Who it’s totally fine he shares a bed with. Arse.

Emma’s leaning in the open doorway of their room when Killian turns back around, wearing an indecipherable expression. Killian sighs. “I suppose you heard all of that?”

“Yeah,” Emma replies, nodding in agreement. “Look, it’s fine, it’s not that big a deal —”

“No, he’s an absolute wanker, you don’t have to pretend otherwise. Just… let me go talk to reception, alright? Maybe we can figure out something.”

“If you’re sure…” Emma looks unconvinced, but Killian knows that sharing a bed with her would be a glorious torture - simultaneously the greatest moment of his existence and the worst test of his willpower.

“I’m sure. I’ll be back, just be ready to relocate.”

———

The front desk is absolutely no help.

Well, that’s not strictly true. The receptionist tries her best to be helpful, she really does, but there’s no more rooms to be had, which is still not helpful in the least to Killian.

“Can you arrange for a cot, at least?” he sighs, barely resisting the urge to just drop his head onto the desk. That probably wouldn’t get him what he wants, unfortunately.

“Of course, sir, we can arrange for that to be brought up immediately,” she replies, visibly relieved. God, Killian hopes he hasn’t accidentally been just as much of an arse as his brother has acted; the poor lass doesn’t deserve that.

Killian takes a brief detour to the bar for a glass of rum before making his way back upstairs; if there was ever an evening that deserves a drink, it’s this one. The hotel staff are just leaving from setting up the cot. True to his request, Emma’s still sitting on the bed in her clothes and shoes, seemingly having made no move to get more comfortable in his absence. Seeing him come in, she quirks an eyebrow in Killian’s direction, shooting a little zap of guilt through him. This is not what she signed up for.

“It’s the best I could do,” he says quietly, sitting down on the edge of the awful contraption to finally work off his shoes. The springs creak alarmingly beneath him, not at all muffled by the thin mattress pad and hotel linens.

“That’s not - you’re not actually planning to sleep on that thing, are you?” Emma asks.

“I don’t see what other choice we have. Don’t even try volunteering, Swan,” he warns, “I won’t even hear you entertain the idea, not when you’re doing me such a favor already.”

“Okay, that’s not what I’m suggesting, like, at all,” she huffs back. “But that can’t be comfortable at all.”

Killian shrugs. “I’ve had worse.” That’s true, actually; he’s slept on the floor in the history department a few times, as well as on some very uncomfortable academic couches. This cot can’t be too much worse than that - though it does seem like it’ll give those memories a run for their money.

“I’m just saying, there’s another option,” Emma replies, almost indignant. Killian doesn’t quite follow, but oh, she’s lovely when she gets worked up like this.

Settle, boy , Killian sternly tells himself before trying to turn his last few functioning brain cells back to the matter at hand. “And what, pray tell, would that be?”

“We share,” she proposes, stating it like it’s the most obvious solution in the world. Killian does remember now her hinting at something of the sort before he left for the desk.

“Swan, I couldn’t possibly do that to you…” he tries to protest, but Emma cuts him off with a raised hand.

“I’m just saying - you’re not going to get any sleep on the cot. We’re both adults; we could handle it. I’m just saying, I’m fine with it if you want.”

“I’ll be alright, Swan,” he assures Emma. A real mattress does sound nice, but sharing a bed with Emma, the possible love of his life, just sounds like a disaster waiting to happen.

Better the cot from hell than that particular variety of torment.

———

He lasts five minutes on the awful cot before he changes his mind.

“Emma?” he calls tentatively into the dark. If she’s already asleep, he won’t move, he’ll just deal with it so as not to wake her up —

Emma huffs out a laugh. “Get up here, Killian.”

He goes.

Of course, sharing a bed with Emma presents its own challenges. Somehow the space already smells like that pomegranate soap she prefers, the sheets warmed with her radiating heat, and Killian has to give a very stern talk to some parts of his anatomy to behave themselves lest this turn from an uncomfortable encounter into a downright mortifying one.

Uncomfortable is definitely the word; Killian keeps himself very carefully on his side of the bed, arms regimentally at his sides so they don’t wander or accidentally hit Emma. He needs to try and relax to get some sleep, but relaxation won’t come when he’s trying so hard to keep track of all his limbs and other appendages and not intrude on Emma’s space.

She’s having none of that though. With a great huff - he can practically hear the eye roll, though he can’t see it in the dark - she flops over from where she’d been laying on her side, facing away from Killian, to move directly into his space. Crowding against his side, arm thrown around his waist, Emma mutters into the space between his collarbone and his heart, “Stop overthinking it. Just… go to sleep, alright? It’s too late for this shit.”

Killian chuckles. “As you wish, love,”

Having Emma in his arms is just as comfortable, just as right as he’d feared. However, he heeds her command to relax, and before he even knows it, drops into a deep and peaceful slumber.

———

It’s almost a relief to wake up and feel Emma still draped all over him - almost. At least he knows that way that the events of the night before weren’t a dream.

However, there’s other complications. Emma’s leg has somehow draped across his own legs and thigh in their sleep - something that wouldn’t necessarily be a problem, except for certain less-than-cooperative parts of his body. It’s just a biological reaction, he knows, just his body testing all its systems, but she’d just have to move her thigh up a little bit further and they’d all really be in trouble. Explaining the effect Emma has on his morning wood isn’t something Killian would ever like to attempt - he’d rather die of the mortification from it all first.

He’s just making headway on that little problem - remembering his elderly uncle’s speedo in the sauna at the last reunion does the trick nicely - when Emma shifts closer, starting to emerge from the depths of her sleep at last. The happy little hum she gives doesn’t help either.

As all his hard work reverses itself, Killian forces himself to slip out of bed and quickly move to the bathroom. As much as he wants to remain in bed with Emma, it’s no longer worth the risk, especially as she begins to wake up.

By the time he emerges from the bathroom and his long shower, Emma’s awake and flipping through the TV channels.

“Did you sleep well?” she asks, but there’s a mischievous glint in her eye that tells him she has something else in mind.

“I did, thank you,” he replies cautiously, waiting for the punchline.

“Told you so.” Her comeback is instantaneous and smug, the smirk on her face only underlining the matter.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. You were right,” he grumbles, but there’s a smile teasing at the corner of his own mouth. His wake-up call aside, it actually was some of the best sleep he’s gotten in ages. “You want some breakfast before we have to face the music?”

“Oh, always,” she replies, scampering out of bed to go get ready. He hadn’t really paid attention to those little pajama shorts last night, but God, they’re killing him today, especially knowing how the soft skin of her thighs feels pressing against his own.

How he’ll survive this trip is beyond him.

———

The only thing that makes Liam’s smug expression all through breakfast at all bearable is how clearly displeased Elsa is about the whole thing. Killian thinks he even hears her mumble something about Daddy’s a meddler, isn’t he? into the top of Nils’ head. It’s the only thing that keeps him from smearing cheap fake maple syrup down the front of Liam’s knit sweater.

Things get better once they actually get to Elsa’s aunt’s house for the main event - though that may just be in comparison to how Liam spends the entire twenty minute car ride from the hotel pestering him about What are you going to say when they ask you about your girlfriend, Killy? How’d you meet, Killy? Will we get to host another wedding, Killy? It’s incredibly obnoxious; literally anything is better than that.

Still, it’s a little painful when Liam’s proved correct; as soon as various family member are able to pull themselves away from the baby, they’re over demanding to know all the details of his and Emma’s supposed relationship. Emma’s a good sport about it, though she does shoot him an “I told you so” look after the first excited So when did this happen? She’s earned that much, he figures. Still, she smiles and lets Killian slip an arm around her waist and smoothly lies about the relationship they’re supposed to have been in since April. Killian, in a wistful moment, almost believes her recounting of how their friendship suddenly turned into something more . If anyone was to look his way, he’d doubtless have an adoring look on his face as he watches Emma. Then again, that’s nothing new; Emma’s been his sun, his moon, and all his stars for nearly longer than he can remember.

He learns things about Emma through her answers too, things he’d never be able to ask normally; her idea of a perfect date is a stop for pizza and a movie, she’s secretly a sucker for flowers, and when a particularly insistent aunt presses about children, he learns she’s not opposed to the idea - though not anytime soon. Carefully, Killian files those facts away in his mind, just in case he ever gets the chance to test some of them out.

Yes, there’s still a lot of intrusive questions, but it feels more manageable with Emma at his side. Killian readily counts the day as a success, and the way Emma dozes off on his shoulder on the ride back is only a bonus.

Of course, Liam can’t leave well enough alone. That was always asking for far too much. Emma’s barely closed the door to the hotel room when Liam smirks. “I hear you didn’t use the cot last night, Killy. Looking forward to snuggling up to Emma again?”

“I don’t think that’s any of your business,” Killian replies as coolly as he can manage. The effort fails completely, as he’s still too irritated to pull off anything but heated conversation where his brother is concerned.

“Oh, don’t pretend you’re not enjoying it. I know you better than that, and lying doesn’t suit you.”

“No, you know what? This is a torment, Liam,” Killian hisses. “Admit it, you did this just to torture me.” Faintly, Killian hears a door click, but he pays it no attention.

“No, I did it to help you, little brother. I thought it would push you in the right direction. Clearly, you’re too damn stubborn for even that!” Liam shoots back.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“What, you thought the rest of us haven’t noticed the longing looks and doey eyes?” Liam scoffs. “It’s so painfully obvious how completely in love you are with that woman. Everyone with two eyes who isn’t named Emma Swan can see it.”

“It’s still none of your damn business!”

“Fine, maybe not!” his brother admits. “But you seem fully prepared to just pine away for the rest of time. I just thought I’d try and help things along, maybe spur a conversation or make you realize that if you like waking up next to her and want to do that on a more permanent basis, you need to fucking talk to her!” Liam sighs heavily, seemingly attempting to force out some of his frustration in the exhalation. “I just want you to be happy, brother,” he pleads. “I may have gone about that the wrong way, but it was not intended to torment you.”

“It still wasn’t your place, Liam,” he grumbles.

“I know.”

Killian sighs himself, running a hand through his hair. “I suppose, though…”

“Yeah?���

“I suppose if you’ve gone to all this meddling, I shouldn’t waste such a moment, should I?”

“That’s the spirit, brother,” Liam finally grins, more genuinely this time, before pushing Killian in the direction of his own hotel room.

When Killian makes it inside, Emma’s already in bed, facing away from the door on her side. “Sorry I took so long, Swan,” he tells her quietly, moving to undress and brush his own teeth.

“That’s fine,” she replies, but something sounds off. The words are short, clipped. She sounds irritated, quite frankly; it’s not the way he’d envisioned this going when Liam pushed him towards the door.

Killian quickly runs through his own bedtime rituals before sliding beneath the comforter and sheets. Oddly, Emma makes no move to react to his arrival, though her body is far too tense for her to be asleep.

“Well, that went better than I expected today,” he finally comments, just to put something out there. Anything is better than this tense silence.

“Yep.” Even in that short word, he can feel her anger. Quickly, Killian searches for the words to make it better.

“Thank you for coming with me. I can’t thank you enough, truly, this would have been a nightmare otherwise,” he settles on offering.

“Yep,” she says again. Killian could really grow to hate that word. After a pause, she finally continues. “Sorry that this part has been such a torture for you. A real torment, I hear.”

Killian suddenly, in a terrible moment of realization, knows exactly what’s the matter. “You heard that, didn’t you.”

“Oh yeah,” Emma bites out, finally flopping around to face him in the bed. “Just what a girl wants to hear when she comes out to ask about mouthwash.”

“Look Swan, it’s not what you think —”

“Oh really?” she snaps back. “Because you seemed pretty clear out there. God, I’m sorry it’s so awful sharing a bed with me.”

“Now that is not what I meant —”

“You said it was torture sharing a bed with me, Killian, what the fuck else could that mean?”

“It’s torture because it’s perfect, okay?” he finally breaks. “It’s torture because I love you, because this is everything I’ve ever wanted, and I know it’s just for a couple of nights —”

“You love me?” Emma cuts in. Her face is doing that unreadable thing again, and it scares Killian more than anything else.

Heaving a resigned sigh, Killian nods quickly, casting his eyes down and away from Emma’s face. “Aye. I’ve always loved you, Swan, right from the beginning. And I know you don’t feel the same, that’s absolutely fine, but it’s made the past 24 hours the sweetest torture.”

Suddenly, there’s a hand drawing his chin back up so their eyelines meet once again. “Why would you ever think I didn’t feel the same?” Emma asks, a new smile gracing her face.

“You never said anything,” Killian replies, shrugging as best he can from his reclined position. Dare he hope?

“Well let me say it now,” Emma grins. Her hand moves up from his chin to rest against Killian’s face. “I love you, Killian. Maybe not right from the beginning, but not long after. We’ve both been so stupid for so long,” she chuckles, moisture starting to pool at the bottom of her eyes.

Killian carefully brings his thumb to brush underneath her eye to catch the tears before they can fall. “I know, love,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry to have made you wait.”

Emma laughs a little at that, treating him to the happy smile he so loves. “You gonna make me wait any longer, Jones?” she teases.

“I wouldn’t dare,” he murmurs back. Still, he moves slowly and carefully, inching his face closer across the bed sheets until his nose brushes Emma’s. This is a major moment for him, for them both, the moment where everything changes; he’s determined to document each second of it in his mind so he can remember it in vivid detail for the rest of his life.

He should have known, though, that Emma’s never had the same patience he has. She’s ultimately the one to make that final surge forward to caress his lips with her own. It’s unbearably gentle at first as they learn the geography of each other’s mouths, which suits Killian just fine. After years of staring at Emma’s lips and pretending he’s not, it’s exhilarating to learn exactly how full and soft they are, sliding against his own. Things quickly deepen, however, tongues advancing and retreating in turn. Somehow, his hands have ended up resting low on Emma’s hips, and he sees absolutely no reason to move them - especially when she moans after a playful nip at her bottom lip. God, he loves that sound; he’d be happy to hear it over and over again for the rest of his life. As Emma hitches a leg over his hip, he can’t help but give into the urge he so poorly repressed that morning and properly hauls her on top of his body. Emma seems to like that as she attacks his mouth with a new ferocity and begins to grind down on his lap, where his arousal is making itself very obviously apparent.

“God, how did we hold out so long?” Killian wonders after a particularly delicious roll of Emma’s hips against his groin. “How did we hold out last night?”

“I don’t know,” Emma replies, whipping her pajama shirt over her head, “but I’m more than willing to make up for it now.”

And really, the worst idea of all would be to argue with that.

———

“No more wasting time, alright?” Killian says once they’ve finally caught their breath, naked limbs still twined together.

Emma just laughs. “I think I can be okay with that.”

———

Next Christmas, there’s no more lying about their relationship - just a ring to show off to the assorted masses.

Killian and Emma both like it much better that way.

Thanks to @snidgetsafan for her beta services! 

[skarletterambles]

The Mummy Returns Re(-re-re-re-re-) watch blog

I might be short a few “re-”s there, as I know I saw this four times in the theater, and plenty of times on DVD, but close enough.

Below are my thoughts, typed as I watched (while eating the pizza leftover from last night’s viewing of the first movie)...

[Disclaimers:  Spoilers for both The Mummy (1999) and, obviously, The Mummy Returns (2001)  Expect lots of squeeing and/or crying over Imhotep/Anck-su-namun.]

And here comes The Rock in his first film appearance.  All those big movies he’s been in since owe a debt to this one.  *insert sound clip of “You’re Welcome” from Moana*

Anubis needs to feed his warriors better.  They’re way too skinny.

Got to love the detail where there’s a carving of Anck-su-namun and Nefertiri in ritual combat on the wall Evy and Rick are excavating.  One of those things you don’t notice on first viewing.

“No harm ever came from opening a chest.”  Evy, I know you’re doing a cute callback, but you were there when the Americans suffered the consequences of opening the canopic jar chest in the last movie.

Since Evelyn is actually the reincarnation of the Bracelet’s official guardian, why did her taking it trigger the booby traps?  I guess that kind of role doesn’t carry over.

Oh joy, more scarab beetles.

I know we have to be able to recognize him, but it’s silly that Ardeth was spying on the Hamunaptra digsite with only a hood on.  Someone--especially Meela--would have recognized his face tattoos.  ... Wait, did I just suggest covering up that gorgeous face?  Never mind!

Rick/Ivy = relationship goals

Meela:  “And your point is?” Jonathan:  “My point is I told you so you wouldn’t kill me!” Meela:  “When did we make that arrangement?”

I wonder if she collected her snake before they left.  Otherwise the O’Connells (or their housekeeping staff) will have a nasty surprise later.

I could listen to Rick, Ardeth and Jonathan bicker and banter all day.

Notice how Alex gets annoyed when Rick ruffles his hair.  So it’s not just Imhotep’s head-ruffles he hates.  Heh.

In my drooling over Rick, Ardeth, and Imhotep I had almost forgotten that Lock-Nah is built like a brick shithouse.  Nice.

There’s a camera shot that appears to show the POV of Imhotep inside the hardened goo.  So I guess he could tell what was going on...sort of.

Both Alex and Evy recognize Curator Hafez from their time in the British Museum.  There’s room for some wacky prequel stories there.

I love that little “Eew, whatever,” reaction from Hafez when Imhotep is done declaring his love for Anck-su-Namun.  LOL

I still want to know how Meela managed to snap her fingers with her gloves on.

Imhotep recognizes Rick and roars “YOU!” and Rick clips him in the shoulder with a hail of bullets, knowing full well it won’t hurt him, just as a big “eff you, too.”  Love it.

LOL @ “Honey, whatcha doin’?  These guys don’t use doors” and “Oh, I hate mummies...”  So many funny lines in this part.

That’s twice--no, thrice--the bad guys have drawn blood on Ardeth tonight.  Leave him and his glorious body alone, you big meanies!  :P

Alex has a good point:  props to Jonathan for driving that bus safely through all that mummy battling.  (Well, mostly safely.  Better than I would have done, anyway.)

Ardeth geeking out over his first bus ride is too freaking adorable for words.

I just noticed the parallel between Rick hanging on the edge of the drawbridge, near tears in desperation as he watches the kidnappers driving away with his son, and, well...you know which scene.  Sigh.

I could watch that flashback kiss between Imhotep and Anck-su-namun a dozen times on repeat...if I could manage to time it perfectly so I could rewind before he morphs back into a mummy.  Because eew.  LOL, but eew.

Imhotep tried to be nice to Alex, talking to him as gently as he could (which is still raspy and scary, but he was trying) and explaining how the bracelet works, and in return Alex told him how his dad would kick his ass.  I don’t blame Imhotep for taking off his mask and scaring the kid then.  :p

Then Imhotep takes off his robes before attacking the mercenaries.  Freedom of movement?  The cloth wouldn’t survive the magic regeneration?  He wanted to be naked because he knew his girl was peeking through the door?  All of the above?  Who knows? 

LOL @ Meela squeamishly tip-toeing around the desiccated corpses of the mercenaries.  It’s worth it to get to the now-normal-looking Imhotep, though.  ;)

I want to slap the editors for inter-cutting the big, romantic reunion with Alex tampering with a filthy toilet.

I know Imhotep wanted to stop his minions from shooting Alex, but yeeting those guys into the pillars was totally unnecessary.  I bet he was showing off for Meela.

...  And I was too busy holding my breath and freaking out during the big duel/regicide flashback to type anything.  Oh well.

I did notice one moment where Imhotep is watching the women fight and something goes wrong for Anck-su-namun and he gives this little involuntary gasp.  Subtle, but neat.

What I like to refer to as The Look(tm) is such a great moment, though.  They actually slow down the film as Imhotep and Anck-su-namun make eye contact, drawing out that stolen, subtle moment of intimacy just like it must have felt for them.  *swoon*

Back to modern times... Once again Imhotep watches out for Alex by making Lock-Nah put him down and stop threatening him.  I mean, yeah, he’s also about to try killing the boy’s parents, so he’s not perfect, but still...  I thank that attempted head-ruffle was his way of apology...  *polishes villain-fangirl goggles*

It’s been awhile since I mentioned how breathtakingly good-looking Ardeth is.  But he is.  Just sayin’.

Imhotep looks conflicted and even a little sad when Hafez says they don’t need the boy anymore.  He doesn’t give the order to kill him, either.  Just makes a vague statement about needing the bracelet.  It may be a coincidence, but he even smirks right after someone says “The boy!”  (i.e. Alex is making a run for it).  It could just be my fangirly brain playing tricks, but I really think a case can be made for Imhotep having a soft spot for the kid.

I see Jonathan has learned the “scream at things” technique from Rick.  Alas, it didn’t save the red-robed guy from the pygmy mummies.  (I swear I know that actor from somewhere...  The red-robed guy, not the pygmy mummy.)

I can’t believe I still get a tiny bit misty-eyed at Evy’s death.  I’ve seen this movie at least ten times, and even the FIRST TIME I knew she wasn’t going to stay dead.  But man, the actors sell it.

I just noticed that after he loses his powers, but before he takes off his black robe, Imhotep and Anck-su-namun were holding hands while walking through the pyramid.  Awwwww!

Mighty brave of Rick to attack Imhotep without knowing he had lost his powers.   Luckily Imhotep’s split lip bleeds, tipping Rick off right away...and then the blood disappears in the next shot.  Yay, continuity!

Everyone remembers the Scorpion King himself as being the CGI lowlight of the film, but those Anubis warriors don’t hold up very well, either.

God bless Arnold Vosloo for doing this fight scene in a loincloth.  I’ve read how punishing it was to film without the padding that Brendan Fraser had under his costume, but the eye candy was worth the sacrifice.  Heh.

I was too busy watching to type much during the climax, but that’s just as well, as it’s hard to articulate “YAY NO OMG WOOHOO NO LOL WHAT AAAH YEAH NOOOOOOOOOOO DAMN IT.”

After the Anubis army went poof I was like, “Okay, great, we won, let’s all call a truce and get out of here before anyone else gets killed.”  But did the stupid movie listen to me?  Noooooo.  Instead, there are Rick and Imhotep, hanging onto the cliff for dear life.

Time for the worst experiment in reverse psychology ever: Rick:  “Go!  Save yourself!” Evy:  *does the opposite* Imhotep:  “Help me!” Anck-su-namun:  “does the opposite*

Sigh.

Fight or flight is a deeply ingrained response, and I just can’t bring myself to hate Anck-su-namun for going with the wrong reaction in that moment of panic.  It’s simply another facet of the tragedy that is their love story.  That doesn’t make it hurt any less to watch, though.  There are tears in Imhotep’s eyes right before he lets go.  Actual tears!   Even Rick and Evy look like they feel sorry for him!  Aaah!  I can’t take it!

As he was letting himself fall I maaaay have screamed at the TV, “Don’t make me write fanfic to fix this--oh wait, I already did.”  Heh.

Better luck next reincarnation, you two.

Then the good guys escape and live happily ever after, yada yada yada.  The end.

(And no, we don’t speak of the third movie.  It doesn’t exist.  I saw it once, was amused by Jonathan opening a nightclub called “Imhotep’s,” and found the rest totally frustrating and forgettable.  So nope, there are only two movies in this series.)

[disappearinginq]

Yes, me again😳- please can you write something for “ withholding medical treatment” for Bad Things Happen?

Yes, yes I can! Hopefully, this works for your prompt!

He’d never seen Thomas look so pale.

He pressed down harder on the bleeding wound, the overshirtalready soaked through with red. Cold, pale fingers shook as they tried to pushhis away, but every ounce of strength was gone.

“Leave it,” he snapped, ignoring the tremble in thosescarred hands.

His response was so quiet, Rick almost missed it.

“I’m going to bleedout,” Magnum slurred, his head falling back against the door of the Rover. Hischest barely moved, breathing rapid and shallow as he fought to keep his eyesopen, even though every time he blinked, they stayed closed longer and longer.

Rick shook his head. Whether to tell Magnum that, no¸ you most certainly are-fucking-notor to ward off the sudden image of a disturbingly similar scenario, many yearsago on the dirt floor of a makeshift cell block beneath the earth, feeling justas useless as he did now, trapped behind a locked cage door. “No, you’re not.”

“ y’got ‘nother….bullet?”

He wished.

“We have to go to a hospital,” he snarled at the driverinstead.

The young man behind the wheel didn’t even bother to turnaround. He was hunched over the wheel as if it would make him invisible, flinchingwhen Rick raised his voice. “No. You’re a-a soldier. I know it. You talk likeone. You can make do.”

“Look, kid, carjacking is one thing. Shooting someone isanother. Negligent homicide is awhole new matter entirely.”

“Then I guess you best make sure he lives, huh?” thepassenger said, leaning around to point his gun at Magnum. “Unless you think Iought to just put him out of his misery now, huh?”

Rick gritted his teeth. “You shoot him, you better be thefastest gun since Jesse James, because then I’ll be out of reasons to let youlive.”

The man laughed. “You got balls, son. I’ll give you that.But that’s pretty ambitious for someone sitting on the wrong side of a gun,unarmed, with his hands tied together.”

“Ambitious,” Rick conceded in a flat voice. “But not wrong.”

“Lee, maybe we should– ”

Lee turned on his partner so fast Rick was surprised hedidn’t get whiplash, cuffing the kid in the back of the head hard enough thatthe Rover swerved into the opposite lane before the driver wrestled it backonto the right side. “What’d I tell you, dumbass?”

The kid flinched. “Just drive.”

“That’s right. Just drive.I don’t need you getting any smart ideas.”

“If he dies, you’ll be lucky to go down for murder one,”Rick pointed out. He tried not to think about the warmth of the soaked ragbeneath his fingers. Tried not to look at the growing stain on the high-endleather of the Rover’s back seat. Or how cold Magnum’s fingers were. Or the wayhis teeth chattered. Or tried to shift away from him every time Rick presseddown to stem the bleeding.

Lee scoffed. “And if we’re unlucky, hot shot?” The gun remained pointed at Thomas, who twistedagainst the corner of the seat and the door, did little more than glareblearily at him.

“No one will ever find your bodies.”

The kid’s fearful eyes met his in the rearview mirror, andRick knew he had his attention.

“Hawaii’s a great place for body dumping,” Rick continuedconversationally. “Volcanoes. An ocean filled with currents that’ll take youmiles out in a matter of minutes and sharks that may or may not be tempted totake a chunk out of you. Rainforests so dense and damp that the only way anyoneis gonna find you is by accident, fifty years from now when the only thing leftbehind is your teeth.” Rick paused, considering it for a moment. “And that’sassuming I leave you with yourteeth.”

“You ain’t doing squat from the back seat of a car with yourhands tied, so sit back, shut the hell up, and take care of your friend beforeI decide I don’t want to listed to him moan anymore,” Lee snapped. “As you justhelpfully pointed out, lots’a places for bodies ‘round here.”

“Or,” Rick immediately snapped back, “you could just let usout at the fucking curb, I’ll lie and tell them this is your car, you took us tothe hospital after we were attacked by someoneelse, and you can drive off at your own pace while shock and trauma robs meof any cognitive memory of what you looked like when the police come calling.”

“Lee – ” the driver tried again, but shut up when Lee raisedhis hand again.

“Why would you do something like that?” Lee askedsuspiciously.

“Because this ain’t my car, and I don’t give a rat’s assabout what happens to it, or you, if you let my friend live,” Rick said. Hedidn’t mention the part where it belonged to a feisty British majordomo whotook her job a little too seriously that would hunt them down later having madeno such promise to leave them be.

He also didn’t mention the fact that the Rover was equippedwith Lo-Jack, they were already two hours late returning the vehicle to theNest, and Higgins was going to wonder what the hell they were doing on thewrong side of the island when she got impatient and looked up their location onthat fancy laptop of hers. He just hoped they were out of the vehicle by thetime the cops showed up, because he had no doubt Higgins was the type to reportthe car stolen if she thought they were off joyriding, and there was no wayThomas was going to survive a high-speed chase.

Lee stared at him, assessing. Rick could see him mull itover in his head, weighing the benefits of not having a murder attached to him,hassle of having to hide a body if he did against the likelihood that Rick waslying about not telling the hospital staff the truth.

“It doesn’t even have to be a hospital for chrissakes,” Ricksnapped. “I’ll take a goddamn vet at this point. A CVS with a pharmacy and aphone, I don’t care, but if you don’tlet us out of the vehicle, I’m going to make your lives a goddamn nightmare for what remains of them.”

“We’ll think about it.”

And Lee turned back around, completely ignoring the two menin the backseat.

Rick forcibly bit the inside of his cheek to keep fromsaying anything, desperately trying to channel his inner Nuzo to keep his mouthshut and not antagonize the bad guys into letting Thomas die out of spite forsomething he said. The hospital was agood option. Lee just had to convince himself that it was his idea, and notsomething he’d been bullied into by a hostage.

Rick just didn’t know if he had that kind of time.

The hole in Magnum’s leg missed the artery, or he would’vebeen dead already, but that didn’t mean he was in the clear. Close range, theexit wound was large and messy, and besides a shirt, Rick had literally nothingfor first aid. If they’d been driving the Ferrari, or even his Porsche, therewouldn’t have even been space for them to be hostages, but that’s what they gotfor doing Higgins a favor and taking the Rover in for service while they werealready in town and she was entertaining another cultural tour of the Nest. Italso meant no first aid kits.

He pressed down harder on the still bleeding wound, thoughthe shirt was already saturated through. Magnum hardly moved under the newonslaught of pain, and Rick tried not to think about the sound he made thatwasn’t quite human. He was conscious, but just barely, his teeth chatteringagainst the cold of shock, but he could do little more than let Rick try whateverhe could to stem the flow of blood.

The car rounded a corner and came to a screeching halt inthe middle of the road, skidding on the tarmac before coming to a stop.

It took all of Rick’s effort to keep Thomas from flying offthe seat, and he cried out as Rick’s full weight came down on his leg, even hashe braced his shoulder against the seatback in front of him.

“Shit, sorry Thomas,” he apologized quickly, risking aglance out the windshield. He half expected traffic, or road work, but healmost laughed out loud when he saw the flashing red and blue lights.

Higgins was more paranoid than he gave her credit for. Ormaybe Katsumoto was a better detective than he thought.

Either way, he owed them both drinks, because he’d neverbeen happier to see half of HPD creating a road block with weapons drawn andpointed at him.

Two more cruisers pulled in behind them, blocking them frombacking up and making an escape in reverse.

This was more than just Higgins being annoyed and vindictiveabout the car going rogue. Someone had to have reported the carjacking, orgunshots, or something, because this was a coordinated response – no matter howlittle Katsumoto liked Magnum, there was no way he would rope half thedepartment into teaching him a lesson about joyriding without the majordomo’s permission.

“This is HPD – step out of the car with your hands in theair where we can see them, nice and slow,” Katsumoto called over the radioloudspeaker. “We have you surrounded. Don’t do anything stupid.”

Rick snickered, though it was probably more nervous reliefthan actual humor. “Ha, ha,” he managed, reminiscent of Nelson Muntz. “I takeback all previous offers. You’re screwed.”

“Am I?” Lee snarled.

Rick didn’t have time to contemplate what the gunman couldpossibly mean before the man threw open his door, using it as a shield betweenhimself and the police, swinging around to rip open the door Thomas was leaningagainst, grabbed him by the back of his shirt and yanked him out of the vehiclebefore Rick could protest or even think to stop him.

The soaked makeshift bandage came loose in his hand asThomas was ripped out from underneath it, hauled up in front of Lee as a humanshield.

Thomas didn’t even scream, and maybe that was worse. Hecouldn’t stand on his own, the only reason he was upright was Lee’s arm aroundhis neck and shoulder, the little color he had absolutely gone, his face ashenand pale. Rick was honestly shocked the abrupt change in position didn’t makecause him to pass out, but dammit all if Magnum was a fighter. Dark eyes keptthreatening to roll to the back of his head as he fought to stay conscious, onetrembling hand on Lee’s arm holding him up, and the other hovering shakily overthe gunshot wound to his leg as he tried to keep his weight off of it.

“I already shot him once,” Lee shouted at Katsumoto. “I’mokay with doing it again. Are you?”

Katsumoto’s face didn’t so much as flicker. That manshould’ve been a professional poker player. “If your goal is to get out of thisalive, I wouldn’t do that.”

“Yeah?” Lee snarled, digging the muzzle of the pistol intoMagnum’s jaw with bruising force. “Well, maybe I got different plans.”

“Your intent suicide by cop?” Katsumoto retorted. “We can dothat. But first, release the hostage.”

“This guy?” asked Lee, his tone suddenly pitching towardsmania. “This guy, right here?” He gave Magnum a slight shake. “Nah. I don’tthink so. I kinda like the sounds he makes.” And with that, he took the gunfrom Magnum’s jaw to shove against the wound in his leg.

The ragged scream barely made it past Magnum’s lips beforeRick slammed into Lee, catching the gunman in the side with his shoulder hardenough he heard the crack of ribs. He collided with such force he actually knockedThomas forwards and away from them, his friend half catching himself with one hand– just enough to not smash his teeth out on the concrete – before collapsing tothe ground.

Rick didn’t see any of it. Didn’t hear the police shouting,didn’t hear Katsumoto order the other officers not to shoot, didn’t hear the goahead for the EMT’s.

His vision tunneled. He grabbed Lee by the hair, twisting itas hard as he could, his nails digging into the man’s skull as he yanked hishead up by the hair only to smash it down against the road with an audiblecrack.

“Shoot my friend, will you?” Rick snarled through gritted teeth, gripping thegunman’s head in his bloodied fingers. “Refuseto take him to a hospital, huh?”He slammed Lee’s head down again. “Maybe I’ll like the sounds you make.”

He wrenched the man’s head up again, with every intention ofsmashing it against the road until it split – and maybe not stopping even then –except…

“Rick.”

He froze, fingers still gouging into Lee’s scalp, halfway toslamming it down again.

“Rick.”

He turned to Thomas, who was currently being fitted to aback board as one of the EMT’s pressed sterile dressing against the entry wound,despite him trying to flinch away from contact.

Thomas was barely conscious. If Rick hadn’t seen the hellthat man could go through, he would’ve been surprised. He could tell that the medicswere – though impressed was probably the wrong word for it. Thomas’s handsautomatically went to the oxygen mask, pulling stubbornly at it the second theyreplaced it, rolling his upper body as soon as they let go of him as they kepttrying to hold his hands down while they strapped him in.

Rick dropped Lee without a second thought, reaching forMagnum’s clumsily flailing hand as it reached for the mask again.

“Leave it,” he ordered, gently placing Thomas’s hand back athis side.

Magnum’s fingers gripped Rick’s sleeve, twisting in the fabric.The mask fogged slightly as he tried to speak, but whatever it was, was lost inthe chaos.

He tried not think how unnervingly familiar all of this was.

At least they weren’t being loaded into a helicopter.

Rick suddenly found himself gripping Thomas’s hand, thesudden sensation of dread that this would be the last time he’d see Thomas aliveso forceful he felt himself stumble.

Maybe that was just because the EMT’s finally lifted himfrom the ground. At least, that’s what he told himself.

A hand on his shoulder had him flinching, jerking violentlyat the slight touch.

Katsumoto held his hands back, palms out in ‘surrender’pose, and it was only then that Rick realized he’d been trying to talk to himfor the past several moments.

“Should I call your friend?” Katsumoto asked. Judging fromthe slight sigh at the end of the question, Rick guessed he must have asked itmore than once.

“Yeah. Sure. Probably.”

The detective raised an eyebrow, then glanced back at the unconsciousgunman. “Normally, the precinct would be your next stop, but –”

“I think I’m in shock. I need medical attention,” Rickrecited hollowly. That was what his uncle taught him to tell the police – or anyoneelse, for that matter – if things ever went sideways. Something close to itanyway.

Katsumoto’s lips twitched in what might’ve been a knowingsmirk, but who could tell? “I’ll take care of it.”

Rick wasn’t even sure what ‘it’ was, but he didn’t care.

Huh. Maybe it wasshock.

Or maybe just relief.

Whatever it was, it didn’t matter. He let the EMT’s loadThomas into the back of the waiting ambulance, his hand still gripping tightlyagainst cold fingers.

Cold fingers that held onto his just as tightly.